THE CHÂTEAU DE BRÉVANNES
M. de Brévannes's estate, situated in Lorraine, near Longeville, at
some leagues from Bar-le-Duc, was a comfortable residence. A nice park,
some excellent preserves, magnificent lakes, fed by the overflows of the
Ornain, a dwelling-house spacious and convenient: all in this property
responded to the picture which De Brévannes had drawn to M. de
Hansfeld.
Bertha, her husband, the prince, and Paula, had been already three days
at the château. Iris had been included, of course, in De Brévannes's
invitation,--an invitation which each of our personages had too powerful
motives for accepting, to pause for a moment at the idea of the
singularity of such a journey at this season.
Paula had continually avoided every chance of being alone with De
Brévannes, who, by the advice of Iris, had imitated Madame de Hansfeld,
in order that he might not give any appearance of premeditation to the
vengeance upon which he was so coolly calculating.
Bertha was, however, agitated by sinister presentiments. During the
whole of the journey from Paris, De Brévannes had displayed either a
forced gaiety or such obsequious attention that Bertha's suspicions were
vaguely aroused.
One moment she had resolved on entreating her husband to leave her in
Paris, but after the formal engagement she had made with the Prince and
Princess de Hansfeld, she gave up that idea.
On reaching Brévannes she was occupied in shewing every attention to
her guests. It was strange, but she never for a moment suspected that
her husband might be enamoured of Madame de Hansfeld; had this occurred
to her, she might have been reassured. Although the way in which this
country visit had been arranged was natural enough, yet a secret
instinct told Bertha that the excursion had another object beside
wild-fowl shooting.
The only person completely happy and free from fear or mental uneasiness
was Arnold. Unexpected chance had so well served his love at a moment
when he was despairing, that he gave way entirely and unreservedly to
the happiness of passing a few days with Bertha in domestic intimacy.
Iris watched every thing and espied every motion of Arnold and Madame de
Brévannes. Unfortunately for the gipsy girl, these two, in spite of the
constant efforts of M. de Brévannes to bring them to a tête-à-tête,
had constantly avoided it.
There remained for Iris a last and infallible means of compelling Bertha
and M. de Hansfeld to a secret interview, which must compromise them as
regards appearances. When night fell, she would go and tell Bertha that
her father, dreadfully alarmed at her sudden departure, had followed
her, and that he might not run the risk of meeting De Brévannes, begged
her to await him in the _châlet_, or pavilion in which, in the summer
time, Madame de Brévannes usually spent her day. This small building,
situated in the midst of a clump of trees, was approached by an
iron-gate in the park. Nothing could be more probable than that Pierre
Raimond should do such a thing: Bertha would go and await him in the
summerhouse, where, instead of the old engraver, Arnold would arrive:
then, warned by Iris, De Brévannes would go to the spot, and the sequel
might be guessed.
The third day of her arrival at Brévannes, the Bohemian girl, tired of
spying in vain, looked for Bertha, in order to make her the victim of
the machination she was plotting, when she saw her coming from the side
of the pavilion in question, and behind her, at a short distance, M. de
Hansfeld.
Iris glided into a clump of holly and thick box-wood bushes, which
shaded the park in this spot, and in which was a winding path which went
from the chalet to the iron gate of the park.
We should say that this building, situated at the angle of the
park-walls, consisted of two rooms on the ground-floor.
It was about four o'clock--the day very cloudy, and the sky rainy and
threatening. At the moment when Iris concealed herself in the thicket
Arnold overtook Bertha.
Madame de Brévannes started at the sight of the prince, and turned
several paces back to return to the chateau; but Arnold, taking her hand
with an air of entreaty, said to her,--
"At last, then, I may have one moment's conversation with you--after two
days! It would really seem as if you avoided me--me so happy at this
unexpected journey. Really, Bertha, I can scarcely credit my happiness!"
"I entreat you to leave me!--I have avoided you because I am afraid----"
"Afraid of what, _mon Dieu?_"
"Monsieur de Hansfeld, you love me--do you not?" exclaimed Bertha,
suddenly.
"Love you!--yes, indeed!"
"Well, then, do not refuse me the only favour I have ever asked of you."
"What do you mean?"
"Go!"
"Go! and I have only just arrived!--when----"
"I say, if you love me, you will seize on the first opportunity, good or
bad, to leave this house."
"I really do not comprehend! Why, when your husband----"
"Oh! do not pronounce his name here!"
"Take courage--I share your scruples--I am here in this house--I will
not breathe one word of love to you--I will say nothing that your father
might not hear if he were present. What I request, Bertha, is, but some
of those kind and tender words which you addressed to your brother
Arnold in those long conversations which we three used to have at your
father's."
"Hush!--some one is in the walk," said Bertha, with uneasiness.
"What a child you are!--it is the wind that moves the trees. See how the
hail and rain are falling, and you have come out without your African
cloak; that is a double error, for that _burnous_ with a hood becomes
you excessively."
"I left it in the vestibule; but I beseech you to return to the
château."
"It is too far--the rain is falling--why should we not enter the
châlet, there, and wait until this shower has passed over?"
"No!--no!"
"Do you forget your promise to shew me your pavilion--your favourite
retreat? Oh! I will not let slip this excellent opportunity of making
you fulfil your promise. See, the rain falls heavier!--come, I pray of
you! But what ails you?--you scarcely speak to me!--you tremble--it is
with cold, no doubt! How could you be so imprudent?"
"I cannot tell you what I feel, but it is a vague, involuntary terror. I
beseech you let us return to the château, in spite of the rain."
"This is childish folly to which I cannot consent. You are unwell, and
really must not expose yourself further. The rain is as cold as ice--the
châlet is but a few steps from us."
"Well, then, promise me to depart to-morrow."
"What! again?"
"Yes--do not ask me wherefore. I am alarmed for you--for myself, and I
shall not be at ease until you are far from here. I cannot explain my
fears even to myself, but they try me bitterly."
"Really, admitting that your husband were jealous, what have you to
fear?--what wrong are we doing? Besides, he is most attentive to you,
and suspects nothing."
"It is those attentions, so new to me, and his hypocritical mildness,
which alarms me. He, always so coarse, so rude; and one day----" Bertha
started, and exclaimed, whilst she placed her trembling hand on Arnold's
arm, "Again! I am certain some one is moving in the clump!--they are
following us."
[Illustration 18: "Arnold hastened--the foliage
shook, and, a few yards from them a kid bounded by."]
Arnold listened, and then heard some branches crackle in the thick
bushes of box and holly. In spite of a difficulty of penetrating this
solid hedge, Arnold was about to plunge into it, when the noise
increased, the foliage shook, and, a few yards from them, a kid bounded
forth and crossed their path. Arnold could not repress a burst of
laughter, and said to Bertha,--
"This was your spy!"
The young lady, somewhat reassured, took Arnold's arm, and they were now
only a few paces from the châlet.
"Well, poor little trembler!" said Arnold.
"I beseech you not to laugh at me--I am a believer in presentiments--God
sends them to us."
"But why? because your husband seems returning towards you with better
feelings, should you be alarmed? Suppose even that this kindness is
assumed to ensnare you in some way, what have you to fear? What can he
surprise? After all, what do I ask but to enjoy fairly what he freely
offered to me--the passing of a few days near you? I swear to you, not
answering what my wishes may be hereafter, but as I am at this moment
the happiest of men, I ask nothing beyond this; the present is so
delightful, so sweet, that it would be profanation to think of more."
The rain increased in violence. The day which had been all along very
gloomy was nearly at its close.
Bertha and the prince entered the châlet.