DISCOVERED.
I had been disguised us a _soubrette_ for five days when those
terrible events, by which I lost my love, and nearly my life, and had
to leave the chateau, occurred in rapid succession.
On the evening after we had listened to the story of Ninon, I was
seated with Jacqueline in a secluded bower of the garden. The
atmosphere was oppressively warm, and I had removed alike the large
linen cap and the false curls with which Angelique had supplied me;
thus, unfortunately, no one who saw me could for a moment have
doubted the sex of Basile, the sham paysanne from the Morbihan.
Jacqueline reclined with her head upon my shoulder, and while seated
hand in hand, I was speaking of the apparent hopelessness of our
future, when she interrupted me by saying,
"Remember, Basil, that at our age nothing is hopeless either in
fortune or in love."
"True," I repeated, tremulously, while gazing tenderly into her clear
and beautiful eyes; "yet, ere I saw you, love Jacqueline, at times I
was already sick of life."
"Sick of life! Your world in England must be a horrid place, if
people weary of it so soon."
"You mistake me. Every heart, as I said to your aunt the other
night, has some secret sorrow, and I have mine--a lost position.
Bravely did I bear the cross till I was taken prisoner----"
"Do you deem yourself such?"
"I mean till I was left here, abandoned in hostile France, thus
crushing all the brilliant schemes I had formed for the future."
"Enter the service of France. I have vast interest through my
father, through my cousin Bourgneuf, and the Comte de Boisguiller.
Who can say how high you may rise? We have still our Irish Brigade
and the regiment of Royal Scots, and to be a Scotsman is still a
passport to royal favour in France."
"Was, Jacqueline; you should say it _was_. But that day has gone for
ever, nor would such views suit me if it remained. I thank you, my
beloved, but this can never be."
A sound as of steps among the shrubbery close by made us pause, and
then Jacqueline, after looking hastily round, asked--
"Is the chateau becoming so terrible to you?"
"Ah! do not ask me that, at least in such a tone of pique. With you
I should indeed be happy anywhere."
"Should be--are you not?"
"I _am_ happy."
"Then whence this repining, Basil?" she asked, softly, perhaps
reproachfully.
"Understand me; it is the ever present question, where will the love
I bear you--a love so deep and desperate--end? Would it not have
been better that we had never known and never loved each other so?"
"Why, Basil, why?"
"You are the daughter of a peer of France, the Maréchal de Broglie;
I--oh, Heaven! you know me but as an unfortunate gentleman--a poor
private dragoon. I have not even an epaulette to boast of!"
"Then I shall give you _two_," said Jacqueline, putting a white hand
on each of my shoulders, and kissing me playfully on the check.
"_Mon Dieu_, it is too much!" exclaimed a piercing voice; the hands
of Jacqueline were torn away, and Madame de Bourgneuf, in all the
rage of offended virtue, dignity, and nobility, stood with pallid
face and flashing eyes before us. "So, so, this is Basile, the
paysanne from the Morbihan! A man, a heretic, a foreigner, a soldier
in the arms of my niece, of Mademoiselle de Broglie! Oh, what horror
is this!" she almost screamed aloud.
The rustling in the shrubbery is quite accounted for now, thought I.
But I was wrong, for keener eyes might have detected the figure of a
man--of Theophile Hautois--lurking like a panther near us.
Jacqueline covered her eyes with one hand, and clung by the other to
the side of the arbour. Indeed, had I not supported her she would
have fallen, and now there ensued a long and most painful pause,
during which I prayed the earth to open and swallow me.
I was thunderstruck, and poor Jacqueline, overwhelmed by dismay and
shame, cowered upon the seat with her sweet face hidden by her hands.
Presence of mind alone could save us now. I waited until the first
paroxysm of anger was past, and then addressed the too justly
offended countess.
Heaven only knows what I said then, but love for poor Jacqueline and
the desperation of my own plight lent me eloquence; thus rapidly and
briefly I related all my story since the morning on which I had saved
her life in the mulberry wood near the well by the wayside that led
to our camp at Paramé, down to the present hour. Madame acknowledged
that she had overheard enough to convince her that I loved her niece
with respect and tenderness, but added almost fiercely that the vast
gulf opened by our difference of position rendered that love a
madness and a crime.
I acknowledged all this, and in terms that I cannot now recal, urged
for the preservation of her family honour and her own high name, the
policy of preserving secrecy in the affair; and she evidently felt
the force of my argument, as it was a circumstance which would
seriously embroil her with her brother the Maréchal, her son the
Count de Bourgneuf, and perhaps with French society in general;
though as a Frenchwoman she felt that she could almost forgive
anything that had love for an excuse. After a time, I begged her to
remember that I was an _Ecossais_, and besought her by the memory of
the olden time, and her own early predilections, to pardon
Jacqueline, if not me, for all that had passed.
This was assailing madame's weak point, and a hectic flush crossed
the pale cheek of Jacqueline, as, no doubt, she thought of "the
handsome Scottish Captain of milord Clare's Dragoons," of whom we
heard so much every evening.
"_Très bien, monsieur_; am I then to understand that you are
Scottish?" said she, in a gentler tone.
"I am, Madame. Let your favour for one whom you have so often said
was dear to you--a soldier of fortune--plead for me now."
"'Tis well that this _malheur_ has occurred here at my sequestered
house, and not at the Hotel de Broglie in the Rue St. Dominique at
Paris: but let that pass. We Bretons love the Scots as the friends
of our forefathers in the olden time, and we all know that it was to
the love of a young Scottish girl our brave Du Guay Trouin owed his
escape from an English prison, and that in her arms he died in 1736.*
But this painful matter must be ended, and a convent may cure
mademoiselle of an infatuation which degrades her. To drive _you_,
monsieur, from the chateau--"
* A love for the Scots and dislike for their fellow-subjects still
exist in Brittany. See "Wanderings" there, published by Bentley,
1860, &c.
"The fate I own, with all humility, I deserve."
"Would be to ensure your death: but mademoiselle my niece has acted
most unwisely--even culpably--in not confiding in me; and now you
must be separated, and for ever."
"Alas, madame!----"
"This absurd disguise, monsieur, must be relinquished, and to have
you sent at once from hence in safety, if it can be accomplished,
shall now be my task."
"I submit to your decision, madame," said I, with a sinking heart.
"Deep affection causes deep submission, and to love so fondly as I
do, often causes more sorrow than joy. Dear, dear Jacqueline!"
"Enough of this!" interrupted Madame de Bourgneuf, loftily and
severely, "Retire to your room, monsieur. When next I see you, let
it be in the attire of your sex, and dearly shall that minx Angelique
pay for her share in this deplorable--this most unfortunate affair."
I bowed and retired, feeling in my heart that Madame de Bourgneuf
treated me with great leniency, and such as I did not deserve; for
she might have summoned her servants, and had me hanged on the
nearest tree, had such been her will and pleasure.
I paused at the end of the garden-walk, and looked back to the
rose-covered bower. The countess was regarding me with a fixed and
stern expression; but Jacqueline, unseen by her, waved her hand to me
sadly in adieu. My soul was wrung--if I may use such an
expression--wrung with agony for the unmerited shame thus brought on
one who loved me so well, who was so tender and so true; and I cursed
my own selfishness.
I bowed in return, and hurried towards the chateau. Alas! that
farewell glance was the last we were doomed to see of each other as
lovers.