LUCIA’S TEARS.
Lucia Guiscardini had started by the night mail for Paris.
The next morning was the one fixed for her marriage, arranged to take
place as quietly as possible at the Russian embassy.
Fatigued, nay, utterly exhausted, she slept heavily for some hours
after her arrival at her apartments in the Rue Saint Honoré.
When Finette came to arouse her, according to orders, she was lying
like one in a stupor, and it was with the greatest difficulty the girl
could wake her.
“It is almost a pity not to let her sleep as long as she may,” thought
the maid, as she stood by her, looking down at the flushed face and
uneasy attitude of her slumbering mistress.
Finette had no great reason to care much for the overbearing,
capricious prima donna, but she could perceive that she was struggling
against impending illness, and she felt sorry she should not be at her
best on her wedding-day.
“Madam!” said Finette. “Awake! It is nearly eight o’clock, and your
bath is ready.”
A shuddering sigh, and then Lucia relapsed into her lethargic state
again, though she was evidently suffering from the visitation of some
painful dream.
“Madam!” again urged Finette. “It is your wedding-day. Rouse, then. It
is a glorious day--the sunshine bright and golden, scarce a cloud in
the blue sky.”
She pressed the soft, rounded shoulder of her mistress, and shook her
with a firm yet gentle hand. For madam had given imperative orders
the preceding night that she must be awakened immediately after eight
o’clock, if not before. The entire responsibility of this lay with
Finette, for she had no other attendant with her.
A stifled scream broke from the half-parched lips of the sleeper, and
she sprang up, throwing her hands forward, as if to defend herself.
“No--no--no!” she shrieked. “No! Ah-h! You shall not take me. I have
not done it. Take your hands off----”
“Madam, it is I--Finette. Do not be alarmed. Pray calm yourself. The
people in the house will be frightened. You have been dreaming. It is
your wedding-day.”
The smooth, reassuring tones brought back the Italian’s scattered
senses, and the light of reason to her brilliant, distended eyes.
She turned her glance on the young girl standing by, and sank back,
shuddering, gasping for breath, almost on the verge of hysterics.
“I believe--I--was dreaming. Oh, Heaven! what a horrid, awful dream!”
She covered her face with her hands, with a sobbing breath. “I am
scarcely awake now. I feel so--so tired.”
“Your journey has fatigued you, madam. Why, you have had only a few
hours’ rest, though you slept a little in the train. Come, I suppose
madam must make an exertion, and rise. I will order the coffee.”
“Why do you wish me to get up? Oh! my head aches so fearfully--at the
back, Finette.”
“Madam forgets it is her wedding-day. I am sorry madam’s head is so
bad,” said Finette.
“_Bon Dieu!_ my wedding-day!” cried Lucia, again starting up. “I had
forgotten. Give me my wrapper.”
Finette gave her the richly embroidered silken wrapper, and then went
out to give directions about madam’s coffee.
Lucia threw on her wrapper, and got out of bed. A few tottering steps,
and she fell back, flinging her arms on the coverlet in blank despair.
“I believe I am going to be ill,” she cried, aloud. “But I must not be
ill until I have been made a princess. Oh! this sickening pain in my
head. But I must not give way at the last, after daring so much. What
folly! It is simply fatigue. I ought not to have stayed there till the
last moment, and then taken such a hurried flight.”
She lay in a half-stupefied state, however, making no effort to raise
herself, as if she felt it would be useless. Then hot, blinding tears
of rage and despair began to rain over her arms, on which she rested.
So absorbed was the unhappy creature by her terrors and doubts, her
feeling of physical exhaustion, her dread lest her forces should fail
her at the last, that she did not notice the return of Finette.
The girl stood on the snow-white, fleecy rug just inside the door, in
an attitude and with an expression which showed that she was utterly
confounded by the scene before her.
Madam had been in all varieties of humors--in violent, stormy frenzies
of rage, sullen, depressed, ill-humored, exhausted, wearied--but never
before like this.
Finette’s idea was natural, and yet, hitherto, undreamed of, for her
lady had seemed, if not the least in love with her handsome prince,
certainly pleased and eager to welcome him.
“She does not like him,” thought the waiting-maid, “and is only going
to marry him for his money and his title; perhaps she likes somebody
else. But it will never do for her to go on in this way.”
The girl was pleased at the prospective vision of being confidential
maid to a rich princess--the position would offer so many advantages in
addition to the increase of social dignity. It ill-suited her that the
marriage should be put off, and she was superstitious enough to regard
as most unlucky a postponement of the wedding-day.
It was not until she was close beside her that Lucia gave any sign of
being aroused.
“Come, madam’s nerves are giving way,” said Finette smilingly. “Time
is flying, and madam knows how long it takes to dress. Sit in this
great easy chair, and steady yourself, while I brush out your hair.
Come, they say people always fall into a terrible way just before they
get married, though when the dreadful words have been spoken by the
clergyman, they begin to laugh at themselves for being so silly. It is
quite proper to cry on one’s wedding-day, madam.”
She lent the support of her youthful arm to Lucia, who rose
mechanically, as if in a dream, and placed her before the
dressing-table, a fairy picture of lace, silver, carved ivory, and gold.
Then she proceeded to array the bride, who exerted herself when desired
to do so, but otherwise sat or stood like a lovely inanimate statue or
waxen figure.
Although it was to be a strictly private marriage, the only attendant
on herself being Finette, Lucia had prepared a toilet of the most
recherché quality. A pure, white silk, covered with rare and costly
laces, a hat of elfin workmanship, over which was thrown a square of
tulle, frilled and embroidered petticoats, proclaimed her bridal state.
With a great yearning, she had desired white satin and a lace veil, and
to wear some of her diamonds, but was obliged to stifle the wish.
When she was dressed, Finette left her sitting by the open window, the
balcony of which was heaped with exquisite flowers.
The girl--her only bridesmaid--went to attire herself in her own room,
which adjoined that of her mistress.
“What has happened to me?” Lucia asked herself in affright. “What means
this weakness, this sense of a sudden blank? Shall I be able to go
through my morning’s work? What will happen next? Shall I live to enjoy
my honors, my wealth, my prince’s adoration? Nay, I must strive against
this pain and depression and fear.”
Rising, she began to walk to and fro, with uncertain, wavering steps,
swaying from side to side unconsciously.
Presently Finette returned, arrayed in a really charming manner in a
cloud of pretty, fresh, embroidered muslin. In her hand was a large
bouquet of the most choice blossoms, fit for the bride of a king to
carry.
“See, madam,” she exclaimed gaily; “here are some flowers, this moment
sent. There was no name left, but you will guess from whom they have
come.”
Lucia took the flowers, and put the bouquet up to her pale face,
without making any remark.
“See how the sun shines--a happy omen!” continued the girl lightly, as
she gathered up her mistress’ handkerchief, gloves, and little ivory
fan. “The carriage waits--we shall be in good time.”
Lucia recovered her strength, and in a certain degree her spirits. They
descended to the carriage, and drove to the Russian embassy.