For a week nothing material transpired. All that time I lay in the
drawer, gaining a knowledge of what passed, in the best manner I could.
Betts Shoreham was a constant visitor at the house, and Tom Thurston
made his appearance with a degree of punctuality that began to attract
notice, among the inmates of the house on the opposite side of the
street. All this time, however, Tom treated Julia with the greatest
respect, and even distance, turning more of his attention toward Mrs.
Monson. He acted in this manner, because he thought he had secured a
sufficient lien on the young lady, by means of her "yes," and knew how
important it was for one who could show none of the usual inducements
for consent, to the parents, to obtain the good-will of the "old lady."
At the end of the week, Mrs. Monson opened her house to receive the
world. As a matter of course, I was brought out on this occasion. Now,
Betts Shoreham and Mademoiselle Hennequin had made great progress
toward an understanding in the course of this week, though the lady
becoming more and more conscious of the interest she had created in the
heart of the gentleman, her own conduct got to be cautious and
reserved. At length, Betts actually carried matters so far as to write
a letter, that was as much to the point as a man could very well come.
In a word, he offered his hand to the excellent young French woman,
assuring her, in very passionate and suitable terms, that she had been
mistress of his affections ever since the first month of their
acquaintance. In this letter, he implored her not to be so cruel as to
deny him an interview, and there were a few exceedingly pretty
reproaches, touching her recent coy and reserved deportment.
Mademoiselle Hennequin was obliged to read this letter in Julia's room,
and she took such a position to do it, as exposed every line to my
impertinent gaze, as I lay on the bed, among the other finery that was
got out for the evening. Mrs. Monson was present, and she had summoned
the governess, in order to consult her on the subject of some of the
ornaments of the supper table. Fortunately, both Julia and her mother
were too much engaged to perceive the tears that rolled down the cheeks
of the poor stranger, as she read the honest declaration of a fervid
and manly love, nor did either detect the manner in which the letter
was pressed to Mademoiselle Hennequin's heart, when she had done
reading it the second time.
Just at this instant a servant came to announce Mr. Shoreham's presence
in the "breakfast-room." This was a retired and little frequented part
of the house at that hour, Betts having been shown into it, in
consequence of the preparations that were going on in the proper
reception-rooms.
"Julia, my dear, you will have to go below--although it is at a most
inconvenient moment."
"No, mother--let Mr. Betts Shoreham time his visits better--George, say
that the ladies are ENGAGED."
"That will not do," interrupted the mother, in some concern--"we are
too intimate for such an excuse--would YOU, Mademoiselle Hennequin,
have the goodness to see Mr. Shoreham for a few minutes--you must come
into our American customs sooner or later, and this may be a favorable
moment to commence."
Mrs. Monson laughed pleasantly as she made this request, and her
kindness and delicacy to the governess were too marked and unremitted
to permit the latter to think of hesitating. She had laid her own
handkerchief down at my side, to read the letter, but feeling the
necessity of drying her eyes, she caught me up by mistake, smiled her
assent, and left the apartment.
Mademoiselle Hennequin did not venture below, until she had gone into
her own room. Here she wept freely for a minute or two, and then she
bathed her eyes in cold water, and used the napkin in drying them.
Owing to this circumstance, I was fortunately a witness of all that
passed in her interview with her lover.
The instant Betts Shoreham saw that he was to have an interview with
the charming French girl, instead of with Julia Monson, his countenance
brightened; and, as if supposing the circumstance proof of his success,
he seized the governess' hand, and carried it to his lips in a very
carnivorous fashion. The lady, however, succeeded in retaining her
hand, if she did not positively preserve it from being devoured.
"A thousand, thousand thanks, dearest Mademoiselle Hennequin," said
Betts, in an incoherent, half-sane manner; "you have read my letter,
and I may interpret this interview favorably. I meant to have told all
to Mrs. Monson, had SHE come down, and asked her kind interference--but
it is much, much better as it is."
"You will do well, monsieur, not to speak to Madame Monson on the
subject at all," answered Mademoiselle Hennequin, with an expression of
countenance that I found quite inexplicable; since it was not happy,
nor was it altogether the reverse. "This must be our last meeting, and
it were better that no one knew any thing of its nature."
"Then my vanity--my hopes have misled me, and I have no interest in
your feelings!"
"I do not say THAT, monsieur; oh! non--non--I am far from saying as
much as THAT"--poor girl, her face declared a hundred times more than
her tongue, that she was sincere--"I do not--CANNOT say I have no
interest in one, who so generously overlooks my poverty, my utter
destitution of all worldly greatness, and offers to share with me his
fortune and his honorable position--"
"This is not what I ask--what I had hoped to earn--gratitude is not
love."
"Gratitude easily becomes love in a woman's heart"--answered the dear
creature, with a smile and a look that Betts would have been a mere
dolt not to have comprehended--"and it is my duty to take care that MY
gratitude does not entertain this weakness."
"Mademoiselle Hennequin, for mercy's sake, be as frank and simple as I
know your nature prompts--DO you, CAN you love me?"
Of course such a direct question, put in a very categorical way, caused
the questioned to blush, if it did not induce her to smile. The first
she did in a very pretty and engaging manner, though I thought she
hesitated about indulging in the last.
"Why should I say 'yes,' when it can lead to no good result?"
"Then destroy all hope at once, and say NO."
"That would be to give you--to give us both unnecessary pain. Besides,
it might not be strictly true--I COULD love--Oh! No one can tell how my
heart COULD love where it was right and proper."
After this, I suppose it is unnecessary for me to say, that Betts soon
brought the category of possibilities into one of certainty. To own the
truth, he carried every thing by his impetuosity, reducing the
governess to own that what she admitted she COULD do so well, she had
already done in a very complete and thorough manner. I enjoyed this
scene excessively, nor was it over in a minute. Mademoiselle Hennequin
used me several times to wipe away tears, and it is strong proof how
much both parties were thinking of other matters, that neither
discovered who was present at so interesting a tete-a-tete.
At length came the denouement. After confessing how much she loved
Betts, how happy she would be could she be his slave all the days of
her life, how miserable she was in knowing that he had placed his
affections on HER, and how much more miserable she should be, had she
learned he had NOT, Mademoiselle Hennequin almost annihilated the young
man by declaring that it was utterly impossible for her to consent to
become his wife. The reason was the difference in fortune, and the
impossibility that she should take advantage of his passion to lead him
into a connection that he might afterwards regret. Against this
decision, Betts reasoned warmly, but seriously, in vain. Had
Mademoiselle Hennequin been an American, instead of a French, girl, her
feelings would not have been so sensitive on this point, for, in this
great republic, every body but the fortune-hunters, an exceedingly
contemptible class, considers a match without money, quite as much a
matter of course, as a match with. But, the governess had been educated
under a different system, and it struck her imagination as very proper,
that she should make both herself and her lover miserable, because he
had two hundred thousand dollars, and she had not as many hundreds. All
this strangely conflicted with Betts' preconceived opinion of a French
woman's selfishness, and, while he was disposed to believe his adored
perfection, he almost feared it was a trick. Of such contradictory
materials is the human mind composed!
At length the eyes of Betts fell on me, who was still in the hand of
Mademoiselle Hennequin, and had several times been applied to her eyes
unheeded. It was evident I revived unpleasant recollections, and the
young man could not avoid letting an expression escape him, that
sufficiently betrayed his feelings.
"This handkerchief!" exclaimed the young governess--"Ah! it is that of
Mademoiselle Julie, which I must have taken by mistake. But, why should
this handkerchief awaken any feeling in you, monsieur? You are not
about to enact the Moor, in your days of wooing?"
{the Moor = from Shakespeare's "Othello"}
This was said sweetly, and withal a little archly, for the poor girl
was glad to turn the conversation from its harassing and painful
points; but Betts was in no humor for pleasantry, and he spoke out in a
way to give his mistress some clue to his thoughts.
"That cursed handkerchief"--it is really indecent in young men to use
such improper language, but they little heed what they say when
strongly excited--"that cursed handkerchief has given me as much pain,
as it appears also to have given you. I wish I knew the real secret of
its connection with your feelings; for I confess, like that of
Desdemona's, it has excited distrust, though for a very different
cause."
The cheeks of Mademoiselle Hennequin were pale, and her brow
thoughtful. Still, she had a sweet smile for Betts; and, though
ignorant of the nature of his suspicions, which she would have scarcely
pardoned, it was her strongest wish to leave no darker cloud between
them, than the one she felt it her duty to place there herself. She
answered, therefore, frankly and simply, though not without betraying
strong emotion as she proceeded.
"This handkerchief is well known to me," answered the young French
woman; "it revives the recollections of some of the most painful scenes
of a life that has never seen much sunshine. You have heard me speak of
a grandmother, Mr. Shoreham, who took care of my childhood, and who
died in my arms. That handkerchief, I worked for her support in her
last illness, and this lace--yes, this beautiful lace was a part of
that beloved grandmother's bridal trousseau. I put it where you see it,
to enhance the value of my labors."
"I see it all!" exclaimed the repentant Betts--"FEEL it all, dearest,
dearest Mademoiselle Hennequin; and I hope this exquisite work, this
refined taste brought all the comfort and reward you had a right to
anticipate."
A shade of anguish crossed the face of Adrienne--for it was no
other--as she gazed at me, and recalled all the scenes of her
sufferings and distress. Then I knew her again, for time and a poor
memory, with some development of person, had caused me to forget the
appearance of the lovely creature who may be said to have made me what
I am; but one glance at her, with that expression of intense suffering
on her countenance, renewed all my earlier impressions.
"I received as much as I merited, perhaps," returned the meek-minded
girl--for she was proud only in insisting on what she fancied
right--"and enough to give my venerated parent Christian burial. They
were days of want and sorrow that succeeded, during which, Betts, I
toiled for bread like an Eastern slave, the trodden-on and abused
hireling of a selfish milliner. Accident at length placed me in a
family as a governess. This family happened to be acquainted with
Madame Monson, and an offer that was brilliant to me, in my
circumstances, brought me to America. You see by all this how unfit I
am to be your wife, monsieur. You would blush to have it said you had
married a French milliner!"
"But you are not a milliner, in that sense, dearest Adrienne--for you
must suffer me to call you by that name--you are a lady reduced by
revolutions and misfortunes. The name of Hennequin I know is
respectable, and what care I for money, when so much worth is to be
found on your side of the scale. Money would only oppress me, under
such circumstances."
"Your generosity almost overcomes my scruples, but it may not be. The
name to which I am entitled is certainly not one to be ashamed of--it
is far more illustrious than that of Hennequin, respectable as is the
last; but of what account is a NAME to one in my condition!"
"And your family name is not Hennequin?" asked the lover, anxiously.
"It is not. My poor grandmother assumed the name of Hennequin, when we
went last to Paris, under an apprehension that the guillotine might
follow the revolution of July, as it had followed that of '89. This
name she enjoined it on me to keep, and I have never thought it prudent
to change it. I am of the family of de la Rocheaimard."
The exclamation which burst from the lips of Betts Shoreham, betokened
both surprise and delight. He made Adrienne repeat her declarations,
and even desired her to explain her precise parentage. The reader will
remember, that there had been an American marriage in Adrienne's
family, and that every relative the poor girl had on earth, was among
these distant connections on this side of the Atlantic. One of these
relatives, though it was no nearer than a third cousin, was Betts
Shoreham, whose great-grandmother had been a bona fide de la
Rocheaimard, and who was enabled, at once, to point out to the poor
deserted orphan some forty or fifty persons, who stood in the same
degree of affinity to her. It is needless to say that this conversation
was of absorbing interest to both; so much so, indeed, that Betts
momentarily forgot his love, and by the time it had ended, Adrienne was
disposed to overlook most of her over scrupulous objections to
rewarding that very passion. But the hour admonished them of the
necessity of separating.
"And now, my beloved cousin," said Betts Shoreham, as he rose to quit
the room, seizing Adrienne's unresisting hand--"now, my own Adrienne,
you will no longer urge your sublimated notions of propriety against my
suit. I am your nearest male relative, and have a right to your
obedience--and I command that you be the second de la Rocheaimard who
became the wife of a Shoreham."
"Tell me, mon cher cousin," said Adrienne, smiling through her
tears--"were your grand-parents, my good uncle and aunt, were they
happy? Was their union blessed?"
{mon cher cousin = my dear cousin}
"They were miracles of domestic felicity, and their happiness has
passed down in tradition, among all their descendants. Even religion
could not furnish them with a cause for misunderstanding. That example
which they set to the last century, we will endeavor to set to this."
Adrienne smiled, kissed her hand to Betts, and ran out of the room,
leaving me forgotten on the sofa. Betts Shoreham seized his hat, and
left the house, a happy man; for, though he had no direct promise as
yet, he felt as reasonably secure of success, as circumstances required.