Nor are those empty hearted, whose low sound
Reverbs no hollowness.
LEAR.
The conversation related in the last chapter was interrupted by the
entrance of Peter, who, as he left the room, looked significantly at
Adeline, and almost beckoned. She was anxious to know what he meant, and
soon after went into the hall, where she found him loitering. The moment
he saw her, he made a sign of silence, and beckoned her into the recess.
Well, Peter, what is it you would say? said Adeline.
Hush, Ma'mselle; for heaven's sake speak lower; if we should be
overheard, we are all blown up.--Adeline begged him to explain what he
meant Yes, Ma'mselle, that is what I have wanted all day long: I have
watched and watched for an opportunity, and looked and looked till I was
afraid my master himself would see me; but all would not do, you would
not understand.
Adeline entreated he would be quick. Yes Ma'm, but I'm so afraid we
shall be seen; but I would do much to serve such a good young lady, for
I could not bear to think of what threatened you, without telling you of
it.
For God's sake, said Adeline, speak quickly, or we shall be interrupted.
Well then;--but you must first promise by the Holy Virgin never to say
it was I that told you; my master would--
I do, I do, said Adeline.
Well, then--on Monday evening as I--hark! did not I hear a step? do,
Ma'mselle, just step this way to the cloisters: I would not for the
world we should be seen: I'll go out at the hall door, and you can go
through the passage. I would not for the world we should be
seen.--Adeline was much alarmed by Peter's words, and hurried to the
cloisters. He quickly appeared, and, looking cautiously round, resumed
his discourse. As I was saying, Ma'mselle, Monday night, when the
Marquis slept here, you know he sat up very late, and I can guess,
perhaps, the reason of that. Strange things came out, but it is not my
business to tell all I think.
Pray do speak to the purpose, said Adeline impatiently; what is this
danger which you say threatens me? Be quick, or we shall be observed.
Danger enough, Ma'mselle, replied Peter, if you knew all; and when you
do, what will it signify? for you can't help yourself. But that's
neither here nor there; I was resolved to tell you, though I may repent
it.
Or rather, you are resolved not to tell me, said Adeline; for you have
made no progress towards it. But what do you mean? You was speaking of
the Marquis.
Hush, Ma'am, not so loud. The Marquis, as I said, sat up very late, and
my master sat up with him. One of his men went to bed in the oak room,
and the other staid to undress his lord. So as we were sitting together.
Lord have mercy! it made my hair stand on end! I tremble yet. So as we
were sitting together--but as sure as I live, yonder is my master: I
caught a glimpse of him between the trees; if he sees me it is all over
with us. I'll tell you another time. So saying, he hurried into the
abbey, leaving Adeline in a state of alarm, curiosity, and vexation. She
walked out into the forest ruminating upon Peter's words, and
endeavouring to guess to what they alluded: there Madame La Motte joined
her, and they conversed on various topics till they reached the abbey.
Adeline watched in vain through that day for an opportunity of speaking
with Peter. While he waited at supper, she occasionally observed his
countenance with great anxiety, hoping it might afford her some degree
of intelligence on the subject of her fears. When she retired, Madame La
Motte accompanied her to her chamber, and continued to converse with her
for a considerable time, so that she had no means of obtaining an
interview with Peter.--Madame La Motte appeared to labour under some
great affliction; and when Adeline, noticing this, entreated to know the
cause of her dejection, tears started into her eyes, and she abruptly
left the room.
This behaviour of Madame La Motte concurred with Peter's discourse to
alarm Adeline, who sat pensively upon her bed, giving up to reflection,
till she was roused by the sound of a clock, which stood in the room
below, and which now struck twelve. She was preparing for rest, when she
recollected the MS. and was unable to conclude the night without reading
it. The first words she could distinguish were the following:
Again I return to this poor consolation--again I have been permitted to
see another day. It is now midnight! My solitary lamp burns beside me;
the time is awful, but to me the silence of noon is as the silence of
midnight; a deeper gloom is all in which they differ. The still,
unvarying hours are numbered only by my sufferings; Great God! when
shall I be released:
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
But whence this strange confinement? I have never injured him. If death
is designed me, why this delay; and for what but death am I brought
hither? This abbey--alas!--Here the MS. was again illegible, and for
several pages Adeline could only make out disjointed sentences.
O bitter draught! when, when shall I have rest? O my friends! will none
of ye fly to aid me; will none of ye avenge my sufferings? Ah! when it
is too late--when I am gone for ever, ye will endeavour to avenge them.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Once more is night returned to me. Another day has passed in solitude
and misery. I have climbed to the casement, thinking the view of nature
would refresh my soul, and somewhat enable me to support these
afflictions. Alas! even this small comfort is denied me, the windows
open towards other parts of this abbey, and admit only a portion of that
day which I must never more fully behold. Last night! last night! O
scene of horror!
Adeline shuddered. She feared to read the coming sentence, yet curiosity
prompted her to proceed. Still she paused: an unaccountable dread came
over her. Some horrid deed has been done here, said she; the reports of
the peasants are true: murder has been committed. The idea thrilled her
with horror. She recollected the dagger which had impeded her steps in
the secret chamber, and this circumstance served to confirm her most
terrible conjectures. She wished to examine it, but it lay in one of
these chambers, and she feared to go in quest of it.
Wretched, wretched victim! she exclaimed, could no friend rescue thee
from destruction! O that I had been near! Yet what could I have done to
save thee? Alas! nothing. I forget that even now, perhaps, I am, like
thee, abandoned to dangers from which I have no friend to succour me.
Too surely I guess the author of thy miseries! She stopped, and thought
she heard a sigh, such as on the preceding night had passed along the
chamber. Her blood was chilled, and she sat motionless. The lonely
situation of her room, remote from the rest of the family, (for she was
now in her old apartment, from which Madame La Motte had removed,) who
were almost beyond call, struck so forcibly upon her imagination, that
she with difficulty preserved herself from fainting. She sat for a
considerable time, and all was still. When she was somewhat recovered,
her first design was to alarm the family; but further reflection again
withheld her.
She endeavoured to compose her spirits, and addressed a short prayer to
that Being, who had hitherto protected her in every danger. While she
was thus employed, her mind gradually became elevated and reassured; a
sublime complacency filled her heart, and she sat down once more to
pursue the narrative.
Several lines that immediately followed, were obliterated.--
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He had told me I should not be permitted to live long, not more than
three days, and bade me choose whether I would die by poison or the
sword. O the agonies of that moment! Great God! thou seest my
sufferings! I often viewed, with a momentary hope of escaping, the high
grated windows of my prison--all things within the compass of
possibility I was resolved to try, and with an eager desperation I
climbed towards the casements, but my foot slipped, and falling back to
the floor, I was stunned by the blow. On recovering, the first sounds I
heard, were the steps of a person entering my prison. A recollection of
the past returned, and deplorable was my condition. I shuddered at what
was to come. The same man approached; he looked at me at first with
pity, but his countenance soon recovered its natural ferocity. Yet he
did not then come to execute the purposes of his employer: I am reserved
to another day--Great God, thy will be done!
Adeline could not go on. All the circumstances that seemed to
corroborate the fate of this unhappy man, crowded upon her mind the
reports concerning the abbey--the dreams which had forerun her discovery
of the private apartments--the singular manner in which she had found
the MS--and the apparition, which she now believed she had really seen.
She blamed herself for not having yet mentioned the discovery of the
manuscript and chambers to La Motte, and resolved to delay the
disclosure no longer than the following morning. The immediate cares
that had occupied her mind, and a fear of losing the manuscript before
she had read it, had hitherto kept her silent.
Such a combination of circumstances, she believed, could only be
produced by some supernatural power, operating for the retribution of
the guilty. These reflections filled her mind with a degree of awe,
which the loneliness of the large old chamber in which she sat, and the
hour of the night, soon heightened into terror. She had never been
superstitious, but circumstances so uncommon had hitherto conspired in
this affair, that she could not believe them accidental. Her
imagination, wrought upon by these reflections, again became sensible to
every impression; she feared to look round, lest she should again see
some dreadful phantom, and she almost fancied she heard voices swell in
the storm which now shook the fabric.
Still she tried to command her feelings so as to avoid disturbing the
family; but they became so painful, that even the dread of La Motte's
ridicule had hardly power to prevent her quitting the chamber. Her mind
was now in such a state, that she found it impossible to pursue the
story in the MS. though, to avoid the tortures of suspense, she had
attempted it. She laid it down again, and tried to argue herself into
composure. What have I to fear? said she; I am at least innocent, and I
shall not be punished for the crime of another.
The violent gust of wind that now rushed through the whole suite of
apartments, shook the door that led from her late bedchamber to the
private rooms so forcibly, that Adeline, unable to remain longer in
doubt, ran to see from whence the noise issued. The arras which
concealed the door was violently agitated, and she stood for a moment
observing it in indescribable terror; till believing it was swayed by
the wind, she made a sudden effort to overcome her feelings, and was
stooping to raise it. At that instant she thought she heard a voice. She
stopped and listened, but every thing was still; yet apprehension so far
overcame her, that she had no power either to examine or to leave the
chamber.
In a few moments the voice returned: she was now convinced she had not
been deceived, for, though low, she heard it distinctly, and was almost
sure it repeated her own name. So much was her fancy affected, that she
even thought it was the same voice she had heard in her dreams. This
conviction entirely subdued the small remains of her courage, and
sinking into a chair she lost all recollection.
How long she remained in this state she knew not; but when she
recovered, she exerted all her strength, and reached the winding
staircase, where she called aloud. No one heard her; and she hastened,
as fast as her feebleness would permit, to the chamber of Madame La
Motte. She tapped gently at the door, and was answered by Madame, who
was alarmed at being awakened at so unusual an hour, and believed that
some danger threatened her husband. When she understood that it was
Adeline, and that she was unwell, she quickly came to her relief. The
terror that was yet visible in Adeline's countenance excited her
inquiries, and the occasion of it was explained to her.
Madame was so much discomposed by the relation, that she called La Motte
from his bed, who, more angry at being disturbed than interested for the
agitation he witnessed, reproved Adeline for suffering her fancies to
overcome her reason. She now mentioned the discovery she had made of the
inner chamber and the manuscript, circumstances which roused the
attention of La Motte so much, that he desired to see the MS. and
resolved to go immediately to the apartments described by Adeline.
Madame La Motte endeavoured to dissuade him from his purpose; but La
Motte, with whom opposition had always an effect contrary to the one
designed, and who wished to throw further ridicule upon the terrors of
Adeline, persisted in his intention. He called to Peter to attend with a
light, and insisted that Madame La Motte and Adeline should accompany
him. Madame La Motte desired to be excused, and Adeline at first
declared she could not go; but he would be obeyed.
They ascended the tower, and entered the first chambers together, for
each of the party was reluctant to be the last; in the second chamber
all was quiet and in order. Adeline presented the MS. and pointed to the
arras which concealed the door. La Motte lifted the arras, and opened
the door; but Madame La Motte and Adeline entreated to go no
further--again he called to them to follow. All was quiet in the first
chamber: he expressed his surprise that the rooms should so long have
remained undiscovered, and was proceeding to the second, but suddenly
stopped. We will defer our examination till to-morrow, said he, the
damps of these apartments are unwholesome at any time; but they strike
one more sensibly at night. I am chilled. Peter, remember to throw open
the windows early in the morning, that the air may circulate.
Lord bless your honour, said Peter, don't you see I can't reach them;
besides, I don't believe they are made to open; see what strong iron
bars there are; the room looks for all the world like a prison: I
suppose this is the place the people meant, when they said nobody that
had been in ever came out. La Motte, who during this speech had been
looking attentively at the high windows, which if he had seen them at
first he had certainly not observed, now interrupted the eloquence of
Peter, and bade him carry the light before them. They all willingly
quitted these chambers, and returned to the room below, where a fire was
lighted, and the party remained together for some time.
La Motte for reasons best known to himself, attempted to ridicule the
discovery and fears of Adeline, till she with a seriousness that checked
him, entreated he would desist. He was silent; and soon after, Adeline,
encouraged by the return of daylight, ventured to her chamber, and for
some hours experienced the blessing of undisturbed repose.
On the following day, Adeline's first care was to obtain an interview
with Peter, whom she had some hopes of seeing as she went downstairs:
he, however, did not appear; and she proceeded to the sitting-room,
where she found La Motte apparently much disturbed. Adeline asked him if
he had looked at the MS. I have run my eye over it, said he, but it is
so much obscured by time that it can scarcely be deciphered. It appears
to exhibit a strange romantic story; and I do not wonder that after you
had suffered its terrors to impress your imagination, you fancied you
saw spectres and heard wondrous noises.
Adeline thought La Motte did not choose to be convinced, and she
therefore forbore reply. During breakfast she often looked at Peter (who
waited) with anxious inquiry; and from his countenance was still more
assured that he had something of importance to communicate. In the hope
of some conversation with him, she left the room as soon as possible,
and repaired to her favourite avenue, where she had not long remained
when he appeared.
God bless you! Ma'mselle, said he, I'm sorry I frighted you so last
night.
Frighted me, said Adeline; how was you concerned in that?
He then informed her that when he thought Monsieur and Madame La Motte
were asleep, he had stolen to her chamber door, with an intention of
giving her the sequel of what he had begun in the morning; that he had
called several times as loudly as he dared; but receiving no answer, he
believed she was asleep, or did not choose to speak with him, and he had
therefore left the door. This account of the voice she had heard,
relieved Adeline's spirits; she was even surprised that she did not know
it, till remembering the perturbation of her mind for some time
preceding, this surprise disappeared.
She entreated Peter to be brief in explaining the danger with which she
was threatened. If you'll let me go on my own way, Ma'am, you'll soon
know it; but if you hurry me, and ask me questions here and there, out
of their places, I don't know what I am saying.
Be it so, said Adeline; only, remember that we may be observed.
Yes. Ma'mselle, I'm as much afraid of that as you are, for I believe I
should be almost as ill off; however, that is neither here nor there,
but I'm sure if you stay in this old abbey another night it will be
worse for you; for, as I said before, I know all about it.
What mean you, Peter?
Why, about this scheme that's going on.
What then, is my father----?--Your father! interrupted Peter; Lord bless
you, that is all fudge, to frighten you: your father, _nor nobody_ else
has ever sent after you; I dare say he knows no more of you than the
Pope does--not he. Adeline looked displeased. You trifle, said she; if
you have any thing to tell, say it quickly; I am in haste.
Bless you, young lady, I meant no harm, I hope you're not angry; but I'm
sure you can't deny that your father is cruel. But as I was saying, the
Marquis de Montalt likes you; and he and my master (Peter looked round)
have been laying their heads together about you. Adeline turned pale;
she comprehended a part of the truth, and eagerly entreated him to
proceed.
They have been laying their heads together about you. This is what
Jaques the Marquis's man tells me: Says he, Peter, you little know what
is going on: I could tell all if I chose it; but it is not for those who
are trusted to tell again. I warrant now your master is close enough
with you. Upon which I was piqued, and resolved to make him believe I
could be trusted as well as he. Perhaps not says I; perhaps I know as
much as you, though I do not choose to brag on't; and I winked.--Do you
so? says he, then you are closer than I thought for. She is a fine girl,
says he,--meaning you Ma'mselle; but she is nothing but a poor foundling
after all, so it does not much signify. I had a mind to know further
what he meant--so I did not knock him down. By seeming to know as much
as he, I at last made him discover all; and he told me--but you look
pale, Ma'mselle, are you ill?
No, said Adeline in a tremulous accent, and scarcely able to support
herself; pray proceed.
And he told me that the Marquis had been courting you a good while, but
you would not listen to him, and had even pretended he would marry you,
and all would not do. As for marriage, says I, I suppose she knows the
Marchioness is alive; and I'm sure she is not one for his turn upon
other terms.
The Marchioness is really living then! said Adeline.
O yes, Ma'mselle! we all know that, and I thought you had known it
too.--We shall see that, replies Jaques; at least, I believe that our
master will outwit her.--I stared; I could not help it.--Aye, says he,
you know your master has agreed to give her up to my Lord.
Good God! what will become of me? exclaimed Adeline.
Aye, Ma'mselle, I am sorry for you; but hear me out. When Jaques said
this, I quite forgot myself: I'll never believe it, said I, I'll never
believe my master would be guilty of such a base action; he'll not give
her up, or I'm no Christian.--Oh! said, Jaques, for that matter, I
thought you'd known all, else I should not have said a word about it.
However, you may soon satisfy yourself by going to the parlour door, as
I have done; they're in consultation about it now, I dare say.
You need not repeat any more of this conversation, said Adeline; but
tell me the result of what you heard from the parlour.
Why, Ma'mselle, when he said this, I took him at his word, and went to
the door, where, sure enough, I heard my master and the Marquis talking
about you. They said a great deal which I could make nothing of; but, at
last, I heard the Marquis say, You know the terms; on these terms only
will I consent to bury the past in ob--ob--oblivion----that was the
word. Monsieur La Motte then told the Marquis, if he would return to the
abbey upon such a night, meaning this very night, Ma'mselle, every thing
should be prepared according to his wishes;--Adeline shall then be
yours, my Lord, said he--you are already acquainted with her chamber.
At these words Adeline clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven
in silent despair.--Peter went on. When I heard this, I could not doubt
what Jaques had said.--Well, said he, what do you think of it now?--Why,
that my master's a rascal, says I.--It's well you don't think mine one
too, says he.--Why, as for that matter, says I----Adeline, interrupting
him, inquired if he had heard any thing further. Just then, said Peter,
we heard Madame La Motte come out from another room, and so we made
haste back to the kitchen.
She was not present at this conversation then? said Adeline. No,
Ma'mselle; but my master has told her of it, I warrant. Adeline was
almost as much shocked by this apparent perfidy of Madame La Motte, as
by a knowledge of the destruction that threatened her. After musing a
few moments in extreme agitation, Peter, said she, you have a good
heart, and feel a just indignation at your master's treachery--will you
assist me to escape?
Ah, Ma'mselle! said he, how can I assist you? besides, where can we go?
I have no friends about here, no more than yourself.
O! replied Adeline in extreme emotion, we fly from enemies; strangers
may prove friends: assist me but to escape from this forest, and you
will claim my eternal gratitude; I have no fears beyond it.
Why as for this forest, replied Peter, I am weary of it myself; though
when we first came I thought it would be fine living here, at least, I
thought it was very different from any life I had ever lived before. But
these ghosts that haunt the abbey--I am no more a coward than other men,
but I don't like them; and then there is so many strange reports abroad;
and my master--I thought I could have served him to the end of the
world, but now I care not how soon I leave him, for his behaviour to
you, Ma'mselle.
You consent then to assist me in escaping? said Adeline with eagerness.
Why as to that, Ma'mselle, I would willingly, if I knew where to go. To
be sure I have a sister lives in Savoy, but that is a great way off; and
I have saved a little money out of my wages, but that won't carry us
such a long journey.
Regard not that, said Adeline; if I was once beyond this forest, I would
then endeavour to take care of myself, and repay you for your kindness.
O! as for that, Madam----Well, well, Peter, let us consider how we may
escape. This night--say you this night--the Marquis is to return? Yes,
Ma'mselle, to-night about dark. I have just thought of a scheme:--my
master's horses are grazing in the forest; we may take one of them, and
send it back from the first stage: but how shall we avoid being seen?
besides if we go off in the daylight, he will soon pursue and overtake
us; and if you stay till night, the Marquis will be come, and then there
is no chance. If they miss us both at the same time too, they'll guess
how it is, and set off directly. Could not you contrive to go first, and
wait for me till the hurly-burly's over? Then, while they're searching
in the place under ground for you, I can slip away, and we should be out
of their reach before they thought of pursuing us.
[Illustration 04]
Adeline agreed to the truth of all this, and was somewhat surprised at
Peter's sagacity. She inquired if he knew of any place in the
neighbourhood of the abbey, where she could remain concealed, till he
came with a horse. Why yes, Madam, there is a place, now I think of it,
where you may be safe enough, for nobody goes near; but they say it's
haunted, and perhaps you would not like to go there. Adeline,
remembering the last night, was somewhat startled at this intelligence;
but a sense of her present danger pressed again upon her mind, and
overcame every other apprehension. Where is this place? said she; if it
will conceal me, I shall not hesitate to go.
It is an old tomb that stands in the thickest part of the forest, about
a quarter of a mile off the nearest way and almost a mile the other.
When my master used to hide himself so much in the forest, I have
followed him somewhere thereabouts, but I did not find out the tomb till
t'other day. However, that's neither here nor there; if you dare venture
to it, Ma'mselle, I'll show you the nearest way. So saying he pointed to
a winding path on the right. Adeline, having looked round without
perceiving any person near, directed Peter to lead her to the tomb: they
pursued the path, till turning into a gloomy romantic part of the
forest, almost impervious to the rays of the sun, they came to the spot
whither Louis had formerly traced his father.
The stillness and solemnity of the scene struck awe upon the heart of
Adeline, who paused and surveyed it for some time in silence. At length
Peter led her into the interior part of the ruin, to which they
descended by several steps. Some old abbot, said he, was formerly buried
here, as the Marquis's people say; and it's like enough that he belonged
to the abbey yonder. But I don't see why he should take it in his head
to walk; _he_ was not murdered, surely!
I hope not, said Adeline.
That's more than can be said for all that lies buried at the abbey
though, and----Adeline interrupted him: Hark! surely I hear a noise,
said she; Heaven protect us from discovery! They listened, but all was
still; and they went on. Peter opened a low door, and they entered upon
a dark passage, frequently obstructed by loose fragments of stone, and
along which they moved with caution. Whither are we going? said
Adeline.--I scarcely know myself, said Peter, for I never was so far
before, but the place seems quiet enough. Something obstructed his way;
it was a door which yielded to his hand, and discovered a kind of cell
obscurely seen by the twilight admitted through a grate above. A partial
gleam shot athwart the place, leaving the greatest part of it in shadow.
Adeline sighed as she surveyed it. This is a frightful spot, said she:
but if it will afford me a shelter, it is a palace. Remember, Peter,
that my peace and honour depend upon your faithfulness; be both discreet
and resolute. In the dusk of the evening, I can pass from the abbey with
least danger of being observed, and in this cell I will wait your
arrival. As soon as Monsieur and Madame La Motte are engaged in
searching the vaults, you will bring here a horse; three knocks upon the
tomb shall inform me of your arrival. For Heaven's sake be cautious, and
be punctual!
I will, Ma'mselle, let come what may.
They re-ascended to the forest; and Adeline fearful of observation,
directed Peter, to run first to the abbey, and invent some excuse for
his absence, if he had been missed. When she was again alone, she
yielded to a flood of tears, and indulged the excess of her distress.
She saw herself without friends, without relations, destitute, forlorn,
and abandoned to the worst of evils; betrayed by the very persons to
whose comfort she had so long administered, whom she had loved as her
protectors, and revered as her parents! These reflections touched her
heart with the most afflicting sensations, and the sense of her
immediate danger was for a while absorbed in the grief occasioned by a
discovery of such guilt in others.
At length she roused all her fortitude, and turning towards the abbey
endeavoured to await with patience the hour of evening, and to sustain
an appearance of composure in the presence of Monsieur and Madame La
Motte. For the present she wished to avoid seeing either of them,
doubting her ability to disguise her emotions: having reached the abbey,
she therefore passed on to her chamber. Here she endeavoured to direct
her attention to indifferent subjects, but in vain; the danger of her
situation, and the severe disappointment she had received in the
character of those whom she had so much esteemed and even loved, pressed
hard upon her thoughts. To a generous mind few circumstances are more
afflicting than a discovery of perfidy in those whom we have trusted,
even though it may fail of any absolute inconvenience to ourselves. The
behaviour of Madame La Motte in thus, by concealment, conspiring to her
destruction, particularly shocked her.
How has my imagination deceived me! said she; what a picture did it draw
of the goodness of the world! And must I then believe that every body is
cruel and deceitful? No--let me still be deceived, and still suffer,
rather than be condemned to a state of such wretched suspicion. She now
endeavoured to extenuate the conduct of Madame La Motte, by attributing
it to a fear of her husband. She dares not oppose his will, said she,
else she would warn me of my danger, and assist me to escape from it.
No--I will never believe her capable of conspiring my ruin; terror alone
keeps her silent.
Adeline was somewhat comforted by this thought. The benevolence of her
heart taught her, in this instance to sophisticate. She perceived not,
that by ascribing the conduct of Madame La Motte to terror, she only
softened the degree of her guilt, imputing it to a motive less depraved
but not less selfish. She remained in her chamber till summoned to
dinner, when, drying her tears, she descended with faltering steps and a
palpitating heart to the parlour. When she saw La Motte, in spite of all
her efforts she trembled and grew pale; she could not behold even with
apparent indifference the man who she knew had destined her to
destruction. He observed her emotion, and inquiring if she was ill, she
saw the danger to which her agitation exposed her. Fearful lest La Motte
should suspect its true cause, she rallied all her spirits, and with a
look of complacency answered she was well.
During dinner she preserved a degree of composure that effectually
concealed the varied anguish of her heart. When she looked at La Motte,
terror and indignation were her predominant feelings; but when she
regarded Madame La Motte, it was otherwise: gratitude for her former
tenderness had long been confirmed into affection, and her heart now
swelled with the bitterness of grief and disappointment. Madame La Motte
appeared depressed and said little. La Motte seemed anxious to prevent
thought, by assuming a fictitious and unnatural gaiety: he laughed and
talked, and threw off frequent bumpers of wine: it was the mirth of
desperation. Madame became alarmed, and would have restrained him; but
he persisted in his libations to Bacchus till reflection seemed to be
almost overcome.
Madame La Motte, fearful that in the carelessness of the present moment
he might betray himself, withdrew with Adeline to another room. Adeline
recollected the happy hours she once passed with her, when confidence
banished reserve, and sympathy and esteem dictated the sentiments of
friendship: now those hours were gone for ever; she could no longer
unbosom her griefs to Madame La Motte, no longer even esteem her. Yet,
notwithstanding all the danger to which she was exposed by the criminal
silence of the latter, she could not converse with her, consciously for
the last time, without feeling a degree of sorrow which wisdom may call
weakness, but to which benevolence will allow a softer name.
Madame La Motte in her conversation appeared to labour under an almost
equal oppression with Adeline: her thoughts were abstracted from the
subject of discourse, and there were long and frequent intervals of
silence. Adeline more than once caught her gazing with a look of
tenderness upon her, and saw her eyes fill with tears. By this
circumstance she was so much affected, that she was several times upon
the point of throwing herself at her feet, and imploring her pity and
protection. Cooler reflection showed her the extravagance and danger of
this conduct: she suppressed her emotions, but they at length compelled
her to withdraw from the presence of Madame La Motte.