...... Heaven is just!
And, when the measure of his crimes is full,
Will bare its red right arm, and launch its lightnings.
MASON.
The day of the trial so anxiously awaited, and on which the fate of so
many persons depended, at length arrived. Adeline, accompanied by M.
Verneuil and Madame La Motte, appeared as the prosecutor of the Marquis
de Montalt; and D'Aunoy, Du Bosse, Louis de La Motte, and several other
persons, as witnesses in her cause. The judges were some of the most
distinguished in France, and the advocates on both sides men of eminent
abilities. On a trial of such importance the court, as may be imagined,
was crowded with persons of distinction, and the spectacle it presented
was strikingly solemn, yet magnificent.
When she appeared before the tribunal, Adeline's emotion surpassed all
the arts of disguise; but, adding to the natural dignity of her air an
expression of soft timidity, and to her downcast eyes a sweet confusion,
it rendered her an object still more interesting; and she attracted the
universal pity and admiration of the assembly. When she ventured to
raise her eyes, she perceived that the Marquis was not yet in the court;
and while she awaited his appearance in trembling expectation, a
confused murmuring rose in a distant part of the hall. Her spirits now
almost forsook her; the certainty of seeing immediately, and
consciously, the murderer of her father, chilled her with horror, and
she was with difficulty preserved from fainting. A low sound now ran
through the court, and an air of confusion appeared, which was soon
communicated to the tribunal itself. Several of the members arose, some
left the hall, the whole place exhibited a scene of disorder, and a
report at length reached Adeline that the Marquis de Montalt was dying.
A considerable time elapsed in uncertainty: but the confusion continued;
the Marquis did not appear, and at Adeline's request M. Verneuil went in
quest of more positive information.
He followed a crowd which was hurrying towards the Chatelet, and with
some difficulty gained admittance into the prison; but the porter at the
gate, whom he had bribed for a passport, could give him no certain
information on the subject of his inquiry, and not being at liberty to
quit his post, furnished M. Verneuil with only a vague direction to the
Marquis's apartment. The courts were silent and deserted; but as he
advanced, a distant hum of voices led him on, till, perceiving several
persons running towards a staircase which appeared beyond the archway of
a long passage, he followed thither, and learned that the Marquis was
certainly dying. The staircase was filled with people; he endeavoured to
press through the crowd, and after much struggle and difficulty he
reached the door of an ante-room which communicated with the apartment
where the Marquis lay, and whence several persons now issued. Here he
learned that the object of his inquiry was already dead. M. Verneuil,
however, pressed through the ante-room to the chamber where lay the
Marquis on a bed surrounded by officers of the law, and two notaries,
who appeared to have been taking down depositions. His countenance was
suffused with a black and deadly hue, and impressed with the horrors of
death. M. Verneuil turned away, shocked by the spectacle; and on inquiry
heard that the Marquis had died by poison.
It appeared that, convinced he had nothing to hope from his trial, he
had taken this method of avoiding an ignominious death. In the last
hours of life, while tortured with the remembrance of his crime, he
resolved to make all the atonement that remained for him; and having
swallowed the potion, he immediately sent for a confessor to take a full
confession of his guilt, and two notaries, and thus establish Adeline
beyond dispute in the rights of her birth: and also bequeathed her a
considerable legacy.
In consequence of these depositions she was soon after formally
acknowledged as the daughter and heiress of Henri, Marquis de Montalt,
and the rich estates of her father were restored to her. She immediately
threw herself at the feet of the king in behalf of Theodore and of La
Motte. The character of the former, the cause in which he had risked his
life, the occasion of the late Marquis's enmity towards him, were
circumstances so notorious and so forcible, that it is more than
probable the monarch would have granted his pardon to a pleader less
irresistible than was Adeline de Montalt. Theodore La Luc not only
received an ample pardon, but, in consideration of his gallant conduct
towards Adeline, he was soon after raised to a post of considerable rank
in the army.
For La Motte, who had been condemned for the robbery on full evidence,
and who had been also charged with the crime which had formerly
compelled him to quit Paris, a pardon could not be obtained; but, at the
earnest supplication of Adeline, and in consideration of the service he
had finally rendered her, his sentence was softened from death to
banishment. This indulgence, however, would have availed him little, had
not the noble generosity of Adeline silenced other prosecutions that
were preparing against him, and bestowed on him a sum more than
sufficient to support his family in a foreign country. This kindness
operated so powerfully upon his heart, which had been betrayed through
weakness rather than natural depravity, and awakened so keen a remorse
for the injuries he had once meditated against a benefactress so noble,
that his former habits became odious to him, and his character gradually
recovered the hue which it would probably always have worn had he never
been exposed to the tempting dissipations of Paris.
The passion which Louis had so long owned for Adeline was raised almost
to adoration by her late conduct; but he now relinquished even the faint
hope which he had hitherto almost unconsciously cherished; and since the
life which was granted to Theodore rendered this sacrifice necessary, he
could not repine. He resolved, however, to seek in absence the
tranquillity he had lost, and to place his future happiness on that of
two persons so deservedly dear to him.
On the eve of his departure, La Motte and his family took a very
affecting leave of Adeline; he left Paris for England, where it was his
design to settle; and Louis, who was eager to fly from her enchantments,
set out on the same day for his regiment.
Adeline remained some time at Paris to settle her affairs, where she was
introduced by M. Verneuil to the few and distant relations that remained
of her family. Among these were the Count and Countess D----, and the
Monsieur Amand who had so much engaged her pity and esteem at Nice. The
lady whose death he lamented was of the family of De Montalt; and the
resemblance which he had traced between her features and those of
Adeline, her cousin, was something more than the effect of fancy. The
death of his elder brother had abruptly recalled him from Italy; but
Adeline had the satisfaction to observe, that the heavy melancholy which
formerly oppressed him, had yielded to a sort of placid resignation, and
that his countenance was often enlivened by a transient gleam of
cheerfulness.
The Count and Countess D----, who were much interested by her goodness
and beauty, invited her to make their hotel her residence while she
remained at Paris.
Her first care was to have the remains of her parent removed from the
abbey of St. Clair, and deposited in the vault of his ancestors. D'Aunoy
was tried, condemned, and hanged, for the murder. At the place of
execution he had described the spot where the remains of the Marquis
were concealed, which was in the stone room already mentioned belonging
to the abbey. M. Verneuil accompanied the officers appointed for the
search, and attended the ashes of the Marquis to St. Maur, an estate in
one of the northern provinces. There they were deposited with the solemn
funeral pomp becoming his rank; Adeline attended as chief mourner; and
this last duty paid to the memory of her parent, she became more
tranquil and resigned. The MS. that recorded his sufferings had been
found at the abbey, and delivered to her by M. Verneuil, and she
preserved it with the pious enthusiasm so sacred a relique deserved.
On her return to Paris, Theodore La Luc, who was come from Montpellier,
awaited her arrival. The happiness of this meeting was clouded by the
account he brought of his father, whose extreme danger had alone
withheld him from hastening the moment he obtained his liberty to thank
Adeline for the life she had preserved. She now received him as the
friend to whom she was indebted for her preservation, and as the lover
who deserved and possessed her tenderest affection. The remembrance of
the circumstances under which they had last met, and of their mutual
anguish, rendered more exquisite the happiness of the present moments,
when, no longer oppressed by the horrid prospect of ignominious death
and final separation, they looked forward only to the smiling days that
awaited them, when hand in hand they should tread the flowery scenes of
life. The contrast which memory drew of the past with the present,
frequently drew tears of tenderness and gratitude to their eyes; and the
sweet smile which seemed struggling to dispel from the countenance of
Adeline those gems of sorrow, penetrated the heart of Theodore, and
brought to his recollection a little song which in other circumstances
he had formerly sung to her. He took up a lute that lay on the table,
and touching the dulcet chords, accompanied it with the following
words:--
SONG
The rose that weeps with morning dew,
And glitters in the sunny ray,
In tears and smiles resembles you,
When Love breaks sorrow's cloud away.
The dews that bend the blushing flower
Enrich the scent--renew the glow;
So Love's sweet tears exalt his power,
So bliss more brightly shines by woe!
Her affection for Theodore had induced Adeline to reject several suitors
whom her goodness, beauty, and wealth, had already attracted, and who,
though infinitely his superiors in point of fortune, were many of them
inferior to him in family, and all of them in merit.
The various and tumultuous emotions which the late events had called
forth in the bosom of Adeline were now subsided; but the memory of her
father still tinctured her mind with a melancholy that time only could
subdue; and she refused to listen to the supplications of Theodore, till
the period she had prescribed for her mourning should be expired. The
necessity of rejoining his regiment obliged him to leave Paris within
the fortnight after his arrival; but he carried with him assurance of
receiving her hand soon after she should lay aside her sable habit, and
departed therefore with tolerable composure.
M. La Luc's very precarious state was a source of incessant disquietude
to Adeline, and she determined to accompany M. Verneuil, who was now the
declared lover of Clara, to Montpellier, whither La Luc had immediately
gone on the liberation of his son. For this journey she was preparing,
when she received from her friend a flattering account of his amendment;
and as some further settlement of her affairs required her presence at
Paris, she deferred her design, and M. Verneuil departed alone.
When Theodore's affairs assumed a more favourable aspect, M. Verneuil
had written to La Luc, and communicated to him the secret of his heart
respecting Clara. La Luc, who admired and esteemed M. Verneuil, and who
was not ignorant of his family connexions, was pleased with the proposed
alliance. Clara thought she had never seen any person whom she was so
much inclined to love; and M. Verneuil received an answer favourable to
his wishes, and which encouraged him to undertake the present journey to
Montpellier.
The restoration of his happiness and the climate of Montpellier did all
for the health of La Luc that his most anxious friends could wish, and
he was at length so far recovered as to visit Adeline at her estate of
St. Maur. Clara and M. Verneuil accompanied him, and a cessation of
hostilities between France and Spain soon after permitted Theodore to
join this happy party. When La Luc, thus restored to those most dear to
him, looked back on the miseries he had escaped, and forward to the
blessings that awaited him, his heart dilated with emotions of exquisite
joy and gratitude; and his venerable countenance, softened by an
expression of complacent delight, exhibited a perfect picture of happy
age.