For one moment--it could scarcely be more--the old Marchioness de
Chazeul gazed down upon the pavement of the hall after her brother had
left them; and then looking up, with the demon smile which was not
uncommon upon her countenance, when anything especially daring and
evil was working in her mind, she took her son's arm, and gazing in
his face, said in a low sarcastic tone, "Do you know, my son Nicholas,
you are but a fool after all?"
"Indeed, sweet mother?" said the worthy offspring of such a parent,
with a look of supercilious indifference; "I am glad to hear you think
so. Variety is charming in a family; and I have heard men say that you
are no fool. But may I know how I have merited the pleasant
appellation you so glibly bestow upon me? What have I done, said, or
thought, which deserves that ancient and honourable title?"
"You have thought that this girl can be won by civility, flattering,
coaxing, and tenderness," replied the Marchioness; "and therefore you
are a fool, as well as my weak brother, your uncle. It needs but a
glance of her eye; it needs but a word from her lip, to show that such
means are as vain as whistling to the wind. I tell you, Chazeul, and I
tell you true, that force--force--do you mark me? force is the only
engine you can employ against this haughty spirit. Ay, and it must be
applied quickly, if you would have your bride. She knows more than we
imagine--she knows all, that is clear. There is now no stopping in
midway. You must overleap all idle barriers; rend to pieces all
morsels of black and white parchment. You must render yourself the
only man she can marry; and all will be soon yours."
"But what course would you have me pursue, my most politic mother?"
asked Chazeul; "If one frightens and alarms her, she will only shrink
from me the more."
"Let her shrink," cried the Marchioness. "What matters her shrinking,
to you? Do not pretend to things you do not feel. She must be your
wife, Chazeul, shrinking or willingly; and which, matters not much,
either to you or me. She must be yours, I say; and as it is clear that
she will not with her consent, it must be without."
"But how? but how is this to be accomplished?" demanded her son. "Here
are a thousand obstacles, good lady. We must work through my uncle,
and you must see that it is vain to hope he will use any violent
means. How weakly he answered me this morning, when Nemours' trumpet
came!"
"We must act through some one else," answered the Marchioness. "He is
not to be trusted, but when he considers his rights invaded; and 'tis
useless to think of employing him. We must find another, and get him
to aid our plan."
"But what is that plan?" demanded the young nobleman. "Let me hear in
a word what is the purport of all these hints?--How is it to be done?"
"By various ways," replied Madame de Chazeul. "First and above all,
you must remove from this busy scene the man whom she fancies that she
loves."
"Remove him!" exclaimed Chazeul; "I know not how. He is surrounded by
people devoted to him. I should find some difficulty.--He is now in
the hands of Nemours too, who would not suffer it. The Duke is
scrupulous in such matters."
Such were the words of Chazeul. He expressed no surprise; he displayed
no horror at the proposal; but in those days such thoughts were
familiar to the minds of most men. In the preceding reign, private
assassination had been one of the means of war, so often really
committed by persons high in station and education, that rumour as
usual exceeded the truth, and no death took place with circumstances
at all out of the common course, without being attributed to the
agency of man. The revenge of individuals, the malignity of faction,
the policy of states, all took the same direction; and kings and
princes prompted and paid for dark deeds of blood, as well as the
corrupt minions of the court, and the vicious women with whom it was
thronged. Each day some murder had stained the records of the country,
and men had more cause to guard themselves against the covert enmity
of the rival in ambition or in love, than against the open wrath of
the acknowledged foe. So common, indeed, had such crimes become, that
circumstances were supposed to justify, and custom to palliate them;
and when they were discovered, no wonder or disgust was excited, and
multitudes who had taken no part in the deed itself, were found to
conceal, protect, and plead for the assassin. It was an age of crime.
Chazeul, then, and his mother discussed the means of removing De
Montigni from their path, as calmly as if they had been laying out
some party of pleasure; there was no hesitation, no repugnance, no
tragic movings of remorse. The difficulties were all that were
considered and how to obviate them. It was of everyday deeds and
events they spoke, and they conversed over them in an every-day tone.
"I do not see," replied the Marchioness, "why that should prevent the
business. His being in the hands of Nemours, but fastens him to one
spot, where he can always be reached."
"But there will be guards and people about him," said Chazeul, "who
would give him help. To accomplish it, we should need too many men, to
be able to introduce them quietly."
"Too many men!" cried his mother with a laugh; "why, you soldiers
always are thinking of violence, and swords, and daggers. You do not
fancy, do you, that I would have recourse to means so rough? Out
upon such coarse handy-work! One little cup of drink--one savoury
ragout--will do the deed better than bullet or steel, and put you in
possession of Liancourt as well as Marennes. But leave that to me, for
you seem unskilful in such matters. You must have both; and your task
must be with the girl--leave me the man. We must have no more
trifling, Chazeul, or secrets may come out which it were well to hide
till you have obtained all that you can desire. The girl must be yours
before two days have past--did you not mark her words?"
"I marked many of them," replied Chazeul; "they were well worthy of
notice.--But which do you mean?"
"Are you so dull?" asked his mother. "Did you not hear her say, that
you had deceived others as well as herself? and did not your own mind
read the comment?--Hark ye, boy! Did you ever see or know a person--a
sweet tender, delicate creature, called Helen de la Tremblade?"
Chazeul's cheek grew pale and then red; not from remorse; not from
shame; but from dread. It was dread, however, of only one human being.
All the world might have been made aware of his baseness, without
causing him a care or anxiety, if he could have kept it from his
mother. But he knew her well, the dark and fiendish nature of her
character, her remorseless seeking for her own ends, her vindictive
hatred of all those who offended her, and the little regard she had
for any tie, in pursuit of her own objects. Vanity, vice, and
intemperate passions, had not yet altogether quenched every natural
feeling in his heart; and some lingering affection for the unhappy
girl he had injured, made him apprehensive for her, more than for
himself. His mother might use the knowledge she had obtained, to drive
him in the course she thought fit, or to frustrate his purposes if he
opposed her, but she would do no more as far as he was concerned. The
result to Helen, however, might be death, or worse than death; and,
for a moment or two, he remained silent, considering how he should
act.
The keen eye of Madame de Chazeul was upon his countenance all the
time, marking every change of expression, and translating all she
marked; but after waiting his answer for some time, she demanded, "You
have heard of such a person, have you not?"
"Well," he replied somewhat impatiently, "what of her? What has
Mademoiselle d'Albret to do with Helen?"
"Ha, ha, ha," cried Madame de Chazeul, with a bitter laugh. "What has
she to do with Helen! Why, simply to tell Walter de la Tremblade, that
gay Nicholas de Chazeul has made a paramour of his niece, in order to
raise a devil that will soon send all our projects flying to the
wind.--You now see there is no time to be lost. The thing cannot long
be kept secret. This girl has got some inkling of the truth, and she
must be your wife before she can hint her suspicions to him, and he
inquire into the facts."
Chazeul paused, and thought for a moment, and then repeated his
mother's words. "The thing cannot long be kept secret!--why not?--What
have you done with her, my good mother?--Something assuredly; for
Helen would keep her own counsel.--You have not put her to death,
surely?"
"Not I," cried Madame de Chazeul. "I am not called upon to punish such
sins as that. It's only when people stand in the way, that wise men
put them to death. There, be satisfied,--be satisfied. I have done her
no harm; but, as I told you, the thing cannot long be concealed. Rose
d'Albret has obtained some intimation of it. Of that I am sure by her
manner. The old priest will wonder that his niece does not come
hither, for I told him she was ill, or I would have brought her; and
he will go to see her, so that I say, it cannot be long concealed. You
must use your time, therefore, busily."
Chazeul saw that his mother did not tell him all; but he was well
aware, that it was impossible to obtain the straightforward truth from
her, when she, wished to conceal it, and accordingly following the
bent which she gave to the conversation herself, he asked, "But
how--how am I to use my time busily and to good purpose? I, unaided,
cannot force Rose d'Albret to give me her hand. If my uncle would
assist vigorously, we might indeed succeed. But he is timid, as you
know, in action, however bold he may be in words; and depend upon it,
we shall need strong measures to induce her to yield."
"Ay, strong measures indeed," replied his mother, "but they may be
used without my brother's will or consent; and, if you manage matters
rightly, you may make the lady less positive than she is at present.
Hark ye, Chazeul, a word in your ear!" He bent down his head, and the
Marchioness whispered to him a few brief words.
"No, no!--Impossible," he cried; "utterly impossible! The maid sleeps
in the ante-chamber, the priest in the next room.--'Tis quite in
vain."
"Why, foolish boy," replied his mother, "I mean no violence--I mean no
wrong. You do not comprehend me. Do you not know, how much store she
sets upon virtue and reputation? She would never consent to carry to
Louis de Montigni, a sullied name. Let but her fame be in your hands;
let us but be able to prove that you have passed the night in her
chamber; and we shall have no more idle resistance. The girl
Blanchette will give you admittance, and be a witness also. Then keep
as still as death for an hour or two, leave something on the table--a
glove--a hat--anything in short, to mark that you have been there, and
to show her herself that it is so, without your telling her."
Chazeul paused and meditated. He thought the scheme not unlikely to
succeed; and yet he feared to undertake it. If discovered, he knew
that it would prove his ruin with his uncle; and he did not see how he
could bring it to work upon the mind of Rose herself, without
acknowledging the truth or more than the truth to Monsieur de
Liancourt. Just as he was about to reply, the Count himself returned
with father Walter; and one of the servants entered at the same time
to light the sconces in the hall. Madame de Chazeul held up her
finger; as a warning to be silent; and as soon as the attendant was
gone, the Marchioness turned to her brother, inquiring, "Well, what
have you done with this obstinate girl, Anthony?"
"In good faith, nothing," replied the Count; "she was more mild and
gentle than with you; and I left her weeping; but she is as firm as
ever."
"Well," said Madame de Chazeul, in an indifferent tone, "if she will
not by fair means, she must by force. We have every right to compel
her to do that which is good for her."
Monsieur de Liancourt shook his head doubtfully, saying, "I do not
know."
"Ah, my good brother," answered Madame de Chazeul in a bitter tone, "a
battle lost makes great difference with doubtful friends. What say
you, Monsieur de la Tremblade? Are you for giving up the Holy Catholic
Union, and bestowing the lands of Marennes and Liancourt upon a
supporter of the heretics?"
"Far from it, Madam," replied Walter de la Tremblade. "If anything,
this unfortunate defeat should make us more zealous, active, and
determined. The party of the League is the party of truth and
religion; and doubtless it will ultimately triumph. It should be our
part to promote it the more strenuously, as each new obstacle arises;
and I must say that, conscientiously, no guardian could bestow the
hand of his ward upon a man, who, like Monsieur de Montigni, has drawn
his sword against his religion."
"But that is a different thing," said Monsieur de Liancourt "from
forcing her to a marriage without her consent."
"Not altogether," answered the priest. "If you do not compel her to
wed the one, she will wed the other; and when she finds there is no
escape, most probably her resistance will give way."
Madame de Chazeul watched the countenance of father Walter while he
spoke, and listened, well satisfied, to words which showed her beyond
all doubt, that neither her own conduct towards his niece, nor that of
her son, was ever dreamt of by Walter de la Tremblade. "If we can
accomplish this marriage," she thought "within a few hours all will be
safe. He may rage then, as much as he will. It is amusing enough, to
make him aid in bringing about that, which he will wish undone, when
he knows the truth."
"What you say is very true, father," rejoined the Count, "but I see
not what means one can employ actually to force her. As she said to me
but now, we may drag her to the altar, but she will refuse the vow,
and protest against it in the face of God and man."
"Such things have taken place," said Walter de la Tremblade, "and yet
the ceremony has proceeded."
"But then, the contract," said Monsieur de Liancourt. "If she will not
sign it, how can we force her?"
"Oh, leave all that to me," cried Madame de Chazeul. "If you, brother,
will only promise not to interfere, except by exerting your authority
on behalf of your nephew, and laying your commands upon her to marry
him, I will do all the rest."
"But I fear your violence, my good sister," replied the Count.
Madame de Chazeul was about to answer, when a servant again entered
the hall; and Monsieur de Liancourt exclaimed impatiently, "what now?"
"A messenger is just arrived from Chartres, Sir," replied the man,
"with orders for Monsieur de Mottraye who escorted Mademoiselle Rose
back, to return without a moment's delay, as the town is menaced by
the King. He brings tidings, too, Sir, that a duel has been fought
between Monsieur de Montigni and my lord of Nemours."
"Nemours has killed him for a thousand crowns," cried Chazeul, as
joyfully as if De Montigni had shown himself his bitterest enemy
through life.
"What more? what more?" cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "which of them
fell?"
"He knew little about it, Sir," replied the servant, "for he came
away, before the matter had spread over the town."
"I will go and see him," exclaimed Chazeul. "Nemours has killed him
without doubt."
Thus saying, he hurried away, and was absent for several minutes,
during which time the Marchioness talked in a low voice to the priest.
But the Count remained standing in the middle of the room, with his
eyes bent down and his heart sad. He could not but recollect the days
that were passed. The boy whom he had brought up from early years, the
graces and high qualities he had displayed, and many a little act, and
many a little scene, forgotten till that moment, rose up reproachfully
before his eyes, and for the time filled him with grief, and with
remorse. The voice of conscience, which in its own hour will be heard,
told him that the deed was his, that, had he not attempted to injure
and deceive his sister's son, all the long train of dark and sad
events, which had filled the last few days, would not have happened,
that joy, and peace, and mutual love, and kindly affection might have
reigned, where strife and evil passion, violence and death, had been
introduced, as the black followers of fraud. His brother and his
nephew, both were gone in a few short days; and his heart told him,
that the virtuous and the good had been cut off, while the dishonest
and the vile remained!
It was but during a few minutes, however, that such thoughts oppressed
him; for vanity, his besetting sin, the besetting sin of so many, the
salve with which the devil medicates all the wounds of conscience was
soon brought to his relief. He was too vain to believe, for any length
of time, that he could do wrong, even though the warning angel of the
human heart thundered it in his ear. "Had De Montigni done as he was
asked," he thought, after he had mastered the first impression,
"nothing of this kind would have happened. It is all in consequence of
his own obstinacy. What a sad thing it is, that men will not be
persuaded to their own good!"
As these comforting reflections passed through his mind, Chazeul
re-entered the hall. "He is dead," he cried, "beyond all doubt he is
dead. The man himself saw Nemours come back into the city, alone and
uninjured."
"Well, then," said Madame de Chazeul, "we are saved all farther
trouble; for now you are the only heir. You had better go and tell her
the news, Chazeul. Perhaps it may deliver her from as great an
embarrassment as any one feels."
"Fie now, Jacqueline! Fie now!" cried the Count. "You know not her
heart or feelings."
"I know very well, my good brother," replied Madame de Chazeul, "that
women if they have said a thing, often adhere to it with the constancy
of a martyr, when they would give their right hand for a fair excuse
for changing; but vanity keeps them to the point, with a much firmer
sort of resolution than conviction can supply. Do not tell me about
her feelings! I know my own sex far better than you do; and I am sure
there is not one woman out often, who would not rejoice at the death
of her dearest friend, if it delivered her from a great
embarrassment."
"I find the church is merciful as well as wise, in imposing celibacy
upon its priesthood," said father Walter, with a cold sarcastic smile.
"But, indeed, I think it would be better, not to tell Mademoiselle
d'Albret to-night. She must be fatigued; her mind depressed with
disappointment and anxiety; and she should be allowed some time for
repose."
"No, father, no!" replied Madame de Chazeul. "She must know it
to-night, for the marriage shall take place to-morrow, or, at
farthest, the next day. Let her have to-night for grief--for I do not
say she will not weep--to-morrow her mind will be made up, and the
affair can proceed with decency."
"Will you tell her, father Walter?" said Monsieur de Liancourt.
"Nay," exclaimed the Marchioness, "why give him that trouble? I will
do it in a moment."
"No, Jacqueline, you shall not go," cried the Count. "You are too
harsh and fierce to bear such tidings.--Go, Father, go!--It is an
office of Christian charity."
"She is more likely to believe it from my lips, than yours, Madam,"
said father Walter, "and therefore I will undertake the task; but I
must be quick, for I have my watch to commence in the chapel."
"Let us hear how she bears it," said the Count de Liancourt. "I grieve
for the poor girl."
"Pshaw!" cried Jacqueline de Chazeul; and the priest quitted the hall,
leaving the Marchioness evidently uneasy.
A chamber had now been assigned to Rose d'Albret, higher in the
building than that which she had formerly tenanted, and next to the
room of father Walter himself. It opened first into an ante-chamber,
somewhat smaller than the other, and thence upon a large landing
place, separated from the stairs by a balustrade. The ante-room, as
before, was occupied by the maid Blanchette, who, well warned and
tutored, was kept as a spy upon all her mistress's actions; and, on
entering this little suite of apartments, the girl was the first
person whom father Walter encountered.
She was sitting at a table, knitting, with a sullen brow and pouting
lips; and, notwithstanding deep habitual reverence for the priest, she
seemed scarcely willing to answer him civilly, when he inquired, if he
could speak with her mistress.
"I cannot tell," replied the girl, rising for a moment, and resuming
her seat; "I really do not know what she is doing,--she does not want
my services, she says; she would rather be alone."
"Go and see, daughter!" said the priest. "Doubtless Mademoiselle
d'Albret is grieved and perhaps angry; but that does not exempt you
from respect and obedience towards her in all things, where other
duties do not require you to oppose her wishes."
"Indeed, father," answered the girl sullenly, "I cannot undertake all
this.--Here, I am told not to quit her ante-room, from the moment she
enters her chamber, till the moment she leaves it, which is making me
no better than a prisoner; and then, I am to be rated, and frowned
upon by the Lady, as if I had behaved very ill to her.--I don't see
why I should bear all this."
"Because you are ordered to do so," said the priest somewhat sternly:
but he added the next moment, "It will not be of long duration
however. Now go and tell her I am here, seeking to speak with her on a
matter of deep moment."
Before Blanchette could obey, however, the door of the ante-chamber
opened, and Madame de Chazeul entered, saying, "I have come to tell
her myself, good father. I can then better judge of her frame of mind;
and, as the Count tells me, you have to keep vigil by the body of my
poor old brother Michael, which I did not understand before, I will
not keep you."
"Nay," replied the priest, "I have time, and will never shrink from
doing my duty. This poor child will need consolation, and it must be
my task to give it to her, as far as my poor voice can do so."
The Marchioness was evidently not well pleased with this reply; and,
though she masked her embarrassment as well as she could, yet a
certain air of anxiety and uneasiness, did not escape the calm but
penetrating eye of Walter de la Tremblade. "She doubts me," bethought.
"She is one of those who have no confidence in any one. What must her
own heart be like!"
As he thus pondered, Blanchette returned, and bade him enter, which he
did, making way, however, for Madame de Chazeul to pass in first.
Rose had been weeping, but her eyes were now dry; and the usual mild
and gentle expression was upon her countenance, till her eye lighted
upon Madame de Chazeul; and then she turned away her head, with a look
of shuddering horror, which the Marchioness did not fail to mark,
though with less anger, than might perhaps have been expected. It was
her wish to overawe and to command, both at present and in future and
the age of wishing to be loved, had long passed by with her. Rose
however, soon added to the offence; for, turning towards Walter de la
Tremblade, she said, "The girl merely mentioned your name, father; and
I was willing and even glad to receive you; but the conversation which
has already taken place between this lady and myself, was not of such
a character as to make her society very desirable to me."
"You must have it, nevertheless, pretty minion," replied Madame de
Chazeul. "I know you are as ungrateful, as you are self-willed; but I
came to break to you a piece of news which has just arrived, and
which, as you must hear it sooner or later, we have thought fit to
communicate at once."
"The sooner it is communicated the better," answered Rose; "I beseech
you to make no delay; for I am anxious to retire to rest."
Madame de Chazeul turned towards the priest with a sign for him to
proceed; and father Walter taking up the tale, addressed Rose in a
gentle and a kindly tone, saying, "I fear, my poor daughter, what we
have to communicate may grieve you more than you expect; and I would
therefore have you prepare your mind, by thinking of how God tries all
men in this world, with various deep afflictions, making them
sometimes his chastisements for errors past, sometimes warnings
against future faults, often depriving us of those things most dear
which might prove snares to us, often frustrating our most anxious
desires, which, if we knew all, might in their gratification produce
misery, instead of joy."
Rose listened attentively, anxious to hear what was to come next; but
Madame de Chazeul waved her hand impatiently, exclaiming, "You are not
in the pulpit, my good father. Do you not see she is quite prepared
for anything you have to say? The truth is this, Mademoiselle
d'Albret, a messenger has just arrived from Chartres bringing orders
for the men who accompanied you, to return immediately, and with that
order they conveyed intelligence that a duel has been fought between
Monsieur de Nemours, and your late lover De Montigni, in which the
latter has met with the chastisement which his presumption deserved,
and has been killed on the spot."
Rose started up and clasped her hands, while her face grew pale as
ashes, and for a moment she seemed about to faint. The next instant,
however, she passed her hand across her brow, gazed for a moment
anxiously upon the ground, and then suddenly raised her head with a
smile full of scorn, while the blood came back into her cheek and lip,
exclaiming, "It is false! I know that it is false!"
"The poor creature is mad," said Madame de Chazeul. "You know it to be
false, when we know it to be true! You must have wonderfully clever
information. The man is in the château at this moment, who brought the
tidings from Chartres."
"Let me see him!" said Rose d'Albret.
Madame de Chazeul paused, and saw that, by mentioning the messenger,
she had committed a mistake; for it was her object to represent the
death of De Montigni as certain, and she was aware that her son had
run on to that inference, much more rapidly than the man's own account
might justify.
"No," she replied, "you shall not see him. I pledge my word that the
information is true. Here is father Walter ready to do the same.
Monsieur de Liancourt will tell you the like story. If you insult us
by doubting our word, it does not become us, to take any trouble to
convince you."
"Madam, I have been deceived in more than one thing already," replied
Rose, bending her head gravely; "and consequently, I do not lend my
mind easily to everything that is told me. Father Walter, I beseech
you, by your duty to God, by your sacred calling, as you shall answer
for it hereafter, to let me know, has this information truly arrived,
and is it certain?"
"That it has arrived, is beyond doubt," answered the priest, "but in
regard to the certainty or the particulars--not having spoken with the
messenger myself--I cannot say anything."
Rose waved her hand. "Enough," she said, "enough; I will beseech you
now to leave me.--Nay, I can endure no more to-night."
Madame de Chazeul was going to add something; but the priest laid his
hand upon her arm, saying, "Nay, Madam, let us not press upon her
hardly. Give her till to-morrow to think over it;" and he led the
Marchioness away, leaving poor Rose to her meditations.