When the Marchioness de Chazeul retired from Rose's chamber, she did
not seek the society of her brother; neither did she at first send for
her son, nor inquire for the priest. But, as she passed through the
ante-chamber, she beckoned to the maid Blanchette, who had quitted the
room, when she and the Count had entered it, and, with a sign to
follow, led the way to her own apartments. When there, she seated
herself before the mirror, and remained for several minutes in deep
thought. She was, as we have depicted her, rancorous and vindictive,
but at the same time ambitious and greedy. Nor was she less
pertinacious and resolute, than crafty and clear-sighted. No
difficulties repelled her, no obstacles were in her eyes
insurmountable, no means unjustifiable to attain her ends. Of true
religion she had none, though not a little bigotry, strange as such a
combination may appear; and, as was the case with many besides herself
in that day, she would often scoff at even Almighty power, and set at
nought Heaven's vengeance, yet as often give herself up to penance and
austerities, with all the devotion of a saint. But penance never
reached the point of interrupting her in the course she chose to
pursue. She would mortify her appetites, but not abandon her designs;
and, though her formal observance of the injunctions of her church,
might show some sort of superstitious dread, the only fear that seemed
to affect her in her dealings with the world, was the fear of failure.
It was that apprehension that now assailed her; but, as was always the
case with her, all that it produced was, fresh efforts to attain her
ends, greater exertions to overcome the obstacles that opposed her.
The high and firm resolution displayed by Rose d'Albret would have
been nothing in her eyes, had she possessed the sole command over her
brother's unhappy ward. Her declarations, she would have laughed to
scorn, and her remonstrances she would not have listened to. For
years, she had looked upon Rose as a creature that was but to be made
subservient to her purposes, the seal to the deed that was to transfer
the estates of Liancourt and Marennes to the house of Chazeul, and she
regarded even an expression of reluctance as a daring offence. But she
feared the effect of Rose's firmness on her brother; she knew him to
be weak and irresolute, easily swayed by persons of a firmer mind than
his own, violent and hasty by starts, but alarmed and intimidated by
resistance; and she doubted much, if Rose maintained her resolution
steadily, refused to go to the altar, or to sign the contract, that
Monsieur de Liancourt would use force to compel her, or pass over her
resistance and declare the marriage complete, contrary to her protest.
There was no scheme, however dark and criminal, that she would not
have followed to remove the resistance of her brother's ward; there
were no means that she would not have employed, as she herself
expressed it, to render a marriage with Chazeul necessary to her
honour. But she feared that she might be frustrated if she attempted
too daring a project, though that which had presented itself at one
time to her mind, had been shortly before carried through but too
successfully in another noble house in France, where the most
atrocious violence had been employed, to effect an object very similar
to her own.
But though fond of strong and decided measures, Madame de Chazeul was
always willing to employ cunning and tortuous means; and she saw no
method of ensuring success, but by pursuing the plan which she had
hinted to her son: and now, as she sat there revolving all the
circumstances in her mind, she applied herself to fit so neatly the
various parts of her scheme together, that no flaw might mar it in the
execution. Blanchette in the meantime stood before her, now bending
her eyes upon the ground, in assumed modesty and diffidence, now
raising them with a furtive glance, to the countenance of the
Marchioness, and striving, but vainly, to read on that dark and
puzzled page, that which was passing in the still darker and more
intricate heart.
At length Madame de Chazeul spoke, in a tone quiet and calm as if no
angry passion was a guest in her bosom, saying, "How did Mademoiselle
d'Albret pass the night, Blanchette? She seems weary and disturbed
this morning."
"I do not know, Madam," replied Blanchette. "She sent me away from her
quite crossly, and I saw her no more till this morning. Then she was
cross enough, Madam," continued the girl, "especially when I told her
she was not to leave the room till some one came for her."
"And who told you to do that?" exclaimed the Marchioness with a look
of surprise, "who told you to do that, I say?"
"Why you, Madam, ordered me to watch her closely every moment,"
answered Blanchette; "and so did the Count; and how was I to watch
her, if she were to go out, wandering all about the Château?"
"You are insolent, girl!" cried Madame de Chazeul, "and this is the
way by your impertinent domineering, that you turn the mind of
Mademoiselle d'Albret against her friends. You should have watched as
if you were not watching; you should have given information to my
brother, or myself, if she went out; and not have presumed to make
yourself her turnkey.--Who are you, that you should dare to dictate to
a lady like that, whether she should go forth or not?"
The maid replied not, but coloured highly and bit her lip, looking
down upon the ground with apparently no very placable endurance of the
reprimand, which probably she felt the more, as she was fully
conscious of having exceeded her orders, at the very time she did so,
for the purpose of gratifying her own spiteful nature.
"Well," continued Madame de Chazeul, recovering herself speedily, and
remembering that the girl's services might still be needful, "I dare
say, you did not err intentionally; but remember to do so no more. You
may watch Mademoiselle d'Albret closely, while she is in her chamber:
and, if she goes out of it, either give information instantly to
Monsieur de Liancourt, or come to me. It seems," she added in an
indifferent tone, "that the only person she is inclined to see is
Monsieur de Chazeul. I shall therefore trouble her no more. When he
comes, of course admit him, as the marriage is to take place
to-morrow, but no one else,--except indeed, father Walter de la
Tremblade," she continued after an instant's thought--"Monsieur de
Chazeul of course whenever he comes,--but no one else;--and remember,
Blanchette, have everything prepared to set out to-morrow, about
mid-day, both for your mistress and yourself, for you must all sleep
at Chartres to-morrow night, and the next day, on to Paris."
There is a dull and heavy looking sort of personage, amongst the
various classes of human beings, by whom the wit and clear-sightedness
of the shrewd and the cunning in human character, are more frequently
set completely at defiance than even by the politic and the artful.
The air of cold indifferent stupidity, which is natural to it, in
itself generates an idea of a slow and unexcitable spirit, and an
obtuse and inactive mind incapable of strong feelings except of a very
animal kind, which not unfrequently deceives the most penetrating. The
surface looks so much as if there were nothing below, that we rarely
take the trouble of ascertaining the depth and strength of the
currents that may be running underneath.
Of this character was the maid Blanchette. She gave no indication of
being offended at the censure of the Marchioness de Chazeul, except by
the momentary heightening of her colour; and the lady fancied that she
had effaced all trace of her harsh words, by holding out the idea of
her accompanying Rose to Paris. But it was not so. Blanchette was
always displeased with censure, even when, as a humble dependant, she
had no claim, but for services that could be performed by a dozen
others, as well as by herself; but, when she had grown a person of
importance in her own eyes, by being entrusted with a charge that no
one but herself could perform, she felt injured and indignant at the
slightest blame, and that of Madame de Chazeul had been neither very
gentle in manner nor very temperate in words. She only dropped a
profound courtesy then, without making any reply while the Marchioness
spoke, as if her little wit were busily engaged with other matters,
and she was prepared to receive and obey all orders communicated to
her without doubt or hesitation. But such a line of conduct was far
from her intention; deep and angry passion was at the bottom of her
heart; and she determined, if fortune prospered with her, to find some
means of retaliating, in act, if not in seeming, the bitter words of
the Marchioness, without spoiling her own prospects of advancement.
She listened then to the end without saying a word; but merely
courtesying from time to time, till at length as the lady finished,
she replied, "I will see to it all, Madam! Everything shall be quite
ready."
"Ay, see that it be," replied Madame de Chazeul. "And now, Blanchette,
send Monsieur de Chazeul to me if you can find him."
The maid retired, and the Marchioness remained turning in her mind the
next step to be taken. "Yes," she said, "we may trust the priest,--but
not too far. Rose will tell him nothing, thanks to her promise. I
wonder how she learned anything to tell.--Some letter from Helen
doubtless: or else that girl has made herself some friends in the camp
of the Bearnois; perhaps has got some new paramour.--I was a fool to
deal so harshly with her. What was it to me, if she chose to play the
harlot with the boy? My fear of her spoiling this marriage drove me
too far.--Yes we can trust the priest. I have had the castle gates too
strictly watched for any one to have brought him tidings without my
knowing it.--We must trust him, that is the worst--though I do think
he would go on, even if he knew all. But his chamber is too near, not
to make him a sharer of our plans.--These priests are but spies upon
us in our own châteaux. I wonder that we tolerate them. Yet they are
useful too, when they choose to be serviceable.--His zeal for the
league will keep him faithful."
Such were some of the half-muttered, half-silent thoughts of
Jacqueline de Chazeul, as she sat waiting for her son; but he kept her
not long in expectation, for he was anxious to hear the result of her
interview with Rose d'Albret; and, as soon as he did appear, the
Marchioness greeted him with a gay look, asking, "Well, Chazeul, have
you seen your uncle?"
"No!" he replied, "He has not come to the hall. What are your news?
What says the little prisoner?"
"Of that afterwards," answered the Marchioness, "First, the marriage
is to be to-morrow before noon. For that, your Uncle's word is
pledged, and we must see that he keeps it; for, if this obstinate girl
should still resist, he may be shaken. Now tell me, Chazeul, when did
her looks first begin to grow cold towards you?"
"They were never very warm," said Chazeul, "but they have been chilly
enough for the last ten days."
"Then it is so!" rejoined his mother as if speaking to herself; "that
chilliness makes me think that she may love you rather more than
less."
"Come, good mother, no riddles," exclaimed Chazeul, "we have no time
for solving them; nor am I an [OE]dipus. What is it that you mean?"
"I mean that jealousy has a share in this affair," answered
the Marchioness. "She has learned your folly with Helen de la
Tremblade.--Helen has written to her, or told her; for she saw her
about that time."
"I do not believe it," replied Chazeul, "I do not believe it in the
least;" and putting his hand to his brow, he thought for a moment,
murmuring, "No, no she would never--"
"But she has, foolish boy," cried Madame de Chazeul. "I know she has,
from what this wrong-headed girl said just now. Now mark me well,
Chazeul, if you will be guided by me in everything, you will succeed,
wed Rose d'Albret, and be one of the richest men in France,--ay,
second to none in wealth and power, except the princes of the blood.
But if you will not, you will lose her, and with her, not only her
estates, but all the wealth that has accumulated, since first she came
here as a child."
"Oh, my good mother, I am quite willing to follow your course of
policy," replied her son. "No one like a woman for managing a woman.
But let me hear first, what she said. Does she believe that De
Montigni is dead?"
"Yes she does," replied the Marchioness. "Your uncle convinced her of
that."
"Then she is mine according to the contract," said Chazeul. "What did
she say to that?"
"Why, at first, she seemed seeking to gain time," answered his mother,
"but afterwards, when your uncle was gone, she vowed vehemently, that
she would never wed you.--I think not the worse of your case for that,
as that is a vow which many a woman makes and breaks; but haste is the
thing in this case, and her spirit must be broken down ere noon
to-morrow, else we may have news, which will overthrow all that
we have done--De Montigni may not be dead after all,--he may be
wounded,--he may recover. Then what are we to do?--No, we must lose no
time."
"Well, well, but your plan," said Chazeul. "It seems that my little
sins are to be wiped out, the lady's good favour gained, her unruly
spirit broken in, and rendered tractable, all within four-and-twenty
hours!"
"And it can be done," answered Madame de Chazeul. "First then, we must
make it seem to the eyes of all men, that you are recovering her good
graces. You must appear together. You must hold conference with her,
and seem in her secrets and in her intimacy."
"'Tis telling me to pull down the moon," cried Chazeul, "or carry away
the gates of the castle on my back like Samson. How am I to do all
this? If she refuse me audience, withhold her presence, stay in her
chamber, and frown or weep whenever we meet?"
"Will it cost you so much to feign a little?" asked his mother.
"Perhaps not," replied Chazeul, "but what then? Put me on the track,
and I will follow it with any one; but I see not what it is I am to
feign."
"Several things," replied the Marchioness.
"First, kindly tenderness towards her, sorrow for her sorrow, sympathy
with her distress, anxiety for its alleviation. You may pretend even
to enter into her views of delay, affect not to wish to press her,
promise to speak to Monsieur de Liancourt on the subject, and with me,
and hold out the hope of gaining our consent to your joining the army
for a time, and not returning till some months have passed."
"But if she be so enraged against me," said Chazeul, "and if she have
discovered what you say she has, will she listen to all this?"
"Ay, but that must be one of the first things you soften down,"
replied the Marchioness, "an obstacle you must remove at once. You
must be a repentant sinner, Chazeul; make vague confession of many
faults; long to atone for them if circumstances would permit it; and
if you can get a tear into your eye, so much the better."
"I understand, I understand," said Chazeul laughing. "The tear, I fear
I could not manage; but all the rest I will undertake. I see my way
clearly now, but not whither it leads, my dear mother. What is to
result from all this? When I have persuaded her that I am penitent,
and the most humble creature of her will,--when I have shown myself
whispering in her ear, or walking in tender melancholy with her, side
by side, on the ramparts, what is to be done next?"
"Why, what I said before," replied the Marchioness. "Visit her chamber
in the night; leave something there to mark that you have been
present. I will have people to witness that you go in and come forth.
The girl Blanchette must be taught to swear, that it was with her
mistress's consent and wish. I will indoctrinate her well. Then,
to-morrow, early in the morning, I will visit our fair culprit full of
reproaches, tell her all the reports that have reached me, of her
light wantonness, if needful bring forth the witnesses, and show that,
for your honour, for hers, and for your uncle's, the marriage must
take place without delay. We shall have no more resistance then,
Chazeul; and if we have, the tale thus proved, will fix my brother in
his purpose of compelling her to yield; for we must keep our plan as
secret as death from Liancourt; and, if he sees you much together
during the day--if you can contrive to work a sudden change in her
demeanour towards you, he will be easily deceived."
Chazeul mused, and then added, "I will set about it instantly. But I
do wish that I had some good excuse for going to her now--something
that would make my coming acceptable. She was not in the hall, and may
not, perhaps, quit her room."
"Go to her, go to her!" cried the Marchioness. "She is not in the
hall, and will not be, unless you bring her forth. It happens luckily
that Blanchette, mistaking the order she received, made herself a
gaoler over her this morning, and kept the bird in the cage. You can
go and open the prison doors. Tell her how grieved you are to hear
that such cruelty has been exercised towards her; declare you will
never suffer it; cast all the blame on me and your uncle; make us as
stern and savage as you will, and show her she is free, by leading her
forth. You can enlarge upon the matter as you will; and having now the
cue, your own wit and knowledge of woman, must teach you to play your
part to a nicety.--For me," she continued, "I must first go sprinkle
my old brother Michael's body with holy water. I can do no less for
him, after all the sweet words he has given me through life; and then
I will talk with the priest, and make him share our plans, as much as
is needful."
"Is it not dangerous?" asked Chazeul. "I dread that man more than any
other. Calm and staid and thoughtful as he is on the outside, if ever
I saw human being full of strong passion, and eager fire within, it is
he; and if he hears aught of this affair with Helen, he will die or
frustrate our design."
"He shall not hear it, till all is accomplished," replied the
Marchioness. "I will take care of that. There is not a letter nor a
note, be it from some sick farmer's pretty wife, requiring consolation
from a kind confessor, that is not brought to me before it reaches his
hands. It has cost me more golden crowns, Chazeul, since I came into
this château, to secure good friends in the barbican, than would keep
a prince's household half a year. However, he must know our plans in
part, for fear he should discover them without being told. His consent
once given, binds him to our course; so leave that to me, and go you
upon your errand."
Without pausing to thank his mother for all her care, Chazeul hastened
away towards the apartments of Rose d'Albret. At the door of the
ante-chamber, however, he paused for a moment to consider his
proceedings, and then entered with a quick step, demanding in a loud
and hurried tone, as soon as he saw Blanchette, "Can I speak with your
mistress?"
"Oh, yes, Sir," cried the girl, with a low courtesy, and a sweet
smile; "you are to be admitted always."
Opening the door, she looked in; and seeing Rose gaze sadly from the
window, she threw it wider, exclaiming, without inquiry as to whether
the lady would receive her visitor or not, "Monsieur de Chazeul,
Mademoiselle."
Rose turned a quick and indignant look towards the door, and bowing
her head, demanded, "What is your pleasure, Sir?--This visit was
neither expected nor desired."
"I know it was not, Rose," he replied, assuming a mild and tender
tone, in which his voice sounded somewhat like that of De Montigni,
awakening memories in Rose's bosom, not the most favourable to
himself; "but I have just heard something that would not suffer me to
remain indifferent.--Shut the door, Blanchette," he added, turning to
the girl and speaking in a sterner manner.
"I learn from my mother with shame and anger, Mademoiselle d'Albret,"
he proceeded sadly, "that they are keeping you here as a sort of
prisoner; and I will not suffer such a thing for a moment; for, though
it is not my doing, it is on my account. Ill judging friends have done
me harm enough with you already. They shall do so no more. I will now
act upon my account, and try what the generosity and kindness which I
would always have striven to display, if I had been permitted, will do
with a heart which I am sure is not to be ruled by harshness."
Rose was surprised, but still not deceived; for she contrasted
instantly the new tone assumed towards her, with all that had gone
before. She recollected, too, Helen de la Tremblade, and what she had
heard from her; and the natural conclusion was, that this was fraud.
"I thank you, Sir," she said, "and I trust your actions will make good
your words. But what am I to conclude from that which you say
regarding my captivity here; for I am, indeed, no better than a
captive?"
"That it is at an end," answered Chazeul. "I told my mother instantly,
that I would not submit to it; and if it were persisted in, I
would quit the castle, to the ruin of all her wishes, of my own
fortunes--ay, and my dearest hopes."
"Hopes, Sir!" said Rose, "Hopes?--Well, I must not be ungrateful, and
I thank you for this act at least. Am I to consider myself at liberty
then, to quit my chamber? Am I to be no longer gaolered by my own
maid?"
"You are free as air," replied Chazeul. "Come this moment if you will,
and try; and let me see the man that dares prevent you. But ere we
go," he continued with the same soft tone in which he had at first
spoken, "forgive me for commenting, one moment, on a word you used
just now, or rather on the manner in which that word was spoken. It
was, hopes! You seem to think that I did not really hope to win you;
or perhaps mean that those hopes were more of your wealth, than your
person?"
"How can I think otherwise?" asked Rose, fixing her beautiful eyes
upon him. "Is there nothing in your heart, Monsieur de Chazeul, which
tells you that it is so?"
"No, on my life," he answered; "but I know what it is you mean, and
will admit that you have had good cause, to judge as you do. I _am_
ambitious, Rose d'Albret, and wealth with me is an object, as the
means of ambition. But there may be other feelings in my heart
besides, and there are."
"I doubt it not," replied the lady; "but what I doubt is. Sir, that
those feelings have ever been mine. Perhaps I doubt, moreover," she
added slowly, and with emphasis, "that Monsieur de Chazeul may not be
inclined to sacrifice the gentle and the better feelings and
affections of his heart, at the shrine of that devouring
God--ambition."
"It is that, I meant," replied Chazeul; "of that I wish to speak. I
know you think that I do not love you, that I have not loved you, that
I have loved others, that--"
"Nay, nay," cried Rose, waving her hand; "do not enter upon such
things, Sir. I cannot, must not hear them."
"You shall hear nothing that can offend you," replied Chazeul calmly.
"But in simple justice, you must listen to a word or two in my own
defence, as you have undoubtedly listened to accusations against me. I
do not say that you will exculpate me, even if I could tell you all
exactly as it occurred, which I cannot, which I ought not to do. You
would find me faulty, very faulty still. I acknowledge it. I do not,
even to myself, acquit myself: I have done wrong, much that is wrong;
and many a time when you have seen me grave and thoughtful, it has
been when I was meditating how I might make atonement. Yes," he added,
seeing a doubtful expression come over Rose's face; "and many a time
when I have seemed most light and gay, idle and heartless, it has been
but as a cloak to cover from myself and others the bitterness within."
"But how easy"--said Rose, "how easy to make atonement! how easy to do
justice!"
"Not so easy as you imagine," answered Chazeul; "for, in truth, it was
impossible. I am not attempting, remember always, to exculpate myself:
far from it. I acknowledge myself guilty; but some extenuation may be
found in many circumstances; in education at a libertine court, in the
habits and customs of the day, in the conduct of others, in
temptations that I will not give to your ear. Yet I have loved you,
and loved you truly; but I see the very mention of it offends you, and
therefore I will say no more upon this head. I have set free my heart,
and it is enough. Judge of me as you will--harshly if you be so
disposed; but still I must have the advantage of my confession in your
opinion, and that is something gained."
Chazeul dissembled well: there was a candor, a straightforwardness in
his tone which, notwithstanding all that Rose had seen and known,
could not but create a doubt of that insincerity which she had always
hitherto attributed to him. She could not help blaming, condemning,
disliking him; but still her feelings were softened towards him. There
seemed to shine out some good amongst the evil; there was something to
redeem all that was wrong--something to qualify the darker points of
his character. One, reason, perhaps, why women so often learn to love
men whose whole conduct they reprobate, is that, from glimpses of
higher qualities, they are brought, by the easy process of regret, to
pity those who give themselves up to unbridled passion, as its slaves
rather than its votaries. Not that Rose d'Albret could ever have loved
him. There was an innate repugnance between her nature and his, which
might slumber while no external circumstances called them into active
opposition, but which, when once roused, was sure to burst forth into
abhorrence on her side. She could be indifferent to him, she could
hate him, as their relative position brought them nearer or more
remotely in contact; but she could feel nothing like love. Yet he was
the first, the only one who since her return to the château had spoken
with even gentleness towards her; and in moments of danger and
distress, there is something that teaches the weaker part of the human
race to cling in some degree to anything that offers them support.
Nevertheless, she would not banish the doubts and suspicions which she
had such good cause to entertain; and she replied almost coldly, "My
opinion of you, Monsieur de Chazeul, must depend entirely upon your
own conduct towards me and others. You will acknowledge, doubtless,
that the demeanour of all within these walls towards me since my
return, has not been such as to conciliate any kindly feeling on my
part."
"It has been harsh and cruel," answered Chazeul, at once; "it has been
harsh to us both. No choice has been left, either to you or me."
Rose gazed on him in surprise, but he continued, "Do not misunderstand
me, Rose. As far as all the affections of the heart go, my choice, my
hopes, have long been fixed on one object alone. The choice I spoke
of, as what I would myself have desired, was between pressing you in
an unseemly manner on subjects repugnant to your whole feelings at
this moment, and leaving you to recover from past griefs, ere you are
urged to enter into new ties. It is not necessary to relate to you all
that has taken place between me and others. I seek not to cast blame
on any one; but believe me, if your heart has been outraged, your best
affections set at nought, it has not been with my will. Time will
clear your eyes of many clouds; and I would fain let time have its
effect. You will find, that I have not been so much to blame as you
have been led to believe; that matters have been represented to you as
certain, that were very doubtful; and that I have suffered some
wrong--at least, a bitter disappointment. I seek not to cast a
reproach upon the memory of him who is gone; for doubtless, he
believed all that he said; but he should have inquired farther, ere he
attempted to take from me that which I value more than any treasure of
the earth. Yet I would not myself now press you to a hasty decision
for the world. I know time will be my friend. If you be forced to give
me your hand at once, as they have determined you shall be, you will
only hate me. Give me time; and, if to win your love be hopeless, I
will at least win your esteem."
"Oh, Sir! if such be your sentiments," cried Rose, "why do you not
join your voice to mine to stop this hasty and indecent proceeding?
Why do you not use your influence to avert that terrible moment which
we both dread?"
"Because it is in vain," replied the hypocrite; "my influence I have
employed, but to no purpose. When my uncle offers me your hand
according to the contract, I must take it, or refuse it. Can I, Rose,
can I, feeling as I do towards you, choose the latter alternative? I
have already urged him not to force us to such a choice.--I will do it
again and again, if you but wish it. I will entreat, beseech him, to
pause, to wait but till my return from the army. But he has so firmly
determined to place our union beyond all doubt before I go, that I
fear it will be useless. Some vague doubt, some superstitious fear, of
what may take place from delay, seems to possess him; and my mother, I
regret to say, encourages him to persevere in his resolution. Yet I
will make every effort with both. Only but confide in me, Rose. Want
of clear and straightforward confidence between us, has caused too
much mischief already. Had you but told me your feelings towards me,
had you but informed me of your old affection to another, I might have
been grieved, I might have been angry, I might have given way to
bursts of rage, it is true; but still, thought would have calmed all
down; and much, much that is painful, would have been avoided. But of
that no more.--Nay, do not weep,--I came to console, and not to grieve
you.-Come, take the fresh air on the ramparts, before the trumpet
sounds; and tell me what you would have me do, and I will do it.-I
would fain see you use your liberty; for it has pained me to the heart
to know the indignity that has been offered you. As we walk, you can
speak freely to me; and if by any means I can work your peace, no
effort of mine shall be wanting."
His smooth and deceitful words were confirmed by the manner in which
he spoke them. He assumed the air of eager sincerity and truth with
wonderful skill; and it was impossible that Rose should not be, in
some degree, shaken in her opinion of him. But nevertheless, she was
not altogether deceived. Although she did not see the object to be
gained by this sudden change, yet it was too rapid not to startle and
surprise her; and there were also, in the whole piece of acting which
he now performed, those slight defects, which, good as it was, would
have immediately betrayed to an experienced eye, that it was art, not
nature, and which, even to Rose herself, all unacquainted as she was
with the ways of the world, suggested doubts and suspicions. She saw
that he turned quickly from many of the most important points he spoke
of, after briefly touching upon them, and had always an excuse ready
for not going deeply into any subject which might have most
embarrassed him. It was now, that he would not shock her delicacy;
now, that he did not wish to cast blame on others; now, that he did
not seek to exculpate or justify himself. In one or two instances
these evasions might have been admitted, but they were too frequent;
and he also insinuated far more than he said, and more than he might
have been able to prove.
It was not exactly that Rose d'Albret marked all these particulars
distinctly, but that she received from the whole, joined with her
previous knowledge of his character, an indefinite impression of
doubt, a fear that he might be trying to deceive her for some purpose
which she did not comprehend. Still, as I have said, her opinion of
his baseness was in some degree shaken; she thought that, perhaps, he
might have better qualities which had been crushed under the weight of
evil education and bad example, and which might have led him, had they
been cultivated and developed, to higher objects, and a nobler course.
He was too, as has before been remarked, the only one who seemed
inclined to treat her gently and kindly; and she shrunk from the
thought of repelling the first sympathy she had met with since her
return.
It was with such mingled feelings then, that she replied, "I am most
grateful for your kindness, Monsieur de Chazeul; but I must not
deceive you. I must not deceive myself. You must clearly understand
that my mind is fixed and resolute in the determination which I
expressed to your mother."
"I know not what that is," replied Chazeul, "for I am not acquainted
yet with all that has taken place this morning; but," he continued,
"you must not suppose that I came here to entrap you into any
engagements, from which you must naturally shrink. Indeed my sole
object, when I reached your door, was to relieve you from that painful
oppression under which you had been placed. I have been led farther
than I intended; but I could not make up my mind to neglect the
opportunity of removing, at least part of the prejudices which have
been created against me in some degree by my own foolish conduct, in
some degree perhaps by the representations of others. However, as I
said, I came here to entrap you to nothing; and whatever confidence
you may think proper to place in me, whatever you may require, or I
may do to promote your wishes, or to free you from persecution, such
as that which is now mistakenly carried on in my favour, compromises
you to nothing, binds you to nothing. Let it be understood between us,
that everything, on either side, remains unchanged--I loving you,
though perhaps hopeless of return--You retaining every feeling and
resolution which time, circumstances, and my future conduct, may not
change."
Rose shook her head gravely and mournfully, but Chazeul went on with a
slight alteration of tone, saying, "Come, Mademoiselle d'Albret, take
a turn upon the ramparts, and let us talk no more of such things. The
free air, and the sight of country round, will do you good; and, as
you get a little more calm, we may consult together as to what is to
be done to obviate those proceedings which we both wish to defer, at
least."
Rose did not reply, but suffered him to lead her forth, though not
without some reluctance. The maid Blanchette, who was in the
ante-room, gazed at them as they passed, with a look of some surprise;
but she said nothing, and they went out unobstructed.
Through the rest of the day Chazeul maintained the same conduct, and
kept up the same tone, frequently discussing with Rose d'Albret the
means which were to be taken to shake the determination of the Count
de Liancourt and Madame de Chazeul. Three times he went to speak with
them alone, upon the pretence of inducing them to change their
resolutions, and returned with a gloomy and dissatisfied air, saying,
"I can obtain no answer, but that to-morrow, before noon, our fate
must be decided."
What was really the matter of his conversation with his mother and the
count? Very different from that which he represented it. With his
mother he laughed merrily over the artifices which he practised. "Ah!
give me a woman," he cried, "for seeing into a woman's heart. I have
all along mistaken this girl's character. From her light indifference
and coquettish gaiety, I had thought to deal with her in the same way;
but now I find, that she is all sentiment and tenderness, forsooth. If
I had before possessed a clue to the little labyrinth of her heart, I
should have easily found my way in."
To the Count de Liancourt, he maintained a different tone; pointed out
the apparent terms of confidence which existed between Rose and
himself; represented her reluctance as, in the main, affected, and
merely assumed out of respect for what she considered propriety;
insinuated that she would be rather pleased than not, to be the
apparent victim of compulsion, in a matter where her own inclinations
and her respect for appearances were at variance; and he took care to
confirm the impression thus produced, by drawing from Rose replies in
a low voice, to whispered questions which he affected to wish withheld
from the ear of the Count. Thus passed by several hours at different
times of the day. But during the rest, Rose remained in her chamber,
plunged in deep reveries, and puzzled and doubtful reflections,
seeking some light in the maze that surrounded her, often looking to
the future with a shudder of dread, and often contemplating the past
with bitter tears, but still hearing a voice that whispered, "De
Montigni is not dead."