Parting with his sister at the bottom of the stairs which led up to
the apartments of Rose d'Albret and the priest, Monsieur de Liancourt
mounted in haste. It might be that, as he said, he was anxious to have
a painful scene over as speedily as possible; it might be that, like a
certain stage hero, of the name of Acres, he began to feel his courage
oozing out of the tips of his fingers. It were vain to deny that, ere
he came to the first landing, his heart beat quick and his breath
began to fail; but finding the man Martin sitting there in an idle
attitude, he found an excuse in that fact to pause for an instant,
asking his sister's servant, why he did not go and join the rest in
the hall, and ordering him to do so.
The man obeyed without reply; for, in the first place, he was tired of
his post; in the next place, he never knew how far any one was trusted
by the Marchioness, so that one indiscreet friend might do much
mischief by chattering to another; and, in the third place, he could
not well refuse or neglect to obey the orders of Monsieur de Liancourt
in his own house.
As soon as he was gone, the Count resumed the ascent, and, in a moment
or two, reached the door of the ante-room. He gave a gentle knock,
and, entering, found Blanchette sitting with a pale cheek, a clouded
countenance, and some piece of female apparel lying on her knee,
apparently scarcely touched.
"Well, Blanchette," he said, as he went into the room, "is your
mistress ready to accompany me?"
"I am sure, Sir," replied the maid, "I do not know. I got all her
things ready, and told her what Madame de Chazeul said; but she
answered me, as bold as a lion, that she would put on no other things
than her ordinary clothes, as the idea of forcing her to a ceremony
with a man she hates, was quite vain and foolish."
"She shall learn that it is not so," answered the Count, in a sharp
and angry tone; "whether dressed as becomes a bride, or like a
wandering vagrant as she returned hither, she shall be wedded this
day, if my name by De Liancourt. Go, tell her I am waiting for her."
The maid went into the inner chamber; and the Count could hear the
murmur of voices speaking for some moments; but yet Rose d'Albret did
not appear.
"She mocks me," he said, at length; "she will not even come forth to
speak with me. Then I must seek her," and, advancing to the door of
her chamber, he entered without ceremony.
Rose was seated at the very farthest part of the room, with her hands
clasped over her eyes, and the bitter tears rolling down her cheeks.
The moment she heard his step, however, she dried them hastily, rose
from her seat, and, advancing a step or two towards him, cast herself
at his feet, clasping his knees.
He felt his resolution begin to waver; but, making an effort, he
exclaimed, "How now! how now! No more of this! You know my
determination. I announced it to you the day before yesterday, I have
solemnly sworn to keep it; and I insist upon obedience."
"Hear me, hear me, Sir!" cried Rose; "if you have no pity, if you have
no regard for me, hear me for my father's sake, hear me for the memory
of your dead friend, and have some compassion on his child."
"It is no use hearing," answered the Count; "the matter is determined.
It is to be done. Rise, and follow me! I command, I insist."
"Not till you have heard me," answered Rose; "that, at least, I may
require. Would you, Monsieur de Liancourt, not only break your
contract with my father, by which my hand was promised to Louis de
Montigni--"
"Pshaw! that contract, if it referred to him at all, is at an end by
his death," cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "talk not to me of that any
more."
"But he lives, he lives!" exclaimed Rose, vehemently. "You have been
deceived, indeed you have, by the tale they invented to deceive me;
and I have more wrongs, more deceits to tell you of, from which I know
your noble mind will shrink with horror--schemes which none but the
basest of men could conceive or execute."
"It is all in vain, Rose, it is all in vain," answered the Count.
"Nothing you can say will make the least difference. I know all that
has taken place; Chazeul's folly, which has compromised your
character, and all the rest. But he is sorry for it, is willing to do
all that is right to justify your fame, by wedding you this moment,
and--"
"Is willing, you mean to say, Sir," cried Rose, "to profit by his
villany, to gain the very object he had in view, by the very means he
employed. Why did he come here, but to injure my reputation, with the
hope of forcing me to marry him, and inducing you to drive me to such
a course? But I heard it all beforehand and escaped the snare. Helen
de la Tremblade was sent by good father Walter to tell me of the base
treachery, to warn me of my danger, and show me the means of escaping
from it."
"She came here because she wants to marry him herself," replied the
Count. "Once more I say, Mademoiselle d'Albret, I command you, as your
guardian, to rise and follow me, without farther words, to give your
hand to Monsieur de Chazeul, for whom I have long destined you, and to
forget Louis de Montigni, who misled you to quit this house, and has
since paid for some other imprudence with his life."
"He is living! Indeed, indeed, he is living!" cried Rose "Give me but
an hour and a patient hearing, and I will show you, Sir, that he is
living, and that it is you who have been deceived, not I."
"Thank God! I am not so easily deceived Mademoiselle d'Albret,"
replied the Count. "I cannot grant your request. The contract lies
ready for signature; every one is waiting for you in the hall; they
cannot be disappointed; my word shall not be broken, and I insist that
this vain, this stupid, resistance cease instantly."
"The contract may lie there, Sir, for ever," replied Rose, rising and
seating herself again. "I will never sign it, so help me God! You
refuse to hear reason and truth; you listen to falsehood and wrong;
you may kill me, place me in a convent, do aught with me you like; but
make me the wife of Nicholas de Chazeul, of so base, so bad, so
contemptible a being, you never shall, while I have breath."
"Now listen to me, Rose d'Albret," replied the Count, advancing
angrily towards her. "I am your guardian; am I not? You are my ward;
is it not so? By the power given me by the law, I have promised your
hand to Nicholas de Chazeul--"
"In violation of the contract from which your only power is derived,"
replied Rose. "That contract, in which you are named my guardian,
promises my hand to De Montigni."
"The girl will drive me mad!" exclaimed Monsieur de Liancourt. "Once
more I tell you he is dead; and if you refuse yourself to sign the
marriage contract, I will sign it for you. Rise, and come with me
without another word, or you will compel me to force you."
"Never!" answered Rose. "Louis de Montigni is not dead. I have offered
to prove it to you; but you will not even hear in what the proof
consists, although you know that, until he has resigned his claim to
the succession of De Liancourt, not even a doubt can exist that he is
the person specified in the contract."
The Count seemed not shaken--no not in the least--but embarrassed; for
his own doubts of De Montigni's death were strong upon the side of
Rose d'Albret; and the certainty that, if his nephew still lived, he
was committing a gross violation of the contract with her father, left
him but little to say in his own defence. He was not shaken, for he
had before made up his mind to overleap his own doubts upon that
score, to take advantage of the bare report which had reached him, in
order to justify the course to which he had been led by others, and
resolutely to believe that report true, in despite of all that could
be said to prove it false. The combat of weak people is with
themselves, more than with any external things. They wish to convince
themselves they are acting right, while they know they are acting
wrong; and their labours for that object are not light. But Monsieur
de Liancourt had no reply ready, no reason to assign for not listening
to the proofs Rose offered, and he paused, for a full minute, in
painful hesitation as to what he should say.
"This is all an artifice to gain time," he answered at length "and I
will not yield to it. It is ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Louis
de Montigni is no more, and has justly paid for insulting a prince
like the Duke of Nemours."
"Oh! Sir," cried Rose, in a tone of mingled indignation and grief,
"how can you suffer your own nature to be thus changed by the base
counsels of others, so to speak of your sister's son? He is not dead!
he will yet live to shame those who calumniate him. Were he indeed
laid in the tomb, I still say, nothing should ever lead me to marry
Nicholas de Chazeul; but, as long as Louis de Montigni lives, I shall
regard him as my husband. Show me that he is indeed, gone; and I am
willing to resign everything that this man really covets--my wealth,
my lands--and to retire to a life of seclusion and prayer; but I am
not willing, and never shall I be willing, to wed one whom I so much
despise and abhor."
"You will have no choice," replied the Count. "You shall be his wife
this day ere noon. These are all evasions and affectations.--I know
right well which way your mind inclines. You would save your credit,
Rose, appear reluctant, and only yield to force; but force shall not
be wanting, and perhaps more than you expect or like.--Yes, you may
weep!--We are prepared for such things; but you had better dry your
eyes; and, as you must appear before a large assembly of witnesses,
look your best."
"Sir, you are ungenerous and unkind," replied Rose d'Albret; "but I
know whence your impulses are derived; and shame upon them who fill a
noble mind with such base suspicions. Use what force you like; the
power has not yet appeared on earth that shall make my hand or my
tongue so belie my heart, as to promise aught like love, attachment,
or obedience, towards Nicholas de Chazeul."
"Oh, is it so?" exclaimed the Count. "This is carrying the matter too
far, Mademoiselle d'Albret. Will you, or will you not accompany me, in
obedience to my commands, quietly and decently?"
Rose was silent; her mind agitated with many conflicting thoughts. She
feared to yield the least point, lest it should be accepted as a
promise of farther compliance; and yet she naturally shrunk, with all
a woman's timidity, from driving those who oppressed her to have
recourse to violence.--She dreaded the moment when it was to begin;
she would fain have procrastinated: every minute seemed something
gained ere the actual struggle commenced.
She was silent; but, after waiting a few moments, the Count seized her
by the wrist, exclaiming, "Come, I insist.--Not one moment more!"
"Well, Sir, well," cried Rose d'Albret, trying to withdraw her hand,
"I will go with you to the hall: but remember, it is but to refuse
most resolutely to do that which would be equally against my duty and
my heart."
"Duty!" cried the Count with a scoff, unloosing her arm. "Talk not of
duty, after all that you have done! As to the course you intend to
pursue, be it what it may, mine is determined. We shall see what is
your conduct, and I will answer for it, I will match it.--Go on,
Mademoiselle. You know your way to the hall, I think."
With a slow step and trembling limbs, Rose d'Albret proceeded through
the ante-room, and down the stairs. She felt at every moment as if she
should faint, but yet, remembering that if such a weakness overcame
her, they might take advantage of her insensibility, to proceed
rapidly in whatever course they thought fit, she nerved her heart to
the best of her power, and paused for a moment before entering the
hall, to make one more appeal to the Count de Liancourt.
But he would not hear her speak, and throwing open the door violently,
he waved her to go in.
All seemed confusion, and dim indistinctness to her sight. There was a
crowd of faces, some of which appeared strange, and some familiar; but
they were almost all those of men. There was wine, and meat, and
laughter, and flowers, and everything the most dissonant to all the
feelings of her heart; while, through the whole mass of misty images
was seen, in terrible prominence, like some colossal statue in an
eastern temple, the tall rigid form, and stern sarcastic features of
Madame de Chazeul.
She was leaning upon a table just opposite the door; her complexion,
where not besmeared with rouge, was unusually pale; there was an
expression of weariness, and even of pain in her face. But when Rose
appeared, that harsh countenance lighted up with a look of scornful
triumph; and the poor girl's eyes grew dim, her head turned giddy with
the thought of all she was to encounter in that hall.