THE COUNT DE PUYMANDOUR.
Since the death of the Duchess of Champdoce the greater portion of the
Chateau had been closed, but the reception rooms were always ready to be
used at a very short notice.
The dining-room was a really magnificent apartment. There were massive
buffets of carved oak, black with age, ornamented with brass mountings.
The shelves groaned beneath their load of goblets and salvers of the
brightest silver, engraved with the haughty armorial bearings of the
house of Champdoce.
Standing near one of the windows, Norbert saw a man, stout, robust, bald
and red-faced, wearing a mustache and slight beard. His clothes were
evidently made by a first-rate tailor, but his appearance was utterly
commonplace.
“This is my son,” said the Duke, “the Marquis de Champdoce. Marquis, let
me introduce you to the Count de Puymandour.”
This was the first time that his father had ever addressed Norbert by
his title, and he was greatly surprised. The great clock in the outer
hall, which had not been going for fifteen years, now struck, and
instantly a butler appeared, bearing a massive silver soup tureen, which
he placed on the table, announcing solemnly that his Grace was served,
and the little party at once seated themselves. A dinner in such a vast
chamber would have been rather dull had it not been enlivened by the
amusing tales and witty anecdotes of the Count de Puymandour, which he
narrated in a jovial but rather vulgar manner, seasoned with bursts of
laughter. He ate with an excellent appetite, and praised the quality of
the wine, which the Duke himself had chosen from the cellar, which he
had filled with an immense stock for the benefit of his descendants.
The Duke, who was generally so silent and morose, smiled buoyantly, and
appeared to enjoy the pleasantries of his guest. Was this only the duty
of the host, or did his geniality conceal some hidden scheme? Norbert
was utterly unable to settle this question, for though not gifted with
much penetration, he had studied his father’s every look as a slave
studies his master, and knew exactly what annoyed and what pleased him.
The Count de Puymandour lived in a magnificent house, with his daughter
Marie, about three miles from Champdoce, and he was exceedingly fond of
entertaining; but the gentry, who did not for a moment decline to accept
his grand dinners, did not hesitate to say that Puymandour was a thief
and a rogue. Had he been convicted of larceny, he could not have been
spoken of with more disdainful contempt. But he was very wealthy,
and possessed at least five millions of francs. Of course this was an
excellent reason for hating him, but the fact was, that Puymandour was
a very worthy man, and had made his money by speculation in wool on the
Spanish frontier. For a long period he had lived happy and respected
in his native town of Orthez, when all at once he was tempted by the
thought of titular rank, and from that time his life was one long
misery. He took the name of one of his estates, he bought his title in
Italy, and ordered his coat-of-arms from a heraldic agent in Paris, and
now his ambition was to be treated as a real nobleman. The mere fact of
dining with the eccentric Duke de Champdoce, who never invited any one
to his table, was to him, as it were, a real patent of nobility.
At ten o’clock he rose and declared he must leave, and the Duke escorted
him the length of the avenue to the great gates opening on the main
road, and Norbert, who walked a few paces in the rear, caught now and
then a few words of their conversation.
“Yes,” remarked Puymandour, “I will give a million down.”
Then came a few words from the Duke, of which Norbert could only catch
the words, “thousands and millions.”
He paid, however, but little attention, for his mind was many miles
away. Since the unlooked-for meeting with that fair young face, he had
thought of nothing else, and he mechanically shook hands with, and bade
his guest “Good-night” when his father did.
When the Duke was sure that M. de Puymandour could not hear his voice,
he took his son by the arm, and the bitterness of feeling which he had
so long repressed burst forth in words.
“This,” said he, “is a specimen of the mushroom aristocracy that has
sprung up, and not a bad sample either; for though he is puffed up by
ridiculous vanity, the man is shrewd and intelligent enough, and his
descendants, who will have the advantages of a better education than
their progenitors, will form a new class, with more wealth and as much
influence as the old one.”
For more than an hour the Duke de Champdoce enlarged on his favorite
topic; but he might as well have been alone, for his son paid no
attention to what he said, for his mind was still dwelling upon his
adventures of the morning. Again that sweet, soft laugh, and that
modulated voice rang in his ears. How foolish he must have seemed to
her! and what a ridiculous figure he must have cut in her eyes! He had
by no means omitted to engrave on the tablet of his memory the fact that
Diana passed daily down the little path on her errand of bounty, and
that there he had the chance of again seeing her. He fancied that he
had so much to say to her; but as he found that his bashfulness would
deprive him of the power of utterance, he determined to commit his
sentiments to paper. That night he composed and destroyed some fifty
letters. He did not dare to say openly, “I love you,” and yet that was
exactly what he wanted to express, and he strove, but in vain, to
find words which would veil its abruptness and yet disclose the whole
strength of his feelings. At last, however, one of his efforts satisfied
him. Rising early, he snatched up his gun, and whistling to Bruno, made
his way to the spot where he had the day before seen Diana stretched
upon the ground. But he waited in vain, and hour after hour passed away,
as he paced up and down in an agony of suspense. Diana did not come. The
young lady had considered her plans thoroughly and kept away. The next
day he might have been again disappointed but for a lucky circumstance.
Norbert was seated on the turf, awaiting with fond expectation the young
girl’s approach and as Diana passed the opening to the pathway Bruno
scented her, and rushed forward with a joyous bark. She had then no
option but to walk up to the spot where Norbert was seated. Both the
young people were for the moment equally embarrassed, and Norbert stood
silent, holding in his hand the letter which had caused him so much
labor to indite.
“I have ventured to wait for you here, mademoiselle,” said he in a voice
which trembled with suppressed emotion, “because I was full of anxiety
to know how you have been. How did you contrive to return home with your
wounded foot?”
He paused, awaiting a word of encouragement, but the girl made no reply,
and he continued,--
“I was tempted to call and make inquiries at your father’s house, but
you had forbidden me to speak of the accident, and I did not dare to
disobey you.”
“I thank you sincerely,” faltered Diana.
“Yesterday,” the young man went on, “I passed the whole day here. Are
you angry with me for my stupidity? I had thought that perhaps you had
noticed my anxiety, and might have deigned to----”
He stopped short, terrified at his own audacity.
“Yesterday,” returned Diana with the most ingenuous air in the world,
and not appearing to perceive the young man’s embarrassment, “I was
detained at home by my mother.”
“Yes,” replied he, “for the past two days your form, lying senseless and
bleeding on the ground, has ever been before my eyes, for I felt as if I
were a murderer. I shall always see your pale, white face, and how,
when I raised up your head it rested on my arm for a moment, and all the
rapture--”
“You must not talk like that, Marquis,” interrupted Diana, but she spoke
in such a low tone that Norbert did not hear her and went on,--
“When I saw you yesterday my feelings so overpowered me that I could not
put them into words; but as soon as you had left me, it appeared as if
all grew dark around me, and throwing myself on my knees, I searched
for the tiny leaden pellet that might have caused your death. I at last
found it, and no treasure upon earth will ever be more prized by me.”
To avoid showing the gleam of joy that flashed from her eyes, Diana was
compelled to turn her head on one side.
“Forgive me, mademoiselle,” said Norbert, in despair, as he noticed this
movement; “forgive me if I have offended you. Could you but know how
dreary my past life has been, you would pardon me. It seemed to me,
the very moment that I saw you, I had found a woman who would feel some
slight interest in me, and that for her sweet compassion I would devote
my whole life to her. But now I see how mad and foolish I have been, and
I am plunged into the depths ‘of despair.’”
She accompanied these words with a glance sufficiently tender to restore
all Norbert’s courage.
“Ah, mademoiselle,” said he; “do not trifle with me, for that would be
too cruel.”
She let her head droop on her bosom, and, falling upon his knees, he
poured a stream of impassioned kisses upon her hands. Diana felt herself
swept away by this stream of passion; she gasped, and her fingers
trembled, as she found that she was trapped in the same snare that she
had set for another. Her reason warned her that she must bring this
dangerous interview to a conclusion.
“I am forgetting all about my poor pensioners,” said she.
“Ah, if I might but accompany you!”
“And so you may, but you must walk fast.”
It is quite true that great events spring from very trivial sources; and
had Diana gone to visit La Besson, Norbert might have heard something
concerning Daumon that would have put him on his guard; but,
unfortunately, to-day Diana was bound on a visit to an old woman in
another part of the parish.
Norbert looked on whilst this fair young creature busied herself in her
work of charity, and then he silently placed two louis from the money
he had borrowed, on the table, and left the cottage. Diana followed
him, and, laying her finger upon her lips with the significant word
“to-morrow,” turned down the path that led to her father’s house.
Norbert could hardly believe his senses when he found himself again
alone. Yes, this lovely girl had almost confessed her affection for
him, and he was ready to pour out his life blood for her. He tore up the
letter which had cost him so much trouble to compose, for he felt
that he could make no use of it. He had now no anxieties regarding the
future, and he thanked Providence for having caused him to meet Diana
de Laurebourg. It never entered his brain that this apparently frank and
open-hearted girl had materially furthered the acts of Providence. At
supper that night he was so gay, and in such excellent spirits, that
even his father’s attention was at last attracted.
“I would lay a wager, my boy,” remarked the Duke, “that you have had a
good day’s sport.”
“You would win your wager,” answered the young man boldly.
His father did not pursue the subject; but as Norbert felt that he must
give some color to his assertion, he stopped the next day, and purchased
some quails and a hare. He waited fully half an hour for Diana; and when
she did appear, her pale face and the dark marks under her eyes showed
that anxiety had caused her to pass a sleepless night.
No sooner had she parted from Norbert than she saw the risk that she was
running by her imprudent conduct. She was endangering her whole future
and her reputation,--all indeed that is most precious to a young girl.
For an instant the thought of confiding all to her parents entered her
brain; but she rejected the idea almost as soon as she had conceived it,
for she felt that her father would believe that the parsimonious Duke
de Champdoce would never consent to such a marriage, and that her entire
liberty would be taken from her, and that she might even be sent back to
the convent.
“I cannot stop now,” she murmured, “and must be content to run all risks
to effect an object in which I am now doubly interested.”
Diana and Norbert had a long conversation together on this day in a spot
which had become so dear to them both, and it was only the approach of a
peasant that recalled the girl to the sense of her rash imprudence, and
she insisted on going on her ostensible errand of charity. Norbert, as
before, escorted her, and even went so far as to offer his arm, upon
which she pressed when the road was steep or uneven.
These meetings took place daily, and after a few short minutes spent in
conversation, the young lovers would set off on a ramble. More than once
they were met by the villagers, and a little scandal began to arise.
This was very imprudent on Diana’s side; but it had been a part of her
plan to permit her actions to be talked of by the tongue of scandal.
Unfortunately the end of November was approaching, and the weather
growing extremely cold. One morning, as Norbert arose from his couch, he
found that a sharp icy blast was swaying the bare branches of the trees,
and that the rain was descending in torrents. On such a day as this
he knew that it was vain to expect Diana, and, with his heart full of
sadness, he took up a book and sat himself down by the huge fire that
blazed in the great hall.
Mademoiselle de Laurebourg had, however, gone out, but it was in a
carriage, and she had driven to a cottage to see a poor woman who had
broken her leg, and who had nothing but the scanty earnings of her
daughter Francoise upon which to exist. As soon as Diana entered the
cottage she saw that something had gone wrong.
“What is the matter?” asked she.
The poor creature, with garrulous volubility, exhibited a summons which
she had just received, and said that she owed three hundred francs, and
that as she could no longer pay the interest, she had been summoned,
and that her little property would be seized, and so a finishing stroke
would be put to her troubles.
“It is the Counsellor,” said she, “that rogue Daumon, who has done all
this.”
The poor woman went on to say that when she went to her creditor to
implore a little delay, he had scoffingly told her to send her pretty
daughter to him to plead her cause.
Mademoiselle de Laurebourg was disgusted at this narrative, and her eyes
gleamed with anger.
“I will see this wicked man,” said she, “and will come back to you at
once.”
She drove straight to the Counsellor’s house. Daumon was engaged in
writing when the housekeeper ushered Diana into the office. He rose to
his feet, and, taking off his velvet skull cap, made a profound bow,
advancing at the same time a chair for his visitor’s accommodation.
Though Diana knew nothing of this man, she was not so unsophisticated as
Norbert, and was not imposed upon by the air of servile obsequiousness
that he assumed. With a gesture of contempt, she declined the proffered
seat, and this act made Daumon her bitter enemy.
“I have come,” said she in the cold, disdainful words in which young
girls of high birth address their inferiors,--“I have come to you from
Widow Rouleau.”
“Ah! you know the poor creature then?”
“Yes, and I take a great interest in her.”
“You are a very kind young lady,” answered the Counsellor with a
sinister smile.
“The poor woman is in the most terrible distress both of mind and body.
She is confined to her bed with a fractured limb, and without any means
of support.”
“Yes, I heard of her accident.”
“And yet you sent her a summons, and are ready to seize all she
possesses in the world.”
Daumon put on an air of sympathy.
“Poor thing!” said he. “How true it is that misfortunes never come
singly!”
Diana was disgusted at the man’s cool effrontery.
“It seems to me,” answered she, “that her last trouble is of your
making.”
“Is it possible?”
“Why, who is it but you who are the persecutor of this poor lone
creature?”
“I!” answered he in extreme astonishment; “do you really think that
it is I? Ah! mademoiselle, why do you listen to the cruel tongues of
scandal-mongers? To make a long story short, this poor woman bought
barley, corn, potatoes, and three sheep from a man in the neighborhood,
who gave her credit to the extent of I daresay three hundred francs.
Well, in time, the man asked--most naturally--for his money, and failing
to get it, came to me. I urged him to wait, but he would not listen to
me, and vowed that if I did not do as he wished he would go to some one
else. What was I to do? He had the law on his side too. Ah!” continued
he, as though speaking to himself, “if I could only see a way of getting
this poor creature out of her trouble! But that cannot be done without
money.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out about fifty francs.
“This is all my worldly wealth,” said he sadly. “But how foolish I am!
For, of course, when poor Widow Rouleau has a wealthy young lady to take
an interest in her, she must have no further fear.”
“I will speak to my father on the matter,” answered Diana in a voice
which showed that she had but little hope of interesting him in the
widow’s misfortunes.
Daumon’s face fell.
“You will go to the Marquis de Laurebourg?” asked he. “Now, if you
would take my advice, I should say, go to some intimate friend,--to the
Marquis de Champdoce, for instance. I know,” he went on, “that the Duke
does not make his son a very handsome allowance; but the young gentleman
will find no difficulty in raising whatever he may desire--as it will
not be long before he is of age--without counting his marriage, which
will put an enormous sum at his disposal even before that.”
Diana fell in an instant into the trap the wily Daumon had laid for her.
“A marriage!” exclaimed she.
“I know very little about it; only I know that if the young man wishes
to marry without his father’s consent, he will have to wait at least
five years.”
“Five years?”
“Yes; the law requires that a young man who marries against his father’s
desire should be twenty-five years of age.”
This last stroke was so totally unexpected, that the girl lost her head.
“Impossible!” cried she. “Are you not making a mistake?”
The Counsellor gave a quiet smile of triumph.
“I am not mistaken,” said he, and calmly pointed out in the code the
provision to which he had alluded. As Diana read the passage to which
his finger pointed, he watched her as a cat watches a mouse.
“After all, what does it matter to me?” remarked Diana, making an effort
to recover herself. “I will speak about this poor woman’s case to my
father;” and, with her limbs bending under her, she left the room.
As Daumon returned from accompanying her to the door, the Counsellor
rubbed his hands.
“Things are getting decidedly warm,” muttered he.
He felt that he must gain some further information, and this he could
not get from Norbert. It would be also as well, he thought, to tell the
sheriff to stay proceedings relative to the Widow Rouleau. By this means
he might secure another interview with Mademoiselle de Laurebourg, and
perhaps win the poor girl’s confidence.
As Diana rode home, she abandoned herself to the grief which the
intelligence that she had just heard had caused her, for the foresight
of the framers of the law had rendered all her deeply laid plans of no
avail.
“The Duke of Champdoce,” murmured she to herself, “will never consent to
his son’s marriage with so scantily a dowered woman as I am; but as
soon as Norbert is of age he can marry me, in spite of all his father’s
opposition; but, oh! ‘tis a dreary time to wait.”
For a moment she dared to think of the possible death of the old man;
but she shuddered as she remembered how strong and healthy he was,
and felt that the frail edifice of her hope had been crushed into ten
thousand atoms. For all this, however, she did not lose courage. She was
not one of those women who, at the first check, beat a retreat. She had
not yet decided upon a fresh point of departure, but she had fully made
up her mind that she would gain the victory. The first thing was to see
Norbert with as little delay as possible. Just then the carriage pulled
up at the widow’s cottage, which she entered hastily.
“I have seen Daumon,” said she. “Do not be alarmed; all matters will be
arranged shortly.”
Then, without listening to the thanks and blessings which the poor woman
showered upon her, she said,--
“Give me a piece of paper to write on,” and, standing near the casement,
she wrote in pencil on a soiled scrap of paper the following words:--
“Diana would, perhaps, have been at the usual meeting place to-day, in
spite of the weather, had she not been compelled to visit a poor woman
in a contrary direction. Upon the same business, she will have to call
to-morrow at the house of a man called Daumon.”
She folded the note and said,--
“This letter must be taken at once to M. Norbert de Champdoce. Who will
carry it?”
Francoise had made a smock frock for one of the farm servants at
Champdoce, and the delivery of it formed a good excuse for going up to
the Chateau, and she willingly undertook the errand.
The next day, in the midst of a heavy shower of rain, Norbert made his
appearance at Daumon’s office, saying, as a pretext for his visit, that
he had exhausted his stock of money, and required a fresh supply. He too
was feeling very unhappy, for he feared that this father might entertain
matrimonial designs for him which would be utterly opposed to his
passion for Mademoiselle de Laurebourg.
Had not the inexorable old man once said, “You will marry a woman of
wealth?” But in the event of this matter being brought up, Norbert swore
that he would no longer be obedient, but would resist to the last; and
he calculated on receiving assistance from Daumon. He was on the point
of referring to this matter, when a carriage drew up at the door of the
cottage, and Mademoiselle de Laurebourg descended from it. Daumon at
once saw how matters stood, and wasted no time in addressing Diana.
“The sheriff will stop proceedings,” said he. “I can show you his letter
to that effect.”
He turned away, and searched as diligently for the letter as if it had
existed anywhere except in his own imagination.
“Dear me,” said he at length. “I cannot find it. I must have left it in
the other room. I have so much to do, that really there are times when
I forget everything. I must find it, however. Excuse me, I will be back
immediately.”
His sudden departure from the room had been a mere matter of
calculation; for, guessing that an assignation had been planned,
he thought that he might know what took place at it by a little
eavesdropping. He therefore applied first his ear and then his eye to
the keyhole, and by these means acquired all the information he desired.
A moment of privacy with the object of his affections seemed to Norbert
an inestimable boon. When Diana had first entered, he was horrified at
the terrible alteration that had taken place in the expression of her
face. He seized her hand, which she made no effort to withdraw, and
gazed fixedly into her eyes.
“Tell me,” murmured he in accents of love and tenderness, “what it is
that has gone wrong.”
Diana sighed, then a tear coursed slowly down her cheek. Norbert was in
the deepest despair at these signs of grief.
“Great heavens!” cried he. “Will you not trust me? Am not I your truest
and most devoted friend?”
At first she refused to answer him, but at length she yielded to
his entreaties, and confessed that the evening before her father had
informed her that a young man had sought her hand in marriage, and one
who was a perfectly eligible suitor.
Norbert listened to this avowal, trembling from head to foot, with a
sudden access of jealousy.
“And did you make no objections?” asked he.
“How could I?” retorted she. “What can a girl do in opposition to the
will of all her family, when she has to choose between the alternative
that she loathes, or a life-long seclusion in a convent?”
Daumon shook with laughter, as he kept his ear closely to the keyhole.
“Good business,” muttered he. “Not so bad. Here’s a little girl from a
convent. She has a clever brain and a glib tongue, and under my tuition
would be a perfect wonder. If this country booby does not make an open
declaration at once, I wonder what her next move will be?”
“And you hesitated,” said Norbert reproachfully. “Remember you may
escape from the walls of the convent, but not from the bonds of an
ill-assorted marriage.”
Diana, who looked more beautiful than ever in her despair, wrung her
hands.
“What reason can I give to my father for declining this offer?” said
she. “Every one knows that I am almost portionless, and that I am
sacrificed to my brother, immolated upon the altar erected before the
cruel idol of family pride; and how dare I refuse a suitable offer when
one is made for my hand?”
“Have you forgotten me?” cried Norbert. “Have you no love for me?
“Ah, my poor friend, you are no more free than I am.”
“Then you look on me as a mere weak boy?” asked he, biting his lips.
“Your father is very powerful,” answered she in tones of the deepest
resignation; “his determination is inflexible, and his will inexorable.
You are completely in his power.”
“What do I care for my father?” cried the young man fiercely. “Am not
I a Champdoce too? Woe be to any one, father or stranger, who comes
between me and the woman I love devotedly; for I do love you, Diana, and
no mortal man shall take you from me.”
He clasped Diana to his breast, and pressed a loving kiss upon her lips.
“Aha,” muttered Daumon, who had lost nothing from his post of espial,
“this is worth fifty thousand francs at least to me.”
For a moment Diana remained clasped in her lover’s embrace, and then,
with a faint cry, released herself from him. She then felt that she
loved him, and his kiss and caresses sent a thrill like liquid fire
through her veins. She was half pleased and half terrified. She feared
him, but she feared herself more.
“What, Diana! Would you refuse me?” asked he, after a moment’s pause.
“Do you refuse me, when I implore you to be my wife, and to share my
name with me? Will you not be the Duchess of Champdoce?”
Diana only replied with a glance; but if her eyes spoke plainly, that
look said “Yes.”
“Why, then,” returned Norbert, “should we alarm ourselves with empty
phantoms? Do you not trust me? My father may certainly oppose my plans,
but before long I shall escape from his tyrannical sway, for I shall be
of age.”
“Ah, Norbert,” returned she sadly, “you are feeding upon vain hopes.
You must be twenty-five years of age before you can marry and give the
shelter of your name to the woman whom you have chosen for your wife.”
This was exactly the explanation for which Daumon had been waiting.
“Good again, my young lady,” cried he. “And so this is why she came
here. There is some credit in giving a lesson to so apt a pupil.”
“It is impossible,” cried Norbert, violently agitated; “such an
iniquitous thing cannot be.”
“You are mistaken,” answered Diana calmly. “Unfortunately I am telling
you exactly how matters stand. The law clearly fixes the age
at twenty-five. During all this time will you remember that a
broken-hearted girl--”
“Why talk to me of law? When I am of age, I shall have plenty of money,”
broke in Norbert; “and do you think that I will tamely submit to my
father’s oppression? No, I will wrest his consent from him.”
During this conversation the Counsellor was carefully removing the dust
from the knees of his trousers.
“I will pop in suddenly,” thought he, “and catch a word or two which
will do away with the necessity of all lengthy explanations.”
He suited the action to the word, and appeared suddenly before the
lovers. He was not at all disconcerted at the effect his entrance
produced upon them, and remarked placidly, “I could not find the
sheriff’s letter, but I assure you that Widow Rouleau’s matter shall be
speedily and satisfactorily arranged.”
Diana and Norbert exchanged glances of annoyance at finding their secret
at the mercy of such a man. This evident distrust appeared to wound
Daumon deeply.
“You have a perfect right,” remarked he dejectedly, “to say, ‘Mind your
own business;’ but the fact is, that I hate all kinds of injustice so
much that I always take the side of the weakest, and so, when I come in
and find you deploring your troubles, I say to myself, ‘Doubtless here
are two young people made for each other.’”
“You forget yourself,” broke in Diana haughtily.
“I beg your pardon,” stammered Daumon. “I am but a poor peasant, and
sometimes I speak out too plainly. I meant no harm, and I only hope that
you will forgive me.”
Daumon looked at Diana; and as she made no reply, he went on: “‘Well,’
says I to myself, ‘here are two young folks that have fallen in
love, and have every right to do so, and yet they are kept apart by
unreasonable and cruel-minded parents. They are young and know nothing
of the law, and without help they would most certainly get into a
muddle. Now, suppose I take their matter in hand, knowing the law
thoroughly as I do, and being up to its weak as well as its strong
points.’”
He spoke on in this strain for some minutes, and did not notice that
they had withdrawn a little apart, and were whispering to each other.
“Why should we not trust him?” asked Norbert. “He has plenty of
experience.”
“He would betray us; he would do anything for money.”
“That is all the better for us then; for if we promise him a handsome
sum, he will not say a word of what has passed to-day.”
“Do as you think best, Norbert.”
Having thus gained Diana’s assent, the young man turned to Daumon. “I
put every faith in you, and so does Mademoiselle de Laurebourg. You know
our exact situation. What do you advise?”
“Wait and hope,” answered the Counsellor. “The slightest step taken
before you are of age will be fatal to your prospects, but the day you
are twenty-one I will undertake to show you several methods of bringing
the Duke on his knees.”
Nothing could make this speech more explicit; but he was so cheerful and
confident, that when Diana left the office, she felt a fountain of fresh
hope well up in her heart.
This was nearly their last interview that year, for the winter came on
rapidly and with increased severity, so that it was impossible for the
lovers to meet out of doors, and the fear of spying eyes prevented them
from taking advantage of Daumon’s hospitality. Each day, however, the
widow’s daughter, Francoise, carried a letter to Laurebourg, and brought
back a reply to Champdoce. The inhabitants of the various country houses
had fled to more genial climates, and only the Marquis de Laurebourg,
who was an inveterate sportsman, still lingered; but at the first heavy
fall of snow he too determined to take refuge in the magnificent house
that he owned in the town of Poitiers. Norbert had foreseen this, and
had taken his measures accordingly. Two or three times in the week he
mounted his horse and rode to the town. After changing his dress, he
made haste to a certain garden wall in which there was a small door.
At an agreed hour this door would gently open, and as Norbert slipped
through he would find Diana ready to welcome him, looking more
bewitching than ever. This great passion, which now enthralled his whole
life, and the certainty that his love was returned, had done away with
a great deal of his bashfulness and timidity. He had resumed his
acquaintanceship with Montlouis, and had often been with him to the Café
Castille. Montlouis was only for a short time at Poitiers, for as soon
as spring began he was to join the young Count de Mussidan, who had
promised to find some employment for him. The approaching departure was
not at all to Montlouis’ taste, as he was madly in love with a young
girl who resided in the town. He told all to Norbert; and as confidence
begets confidence, he more than once accompanied the young Marquis to
the door in the garden wall of the Count de Laurebourg’s town house.
April came at last. The gentry returned to their country houses, and in
time the happy day arrived when Diana de Laurebourg was to return to her
father’s country mansion. The lovers had now every opportunity to meet,
and would exhort each other to have patience, and a week after Diana’s
return they spent a long day together in the woods. After this delicious
day, Norbert, happy and light-hearted, returned to his father’s house.
“Marquis,” said the Duke, plunging at once into the topic nearest his
heart, “I have found a wife for you, and in two months you will marry
her.”