FALSE FRIEND, OLD LOVER.
It was on a Wednesday morning that the Duke de Champdoce, instead of, as
usual, going to his own or one of his friends’ clubs to breakfast, took
his seat at the table where his wife was partaking of her morning meal.
He was in excellent spirits, gay, and full of pleasant talk, a mood in
which his wife had never seen him since their ill-fated marriage. The
Duchess could not understand this sudden change in her husband; it
terrified and alarmed her, for she felt that it was the forerunner of
some serious event, which would change the current of her life entirely.
Norbert waited until the domestics had completed their duty and retired,
and as soon as he was alone with his wife he took her hand and kissed it
with an air of gallantry.
“It has been a long time, my dear Marie, since I had resolved to open
my heart to you entirely, and now a full and open explanation has become
absolutely necessary.”
“An explanation!” faltered Marie.
“Yes, certainly; but do not let the word alarm you. I fear that I must
have appeared in your eyes the most morose and disagreeable of husbands.
Permit me to explain. Since we came here, I have gone about my own
affairs, I have gone out early and returned extremely late, and
sometimes three days have elapsed without our even setting eyes on each
other.”
The young Duchess listened to him like a woman who could not believe her
ears. Could this be her husband who was heaping reproaches upon himself
in this manner?
“I have made no complaint,” stammered she.
“I know that, Marie; you have a noble and forgiving nature; but,
however, it is impossible, as a woman, that you should not have
condemned me.”
“Indeed, but I have not done so.”
“So much the better for me. On this I shall not have to find either
defence or excuse for my conduct; you must know, however, that you are
ever foremost in my thoughts, even when I am away from you.”
He was evidently doing his best to put on an air of tenderness and
affection, but he failed; for though his words were kind, the tone of
his voice was neither tender nor sympathetic.
“I hope I know my duty,” said the Duchess.
“Pray, Marie,” broke in he, “do not let the word duty be uttered between
us. You know that you have been much alone, because it was impossible
for the friends of Mademoiselle de Puymandour to be those of the Duchess
de Champdoce!”
“Have I made any opposition to your orders?”
“Then, too, our mourning prevents us going out into the world for five
months longer at least.”
“Have I asked to go out?”
“All the more reason that I should endeavor to make your home less dull
for you. I should like you to have with you some person in whose society
you could find pleasure and distraction. Not one of those foolish girls
who have no thought save for balls and dress, but a sensible woman of
the world, and, above all, one of your own age and rank,--a woman, in
short, of whom you could make a friend. But where can such a one be
found? It is a perilous quest to venture on, and upon such a friend
often depends the happiness and misery of a home.
“But,” continued he, after a brief pause, “I think that I have
discovered the very one that will suit you. I met her at the house of
Madame d’Ailange, who spoke eloquently of her charms of mind and body,
and I hope to have the pleasure of presenting her to you to-day.”
“Here, at our house?”
“Certainly; there is nothing odd in this. Besides, the lady is no
stranger to us; she comes from our own part of the country, and you know
her.”
A flush came over his face, and he busied himself with the fire to
conceal it as he added,--
“You recollect Mademoiselle de Laurebourg?”
“Do you mean Diana de Laurebourg?”
“Exactly so.”
“I saw very little of her, for my father and hers did not get on
very well together. The Marquis de Laurebourg looked on us as too
insignificant to--”
“Ah, well,” interrupted he, “I trust that the daughter will make up for
the father’s shortcomings. She married just after our wedding had been
celebrated, and her husband is the Count de Mussidan. She will call on
you to-day, and I have told your servants to say that you are at home.”
The silence that followed this speech lasted for nearly a couple of
minutes, and became exceedingly embarrassing, when suddenly the sound
of wheels was heard on the gravel of the courtyard, and in a moment
afterwards a servant came and announced that the Countess de Mussidan
was in the drawing-room. Norbert rose, and, taking his wife’s arm, led
her away.
“Come, Marie, come,” said he; “she has arrived.”
Diana had reflected deeply before she had taken this extraordinarily
bold step. In paying a visit so contrary to all the usual rules of
etiquette, she exposed herself to the chance of receiving a severe
rebuff. The few seconds that elapsed while she was still alone in the
drawing-room seemed like so many centuries; but the door was opened, and
Norbert and his wife appeared. Then, with a charming smile, Madame de
Mussidan rose and bowed gracefully to the Duchess de Champdoce, making a
series of half-jesting apologies for her intrusion. She had been utterly
unable, she said, to resist the pleasure she should experience in seeing
an old country neighbor, the more so as they were now separated by
so short a distance. She had, therefore, disregarded all the rules of
etiquette so that they might have a cozy chat about Poitiers, Bevron,
Champdoce, and all the country where she had been born, and which she so
dearly loved.
The Duchess listened in silence to this torrent of words, and the
expression of her face showed how surprised she was at this unexpected
visit. A less perfectly self-possessed woman than Diana de Mussidan
might have felt abashed, but the slight annoyance was not to be compared
to the prospective advantages that she hoped to gain, and she brought
all the mettle of her talent and diplomacy into play.
Norbert was moving about the room, half ashamed of the ignoble part that
he was playing. As soon as he thought that the welcome between the
two ladies had been partially got over, and imagined that they were
conversing more amicably together, he slipped out of the room, not
knowing whether to be pleased or angry at the success of the trick.
The trick was rather a more difficult one than Diana had, from Norbert’s
account, anticipated, as she had thought that she would have been
received by the Duchess like some ministering angel sent down to earth
to console an unhappy captive. She had expected to find a simple,
guileless woman, who, upon her first visit, would throw her arms round
her visitor’s neck and yield herself entirely to her influence.
Far, however, from being dismayed, Diana was rather pleased at
this unexpected difficulty, and so fully exerted all her powers of
fascination, that when she took her leave, she believed that she had
made a little progress.
On that very evening the Duchess remarked to her husband,--
“I think that I shall like Madame de Mussidan; she seems an excellent
kind of woman.”
“Excellent is just the proper word,” returned Norbert. “All Bevron was
in tears when she was married and had to leave, for she was a real angel
among the poor.”
Norbert was intensely gratified by Diana’s success; for was it not for
him that she had displayed all her skill, and was not this a proof that
she still cherished a passion for him?
He was not, however, quite so much pleased when he met Madame de
Mussidan the next day in the Champs Elysees. She looked sad and
thoughtful.
“What has gone wrong?” asked he.
“I am very angry with myself for having listened to the voice of my own
heart and to your entreaties,” answered she, “and I think that both of
us have committed a grave error.”
“Indeed, and what have we done?”
“Norbert, your wife suspects something.”
“Impossible! Why, she was praising you after you had left.”
“If that is the case, then she is indeed a much more clever woman than
I had imagined, for she knows how to conceal her suspicions until she is
in a position to prove them.”
Diana spoke with such a serious air of conviction, that Norbert became
quite alarmed.
“What shall we do?” asked he.
“The best thing would be to give up meeting each other, I think.”
“Never; I tell you, never!”
“Let me reflect; in the meantime be prudent; for both our sakes, be
prudent.”
To further his ends, Norbert entirely changed his mode of life. He
gave up going to his clubs, refused invitations to fast suppers, and no
longer spent his nights in gambling and drinking. He drove out with his
wife, and frequently spent his evenings with her, and at the club began
to be looked on as quite a model husband. This great change, however,
was not effected without many a severe inward struggle. He felt deeply
humiliated at the life of deception that he was forced to lead, but
Diana’s hand, apparently so slight and frail, held him with a grip of
steel.
“We must live in this way,” said she, in answer to his expostulations,
“first, because it must be so; and, secondly, because it is my will. On
our present mode of conduct depends all our future safety, and I wish
the Duchess to believe that with me happiness and content must have come
to her fireside.”
Norbert could not gainsay this very reasonable proposition on the
part of Madame de Mussidan, for he was more in love than ever, and the
terrible fear that if he went in any way contrary to her wishes that
she would refuse to see him any more, stayed the words of objection that
rose to his lips.
After hesitating for a little longer, the Duchess made up her mind to
accept the offer of friendship which Diana had so ingenuously offered to
her, and finished by giving herself up to the bitterest enemy that she
had in the world. By degrees she had no secrets from her new friend, and
one day, after a long and confidential conversation, she acknowledged to
Diana the whole secret of the early love of her girlish days, the memory
of which had never faded from the inmost recesses of her heart, and was
rash enough to mention George de Croisenois by name. Madame de Mussidan
was overjoyed at what she considered so signal a victory.
“Now I have her,” thought she, “and vengeance is within my grasp.”
Marie and Diana were now like two sisters, and were almost constantly
together; but this intimacy had not given to Norbert the facile means
of meeting Diana which he had so ardently hoped for. Though Madame de
Mussidan visited his house nearly every day, he absolutely saw less of
her than he had done before, and sometimes weeks elapsed without his
catching a glimpse of her face. She played her game with such consummate
skill, that Marie was always placed as a barrier between Norbert and
herself, as in the farce, when the lover wishes to embrace his mistress,
he finds the wrinkled visage of the duenna offered to his lips.
Sometimes he grew angry, but Diana always had some excellent reason
with which to close his mouth. Sometimes she held up his pretensions
to ridicule, and at others assumed a haughty air, which always quelled
incipient rebellion upon his part.
“What did you expect of me?” she would say, “and of what base act did
you do me the honor to consider me capable?”
He was treated exactly like a child, or more cruel still, like a person
deficient in intellect, and this he was thoroughly aware of. He could
not meet Madame de Mussidan as he had formerly done, for now in the
Bois, at Longchamps, or at any place of public amusement she was
invariably surrounded by a band of fashionable admirers, among whom
George de Croisenois was always to be found. Norbert disliked all these
men, but he had a special antipathy to George de Croisenois, whom he
regarded as a supercilious fool; but in this opinion he was entirely
wrong, for the Marquis de Croisenois was looked upon as one of the most
talented and witty men in Parisian society, and in this case the opinion
of the world was a well-founded one. Many men envied him, but he had
no enemies, and his honest and straightforward conduct was beyond all
doubt. He had the noble instincts of a knight of the days of chivalry.
“Pray,” asked Norbert, “what is it that you can see in this sneering
dandy who is always hanging about you?”
But Diana, with a meaning smile, always made the same reply,--
“You ask too much; but some time you will learn all.”
Every day she contrived, when with the Duchess, to turn the conversation
skilfully upon George de Croisenois, and she had in a manner accustomed
Marie to look certain possibilities straight in the face, from the very
idea of which she would a few months back have recoiled with horror.
This point once gained, Madame de Mussidan believed that the moment had
arrived to bring the former lovers together again, and fancied that one
sudden and unexpected encounter would advance matters much more quickly
than all her half-veiled insinuations. One day, therefore, when the
Duchess had called on her friend, on entering the drawing-room, she
found it only tenanted by George de Croisenois. An exclamation of
astonishment fell from the lips of both as their eyes met; the cheek
of each grew pale. The Duchess, overcome by her feelings, sank
half-fainting into a chair near the door.
“Ah,” murmured he, scarcely knowing the meaning of the words he uttered,
“I had every confidence in you, and you have forgotten me.”
“You do not believe the words you have just spoken,” returned the
Duchess haughtily; “but,” she added in softer accents, “what could I do?
I may have been weak in obeying my father, but for all that I have never
forgotten the past.”
Madame de Mussidan, who had stationed herself behind the closed door,
caught every word, and a gleam of diabolical triumph flashed from her
eyes. She felt sure that an interview which began in this manner would
be certain to be repeated, and she was not in error. She soon saw that
by some tacit understanding the Duchess and George contrived to meet
constantly at her house, and this she carefully abstained from noticing.
Things were working exactly as she desired and she waited, for she could
well afford to do so, knowing that the impending crash could not long be
delayed.