THE HEIR OF CHAMPDOCE.
As long as she was in Norbert’s presence, anger and indignation gave
the Duchess de Champdoce strength; but as soon as she was left alone her
energy gave way, and with an outburst of tears she sank, half fainting,
upon a couch. Her despair was augmented from the fact that she felt that
had it not been for her, George de Croisenois would never have met with
his death.
“Had I not made that fatal appointment,” she sobbed, “he would be alive
and well now; my love has slain him as surely as if my hand had held the
steel that has pierced his heart!”
She at first thought of seeking refuge with her father, but abandoned
the idea almost immediately, for she felt that he would refuse to
enter into her grievance, or would say, “You are a duchess; you have an
enormous fortune. You must be happy; and if you are not, it must be your
own fault.”
In terrible anguish the night passed away; and when her maids entered
the room, they found her lying on the floor, dressed as she had been the
night before. No one knew what to do, and messengers were dispatched in
all directions to summon medical advice.
Norbert’s return was eagerly welcomed by the terrified domestics, and a
general feeling of relief pervaded the establishment.
The Duke had grown very uneasy as to what might have happened during his
absence. He questioned the servants as diplomatically as he could; and
while he was thus engaged, the doctors who had been summoned arrived.
After seeing their patient, they did not for a moment conceal their
opinion that the case was a very serious one, and that it was possible
that she might not survive this mysterious seizure. They impressed upon
Norbert the necessity of the Duchess being kept perfectly quiet and
never left alone, and then departed, promising to call again in the
afternoon.
Their injunctions were unnecessary, for Norbert had established himself
by his wife’s bedside, resolved not to quit her until her health was
re-established or death had intervened to release her from suffering.
Fever had claimed her for its own, and in her delusion she uttered
many incoherent ravings, the key to which Norbert alone held, and which
filled his soul with dread and terror.
This was the second time that Norbert had been compelled to watch over
a sick-bed, guarding within his heart a terrible secret. At Champdoce
he had sat by his father’s side, who could have revealed the terrible
attempt against his life; and now it was his wife that he was keeping a
watch on, lest her lips should utter the horrible secret of the death of
George de Croisenois.
Compelled to remain by his wife’s side, the thoughts of his past life
forced themselves upon him, and he shuddered to think that, at the age
of twenty-five he had only to look back upon scenes of misery and crime,
which cast a cloud of gloom and horror over the rest of his days. What a
terrible future to come after so hideous a past!
He had another source of anxiety, and frequently rang the bell to
inquire for Jean.
“Send him to me as soon as he comes,” was his order.
At last Jean made his appearance, and his master led him into a
deeply-recessed window.
“Well?” asked he.
“All is settled, my lord; be easy.”
“And Caroline?”
“Has left. I gave her twenty thousand francs, and saw her into the train
myself. She is going to the States, where she hopes to find a cousin who
will marry her; at least, that is her intention.”
Norbert heaved a deep sigh of relief, for the thought of Caroline
Schimmel had laid like a heavy burden upon his heart.
“And how about the other matter?” asked he.
The old man shook his head.
“What has been done?”
“I have got hold of a young fellow who believes that I wish to send him
to Egypt, to purchase cotton. He will start to-morrow, and will post the
two letters written by the Marquis de Croisenois, one at Marseilles, and
the other at Cairo.”
“Do you not think that these letters will insure my perfect security?”
“I see that any indiscretion on our agent’s part, or a mere act of
carelessness, may ruin us.”
“And yet it must be done.”
After consulting together, the doctors had given some slight hope, but
the position of the patient was still very precarious. It was suggested
that her intellect might be permanently affected; and during all these
long and anxious hours Norbert did not even dare to close his eyes, and
it was with feelings of secret terror that he permitted the maids to
perform their duties around their invalid mistress.
Upon the fourth day the fever took a favorable turn, and Marie slept,
giving Norbert time to review his position.
How was it that Madame de Mussidan, who was a daily visitor, had
not appeared at the house since that eventful night? He was so much
surprised at this that he ventured to dispatch a short note, acquainting
her of the sudden illness of his wife.
In an hour he received a reply, merely containing these words:--
“Can you account for M. de Mussidan’s sudden determination to spend the
winter in Italy? We leave this evening. Farewell.--D.”
And so she, too, had abandoned him, taking with her all the hopes he had
in the world. Still, however, his infatuation held its sway over him,
and he forced himself to believe that she felt this separation as keenly
as he did.
Some five days afterwards, when the Duchess de Champdoce had been
pronounced out of immediate danger, one of the doctors took him
mysteriously aside. He said that he wanted to inform the Duke of a
startling, but he hoped a welcome piece of intelligence--that the
Duchess de Champdoce was in the way to present the Duke with an heir to
his title and estates.
It was the knowledge of this that had decided her not to leave her
husband’s roof, and had steeled her heart against George’s entreaties.
She had hesitated, and had almost yielded to the feelings of her heart,
when this thought troubled her.
Unfortunately for herself, she had not disclosed her condition to her
husband, and, at the news, all Norbert’s former suspicions revived, and
his wrath rose once more to an extraordinary height. His lips grew pale,
and his eyes blazed with fury.
“Thank you, doctor!” exclaimed he. “Of course, the news is very welcome.
Good-by. I must go to the Duchess at once.”
Instead of going to his wife, Norbert went and locked himself up in his
own private apartment. He had need to be alone, in order to look this
fresh complication more fully in the face, and the more he reflected,
the more convinced was he that he had been the dupe of a guilty woman.
He had begun by doubting, and he ended by being convinced that the child
was not his. Was he to accept this degraded position, and rear up as his
own the child of George de Croisenois? The child would grow up under his
own roof-tree, bear his name, and finally inherit his title and gigantic
fortune. “Never,” muttered he. “No, never; for sooner than that, I will
crush the life out of it with my own hands!”
The more he thought how he should have to deceive the world by feigning
love and lavishing caresses upon this interloping child, the more he
felt that it would be impossible to perform his task. He had, however,
much to do at present. The sudden and mysterious disappearance of George
de Croisenois had created much stir and excitement in Paris, and the
letter which had been posed by the agent dispatched by Jean, instead
of explaining matters, had only deepened the mystery and caused fresh
grounds of surprise to arise in the minds of the friends of the Marquis
and the police authorities. But the disappearance of the Marquis was
only a nine days’ wonder after all. Some other strange event excited the
attention of the fickle public, and George de Croisenois’ name was no
longer in every one’s mouth.
Norbert breathed freely once more, for he felt his secret was safe.
Diana de Mussidan had now been absent for three months and had not
vouchsafed him a single line. A river of blood flowed between him and
his wife. Among all his acquaintances he had not one friend on whom he
could rely, and his reckless life of debauchery and dissipation began
to weary him. His thoughts were always fixed upon this coming child. How
could he ever bear to bring it up as if it were his own? He had thought
over many plans, but always trusted to the first one he had conceived.
This was to procure an infant, it mattered not where or by what means,
and substitute it for the new-born child of his wife. As time rolled on,
he became more imbued with this idea, and at length he summoned Jean
to him, that faithful old man, who served his master so truly out of
affection to the house of Champdoce.
For the first time Jean raised an objection to his master’s proposal,
declaring that such an act would bring shame and misery upon all
concerned in it; but when he found that Norbert was determined, and
that, if he refused, his master would employ some less scrupulous
agent, he, with tears in his eyes and a tremor in his voice, promised
obedience.
About a month later, Jean came to his master and suggested that it would
be best the _accouchement_ of the Duchess should take place at a chateau
belonging to the Champdoce family near Montroire, and that this once
done, he, Jean would arrange everything. The removal was effected almost
at once, and the Duchess, who was a mere shadow of her former self,
made no opposition. She and Norbert lived together as perfect strangers.
Sometimes a week would elapse without their meeting; and if they had
occasion to communicate, it was done by letter.
The estate to which Norbert had conducted the Duchess was admirably
adapted for his purpose. The unhappy woman was entirely alone in the
world, and had no one to whom she could apply for protection or advice.
Her father, the Count de Puymandour, had died suddenly a month before,
owing to chagrin caused by his defeat when a candidate for a seat in the
Chamber. The brief note from the despairing mother, in which followed
the words, “Have mercy! Give me back my child!” hardly describes the
terrible events that occurred in the lonely Chateau to which Norbert had
conducted his innocent victim.
The child of the Duchess de Champdoce had been placed by Jean in the
Foundling Hospital at Vendome, while the infant that was baptized with
the grandiloquent names of Anne Rene, Gontran de Duepair, Marquis de
Champdoce, was the bastard child of a girl living near Montroire, who
was known in the neighborhood as “The Witch.”