AFTER passing a sleepless night, and hearing the clock strike six,
Jerome took from his table a book, and thus endeavored to pass away the
hours before breakfast-time. While thus engaged, a servant entered and
handed him a note. Hastily tearing it open, Jerome read as follows:--
“SIR,--I owe you an apology for the abrupt manner in which I addressed
you last evening, and the inconvenience to which you were subjected
by some of my household. If you will honor us with your presence to-day
at four o'clock, I will be most happy to give you due satisfaction.
My servant will be waiting with the carriage at half-past three.
“I am, sir, yours, &c.,
“J. DEVENANT”
“JEROME FLETCHER, Esq.”
Who this gentleman was, and how he had found out his name and the hotel
at which he was stopping, were alike mysteries to Jerome. And this note
seemed to his puzzled brain like a challenge. “Satisfaction?” He had not
asked for satisfaction. However, he resolved to accept the invitation,
and, if need be, meet the worst. At any rate, this most mysterious and
complicated affair would be explained.
The clock on a neighboring church had scarcely finished striking three
when a servant announced to Jerome that a carriage had called for him.
In a few minutes, he was seated in a sumptuous barouche, drawn by a
pair of beautiful iron-grays, and rolling over a splendid gravel road
entirely shaded by trees, which appeared to have been the accumulated
growth of many centuries. The carriage soon stopped at a low villa,
which was completely embowered in trees.
Jerome alighted, and was shown into a superb room, with the walls finely
decorated with splendid tapestry, and the ceilings exquisitely frescoed.
The walls were hung with fine specimens from the hands of the great
Italian masters, and one by a German artist, representing a beautiful
monkish legend connected with the “Holy Catharine,” an illustrious lady
of Alexandria. High-backed chairs stood around the room, rich curtains
of crimson damask hung in folds on either side of the window, and a
beautiful, rick, Turkey carpet covered the floor. In the centre of the
room stood a table covered with books, in the midst of which was a
vase of fresh flowers, loading the atmosphere with their odors. A
faint light, together with the quiet of the hour, gave beauty beyond
description to the whole scene. A half-open door showed a fine marble
floor to an adjoining room, with pictures, statues, and antiquated
sofas, and flower-pots filled with rare plants of every kind and
description.
Jerome had scarcely run his eyes over the beauties of the room when
the elderly gentleman whom he had met on the previous evening made his
appearance, followed by the little boy, and introduced himself as Mr.
Devenant. A moment more and a lady, a beautiful brunette, dressed in
black, with long black curls hanging over her shoulders, entered the
room. Her dark, bright eyes flashed as she caught the first sight of
Jerome. The gentleman immediately arose on the entrance of the lady, and
Mr. Devenant was in the act of introducing the stranger when he observed
that Jerome had sunk back upon the sofa, in a faint voice exclaiming,--
“It is she!”
After this, all was dark and dreary. How long he remained in this
condition, it was for others to tell. The lady knelt by his side and
wept; and when he came to, he found himself stretched upon the sofa with
his boots off and his head resting upon a pillow. By his side sat the
old man, with the smelling-bottle in one hand and a glass of water in
the other, while the little boy stood at the foot of the sofa. As soon
as Jerome had so far recovered as to be able to speak, he said,--
“Where am I, and what does all this mean?”
“Wait awhile,” replied the old man, “and I will tell you all.”
After the lapse of some ten minutes, Jerome arose from the sofa,
adjusted his apparel, and said,--
“I am now ready to hear anything you have to say.”
“You were born in America?” said the old man.
“I was,” he replied.
“And you knew a girl named Clotelle,” continued the old man.
“Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other.”
“The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening was she,” said Mr.
Devenant.
Jerome was silent, but the fountain of mingled grief and joy stole out
from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls upon his ebony
cheeks.
At this juncture, the lady again entered the room. With an enthusiasm
that can be better imagined than described, Jerome sprang from the sofa,
and they rushed into each other's arms, to the great surprise of the old
gentleman and little Antoine, and to the amusement of the servants who
had crept up, one by one and were hid behind the doors or loitering in
the hall. When they had given vent to their feelings and sufficiently
recovered their presence of mind, they resumed their seats.
“How did you find out my name and address?” inquired Jerome.
“After you had left the grave-yard,” replied Clotelle, “our little boy
said, 'Oh, mamma! if there ain't a book!' I opened the book, and saw
your name written in it, and also found a card of the Hotel de Leon.
Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was only a fancy of mine that
I had ever seen you before; but I was perfectly convinced that you were
my own dear Jerome.”
As she uttered the last words, tears--the sweet bright tears that love
alone can bring forth--bedewed her cheeks.
“Are you married?” now inquired Clotelle, with a palpitating heart and
trembling voice.
“No, I am not, and never have been,” was Jerome's reply.
“Then, thank God!” she exclaimed, in broken accents.
It was then that hope gleamed up amid the crushed and broken flowers of
her heart, and a bright flash darted forth like a sunbeam.
“Are you single now?” asked Jerome.
“Yes, I am,” was the answer.
“Then you will be mine after all?” said he with a smile.
Her dark, rich hair had partly come down, and hung still more loosely
over her shoulders than when she first appeared; and her eyes, now full
of animation and vivacity, and her sweet, harmonious, and well-modulated
voice, together with her modesty, self-possession, and engaging manners,
made Clotelle appear lovely beyond description. Although past the age
when men ought to think of matrimony, yet the scene before Mr. Devenant
brought vividly to his mind the time when he was young and had a loving
bosom companion living, and tears were wiped from the old man's eyes. A
new world seemed to unfold itself before the eyes of the happy lovers,
and they were completely absorbed in contemplating the future. Furnished
by nature with a disposition to study, and a memory so retentive that
all who knew her were surprised at the ease with which she acquired her
education and general information, Clotelle might now be termed a
most accomplished lady. After her marriage with young Devenant, they
proceeded to India, where the husband's regiment was stationed. Soon
after their arrival, however, a battle was fought with the natives, in
which several officers fell, among whom was Captain Devenant. The father
of the young captain being there at the time, took his daughter-in-law
and brought her back to France, where they took up their abode at the
old homestead. Old Mr. Devenant was possessed of a large fortune, all of
which he intended for his daughter-in-law and her only child.
Although Clotelle had married young Devenant, she had not forgotten her
first love, and her father-in-law now willingly gave his consent to her
marriage with Jerome. Jerome felt that to possess the woman of his love,
even at that late hour, was compensation enough for the years that he
had been separated from her, and Clotelle wanted no better evidence of
his love for her than the fact of his having remained so long unmarried.
It was indeed a rare instance of devotion and constancy in a man, and
the young widow gratefully appreciated it.
It was late in the evening when Jerome led his intended bride to the
window, and the magnificent moonlight illuminated the countenance of the
lovely Clotelle, while inward sunshine, emanating from a mind at ease,
and her own virtuous thoughts, gave brightness to her eyes and made her
appear a very angel. This was the first evening that Jerome had been in
her company since the night when, to effect his escape from prison,
she disguised herself in male attire. How different the scene now. Free
instead of slaves, wealthy instead of poor, and on the eve of an event
that seemed likely to result in a life of happiness to both.