Before the wedding-day rolled around Maud and her betrothed had
persuaded Edith and Eliot to accompany them on their wedding-journey
South. In fact, they were not hard to persuade, for Eliot, in a mood
of desperation, felt almost ready to storm the convent walls and carry
away his beloved, obdurate Una, while Edith was charmed at the idea
of rushing so precipitately from the icy streets and freezing wind of
Boston to the sunshine and flowers of a warmer clime.
So, one bright March morning, about six years from the time of Eliot's
former visit to New Orleans, the party found themselves driving through
the streets of the Crescent City to the palatial home of Pierre
Carmontelle, which, during the two months of his betrothal to Maud,
had been elegantly refitted for his bride.
New Orleans was in a great stir and bustle then, for it was the first
year of the Southern Exposition. The city was crowded with visitors
from all parts of the United States.
Maud and Edith were charmed with the quaint old city, and the warm,
sweet air, and took the greatest pleasure in threading the Exposition
grounds, exclaiming with delight when now and then they encountered the
familiar faces of Northern friends, sight-seeing like themselves.
They were so busy daily "doing" the Exposition, that Eliot and
Carmontelle did not get time to go down to the club, or they would have
heard news that would have surprised them.
It came upon them suddenly one day, when, on leaving the Exposition
grounds, the four came face to face with an entering couple--M. Remond,
the wicked Frenchman, and the no less wicked Mme. Lorraine.
Madame was clinging to the arm of the dark-faced, elegant-looking
Remond. She was in a tasteful Parisian costume, smiling and insolent,
and looking not a day older than she did six years ago.
When she met the startled regard of those four pairs of eyes, she
uttered an exclamation of amazement, and her cheek momentarily whitened
through its rouge. The next instant her insolent courage returned. She
smiled a bright, cold, conventional smile, bowed, and passed quickly on
with her companion.
The others looked at each other with startled eyes.
"What does it mean?" queried Eliot Van Zandt, hoarsely.
"Let us call at the club to-night, and perhaps we can find out
something," answered his brother-in-law.
They went accordingly, and great was the sensation created among their
old friends by their reappearance after the lapse of years. Markham,
the bachelor, was there, with some crow's-feet about the eyes and gray
hairs in his brown locks to attest the flight of time. When questioned
about Remond and Mme. Lorraine, he replied, laughing:
"Fancy their hardihood in coming here for their wedding-tour. They are
married, you know."
"No!"
"Fact! It was announced in our papers two months ago. Married in Paris,
and came here a week ago. I am told that they are staying at madame's
house on Esplanade Street, but none of the Jockey Club has called on
the wretches."
"One there is who will call," Carmontelle said, boldly. "What say you,
Van Zandt? Shall we go to Esplanade Street and have it out with that
fiendish woman?"
Eliot looked rather mystified, but he signified his assent.
"I will go, but--when?" he asked, and his friend answered:
"Now."
"Oh, I say, lads, put it off till to-morrow," cried the gay Markham. "I
should like to go and back you up in the row, but I have an engagement
for this evening."
"Sorry, but can't wait," Carmontelle answered. "Come, Eliot. Markham,
adieu. You and the club will call at the Magnolias? Introduce you to my
bride and her sister. Handsomest girls in Boston, and both geniuses."
"Thank you--only too happy to accept your kind invitation," Mr. Markham
said, genially; and then they were out in the street, bound for the
presence of the woman who had wrought such woe to Eliot Van Zandt and
his lovely bride.
"Your object?" Eliot asked his friend, dubiously.
"Can you not guess? She shall tell us the tale she told Una that night
in Boston, and we shall be the judges as to whether the barrier is
great enough to separate you and your wife forever. Who knows but
that Una, in her strange commingling of pride and humility, may have
exaggerated the trouble?"
"I have always thought so--always believed that I could overthrow all
her objections, and win her back if only I could have an interview with
her again," Eliot said; then, sighing, "But I shall never have the
chance. She will never come out of that grim convent again."
"Who knows? We will hope so, anyhow;" and then they were silent until
their carriage drew up before the front of madame's well-remembered
house, once so familiar to the club in the days when she was such a
fascinating siren and kept all her wickedness carefully hidden in the
background.
Lights glimmered brightly in the front of the house. The prim, ugly
Mima opened the door to them and frowned darkly.
Was Mme. Lorraine at home? She took their cards and said, curtly, that
she would see if Mme. Remond was in.
In another moment she came back and ushered them into the pretty salon.
Remond was present, but retreated with a scowl upon their entrance.
The bride, all in silvery white silk cut _décolleté_, with diamonds
shimmering on arms and breast, rose smilingly and bowed.
"This is an unexpected honor!" she said, with insolent _empressement_.
"You know to what cause to attribute the honor," Pierre Carmontelle
said, icily.
"No," with a puzzled, inquiring tone; then, with a roguish ripple of
laughter, "Ah, to congratulate me on my marriage, I suppose?"