We must now read Adele's letter.
"My dear Valerie,--The die is cast, and I have now a most difficult game
to play. I have risked all upon it, and the happiness of my future life
is at stake. But let me narrate what has passed since I made you my
confidante. Of course, you must know the day on which I was missing.
On that day I walked out with him, and we were in a few minutes joined
by a friend of his, whom he introduced as Major Argat. After proceeding
about one hundred yards farther we arrived at a chapel, the doors of
which were open, and the verger looking out, evidently expecting
somebody.
"`My dear angel,' said the Colonel, `I have the licence in my pocket; I
have requested the clergyman to attend, he is now in the chapel, and all
is ready. My friend will be a witness, and there are others in
attendance. You have said that you love me, trust yourself to me.
Prove now that you are sincere, and consent at once that our hands as
well as our hearts be united.'
"Oh! how I trembled. I could not speak. The words died away upon my
lips. I looked at him imploringly. He led me gently, for my resistance
was more in manner than in effect, and I found myself within the chapel,
the verger bowing as he preceded us, and the clergyman waiting at the
altar. To retreat appeared impossible; indeed I hardly felt as if I
wished it, but my feelings were so excited that I burst into tears.
What the clergyman may have thought of my conduct, and my being dressed
so little like a bride, I know not, but the Colonel handed the licence
to his friend, who took it to the clergyman while I was recovering
myself. At last we went up to the altar, my head swam, and I hardly
knew what was said, but I repeated the responses, and I was--a wife.
When the ceremony was over, and I was attempting to rise from my knees,
I fell, and was carried by the Colonel into the vestry, where I remained
on a chair trembling with fear. After a time, the colonel asked me if I
was well enough to sign my name to the marriage register, and he put the
pen in my hand. I could not see where to sign, my eyes were swimming
with tears. The clergyman guided my hand to the place, and I wrote
Adele Chabot. The knowledge what the effect of this signature might
possibly have upon my husband quite overcame me, and I sank my head down
upon my hands upon the table.
"`I will send for a glass of water, sir,' said the clergyman leaving the
vestry to call the verger, or clerk, `the lady is fainting.'
"After he went out, I heard the Colonel and his friend speaking in low
tones apart. Probably they thought that I was not in a condition to pay
attention to them,--but I had too much at stake.
"`Yes,' replied the Colonel, `she has signed, as you say, but she hardly
knows what she is about. Depend upon it, it is as I told you.'
"I did not hear the Major's reply, but I did what the Colonel said.
"`It's all the better; the marriage will not be legal, and I can bring
the parents to my own terms.'
"All doubt was now at an end. He had married me convinced, and still
convinced that I was Caroline Stanhope, and not Adele Chabot, and he had
married me supposing that I was an heiress. My blood ran cold, and in a
few seconds I was senseless, and should have fallen under the table had
they not perceived that I was sinking, and ran to my support. The
arrival of the clergyman with the water recovered me. My husband
whispered to me that it was time to go, and that a carriage was at the
door. I do not recollect how I left the church; the motion of the
carriage first roused me up, and a flood of tears came to my relief.
How strange is it, Valerie, that we should be _so_ courageous and such
cowards at the same time. Would you believe when I had collected
myself, with a certain knowledge that my husband had deceived himself--a
full conviction of the danger of my position when he found out his
mistake, and that my future happiness was at stake--I felt glad that the
deed was done, and would not have been unmarried again for the universe.
As I became more composed, I felt that it was time to act. I wiped
away my tears and said, as I smiled upon my husband, who held my hand in
his, `I know that I have behaved very ill, and very foolishly, but I was
so taken by surprise.'
"`Do you think that I love you the less for showing so much feeling, my
dearest?' he replied, `no, no, it only makes you still more dear to me,
as it convinces me what a sacrifice you have made for my sake.'
"Now, Valerie, could there be a prettier speech, or one so apparently
sincere, from a newly-married man to his bride, and yet recollect what
he said to his friend not a quarter of an hour before, about having my
parents in his power by the marriage not being legal? I really am
inclined to believe that we have two souls, a good and an evil one,
continually striving for the mastery; one for this world, and the other
for the next, and that the evil one will permit the good one to have its
influence, provided that at the same time it has its own or an equal
share in the direction of us. For instance, I believe the colonel was
sincere in what he said, and really does love me, supposing me to be
Caroline Stanhope, with the mundane advantages to be gained by the
marriage, and that these better feelings of humanity are allowed to be
exercised, and not interfered with by the adverse party, who is
satisfied with its own Mammon share. But the struggle is to come when
the evil spirit finds itself defrauded of its portion, and then attempts
to destroy the influence of the good. He does love me now, and would
have continued to love me, if disappointment will not tear up his still
slightly-rooted affections. Now comes my task to cherish and protect
it, till it has taken firm root, and all that woman can do shall be
done. I felt that all that I required was time.
"`Where are we going?' said I.
"`About twenty miles from London,' replied my husband, `after which,
that is to-morrow, you shall decide upon our future plans.'
"`I care not where,' replied I, `with you place is indifferent, only do
not refuse me the first favour that I request of you.'
"`Depend upon it I will not,' replied he.
"`It is this, dearest, take me where you will, but let it be three
months before we return or come near London. You must feel my reason
for making this request.'
"`I grant it with pleasure,' replied he, `for three months I am yours,
and yours only. We will live for one another.'
"`Yes, and never let us mention any thing about future prospects, but
devote the three months to each other.'
"`I understand you,' replied the colonel, `and I promise you it shall be
so. I will have no correspondence even--there shall be nothing to annoy
you or vex you in any way.'
"`For three months,' said I, extending my hand.
"`Agreed,' said he, `and to tell you the truth, it would have been my
own feeling, had it not been yours. When you strike iron, you should do
it when it is hot, but when you have to handle it, you had better wait
till it is cool; you understand me, and now the subject is dropped.'
"My husband has adhered most religiously to his word up to the present
time, as you will see by the date of this letter. We are now visiting
the lakes of Cumberland. Never could a spot be better situated for the
furtherance of my wishes. The calm repose and silent beauty of these
waters must be reflected upon the mind of any one of feeling, which the
colonel certainly does not want, and when you consider that I am
exerting all the art which poor woman has to please, I do hope and pray
to heaven that I may succeed in entwining myself round his heart before
his worldly views are destroyed by disappointment. Pray for me, dear
Valerie--pray for one who loves you dearly, and who feels that the whole
happiness of her life is at stake.--Yours,--
"Adele."
"So far all goes well, my dear Adele," thought I, "but we have yet to
see the end. I will pray for you with all my heart, for you deserve to
be happy, and none can be more fascinating than you, when you exert
yourself. What is it in women that I do not feel which makes them so
mad after the other sex? Instinct, certainly, for reason is against it.
Well, I have no objection to help others to commit the folly, provided
that I am not led into it myself." Such were my reflections, as I
closed the letter from Adele.
A few days afterwards I received a note from Mr Selwyn, junior,
informing me that his father had been made a puisne judge. What that
was I did not know, except that he was a judge on the bench, of some
kind. He also stated his intention of calling upon me on the next day.
"Yes," thought I, "to receive the music from Caroline. Of course, she
will return it to me when I give her a lesson to-day."
I was right in my supposition. Caroline brought me a piece of music
with a note, saying, "Here is the music belonging to Miss Selwyn,
Valerie; will you take an opportunity of returning it to her? Any time
will do; I presume she is in no hurry," and Caroline coloured up, when
her eyes met mine.
"To punish her," I replied, "Oh, no, there can be no hurry; I shall be
down at Kew in a fortnight or three weeks, I will take it with me then."
"But my note, thanking Mr Selwyn, will be of very long date," replied
Caroline, "and I want the other piece of music belonging to me which I
left at Kew."
"Well, Caroline, you cannot expect me to be carrying your messages and
going to the chambers of a handsome young Chancery-barrister.
By-the-bye, I had a note from him this morning, telling me that his
father is advanced to the bench. What does that mean?"
"That his father is made a judge. Is that all he said?" replied
Caroline, carelessly.
"Why, now I think of it, he said that he would call upon me to-morrow,
so I can give him this music when he calls."
At this intelligence Caroline's face brightened up, and she went away.
Mr Selwyn called the next day, and I delivered the music and the note.
He informed me that he had now all his father's private as well as
Chancery business, and wished to know whether he was to consider himself
my legal adviser. I replied, "Certainly; but that he could not expect
the business of a teacher of music to be very profitable."
"No, nor do I intend that it shall be, but it will be a great pleasure,"
replied he, very gallantly. "I hope you have some money to put by."
"Yes," replied I, "I have some, but not quite enough; by the end of the
year I hope to have 500 pounds."
"I am glad that you have told me, as a profitable investment may occur
before that time, and I will secure it for you."
He asked permission to read Caroline's note, and then said that he would
find the other piece of music, and leave it at Monsieur Gironac's in the
course of a day or two--after which he took his leave. I received that
evening a letter from Lionel, which had a great effect upon me. In it,
he stated that at the fencing-school he had made acquaintance with a
young officer, a Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf,--that he had mentioned
to him that he knew a lady of his name in England; that the officer had
asked him what the age of the lady might be, and he had replied.
"Strange," said the officer; "I had a very dear sister, who was supposed
to be drowned, although the body was never found. Can you tell me the
baptismal name of the lady you mention?"
"It then occurred to me," continued Lionel, "that I might be imprudent
if I answered, and I therefore said that I did not know, but I thought
you had been called by your friends, Annette."
"`Then it cannot be she,' replied he, `for my sister's name was Valerie.
But she may have changed her name--describe to me her face and figure.'
"As I at once felt certain that you were the party, and was aware, that
the early portion of your life was never referred to by you, I thought
it advisable to put him off the scent, until I had made this
communication. I therefore replied, `That' (excuse me) `you were very
plain, with a pug nose, and very short and fat.'
"`Then it must be somebody else,' replied the officer. `You made my
heart beat when you first spoke about her, for I loved my sister dearly,
and have never ceased to lament her loss.'
"He then talked a great deal of you, and gave me some history of your
former life. I took the opportunity to ask whether your unnatural
mother was alive, and he said, `Yes, and that your father was also alive
and well.'
"I did not dare to ask more. Have I done right or wrong, my dear
Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf? If wrong, I can easily repair the error. Your
brother, for such I presume he is, I admire very much. He is very
different from the officers of the French army in general, quite
subdued, and very courteous, and there is a kind spirit in all he says,
which makes me like him more. You have no idea of the feeling he
showed, when he talked about you--that is, if it is you--which I cannot
but feel almost certain that it is. One observation of his, I think it
right to make known to you, which is, that he told me that since your
supposed death, your father had never held up his head; indeed, he said
that he had never seen him smile since."
The above extract from Lionel's letter created such a revulsion, that I
was obliged to retire to my chamber to conceal my agitated feelings from
Madame Gironac. I wept bitterly for some time. I thought of what my
poor father must have suffered, and the regrets of poor Auguste at my
supposed death; and I doubted whether I was justified in the act I had
committed, by the treatment I had received from my mother. If she had
caused me so much pain, was I right in having given so much to others
who loved me? My poor father, he had never smiled since! Should I
permit him to wear out his days in sorrowing for my loss--oh, no! I no
longer felt any animosity against others who had ill-treated me.
Surely, I could forgive even my mother, if not for love of her, at all
events for love of my father and my brother. Yes, I would do so, I was
now independent of my mother and all the family. I had nothing to fear
from her; I could assist my family, if they required it.
Such were my first feelings--but then came doubts and fears. Could not
my mother claim me? insist upon my living with her? prevent my earning
my livelihood? or if I did employ myself, could she not take from me all
my earnings? Yes, by the law of France, I thought she could. Then
again, would she forgive me the three years of remorse? the three years
during which she had been under the stigma of having, by her barbarity,
caused her child to commit self-destruction? the three years of reproach
which she must have experienced from my father's clouded brow? Would
she ever forgive me for having obtained my independence by the very
talents which she would not allow me to cultivate? No, never, unless
her heart was changed.
After many hours of reflection, I resolved that I would make known my
existence to Auguste, and permit him to acquaint my father, under a
promise of secrecy, but that I would not trust myself in France, or
allow my mother to be aware of my existence, until I could ascertain
what her power might be over me. But before I decided upon any thing, I
made up my mind that I would make a confidant, and obtain the opinion of
Judge Selwyn. By the evening's post I wrote a note to him, requesting
that he would let me know when I might have an interview.
An answer arrived the next day, stating, that Judge Selwyn would call
and take me down with him to Kew, where I should sleep, and return to
town with him on the following morning. This suited me very well, and,
as soon as the carriage was off the stones, I said that I was now about
to confide to him that portion of my life with which he was
unacquainted, and ask his advice how I ought to proceed, in consequence
of some intelligence lately communicated by Lionel. I then went into
the whole detail, until I arrived at my being taken away from the
barracks by Madame d'Albret; the remainder of my life he knew sufficient
of, and I then gave him Lionel's letter to read, and when he had done
so, I stated to him what my wishes and what my fears were, and begged
him to decide for me what was best to be done.
"This is an eventful history, Valerie," said the old gentleman. "I
agree with you on the propriety of making your existence known to your
brother, and also to your father, who has been sufficiently punished for
his cowardice. Whether your father will be able to contain his secret,
I doubt very much; and from what you have told me of your mother, I
should certainly not trust myself in France. I am not very well
informed of the laws of the country, but it is my impression that
children are there under the control of their parents until they are
married. Go to France I therefore would not, unless it were as a
married woman: then you will be safe. When does Lionel come over?"
"He will come at any time if I say I wish it."
"Then let him come over, and invite your brother to come with him, then
you can arrange with him. I really wish you were married, Valerie, and
I wish also that my son was married; I should like to be a grandfather
before I die."
"With respect to my marrying, sir, I see little chance of that; I
dislike the idea, and, in fact, it would be better to be with my mother
at once, for I prefer an old tyranny to a new one."
"It does not follow, my dear Valerie; depend upon it there are many
happy marriages. Am I a tyrant in my own house? Does my wife appear to
be a slave?"
"There are many happy exceptions, my dear sir," replied I. "With
respect to your son's marrying, I think you need not despair of that;
for it is my opinion that he very soon will be--but this is a secret,
and I must say no more."
"Indeed," replied the judge, "I know of no one, and he would hardly
marry without consulting me."
"Yes, sir, I think that he will, and I shall advise him so to do--as it
is necessary that nothing should be known till it is over. Trust to me,
sir, that if it does take place, you will be quite satisfied with the
choice which he makes; but I must have your pledge not to say one word
about it. You might spoil all."
The old judge fell back in his carriage in a reverie, which lasted some
little while, and then said, "Valerie, I believe that I understand you
now. If it is as I guess, I certainly agree with you that I will ask no
more questions, as I should for many reasons not wish it to appear that
I know any thing about it."
Soon afterwards we arrived at Kew, and, after a pleasant visit, on the
following morning early, I returned to town with the judge. I then
wrote to Lionel, making known to him as much as was necessary, under
pledge of secrecy, and stating my wish that he should follow up my
brother's acquaintance, and the next time that he came over, persuade
him to accompany him, but that he was not to say any thing to him
relative to my being his sister, on any account whatever.
Young Selwyn called the same day that I came from Kew, with the piece of
music which was missing. I made no remarks upon the fact, that the
music might have been delivered to me by his sister, because I felt
assured that it contained a note more musical than any in the score; I
gave it to Caroline, and a few days afterwards, observing that she was
pale and restless, I obtained permission for her to go out with me for
the day. Mr Selwyn happened to call a few minutes after our arrival at
Madame Gironac's, and that frequently occurred for nearly two months,
when the time arrived that she was to be removed from the school.
The reader will, of course, perceive that I was assisting this affair as
much as I could. I admit it; and I did so out of gratitude to Mr
Selwyn's father, for his kindness to me. I knew Caroline to be a good
girl, and well suited to Mr Selwyn; I knew that she must eventually
have a very large fortune; and, provided that her father and mother
would not be reconciled to their daughter after the marriage, that Mr
Selwyn had the means, by his practice, of supporting her comfortably
without their assistance. I considered that I did a kindness to
Caroline and to Mr Selwyn, and therefore did not hesitate; besides, I
had other ideas on the subject, which eventually turned out as I
expected, and proved that I was right.
On the last day of September, Caroline slipped out, and followed me to
Madame Gironac's; Mr Selwyn was ready with the licence. We walked to
church, the ceremony was performed, and Mr Selwyn took his bride down
to his father's house at Kew. The old judge was somewhat prepared for
the event, and received her very graciously. Mrs Selwyn and his
sisters were partial to Caroline, and followed the example of the judge.
Nothing could pass off more quietly or more pleasantly. For reasons
which I did not explain, I requested Mr Selwyn, for the present, not to
make known his marriage to Caroline's parents, as I considered it would
be attended with great and certain advantage; and he promised me that he
would not only be silent upon the subject, but that all his family
should be equally so.
If Mrs Bradshaw required two bottles of eau-de-Cologne and water to
support her when she heard of the elopement of Adele Chabot, I leave the
reader to imagine how many she required, when an heiress entrusted to
her charge had been guilty of a similar act.
As Caroline had not left with me, I was not implicated, and the affair
was most inscrutable. She had never been seen walking, or known to
correspond with any young man. I suggested to Mrs Bradshaw that it was
the fear of her father removing her from her protection which had
induced her to run away, and that most probably she had gone to her aunt
Bathurst's. Upon this hint, she wrote to Mr Stanhope, acquainting him
with his daughter's disappearance, and giving it as her opinion that she
had gone to her aunt's, being very unwilling to return home. Mr
Stanhope was furious; he immediately drove to Madame Bathurst's, whom he
had not seen for a long time, and demanded his daughter. Madame
Bathurst declared that she knew nothing about her. Mr Stanhope
expressed his disbelief, and they parted in high words.
A few days afterwards, the Colonel and Adele came to town, the three
months acceded to her wishes having expired; and now I must relate what
I did not know till some days afterwards, when I saw Adele, and who had
the narrative from her husband.
It appeared, that as soon as the Colonel arrived in London, still
persuaded that he had married Caroline Stanhope, and not Adele Chabot,
without stating his intention to her, he went to Grosvenor Square, and
requested to see Mr Stanhope. This was about a fortnight after
Caroline's elopement with Mr Selwyn. He was admitted, and found Mr
and Mrs Stanhope in the drawing-room. He had sent up his card, and Mr
Stanhope received him with great hauteur.
"What may your pleasure be with me, sir?" (looking at the card).
"Colonel Jervis, I think you call yourself?"
Now, Colonel Jervis was a man well known about town, and, in his own
opinion, not to know him argued yourself unknown; he was, therefore, not
a little angry at this reception, and being a really well-bred man, was
also much startled with the vulgarity of both parties.
"My name, Mr Stanhope, as you are pleased to observe," said the
Colonel, with hauteur, "is Jervis, and my business with you is relative
to your daughter."
"My daughter, sir?"
"Our daughter! Why, you don't mean to tell us that _you_ have run away
with our daughter?" screamed Mrs Stanhope.
"Yes, madam, such is the fact; she is now my wife, and I trust that she
is not married beneath herself."
"A Colonel!--a paltry Colonel!--a match for my daughter! Why, with her
fortune she might have married a Duke," screamed Mrs Stanhope. "I'll
never speak to the wretch again. A Colonel, indeed! I suppose a
Militia-Colonel. I daresay you are only a Captain, after all. Well,
take her to barracks, and to barracks yourself. You may leave the
house. Not a penny--no, not a penny do you get. Does he, Stanhope?"
"Not one half a farthing," replied Mr Stanhope, pompously. "Go, sir;
Mrs Stanhope's sentiments are mine."
The Colonel, who was in a towering passion at the treatment he received,
now started up, and said, "Sir and Madam, you appear to me not to
understand the usages of good society, and I positively declare, that
had I been aware of the insufferable vulgarity of her parents, nothing
would have induced me to marry the daughter. I tell you this, because I
care nothing for you. You are on the stilts at present, but I shall
soon bring you to your senses; for know, Sir and Madam, although I did
elope with and married your daughter, the marriage is not legal, as she
was married under a false name, and that was her own act--not mine. You
may, therefore, prepare to receive your daughter back, when I think fit
to send her--disgraced and dishonoured; and then try if you can match
her with a Duke. I leave you to digest this piece of information, and
now wish you good-morning. You have my address, when you feel inclined
to apologise, and do me the justice which I shall expect before a legal
marriage takes place."
So saying, the Colonel left the house; and it would be difficult to say
which of the three parties was in the greatest rage.
The Colonel, who had become sincerely attached to Adele, who had well
profited by the time which she had gained, returned home in no very
pleasant humour. Throwing himself down on the sofa, he said to her in a
moody way, "I'll be candid with you, my dear; if I had seen your father
and mother before I married you, nothing would have persuaded me to have
made you my wife. When a man marries, I consider connexion and fortune
to be the two greatest points to be obtained, but such animals as your
father and mother I never beheld. Good Heaven! that I should be allied
to such people!"
"May I ask you, dearest, to whom you refer, and what is the meaning of
all this? My father and mother! Why, Colonel, my father was killed at
the attack of Montmartre, and my mother died before him."
"Then who and what are you," cried the Colonel, jumping up; "are you not
Caroline Stanhope?"
"I thank Heaven I am not. I have always told you that I was Adele
Chabot, and no other person. You must admit that. My father and mother
were no vulgar people, dearest husband, and my family is as good as most
in France. Come over with me to Paris, and you will then see who my
relatives and connexions are. I am poor, I grant, but recollect that
the revolution exiled many wealthy families, and mine among the rest,
although we were permitted eventually to return to France. What can
have induced you to fall into this error, and still persist
(notwithstanding my assertions to the contrary), that I am the daughter
of those vulgar upstarts, who are proverbial for their want of manners,
and who are not admitted into hardly any society, rich as they are
supposed to be?"
The Colonel looked all amazement.
"I'm sorry you are disappointed, dearest," continued Adele, "if you are
so. I am sorry that I'm not Caroline Stanhope with a large fortune, but
if I do not bring you a fortune, by economy I will save you one. Let me
only see that you are not deprived of your usual pleasures and luxuries,
and I care not what I do or how I live. You will find no exacting wife
in me, dearest, troubling you for expenses you cannot afford. I will
live but to please you, and if I do not succeed, I will die--if you wish
to be rid of me."
Adele resumed her caresses with the tears running down her cheeks, for
she loved her husband dearly, and felt what she said.
The Colonel could not resist her: he put his arms round her and said,
"Do not cry, Adele, I believe you, and, moreover, I feel that I love
you. I am thankful that I have not married Caroline Stanhope, for I
presume she cannot be very different from her parents. I admit that I
have been deceiving myself, and that I have deceived myself into a
better little wife than I deserve, perhaps. I really am glad of my
escape. I would not have been connected with those people for the
universe. We will do as you say: we will go to France for a short time,
and you shall introduce me to your relations."
Before the next morning, Adele had gained the victory. The Colonel felt
that he had deceived himself, that he might be laughed at, and that the
best that could be done was to go to Paris and announce from thence his
marriage in the papers. He had a sufficiency to live upon, to command
luxury as well as comforts, and on the whole he was now satisfied, that
a handsome and strongly-attached wife, who brought him no fortune, was
preferable to a marriage of mere interest. I may as well here observe,
that Adele played her cards so well, that the Colonel was a happy and
contented man. She kept her promise, and he found with her management
that he had more money than a married man required, and he blessed the
day in which he had married by mistake. And now to return to the
Stanhopes.
Although they were too angry at the time to pay much heed to the
Colonel's parting threats, yet when they had cooled, and had time for
reflection, Mr and Mrs Stanhope were much distressed at the
intelligence that their daughter was not legally married. For some
days, they remained quiet, at last they thought it advisable to come to
terms to save their daughter's honour. But during this delay on their
part, Adele had called upon me, and introduced her husband and made me
acquainted with all that had passed. They stated their intention of
proceeding to Paris immediately, and although I knew that Adele's
relations were of good family, yet I thought an introduction to Madame
d'Albret would be of service to her. I therefore gave her one, and it
proved most serviceable, for the Colonel found himself in the first
society in Paris, and his wife was well received and much admired.
When, therefore, Mr Stanhope made up his mind to call upon the Colonel
at the address of the hotel where they had put up, he found they had
left, and nobody knew where they had gone. This was a severe blow, and
Mr and Mrs Stanhope were in a state of the utmost uncertainty and
suspense. Now was the time for Mr Selwyn to come forward, and I
despatched a note to him, requesting him to come to town. I put him in
possession of Adele's history, her marriage with the Colonel, and all
the particulars with which the reader is acquainted, and I pointed out
to him how he should act when he called upon Mr Stanhope, which I
advised him to do immediately. He followed my advice, and thus
described what passed on his return.
"I sent up my card to Mr and Mrs Stanhope, and was received almost as
politely as the Colonel. I made no remark, but taking a chair, which
was not offered to me, I said, `You have my card, Mr Stanhope, I must,
in addition to my name, inform you that I am a barrister, and that my
father is Judge Selwyn, who now sits on the King's Bench. You probably
have met him in the circles in which you visit, although you are not
acquainted with him. Your sister, Madame Bathurst, we have the pleasure
of knowing.'
"This introduction made them look more civil, for a Judge was with them
somebody.
"`My object in coming here is to speak to you relative to your
daughter.'
"`Do you come from the Colonel, then?' said Mrs Stanhope, sharply.
"`No, madam. I have no acquaintance with the Colonel.'
"`Then how do you know my daughter, sir?'
"`I had the pleasure of meeting her at my father's. She stayed a short
time with my family at our country seat at Kew.'
"`Indeed!' exclaimed Mrs Stanhope, `well I had no idea of that. I'm
sure the Judge was very kind; but, sir, you know that my daughter has
married very unfortunately.'
"`That she has married, madam, I am aware, but I trust not
unfortunately.'
"`Why, sir, she has married a colonel,--a fellow who came here and told
us it was no marriage at all!'
"`It is to rectify that mistake, madam, which has induced me to call.
The Colonel, madam, did hear that your daughter was at Mrs Bradshaw's
establishment, and wished to carry her off, supposing that she was a
very rich prize, but, madam, he made a slight mistake--instead of your
daughter, he has run away and married the French teacher, who has not a
sixpence. He has now found out his mistake, and is off to Paris to hide
himself from the laughter of the town.'
"This intelligence was the cause of much mirth and glee to Mr and Mrs
Stanhope; the latter actually cried with delight, and I took care to
join heartily in the merriment. As soon as it had subsided, Mrs
Stanhope said--
"`But Mr Selwyn, you said that my daughter was married. How is that?'
"`Why, madam, the fact is, that your daughter's affections were engaged
at the time of this elopement of the Colonel's, and it was her intention
to make known to you that such was the case, presuming that you would
not refuse to sanction her marriage; but, when the elopement took place,
and it was even reported that she had run away, her position became very
awkward, and the more so, as some people declared (as the Colonel
asserted), that she was not legally married. On consulting with the
gentleman of her choice, it was argued thus: If Miss Stanhope goes back
to her father's house after this report that she is not legally married,
it will be supposed that the Colonel, finding that he was disappointed
in his views, had returned her dishonoured upon her parents' hands, and
no subsequent marriage would remove the impression. It was therefore
considered advisable, both on her parents' account and on her own, that
she also should elope, and then it would be easily explained that it was
somebody else who had eloped with the Colonel, and that Miss Stanhope
had married in a secret way. Miss Stanhope, therefore, was properly
married in church before respectable witnesses, and conducted
immediately afterwards by her husband to his father's house, who
approved of what was done, as now no reflection can be made, either upon
Miss Stanhope or her respectable parents.'
"`Well, let us all know the person to whom she is married.'
"`To myself, madam, and your daughter is now at Judge Selwyn's, where
she has been ever since her marriage, with my mother and sisters. My
father would have accompanied me, to explain all this, but the fact is,
that his lordship is now so much occupied that he could not. He will,
however, be happy to see Mr Stanhope, who is an idle man, either at his
town house, or at his country seat. I trust, madam, as I have the
honour to be your son-in-law, you will permit me to kiss your hand?'
"`Caroline may have done worse, my dear,' said the lady to her husband,
who was still wavering. `Mr Selwyn may be a judge himself, or he may
be a Lord Chancellor, recollect that. Mr Selwyn you are welcome, and I
shall be most happy to see his lordship, and my husband shall call upon
him when we know when he will be at leisure. Oh! that Colonel, but he's
rightly served, a French teacher. Ha, ha, ha!' and Mrs Stanhope's
mirth was communicated to her husband, who now held out his hand to me
in a most patronising manner.
"`Well, sir, I give you joy. I believe you have saved my daughter's
character, and my dear,' added he, very pompously, `we must do something
for the young people.'
"`I trust, sir, I bear your forgiveness to Caroline.'
"`Yes, you do, Mr Selwyn,' said the lady. `Bring her here as soon as
you please. Oh that Colonel! ha, ha, ha! and it is capital. A French
teacher. Ha, ha, ha.'"
Such was the winding up of this second marriage. Had not Mr and Mrs
Stanhope been much subdued by the intelligence received from the Colonel
of the marriage being illegal, and had they not also been much gratified
at the mistake of the Colonel, things might not have gone off so
pleasantly. I have only to add, that Mr Stanhope, who appeared to obey
his wife in every thing, called upon the Judge, and their interview was
very amicable. Mr Stanhope, upon the Judge stating that his son had
sufficient income, immediately became profuse, and settled 2000 pounds
per annum upon his daughter, during his life, with a promise of much
more eventually. Caroline was graciously received by her mother, and
presented with some splendid diamonds. The Judge told me that he knew
the part I had taken in the affair, and shook his finger at me.
Thus ended this affair, and Madame Gironac, when she heard how busy I
had been in the two elopements, said, "Ah, Valerie, you begin by
marrying other people. You will end in finding a husband for yourself."
"That is quite another thing, madam," I replied. "I have no objection
in assisting other people to their wishes, but it does not follow that
therefore I am to seek for myself what I do not wish."
"Valerie, I am a prophetess. You will be married some time next year.
Mark my words."
"I will not forget them, and at the end of the year we shall see who is
right, and who is wrong."
After all this bustle and turmoil, there was a calm, which lasted the
whole winter. I followed up my usual avocations. I had as many pupils
as I could attend to, and saved money fast. The winter passed away, and
in the spring I expected Lionel with my brother Auguste. I looked
forward to seeing my brother with great impatience; not a day that he
was out of my thoughts. I was most anxious to hear of my father, my
brothers, and sisters, and every particular connected with the family;
even my mother was an object of interest, although not of regard, but I
had forgiven all others who had ill-treated me, and I felt that I
forgave and forgot, if she would behave as a mother towards me. I had
received kind letters from Madame d'Albret and Adele; the letters of the
latter were most amusing. Madame Bathurst had called upon me several
times. I was at peace with all the world and with myself. At last, I
received a letter from Lionel, stating that he was coming over in a few
days; that he had great difficulty in persuading my brother to come with
him, as he could not afford the expense out of his own means, and did
not like to lie under such an obligation. At last, he had been
over-ruled, and was coming with him.
"Then I shall see you again, dear Auguste!" thought I; "you who always
loved me, always protected me and took my part, and who so lamented my
supposed death;" and my thoughts turned to the time when he and I were
with my grandmother in the palace, and our early days were passed over
in review. "My poor grandmother, how I loved you! and how you deserved
to be loved!" And then I calculated what I might have been, had I been
left with my grandmother, and had inherited her small property; and, on
reflection, I decided that I was better off now than I probably should
have been, and that all was for the best. I thought of the future, and
whether it was likely I ever should marry, and I decided that I never
would, but that if I ever returned to my family, I would assist my
sisters, and try to make them happy.
"Yes," thought I, "marry I never will--that is _decided_--nothing shall
ever induce me."
My reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a stranger, who,
apologising to me, stated that he had come to seek Monsieur Gironac.
I replied that he was not at home, and probably it would be half an hour
before he returned to dinner.
"With your leave, mademoiselle," said he, gracefully bowing, "I will
wait till he returns. I will not, however, trespass upon your time, if
it is disagreeable; perhaps the servant will accommodate me with a chair
elsewhere?"
I requested that he would be seated, as there was no fire in any other
room, and he took a chair. He was a Frenchman, speaking good English,
but he soon discovered that I was his countrywoman, and the conversation
was carried on in French. He informed me that he was the Comte de
Chavannes. But I must describe him. He was rather small in stature,
but elegantly made; his features were, if anything, effeminate, but very
handsome; they would have been handsome in a woman. The effeminacy,
was, however, relieved by a pair of moustaches, soft, silky, and
curling. His manners were peculiarly fascinating, and his conversation
lively and full of point. I was much pleased with him during the half
hour that we were together, during which we had kept up the conversation
with much spirit. The arrival of Monsieur Gironac put an end to our
_tete-a-tete_, and having arranged his business with him, which was
relative to some flute-music which the Comte wished to be published,
after a few minutes more conversation, he took his leave.
"Now there's a man that I would select for your husband, Valerie," said
Monsieur Gironac, after the Comte had left. "Is he not a very agreeable
fellow?"
"Yes he is," I replied, "he is very entertaining and very well-bred.
Who is he?"
"His history is told in few words," replied Monsieur Gironac. "His
father emigrated with the Bourbons; but, unlike most of those who
emigrated, he neither turned music-teacher, dancing-master,
hair-dresser, nor teacher of the French language. He had a little
money, and he embarked in commerce. He went as super-cargo, and then as
travelling partner in a house to America, the Havannah, and the West
Indies; and, after having crossed the Atlantic about twenty times in the
course of the late war, he amassed a fortune of about 40,000 pounds. At
the restoration, he went to Paris, resumed his title, which he had laid
aside during his commercial course, was well received by Louis XVIII,
and made a Colonel of the Legion of Honour. He returned to this country
to settle his affairs, previous to going down to Brittany, and died
suddenly, leaving the young man you have just seen, who is his only son
and heir, alone on the wide world, and with a good fortune as soon as he
came of age. At the time of his father's death, he was still at school.
Now he is twenty-four years old, and has been for three years in
possession of the property, which is still in the English funds. He
appears to like England better than France, for most of his time is
passed in London. He is very talented, very musical, composes well, and
is altogether a most agreeable young man, and fit for the husband of
Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf. Now you have the whole history, the
marriage is yet to take place."
"Your last observation is correct; or rather it is not, for the marriage
will never take place."
"Mais, que voulez-vous Mademoiselle?" cried Monsieur Gironac, "must we
send for the angel Gabriel for you?"
"No," replied I, "he is not a marrying man any more than I am a marrying
woman. Is it not sufficient that I admit your Count to be very
agreeable?--that won't content you. You want me to marry a man whom I
have seen for one half hour. Are you reasonable, Monsieur Gironac?"
"He has rank, wealth, good looks, talent, and polished manners; and you
admit that you do not dislike him; what would you have more?"
"He is not in love with me, and I am not in love with him."
"Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf, you are _une enfant_. I will no
longer trouble myself with looking out for a husband for you. You shall
die a sour old maid," and Monsieur Gironac left the room, pretending to
be in a passion.
A few days after the meeting with Count de Chavannes, Lionel made his
appearance. My heart beat quick as I welcomed him.
"He is here," said he, anticipating my question, "but I called just to
know when we should come, and whether I was to say any thing to him
before he came."
"No, no, tell him nothing--bring him here directly--how long will it be
before you return?"
"Not half an hour; I am at my old lodgings in Suffolk Street, so
good-bye for the present," and Lionel walked away again.
Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both out, and would not return for an
hour or two. I thought the half hour would never pass, but it did at
last, and they knocked at the door. Lionel entered, followed by my
brother Auguste. I was surprised at his having grown so tall and
handsome.
"Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle," said Lionel.
"No, Monsieur Lionel."
"Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf, a lieutenant
in the service of his Majesty the King of the French."
Auguste bowed, and, as I returned the salute, looked earnestly at me and
started.
"Excuse me, mademoiselle," said he, coming up to me, and speaking in a
tremulous voice, "but--yes, you must be Valerie."
"Yes, dear Auguste," cried I, opening my arms.
He rushed to me and covered me with kisses, and then staggering to a
chair, sat down and wept. So did I, and so did Lionel, for sympathy and
company.
"Why did you conceal this from me, Lionel?" said he after a time; "see
how you have unmanned me."
"I only obeyed orders, Auguste," replied Lionel; "but, now that I have
executed my commission, I will leave you together, for you must have
much to say to each other. I will join you at dinner-time."
Lionel went out and left us together; we renewed our embraces, and after
we were more composed, entered into explanations. I told him my history
in as few words as possible, promising to enter into details afterwards,
and then I inquired about the family. Auguste replied, "I will begin
from the time of your disappearance. No one certainly had any suspicion
of Madame d'Albret having spirited you away; indeed, she was, as you
know, constantly at the barracks till my father left, and expressed her
conviction that you had destroyed yourself. The outcry against your
mother was universal; she dared not show herself, and your father was in
a state to excite compassion. Four or five times a day did he take his
melancholy walk down to the Morgue to ascertain if your body was found.
He became so melancholy, morose, and irritable, that people were afraid
lest he would destroy himself. He never went home to your mother but
there was a scene of reproaches on his part, and defence on hers, that
was a scandal to the barracks. All her power over him ceased from that
time, and has ceased for ever since, and perhaps you know that he has
retired."
"How should I know, Auguste?"
"Yes; he could not bear to look the other officers in the face; he told
me that he considered himself, from his weakness and folly, to have been
the murderer of his child, that he felt himself despicable, and could
not longer remain with the regiment. As soon as the regiment arrived at
Lyons, he sent in his retirement, and has ever since been living at Pau,
in the south of France, upon his half-pay and the other property which
he possesses."
"My poor father!" exclaimed I, bursting into tears.
"As for me, you know that I obtained leave to quit the regiment, and
have ever since been in the 51st of the line. I have obtained my grade
of lieutenant. I have seen my father but once since I parted with him
at Paris. He is much altered, and his hair is grey."
"Is he comfortable where he is, Auguste?"
"Yes, Valerie; I think that he did wisely, for it was ruinous travelling
about with so many children. He is comfortable, and, I believe, as
happy as he can be. Oh, if he did but know that you were alive, it
would add ten years to his life."
"He shall know it, my dear Auguste," exclaimed I, as the tears coursed
down my cheeks. "I feel now that I was very selfish in consenting to
Madame d'Albret's proposal, but I was hardly in my senses at the time."
"I cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I blame you. Your
life was one of torture, and it was torture to others to see what you
underwent."
"I pity my father, for weak as he was, the punishment has been too
severe."
"But you will make him happy now, and he will rejoice in his old days."
"And now, Auguste, tell me about Nicolas--he never liked me, but I
forgive him--how is he?"
"He is, I believe, well; but he has left his home."
"Left home!"
"You know how kind your mother was to him--I may say, how she doted upon
him. Well, one day he announced his intention of going to Italy, with a
friend he had picked up, who belonged to Naples. His mother was frantic
at the idea, but he actually laughed at her, and behaved in a very
unfeeling manner. Your mother was cut to the heart, and has never got
over it; but, Valerie, the children who are spoiled by indulgence,
always turn out the most ungrateful."
"Have you heard of him since?"
"Yes; he wrote to me, telling me that he was leading an orchestra in
some small town, and advancing rapidly--you know his talent for music--
but not one line has he ever written to his mother."
"Ah, me!" sighed I, "and that is all the return she has for her
indulgence to him. Now tell me about Clara."
"She is well married, and lives at Tours: her husband is an _employe_,
but I don't exactly know what."
"And Sophie and Elisee?"
"Are both well, and promise to grow up fine girls, but not so handsome
as you are, Valerie. It was the wonderful improvement in your person
that made me doubt for a moment when I first saw you."
"And dear little Pierre, that I used to pinch that I might get out of
the house, poor fellow?"
"Is a fine boy, and makes his father very melancholy, and his mother
very angry, by talking about you."
"And now, Auguste, one more question. On what terms are my father and
mother, and how does she conduct herself?"
"My father treats her with ceremony and politeness, but not with
affection. She has tried every means to resume her empire over him, but
finds it impossible, and she has now turned _devote_. They sleep in
separate rooms, and he is very harsh and severe to her at times, when
the fit comes on him. Indeed, Valerie, if you sought revenge, which I
know you do not do, you have had sufficient, for her brow is wrinkled
with care and mortification."
"But do you think she is sorry for what she has done?"
"I regret to say I do not. I think she is sorry for the consequences,
but that her animosity against you would be greater than ever if she
knew that you were alive, and if you were again in her power she would
wreak double vengeance. Many things have occurred to confirm me in this
belief. You have overthrown her power, which she never will forgive;
and, as for her religion, I have no faith in that."
"It is then as I feared, Auguste; and if I make known my existence to my
father, it must be concealed from my mother."
"I agree with you that it will be best; for there is no saying to what
point the vengeance of an unnatural mother may be carried. But let us
quit this subject, for the present at least, and now tell me more about
yourself."
"I will--but there is Lionel's knock: so I must defer it till another
opportunity. Dear Auguste, give me one more kiss, while we are alone."