"Yes, Caroline, that he would fight for me, or you, or any lady who was
aggrieved or insulted in his presence."
"_Mille graces_ for your good opinions!" said de Chavannes, with a bow,
and a glance that was far more eloquent than words.
"A truce to compliments, if you will not think me impertinent, Count,"
said the Colonel; "but I wish to ask this fair lady, if she will pardon
me one question; had you ever a friend called--"
"Adele Chabot!" I interrupted him; "and I shall be most enchanted to
hear of her, or better still to see her, as Mrs Jervis."
"You have anticipated me; that is what I was about to say. We arrived
in town last night; and she commissioned me at once to make out your
whereabouts for her. The Gironacs told me that you were staying at
Kew--"
"Yes, at Judge Selwyn's. By the way," I added, a little mischievously,
I confess, "allow me to make known to one another, Mrs Charles Selwyn,
_once_ Caroline Stanhope, and Colonel Jervis."
Jervis bowed low, but his cheek and brow burned a little, and he looked
sharply at me out of the corner of his eye; but I preserved such a
demure face, that he did not quite know whether I was _au fait_ or not.
Caroline, to do her justice, behaved exceedingly well. Her character,
indeed, which had been quite unformed before her marriage, had gained
solidity, and her mind, judgment as well as tone, since her introduction
to a family so superior as that of the Selwyns. And she now neither
blushed nor tittered, nor, indeed, showed any signs of consciousness,
although she gave me a sly pinch, while she was inquiring in her
sweetest voice and serenest manner after Adele, whom she said she had
always loved very much, and longed to see her sincerely in her new
station, which she was so admirably qualified to fill. "I hear she was
vastly admired in Paris, Colonel; and no wonder, for I really think she
was the very prettiest creature I ever saw in my life. You are a
fortunate man, Colonel Jervis."
"I am, indeed," said he, laughing. "Adele is a very good little
creature, and the people were so good-natured as to be very civil to her
in Paris, especially your friend Madame d'Albret, Mademoiselle de
Chatenoeuf. Nothing could exceed her attentions to us. We are very
much indebted to you for her acquaintance. By the way, Adele has no end
of letters, and presents of all sorts for you from her. When can you
come and see Adele?"
"Where are you staying, Colonel Jervis?"
"At Thomas's Hotel, in Berkeley Square, at present, until we can find a
furnished house for the season. In August we are going down to a little
cottage of mine, in the Highlands. And I believe Adele has some plan
for inducing you to come down and bear her company, while I am
slaughtering grouse and black cock."
"Thanks, Colonel, both to you and Adele. But I do not know how that
will be. August is two whole months distant yet, and one never knows
what may happen in the course of two months. Do you know I was half
thinking of paying a visit to France myself, when my brother who is on a
visit to me now, returns to join his regiment."
"Were you, indeed?" asked de Chavannes, more earnestly than the subject
seemed to warrant. "I had not heard of that scheme before. Is it
likely to be carried into effect, Mademoiselle?"
"I hardly know. As yet it is little more than a distant dream."
"But you have not yet answered my question, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,"
said the Colonel. "You have not yet told me when you will come and see
Adele."
"Oh! pardon me, Colonel. I return to town to-morrow, and I will not
lose a moment. Suppose I say at one o'clock to-morrow, or two will be
better. Caroline, the Judge was so good as to say that he would let his
carriage take me home; I dare say it can drop me at Thomas's, can it
not?"
"Certainly, _not_, Valerie! There, don't stare now, or look indignant
or surprised. It served you perfectly right; what did you expect me to
say? Or why do you ask such silly questions? Of course, it can take
you wherever you please, precisely as if it were your own."
"Then at two o'clock, I will be at Thomas's to-morrow, Colonel; in the
meantime, pray give Adele my best love."
"I will, indeed. And now I will intrude upon you no longer, ladies," he
added, raising his hat. "In fact, I owe you many apologies for the
liberty I have taken in introducing myself. I hope you will believe I
would not have done so under any other circumstances."
We bowed, and, without any further remarks, he put spurs to his horse
and cantered away.
"A very gentlemanly person," said Caroline, "I think Adele has done very
well for herself."
"You had better not let Mr Charles Selwyn hear you say so, under all
circumstances, or I think that very likely the whipping we were talking
about in fun yesterday, will become real _cara mia_!"
"Nonsense! for shame, you mischievous thing!" said Caroline, blushing a
little, but not painfully.
"Who is this Colonel Jervis?" asked the Count de Chavannes. "I was a
little puzzled, or rather _not_ a little: for at first none of you
seemed to know him; and, after a little while, you all appeared to know
him quite well. Pray explain the mystery."
"He is a very gentlemanly person, Count, as Mrs Selwyn justly observes,
and, as you can perceive, a very handsome man. Further than that, he
was Colonel of one of his Majesty's _crack_ regiments, as they call
them, and is now on half-pay. He is, moreover, a man of high fashion,
and of the first standing in society. And, last of all, which is the
secret of the whole, he is the husband of a very charming little
Frenchwoman, a particular friend of Caroline's and mine, one of the
prettiest and nicest persons on earth, with whom he ran away some six
months since, fancying her to be--"
"Valerie!" exclaimed Caroline, blushing fiery red.
"Caroline!" replied I, quietly.
"What _were_ you going to say?"
"Fancying her to be a very great heiress," I continued; "but finding her
to be a far better thing, a delightful, beautiful, and excellent wife."
"Happy man!" said de Chavannes, with a half sigh.
"Why do you say so, Count?"
"To have married one for whom you vouch so strongly. Is that any common
fortune?"
"It is rather common, Count, just of late I mean," said Caroline,
laughing. "You do not know that among Valerie's other accomplishments
she is the greatest little match-maker in existence. She marries off
all her friends as fast--oh! you cannot think how fast."
"I _hope_, I mean to say I _think_," he corrected himself, not without
some little confusion, "that she is not quite so bad as you make her
out. She has not yet made any match for herself, I believe. No, no. I
don't believe she is quite so bad."
"I would not be too sure, Count, were I you," she answered, desirous of
paying me off a little for some of the badinage with which I had treated
her. "These ladies, with so many strings to their bow--"
It was now my time to exclaim "Caroline!" and I did so not without
giving some little emphasis of severity to my tone, for I really thought
she was going beyond the limits of propriety, if not of _persiflage_;
and I will do her the justice to say that she felt it herself, for she
blushed very much as I spoke, and was at once silent.
The awkwardness of this pause was fortunately broken by the return of
Auguste and Lionel at a sharp canter; for the review was now entirely at
an end, and they had now for the first moment remembered that, having
promised to return in a quarter of an hour, they had suffered two hours
or more to elapse, and that we were probably all alone.
Caroline immediately began to rally Lionel and Auguste; the former, with
whom she was very intimate, pretty severely, for their want of gallantry
in leaving us all alone and unprotected in such a crowd.
"Not the least danger--not the least!" replied Lionel hastily. "Had we
not known that, we should have returned long ago."
"In proof of which _no_ danger, we have been all frightened nearly to
death; Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf has been grievously affronted,
and I am not sure but she would have been beaten by a French _Chevalier
d'Industrie_, had it not been for the gallantry of the Count de
Chavannes."
And thereupon out came the whole history of Monsieur G--, his
horse-whipping, the opportune appearance of Colonel Jervis, and all the
curious circumstances of the scene.
I never in my life saw anyone so fearfully excited as Auguste. He
turned white as ashes, even to his very lips, while his eyes literally
flashed fire, and his frame shivered as if he had been in an ague fit.
"_Il me le paiera_!" he muttered between his hard-set teeth. "_Il me le
paiera, le scelerat! Ma pauvre soeur--ma pauvre petite Valerie_!"
And then he shook the hand of Chavannes with the heartiest and warmest
emotion. "I shall never forget this," he said, in a thick, low voice;
"never, never! From this time forth, de Chavannes, we are friends for
ever. But I shall never, never, be able to repay you."
"Nonsense, _mon cher_, nonsense," replied Chavannes. "I did nothing--
positively nothing at all. I should not have been a man, had I done
otherwise."
This had, however, no effect at all in stopping Auguste's exclamations
and professions of eternal gratitude; nor did he cease until Monsieur de
Chavannes said quietly, "Well, well, if you will have it so, say no more
about it; and one day or other I will ask a favour of you, which, if
granted, will leave me your debtor."
"_If_ granted!--it _is_ granted," exclaimed Auguste, impetuously. "What
is it?--name it--I say it _is_ granted."
"Don't be rash, _mon cher_," replied the Count, laughing; "it is no
slight boon which I shall ask."
"Do not be foolish, Auguste," I interposed; "you are letting your
feelings get the better of you, strangely; and, Caroline, if you do not
tell the people to drive home, you will keep the Judge waiting dinner--a
proceeding to which you know he is by no means partial."
"You are right, as usual, Valerie; always thoughtful for other people.
So we will go home."
But, just as we were on the point of starting, the groom with the
cockade, whom we had seen following Colonel Jervis, trotted up, and,
touching his hat, asked, "I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but is any one
of you the Count de Chavannes?"
"I am," replied the Count; "what do you want with me, sir?"
"From Colonel Jervis, sir," replied the man, handing him a visiting
card. "The Colonel's compliments, Count, and he begs you will do him
the favour, in case you hear anything more from that fellow, as you
horsewhipped, Count, to let him know at Thomas's at once, for you must
not treat him as a gentleman, no how, the Colonel says; and if so be he
gives you any trouble, the Colonel can get his flint fixed--the Colonel
can!"
"Thank you, my man," replied the Count; "give my compliments to your
master, and I am much obliged for his interest. I shall do myself the
honour of waiting on the Colonel to-morrow. Be so good as to tell him
so."
"I will, sir," said the man; and rode away without another word.
"You see, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, you must not dream of noticing the
fellow as a gentleman," said the Count.
"Impossible!" Lionel chimed in, almost in the same breath; and all the
ladies followed suit with their absolute "Impossible!"
A rapid drive brought us to the Judge's house at Kew, where we found
dinner nearly ready, though not waiting: and the events of the day were
the topic, and the Count the hero of the evening.
The next morning, we returned to town--Auguste and myself, I mean;
Monsieur de Chavannes having driven up from Kew in his own cabriolet
after dinner.
I called, according to my promise, and found Adele alone, and delighted
to see me, and in the highest possible spirits. She was the happiest of
women, she said; and Colonel Jervis was everything that she could wish--
the kindest, most affectionate of husbands; and all that she now
desired, as she declared, was to see me established suitably.
"You had better let matters take their course, Adele," I answered.
"Though not much of a fatalist, I believe that when a person's time is
to come, it comes. It avails nothing to hurry--nothing to endeavour to
retard it. I shall fare, I doubt not, as my friends before me, dear
Adele; and, if I can consult as well for myself as I seem to have done
for my friends, I shall do very well. Caroline, by the way, is quite as
happy as you declare yourself to be, and I doubt not are; for I like
your Colonel amazingly."
"I am delighted to hear it. He also is charmed with you. But who is
the Count de Chavannes, of whom he is so full just now? He says he is
the only Frenchman he ever saw worthy to be an Englishman--which, though
_we_ may not exactly regard it as a compliment, he considers the
greatest thing he can say in any one's favour. Who is this Count de
Chavannes, Valerie?"
I told her, in reply, all that I knew, and that you know, gentle reader,
about the Count de Chavannes.
"_Et puis?--Et puis_?" asked Adele, laughing.
"_Et puis_, nothing at all," I answered.
"No secrets among friends, Valerie," said Adele, looking me earnestly in
the face; "I had none with you, and you helped me with your advice. Be
as frank, at least, with me, if you love me."
"I do love you dearly, Adele; and I have no secrets. There is nothing
concerning which to have a secret."
"Nothing?--not this gay and gallant Count?"
"Not even he."
"And you are not about to become Madame la Comtesse?"
"I am not, indeed."
"Indeed--in very deed?"
"In very--very deed."
"Well, I do not understand it. By what Jervis told me, I presumed it
was a settled thing."
"The Colonel was mistaken. There is nothing settled or unsettled."
"And do you, really, not like him?"
"I really _do_ like him, Adele, as a very pleasant companion for an hour
or two, and as a very perfect gentleman."
"Yes, he told me all that. But, if you like him so well, why not like
him better? Why not love him?"
"I will be plain and true with you, Adele. I do not choose to consider
at all, whether I could or could _not_, love him. He has never asked
me, has never spoken of love to me; and putting it out of the question
that it is unmaidenly to love unasked, I am sure it is unwise."
"I understand, I understand. But he _will_ ask you, that is certain;
and, when he does ask, what shall you say?"
"It will be time enough to consider when that time shall come."
"Another way of saying, `I shall say _yes_!' But come, Valerie, you
must promise me that if you need my assistance, you will call upon me
for it. You _know_ that anything I can do for you will be done without
a thought but how I best may serve you; and Jervis will do likewise,
since he, as I do, considers that under Heaven, we owe our happiness to
you."
"I promise it."
"Enough; I will ask no more. Now come up to my room, and I will give
you Madame d'Albret's letters, and some pretty presents she has sent
you. Do you know, Valerie, nothing could exceed her kindness to us. I
believe she repents bitterly her unkindness to you. I cannot repeat the
terms of praise and admiration which she applied to you."
"And do you know, Adele, that it was her infamous and miserable husband,
Monsieur G--, whom the Count horsewhipped this very day, for insulting
me?"
"Indeed? was it indeed? That man's enmity to you will never cease, so
long as he has life. No, Jervis did not tell me who it was, thinking, I
fancy, that neither you nor I would have so much as known his name. But
never care about the wretch. Here is Madame's letter."
It was as kind a letter as could be written, full of thanks for the
favour I had shown her in introducing my friends to her, and of hopes
that we should one day meet again, when all the past should be
forgotten, and I should resume my own place and station in the society
of my own land. She begged my acceptance of the pretty dresses she
sent, which she said she had selected, not for their value, but because
they were pretty; and, in her postscript, she added, what of course
outweighed all the rest of her letter, both in interest and importance,
that she had recently been informed through a strange channel, and, as
it were, by accident, that my mother's health was failing, seriously,
and that, although not attacked by any regular disorder, nor in any
immediate danger, it was not thought probable that she could live much
longer. "In that case, Valerie," she continued, "for, although no one
could be so unnatural as to _wish_ for a mother's death, how cruel and
unmotherly she might be soever, it cannot be expected that you should
regard her decease with more than decent observation, and a proper
seriousness, and I shall look to see you dwelling again among us, and
spending the little fortune which I understand you have so bravely
earned, in the midst of your friends, and in your own country."
"That I shall never do," I said, speaking aloud, though in answer partly
to her letter, partly to my own words; "that I shall never do. Visit
France I may, once and again; but in England I shall dwell. France
banished and repudiated me like a step-mother--England received me,
kinder than my own, like a mother. In England I shall dwell."
"Wait till you see the lord of your destinies; and learn where he shall
dwell. You will have to say, like the rest of us, `Your country shall
be my country, and your God my God,'"--observed Adele interrupting my
musings.
"The first perhaps--the last never! never! Catholic I was born,
Catholic I will die. I do _not_ say that I will never marry any but a
Catholic, but I _do_ say that I will never marry but one who will
approve my adoring my own God, according to my own conscience."
"Is the Count de Chavannes a Catholic?"
"Indeed, I know not. But he is a Breton, and the Bretons are a loyal
race, both to their king and their God."
I now turned to finish my reading, which had been for the moment
interrupted.
"Indeed, my dear Valerie," she concluded her letter, "I have long felt
that although we were certainly justified by the circumstances of your
situation, in taking the steps we did at that time, we have been hardly
pardonable in persisting so long in the maintenance of a falsehood,
which has certainly been the cause of great pain and suffering to both
your parents, the innocent no less than the guilty. I know that your
mother can never forgive me for aiding you in your escape from her
authority; but for my part, I am willing to bear her enmity, rather than
persist in further concealment, so that you need not in any degree
consider me in any steps which you may think it wise or right to take
towards revelation and reconciliation. Indeed I think, Valerie, that if
it can be done with due regard to your own safety and happiness, you
ought to discover yourself to both your parents, and, if possible, even
to visit the most unhappy, because the guiltier of the two, before her
dissolution, which I really believe to be now very near at hand.
Everyone knows so well what you have undergone, that no blame will
attach to you in the least degree. Allow me to add, that should you
return to France, as I hope you will do, I shall never forgive you if
you do not make my house your home."
This postscript, as will readily be believed, gave me more cause for
thought than all the letter beside, and rendered me exceedingly uneasy.
If I had felt ill-satisfied before with my condition and my concealment,
much more was I now discontented with myself, and unhappy. I was almost
resolved to return at all hazards with Auguste; and, indeed, when I
consulted with Adele, she leaned very much towards the same opinion. I
would not, however, do anything rashly, but determined to consult not
only with my brother, but with the Judge, in whose wisdom I had no less
confidence than I had in his friendship and integrity.
Things, however, were destined to occur, which in some degree altered
and hastened all my proceedings, for that very evening when the Gironacs
had retired, on my beginning to consult Auguste, "Listen to me a moment,
before you tell me about your letters from France, or anything about
returning, and I entreat you answer me truly, and let no false modesty,
or little missish delicacy, prevent your doing so. Many a life has been
rendered miserable by such foolishness, I have heard say; and being, as
it were, almost alone in the world, as if an only brother with an only
sister, to whom, if not to one another, should we speak freely?"
"You need not have made so long a preamble, dear Auguste," I replied
with a smile; "of course, I will answer you; and, when I say that, of
course I will answer truly."
"Well, then, Valerie, do you like this Count de Chavannes?"
"It is an odd question, but--Yes. I do like him."
"Do you love him, Valerie?"
"Oh! Auguste--that is not fair. Besides, he has never spoken to me of
love. He has never--I do not know whether he loves me--I have no reason
to believe that he does."
"No reason!"--he exclaimed, half surprised, half indignant--"no reason!
I should think--but never mind--answer me this; if he did love you, do
you love him or like him enough to take him for your husband?"
"He has spoken to you, Auguste--he has spoken to you!" I exclaimed,
blushing very deeply, but unable to conceal my gratification.
"I am answered, Valerie, by the sparkle of those bright eyes. Yes, he
has spoken to me, dearest sister; and asked my influence with you, and
my permission to address you."
"And you replied--?"
"And I replied, that my permission was a matter of no consequence, for
that you were entirely your own mistress, and that my influence would be
exerted only to induce you to follow your own judgment and inclinations,
and to consult for your own happiness."
"Answered like a good and wise brother. And then he--?"
"Asked, whether I could form any opinion of the state of your feelings.
To which I replied, that I could only say that I had reason to suppose
that your hand and heart were neither of them engaged, and that the
field was open to him if he chose to make a trial. But that I had no
opportunity of judging how you felt toward him. I also said, that I
thought you knew very little of each other, and that his attachment must
have grown up too rapidly to have taken a very strong root. But there I
found I was mistaken. For he assured me that it was from esteem of your
character, and admiration of your energy, courage, and constancy under
adversity, not from the mere prettiness of your face, or niceness of
your manners, that he first began to love you. And I since ascertained
that there is scarce an incident of your life with which he has not made
himself acquainted, and that in the most delicate and guarded manner. I
confess, Valerie, that it has raised him greatly in my estimation to
find that he looks upon marriage as a thing so serious and solemn, and
does not rush into it from mere fancy for a pretty face and lady-like
accomplishments."
"I think so too, Auguste," I replied. "But I wish we knew a little more
about him. His character and principles, I mean."
Auguste looked at me for a moment, in great surprise. "What an
exceedingly matter-of-fact girl you are, Valerie; I never knew any one
in the least like you. Do you know I am afraid you are a little--" and
he paused a moment, as if he hardly knew how to proceed.
"A little hard and cold, is it not, dear Auguste?" said I, throwing my
arms about him. "No, no, indeed I am not; but I have been cast so long
on my own sole resources, and obliged to rely only on my own energy and
clear-sightedness, that I always try to look at both sides of the
question, and not to let my feelings overpower me, until I have proved
that it is good and wise to do so. Consider, too, Auguste, that on this
step depends the whole happiness or misery of a girl's existence."
"You are right, Valerie, and I am wrong. But tell me, do you love him?"
"I do, Auguste. I like him better than any man I have ever seen. He is
the only man of whom I could think as a husband--and I have for some
time past been fearful of liking him--loving him, too much, not knowing,
though I did believe and hope, that he reciprocated my feelings. And
now, if I knew but a little more of his principles and character, I
would not hesitate."
"Then you need not hesitate, dearest Valerie; for, as if to obviate this
objection, he showed me, in the most delicate manner, private letters
from his oldest and most intimate friends, and especially from Mr --, a
most respectable clergyman, who lives at Hendon, by whom he was
educated, and with whom he has maintained constant intercourse and
correspondence ever since. This alone speaks very highly in his favour,
and the terms in which he writes to his pupil, are such as prove them
both to be men of the highest character for worth, integrity, and
virtue. He has proposed, moreover, that I should ride down with him
to-morrow to Hendon, to visit Mr --, and to hear from his own lips yet
more of his character and conduct, that is to say, if I can give him any
hopes of ultimate success."
"Well, Auguste," I replied, "I think with you, that all this speaks very
highly in favour of your friend; and I think that the best thing you can
do, is to take this ride which he proposes, and see his tutor. In the
meantime, I will drive down to Kew, and speak with our good friend,
Judge Selwyn, on the subject. To-morrow evening I will see the Count,
and hear whatever he desires to say to me."
This was a very matter-of-fact way of dealing with the affair,
certainly; but what Auguste had said, was in some sort true. I was in
truth rather a matter-of-fact girl, and I never found that I suffered by
it in the least; for I certainly was not either worldly or selfish, and
the feelings do, as certainly, require to be guided and controlled by
sober reason.
After coming to this conclusion, I showed Madame d'Albret's letter to
Auguste, and we came to the decision, also, that, under the
circumstances, Auguste should immediately, on his return, communicate
the fact of my being alive and in good circumstances, to my father;
leaving it at his discretion to inform my mother of the facts or not, as
he might judge expedient.
At a very early hour next morning, I took a glass-coach and drove down
to Kew, where I arrived, greatly to the astonishment of the whole
family, just as they were sitting down to breakfast; and, when I stated
that I had come to speak on very urgent business with the Judge, he
desired my carriage to return to town, and proposed to carry me back
himself, so that we might kill two birds, as he expressed it, with one
stone, holding a consultation in his carriage, while on his way to
court.
As soon as we got into the coach, while I was hesitating how to open the
subject, which was certainly a little awkward for a young girl, the
Judge took up the discourse--
"Well, Valerie," he said, "I suppose you want to know the result of the
inquiries which you were so unwilling that I should make about the Count
de Chavannes. Is not that true?"
"It is perfectly true, Judge--though I do not know how you ever have
divined it."
"It is lucky, at least, that I consulted my own judgment, rather than
your fancy; for otherwise I should have had no information to give you."
"But as it is, Judge?"
"Why as it is, Mademoiselle Valerie, you may marry him as soon as ever
he asks you, and think yourself a very lucky young lady into the
bargain. He has a character such as not one man in fifty can produce.
He is rich, liberal without being extravagant, never plays, is by no
means dissipated, and in all respects is a man of honour, ability, and
character; such is what I have learned from a quarter where there can be
no mistake."
I was a good deal affected for a moment or two, and was very near
bursting into tears. The good Judge took my hand in his, and spoke
soothingly and almost caressingly, bidding me confide in him altogether,
and he would advise me, as if he were my own father.
I did so accordingly; and, while he approved highly of all that I had
done, and of the delicate and gentlemanly manner in which the Count had
acted, he fully advised me to deal frankly and directly with him. "You
like him, I am sure, Valerie; indeed, I believe I knew that before you
did yourself, and I have no doubt he will make you an admirable husband.
Tell him all, show him this letter of your friend Madame d'Albret's,
about your mother, and if he desires it, as I dare say he will, marry
him at once, and set out together with Auguste, for France, when his
leave of absence is expired, and go directly to Paris with your husband.
As a married woman, your parents will have no authority of any kind
over you, and I think it is your duty to do so."
I agreed with him at once; and, when in the evening Auguste returned
with the Count from a visit to his former tutor, which had been in all
respects satisfactory, and left me alone with Monsieur de Chavannes,
everything was determined without difficulty.
Love-scenes and courtships, though vastly interesting to the actors, are
always the dullest things in the world to bystanders; I shall therefore
proceed at once to the end, merely stating that the Count _was_ all, and
_did_ all, that the most _exigeante_ of women could have required--that
from the first to the last he was full of delicacy, of tenderness, and
honour, and that after twelve years of a happy life with him, I have
never had cause to repent for a moment that I consented to give him the
hand, which he so ardently desired.
The joy of Madame Gironac can be imagined better than described, as well
as the manner in which she bustled about my _trousseau_ and my outfit
for France, as it was determined that the Judge's plan should be adopted
to the letter, and that we should start directly from St George's to
Dover and Calais.
Never, perhaps, was a marriage more rapidly organised and completed.
The law-business was expedited with all speed by Charles Selwyn; Madame
Bathurst, the Jervises, the Gironacs, and the Selwyns were alone present
at the wedding, and, though we were all dear friends, there was no
affectation of tears or lamentable partings; for we knew that in
heaven's pleasure, we should all meet again within a few months, as,
after our wedding tour was ended, Monsieur de Chavannes proposed to take
up his abode in England, the land of his choice, as of his education.
There was no bishop to perform the ceremony, nor any _duke_ to give away
the bride. No long array of liveried servants with favours in their
buttons and in their hats--no pompous paragraph in the morning papers to
describe the beauties of the high-bred bride and the dresses of her
aristocratic bridesmaids--but two hearts were united as well as two
hands, and Heaven smiled upon the union.
A quick and pleasant passage carried us to Paris, where I was received
with raptures by my good old friend, Madame Paon, and with sincere
satisfaction by Madame d'Albret, who was proud to recognise her old
protegee in the new character of the Comtesse de Chavannes, a character
which she imagined reflected no small credit on her tuition and
patronage.
The threatened _emeute_ having passed over, Auguste easily obtained a
renewal of his leave of absence in order to visit his family at Pau,
and, as he preceded us by three days, and travelled with the utmost
diligence, he outstripped us by nearly a week, and we found both my
parents prepared to receive us, and both _really_ happy at the
prosperous tidings.
My poor mother was indeed dying; had we come two days later we should
have been too late, for she died in my arms on the day following our
arrival, enraptured to find herself relieved from the heinous crime of
which she had so long believed herself guilty, and blessing me with her
dying lips.
My father who had always loved me, and who had erred through weakness of
head only, seemed never to weary of sitting beside me, of holding my
hand in his, and of gazing in my face. With Monsieur de Chavannes'
consent, the whole of my little earnings, amounting now to nearly 3500
pounds, was settled on him for his life, and then on my sisters, and the
income arising from it, though a mere trifle in England, in that cheap
region sufficed with what he possessed of his own, to render his old age
affluent and happy.
Thus all my trials ended; and, if the beginning of my career was painful
and disastrous, the cares and sorrows of Valerie de Chatenoeuf had been
more than compensated by the happiness of Valerie de Chavannes.
I may as well mention here that a few years afterwards, Lionel Dempster
married my second sister, Elisee, a very nice and very handsome girl,
and has settled very close to the villa which the Count purchased on his
return from France, near Windsor, on the lovely Thames, ministering not
a little by their company to the bliss of our happy, peaceful life.
My eldest brother, Auguste, is now a Lieutenant-Colonel of the Line,
having greatly distinguished himself in Algeria; Nicholas, who never
returned to France, has acquired both renown and riches by his musical
abilities, and all the younger branches of the family are happily
provided for.
I have three sweet children, one boy, and two little girls, and the
difficulties and sorrows I experienced, owing to an evil and injudicious
course of education, have been so far of use, that they have taught me
how to bring up my own children, even more to love and honour than to
obey.
Perfect happiness is not allotted to any here below; but few and short
have been the latter sorrows, and infinite the blessings vouchsafed by a
kind Providence, to the once poor and houseless, but now rich, and
honoured, and, better than all, _loved_ Valerie.