ANOTHER CHANGE.
WE remained in the neighborhood of Paris all that winter, sometimes at
Fontainebleau, sometimes in the city itself, for, as I have said, my
uncle had some office or command which kept him about the court.
My aunt had her balls and assemblies, her grand banquets and little
suppers, and must have spent a great deal of money. I rarely saw
anything of this gaiety, though I went out with my aunt in the
carriage, and now and then, when she had a small assembly, I was
allowed to sit at her elbow and look on, though I was not expected to
speak unless spoken to, and then only in the shortest, most restrained
manner.
Of the court I saw nothing. My aunt had hoped, I believe, to procure
some place for herself, but in that she did not succeed. Still she
was often at the court, and was liked by the king for her wit and
sprightliness. When she was away, my only society was my maid Zelie,
whom I had never liked, and now thoroughly distrusted, believing her to
be a spy upon me, my aunt's lapdog and her parrot.
My only recreation was in reading the very few books which were thought
proper for a young lady, my music, and my embroidery, and I only went
out to go to church, whither I was attended by Zelie or an older woman
who had been my aunt's nurse, and who, having been a Huguenot in her
youth and then converted, was of course doubly zealous and devoted. Oh,
to what a slavery had I brought myself! With what impassioned longing
I looked back to the days when I used to climb the hill at Tre Madoc
to attend to my little school or run down to the beach to watch the
pilchard-fishing, and of those earlier times in Normandy when I played
with Lucille and David in the orchards, or helped to pile up the golden
and rosy apples for the eider-mill!
I would gladly have changed places with the poorest old woman in
Cornwall for the privilege of walking abroad unfettered, and weeping
my fill unwatched. I would have given all the costly furniture of our
hotel, had it been mine, for half a dozen loose leaves of my mother's
old prayer-book, for it was one of my great troubles that I could not
remember the words of Scripture. I suppose it might have been some odd
effect of my illness, but while my memory had become clear as to other
things, it was in that respect almost a blank. In the state of mind
I then was, I regarded this forgetfulness as a direct judgment from
Heaven, and an express proof and mark of my reprobation. I thirsted for
the water of life. I read again and again the few psalms and meagre
bits of scripture contained in my books of devotion. That fountain was
to be once more unsealed for me, but not till I had drank my fill of
the bitter waters and broken cisterns for which I had forsaken it.
Meantime affairs were not going well with my uncle. I was told nothing,
but I gathered from things that I overheard and from hints dropped in
my presence that he had lost the favor of his royal master in the first
place by outstaying his leave in England, and though he had hoped to
make his peace by the presentation of a new convert to the Catholic
faith, the offering had not been altogether sufficient. Court favor is
of all earthly things one of the most uncertain.
My uncle had been a friend of the unhappy Madame de Valliere, who,
at this time under the name of Sister Louise de la Misericorde,
was striving to expiate her errors by a life of more than ordinary
austerity among the Carmelite nuns of Paris. He had had the imprudence
to speak contemptuously of Madame de Montespan, and his remarks had
been carried to the lady's ears by one of those tale-bearers who
flourish at court. Of course madame became his enemy. She had great
influence with the king, though not so much as Madame de Maintenon came
to have afterward. My uncle's disgrace grew more and more apparent
every day, and at last he received peremptory orders to retire to
his château in Provence, where he held some sort of office under
government. He was allowed, however, to remain in Paris for two or
three weeks, to settle up his affairs there, which were, I imagine, in
no little confusion.
My aunt was in despair. To be banished from court was to be cast out
of heaven in her estimation. She hated the country, and went thither
even for a few weeks with unwillingness. She wept and went into fits
of the nerves, as she usually did under any disturbance of mind or
body. The poor lady was really very ill for a few days, and as I was
the only person who had the least control over her in her paroxysms,
I had my hands full. However, she had an elastic constitution of mind
and body, and she soon recovered, and began planning all sorts of
amusements, one of which, I remember, was to be the refurnishing of the
Château de Fayrolles from top to bottom. I was glad to see her diverted
by anything, and I listened to all her schemes, and being ready with
my pencil, was able to afford her pleasure by sketching designs for
furniture, hangings, and the like, which even my uncle declared to be
very clever.
One day, being left to myself while my aunt entertained a visitor, I
began drawing from memory a sketch of my old home, the Tour d'Antin. I
became so interested in my work as to take no note of the time, till
I was surprised by the entrance of my uncle and Father Martien. I had
not seen the latter gentleman for some weeks, nor was I at all glad to
behold him now. My religion had become to me more and more an empty
profession, and though I still went regularly to mass and confession,
my attendance was the merest form. At mass and vespers, though I kept
my book open, I thought of anything rather than the services, and as
to my confessions, if I had repeated the Confiteor correctly, and
then gone on in the orthodox devout whisper to say that I had become
a Moslem and the fifteenth wife of the Grand Bashaw, good old Father
Le Moyne would have been none the wiser, but would have given me
absolution in his usual gentle, nasal sing-song. I had learned to love
and respect the old man, for though indolent to a degree, he was kind
and fatherly, and did not disgrace himself with wine or worse things,
and it was with real dismay that I contemplated exchanging him for the
sharp-sighted, cold Father Martien.
My uncle looked at the sketch and commended it, saying that it showed
real talent. He then began asking me questions about it, sitting down
with the drawing in his hand. At last—
"There is one thing, Vevette, which I have hesitated to ask you about,
not wishing to revive painful memories; but the time has arrived when
such an inquiry becomes necessary. Where did your father conceal his
treasure?"
"His treasure!" I repeated. "I don't understand."
My uncle contracted his brows.
"Do not trifle with me," said he sternly. "I am well informed that my
unhappy brother invested a great deal of the money which he acquired in
one way and another in plate and jewels. What did he do with them? I
know that he left them concealed somewhere about the estate; but where?"
"I do not know," I answered, with perfect truth; "I know that he and
my cousin—" I could not bring myself to say Andrew—"hid away a part of
what silver there was, but I never heard what they did with it. He sold
a good deal, I know."
"And what disposition did he make of the money?"
"He turned a large part of it into diamonds. The rest he left with my
foster-father, Simon Sablot, who afterward brought it to my mother in
England."
"And the jewels, my daughter, what of them?" asked Father Martien.
"Oh, we carried them to England with us," I answered, inwardly
rejoicing to give an answer so little satisfactory. "My mother sold
them in London, and invested a part of the money in a little estate at
Tre Madoc—the Welles House. The rest is in the hands of my lord, unless
he has put it into land."
My uncle stamped his foot and bit his lip with vexation. It seems he
thought his brother had left his treasures concealed, and hoped by my
means to lay hands upon them. No doubt they would have made a very
welcome supply at that time.
"Are you telling the exact truth, daughter?" asked Father Martien
sternly.
"I am telling the exact truth, so far as I know it," I answered, with
some spirit. "There may be some of the silver still concealed at the
Tour d'Antin, but if so, I do not know where it is."
"Where should you think it would be most likely to be hidden?" was the
next question.
"That I cannot tell either," I answered; "but I suppose the vault under
the tower would be as probable a place as any."
"Is there not a vault under the old chapel?" asked Father Martien.
"Yes," I answered; "a burial vault."
"Have you ever been in it?"
"Yes, once; at the burial of one of our servants," I replied, availing
myself of the orthodox Jesuit doctrine of mental reservation.
"Do you think your father would be likely to place the treasure in that
vault?" was the next question.
"I do not know as to that," I answered. "I suppose he might. But I
rather imagine that what silver there was, was buried somewhere about
the orchard."
My uncle continued questioning me for some time, but as I could not
tell him what I did not know, he was not much the wiser for my replies.
He did not half believe that we had carried off the jewels, and
declared that he meant to write to Lord Stanton on the subject of "my
property," as I called it.
"It is mine," I replied indignantly; "my mother left it to me."
My uncle laughed contemptuously.
"Your mother had no more right to it than you have," said he. "Being
married to your father, as they presume to say, by a Protestant
minister, the marriage is no marriage by law. It was not worth a pin.
You are an illegitimate child, and as such have no rights whatever. My
brother's succession belongs to me, and I intend to have it."
"It is the truth, my daughter," said Father Martien, as I looked at
him. "The blasphemous parody of the holy sacrament of marriage with
which your wretched and guilty parents were united was not only invalid
but was of itself a grievous crime in the eye of the law as well as of
the Church."
If I had had the power of life and death in my hands, I should at that
moment have laid both of these men dead at my feet. In my rage, I
actually looked around for a weapon, and it was well for all parties
that there was none at hand. Then, as the conviction of my utter
helplessness and desolation came over me, I burst into an agony of
tears.
"Hush, my daughter!" said the priest. "These tears do not become you.
Let your natural affection for your parents be laid upon the altar of
that church which they spurned, and it may become a merit. Indulged, it
is in your case a sin against God and our holy religion."
My uncle, devout Catholic as he was, had not lost all feeling, nor was
he a man to be put down in his own house even by a priest. He silenced
the Father by a look, and then set himself to soothe me, saying that
though he had thought it needful to tell me the truth, he should not
visit upon me the misfortune of my birth, but should continue to regard
me as a daughter so long as I showed myself dutiful to him and to my
aunt. He bade me retire to my room and compose myself, saying that he
would make my excuses.
"I am going into the country for a few days," said he. "When I return
I shall hope to find that you have recovered your spirits and are
prepared to submit to any arrangement your friends may think it best to
make for your welfare."
My uncle gave me his hand as far as the door of my apartment, and
parted from me with a fatherly salute, recommending me to lie down and
rest awhile. He was very kind to me for the rest of the day, and seemed
by his manner to wish to make me forget the harshness he had used
toward me.
The next morning he called me into his own room and put into my hands
a letter he had written to my Lord Stanton. It was to the effect that,
having embraced the Catholic faith, and being resolved in future
to make my home with my father's brother, I desired to have all my
property put into the hands of Monsieur de Fayrolles, my natural
guardian.
"You will copy this letter," said my uncle, "and I will inclose it in
one of my own to my Lord Stanton. If he is an honest man, he will see
the justice and wisdom of such an arrangement. If he is not, I must
take other measures, for I am resolved not to be cheated of my right.
Sit down here and copy the letter."
I had nothing for it but to obey, my uncle all the time standing by and
observing me. When the copy was finished, he inclosed both letters in
an envelope, and was just about sealing them, when my aunt called upon
him. With an expression of impatience, he laid down the unsealed letter
and went into the next room. In a moment I had turned down the corner
of the sheet and written in small characters, "Don't, for Heaven's
sake."
It was the work of a moment, and when my uncle returned he found me
reading a book I had taken from the table. He reproved me for opening
a book without leave, but seeing that it was only a play of Monsieur
Racine's I had taken up, told me to keep it if I liked. He sealed the
letter without looking at it again, told me he was pleased with my
compliance, and gave me a gold piece to buy ribbons with, as he said. I
was not sorry to receive it, for I was already turning over in my head
plans of escape, and I knew that any plan I could form would need money
to carry it out.
My uncle was absent several days, and came back in anything but a good
humor. He had not succeeded in finding the treasure, if there was any
to find, neither had he succeeded in letting the land. The house,
having been reduced by the fire to a mere empty shell, had partly
fallen in and filled up the cellars, while of the vault under the
chapel, he said the whole floor seemed to have sunk into some abyss.
"So there really was a cavern underneath," I said. "There was a
tradition to that effect, and my father always believed that such a
cavern existed, and that it had some connection with the sea."
"It might have a connection with the infernal regions, judging from the
sounds which proceed from it," said my uncle. "I was near falling into
it headlong. It is the more vexatious because there are niches around
the wall which have evidently been built up—one even quite lately."
"And they are quite inaccessible?" said my aunt.
"Oh, entirely. The whole building is so ruinous that one enters it only
at the risk of one's life."
"The niches are only burial-places," I ventured to say, thinking at
the same time that poor Grace's grave would now at least be safe from
insult.
"Yes, but they may have been used for deposits of another sort.
However, there is no use in thinking more about the matter. You
are looking better, Vevette. I am glad to see you try to put on a
more cheerful face. Your countenance lately has been a perpetual
kill-joy—fit only for a convent of Carmelites."
Indeed, my health had improved. The very thought of escape,
impracticable as it seemed at present, had put new life into me. I
began to take a little care of myself, and to be anxious to acquire
strength.
"I do not think, my friend, that the convent of the Carmelites will be
Vevette's vocation," said my aunt, smiling. "I have an affair of great
importance to lay before you when we are at leisure."
A cold chill struck to my heart as I heard these words and guessed
what they might mean. The event proved that my forebodings were well
founded. There was a certain Monsieur de Luynes, an elderly gentleman
of good family, and very wealthy, who often visited my aunt, being
indeed some sort of connection. This gentleman had lost his wife
many years before, and having married off all his daughters, he
had conceived the idea of providing a companion and nurse for his
declining years. He was hideously ugly—tall, shambling, with bushy
gray eyebrows, and a great scar on his cheek which had affected the
shape of one of his eyes; but his manners were amiable and kind, and
he had the reputation of leading a remarkably good life. He had always
taken a good deal of notice of me, and had once or twice drawn me
into conversation as I sat at my aunt's side, and I had thought him
very agreeable. It was this Monsieur de Luynes who now made a formal
proposal for my hand. I was not at all consulted in the matter. I was
simply called into my aunt's boudoir, told of the proposal which had
been made, and ordered to consider myself the future wife of Monsieur
de Luynes.
"There is no reason for any delay," said my aunt. "Monsieur, who is
himself very wealthy, does not ask for any dot with you. The trousseau
can be prepared in a few days, and I will engage it shall be a fine
one. You will be a happy woman, petite."
"Yes indeed; you may consider yourself most fortunate," added my uncle.
"Considering the misfortune of your birth and your state of poverty and
dependence, it is a match far beyond anything we have a right to expect
for you. It will give me great pleasure to see you established at the
head of Monsieur de Luynes' fine house before I leave Paris."
My resolution was taken in a moment. If Monsieur de Luynes' offer
had come to me at the beginning of my residence in France, I should
instantly have accepted it, and rejoiced in the opportunity of doing
so. But my mind had changed. I know not how, but I was just as certain
that Andrew had remained faithful to me as if he himself had told me,
and being so assured, I would have suffered myself to be thrown into
the fire rather than marry any one else. I waited till my uncle had
done speaking, and then, with a calmness which amazed myself, I told
him of my determination.
"Tut!" said he. "Let me hear no such girlish folly. You will do what I
consider best for you, and take care you do it with a good grace or it
will be the worse for you."
"Nay, do not be severe with Vevette," said my aunt. "All girls think it
necessary to put on such airs and make such declarations. Leave her to
me."
Left to my aunt I was, and I set myself to soften her heart toward me.
I begged only to be allowed to remain single, promising to be guided
by her in everything else—to perform any menial service, to work my
fingers to the bone. All was in vain. My aunt laughed at my entreaties,
considering them only as the wilfulness of a child; told me the time
would come when I would thank her for not yielding to my folly. Finally
losing patience, as I continued weeping, she let me feel the iron hand
masked under the velvet glove. She told me in severe tones that my
wilfulness was unbearable, and that unless I gave way and did what was
thought best for me, I should be sent to that same Carmelite convent to
be brought to my senses.
"We have wished to be kind to you," she added; "but there are means
of subduing refractory girls which the good sisters well know how to
practise, and of which you shall make trial if you are disobedient. Now
go to your room, dry your eyes, and let me see you looking your best
when Monsieur de Luynes comes this evening."
I had nothing for it but to comply. My resolution was fixed as ever.
They might send me to the Carmelites, starve me, bury me alive if
they would, but I would never marry—never! However, I thought best to
temporize. The evening found me dressed, my aunt herself looking over
my toilette and commending my docility.
"I thought you would see the propriety of giving way," said she; "and
I am glad for your sake you have done so. You would not have liked to
be shut up alone in the charnel-house of the convent, without light
or food for twenty-four hours together, as happened to a cousin of my
own who set herself up against her father's authority. No, it is much
better to be in my salon than in the company of mouldy skeletons."
I held my tongue; but I could have said that I should have preferred
the society of the mouldiest Carmelite ever buried in sackcloth to
that of Monsieur de Luynes. The kind old man was very attentive to me,
made many gallant speeches, and presented me with a magnificent box of
bonbons and preserved fruits, containing also a beautiful pearl clasp.
I almost wished I could have loved him, and indeed if my heart had not
been full of another, I believe I should have married him, if only to
escape from my present state of servitude. But there it was: I loved
Andrew. I should always love him, and I could never marry any one else,
whether I ever saw him again or not.
Under ordinary circumstances, I should never have been left alone with
my intended bridegroom till after the ceremony; but my aunt had a great
opinion of the discretion and goodness of Monsieur de Luynes, which
indeed he well deserved. She also trusted a good deal, I fancy, to his
powers of persuasion, for she allowed him more than once to remain
tête-à-tête with me for an hour or two at a time in the little salon,
while she entertained her visitors or gave audience to the tradespeople
who were busied with my wedding outfit. On one of these occasions I
took a desperate resolution and opened to Monsieur de Luynes my whole
heart. Monsieur tried hard to shake me, promising me every sort of
good, and even going so far as to hint that I should, in the course of
nature, outlive him; and then, being a widow, I could go where I liked
and do as I pleased.
Finding, however, that even this agreeable prospect failed to move me,
and that I was settled in my resolution, after two or three interviews,
he bade me farewell with much kindness, and going to my uncle formally
retracted his suit, saying that he would never wed an unwilling bride.
My aunt's anger was loud and voluble; my uncle's more silent and much
more terrible. He said little except to bid me retire to my room. Here
I remained till evening, without notice of any kind.
That night my lodging was changed to a bare attic at the top of the
house, lighted only by a window in the roof, and furnished with a
pallet bed, a straw chair, and a crucifix, with its vessel of holy
water underneath. Into this cell, I was locked by my uncle's own
hands, and here I remained prisoner for a fortnight, seeing nobody but
my aunt's women, who once a day brought me a meagre supply of coarse
food. I had but one companion—an ugly gray cat, which lived in the
neighboring garret, and made her way to my cell through a hole in the
wainscot, attracted, I suppose, by the smell of my soup. She shared my
meals by day and my bed at night, and, I doubt not, sincerely regretted
my departure. I have always loved and patronized ugly gray cats for her
sake.
I was happier in this garret than I had been before in a long time.
I had lived absolutely without prayer ever since my illness, for my
repetitions of the rosary might as well have been repetitions of
"Cruel Barbara Allen," for all the devotion there had been in them.
But somehow my firm decision not to marry any one but my first love
had brought help and comfort to me. It had been a step in the right
direction.
When first locked into my prison cell, I had thrown myself on my knees
and besought help from heaven to hold firm my resolution. That prayer
had opened the way for others. I began to review my life and sincerely
to repent the sins which had brought me into such straits. I saw and
recognized the fact that the double-mindedness which had always been my
bane, had in this instance lain at the root of my apostasy. I confessed
the justice of my Heavenly Father, and was enabled wholly to surrender
myself into his hands for time and eternity; and I received comfort,
and even joy, such as I had never found before.
At the end of a fortnight, my uncle visited me again and inquired
whether I were now ready to submit my will to his. Modestly, I hope,
but certainly with firmness, I declared my determination unchanged, and
was ordered instantly to prepare for a journey.
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