A REVELATION.
Bertha was too happy as she walked toward the hotel, to dread the
rebukes which she had good reason to anticipate from the countess. For a
young lady to traverse the streets alone with a gentleman, however
intimate a friend, was, according to the strict rules of French
etiquette, a gross breach of propriety. And, though the escort of a
gentleman was deemed allowable in the purer and less conventional
society of the land in which they were sojourning, Bertha knew that her
supercilious aunt considered all customs barbarous but those of her
refined native country.
The countess was sitting in her drawing-room, evidently in a state of
high excitement, when Bertha and Gaston entered. Count Tristan appeared
to be endeavoring to palliate his recent conduct by a series of
contradictory statements, and a garbled explanation of the events which
had placed Maurice in a dubious position; but his mother had sufficient
shrewdness to detect that his object was to deceive, not to enlighten
her.
The appearance of Bertha and Gaston gave inexpressible relief to the
count, and his satisfaction betrayed itself in a singularly unnatural
and childish manner. He kissed Bertha on both cheeks as though he had
not seen her for a long period, asked her how she did, shook hands
warmly with Gaston as if they had not parted a couple of hours before,
offered them chairs, put his arm about Bertha, and drew her to him, as
though he were making her his shield against some imaginary assailant.
"What is the meaning of this prolonged absence, Bertha?" demanded the
countess, without appearing to notice M. de Bois. "Where have you been?
Why did you not return immediately? Where is Maurice?"
"The day was so fine," answered Bertha, trying to speak with some show
of dignity and composure, but failing lamentably, "that I thought I
would enjoy a walk in the capitol grounds. We met Lady Augusta and Lord
Linden. Maurice did not return with us."
"Are you aware of the singular impropriety of your behavior,
Mademoiselle de Merrivale? Is it possible that a niece of mine can have
become so perfectly regardless of all the rules of decorum?"
"Will you excuse me for the present, aunt?" interrupted Bertha,
retreating toward the door in a rather cowardly fashion. "I leave M. de
Bois to--M. de Bois wishes to"--
Gaston had risen and opened the door for her to pass, with as much
self-possession as though bashfulness had not been the tormenting evil
genius of his existence. His look reassured her, and, without finishing
her sentence, she disappeared.
The countess rose with even more than her wonted stateliness, and was
about to follow her niece; but M. de Bois, pretending not to perceive
her intention, closed the door and said,--
"There is a communication which I desire to have the honor of making to
Madame de Gramont and Count Tristan."
"You can make no communication to which I feel disposed to listen,"
answered the countess haughtily, and advancing toward the door.
"I regret to hear the aunt of Mademoiselle de Merrivale say so, as I
have this morning ventured to solicit the hand of that young lady in
marriage, and have received a favorable answer to my suit, as well as
permission to request the approval of her relatives."
The countess sank into the nearest chair. She knew that her consent was
a mere form, and that Bertha could dispose of her hand in freedom.
Count Tristan, still speaking in a confused, incoherent manner,
exclaimed,--
"Bless my soul! How astonishing! The game's up, and Maurice has lost his
chance! Bertha's fortune is to go out of the family! It's very puzzling.
How did it all come about? De Bois, you sly fellow, you lucky dog, I
never suspected you. Managed matters quietly, eh? Should never have
thought you were the man to succeed with a pretty girl."
"Really," returned Gaston good-humoredly, "I am almost as astonished as
you are by Mademoiselle de Merrivale's preference. Let me hope that the
Countess de Gramont and yourself will render my happiness complete by
approving of Mademoiselle Bertha's choice."
"Of course, of course; there's nothing else to be done; we have lost our
trump card, but there's no use of confessing it! Very glad to welcome
you as a relative, sir; very happy indeed; everything shall be as
Mademoiselle de Merrivale desires."
Count Tristan uttered these disjointed sentences, in the flurried,
bewildered manner which had marked his conduct since Gaston entered. A
stranger might easily have imagined that the count was under the
influence of delirium; for his face was scarlet his eyes shone with
lurid brightness, his muscles twitched, his hands trembled nervously,
and he was, to all appearance, not thoroughly conscious of what he was
doing.
His mother's look of rebuke was entirely lost upon him, and he rattled
on with an air of assumed hilarity which was painfully absurd.
Gaston was disinclined to give the disdainful lady an opportunity of
expressing her opposition to his suit, and, pretending to interpret her
silence favorably, he took his hat, and said, "I thank you for the
cordial manner in which my proposition has been received; I hope to have
the pleasure of visiting Mademoiselle de Merrivale this evening; I wish
you a good-morning."
The door had closed upon him before the countess had recovered herself
sufficiently to reply.
That evening, before paying his proposed visit to Bertha, M. de Bois
sought Madeleine, to make her a participator in the happiness which she
had so truly predicted would, one day, be his. He also purposed, if
possible, to put her on her guard against the advances of Lord Linden.
At the door he encountered Maurice, who with unaffected warmth,
congratulated him upon his betrothal.
When the servant answered their ring, both gentlemen were denied
admission. Mademoiselle Melanie was not well, and had retired.
"Are you going back to the hotel?" asked Gaston, as they left the door.
"No, not until late. I hardly know what I shall do with myself; I may go
to the reading-rooms."
As their roads were different, they parted, and Maurice, not being able
to select any better place of refuge, took his way to the reading-rooms
most frequented by gentlemen of the metropolis. He was fortunate in
finding an apartment vacant. He sat down by the table, took up a
newspaper, though the words before him might have been printed in an
unknown tongue, for any sense they conveyed.
He had been sitting about half an hour, musing sadly, when Lord Linden
sauntered through the rooms. The instant he observed Maurice, he
advanced toward him, and unceremoniously took a seat at the same table.
This was just the opportunity which the _piqued_ nobleman had desired.
Maurice returned his salutation politely, but with an occupied air which
seemed to forbid conversation. But Lord Linden was not to be baffled. He
opened a periodical, and, after listlessly turning the leaves, closed
it, and, leaning over the table in the direction of Maurice, said, with
a sarcastic intonation,--
"I hope you had an agreeable visit, M. de Gramont."
Maurice looked up in surprise.
"I beg pardon,--I do not comprehend. To what visit do you allude?"
"When we last met," returned Lord Linden, in the same offensive manner,
"I left you in charming company; the lovely mantua-maker, you know!--the
very queen of sirens!"
Maurice flushed crimson and half started from his chair, then sat down
again, making a strong effort to control himself, as he answered coldly,
"I am at a loss to comprehend the meaning of the language in which you
are pleased to indulge."
"'Pon my life, that's going too far; especially as I feel not a little
aggrieved that your inopportune entrance cut short my visit. And you
seemed to be a decided favorite. Deuced lucky! for she is the handsomest
woman in Washington. Come, be frank enough to confess that you think so,
and I'll admit that I think her the most beautiful woman upon the face
of the globe."
"My frankness," returned Maurice, sharply, "forces me to confess that
this conversation is particularly distasteful to me. The lady in
question"--
Lord Linden interrupted him with a light laugh. "Lady? Oh! I see you
adopt the customs and phraseology of the country in which you live; and
_here_, a mantua-maker is, of course, a lady; just as a respectable
boot-black is, in common parlance, an accomplished gentleman."
"My lord,"--began Maurice, angrily; but Lord Linden would not permit him
to continue.
"Oh, don't be offended; I suppose you are a naturalized foreigner; you
are quite right to accept the manners of the country you adopt; it is
the true diplomatic dodge. And, besides, I admit that the _lady_ in
question might anywhere be mistaken for a thorough lady. She has all the
points which betoken the high-bred dame. I'll not quarrel with the term
you use! All I ask is fair play, and that you will not attempt to
monopolize the field."
"Lord Linden," replied Maurice, unable to endure this impertinence any
longer, "once more I beg to inform you that you are using language to
which I cannot listen. I will not permit any man to speak of that lady
in the manner which you have chosen to employ. I shall consider it a
personal insult if you persist."
"Indeed! Have matters gone so far? Really, I did not suspect that the
ground was already occupied, and that the _lady_ whose mantua-making and
millinery are the admiration of all Washington, had a protector by whom
her less favored acquaintances must expect to be taken to task."
These words were spoken in a tone sufficiently caustic to render their
meaning unmistakable.
"She has protectors, my lord,--legal protectors,--who are ready to prove
their right to defend her," replied Maurice, with severity, and rising
as he spoke.
All considerations of prudence,--the wishes of Madeleine and of his
family,--were forgotten at the moment: she was insulted, and he was
there to defend her; that was all he remembered.
Lord Linden, though he could not but be struck by the tone and manner of
the viscount, echoed the words, "The right?"
"Yes, the _right_, as well as the _might_. Mademoiselle Melanie, the
mantua-maker, is in reality Mademoiselle Madeleine Melanie de Gramont,
the daughter of the late Duke de Gramont, and the second cousin of my
father, Count Tristan de Gramont."
"Good heavens! of what gross stupidity I have been guilty! How shall I
ever obtain your pardon?"
Without answering this question, Maurice went on.
"You have forced me to betray a secret which my cousin earnestly desired
to keep; but it is time that her family should refuse their countenance
to this farce of concealment. I, for one, will not be a party to it any
longer. I will never consent to calling her, or hearing her called, by
any but her true title, and I do not care how soon that is proclaimed to
the world."
"M. de Gramont," said Lord Linden, whose embarrassment was mingled with
undisguised joy, "I am overwhelmed with shame, and I beg that you will
forget what I have said. My apology is based upon the error under which
I was laboring. I make it very humbly, very gladly, and trust the
Viscount de Gramont will accept it generously. Without being able to
conceive the circumstances which have placed a noble lady in a position
which has caused me to fall into so grave a mistake, I shall only be too
proud, too thankful, to make the one reparation in my power,"--
Lord Linden had not finished speaking, but Maurice was disinclined to
hear any more or to prolong the interview, and said, frigidly, "I am
bound to accept your apology; but your lordship can hardly expect that I
can find it easy to forget that my cousin, Mademoiselle de Gramont, has
been regarded by you in an unworthy light. Good-evening."
Feigning not to see Lord Linden's outstretched hand, and disregarding
his attempt to exculpate himself further, Maurice walked out of the
reading-room, leaving the nobleman too much elated by the discovery of
Madeleine's rank to experience a natural indignation at her cousin's
cavalier treatment.