WHAT HAPPENED AFTER.
With night and darkness the storm passed away, and, when morning
broke, no trace of it remained but the torn and twisted branches, the
thunder-riven oak, and the diamond-like dew, that dropped from every
leaf, and bowed the laden grass. Nicola awoke refreshed, but I was
pale, weary, and excited: the livelong night I had not slept, having
sat by the side of my companion, watching and half-supporting her,
full of happiness, and of many thoughts, some of which made me
anxious enough at times. But I kissed the sleeping eyes of Nicola,
and forgetting all but that she loved me, I proceeded to groom and
re-saddle our poor nags, which had borne the terrors and discomfort
of the past night with all the equanimity of old troop-horses.
Flocks of those little birds of the woodcock species, known in France
as chevaliers aux pied verts, were fluttering about in the misty
swamps and little tarns formed by the torrents of rain that had
fallen overnight; the startled hares and rabbits bounded from among
the wet leaves, and fled before us as we mounted and set forth from
our comfortless billet; and steering through the forest by the
direction of the sunbeams, sought once more the way which led towards
Lorraine.
We soon found it, and passing into that hostile province, left behind
us the fertile plains of beautiful Champagne. Our first halt was at
Vaubecourt, on the left bank of the Aisne: it is a fief of the
princes of Lillebonne, who are a branch of the house of Lorraine.
Nicola gazed wistfully at the gilded spires of the quaint château,
saying she had friends there, who would gladly receive her.
'But I promised to see you as far as Nanci?' said I, with a tone of
disappointment and anxiety.
'True,' she replied, with tears in her eyes; and we rode on in
silence and sadness, oppressed by our own thoughts; for we were now
approaching the place and the day of our final separation.
My heart was perplexed by its mingled joy and sorrow. How delightful
it was to be convinced of the entire love of this gentle creature,
and hear her sweet and winning voice give me timid assurance of it
again and again; but how bitter was the knowledge that a day was at
hand when I should hear that voice and those assurances no more!
In her manner there was a soft tenderness which a lover alone could
detect, and it filled me with delight. She had so fully avowed a
reciprocity of regard that now I had nothing more to urge on that
point; save, that we should not separate at Nanci--for to that
parting I looked forward with a sincere and acute sorrow. I strove
vainly to forget that it overhung me, and for a time to be happy; for
when gazing upon Nicola, the delightful consciousness of proprietary
in that charming form, and community of sentiment in her affectionate
heart, filled me with exalted and joyous emotions.
This love for Nicola, which in me had sprung up so suddenly,
strengthening with intimacy, and the length of our journey, was the
first true passion of my heart, which hitherto had never known aught
of an emotion so absorbing.
Never before had the thought of a woman--of a mere girl--come between
me and the great desire of my soul--honour and fame in the French
army; but now I thought only of Nicola, and of spending my life with
her, and for her alone.
I strove to study, to estimate my real emotion for her, and the
probable duration of it. Was this love misplaced? Reason said it
was. Cold Reason! Yet I loved her, and love levels everything; but
this passion ran full butt against a thousand old social (or
anti-social) prejudices which had formed the leading principles, the
life, the second religion as it were, of my family for
centuries--never to wed one of a blood, or name, or race inferior to
their own!
Nicola was but a waiting-woman--the soubrette of the French king's
dissipated mistress--and yet I loved her with all the heedless ardour
of a boy.
Rank and name, pride, prejudice, and pedigree, with all their old
heraldic quarterings and mummery, what were they to me, but something
to lay at the feet of this charming French girl when I said that I
loved her?
For some miles of the way Nicola had been very sad; but something in
the spirit of the above paragraph, which I had infused into my
conversation, raised her spirit, and she rallied as we approached St.
Michel.
'Dear Arthur,' said she, patting my bridle-hand, while a beautiful
smile lit up her loving blue eyes, 'you have a princely heart! I
would that I were a countess--yea, even mademoiselle of Lorraine for
your sake.'
'The beautiful Marie-Louise?'
'Yes--even the beautiful Marie-Louise--she who is deemed so proud, so
artful, and intriguing.'
'Wherefore?'
'Because you could not say or sacrifice more for me, a poor girl,
than I would then do for you, a simple gentleman.'
'Listen to me, Nicola. Lovely as this princess, the bride of Count
Pappenheim, is famed to be, high though her race, and splendid her
fortune, I would not give one golden hair of your beautiful head,
Nicola, for Louise with all her rank and splendour.'
'Dear, kind, and loving Arthur!' said she, smiling through her tears;
'but I ought not to love you.'
'Nicola?'
'It is very true--but too true.'
'And why?'
'For many reasons more than I dare to say. One I may mention----'
'Name it. But already you have named so many.'
'You are a Huguenot--I a Catholic.'
'Well, and what of that?'
''Tis an error in faith my doing so; but I fear that we poor women
are all pagans in the question of duty when it jars with love.'
'Then kiss me, my beautiful heathen.'
We were now close to the gate of St. Michel, and, alas! consequently
only thirty miles from Nanci, and we felt more _triste_ than ever.