"ARCADES AMBO"
Prince Vocqsal possessed a delightful shooting-box in the immediate
vicinity of the Waldenberg; and, as a portion of those magnificent
woodlands was on his property, he and the De Rohans, father and son, had
long established a joint guardianship and right of sporting over that
far-famed locality. Perhaps what the Prince called a shooting-box, an
Englishman's less magnificent notions would have caused him to term a
country-house; for the "chalet," as Madame la Princesse delighted to
name it, was a roomy, commodious dwelling, with all the appliances of a
comfortable mansion, furnished in the most exquisite taste. She herself
had never been induced to visit it till within the last few weeks--a
circumstance which had not seemed to diminish its attractions in the
eyes of the Prince; now, however, a suite of apartments was fitted up
expressly for "Madame," and this return to primitive tastes and rural
pleasures, on the part of that fastidious lady, was hailed by her
domestics with astonishment, and by her husband with a good-humoured and
ludicrous expression of dismay. To account for the change in Madame's
habits, we must follow Victor on his solitary ride, the pace of which
was once more reduced to a walk as soon as he was beyond the gipsy's
ken. Who does not know the nervous anxiety with which we have all of us
sometimes hurried over the beginning of a journey, only to dawdle out
its termination, in absolute dread of the very moment which yet we long
for so painfully.
Now, it was strange that so keen a sportsman as Victor, one, moreover,
whose ear was as practised as his eye was quick, should have been
deceived in the direction from which he heard the reports of at least
half-a-dozen shots, that could only have been fired from the gun of his
friend the Prince, whom he had promised faithfully to meet that morning
at a certain well-known pass on the Waldenberg. It was strange that,
instead of riding at once towards the spot where he must have seen the
smoke from a gun actually curling up amongst the trees, he should have
cantered off in an exactly opposite direction, and never drawn rein till
he arrived at the gate of a white house surrounded by acacias, at least
five miles from the familiar and appointed trysting-place, and in a part
of the Waldenberg by no means the best stocked with game.
It was strange, too, that he should have thought it necessary to inform
the grim hussar who opened the door how he had unaccountably missed the
Prince in the forest, and had ridden all this distance out of his way to
inquire about him, and should have asked that military-looking
individual, in a casual manner, whether it was probable Madame la
Princesse could put him in the right way of finding his companion, so as
not to lose his day's sport. It might have occurred to the hussar, if
not too much taken up with his moustaches, that the simplest method for
so intimate a friend would have been to have asked at once if "Madame
was at home," and then gone in and prosecuted his inquiries in person.
If a shrewd hussar, too, he may have bethought him that the human biped
is something akin to the ostrich, and is persuaded, like that foolish
bird, that if he can only hide his head, no one can detect his great
long legs. Be this how it may, the official never moved a muscle of his
countenance, and in about half-a-minute Victor found himself, he did not
exactly know how, alone with "Madame" in her boudoir.
She gave him her hand, with one of those sunny smiles that used to go
straight to the Hungarian's heart. Madame was never demonstrative;
although her companion would joyfully have cast himself at her feet and
worshipped her, she wilfully ignored his devotion; and while she knew
from his own lips that he was her lover, nor had the slightest objection
to the avowal, she persisted in treating him as a commonplace friend.
It was part of her system, and it seemed to answer. Princess Vocqsal's
lovers were always wilder about her than those of any other dame half
her age and possessed of thrice her beauty. She had the knack of
managing that strange compound of vanity, recklessness, and warm
affections which constitutes a man's heart; and she took a great delight
in playing on an instrument of which she had sounded all the chords, and
evoked all the tones, till she knew it thoroughly, and undervalued it
accordingly.
Victor had very little to say! he who was generally so gay and unabashed
and agreeable. His colour went and came, and his hand positively shook
as he took hers--so cold, and soft, and steady--and carried it to his
lips.
"What, lost again in the Waldenberg?" said she, with a laugh, "and
within five leagues of Edeldorf. Count de Rohan, you are really not fit
to be trusted by yourself; we must get you some one to take care of
you."
Victor looked reproachfully at her.
"Rose," he stammered, "you laugh at me; you despise me. Again I have
succeeded in seeing you without creating suspicion and remark; but I
have had to do that which is foreign to my nature, and you know not what
it costs me. I have had to act, if not to speak, a lie. I was to have
met the Prince at the waterfall, and I wilfully missed him that I might
come down here to inquire which way he had gone; I felt like a coward
before the eye of the very servant who opened your door; and all to look
on you for five minutes--to carry back with me the tones of your beloved
voice, and live upon them for weeks in my dreary home, till I can see
you again. Rose! Rose! you little know how I adore you."
"But I cannot pity you in this instance, Monsieur le Comte," replied the
lady; "I cannot, indeed. Here you are, in my comfortable boudoir, with
a warm stove, and a polished floor, and your choice of every arm-chair
and sofa in the room, instead of stamping about on that bleak and dreary
Waldenberg, with your hands cold and your feet wet, and a heavy rifle to
carry, and in all probability nothing to shoot. Besides, sir, does my
company count for nothing, instead of that of _Monsieur le Prince_? It
may be bad taste, but I confess that, myself, I very much prefer my own
society to his." And the Princess laughed her cheerful ringing laugh,
that seemed to come straight from the heart.
Victor sighed. "You will never be serious, Rose, for a minute
together."
"Serious!" she replied, "no! why should I? Have I not cause to be
merry? I own I might have felt _triste_ and cross to-day if I had been
disappointed; but you are come, _mon cher Comte_, and everything is
_couleur de rose_."
This was encouraging; and Victor opened the siege once more. He loved
her with all the enthusiasm and ardour of his warm Hungarian heart.
Wilfully shutting his eyes to ruin, misery, and crime, he urged her to
be his--to fly with him--to leave all for his sake. He vowed to devote
himself to her, and her alone. He swore he would obey her lightest
word, and move heaven and earth to fulfil her faintest wish for the rest
of his life, would she but confide her happiness to him. He was mad--he
was miserable without her: life was not worth having unless gilded by
her smiles; he would fly his country if she did not consent: he would
hate her, he would never see her more, and a great deal to the same
purpose, the outpouring of an eager, generous nature, warped by
circumstances to evil; but in vain; the lady was immovable; she knew too
well the value of her position to sacrifice it for so empty an illusion
as love. Prudence, with the Princess, stood instead of principle; and
Prudence whispered, "Keep all you have got, there is no need to
sacrifice anything. You have all the advantage, take care to retain it.
He may break his chains to-day, but he will come back voluntarily and
put them on again to-morrow! it is more blessed to _receive_ than to
_give_." Such was the Princess's reasoning, and she remained firm and
cold as a rock. At last his temper gave way, and he reproached her
bitterly and ungenerously.
"You do not love me," he said; "cold, false, and heartless, you have
sacrificed me to your vanity; but you shall not enjoy your triumph long;
from henceforth I renounce you and your favour--from this day I will
never set eyes on you again. Rose! for the last time I call you by that
dear name; Rose! for the last time, Farewell!"
She tried the old conquering glance once more, but it failed. She even
pressed his hand, and bade him wait and see the Prince on his return,
but in vain. For the time, her power was gone. With lips compressed,
and face as white as ashes, Victor strode from the room. In less than
five minutes he was mounted, and galloping furiously off in the
direction of Edeldorf.
Princess Vocqsal was a sad coquette, but she was a woman after all. She
went to the window, and gazed wistfully after the horseman's figure as
it disappeared amongst the acacias.
"Alas!" she thought, "poor Victor, it is too late now! So gallant, so
loving, and so devoted. Ten years ago I had a heart to give, and you
should have had it then, wholly and unreservedly; but now--what am I
now? Oh that I could but be as I was then! Too late! too late!"
Her _femme-de-chambre_ attributed Madame's _migraine_ entirely to the
weather and the dulness of the country, so different from Paris, or even
Vienna; for that domestic at once perceived her mistress's eyes were red
with weeping, when she went to dress. But sal volatile and rouge,
judiciously applied, can work wonders. The Princess never looked more
brilliant than when she descended to dinner, and she sat up and finished
her French novel that night before she went to bed.
Victor must have been half-way home when, leaning on his sister's arm, I
crept out into the garden to enjoy an hour of fresh air and sunshine in
the company of my sedulous nurse and charming companion. Valerie and I
had spent the morning together, and it had passed like a dream. She had
made my breakfast, which she insisted on giving me in truly British
fashion, and poured out my tea herself, as she laughingly observed,
"_comme une meess Anglaise_." She had played me her wild Hungarian airs
on the pianoforte, and sung me her plaintive national songs, with
sweetness and good-humour. She had even taught me a new and intricate
stitch in her embroidery, and bent my stubborn fingers to the task with
her own pretty hands; and now, untiring in her care and kindness, she
was ready to walk out with me in the garden, and wait upon all my whims
and fancies as a nurse does for a sick child. I could walk at last with
no pain, and but little difficulty. Had I not been so well taken care
of, I think I should have declared myself quite recovered; but when you
have a fair round arm to guide your steps, and a pair of soft eyes to
look thrillingly into yours--as day after day a gentle voice entreats
you not to hurry your convalescence and "attempt to do too much," it is
a great temptation to put off as long as possible the evil hour when you
must declare yourself quite sound again, and begin once more to walk
alone.
So Valerie and I paced up and down the garden, and drank in new life at
every pore in the glad sunshine and the soft balmy air.
It was one of those days which summer seems to have forgotten, and which
we so gladly welcome when we find it at the close of autumn. A warm,
mellow sunshine brightened the landscape, melting in the distance into
that golden haze which is so peculiarly the charm of this time of year:
while the fleecy clouds, that seemed to stand still against the clear
sky, enhanced the depth and purity of that wondrous, matchless blue.
Not a breath stirred the rich yellow leaves dying in masses on the
trees; and the last rose of the garden, though in all the bloom of
maturity, had shed her first petal, and paid her first tribute to decay.
Valerie plucked it, and gave it me with a smile, as we sat down upon a
low garden seat at one extremity of the walk. I thanked her, and, I
know not why, put it to my lips before I transferred it to the
buttonhole of my coat. There was a silence of several minutes.
I broke it at last by remarking "that I should soon be well now, and
must ere long bid adieu to Edeldorf."
She started as though I had interrupted a train of pleasant thoughts,
and answered, with some commonplace expression of regret and hope, that
"I would not hurry myself;" but I thought her voice was more constrained
than usual, and she turned her head away as she spoke.
"Valerie," I said--and this was the first time I had ever called her by
her Christian name--"it is no use disguising from oneself an unpleasant
truth: my duty, my character, everything bids me leave my happy life
here as soon as I am well enough. You may imagine how much I shall
regret it, but you cannot imagine how grateful I feel for all your
kindness to me. Had you been my sister, you could not have indulged me
more. It is not my nature to express half I feel, but believe me, that
wherever I go, at any distance of time or place, the brightest jewel in
my memory will be the name of the Comtesse de Rohan."
"You called me Valerie just now," said she, quickly.
"Well, of Valerie, then," I replied. "Your brother is the oldest friend
I have--older even than poor Bold." That sagacious dog had lain down at
our feet, and was looking from one to the other with a ludicrous
expression of wistful gravity, as if he could not make it all out. Why
should he have reminded me at that instant so painfully of the glorious
struggle for life and death in Beverley mere? That face! that face!
would it never cease to haunt me with its sweet, sad smile? "Yes,
Valerie," I proceeded, "that he should have received me as a brother is
only what I expected, but your unwearying kindness overpowers me.
Believe me, I feel it very deeply, and I shall leave you, oh! with such
regret!"
"And we too shall regret you very much," answered Valerie, with flushed
cheeks and not very steady tones. "But can you not stay a little longer?
your health is hardly re-established, though your wound is healed,
and--and--it will be very lonely when you are gone."
"Not for you," I replied; "not for the young Comtesse de Rohan (well,
Valerie, then), admired and sought after by all. Beautiful and
distinguished, go where you will, you are sure to command homage and
affection. No, it is all the other way, _I_ shall be lonely, if you
like."
"Oh, but men are so different," said she, with a glance from under those
long, dark eyelashes. "Wherever they go they find so much to interest,
so much to occupy them, so much to do, so many to love."
"Not in my case," I answered, rather pursuing my own train of thoughts
than in reply to my companion. "Look at the difference between us. You
have your home, your brother, your friends, your dependants, all who can
appreciate and return your affection; whilst I, I have nothing in the
world but my horses and my sword."
She looked straight into my face, a cloud seemed to pass over her
features, and she burst into tears. In another moment she was sobbing
on my breast as if her heart would break.
A horse's hoofs were heard clattering in the stable yard, and as Victor,
pale and excited, strode up the garden, Valerie rushed swiftly into the
house.