"THE SKELETON"
It is one of the conventional grievances of the world to mourn ever the
mutability of human affairs, the ever-recurring changes incidental to
that short span of existence here which we are pleased to term Life, as
if the scenes and characters with which we are familiar were always
being mingled and shifted with the rapidity and confusion of a
pantomime. It has often struck me that the circumstances which encircle
us do _not_ by any means change with such extraordinary rapidity and
facility--that, like a French road, with its mile after mile of level
fertility and unvarying poplars, our path is sometimes for years
together undiversified by any great variety of incident, any glimpse of
romance; and that the same people, the same habits, the same pleasures,
and the same annoyances seem destined to surround and hem us in from the
cradle to the grave. Which is the most numerous class, those who fear
their lot _may_ change, or those who hope it _will_? Can we make this
change for ourselves? Are we the slaves of circumstances, or is not that
the opportunity of the strong which is the destiny of the weak? Surely
it must be so--surely the stout heart that struggles on must win at
last--surely man is a free agent; and he who fails, fails not because
his task is impossible, but that he himself is faint and weak and
infatuated enough to hope that he alone will be an exception to the
common lot, and achieve the prize without the labour, _Sine pulvere
palma_.
The old castle at Edeldorf, at least, is but little changed from what I
recollect it in my quiet boyhood, when with my dear father I first
entered its lofty halls and made acquaintance with the beautiful
blue-eyed child that now sits at the end of that table, a grown-up,
handsome man. Yes, once more I am at Edeldorf. Despite all my scruples,
despite all the struggles between my worse and better self, I could not
resist the temptation of seeing her in her stately home; of satisfying
myself with my own eyes that she was happy, and of bidding her a long
and last farewell. Oh! I thirsted to see her just once again, only to
see her, and then to go away and meet her never, never more. Therefore
Ropsley and I journeyed through Bulgaria and up the Danube, and arrived
late at Edeldorf, and were cordially welcomed by Victor, and dressed,
and came down to dinner, and so I saw her.
She was altered, too; so much altered, and yet it was the well-known
face, _her_ face still; but there were lines on the white forehead I
remembered once so smooth and fair, and the eyes were sunk and the cheek
pale and fallen; when she smiled, too, the beautiful lips parted as
sweetly as their wont, but the nether one quivered as though it were
more used to weeping than laughing, and the smile vanished quickly, and
left a deeper shadow as it faded. She was not happy. I was _sure_ she
was not happy, and shall I confess it? the certainty was not to me a
feeling of unmixed pain. I would have given every drop of blood in my
body to make her so, and yet I could not grieve as I felt I ought to
grieve, that it was otherwise.
Perhaps one of the greatest trials imposed on us by the artificial state
of society in which we live, is the mask of iron that it forces us to
wear for the concealment of all the deeper and stronger feelings of our
nature. There we sit in that magnificent hall, hung around with horn of
stag and tusk of boar, and all the trophies of the chase, waited on by
Hungarian retainers in their gorgeous hussar uniforms, before a table
heaped to profusion with the good things that minister to the
gratification of the palate, and conversing upon those light and
frivolous topics beyond which it is treason to venture, while the hearts
probably of every one of us are far, far distant in some region of pain
unknown and unguessed by all save the secret sufferers, who hide away
their hoarded sorrows under an exterior of flippant levity, and affect
to ignore their neighbour's wounds as completely as they veil their own.
What care Ropsley or Valerie whether _perdrix aux champignons_ is or is
not a better thing than _dindon aux truffes_? They are dying to be alone
with each other once more--she, all anxiety to hear of his campaign and
his illness; he, restless and preoccupied till he can tell her of his
plans and prospects, and the arrangements that must be concluded before
he can make her his own. Both, for want of a better grievance, somewhat
disgusted that the order of precedence in going to dinner has placed
them opposite each other, instead of side by side. And yet Valerie, who
sits by me, seems well pleased to meet her old friend once more; if I
had ever thought she really cared for me, I should be undeceived now,
when I mark the joyous frankness of her manner, the happy blush that
comes and goes upon her cheek, and the restless glances that ever and
anon she casts at her lover's handsome face through the epergne of
flowers and fruit that divides them. No, they think as little of the
ball of conversation which we jugglers toss about to each other, and
jingle and play with and despise, as does the pale stately Countess
herself, with her dark eyes and her dreamy look apparently gazing far
into another world. She is not watching Victor, she seems scarcely
aware of his presence: and yet many a young wife as beautiful, as
high-spirited, and as lately married, would sit uneasily at the top of
her own table, would frown, and fret, and chafe to see her handsome
husband so preoccupied by another as is the Count by the fair guest on
his right hand--who but wicked Princess Vocqsal?
That lady has, according to custom, surrounded herself by a system of
fortification wherewith, as it were, she seems metaphorically to set the
world at defiance: a challenge which, to do her justice, the Princess is
ever ready to offer, the antagonist not always willing to accept. She
delights in being the object of small attentions, so she invariably
requires a footstool, an extra cushion or two, and a flask of eau de
Cologne, in addition to her bouquet, her fan, her gloves, her
pocket-handkerchief, and such necessary articles of female superfluity.
With these outworks and fences within which to retire on the failure of
an attack, it is easy to carry out a system of aggressive warfare; and
whether it is the presence of his wife that makes the amusement
particularly exciting, or whether Count de Rohan has made himself to-day
peculiarly agreeable, or whether it is possible, though this contingency
is extremely unlikely, that the Prince has _told her not_, certainly
Madame la Princesse is taking unusual pains, and that most
unnecessarily, to bring Victor into more than common subjection to her
fascinations.
She is without contradiction the best-dressed woman in the room; her
light gossamer robe, fold upon fold, and flounce upon flounce, floats
around her like a drapery of clouds; her gloves fit her to a miracle;
her exquisitely-shaped hands and round white arms bear few ornaments,
but these are of the rarest and costliest description; her blooming,
fresh complexion accords well with those luxuriant masses of soft brown
hair escaping here and there from its smooth shining folds in large
glossy curls. Her rich red lips are parted with a malicious smile, half
playful, half coquettish, that is inexpressibly provoking and
attractive; while, although the question as to whether she does really
rouge or not is still undecided, her blue eyes seem positively to dance
and sparkle in the candle-light. Her voice is low, and soft, and
silvery; all she says racy, humorous, full of meaning, and to the point.
Poor Victor de Rohan!
He, too, is at first in unusually high spirits; his courteous, well-bred
manner is livelier than his wont, but the deferential air with which he
responds to his neighbour's gay remarks is dashed by a shade of sarcasm,
and I, who know him so well, can detect a tone of bitter irony in his
voice, can trace some acute inward pang that ever and anon convulses for
a moment his frank, handsome features. I am sure he is ill at ease, and
dissatisfied with himself. I observe, too, that, though he scarcely
touches the contents of his plate, his glass is filled again and again
to the brim, and he quaffs off his wine with the eager feverish thirst
of one who seeks to drown reflection and remorse in the Lethean draught.
Worst sign of all, and one which never fails to denote mental suffering,
his spirits fall in proportion to his potations, and that which in a
well-balanced nature "makes glad the heart of man," seems but to clog
the wings of Victor's fancy, and to sink him deeper and deeper in
despondency. Ere long he becomes pale, silent, almost morose, and the
charming Princess has all the conversation to herself.
But one individual in the party attends thoroughly to the business in
hand. Without doubt, for the time being he has the best of it. Prince
Vocqsal possesses an excellent appetite, a digestion, as he says
himself, that, like his conscience, can carry a great weight and be all
the better for it; a faultless judgment in wine, and a tendency to enjoy
the pleasures of the table, enhanced, if possible, by the occasional fit
of gout with which this indulgence must unfortunately be purchased.
Fancy-free is the Prince, and troubled neither by memories of the past,
misgivings for the present, nor anxieties for the future. Many such
passive natures there are--we see them every day. Men who are content
to take the world as it is, and, like the ox in his pasture, browse, and
bask, and ruminate, and never wish to overleap the boundary that forbids
them to wander in the flowery meadow beyond. And yet it may be that
these too have once bathed in the forbidden stream, the lava-stream that
scorches and sears where it touches; it may be that the heart we deem so
hard, so callous, has been welded in the fire, and beaten on the anvil,
till it has assumed the consistency of steel. It winced and quivered
once, perhaps nearly broke, and now it can bid defiance even to the
memory of pain. Who knows? who can tell his neighbour's history, or
guess his neighbour's thoughts? who can read the truth, even in the
depth of those eyes that look the fondest into his own? Well! there is
One that knows all secrets, and He will judge, but not as man judges.
So Prince Vocqsal thinks not of the days that are past, the hearts he
has broken, the friends he has lost, the duels he has fought, the money
he has squandered, the chances he has thrown away; or, if he does allow
his mind to dwell for an instant on such trifles, it is with a sort of
dreamy satisfaction at the quantity of enjoyment he has squeezed out of
life, tinged with a vague regret that so much of it is over. Why, it
was but to-day that, as he dressed for dinner, he apostrophised the
grimacing image in his looking-glass,--"Courage, _mon gaillard_,"
muttered the Prince, certainly not to his valet, who was tightening his
waistbelt, "courage! you are worth a good many of the young ones, still,
and your appetite is as good as it was at sixteen."
He is splendid now, though somewhat apoplectic. His wig curls over his
magnificent head in hyacinthine luxuriance, his dyed whiskers and
moustache blush purple in the candlelight; his neckcloth is tied
somewhat too tight, and seems to have forced more than a wholesome
quantity of blood into his face and eyes, but its whiteness is dazzling,
and the diamond studs beneath it are of extraordinary brilliance; nor
does his waistbelt, though it defies repletion, modify in any great
degree the goodly outline of the corpulent person it enfolds.
Altogether he is a very jolly-looking old gentleman, and the only one of
the party that seems for the nonce to be "the right man in the right
place."
Constance listens to him with a weary, abstracted air; perhaps she has
heard that story about the bear and the waterfall once or twice before,
perhaps she does not hear it now, but she bends her head courteously
towards him, and looks kindly at him from out of her deep, sad eyes.
"Champagne, if you please," says the Prince, interrupting the thread of
his narrative, by holding up his glass to be replenished; "and so,
Madame, the bear and I were _vis-a-vis_ at about ten paces apart, and my
rifle was empty. The last shot had taken effect through his lungs, and
he coughed and held his paw to the pit of his stomach, so like a
Christian with a cold, that, even in my very precarious position, I
could not help laughing outright. Ten paces is a short distance,
Madame, a very short distance, when your antagonist feels himself
thoroughly aggrieved, and advances upon you with a red, lurid eye, and a
short angry growl. I turned and looked behind me for a run--I was
always a good runner," remarks the Prince, with a downward glance of
satisfaction, the absurdity of which, I am pained to see, does not even
call a smile to his listener's pale face--"but it was no question of
running here, for the waterfall was leaping and foaming forty feet deep
below, and the trees were so thick on either side, that escape by a
flank movement was impossible. It was the very spot, Victor, where I
killed the woodcocks right and left the morning you disappointed me so
shamefully, and left me to have all the sport to myself."--Victor bows
courteously, drinks her husband's health, and glances at the Princess
with a bitter smile.--"The very spot where I hope you will place me
to-morrow at your grand _chasse_. Peste! 'tis strange how passionately
fond I still am of the chase. Well, Madame, indecision is not usually
my weakness, but before I could make up my mind what to do, the bear was
upon me. In an instant he embraced me with his huge hairy arms, and I
felt his hot breath against my very face. My rifle was broken short off
by the stock, and I heard my watch crack in my waistcoat pocket. I
thought it was my ribs. I have seen your wrestlers in England, Madame,
and I have once assisted in your country at an exhibition of '_The Box_'
but such an encounter as I now had to sustain was more terrible than
anything I ever witnessed fought out fairly between man and man.
Fortunately a ball through the back part of the head, and another
through the lungs, had somewhat diminished the natural force of my
adversary, or I must have succumbed; and by a great exertion of strength
on my part, I managed to liberate one hand and make a grasp for my
hunting-knife. Horror! it had fallen from the sheath, but by the mercy
of Heaven and the blessing of St. Hubert, it had caught in my boot, and
I never felt before how dear life was as when I touched the buckhorn
handle of my last friend; three, four times in succession I buried the
long keen blade in the bear's side; at each thrust he gave a quick,
convulsive sob, but he strained me tighter and tighter to his body, till
I thought my very blood-vessels would burst with the fearful pressure.
At last we fell, and rolled over and over towards the waterfall. In the
hasty glance I had previously cast behind me, I had remarked a dead
fir-tree that stood within a yard or so of the precipice; I remember the
thought had darted through my mind, that if I could reach it I might be
safe, and the reflection as instantaneously followed, that a bear was a
better climber than a Hungarian. Never shall I forget my sensations
when, in our last revolution, I caught a glimpse of that naked tree. I
shut my eyes then, for I knew it was all over, but I gave him one more
stab, and a hearty one, with my hunting-knife. Splash! we reached the
water together, and went down like a couple of stones, down, down to the
very bottom, but fortunately it was the deepest part of the pool, and we
unclosed our embrace the instant we touched the surface--the bear, I
believe, was dead before he got there, and I thought myself fortunate in
being able to swim ashore, whilst the brown body of my late antagonist
went tumbling and whirling down the foaming torrent below. I recovered
his skin, Madame, to make a cover for my arm-chair, but I have never
been fond of water since. Give me a glass of Tokay, if you please."
"And did you sustain no further harm from your encounter?" asked
Constance, rousing herself from her abstraction with an effort, and
bending politely towards the Prince, who was drinking his Tokay with
immense satisfaction.
"Only the marks of his claws on my shoulder," replied he, smacking his
lips after his draught. "I have got them there to this day. Is it not
so, Rose?" he added, appealing to his wife with a hearty laugh.
She turned her head away without condescending to notice him. Victor
bit his lip with a gesture of impatience, and the Countess, rising
slowly and gracefully, gave her hand to the Prince to lead her back to
the drawing-room, whither we all followed in the same order as that in
which we had proceeded to dinner.
"Do you not feel like a wounded man once more?" observed Valerie, gaily,
to me, as I stood, coffee-cup in hand, with my back to the fireplace,
like a true Englishman. "Is it not all exactly as you left it? the
easiest arm-chair and my eternal embroidery-frame, and your own sofa
where you used to lie so wonderfully patient, and look out of window at
the sunset. Constance has established herself there now, and considers
it her peculiar property. Oh, Vere (I shall always call you Vere), is
she not charming? I am so fond of her!"
Slow torture! but never mind, it is but for to-night--this experiment
must never be repeated. Go on, Countess Valerie, happy, unconscious
executioner.
"You English people are delightful, when one knows you well, although at
first you are so cold and undemonstrative. Now, Constance, though she
is so quiet and melancholy-looking, though she never laughs, and rarely
smiles, has the energy and the activity of a dozen women when it is a
question of doing good. You have no idea of what she is here amongst
our own people. They worship the very ground she walks on--they call
her 'the good angel of Edeldorf.' But she over-exerts herself; she is
not strong: she looks ill, very ill. Vere, do you not think so?"
For the first time since we entered the drawing-room I glanced in the
direction of the Countess de Rohan, but her face was turned from me; she
was still occupied with Prince Vocqsal, who, old enough to appreciate
the value of a good listener, was devoting himself entirely to her
amusement. No, I could not see the pale, well-known face, but the light
streamed off her jet-black hair, and memory probed me to the quick as
its shining masses recalled the wet, heavy locks of one whose life I
saved in Beverley Mere.
"Come and play the march in 'The Honijady,'" said Ropsley, leading his
_fiancee_ gaily off to the pianoforte. "_On revient toujours a ses
premiers amours_, but I really cannot allow you to flirt with Egerton
any more," he added, with a smile of such thorough confidence and
affection in his promised bride as altered the whole expression of his
countenance, and lit it up with a beauty I had never before imagined it
to possess.
"Not _that_," she answered, looking anxiously round, "but 'Cheer, boys!
cheer!' as often as you like, now we have got you back again." And they
walked away together, a happy, handsome pair as one should wish to see.
I could not have borne it much longer. I gasped for solitude as a man
half-stifled gasps for air. With an affectation of leisurely
indifference, I strolled into the adjoining billiard-room. I passed
close to the Countess, but she never turned her head, so engrossed was
she with the conversation of Prince Vocqsal. I walked on through the
spacious conservatory. I even stopped to examine an exotic as I passed.
At length I reached a balcony in which that structure terminated, and
sinking into a chair that stood in one corner, out of sight and
interruption, I leaned my forehead against the cold iron railing, and
prayed for fortitude and resignation to my lot.
The fresh night air cooled and composed me. A bright moonlight
flickered and glistened over the park. The tones of Valerie's
pianoforte, softened by distance, stole sadly, yet soothingly, on my
ear. The autumn breeze, hushed to a whisper, seemed to breathe of peace
and consolation. I felt that the strength I had asked would be given;
that though the fight was not yet over, it would be won at last; that
although, alas! the sacrifice was still to be offered, I should have
power to make it, and the higher the cost, the holier, the more
acceptable it would be. More than once the Devil's sophistry prompted
me to repine; more than once I groaned aloud to think that _she_, too,
was sacrificed unworthily, that her happiness, like my own, was lost
beyond recall. "Oh," I thought, in the bitterness of my agony, "I could
have given her up to one that _loved_ her, I could have rejoiced in her
welfare, and forgotten _myself_ in the certainty of her happiness. I
could have blessed him thankfully for his care and tenderness towards
that transplanted flower, and lived on contented, if not happy, to think
that I had not offered up my own broken heart in vain; but to see her
neglected and pining--her dignity insulted--her rights trampled
on--another, immeasurably her inferior, filling the place in her
husband's affections to which she had an undoubted right! Victor!
Victor! you were my earliest friend, and yet I can almost _curse_ you
from my soul!"
But soon my better nature triumphed; I saw the path of duty plain before
me, I determined to follow it, and struggle on, at whatever cost. I had
lived for her all my life. I would live for her still. Perhaps when I
became an old grey man she would know it; perhaps--never in this
life--perhaps she might bless me for it in another; but it should be
done! Could I but make a certainty of Victor's _liaison_ with the
Princess, could I but obtain _a right_ to speak to him on the subject!
I would make him one last appeal that should _force_ him back to his
duty. I would, if necessary, tell him the whole truth, and shame him by
my own sacrifice into the right path. I felt a giant's strength and a
martyr's constancy; once more I leaned my head upon the cold iron rail,
and the opportunity that I asked for seemed to come when I least
expected it.
In such a mood as I then was, a man takes no note of time; I could not
tell how long I had been sitting there in the solemn peaceful night, it
might have been minutes, it might have been hours, but at length the
click of billiard-balls, which had been hitherto audible in the
adjoining apartment, ceased altogether, a man's step and the rustle of a
lady's dress were heard in the conservatory, and when they reached
within six paces of me, Victor placed a chair for Princess Vocqsal under
the spreading branches of a brilliant azalea, and seated himself at her
side. She dropped her bracelet on the smooth tesselated floor as she
sat down; he picked it up and clasped it on her arm: as he did so I
caught a glimpse of his face: he was deadly pale, and as he raised his
eyes to hers, their wild mournful appealing glance reminded me of poor
Bold's last look when he died licking my hand. The Princess, on the
contrary, shone if possible more brilliant than ever; there was a
settled flush, as of triumph, on her cheek, and her whole countenance
bore an impress of determined, uncompromising resolution, which I had
already remarked as no uncommon expression on those lovely features.
My first impulse was to confront them at once, and take my departure;
but I have already said I suffered from constitutional shyness to a
great degree, and I was unwilling to face even my old friend with such
traces of strong emotion as I knew must be visible on my exterior. I was
most unwilling to play the eavesdropper. I felt that, as a man of
honour, I was inexcusable in not instantly apprising them of my
presence; yet some strange, inexplicable fascination that I could not
resist, seemed to force me to remain where I was, unnoticed and
unsuspected. Ere they had spoken three words I was in possession of the
whole truth, that truth which a few minutes earlier I had been so
anxious to ascertain. I do not attempt to excuse my conduct, I am aware
that it admits of no palliation, that no one can be guilty of an act of
espial and still remain _a gentleman_; but I state the fact as it
occurred, and can only offer in extenuation the fever of morbid
excitement into which I had worked myself, and my unwavering resolution
to save Victor, in spite of his own infatuation, for her sake in whose
behalf I did not hesitate thus to sacrifice even my honour.
"Anything but _that_, Rose, my adored Rose; anything but that," pleaded
the Count; and his voice came thick and hoarse, whilst his features
worked convulsively with the violence of his feelings. "Think of what I
have been to you, think of all my devotion, all my self-denial. You
cannot doubt me: it is impossible; you cannot mistrust me _now_; but, as
you have a woman's heart, ask me for anything but _that_."
She was clasping and unclasping the bracelet he had placed upon her arm,
her head drooped over the jewel, but she raised her soft lustrous eyes
to his, and with a witching, maddening glance, of which he knew too well
the power, murmured--
"Give it me, Victor, _dear_ Victor! you have never refused me anything
since I have known you."
"Nor would I now, were it anything that is in my power to give," he
burst out hurriedly, and in accents of almost childish impatience; "I
tell you, that for your sake I would cast everything to the
winds--fortune, friends, home, country, life itself. Drop by drop, you
should have the best blood in my body, and I would thank you and bless
you for accepting it; but this is more than all, Rose--this is my
honour. Could you bear to see me a disgraced and branded man? could you
bear to feel that I _deserved_ to have my arms reversed and my name
scouted? Could you care for me if it were so? Oh, Rose, you have never
loved me if you ask for this!"
"Perhaps you are right," she answered coldly, "perhaps I never did. You
have often told me I am very hard-hearted--Victor," she added, after a
pause, with a sudden change of manner, and another of those soft fond
looks that made such wild work with her victim--"do you think I would
ask a man I did not care for to make such a sacrifice? Oh, Victor! you
little know a woman's heart--you have cruelly mistaken mine."
The fond eyes filled with tears as she spoke. Victor was doomed. I
knew it from that moment. He scarcely made an effort to save himself
now.
"And you ask for this as a last proof of my devotion. You are not
satisfied yet. It is not enough that I have given you the whole
happiness of my life, you must have that life itself as well--nay, even
that is too little," he added with bitter emphasis, "I must offer up the
unstained honour of the De Rohans in addition to all!"
Another of those speaking, thrilling glances. Oh, the old, old story!
Samson and Delilah--Hercules and Omphale--Antony and Cleopatra, on the
ruins of an empire--or plain Jack and Gill at the fair. Man's weakness
is woman's opportunity, and so the world goes on.
"Victor," she said, "it is for _my_ sake."
The colour mounted in his cheek, and he rose to his feet like a man.
The old look I had missed all the evening on his face came back once
more, the old look that reminded me of shouting squadrons by the Danube,
and a dash to the front with AH Mesrour and brave Iskender Bey. His
blood was up, and his lance in rest now, stop him who can!
"So be it," he said, calmly and distinctly, but with his teeth clenched
and his nostril dilated, like that of a thorough-bred horse after a
gallop. "So be it! and never forget, Rose, in the long dark future,
never forget that it was for your sake: and now listen to me. I betray
my own and my father's friends, I complete an act of treachery such as
is yet unknown in the annals of my country, such as her history shall
curse for its baseness till the end of time. I devote to ruin and death
a score of the noblest families, a score of the proudest heads in
Hungary. I stain my father's shield, I break my own oaths. Life, and
honour, and all, I cast away at one throw, and, Rose, it is for your
sake!"
She was weeping now--weeping convulsively, with her face buried in her
hands; but he heeded it not, and went on--
"All this I am willing to do, Rose, because I love you; but mark the
consequence. As surely as I deliver you this list"--he drew a paper
from his breast as he spoke--"so surely I proclaim my treachery to the
world, so surely I give myself over to the authorities, so surely I
march up to the scaffold at the head of that devoted band who were once
my friends, and though they think it shame that their blood should soak
the same planks as mine, though they turn from me in disgust, even on
the verge of another world, so surely will I die amongst them as boldly,
as unflinchingly, as the most stainless patriot of them all!"
"No, no," she sobbed out; "never, never; do you think I have no feeling?
do you think I have no heart? I have provided for your safety long ago.
I have got your free pardon in a written promise, your life and fortune
are secure, your share in the discovery will never be made known.
Victor, do you think I have not taken care of _you_?"
Even then his whole countenance softened. This man, whose proud spirit
she had so often trampled on, whose kind heart she had so often wounded,
from whom she asked so much--ay, so much as his bitterest enemy would
have shrunk from taking--was ready and willing to give her all, and to
bless the very hand that smote him to the death. He spoke gently and
caressingly now. He bent over her chair, and looked down at her with
kind, sad eyes.
"Not so," he said, "Rose, not so. I am glad you did not sacrifice me.
I like to think you would have saved me if you could; but I cannot
accept the terms. To-morrow is my birthday, Rose. It is St. Hubert's
day, and I have a grand _chasse_ here, as you know. Many of these
devoted gentlemen will be at Edeldorf to-morrow. Give us at least that
one day. In twenty-four hours from this time you can forward your
information to Vienna; after that, you and I will meet no more on earth.
Rose, dear Rose," he murmured, as he placed the paper in her hand, "it
is the _last_ present I shall give you--make the most of it."
Why did she meddle with politics, woman as she was in her heart of
hearts? What had she to do with Monsieur Stein, and Government
intrigues, and a secret police, and all that complicated machinery which
is worked by gold alone, and in which the feelings count for nothing?
State information might go to other quarters; fortunes be made on the
Bourse by other speculators; her husband wait for his appointment till
doomsday, and the attainder remain unreversed on the estates in the
Banat as long as the Danube flowed downward from its source;--what cared
Princess Vocqsal? She looked up, smiling through her tears, like a wet
rose in the sunshine. She took the list from his hand; once, twice, she
pressed the paper to her lips, then tore it in a thousand fragments, and
scattered them abroad over the shining floor of the conservatory, to
mingle with the shed blossoms of the azalea, to be swept away with the
decayed petals of the camellias, to be whirled hither and thither by the
breeze of morning to oblivion, but to rise up between her and him who
now stood somewhat aghast by her side, never, never more!
She put her hand almost timidly in his. "Victor," she said, in a soft,
low voice, "you have conquered. I am yours now in defiance of all. Oh,
Victor, Victor, you do indeed love me!"
He looked startled, scared, almost as if he could not understand her; he
shook in every limb, whilst she was composed and even dignified.
"Yes," she said, rising from her chair, "I will trifle with you no
longer now. I know what I do; I see the gulf into which I plunge.
Misery, ruin, and crime are before me; but I fear _nothing_. Victor de
Rohan! when I leave Edeldorf, I leave it with you, and with you I remain
for ever."
They walked out of the conservatory side by side. I do not think they
exchanged another word; and I remained stunned, motionless, stupefied,
like a man who wakes from some ghastly and bewildering dream.
The striking of the Castle clock roused me to consciousness--to a
conviction of the importance of time, and the necessity for immediate
action. It was now midnight. Early to-morrow we should all be on the
alert for the grand battue on the Waldenberg, for which preparations had
been making for several days. I should scarcely have an opportunity of
speaking in private to my friend, and the day after it might be too
late. No, to-night I must see Victor before he slept: to-night I must
warn him from the abyss into which he was about to fall, confess to him
the dishonourable act of which I had been guilty, sustain his anger and
contempt as I best might, and plead her cause whom I must never see
again. More than once--I will not deny it--a rebellious feeling rose in
my heart. Why are these things so? Why is she not mine whom I have
loved so many dark and lonely years? Why must Victor, after the proof
he has given to-night of more than human devotion, never be happy with
her for whose sake he did not hesitate to offer up all that was far
dearer to him than life? But I had long learnt the true lesson, that
"Whatever is, is right"--that Providence sees not with our eyes, nor
judges with our judgment; and that we must not presume to question, much
less dare to repine. I hurried through the billiard-room towards
Victor's apartments; I had then to traverse the drawing-room, and a
little snug retreat in which it used to be our custom to finish the
evening with a social cigar, and to which, in former days Valerie was
sometimes to be prevailed upon to bring her work. Here I found Ropsley
and Prince Vocqsal comfortably established, apparently with no idea of
going to bed yet for hours. They had never met till to-day, but seemed
to suit each other admirably, all that was ludicrous in the Prince's
character and conversation affording a ceaseless fund of amusement to
the Guardsman; while the latter's high prowess as a sportsman, and
intimate acquaintance with the turf, rendered him an object of great
interest and admiration to the enthusiastic Hungarian. Ropsley, with
restored health and his ladye-love under the same roof with him, was in
the highest spirits, and no wonder.
"Don't run away, Vere," said he, catching me by the arm as I passed
behind his chair; "it's quite early yet. Have a quiet weed before
turning in." Adding, in an amused whisper, "He's an immense trump,
this! That's his third cigar and his fourth tumbler of brandy-and-soda
since we came here; and he's telling me now how he once pinked a fellow
in the Bois de Boulogne for wearing revolutionary shirt buttons. In
English, too, my dear fellow; it's as good as a play."
Even as he spoke I heard a door shut in the passage, and I hurried away,
leaving the new acquaintances delighted with each other's society.
In the gallery I met Victor's French valet with a bundle of clothes over
his arm, humming an air from a French opera. "Could I see the Count?"
"Alas! I was a few seconds too late!" The valet "was in despair--he
was desolate--it was impossible. Monsieur had even now retired to the
apartments of Madame!" "I must do it to-morrow," thought I; "perhaps I
may find an opportunity when the _chasse_ is over." And I went to bed
with a heavy, aching heart.