The Rivals of Acadia Part 17

"Poor Hero! I did not mean to disturb you," said Lucie, patting her dumb favorite, and rather embarra.s.sed, that she had unwarily produced so much excitement.

"Father Gilbert!" repeated Mad. de la Tour; "and is he coming hither again?"

"No, I saw him but an instant," said Lucie; "and he has now disappeared behind the wall."

She hesitated, and still kept her eyes fixed on her aunt's face, as if wis.h.i.+ng to ask some question, which she yet feared might not be well received.

"What would you say, Lucie?" asked Mad. de la Tour, with a faint smile; "I perceive there is something on your mind, which you would fain unburthen; and why should you hesitate to speak it to me?"

"Perhaps it is an idle curiosity, dear aunt," she replied; "but you asked if father Gilbert was coming hither _again_, as though he had already been here; and, I confess, I am anxious to learn if I understood you correctly?"

"You did, Lucie; and you will be more surprised when I a.s.sure you, that I held a long conference with him this morning: one too, in which _you_ are particularly concerned."

"_I_ concerned! _you_ hold a conference with father Gilbert!" said Lucie, in unfeigned astonishment; "dearest aunt, I entreat you to explain yourself."

"The explanation must necessarily be long, Lucie," she replied; "and as I know your feelings will be deeply excited, I fear the agitating events of this day have scarcely left you strength and spirits, to bear the recital. To-morrow"--

"Oh, now, dear aunt!" interrupted Lucie; "I am well, indeed, and can bear any thing better than suspense. I too, have seen the priest to-day, and his look,--his manner was so changed, yet still so unaccountable, that he has not been since one instant from my mind."

"Where did you see him, Lucie?" asked Mad. de la Tour; "and why should you conceal the interview from me?"

Lucie, who, till this incidental recurrence to father Gilbert, had avoided mentioning even his name, since she found the subject so embarra.s.sing to her aunt, gladly relieved her mind, by relating the particulars of her rencontre with him in the morning, and described the deep interest with which he seemed to be watching her recovery. Madame de la Tour listened attentively to her recital, but apparently without surprise; and after a short pause, which was evidently employed in painful reflection, she said,

"It is time that all this mystery should be explained to you, Lucie; for, what I have so long attributed to the influence of your imagination, is now more rationally accounted for, though until a few hours since, I was, myself, ignorant of many facts, which I am about to relate to you. But I must first beg you to close the window; the air grows cool, and I should also be loath to have our discourse reach the ears of any loiterer."

Lucie obeyed in silence; and drawing her chair closer to her aunt, she prepared to listen, with almost breathless attention.

"I must revert to the period of your mother's marriage, Lucie," said Madame de la Tour, "and, as briefly as possible, detail those unhappy circ.u.mstances which so soon deprived you of her protecting love. You will no longer be surprised that I have repressed your natural curiosity on this subject; for it must excite many painful feelings, which I would still spare you, had not a recent discovery rendered the disclosure unavoidable."

"The subject agitates you, my dear aunt," said Lucie, observing her changing complexion with anxiety; "you are indeed too ill, this evening, to make so great an exertion, and I had far rather wait till another day, when you will probably be better able to bear it."

"No, I am well now," she replied; "and will not keep you any longer in suspense." She then resumed,

"Your mother, Lucie, had the innocence and purity of an angel; she was gay, beautiful, and accomplished,--the idol of her friends, the admiration of all who saw her. That picture, which you so often gaze on with delight, is but a faint resemblance of what she was. The lineaments are indeed true to nature, but no artist could catch the ever varying expression, or imbody that unrivalled grace, which threw a charm around her, more captivating even than her faultless beauty. She was just four years older than myself, but this difference of age did not prevent the closest union of sentiment and feeling between us; and, as she was almost my only companion, I early renounced my childish amus.e.m.e.nts for the more mature employments, which engaged her attention. We lived much in retirement; my father was attached to literary pursuits, and devoted himself to our education; a task which he shared with my eldest sister, who was many years our senior, and affectionately supplied the place of our mother, who died a few months after my birth.

"Your mother, Lucie, was scarcely sixteen when she first saw Mons. de Courcy. Chance introduced him to our acquaintance, as he was travelling through the province where we then resided; her loveliness attracted his admiration, and he soon avowed a deeper and more impa.s.sioned sentiment.

Till then she had never dreamed of love; it was reserved for him to awaken its first emotions in a heart susceptible of the most generous and devoted constancy, the most fervent and confiding tenderness, exalted by a delicacy and refinement, which could only emanate from a mind as virtuous and n.o.ble as her own.

"De Courcy had already pa.s.sed the season of early youth, and his disposition and feelings were, in many respects, extremely opposite to your mother's. His figure was commanding, his features regular and expressive; though, on the whole, he was remarked rather for the uncommon grace and elegance of his deportment, than for any of the peculiar attributes of manly beauty. His manners were cold, and even haughty, in his general intercourse with society; but, with those whom he loved and wished to please, he was gentle and insinuating; and when he chose to open the resources of his highly gifted mind, his conversational talents were more versatile and fascinating, than those of any individual whom I have ever known. There was a cast of deep thought, almost of melancholy, in his countenance, which was ascribed, I know not if correctly, to an early disappointment; but it was seldom banished, even from his smiles, and often increased when all around him seemed most gay and happy. His feelings, indeed, were never expended in light and trifling emotions; they were strong, silent, and indelible; and those who viewed the calmness of his exterior, little dreamed of the impetuous pa.s.sions which slumbered beneath, and which he was accustomed to restrain by the most rigid and habitual self-command. Some of these traits excited my father's solicitude for the future happiness of his daughter; but they were overbalanced by so many n.o.ble qualities and s.h.i.+ning virtues, that no other eye detected their blemishes. Your mother believed him faultless; she had given him her affections, with all the enthusiasm of her guileless heart; and he regarded her with a devotion, that almost bordered on idolatry."

Madame de la Tour paused, and Lucie, raising her head from the att.i.tude of profound attention with which she listened, asked, in an accent which seemed to deprecate an affirmative answer,

"You are not weary, I hope, dearest aunt?"

"Not weary, Lucie," she replied; "but you must sometimes allow me a moment's respite, to collect and arrange my thoughts. More than twenty years have pa.s.sed since these events, yet, child as I then was, they made too deep an impression on my mind to be effaced by time; and I cannot, even now, reflect on them without emotion.

"I have dwelt thus minutely on your father's character," she continued, "that you may be prepared for"--

"For what?" interrupted Lucie; "surely all these happy prospects were not soon darkened by clouds!"

"We will not antic.i.p.ate," said Mad. de la Tour, in a voice slightly tremulous. She again resumed,

"De Courcy was the younger son of an ancient and honorable family. My sister's rank and fortune equalled his expectations, her beauty gratified the pride of his connexions, and the endearing qualities of her mind and heart won their entire approbation and regard. Their marriage was solemnized; and never was there a day of greater happiness, or one which opened more brilliant prospects for futurity. De Courcy conveyed his bride immediately to a favorite estate, which he possessed in Provence, whither I was permitted to accompany them; and six months glided away, in the full enjoyment of that felicity which their romantic hopes had antic.i.p.ated. Winter approached, and your father was importuned to visit the metropolis, and introduce his young and beautiful wife to the gay and elevated station which she was expected to fill.

"Your mother, accustomed to retirement, and completely happy in the partic.i.p.ation of its rational pleasures, with one whose taste and feelings harmonized entirely with her own, yielded, with secret reluctance, to her husband's wishes, and exchanged that peaceful retreat, for the brilliant, but heartless scenes of fas.h.i.+onable life.

The world was new to her, and no wonder if her unpractised eye was dazzled by the splendor of its pageantry. She entered a magic circle, and was borne round the ceaseless course with a rapidity which threw a deceitful l.u.s.tre on every object, and concealed the falseness of its colors. She became the idol of a courtly throng; poets sung her praises, and admirers sighed around her. Her heart remained uncorrupted by flattery; but, young and inexperienced, buoyant with health and spirits, no wonder that she yielded to the fascinations which surrounded her, or that her thoughts reverted less frequently, and less fondly, to those calm pleasures which had once const.i.tuted her only happiness. Her affection for her husband was undiminished; but the world now claimed that time and attention, which, in retirement, had been devoted to him; and, engrossed by amus.e.m.e.nts, every intellectual pursuit was abandoned; and domestic privacy, with its attendant sympathies and united interests, was, at length, entirely banished.

"De Courcy, chagrined by a change, which his experience in life should have enabled him to foresee, became melancholy and abstracted; he often secluded himself from society, entrusting his wife to some other protection, or, when induced to enter scenes which had become irksome to him, he watched, with jealousy, even the most trifling attentions that were offered her. He, who possessed such a heart, should never have doubted its truth, or wounded her affection by distrusting its fervor and sincerity. He had led her into the fatal vortex, and one word from him could have dissolved the spell; the slightest expression of his wishes, would, at any moment, have drawn her from pleasures of which she already wearied; and, amid the sweet tranquillity of nature, they might have regained that happiness, which had withered in the ungenial atmosphere of artificial life. But he was too proud to acknowledge the weakness he indulged; and when she besought him, even with tears, to explain the cause of his altered conduct, he answered her evasively, or repulsed her with a coldness, which she felt more keenly than the bitterest reproaches. Confidence, the strongest link of affection, was broken, and the golden chain trembled with the shock.

"Nothing is more galling to an ingenuous mind, than a consciousness, that the actions and feelings are misconstrued by those to whom the heart has been opened with that perfect trust and unreserve, which ought to place them beyond the shadow of suspicion. Your mother deeply felt the injustice of those doubts; and perhaps, a little natural resentment mingled with and augmented the pain, which rankled in her inmost soul.

But, satisfied of her innate rect.i.tude, and of that true and constant love, which even unkindness could not weaken, she left her innocence to vindicate itself, and made no farther attempt to penetrate the reserve which her husband had a.s.sumed, and which opposed a fatal barrier to returning harmony. Experience in the world, or a thorough knowledge of your father's peculiar disposition, might have suggested a different, and, perhaps, a more successful course. But she judged and acted from the impulse of a sensitive and ardent mind, which had freely bestowed the whole treasure of its warm and generous affections, and could ill brook a return of such unmerited coldness and distrust. Her conduct towards him was marked by the most unvarying sweetness, and a studious deference to his wishes; they, however, seldom met, but in a crowd; for she sought society with an eagerness, which seemed the result of choice, while it was, in reality, a vain attempt to relieve the restlessness and melancholy that oppressed her. In public, her spirits were supported by an artificial excitement, and her gaiety seemed unimpaired; but, when alone with me, the constant companion of her solitary hours, and the sole confidant of her thoughts, she yielded to the most alarming depression. Her health evidently suffered from this disordered state of mind; but she uttered no complaint, and from her husband, particularly, concealed every symptom of illness, and appeared with her accustomed cheerfulness. Strange as it may seem, her gaiety chagrined him; he fancied her trifling with, or indifferent to, his happiness, and satisfied with the pleasures which courted her, without a wish for his partic.i.p.ation. He little knew,--for his better feelings were warped by a morbid imagination,--how gladly she would have exchanged every other blessing for one a.s.surance of returning confidence and affection.

"Your mother's spirits faintly revived, on the approach of spring. She was weary of dissipation: the glittering bubble, which at first charmed her eye, had burst, and betrayed its emptiness. She had a mind which panted for the n.o.blest attainments, a heart formed for the enjoyment of every pure and rational pursuit. Her thoughts continually reverted to the first happy months of her union with De Courcy; and she impatiently antic.i.p.ated the moment, when they should return to those quiet scenes; fondly believing that she might there recover her husband's love, and that a new and most endearing tie would bind him more strongly to her.

These soothing hopes beguiled many an heavy hour; and, but for one fatal error, one deadly pa.s.sion, they might have been fully realized!"

Madame de la Tour abruptly stopped, overcome by the painful recollections which crowded on her mind; Lucie looked at her with tearful eyes, but offered no remark; and both remained silent for several minutes.

CHAPTER XX.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear That which disfigures it; and they who war With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear Silence, but not submission.

LORD BYRON.

Madame de la Tour at length proceeded:--"I have already told you, Lucie, that De Courcy viewed, with uneasiness, the homage which was paid your mother, though it did not exceed the usual devotion which Parisian gallantry is wont to offer at the shrine of female loveliness. He must have expected it; for no one could have been more conscious of her beauty, or more proud of possessing it. But he persuaded himself, that this adulation was too grateful to her; his affection was selfish and engrossing, and he wished her to receive pleasure from no praises or attentions but his own. She was, perhaps, as free from vanity as any woman could be, young, beautiful, and admired as herself; and if not indifferent to the admiration which her charms excited, it was but the natural and transient delight of a gay and innocent mind; her heart was ever loyal to her husband, and his society, his fond and approving smile, were far more prized by her, than the idle homage of a world.

"The young Count de ---- was an object of particular dislike and unceasing suspicion to De Courcy. They were distantly related; but some slight disagreement, which had taken place at an earlier period, created a coolness between them, which was never overcome. Your mother was aware of this, and, had she more closely consulted her prudence, would, probably, have avoided the attentions of one so obnoxious to her husband's prejudices. But the Count was gay and agreeable, the versatility of his talents amused her, and he seemed to possess many amiable and brilliant qualities. His manners were courteous; his attentions never presuming; and there was a frankness in his address, which formed an agreeable contrast to the studied flattery of others around her. Yet even the most distant civilities excited your father's distrust; the Count became, every day, an object of more decided and marked aversion, and your mother could not but feel herself tacitly implicated in his displeasure. Grieved that he could doubt her affection, or the rect.i.tude of her heart, and relying confidently on the purity of both, she resolved not to wound the Count's feelings, by yielding to an ungenerous prejudice, and her conduct and manners therefore continued unchanged.

"As spring advanced, your mother withdrew, almost entirely, from society; but the Count de ----, among a few others, was a privileged and frequent visitor at her house. One morning, De Courcy, contrary to his usual custom, had urged her to accompany him on some short excursion; and, equally surprised and gratified by the unexpected request, it was with extreme reluctance that she felt compelled, from indisposition, to decline it. Soon after his departure, however, I persuaded her to leave her apartment, for a few moments, to look at some choice exotics, which had just been brought to the house. She was still lingering to admire them, when the Count de ---- was announced, through the negligence of a servant, who had been ordered not to admit any visitors. It was too late to retire, un.o.bserved; and the usual greetings of civility were scarcely exchanged, when De Courcy abruptly entered the room. He started, on seeing his wife, who had so recently refused his request, on the plea of illness, apparently well, and taking advantage of his absence, to admit his supposed rival to an interview. Pale with emotion, he stood a moment, as if rooted to the spot; his eye, which flashed with scorn and anger, fixed alternately on each; then deliberately turned, and left the house. The Count had met his gaze unmoved, and with an expression of calm contempt; your mother, terrified by the storm of pa.s.sion which his countenance betrayed, fled precipitately to her own apartment. Ill as she was, however, and trembling with apprehension, she exerted herself to appear at dinner, hoping that the true explanation would appease her husband's irritation. But he met her with a gloomy reserve, which destroyed all hope of confidence; he did not allude to what had pa.s.sed; every trace of pa.s.sion was gone, and she felt re-a.s.sured by a deceitful calm, that only concealed the inward struggle.

"De Courcy left the house by day-light on the following morning; no one knew whither he was gone, but we had heard him traverse his apartment through the night, and were confident he had taken no repose. A few hours of anxious suspense pa.s.sed away, and your mother had just risen from her sleepless pillow, when he suddenly entered her dressing-room. I was alone with her, and never shall I forget the impression his appearance made on me. His dress was disordered, his countenance pale and haggard, and every feature marked with the deepest anguish. Your mother rose with a faint exclamation, but instantly sunk again upon her seat. He approached her, and took her hands, even with gentleness, between his own, though every limb trembled with agitation.

"Lucie," he said, with unnatural calmness, and fixing his troubled eye on her face; "I come to bid you a long,--long farewell!"

"What mean you, de Courcy?" she asked, with extreme alarm; "speak, I conjure you, and relieve this torturing suspense!"

"My honor has been avenged!" he replied, with a hoa.r.s.e and rapid utterance; "and from this moment we part--forever!"

"Part! de Courcy, my husband!" she exclaimed, in a voice of agony; "tell me, what"--

"The concluding words died on her quivering lips; the sudden conflict of strong emotions could not be endured, and she sunk insensible on my bosom. Frantic with alarm, I folded my arms around her, and, unwilling to summon any witnesses, attempted to recall her senses, by administering such restoratives as were fortunately within my reach. De Courcy looked at her an instant, like one bewildered; then fiercely exclaimed,

"She loves him! see you not how she loves him?"

"Wretched man!" I said, indignantly, "you have murdered her; go, and leave us to our misery."