Tales from Blackwood Volume Iii Part 6

"What sort o' tobaccay is it that's in it?" says the Pope.

"Raal nagur-head," says his Riv'rence; "a very mild and salubrious s.p.a.cies of the philosophic weed."

"Then, I don't care if I do take a dhraw," says the Pope. Then Father Tom held the coal himself till his Holiness had the pipe lit; and they sat widout saying anything worth mentioning for about five minutes.

At last the Pope says to his Riv'rence, "I dunna what gev me this plaguy hiccup," says he. "Dhrink about," says he--"Begorra," he says, "I think I'm getting merrier nor's good for me. Sing us a song, your Riv'rence,"

says he.

Father Tom then sung him Monatagrenoge and the Bunch o' Rushes, and he was mighty well pleased wid both, keeping time wid his hands, and joining in in the choruses, when his hiccup 'ud let him. At last, my dear, he opens the lower b.u.t.tons ov his waistcoat, and the top one of his waistband, and calls to Masther Anthony to lift up one ov the windys. "I dunna what's wrong wid me, at all at all," says he, "I'm mortial sick."

"I thrust," says his Riv'rence, "the pasthry that you ate at dinner hasn't disagreed wid your Holiness's stomach."

"Oh my! oh!" says the Pope, "what's this at all?" gasping for breath, and as pale as a sheet, wid a could swate bursting out over his forehead, and the palms ov his hands spread out to catch the air. "Oh my! oh my!" says he, "fetch me a basin!--Don't spake to me. Oh!--oh!--blood alive!--Oh, my head, my head, hould my head!--oh!--ubh!--I'm poisoned!--ach!"

"It was them plaguy pasthries," says his Riv'rence. "Hould his head hard," says he, "and clap a wet cloth over his timples. If you could only thry another dhraw o' the pipe, your Holiness, it 'ud set you to rights in no time."

"Carry me to bed," says the Pope, "and never let me see that wild Irish priest again. I'm poisoned by his manes--ubplsch!--ach!--ach!--He dined wid Cardinal Wayld yestherday," says he, "and he's bribed him to take me off. Send for a confissor," says he, "for my latther end's approaching.

My head's like to split--so it is!--Oh my! oh my!--ubplsch!--ach!"

Well, his Riv'rence never thought it worth his while to make him an answer; but, when he seen how ungratefully he was used, afther all his throuble in making the evening agreeable to the ould man, he called Spring, and put the but-end ov the second bottle into his pocket, and left the house widout once wis.h.i.+ng "Good-night, an' plaisant dhrames to you;" and, in troth, not one of _them_ axed him to lave them a lock ov his hair.

That's the story as I heard it tould; but myself doesn't b'lieve over one-half of it. Howandiver, when all's done, it's a shame, so it is, that he's not a bishop this blessed day and hour: for, next to the goiant of St Jarlath's, he's out and out the cleverest fellow ov the whole jing-bang.

LA PEt.i.tE MADELAINE.

BY MRS SOUTHEY.

[_MAGA._ AUGUST 1831.]

I was surprised the other day by a visit from a strange old lady, brought hither to be introduced to me, at her own request, by some friends of mine with whom she was staying in this neighbourhood. Having been, I was informed, intimately acquainted, in her early years, with a branch of my mother's family, to which she was distantly related, she had conceived a desire to see one of its latest descendants, and I was in consequence honoured with her visit. But if the honour done me was unquestionable, the motive to which I was indebted for it was not to be easily divined; for, truth to speak, little indication of good-will towards me, or of kindly feeling, was discernible in the salutation of my visitor, in her stiff and stately curtsy, her cold ceremonious expressions, and in the sharp and severe scrutiny of the keen grey eyes, with which she leisurely took note of me from head to foot.

Mrs Ormond's appearance was that of a person far advanced in years; older than my mother would have been if still living; but her form, of uncommon height, gaunt, bony, and masculine, was firm and erect as in the vigour of life, and in perfect keeping with the hard-featured, deep-lined countenance, surmounted by a coiffure that, perched on the summit of a roll of grizzled hair, strained tight from the high and narrow forehead, was, with the rest of her attire, a facsimile of that of my great-aunt Barbara (peace be to her memory!) as depicted in a certain invaluable portrait of that virtuous gentlewoman, now deposited, for more inviolable security, in the warmest corner of the lumber-room.

Though no believer in the influence of "the evil eye," there was something in the expression of the large, prominent, light grey orbs, so strangely fixed upon me, that had the effect of troubling me so far, as to impose a degree of embarra.s.sment and restraint on my endeavours to play the courteous hostess, and very much to impede all my attempts at conversation.

As the likeliest means of breaking down the barrier of formality, I introduced the subject most calculated, it might be supposed, to awaken feelings of mutual interest. I spoke of my maternal ancestry--of the Norman blood and Norman land from which the race had sprung, and of my inherited love for the birthplace of those nearest and dearest to me in the last departed generation; though the daughter of an English father, his country was my native, as well as my "Father-land."

Mrs Ormond, though the widow of an English husband, spoke with a foreign accent so familiar to my ear, that, in spite of the sharp thin tones of the voice that uttered them, I could have fancied musical, had there been a gleam of kindness in her steady gaze. But I courted it in vain.

The eyes of Freya were never fixed in more stony hardness on a rejected votary, than were those of my stern inspectress on my almost deprecating face; and her ungracious reserve baffled all my attempts at conversation.

All she allowed to escape her, in reference to the Norman branches of our respective families, was a brief allusion to the intimacy which had subsisted between her mother and my maternal grandmother; and when I endeavoured from that slight clue to lead her farther into the family relations, my harmless pertinacity was rebuked by a shake of the head as portentous as Lord Burleigh's, accompanied by so grim a smile, and a look of such undefinable meaning, as put the finis.h.i.+ng-stroke to my previous bewilderment, and prevented me from recalling to mind, as I should otherwise have done, certain circ.u.mstances a.s.sociated with a proper name--that of her mother's family, which she spoke with peculiar emphasis--and having done so, and in so doing (as she seemed persuaded) "spoken daggers" to my conscience, she signified by a stately sign to the ladies who had accompanied her that she was ready to depart, and, the carriage being announced, forthwith arose, and honouring me with a farewell curtsy, as formal as that which had marked her introduction, sailed out of the apartment, if not with swan-like grace, with much of that sublimer majesty of motion with which a heron on a mud-bank stalks deliberately on, with head erect and close depending pinions. And as if subjugated by the strange influence of the sharp grey eyes, bent on me to the last with sinister expression, unconsciously I returned my grim visitor's parting salutation with so profound a curtsy, that my knees (all unaccustomed to such Richardsonian ceremony) had scarcely recovered from it, when the closing door shut out her stately figure, and it was not till the sound of carriage-wheels certified her final departure, that, recovering my own ident.i.ty, I started from the statue-like posture in which I had remained standing after that unwonted genuflection, and sank back on the sofa to meditate at leisure on my strange morning adventure.

My ungracious visitor had left me little cause, in truth, for pleasing meditation, so far as her gaunt self was immediately concerned, but a harsh strain, or an ungraceful object, will sometimes (as well as the sweetest and most beautiful) revive a long train of interesting a.s.sociations, and the plea alleged for her introduction to me had been of itself sufficient to awaken a chord of memory, whose vibration ceased not at her departure. On the contrary, I fell forthwith into a dreaming mood, that led me back to recollections of old stories, of old times--such as I had loved to listen to in long-past days, from those who had since followed in their turn the elders of our race (whose faithful historians they were) to the dark and narrow house appointed for all living.

Who that has ever been addicted to the idle, and I fear me profitless, speculation of waking dreams, but may call to mind how, when the spell was on him, as outward and tangible things (apparently the objects of intent gaze) faded on the eye of sense, the inward vision proportionately cleared and strengthened--and circ.u.mstances long unremembered--names long unspoken--histories and descriptions once attended to with deep interest, but long pa.s.sed from recollection, are drawn forth, as it were, from the dark recesses of the mind, at first like wandering atoms confused and undefined, but gradually a.s.suming distinctness and consistency, till the things _that be_ are to us the _unreal_ world, and we live and move again (all intervening s.p.a.ce a blank) among the things that have been?

Far back into that shadowy region did I wander, when left as described by "the grim white woman," to ponder over the few words she had vouchsafed to utter, and my own "thick-coming fancies." The one proper name she had p.r.o.nounced--that of her mother's family--had struck on my ear like a familiar sound; yet--how could I have heard it? If ever, from one person only--from _my_ dear mother's lips--"De St Hilaire!"--again and again I slowly repeated to myself--and then--I scarce know how--the Christian name of Adrienne rose spontaneously to my lips; and no sooner were the two united than the spell of memory was complete, and fresh on my mind, as if I had heard it but yesterday, returned the whole history of Adrienne de St Hilaire.

Adrienne de St Hilaire and Madelaine du Resnel were far-removed cousins; both "demoiselles de bonnes families," residing at contiguous chateaux, near a small hamlet not far from Caen, in Normandy; both well born and well connected, but very unequally endowed with the gifts of fortune.

Mademoiselle de St Hilaire was the only child and heiress of wealthy parents, both of whom were still living. Madelaine du Resnel, the youngest of seven, left in tender infancy to the guardians.h.i.+p of a widowed mother, whose scanty dower (the small family estate devolving on her only son) would have been insufficient for the support of herself and her younger children (all daughters), had she not continued mistress of her son's house and establishment during his minority.

"La pet.i.te Madelaine" (as, being the latest born, she was long called by her family and friends) opened her eyes upon this mortal scene but a week before her father was carried to his grave, and never was poor babe so coldly welcomed under circ.u.mstances that should have made her doubly an object of tenderness.

"Pet.i.te malheureuse! je me serais bien pa.s.see de toi," was the maternal salutation, when her new-born daughter was first presented to Madame du Resnel--a cold-hearted, strong-minded woman, more absorbed in the change about to be operated in her own situation by her approaching widowhood, than by her impending bereavement of a most excellent and tender husband. But one precious legacy was in reserve for the forlorn infant.

She was clasped to the heart of her dying father--his blessing was breathed over her, and his last tears fell on her innocent, unconscious face. "Mon enfant! tu ne connaitra jamais ton pere, mais il veillera sur toi," were the tender, emphatic words with which he resigned her to the arms of the old servant, who failed not to repeat them to her little charge when she was old enough to comprehend their affecting purport.

And well and holily did la pet.i.te Madelaine treasure that saying in her heart of hearts; and early reason had the poor child to fly for comfort to that secret source. Madame du Resnel could not be accused of over-indulgence to any of her children--least of all to the poor little one whom she looked on from the first almost as an intruder; but she felt maternal pride in the resemblance already visible in her elder daughters to her own fine form and handsome features,--while la pet.i.te Madelaine, a small creature from her birth, though delicately and perfectly proportioned--fair and blue-eyed, and meek-looking as innocence itself, but without one feature in her face that could be called handsome, had the additional misfortune, when about five years old, to be marked--though not seamed--by the small-pox, from which cruel disease her life escaped almost miraculously.

"Qu'elle est affreuse!" was the mother's tender exclamation at the first full view of her restored child's disfigured face. Those words, young as she was, went to the poor child's heart, that swelled so to bursting, it might have broken, (who knows?) but for her h.o.a.rded comfort: and she sobbed herself to sleep that night, over and over again repeating to herself, "Mon papa veille sur moi."

If there be much truth in that poetical axiom,

"A favourite has no friend,"

it is at least as frequently evident, that even in domestic circles the degree of favour shown by the head of the household to any individual member too often regulates the general tone of consideration; and that even among the urchins of the family, an instinctive perception is never wanting, of how far, and over whom, they may tyrannise with impunity.

No creature in whose nature was a spark of human feeling could tyrannise over la pet.i.te Madelaine,--she was so gentle, so loving (when she dared show her love), so perfectly tractable and unoffending; but in the Chateau du Resnel no one could have pa.s.sed two whole days without perceiving she was no favourite, except with one old servant--the same who had placed her in her dying father's arms, and recorded for her his last precious benediction--and with her little brother, who always vowed to those most in his confidence, and to Madelaine herself, when her tears flowed for some short, sharp sorrow, that when he was a man, "toutes ces demoiselles"--meaning his elder sisters and monitresses--should go and live away where they pleased, and leave him and la pet.i.te Madelaine to keep house together.

Except from these two, any one would have observed that there were "shortcomings" towards her; "shortcomings" of tenderness from the superiors of the household--"shortcomings" of observances from the menials; anything was good enough for Madelaine--any time was time enough for Madelaine. She had to finish wearing out all her sisters' old frocks and wardrobes in general, to eat the crumb of the loaf they had pared the crust from, and to be satisfied with half a portion of soupe au lait, if they had chosen to take double allowance; and, blessedly for la pet.i.te Madelaine, it was her nature to be satisfied with everything not embittered by marked and intentional unkindness. It was her nature to sacrifice itself for others. Might that sacrifice have been repaid by a return of love, her little heart would have overflowed with happiness.

As it was, she had not yet learnt to reason upon the want of sympathy; she felt without a.n.a.lysing. She was not harshly treated,--was seldom found fault with, though far more rarely commended,--was admitted to share in her sisters' sports, with the proviso that she had no choice in them,--old Jeannette and le pet.i.t frere Armand loved her dearly; so did Roland, her father's old faithful hound,--and on the whole, la pet.i.te Madelaine was a happy little girl.

And happier she was, a thousand times happier, than her cousin Adrienne--than Adrienne de St Hilaire, the spoilt child of fortune and of her doting parents, who lived but in her and for her, exhausting all the ingenuity of love, and all the resources of wealth, in vain endeavours to perfect the felicity of their beautiful but heartless idol.

The families of St Hilaire and Du Resnel were, as has been mentioned, distantly related, and the ties of kindred were strengthened by similarity of faith, both professing that of the Reformed Church, and living on that account very much within their own circle, though on terms of perfect good-will with the surrounding Catholic neighbourhood.

Mlle. de St Hilaire might naturally have been expected to select among the elder of her cousins her companion and intimate, their ages nearly a.s.similating with her own; but, too cold-hearted to seek for sympathy, too proud to brook companions.h.i.+p on equal terms, and too selfish and indolent to sacrifice any caprice, or make any exertion for the sake of others, she found it most convenient to patronise la pet.i.te Madelaine, whose gentle spirit and sweet temper insured willing though not servile compliance with even the unreasonable fancies of all who were kind to her, and whose quickness of intellect and excellent capacity more than fitted her for companions.h.i.+p with Adrienne, though the latter was six years her senior. Besides all, there was the pleasure of patronage--not the least influential motive to a proud and mean spirit, or to the heart of a beauty, well-nigh satiated, if that were possible, by the contemplation of her own perfections. When la pet.i.te Madelaine was ten years old, and la belle Adrienne sixteen, it therefore happened that the former was much oftener to be found at Chateau St Hilaire than at le Manoir du Resnel; for whenever the parental efforts of Monsieur and Madame de St Hilaire failed (and they failed too often) to divert the ennui and satisfy the caprices of their spoiled darling, the latter was wont to exclaim, in the pettish tone of peevish impatience, "Faites donc venir la pet.i.te Madelaine!" and the innocent charmer was as eagerly sought out and welcomed by the hara.s.sed parents as ever David was sought for by the servants of Saul, to lay with the sweet breathings of his harp the evil spirit that possessed their unhappy master. Something similar was the influence of la pet.i.te Madelaine's nature over that of her beautiful cousin. No wonder that her presence could scarcely be dispensed with at Chateau St Hilaire. Had her own home been more a home of love, not all the blandishments of the kindest friends, not all the luxuries of a wealthy establishment, would ever have reconciled her to be so much separated from her nearest connections. But, alas! except when her services were required (and no sparing and light tasks were her a.s.signed ones), she was but too welcome to bestow her companions.h.i.+p on others; and except Roland, and le pet.i.t frere, who was there to miss la pet.i.te Madelaine? And Roland was mostly her escort to St Hilaire; and on fine evenings, when le pet.i.t frere had escaped from his tutor and his sisters, Jeannette was easily persuaded to take him as far as the old mill, half-way between the chateaux, to meet her on her way home. Those were pleasant meetings. Madelaine loved often, in after-life, to talk of them with that dear brother, always her faithful friend. So time went on--Time, the traveller whose pace is so variously designated by various humours, is always the restless, the unpausing--till Mademoiselle de St Hilaire had attained the perfection of blooming womanhood--the glowing loveliness of her one-and-twentieth summer--and la pet.i.te Madelaine began to think people ought to treat her more like a woman--for was she not fifteen complete? Poor little Madelaine! thou hadst indeed arrived at that most womanly era. But, to look at that small slight form, still childishly attired in frock and sash, of the simplest form and homeliest materials--at that almost infantine face, that looked _more_ youthful, and _almost_ beautiful, when it smiled, from the effect of a certain dimple in the left cheek (Adrienne always insisted it was a pock-mark);--to look at that form and face, and the babyish curls of light-brown hair that hung about it quite down the little throat, and lay cl.u.s.tering on the girlish neck--who could ever have thought of paying thee honour due as to the dignity of confirmed womanhood?

So it was Madelaine's fate still to be "La pet.i.te Madelaine"--still n.o.body--that anomalous personage who plays so many parts in society,--as often to suit his own convenience as for that of others; and though people are apt to murmur at being forced into the character, many a one lives to a.s.sume it willingly--as one slips off a troublesome costume at a masque, to take shelter under a quiet domino. As for la pet.i.te Madelaine, who did not care very much about the matter, though it was a _little_ mortifying to be patted on the head, and called "bonne pet.i.te,"

instead of "mademoiselle," as was her undoubted right, from strangers at least, it was better to be _somebody_ in one or two hearts (le pet.i.t frere et Jeannette) than in the mere _respects_ of a hundred indifferent people; and as for la belle cousine, Madelaine, though on excellent terms with her, never dreamed of her having a heart,--one cause, perhaps, of their mutual good understanding; for la pet.i.te Madelaine, actuated by instinctive perception, felt that it would be perfectly irrational to expect warmth of affection from one const.i.tuted so differently from herself; so she went on, satisfied with the consciousness of giving pleasure, and with such return as was made for it.

But la pet.i.te Madelaine was soon to be invested with a most important office; one, however, that was by no means to supersede her character of n.o.body, but, enigmatical as it may sound, to double her usefulness in that capacity--while, on private and particular occasions, she was to enact a _somebody_ of infinite consequence--that of confidante in a love affair--as la belle cousine was pleased to term her _liaison_ with a very handsome and elegant young officer, who, after some faint opposition on the part of her parents, was duly installed at St Hilaire as the accepted and acknowledged lover of its beautiful heiress. Walter Barnard (for he was of English birth and parentage), the youngest of three brothers, the elder of whom was a baronet, was most literally a soldier of fortune, his portion, at his father's death, amounting to no more than a pair of colours in a marching regiment--and the splendid income thereunto annexed. But high in health and hope, and "all the world before him where to choose"--of high principles--simple and unvitiated habits--the object of the love of many friends, and the esteem of all his brother officers--the young man was rather disposed to consider his lot in life as peculiarly fortunate, till the pressure of disease fell heavy on him, and he rose from a sick-bed which had held him captive many weeks, the victim of infectious fever, so debilitated in const.i.tution as to be under the necessity of obtaining leave of absence from his regiment, for the purpose (peremptorily insisted on by his physician) of seeking the perfect change of air and scene which was essential to effect his restoration. He was especially enjoined to try the influence of another climate--that of France was promptly decided on--not only from the proximity of that country (a consideration of no small weight in the young soldier's prudential calculations), but because a brother officer was about to join a part of his family then resident at Caen in Normandy, and the pleasure of travelling with him settled the point of Walter's destination _so far_--and, as it fell out, even to that _other_ station in the route of life, only second in awfulness to the "bourne from whence no traveller returns." His English friends, who had been some years inhabitants of Caen, were acquainted with many French families in that town and its vicinity, and, among others, Walter was introduced by them at the Chateau de St Hilaire, where the Protestant English were always welcomed with marked hospitality. The still languis.h.i.+ng health of the young soldier excited peculiar interest; he was invited to make frequent trials of the fine air of the chateau and its n.o.ble domain. A very few sufficed to convince him that it was far more salubrious than the confined atmosphere of Caen; and very soon the fortunate invalid was installed in all the rights and privileges of "L'Ami de la Maison."

Circ.u.mstances having conducted our _dramatis personae_ to this point, how could it fall out otherwise than that the grateful Walter should fall desperately in love (which, by the by, he did at first sight) with la belle Adrienne, and that she should _determine_ to fall _obstinately_ in love with him! He, poor fellow! in pure simplicity of heart, really gazed himself into a devoted pa.s.sion for the youthful beauty, without one interested view towards the charms of the heiress. But, besides thinking him the handsomest man she had ever seen, she was determined in her choice, by knowing it was in direct opposition to the wishes of her parents, who had long selected for her future husband a person so every way unexceptionable, that their fair daughter was very likely to have selected him for herself, had they not committed the fatal error of expressing their wishes with regard to him. There was PERSUASION and DISSUASION--mild opposition and systematic wilfulness--a few tears, got up with considerable effort--vapeurs and migraines in abundance--loss of appet.i.te--hints about broken hearts--and the hearts of the tender parents could hold out no longer--Walter Barnard was received into the family as the future husband of its lovely daughter.

All this time, what had become of la pet.i.te Madelaine? What does become of little girls just half-way through their teens, when a.s.sociated, under similar circ.u.mstances, with young ladies who are women grown? Why, they are to be patient listeners to the lover's perfections when he is out of the way, and more patient companions (because perfectly unnoticed at such times) of the lovers' romantic walks; s.h.i.+vering a.s.sociates (at discreet distance) of their tender communings on mossy banks, under willow and acacia, by pond-sides and brook-sides--by daylight, and twilight, and moonlight--at all seasons, and in all temperatures--so that by the time the pastoral concludes with matrimony, it may be accounted an especial mercy if the "mutual friend" is not crippled with the rheumatism for life, or brought into the first stage of a galloping consumption. No such fatal results were, however, in reserve for the termination of la pet.i.te Madelaine's official duties; and those, while in requisition, were made less irksome to her than they are in general to persons so circ.u.mstanced,--in part through the happy influence of her own sweet nature, which always apportioned to itself some share of the happiness it witnessed; in part through her long-acquired habits of patience and self-sacrifice; and, in part also, because Walter Barnard was an especial favourite with her--and little wonder that he was so--the gay and happy young man, devoted as he was to Adrienne in all the absorbing interest of a first successful pa.s.sion, had yet many a kind word and beaming smile to spare for the poor little cousin, who often but for him would have sat quite unnoticed at her tent-st.i.tch, even in the family circle; and when she was the convenient _tiers_ in the romantic rambles of himself and his lady-love, thanks to his unfailing good-nature, even then she did not feel herself utterly forgotten.

For even in spite of discouraging looks from la belle Adrienne, of which in truth he was not quick to discern the meaning, he would often linger to address a few words to the silent little girl, who had been tutored too well to speak unspoken to, or even to walk quite within ear-shot of her _soi-disant_ companions. And when he had tenderly a.s.sisted Adrienne to pa.s.s over some stile or brooklet in their way, seldom it happened but that his hand was next at the service of Madelaine; and only those whose spirits have been long subdued by a sense of insignificance, impressed by the slighting regards or careless notice of cold friends or condescending patrons, can conceive the enthusiastic grat.i.tude with which those trivial instances of kindness were treasured up in her heart's records. So it was, that la pet.i.te Madelaine, far from wearying of Walter's praises, when it pleased Adrienne to descant upon them in his absence, was apt to think her fair cousin did him scant justice, and that if she had been called on as his eulogist, oh! how far more eloquently could she speak! In short, la pet.i.te Madelaine, inexperienced as of course she was in such matters, saw with the acuteness of feeling, that Walter had obtained an interest only in the vanity and self-love, not in the heart of his fair mistress. "Poor Adrienne! she cannot help it, if she _has no_ heart," was Madelaine's sage soliloquy. "Mais quel dommage pour ce bon Walter, qui en a tant!"

"Le bon Walter" might possibly have made the same discovery, had the unrestricted intercourse of the lovers been of long continuance; and he might have also ascertained another point, respecting which certain dubious glimmerings had begun at intervals to intrude themselves on his meditations _couleur de rose_,--was it possible that the moral and intellectual perfections of his idol _could_ be less than in perfect harmony with her outward loveliness? The doubt was sacrilegious, detestable, dismissed with generous indignation, but again and again some demon (or was it his _good_ genius?) recalled a startling frown, an incautious word or tone, a harsh or fretful expression from the eye and voice of his beloved, addressed to _la pet.i.te cousine_ or to himself, when in lightness of spirit, and frank-hearted kindness, he had laughed and talked with the latter, as with a young engaging sister. And then, except on one topic, his pa.s.sion for la belle Adrienne, and her transcendent charms, of which, as yet, he was ever ready to pour out the heart's eloquent nonsense, somehow their conversations always languished. She had no eye for the natural beauties, of which he was an enthusiastic admirer; yawned or looked puzzled or impatient, when he stopped to gaze upon some glorious sunset, or violet-hued distance, melting into the roseate sky. And though she did not reject his offering of wild roses, or dewy honeysuckles, it was received with a half-contemptuous indifference, that invited no frequent renewal of the simple tribute; and from the date of a certain walk, when the lover's keen glance observed that the bunch of wild-flowers, carelessly dropt by Adrienne a few minutes after he had given them to her, was furtively picked up by la pet.i.te Madelaine as she followed in the narrow woodpath, and placed as furtively within the folds of her fichu--if Monsieur Walter, from that time forth, pulled a wild rose from the spray, or a violet from the bank, it was tendered with a smile to one whose _hand_ at least was less careless than Adrienne's; and for her heart, that mattered not (farther than in brotherly kindness) to the _reputed_ possessor of la belle St Hilaire's. Yet, in long after days, when silver threads began to streak the soft fair hair of Madelaine du Resnel, and the thick black cl.u.s.tering curls of Walter Barnard were more than sprinkled with the same paly hue, he found in turning over the leaves of an old French romance, in which her name was inscribed, the dried, faded, scentless forms of what had been a few sweet wild-flowers. On the margin of the page, to which time had glued them, was a date, and a few written words. And the sight of those frail memorials, a.s.sociated with those age-tinted characters, must have awakened tender and touching recollections in his heart who gazed upon them; for a watery film suffused his eyes as he raised them from the volume, and turned with a half-pensive smile to one who sat beside him, quietly busied with her knitting needles in providing for his winter comfort.

"Mais revenons a nos moutons." Our present business is with the young lover and his fair mistress, and the still younger Madelaine. Time will overtake them soon enough. We need not antic.i.p.ate his work. The old inexorable brought to a conclusion Walter's leave of absence, just as certain discoveries to which we have alluded were beginning to break upon him; just as la belle Adrienne began to weary of playing at _parfait amour_, enacting the adorable to her lover, and the _aimable_ to her cousin _in his presence_; just as Monsieur and Madame, her weak but worthy parents, were secretly praying for their future son-in-law's departure, in the forlorn hope (as they had stipulated that even _les fiancailles_ should not take place for a twelve-month to come) that some unexpected page might yet turn over in the chapter of accidents, whereon might be written the name of Jules Marquis d'Arval, instead of that of the landless, unt.i.tled Walter Barnard, for the husband of their beautiful heiress.

Just at this critical juncture arrived the day of separation--of separation for a year certain! Will it be doubted that with the parting hour, rushed back upon Walter's heart a flood of tenderness, even more impa.s.sioned than that with which it had first pledged itself to the beautiful Adrienne? The enthusiasm of his nature, acting as a stimulus to her apathetic temperament, communicated to her farewell so much of the appearance of genuine feeling, that the young soldier returned to his country, and to his military duties, imbued with the blissful a.s.surance that, whatever unworthy doubts had been suggested occasionally by fallacious appearances, the heart of his fair betrothed was as faultless as her person, and exclusively devoted to himself. So wholly had the "sweet sorrow" of that farewell absorbed his every faculty, that it was not till he was miles from St Hilaire on his way to the coast, that Walter remembered la pet.i.te Madelaine; remembered that he had bid HER no farewell; that she had slipt away to her own home the last evening of his stay at St Hilaire, un.o.bserved by all but an old _bonne_, who was commissioned to say Mademoiselle Madelaine had a headache, and that she had not reappeared the next morning, the morning of his departure. "Dear little Madelaine! how could I forget her?" was the next thought to that which had recalled her. "But she shall live with us when we are married." So having laid the flattering unction to his conscience, by that satisfactory arrangement for her future comfort, he "whistled her image down the wind" again, and betook himself with redoubled ardour to the contemplation of Adrienne.

And where was la pet.i.te Madelaine?--What became of her, and what was she doing that livelong day? Never was she so much wanted at St Hilaire--to console--to support--to occupy the "fair forsaken;" and yet she came not. "What insensibility--what ingrat.i.tude! at such a time!"--exclaimed the parents of the lovely desolate--so interesting in her becoming character of a lone bird "reft of its mutual heart,"

so amiable in her attempted exculpation of the neglectful Madelaine!