The Mysteries Of Paris Volume Vi Part 17

"Oh, yes,--yes! Be under no alarm! I am too well aware of the dangerous consequences any undue emotion would occasion my child; be a.s.sured I will not expose her to anything of the sort. But go--go--my good Murphy; I beseech you hasten to bring her hither."

"Don't be alarmed, madame," said the squire, who had attentively scrutinised the countenance of the prince; "she may come now without danger. I am quite sure that his royal highness will sufficiently command himself."

"Then go--go--my faithful friend; you are keeping me in torments."

"Just give me one minute, my lord," said the excellent creature, drying the moisture from his eyes; "I must not let the poor thing see I have been crying. There, there--that will do! I should not like to cross the antechamber looking like a weeping Magdalen." So saying, the squire proceeded towards the door, but suddenly turning back, he said, "But, my lord, what am I to say to her?"

"Yes, what had he better say?" inquired the prince of Clemence.

"That M. Rodolph wishes to see her,--nothing more."

"Oh, to be sure! How stupid of me not to think of that! M. Rodolph wishes to see her,--capital, excellent!" repeated the squire, who evidently partook of Madame d'Harville's nervousness, and sought to defer the moment of his emba.s.sy by one little pretext and the other.

"That will not give her the least suspicion, not the shadow of a notion what she is wanted for. Nothing better could have been suggested."

But still Murphy stirred not.

"Sir Walter," said Clemence, smiling, "you are afraid!"

"Well, I won't deny it!" said the squire. "And, spite of my standing six feet high, I feel and know I am trembling like a child."

"Then take care, my good fellow!" said Rodolph. "You had better wait a little longer if you do not feel quite sure of yourself."

"No, no, my lord; I have got the upper hand of my fears this time!"

replied Murphy, pressing his two herculean fists to his eyes. "I know very well that at my time of life it is ridiculous for me to show such weakness! I'm going, my lord, don't you be uneasy!" So saying, Murphy left the room with a firm step and composed countenance.

A momentary silence followed his departure, and then, for the first time, Clemence remembered she was alone with the prince, and under his roof. Rodolph drew near to her, and said, with an almost timid voice and manner:

"If I select this day--this hour--to divulge to you the dearest secret of my heart, it is that the solemnity of the present moment may give greater weight to that I would impart, and persuade you to believe me sincere, when I a.s.sure you I have loved you almost from the hour I first beheld you. While obstacles stood in the way of my love I studiously concealed it; but you are now free to hear me declare my affection, and to ask you to become a mother to the daughter you restore to me."

"My lord," cried Madame d'Harville, "what words are these?"

"Oh, refuse me not," said Rodolph, tenderly; "let this day decide the happiness of my future life."

Clemence had also nourished a deep and sincere pa.s.sion for the prince; and his open, manly avowal of a similar feeling towards herself, made under such peculiar circ.u.mstances, transported her with joy, and she could but falter out in a hesitating voice:

"My lord, 'tis for me to remind you of the difference of our stations, and the interests of your sovereignty."

"Permit me first to consider the interest of my own heart, and that of my beloved child. Oh, make us both happy by consenting to be mine! So that I who, but a short time since, owned no blessed tie, may now proudly indulge in the idea of having both a wife and daughter; and give to the sorrowing child who is just restored to my arms the delight of saying, 'My father--my mother--my sister!'--for your sweet girl would become mine also."

"Ah, my lord," exclaimed Clemence, "my grateful tears alone can speak my sense of such n.o.ble conduct!" Then suddenly checking herself, she added, "I hear persons approaching, my lord; your daughter comes."

"Refuse me not, I conjure you!" responded Rodolph, in an agitated and suppliant tone. "By the love I bear you, I beseech you to make me happy by saying, 'Our daughter comes!'"

"Then be it _our_ daughter, if such is your sincere wish," murmured Clemence, as Murphy, throwing open the door, introduced Fleur-de-Marie into the salon.

The astonished girl had, upon entering the immense hotel from the s.p.a.cious portico under which she alighted from the marquise's carriage, first crossed an anteroom filled with servants dressed in rich liveries; then a waiting-room, in which were other domestics belonging to the establishment, also wearing the magnificent livery of the house of Gerolstein; and lastly, the apartment in which the chamberlain and aides-de-camp of the prince attended his orders.

The surprise and wonder of the poor Goualeuse, whose ideas of splendour were based on the recollection of the farm at Bouqueval, as she traversed those princely chambers glittering with gold, silver, paintings, and mirrors, may easily be imagined.

Directly she appeared, Madame d'Harville ran towards her, kindly took her hand, and throwing her arm around her waist, as though to support her, led her towards Rodolph, who remained supporting himself by leaning one arm on the chimneypiece, wholly incapable of advancing a single step.

Having consigned Fleur-de-Marie to the care of Madame d'Harville, Murphy hastily retreated behind one of the large window curtains, not feeling too sure of his own self-command.

At the sight of him who was, in the eyes of Fleur-de-Marie, not only her benefactor but the wors.h.i.+pped idol of her heart, the poor girl, whose delicate frame had been so severely tried by illness, became seized with a universal trembling.

"Compose yourself, my child!" said Madame d'Harville. "See, there is your kind M. Rodolph, who has been extremely uneasy on your account, and is most anxious to see you."

"Oh, yes--uneasy, indeed!" stammered forth Rodolph, whose breast was wrung with anguish at the sight of his child's pale, suffering looks, and, spite of his previous resolution, the prince found himself compelled to turn away his head to conceal his deep emotion.

"My poor child!" said Madame d'Harville, striving to divert the attention of Fleur-de-Marie, "you are still very weak!" and, leading her to a large gilded armchair, she made her sit down, while the astonished Goualeuse seemed almost to shrink from touching the elegant cus.h.i.+ons with which it was lined. But she did not recover herself; on the contrary, she seemed oppressed. She strove to speak, but her voice failed her, and her heart reproached her with not having said one word to her venerated benefactor of the deep grat.i.tude which filled her whole soul.

At length, at a sign from Madame d'Harville, who, leaning over Fleur-de-Marie, held one of the poor girl's thin, wasted hands in hers, the prince gently approached the side of the chair, and now, more collected, he said to Fleur-de-Marie, as she turned her sweet face to welcome him:

"At last, my child, your friends have recovered you, and be sure it is not their intention ever to part with you again. One thing you must endeavour to do, and that is to banish for ever from your mind all your past sufferings."

"Yes, my dear girl," said Clemence, "you can in no way so effectually prove your affection for your friends as by forgetting the past."

"Ah, M. Rodolph, and you, too, madame, pray believe that if, spite of myself, my thoughts do revert to the past, it will be but to remind me that but for you that wretched past would still be my lot."

"But we shall take pains to prevent such mournful reminiscences ever crossing your mind. Our tenderness will not allow you time to look back, my dear Marie," said Rodolph; "you know I gave you that name at the farm."

"Oh, yes, M. Rodolph, I well remember you did. And Madame Georges, who was so good as even to permit me to call her mother, is she quite well?"

"Perfectly so, my child; but I have some most important news for you.

Since I last saw you some great discoveries have been made respecting your birth. We have found out who were your parents, and your father is known to us."

The voice of Rodolph trembled so much while p.r.o.nouncing these words that Fleur-de-Marie, herself deeply affected, turned quickly towards him, but, fortunately, he managed to conceal his countenance from her.

A somewhat ridiculous occurrence also served at this instant to call off the attention of the Goualeuse from too closely observing the prince's emotion,--the worthy squire, who still remained behind the curtain, feigning to be very busily occupied in gazing upon the garden belonging to the hotel, suddenly blew his nose with a tw.a.n.ging sound that reechoed through the salon; for, in truth, the worthy man was crying like a child.

"Yes, my dear Marie," said Clemence, hastily, "your father is known to us--he is still living."

"My father!" cried La Goualeuse, in a tone of tender delight, that subjected the firmness of Rodolph to another difficult test.

"And some day," continued Clemence,--"perhaps very shortly, you will see him. But what will, no doubt, greatly astonish you, is that he is of high rank and n.o.ble birth."

"And my mother, shall I not see her, too, madame?"

"That is a question your father will answer, my dear child. But tell me, shall you not be delighted to see him?"

"Oh, yes, madame," answered Fleur-de-Marie, casting down her eyes.

"How much you will love him when you know him!" said Clemence.

"A new existence will commence for you from that very day, will it not, Marie?" asked the prince.

"Oh, no, M. Rodolph," replied Fleur-de-Marie, artlessly; "my new existence began when you took pity on me, and sent me to the farm."

"But your father loves you fondly--dearly!" said the prince.