Fairy Fingers Part 21

Bertha, who had been waiting impatiently for the return of Maurice, did not fly to meet him when she saw M. de Bois walking by his side, as they approached the chateau. The countess was in the drawing-room when the gentlemen entered, and her majestic presence stemmed the stream of inquiries that was ready to gush from Bertha's lips.

M. de Bois, who during his interview with Maurice had been so self-possessed that the impediment in his speech was scarcely observable, was seized anew and cast into chains by his invisible enemy.

The captive struggled in vain; the avenues of speech were barricaded; all his limbs were shackled; his movements became uncertain and spasmodic, menacing tables, chairs, vases, which, had they been gifted with consciousness, must have trembled at his approach; his nervous fingers thrust themselves into his hair, and threw it into ludicrous disorder; his countenance was suffused with scarlet; he stammered out something about bidding adieu, which the ladies were evidently at a loss to comprehend, until Maurice explained that M. de Bois expected to start on the morrow for Paris, where he purposed to take up his residence.

"We shall regret losing so valued a neighbor!" observed the countess, condescendingly.

Bertha made no remark, though she looked as though she wished to speak, and could not summon resolution. She took an opportunity, while the countess was conversing with their guest, to whisper to her cousin,--

"You asked M. de Bois, and he could give you no information concerning Madeleine?"

"None at all," replied Maurice in a low tone. Then, turning to the countess, he said aloud, "I also must bid you adieu, my grandmother; I am going immediately to Rennes; if I obtain the information there, which I think probable, I shall start at once for Scotland and seek Lady Vivian."

"You have not consulted your father, Maurice," the countess answered, with an emphasis which was intended to remind him that he was not a free agent.

"I must beg you to make my apologies to him."

Maurice, though he treated his grandmother with deference which left her no room for complaint, could not force himself to a.s.sume his wonted air of affection; his love for her had waned from the hour he listened to the unjust accusation, the reproaches, the contumely she had heaped upon the innocent and unfortunate orphan placed at her mercy. The softening veil had fallen from her character, and disclosed its harsh, proud selfishness and policy. He now knew that she had offered her dest.i.tute relative shelter, not from any genuine, womanly feeling of tenderness and compa.s.sion, but simply because she deemed it humiliating to allow one who bore her name to be placed in a doubtful and friendless position. All Madeleine's gentleness, cheerfulness, diligence to please, had failed to melt her aunt's impenetrable heart and make it expand to yield her a sacred place; the countess had misinterpreted her highest virtues,--grossly insulted her by attributing shameful motives to her most disinterested conduct, and destroyed all the merit of her own benefactions by reminding the recipient of her indebtedness. Maurice felt that, truly to venerate a person, he must be moved by esteem for n.o.ble qualities possessed. The recent revelation of his grandmother's actual attributes estranged and revolted him, until it became difficult to treat her with even the outward semblance of reverence.

When the viscount bade farewell, M. de Bois also took his leave.

"You will write to me as soon as you reach Edinburgh?" pleaded Bertha to her cousin.

"I will certainly write," answered Maurice; "meantime comfort yourself with the a.s.surance that I will not relinquish my search until Madeleine is restored to us."

And Bertha did solace herself with that pledge, for hope was a dominant characteristic of her buoyant temperament.

The monotonous round of blank, weary days that ensued was happily broken, before the week closed, by the promised letter from Maurice.

Bertha, whose only exciting occupation consisted in watching for the arrival and distribution of letters, was in possession of the precious missive before her aunt and Count Tristan were aware of its arrival. She tore it open, and, glancing through the contents, uttered a cry of joy that rang through the chateau, and reached the ears even of the countess and her son in the library. The next moment Bertha burst into the apartment, laughing and crying, waving the letter triumphantly over her head, and exclaiming, in a voice now stifled with sobs, now broken by hysterical mirth,--

"She is found! she is found! Maurice has traced her! Oh, my dear, dear Madeleine, I shall see her again!"

Her blinding tears, or her overwhelming transport, prevented her noticing the totally different effect produced upon her two relatives by this rapturously uttered communication. The face of the countess expressed a haughty satisfaction that her n.o.ble family had been spared some impending disgrace; but Count Tristan's black brows contracted; his malignant eyes flashed fiercely; he ground his teeth with suppressed rage as he s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter out of Bertha's hand. She flung her arms about her aunt, and laid her head lovingly upon her unsympathetic bosom, as though she must caress some one in the exuberant outburst of her joy!

Meanwhile the count perused the letter.

"My son, let me hear what Maurice says."

Count Tristan read,--

"I hasten to send you good news, my dearest Bertha. At Rennes I visited the Prefecture to examine the list of pa.s.sports, knowing that Madeleine must have obtained one to travel unmolested. I found that her pa.s.sport had been taken out for England. This confirmed my impression that she had joined Lady Vivian in Scotland. The pa.s.sport which, as you are aware, requires two responsible witnesses, was signed by Messrs. Picard and Bossuet. I sought those gentlemen to extract further information from them, but, singularly enough, both had left Brittany the day after Madeleine. I cannot conceive how she obtained their signatures, for surely she had no acquaintance with them. Following this clew I started immediately for Edinburgh, and arrived here on Wednesday evening. I had no difficulty in finding the residence of Lady Vivian. She is in London, but is expected home shortly. I had an interview with her venerable housekeeper, who answered all my inquiries with great patience. From her I learned that Lady Vivian was accompanied by a young French lady whom she had recently engaged as a _dame de compagnie_. The housekeeper could not remember her foreign name, but when I mentioned Mademoiselle de Gramont, she said it sounded like that. She had been informed that the young lady was very accomplished and belonged to an excellent family; also that Lady Vivian had first heard of her during her late visit in Brittany. In answer to the question whether this young lady arrived with Lady Vivian in London, the housekeeper replied that she did not,--she had joined her ladyship only a few days ago. Thus I feel certain that Madeleine is found. I leave for London at once, and, not many days after you receive this letter, you may expect to see us both; for I will never cease my supplications until Madeleine yields and returns with me to the Chateau de Gramont. I know what joy this intelligence will give you, my dear little cousin, and my joy is increased by the reflection of yours."

The count broke off without reading the concluding lines of the letter, and remarked,--

"Maurice came to a hasty conclusion. If Lady Vivian's _dame de compagnie_ should prove to be Madeleine, as it _may_ be, there is no certainty that she will yield to his persuasions and return to us.

Madeleine is very obstinate and self-willed. You must pardon me, Bertha, for throwing a damper upon your hopes, but I would spare you too severe disappointment."

"I shall _not_ be disappointed. I feel sure Maurice has discovered Madeleine: _that_ is all I ask for the present. You may be right about her refusing to return here,--I dare say you are; but _that_ will not make me miserable, which I should be if we could not find her at all. I mean to ask my uncle's permission to allow Madeleine to reside with us.

I do not see how he can refuse, and he is very indulgent; so that, whether Madeleine consents to return here, or not, we shall not be wholly parted."

Bertha did not suspect into what a fury her words were lashing the count, nor did she divine the machinations already at work within his perfidious spirit to defeat her kindly purpose.

CHAPTER X.

THE HUMBLE COMPANION.

Rapidly as Maurice travelled from Edinburgh to London, the distance seemed interminable to his impetuous spirit. Mult.i.tudes of arguments were driven through his mind in long array, and he was impatient to prove their power in persuading Madeleine to return. Was it possible that she could refuse to see their force? If calm reasoning, if entreaties and prayers failed to move her, he would test the potency of a threat,--she should learn that he had vowed never to return to his paternal home, never to forgive those who had driven her forth by their cruelty, until _she_ had proclaimed their pardon by again taking up her abode at the Chateau de Gramont. Madeleine, who shrank from all strife, who moved in an atmosphere of harmony, which seemed to envelop her wherever she went, would not lift her hand to sever the sacred bond of union between father and son, grandmother and grandchild. Whatever anguish it might cost her to yield, however great her sacrifice, she would endure the one and accept the other rather than become the instrument that, with fatal blow, struck such an unholy severance.

Maurice vividly pictured to himself his approaching interview under a tantalizing variety of circ.u.mstances. Now he imagined that he saw Madeleine only in the presence of her new friends,--that she was cold and reserved, and allowed him no opportunity of uttering a word that could reach _her_ ear alone. Now he fancied she had granted him a private interview,--that she was sitting by his side, but resolute, unconvinced, unmoved, while he besieged her with arguments, appealed to her with all the pa.s.sionate fervor that convulsed his soul, portrayed in darkest colors the fearful results of her inflexibility. Now he painted her overwhelmed by his reasoning, melted by his application, terrified by that terrible menace, and finally consenting to his pet.i.tion.

It was past ten o'clock when the train reached the London terminus. The loquacious Edinburgh housekeeper had informed him that Lady Vivian was the guest of Lady Augusta Langdon. The lateness of the hour forbade a visit that night; yet, after having engaged a room at Morley's hotel, he could not help strolling in the direction of Grosvenor Square, and was soon searching for the number he had written upon his tablets. It was easily found, and Maurice stood before one of the most sumptuous of the magnificent edifices which adorn that aristocratic locality. The windows were thrown open, and the richly embroidered lace curtains drawn back, for the evening was more than usually sultry. He crossed to the opposite side of the street, and took up a position which enabled him to distinguish forms moving about the s.p.a.cious drawing-room. With what straining eyes and breathless anxiety he scrutinized them! Now he saw a lady of n.o.ble carriage walking to and fro,--_that_ might be Lady Langdon; by and by he caught sight of a gaunt, ungainly figure, and recognized Lady Vivian. Who would have believed that a glimpse of that angular, unsymmetrical form could ever have called such radiance to the eyes of a young and handsome man?--could have kindled such a glow upon his cheeks?--could have quickened his pulses with so joyful a motion?

Not long after, a group of young ladies cl.u.s.tered together, just beneath the chandelier, to examine some object which one of them held in her hand; and now the heart of Maurice throbbed so tumultuously that its beats became audible. He had singled out one maiden whose height and graceful proportions distinguished her from her companions,--Madeleine!

Her face was turned from him; but surely that statuesque outline, that slender, flexible throat, that exquisitely-shaped head, about which he thought he traced the coronal braid that usually crowned her n.o.ble brows,--these could belong to Madeleine only! Could he fail to recognize them anywhere or at any distance? The longer he gazed the more certain he became that it was she herself,--that she was found at last! How eagerly he watched to see her turn, and render "a.s.surance doubly sure"

by revealing her lovely countenance! She remained some time in the same position; then the little group dispersed, and she glided away, but not in the direction of the window. The eyes of Maurice never moved from the place where she had disappeared, though he was conscious of attracting the attention of pa.s.sers-by, and now and then a whispered comment of derision fell upon his ear.

Several equipages drove up to Lady Langdon's door, and her guests gradually departed. Soon after the drawing-room was deserted, the lights were extinguished, the windows closed. Other lights brightened the cas.e.m.e.nts above. Still Maurice remained riveted to the spot, unreasonably hoping to behold Madeleine for one fleeting moment again.

By and by, one window after another grew dark; but not until the last light went out could he force himself to turn away and retrace his steps to the hotel.

"Will the dawn never come?" How often that question rises involuntarily to the lips, through the long night of expectation that precedes a wished-for day! _Time_--that is, the sense of its duration--is but another word for _state_,--state of mind. The length or briefness of the hour is so completely governed by the mood of one's spirits that it becomes easy for those who have learned this truth from experience to conceive a thousand years but as a day to the blessed,--a day of torture, an age to the miserable; and to comprehend that _time itself_ can have no existence, and its computation must be replaced by _state_ in the eternal hereafter where we shall live in the spirit only.

"Will the dawn never come?" Maurice repeated hundreds of times as that night dragged its leaden, lagging feet with the slow movement of centuries.

The dim, late London morning came at last to bring with it a new perplexity. It would be a breach of etiquette to call upon Lady Vivian at too early an hour; yet, how was Maurice to curb the headlong rush of his impatience until the prescribed period for ceremonious visits arrived? A stranger in London, it might be supposed that the numberless noteworthy objects by which he was environed might have diverted his attention; but one engrossing thought so completely filled his whole being that it rendered him blind to all the marvels of art or beauties of nature. Yet to remain imprisoned at the hotel was out of the question. He concluded to spend his morning in Hyde Park, chiefly because it was not far distant from Grosvenor Square. But the attractions of the n.o.ble park, through which he listlessly sauntered, and of the adjacent Kensington Gardens, to which he unconsciously extended his rambles, were entirely lost upon the abstracted wanderer.

Grand old trees, romantic walks, delicious flowers, had no existence for him; the whole world was one great, hueless, formless void, in which he beheld nothing but the spectral image mirrored in his own soul.

He had decided not to pay his visit until after one o'clock; but, before the sun reached its meridian, he absolved himself from the propriety of waiting, and, with rapid steps, once more took his way to Lady Langdon's residence.

The door was opened by a solemn footman.

"Is Lady Vivian at home?"

"Not at home, sir."

"Is Mademoiselle de Gramont--I mean the young lady who accompanied Lady Vivian--at home?"

"Not at home, sir."

"Can you tell me when I shall be likely to find them?"

"Her ladyship gave no orders on the subject, sir."

Maurice stood perplexed, and hesitating.

"Your card, if you please, sir," suggested the demure domestic.