Faithful Margaret Part 62

"I possess fine vineyards in Hungary, and a jewel-mine."

"My congratulations, ill.u.s.trious sir."

"And I am your devoted slave, Madame Hesslein." The luring, mocking, maddening face of the lady lit up with fierce joy. She averted it quickly. "I will resume these t.i.tles so dignified," cried the chevalier, "I will return to my fatherland; ver' good, _mon ange_, you shall accompany, you shall be my wife. You shall rule over nine hundred vinedressers, and seven vineyards, _ma chere_; they are worth seventy thousand florins in the year; and you shall wear the gems of agate, of jasper--of diamonds as you wear this leetel ribbon--madame, all I have shall be yours."

She heard with a cool smile, but a bitter pulse beat in her throat.

"You are flattering, chevalier," she remarked, "and I shall think of it."

He seized her fair hands, and pressed them to his lips, but she s.n.a.t.c.hed them away with a flash from the smoldering fire in her eyes.

"But first," said madame, with a keen glance, "you must a.s.sure me that the station you offer me is not gilded by imagination una.s.sisted by gold."

Monsieur sighed in heart-rending despondency.

"Incomparable woman, you doubt what is to the Hungarian n.o.blesse dearer than life--my honor. But come, I will give you my proofs."

He escorted her to her state-room where waited the two maids of the charming lady, who always traveled with a complete retinue of servants, and going to his own cabin, presently he returned holding solemnly in his hands an elegantly silver-mounted coffer which he placed upon the table.

Unlocking it, he drew from thence various parchments of official aspect, with huge seals appended, and displayed them to the smiling inamorata.

"These are the rewards with which my country has honored my poor services," he said, with humility. "These papers attest to my right to wear these t.i.tles you have just heard, madame. _Voila!_ 'To the Count of Santo Spirito, Turin,' and 'To the Knight of the Order of Three Sicilys.' _Mon ange_, what more can I say?"

A wicked smile was playing around her mouth.

"I accept your statements, chevalier--and yourself!" she murmured, with an exquisite side glance.

The little chevalier beamed with triumph, and bowed low over the lovely hand which she extended, and then she s.n.a.t.c.hed it quickly from him, made a queenly obeisance, and vanished like a spirit from his sight.

Madame Hesslein was seen no more until the steamer entered New York; she was either ill or coy; in reply to the chevalier's tender reproaches she declared for the first named, although her flashing eyes and healthy appearance emphatically contradicted the a.s.sertion.

What a dream of joy tinctured with horrible doubts the succeeding month was for poor little Calembours! To-day she was amiable, gay, bewitching; to-morrow she would be locked in her room, and would send down a frantic entreaty to the good _fiance_ to leave her in peace; presently she would reward his importunities by flitting into his presence, white, vengeful, and torturing him with covert taunts and maddening allusions to his forgotten past.

And yet she was so beautiful, and so changeful, and so reckless that the wild Bohemian fire blazed up in the poor little man's soul, and he could not help loving her with a devotion worthy of a better object.

He expended his h.o.a.rded gains in loading her with costly gifts; and with mad prodigality a.s.sumed a splendor of estate which drained his finances to the lowest ebb; anxious only to win her for his own and calmly leaving the _denouement_ until after the happy day, when madame could not help herself.

How he hoped to obtain her forgiveness when she discovered all, Heaven knows; but love not seldom infatuates men and goads them on to their complete ruin.

Not true love, though of a worthy object; 'tis ofttimes the only savior of a sinking man.

Presently the ill.u.s.trious foreigner, loaded with his t.i.tles, penetrated to the upper circle of society where Madame Hesslein moved, a solitary queen among shrinking ladies of _haut ton_, who with one accord admired, and hated, and courted her because she was the attraction, and it was "the thing" to say, "we had little Madame Hesslein here last night."

What her beauty and refinement did for her, the chevalier's _applomb_ and versatility of genius did for him. Every one talked of the clever, polished Frenchman--in good society monsieur spoke only French, and wore his Legion of Honor flauntingly--every one raved about the dazzling witch he paid such faithful court to; every one vowed that such a pair were expressly created for each other, none else.

On the last evening of this intoxicating dream the chevalier attended a brilliant a.s.sembly which madame held at her hotel.

Magnates of the highest rank were there to give homage to their resistless hostess; and belles of tried skill were there, to waste their ammunition upon the enthralled chevalier; but Romeo and Juliet had no eyes for any but themselves, although their smiles were showered on all.

Madame Hesslein, gorgeous as an Eastern houri, convened her little court about her ottoman, singled the happy Calembours out from all his vexed compet.i.tors, and threw him into raptures by addressing her next remarks more particularly to him.

Fascinated, the gay throng watched that set, cruel face, its glimmering, chrysolite eyes, its wreathing, quivering lips, and its wild mischief as the fair dame told her little story to the Chevalier de Calembours:

"Dear Monsieur, your latest anecdote puts this good company in your debt, so I shall do myself the honor of paying that debt with a narrative which is new, true, and pertinent.

"There was living in the town of Raleigh, some twenty years ago, a remarkable girl called--shall we say for the present--Dolores? for that indeed was her fate.

"She was very pretty, they said, but execrably poor. Her father was a blacksmith, you see, and her mother was glad to obtain laundry work from her richer neighbors; so that poor Dolores started in life with the disadvantages of an undeniable beauty and a penniless purse.

"When sixteen, she considered it quite a lift in life to be promoted to the position of waiting-maid to the wealthy Mrs. Maltravers, instead of trudging round the town with her mother's baskets of clear-starched garments to the various houses which patronized her labor.

"Mrs. Maltravers was old, and fanciful, and she good-naturedly taught the girl how to speak well, and how to dress neatly, and gave her that perception of the true value of elegance which only the rich can give.

"Dolores liked to be well dressed, and to sway her humble court by the cleverness of her conversation, and Mrs. Maltravers was surprised and amused at her aptness in such branches, and taught her with pleasure.

"So Dolores thankfully made the most of her position, and became much too fine a lady for the rough home she had left, and was flouted at by her rude brothers and awkward sisters, until she cut herself adrift from them all.

"Mr. and Mrs. Maltravers went to Europe to travel for two years, and the waiting-maid went with them.

"Dolores liked the strange life, and learned more and more every day.

"At last the travelers came to Austria, and pleased with the rich, warm summer of the plain they stopped in Hungary for six months.

"The name of the town was--Szegedin; you have some acquaintance with it, count; you will take especial interest in a narrative that unfolds its climax in your birthplace.

"Our pretty Dolores had here the fortune to fall in love with a man of the barbarous name of Ladislaus Schmolnitz; and when you learn that, added to his shocking name, he followed the profession of a tailor, you will only wonder at little Dolores' infatuation.

"But this little man, so handsome, clever, and bland, met her often on the banks of the Theiss, and talked sentiment, and poetry and other pretty nonsense in the shocking language of Hungary to simple Dolores, and made her forget that he was a wretched little tailor.

"And he taught her to prattle in Hungarian, and then he asked her to love him, and she did love him--ah, friends! so pa.s.sionately, so heroically, that I only wonder that her splendid love did not enn.o.ble his.

"Ladislaus Schmolnitz, the Szegedin tailor, ran off with Dolores, the waiting-maid, and laughed at the pursuit of the shocked Maltravers, who grudged the girl to a little rascal of a Hun.

"But Madame and Monsieur Schmolnitz lived together for two years and were very happy.

"Very happy, dear friends, notwithstanding the poverty-stricken shifts which they were at to keep the wolf from the door.

"So happy, dear friend, that foolish Dolores wished for no other heaven than the heaven of the little tailor's love, and toiled, my heart how she toiled, to keep the treasure safe.

"At last, Monsieur Schmolnitz saw a chance to rise in the world, and took his wife and baby-boy to Paris, where he energetically began to teach languages, having a clever turn that way.

"He began also to neglect his Dolores, and to prove an indifferent spouse; even to accuse her of unfaithfulness, alas! she loved him far too wildly for such madness.

"But he disappeared from little Dolores one day, and never came back to her, and the silly girl's heart broke, she despaired.

"Homeless, nameless, inc.u.mbered with a boy twelve months old, what could the poor wretch do?

"She went away with the man who had roused the perfidious tailor's jealousy, a cotton manufacturer from Manchester, and became a wealthy woman, and quite forgot what cold and hunger were, although, good luck!