The Huguenot Part 29

"Alas, Sire, I am not in spirits to dance; I should but cloud the gaiety of my fair partner, and she would wish herself any where else before the evening were over."

Louis smiled; and, so much accustomed as he was to attribute the sunshine and clouds upon his courtiers' brows to the effects of his favour or displeasure, he instantly put his own interpretation upon the words of the Count, and that interpretation raised the young n.o.bleman much in the good graces of a monarch, who, though vain and despotic, was not naturally harsh and severe.

"If, Monsieur de Morseiul," he said, "some slight displeasure which the King expressed yesterday morning, have rendered our gay fellow-soldier of Maestricht and Valenciennes so sad, let his sadness pa.s.s away, for his conduct here has effaced unfavourable reports, and if he persevere to the end in the same course, he may count upon the very highest favour."

Almost every circ.u.mstance combines on earth to prevent monarchs hearing the truth, even from the most sincere. Time, place, and circ.u.mstance is almost always against them; and in the present instance, the Count de Morseiul knew well, that neither the spot nor the moment were at all suited to any thing like an explanation. He could but reply, therefore, that the lightest displeasure of the King was of course enough to make him sad, and end his answer by one of those compliments which derive at least half their value, like paper money, from the good will of the receiver.

"Come, come," said the King gaily; "shake off this melancholy, fellow-soldier. Come with me; and if I have rightly heard the secrets of certain hearts, I will find you a partner this night, who shall not wish herself any where else while dancing with the Count de Morseiul."

The Count gazed upon the King with utter astonishment; and Louis, enjoying his surprise, led the way quickly on into the ball room, the Count following, as he bade him, close by his side, and amongst his princ.i.p.al officers. As soon as they had entered the ball room, Louis paused for an instant, and every one rose. The King's eyes, as well as those of the Count de Morseiul, ran round the vast saloon seeking for some particular object To Albert of Morseiul that object was soon discovered, placed between the d.u.c.h.ess de Rouvre, and Anette de Marville, at the very farthest part of the room. Louis, however, who was in good spirits, and in a mood peculiarly condescending, walked round the whole circle, pausing to speak to almost every married lady there, and twice turning suddenly towards the Count, perhaps with the purpose of teazing him a little, but seemingly as if about to point out the lady to whom he had alluded. At length, however, he reached the spot where the d.u.c.h.ess de Rouvre and her party were placed; and after speaking for a moment to the d.u.c.h.ess, while the cheek of Clemence de Marly became deadly pale and then glowed again fiery red, he turned suddenly towards her, and said--

"Mademoiselle de Marly, or perhaps as I in gallantry ought to say, _Belle Clemence_, I have promised the Count de Morseiul here to find him a partner for this ball, who will dance with him throughout to-night, without wishing herself anywhere else. Now, as I have certain information that he is very hateful to you, there is but one thing which can make you execute the task to the full. Doubtless you, as well as all the rest of our court, feel nothing so great a pleasure as obeying the King's commands--at least, so they tell me--and therefore I command you to dance with him, and to be as happy as possible, and not to wish yourself any where else from this moment till the ball closes."

He waited for no reply, but making a sign to the Count to remain by the side of his fair partner, proceeded round the rest of the circle.

Nothing in the demeanour of Clemence de Marly but her varying colour had told how much she was agitated while the King spoke; but the words which the monarch had used were so pointed, and touched so directly upon the feelings between herself and Albert of Morseiul, that those who stood around pressed slightly forward as soon as Louis had gone on, to see how she was affected by what had pa.s.sed. To her ear those words were most strange and extraordinary. It was evident that by some one the secret of her heart had been betrayed to the King, and equally evident that Louis had determined to countenance that love which she had fancied would make her happy in poverty, danger, or distress, announcing his approbation at the very moment that a temporary coldness had arisen between her and her lover, and that her heart was oppressed with those feelings of hopelessness, which will sometimes cross even our brightest and happiest days.

On the Count de Morseiul the King's words had produced a different, but not a less powerful effect. The surprise and joy which he might have felt at finding himself suddenly pointed out by the monarch as the favoured suitor for the hand of her he loved, was well nigh done away by the conviction that the price the King put upon his ultimate approbation of their union was such as he could not pay. But nevertheless those words were most joyful, though they raised up some feeling of self-reproach in his heart. It was evident that the tale told by Pelisson regarding the Chevalier was false, or perhaps, indeed, originated in some pious fraud devised for the purpose of driving him more speedily to acknowledge himself a convert to the church of Rome. Whatever were the circ.u.mstances, however, it was clear that Clemence was herself unconscious of any such report, and that all the probabilities which imagination had built up to torment him were but idle dreams. He had pained himself enough indeed; but he had pained Clemence also, and his first wish was to offer her any atonement in his power.

Such were the feelings and thoughts called up in the bosom of the young Count by the events which had just occurred. But the surprise of Clemence and her lover was far outdone by that of the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess de Rouvre, who, astonished at the favour into which their young friend seemed so suddenly to have risen, and equally astonished at the intimation given by the King of an attachment existing between the Count and Clemence, overflowed with joy and satisfaction as soon as the monarch left the spot, and expressed many a vain hope that, after all, the affairs which had commenced in darkness and shadow, would end in sunshine and light. Ere the Count could reply, or say one word to Clemence de Marly, the _bransle_ began, and he led her forth to dance.

There was but a moment for him to speak to her; but he did not lose that moment.

"Clemence," he said, as he led her forward, "I fear I have both pained you and wronged you."

A bright and beautiful smile spread at once over her countenance. "You have," she said; "but those words are enough, Albeit! Say no more! the pain is done away; the wrong is forgotten."

"It is not forgotten by me, sweet girl," he replied, in the same low tone; "but I must speak to you long, and explain all."

"Come to-morrow," she answered; "all difficulties must now be done away. I, too, have something to explain, Albert," she added, "but yet not every thing that I could wish to explain, and about that I will make you my only reproach. You promised not to doubt me--oh, keep that promise!"

As she spoke the dance began, and of course their conversation for the time concluded. All eyes were upon the young Count--so rare a visiter at the palace, and upon her--so admired, so courted, so disdainful, as she was believed to be by every one present, but whose destiny seemed now decided, and whose heart everyone naturally believed to be won.

Graceful by nature as well as by education, no two persons of the whole court could have been better fitted than Albert of Morseiul and Clemence de Marly to pa.s.s through the ordeal of such a scene as a court ball in those days; and though every eye was, as we have said, upon them, yet they had a great advantage on that night, which would have prevented any thing like embarra.s.sment, even had not such scenes been quite familiar to them. They scarcely knew that any eyes were watching them, they were scarcely conscious of the presence of the glittering crowd around. Engrossed by their own individual feelings--deep, absorbing, overpowering, as those feelings were,--their spirits were wrapt up in themselves and in each other; they thought not of the dance, they thought not of the spectators, but left habit, and natural grace, and a fine ear, to do all that was requisite as far as the minuet was concerned. If either thought of the dance at all, it was only when the eyes of Albert of Morseiul rested on Clemence, and he thought her certainly more lovely and graceful than ever she had before appeared, or when his hand touched hers, and the thrill of that touch pa.s.sed to his heart, speaking of love and hope and happiness to come. The effect was what might naturally be supposed--each danced more gracefully than perhaps they had ever done before; and one of those slight murmurs of admiration pa.s.sed through the courtly crowd, and was confirmed by a gracious smile and gentle inclination of the head from the King himself.

"We must not let him escape us," said the monarch in a low voice to the Prince de Marsillac. "Certainly he is worthy of some trouble in recalling from his errors."

"If he escape from the fair net your majesty has spread for him,"

replied the Prince, "he will be the most cunning bird that ever I saw.

Indeed, I should suppose he has no choice, when, if caught, he will have to thank his King for every thing, for honour, favour, distinction, his soul's salvation, and a fair wife that loves him. If he be not pressed till he takes fright, he will entangle himself so that no power can extricate him."

"He shall have every opportunity," said the King. "I must not appear too much in the matter. You, Prince, see that they be left alone together, if possible, for a few minutes. Use what man[oe]uvre you will, and I will take care to countenance it."

At the court b.a.l.l.s of that day it was the custom to dance throughout the night with one person, and the opportunity of conversing between those who were dancing was very small. A few brief words at the commencement, or at the end of each dance, was all that could be hoped for, and Clemence and her lover were fain to fix all their hopes of explanation and of longer intercourse upon the morrow. Suddenly, however, it was announced, before the hour at which the b.a.l.l.s usually terminated, that the King had a lottery, to which all the married ladies of the court were invited.

The crowd poured into the apartment where the drawing of this lottery was to take place; every lady anxious for a ticket where all were prizes, and the tickets themselves given by the King; while those who were not to share in this splendid piece of generosity, were little less eager, desirous of seeing the prizes, and learning who it was that won them. All then, as we have said, poured out of the ball room, through the great gallery and other state-rooms in which the _appartement_ was usually held.

There were only two who lingered--Clemence de Marly and Albert of Morseiul. They, however, remained to the last, and then followed slowly, employing the few minutes thus obtained in low spoken words of affection, perhaps all the warmer and all the tenderer for the coldness and the pain just pa.s.sed. Ere three sentences, however, had been uttered, the good Duc de Rouvre approached, saying, "Come, Clemence, come quick, or you will not find a place where you will see."

The eye of the Prince de Marsillac, however, was upon them; and, threading the mazes of the crowd, he took the Duke by the arm; and, drawing him aside with an important face, told him that the King wanted to speak with him immediately. The Duc de Rouvre darted quickly away to seek the monarch: and the Prince paused for a single instant ere he followed, to say in a low voice to the Count,--

"You will neither of you be required at the lottery, if you think that the lot you have drawn already is sufficiently good."

The Count was not slow to understand the hint, and he gently led Clemence de Marly back into one of the vacant saloons.

"Surely they will think it strange," she said; but ere the Count could reply, she added quickly; "but, after all, what matters it if they do?--I would have it so, that every one may see and know the whole so clearly, that all persecution may be at an end. Now, Albert, now," she said, "tell me what could make you write me so cruel a letter."

"I will in one word," he replied; "but remember, Clemence, that I own I have been wrong, and in telling you the causes, in explaining the various circ.u.mstances which led me to believe that you were wavering in your engagements to me, I seek not to justify myself, but merely to explain."

"Oh never, never think it!" she exclaimed, ere she would let him go on; "whatever may happen, whatever appearances may be, never, Albert, never for one moment think that I am wavering! Once more, most solemnly, most truly, I a.s.sure you, that though perhaps fate may separate me from you, and circ.u.mstances over which we have no control render our union impossible, nothing--no, not the prospect of immediate death itself, shall ever induce me to give my hand to another. No circ.u.mstances can effect that, for that must be my voluntary act; and I can endure death, I can endure imprisonment, I can endure any thing they choose to inflict, except the wedding a man I do not love. Now, tell me," she continued, "now let me hear, what could make you think I did so waver."

The Count related all that had taken place, the words which he had heard Pelisson make use of in conversation with an indifferent person, the mortification and pain he had felt at the words she had written in answer to his note, the confirmation of all his anxious fears by what Jerome Riquet had told him, and all the other probabilities that had arisen to make him believe that those fears were just.

Clemence heard him sometimes with a look of pain, sometimes with a reproachful smile. "After all, Albert," she said, "perhaps you have had some cause--more cause indeed than jealous men often have, and yet you shall hear how simply all this may be accounted for. The day after we parted in Poitou, the Abbe de St. Helie arrived at Ruffigny, with several other persons of the same kind, and Monsieur de Rouvre found his house filled with spies upon his actions. He received, however, in the evening of the same day, an order to come to the court immediately, to give an account of the events which had taken place in his government. The same spies of Louvois accompanied us on the road, as well as the Chevalier d'Evran,--who was the person that had obtained from the King the order for the Duke to appear at court, rather than to remain in exile at Ruffigny, while his enemies said what they chose of him in his absence. We had not arrived in Paris ten minutes at the time your servant came. We were surrounded by spies of every kind; the good Duke was in a state of agitation impossible to describe, and so fearful that any thing like a Protestant should be seen in his house, or that any thing, in short, should occur to give probability to the charges against him, that I knew your coming would be dangerous both to yourself and to him, the house being filled with persons who were ready not only to report, but to pervert every thing that took place. On receiving your note, Maria called me out of the saloon; but my apartments were not prepared; servants were coming and going; no writing paper was to be procured; a pen and ink was obtained with difficulty. I knew if I were absent five minutes in the state of agitation, that pervaded the whole household, Madame de Rouvre would come to seek me, and I was consequently obliged to write the few words I did write in the greatest haste, and under the greatest anxiety.

Maria was not even out of the room conveying those few words to your servant, when the d.u.c.h.ess came in, and I was glad hypocritically to affect great activity and neatness about the arrangement of my apartments, to conceal the real matter which had employed me. Such is the simple state of the case; and I never even heard of this other marriage, about which Pelisson must have made some mistake. Had I heard of it," she added, "it would only have made me laugh."

"I see not why it should do so," replied the Count. "Surely, Louis d'Evran is--as I well know he is considered by many of the fair and the bright about this court--a person not to be despised by any woman.

He evidently, too, exercises great influence over you, Clemence; and therefore the report itself was not such as I, at least, could treat as absurd, especially when, in addition to these facts, it was stated that the King had expressed his will that you should give him your hand."

"To me, however, Albert," she replied, "it must appear absurd, knowing and feeling as I do know and feel, that were the Chevalier d'Evran the only man I had ever seen, or ever were likely to see, that I should never even dream of marrying him. He may be much loved and liked by other women; doubtless he is, and sure I am he well deserves it. I like him, too, Albert. I scruple not to own it--I like him much; but that is very different from loving him as I love--as a woman should love her husband I mean to say. And now, Albert," she continued, "with regard to the influence he has over me, I will tell you nothing more.

That shall remain as a trial of your confidence in me. This influence will never be exerted but when it is right. Should it be exerted wrongly, it is at an end from that moment. When you wished to accompany me to Ruffigny, from that terrible scene in which we last parted, he represented to me in few words how Monsieur de Rouvre was situated. He showed me, that by bringing you there at such a time from such a scene, I should but bring destruction on that kind friend who had sheltered and protected my infancy and my youth, when I had none else to protect me. He showed me, too, that I should put an impa.s.sable barrier between you and me, for the time at least. He told me that no one but himself was aware of where I was, but that your accompanying me would instantly make it known to the whole world, and most likely produce the ruin of both. Now, tell me, Albert, was he not right to say all this? Was not his view a just one?"

"It was," replied the Count; "but yet he might have urged it in another manner. He might have explained the whole to me as well as to you: and still you leave unexplained, Clemence, how he should know where you were when you had concealed it so well, so unaccountably well, from the family at Ruffigny."

"Oh! jealousy, jealousy," said Clemence, playfully; "what a terrible and extraordinary thing jealousy is! and yet, Albert, perhaps a woman likes to see a little of it when she really loves. However, you are somewhat too hard upon the Chevalier, and you shall not wring from me any other secret just yet. You have wrung from me, Albert, too many of the secrets of my heart already, and I will not make you the spoilt child of love, by letting you have altogether your own way. As to my concealing from the family of Ruffigny, however, where I was going on that occasion, or on most others, it is very easily explained. Do you not know that till I was foolish enough at Poitiers to barter all the freedom of my heart, for love with but little confidence it would seem, I have always been a tyrant instead of a slave? Are you not aware that I have always done just as I liked with every one? and one of my reasons for exercising my power to the most extreme degree was, that my religious faith might never be controlled? Till this fierce persecution of the Protestants began, and till the King made it his great object, and announced his determination of putting down all but the Roman Catholic faith in the realm, Monsieur de Rouvre himself cared but little for the distinction of Protestant and Catholic, and even had he known what I was doing, though he might have objected, would not have strongly opposed me. I established my right, however, of doing what I liked, and going where I liked, and acting as I liked, on such firm grounds, that it was not easily shaken. Even now, had I chosen to see you to-day in Paris, I might have done it; but would you have thought the better of Clemence if she had risked the fortunes of him who has been more than a father to her? n.o.body would, and n.o.body should have said me nay, if I had believed that it was just and right to bid you come. But I thought it was wrong, Albert. Now, however, I may bid you come in safety to all; and now that I have time and opportunity to make any arrangements I like, I may safely promise, that should any change come over the present aspect of our affairs, which change I fear must and will come, I will find means to see you at any time, and under any circ.u.mstances. But hark! from what I hear, the lottery is over, and the people departing. Let us go forward and join them, if it be but for a moment."

Thus saying, she rose, and the Count led her on to the room where the distribution of the prizes had just taken place. Every one was now interested with another subject. A full hour had been given at the beginning of the evening to the affair of the Count de Morseiul and Mademoiselle de Marly, which was a far greater s.p.a.ce of time, and far more attention than such a court might be expected to give, even to matters of the deepest and most vital importance. But no former impression could of course outlive the effect of a lottery. There was not one man or woman present whose thoughts were filled with any thing else than the prizes and their distributions; and the head of even the good d.u.c.h.ess of Rouvre herself, who was certainly of somewhat higher character than most of those present, was so filled with the grand engrossing theme, that nothing was talked of, as the party returned to Paris, but the prize which had fallen to the share of Madame de This, or the disappointment which had been met with by Madame de That; so that Clemence de Marly could lean back in the dark corner of the carriage, and enjoy her silence undisturbed.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE HOUR OF HAPPINESS.

At the levee of the King, on the succeeding morning, the young Count de Morseiul was permitted to appear for a few minutes. The monarch was evidently in haste, having somewhat broken in on his matutinal habits in consequence of the late hour at which he had retired on the night before.

"They tell me you have a favour to ask, Monsieur de Morseiul," said the King. "I hope it is not a very great one, for I have slept so well and am in such haste, that, perhaps, I might grant it, whether it were right or wrong."

"It is merely, Sire," replied the Count, "to ask your gracious permission to proceed to Paris this morning, in order to visit Mademoiselle de Marly. Not knowing when it may be your royal pleasure to grant me the longer audience which you promised for some future time, I did not choose to absent myself from Versailles without your majesty's consent."

Louis smiled graciously, for no such tokens of deference were lost upon him. "Most a.s.suredly," he said, "you have my full permission: and now I think of it--Bontems," he continued, turning to one of his _valets de chamber_, "bring me that casket that is in the little cabinet below--now I think of it, the number of our ladies last night fell short at the lottery, and there was a prize of a pair of diamond earrings left. I had intended to have given them to La belle Clemence; but, somehow," he added, with a smile, "she did not appear in the room. Perhaps, however, you know more of that than I do, Monsieur de Morseiul!--Oh, here is Bontems--give me the casket."

Taking out of the small ebony box which was now presented to him, a little case, containing a very handsome pair of diamond ear-rings, the King placed it in the hands of the young Count, saying, "There, Monsieur de Morseiul, be my messenger to the fair lady. Give her those jewels from the King; and tell her, that I hope ere long she will be qualified to draw prizes in some not very distant lottery by appearing as one of the married ladies of our court. She has tortured all our gallant gentlemen's hearts too long, and we will not suffer our subjects to be thus ill treated. Do you stay in Paris all day, Monsieur de Morseiul, or do you come here to witness the new opera?"

"I did not propose to do either, Sire," replied the Count: "I had, in fact, engaged myself to pa.s.s another pleasant evening at the house of Monsieur de Meaux."

"Indeed!" said the King, evidently well pleased. "That is all as it should be. I cannot but think, Monsieur de Morseiul, that if you pa.s.s many more evenings so well, either you will convert Monsieur de Meaux--which G.o.d forbid, or Monsieur de Meaux will convert you--which G.o.d grant."

The Count bowed gravely; and, as the King turned to speak with some one else who was giving him a part of his dress, the young n.o.bleman took it as a permission to retire; and, mounting his horse, which had been kept ready saddled, he made the best of his way towards the capital.