CHAPTER XIII.
A SCHEME OF VENGEANCE.
The marriage between Norbert and Mademoiselle de Puymandour was entirelydeficient in that brief, ephemeral light that shines over the honeymoon.The icy wall that stood between them became each day stronger andtaller. There was no one to smooth away inequalities, no one to exercisea kindly influence over two characters, both haughty and determined.After his father's death, when Norbert announced his intention ofresiding in Paris, M. de Puymandour highly approved of this resolution,for he fancied that if he were to remain alone in the country, he couldto a certain extent take the place and position of the late Duke, and,with the permission of his son-in-law, at once take up his residence atChampdoce.
Almost as soon as the young Duchess arrived in Paris she realized thefact that she was the most unfortunate woman in the world. As Champdocewas almost like her own home, her eyes lighted on familiar scenes;and if she went out, she was sure of being greeted by kindly words andfriendly features; but in Paris she only found solitude, for everythingthere was strange and hostile. The late Duke, pinching and parsimoniousas he had been towards himself and his son, launched out into thewildest extravagances when he imagined he was working for his comingrace, and the home which he had prepared for his great-grandchildren wasthe incarnation of splendor and luxury.
Upon the arrival of Norbert and his wife, they could almost fancy thatthey had only quitted their town house a few days before, so perfectwere all the arrangements. Had Norbert been left to act for himself, hemight have felt a little embarrassed, but his trusty servant Jean aidedhim with his advice, and the establishment was kept on a footing to dohonor to the traditions of the house of Champdoce. Everything can beprocured in Paris for money, and Jean had filled the ante-rooms withlackeys, the kitchens and offices with cooks and scullions, and thestables with grooms, coachmen, and horses, while every description ofcarriage stood in the place appointed for their reception.
But all this bustle and excitement did not seem in the eyes of the youngDuchess to impart life to the house. It appeared to her dead and emptyas a sepulchre. It seemed as if she were living beneath the weight ofsome vague and indefinable terror, some hideous and hidden spectre whichmight at any moment start from its hiding place and drive her mad withthe alarm it excited. She had not a soul in whom she could confide. Shehad been forbidden by Norbert to renew her acquaintance with her oldParisian friends, for Norbert did not consider them of sufficiently goodfamily, and in addition he had used the pretext of the deep mourningthey were in to put off receiving visitors for a twelvemonth at least.She felt herself alone and solitary, and, in this frame of mind, how wasit possible for her not to let her thoughts wander once again to Georgede Croisenois. Had her father been willing, she might have been hiswife now, and have been wandering hand in hand in some sequesteredspot beneath the clear blue sky of Italy. _He_ had loved her, whileNorbert----.
Norbert was leading one of those mad, headstrong lives which have buttwo conclusions--ruin or suicide. His name had been put up for electionat a fashionable club by his uncle, the Chevalier de Septraor, as soonas he arrived in Paris. He had been elected at once, being looked on asa decided acquisition to the list of members. He bore one of the oldestnames to be found among the French nobility, while his fortune--giganticas it was--had been magnified threefold by the tongue of common report.He was received with open arms everywhere, and lived in a perfectatmosphere of flattery. Not being able to shine by means of cultivationor polish, he sought to gain a position in his club by a certainroughness of demeanor and a cynical mode of speech. He flung away hismoney in every direction, kept racers, and was uniformly fortunate inhis betting transactions. He frequented the world of gallantry, and wasconstantly to be seen in the company of women whose reputations wereexceedingly equivocal. His days were spent on horseback, or in thefencing room, and his nights in drinking, gambling, and all kinds ofdebauchery. His wife scarcely ever saw him, for when he returned homeit was usually with the first beams of day, either half intoxicated orsavage from having lost large sums at the gambling table. Jean, the oldand trusty retainer of the house of Champdoce, was deeply grieved, notso much at seeing his master so rapidly pursuing the path to ruin asat the fact that he was ever surrounded by dissolute and disreputableacquaintances.
"Think of your name," he would urge; "of the honor of your name."
"And what does that matter," sneered Norbert, "provided that I live ajolly life, and shuffle out of the world rapidly?"
There was one fixed star in all the dark clouds that surrounded him,which now seemed to blaze brightly, and this star was Diana de Mussidan.Do what he would, it was impossible to efface her image from his memory.Even amidst the fumes of wine and the debauched revelry of the suppertable he could see the form that he had once so passionately lovedstanding out like a pillar of light, clear and distinct against thedarkness. He had led this demoralizing existence for fully six months,when one day, as he was riding down the Avenue des Champs Elysees, hesaw a lady give him a friendly bow. She was seated in a magnificent opencarriage, wrapped in the richest and most costly furs. Thinking that shemight be one of the many actresses with whom he was acquainted, Norbertturned his horse's head towards the carriage; but as he got nearer hesaw, to his extreme amazement and almost terror, that it was Diana deMussidan who was seated in it. He did not turn back, however; and asthe carriage had just drawn up, he reined in his horse alongside of it.Diana was as much agitated as he was, and for a moment neither of themspoke, but their eyes were firmly fixed upon each other, and they satpale and breathless, as if each had some sad presentiment which fatewas preparing for them both. At last Norbert felt that he must breakthe silence, for the servants were beginning to gaze upon them with eyesfull of curiosity.
"What, madame, you here, in Paris?" said he with an effort.
She had drawn out a slender hand from the mass of furs in which she wasenveloped, and extended it to him, as she replied in a tone which had aring of tenderness beneath its commonplace tone,--
"Yes, we are established here, and I hope that we shall be as goodfriends as we were once before. Farewell, until we meet again."
As if her words had been a signal, the coachman struck his horseslightly with his whip, and the magnificent equipage rolled swiftlyaway. Norbert had not accepted Diana's proffered hand, but presently herealized the whole scene, and plunging his spurs into his horse dashedfuriously up the Avenue in the direction of the Arc de Triomphe.
"Ah!" said he, as a bitter pang of despair shot through his heart, "Istill love her, and can never care for any one else; but I will see heragain. She has not forgotten me. I could read it in her eyes, and detectit all in the tones of her voice." Here a momentary gleam of reasoncrossed his brain. "But will a woman like Diana ever forgive an offencelike mine? and when she seems most friendly the danger is the morenear."
Unfortunately he thrust aside this idea, and refused to listen tothe voice of reason. That evening he went down to his club with theintention of asking a few questions regarding the Mussidans. He heardenough to satisfy himself, and the next day he met Madame de Mussidanin the Champs Elysees, and for many days afterwards in rapid succession.Each day they exchanged a few words, and at last Diana, with muchsimulated hesitation, promised to alight from her carriage when nextthey met in the Bois, and talk to Norbert unhampered by the presence ofthe domestics.
Madame de Mussidan had made the appointment for three o'clock, butbefore two Norbert was on the spot, in a fever of expectation and doubt.
"Is it I," asked he of himself, "waiting once more for Diana, as I haveso often waited for her at Bevron?"
Ah, how many changes had taken place since then! He was now no longerwaiting for Diana de Laurebourg, but for the Countess de Mussidan,another man's wife, while he also was a married man. It was no longerthe whim of a monomaniac that kept them apart, but the dictates of law,honor, and the world.
"Why," said he, in a mad burst of passion, "why should we not set atdefiance all the cold
social rules framed by an artificial state ofsociety; why should not the woman leave her husband and the man hiswife?" Norbert had consulted his watch times without number before theappointed hour came. "Ah," sighed he, "suppose that she should not comeafter all."
As he said these words a cab stopped, and the Countess de Mussidanalighted from it. She came rapidly along towards him, crossing anopen space without heeding the irregularities of the ground, as thatdiminished the distance which separated her from Norbert. He advancedto meet her, and taking his arm, they plunged into the recesses of theBois. There had been heavy rain on the day previous, and the pathway waswet and muddy, but Madame de Mussidan did not seem to notice this.
"Let us go on," said she, "until we are certain of not being seen fromthe road. I have taken every precaution. My carriage and servants arewaiting for me in front of St. Philippe du Roule; but for all that I mayhave been watched."
"You were not so timid in bygone days."
"Then I was my own mistress; and if I lost my reputation, the lossaffected me only; but on my wedding day I had a sacred trust confidedto me--the honor of the man who has given me his name, and that I mustguard with jealous care."
"Then you love me no longer."
She stopped suddenly, and overwhelming Norbert with one of those glacialglances which she knew so well how to assume, answered in measuredaccents,--
"Your memory fails you; all that has remained to me of the past is therejection of a proposal conveyed in a certain letter that I wrote."
Norbert interrupted her by a piteous gesture of entreaty.
"Mercy!" said he. "You would pardon me if you knew all the horrors ofthe punishment that I am enduring. I was mad, blind, besotted, nor did Ilove you as I do at this moment."
A smile played round Diana's beautiful mouth, for Norbert had told hernothing that she did not know before, but she wished to hear it from hisown lips.
"Alas!" murmured she; "I can only frame my reply with the fatal words,'_Too late_!'"
"Diana!"
He endeavored to seize her hand, but she drew it away with a rapidmovement.
"Do not use that name," said she; "you have no right to do so. Is it notsufficient to have blighted the young girl's life? and yet you seek tocompromise the honor of the wife. You must forget me; do you understand?It is to tell you this that I am here. The other day, when I saw youagain, I lost my self-command. My heart leapt up at the sight of you,and, fool that I was, I permitted you to see this; but base no hopeson my weakness. I said to you, Let us be friends. It was a mere act ofmadness. We can never be friends, and had better, therefore, treat eachother as strangers. Do you forget that lying tongues at Bevron accusedme of being your mistress? Do you think that this falsehood has notreached my husband's ears? One day, when your name was mentioned inhis presence, I saw a gleam of hatred and jealousy in his eye. Greatheavens! should he, on my return, suspect that my hand had rested inyours, he would expel me from his house like some guilty wretch! Thedoor of our house must remain for ever closed to you. I am miserableindeed. Be a man; and if your heart still holds one atom of the love youonce bore for me, prove it by never seeking me again."
As she concluded she hurried away, leaving in Norbert's heart a moredeadly poison than the one she had endeavored to persuade the son toadminister to his father, the Duke de Champdoce. She knew each chordthat vibrated in his heart, and could play on it at will. She felt surethat in a month he would again be her slave, and that she could exerciseover him a sway more despotic than she had yet done, and, in addition tothis, that he would assist her in executing a cruel scheme of revenge,which she had long been plotting.
After having followed Diana about like her very shadow for several days,Norbert at last ventured to approach her in the Champs Elysees. She wasangry, but not to such an extent that he feared to repeat his offence.Then she wept, but her tears could not force him to avoid her. At firsther system of defence was very strong, then it gradually grew weaker.She granted him another interview, and then two others followed. Butwhat were these meetings worth to him? They took place in a church or apublic gallery, in places where they could scarcely exchange a grasp ofthe hand. At length she told him that she had thought of a place whichwould render their interviews less perilous, but that she hardly daredtell him where it was. He pressed her to tell him, and, by degrees, shepermitted herself to be persuaded. Her idea was to become the friend ofthe Duchess of Champdoce.
Norbert now felt that she was more an angel than a woman, and it wasagreed that on the next day he himself would introduce her to his wife.