Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.

  CHAPTER XXXVII.

  "Ha, ha, ha!" exclaimed Madame de Chazeul, bursting forth into a longpeal of laughter, "so the secret is discovered! So here is theprecious witness! So here is the wise intelligence bearer!--Strumpet,how dare you show yourself in my presence?"

  "Neither willingly not wittingly, have I done so, Madam," answeredHelen de la Tremblade, who had now recovered her self-possession, andspoke in a much calmer and firmer tone than the Marchioness had everheard her assume; for, in the fire of adversity, she had gainedstrength, and the loss of hope had carried with it the loss of allthose thrilling emotions, those vibrations of the heart, which shakeand agitate the mind also. Thus, though surprised at seeing the womanwho had so harshly used her, and whom,--in the long pause that hadtaken place in the conversation with Rose d'Albret,--she had thoughtgone from the chamber, she was nevertheless not confounded, and farless dismayed than might have been expected, "Neither wittingly norwillingly," she repeated, "but since it is so, it may be no better. Iam, Madam, as you have said, both the witness, and the intelligencebearer; but happily not the only one."

  "What minion, will you dare me?" cried Madame de Chazeul advancing astep, as if she would have struck her.

  "Have a care, lady," said Helen in a deep tone. "Remember, I am not aservant, and no longer in any way under your authority, or, as youonce termed it, protection.--Protection! Oh, God, what protection! Ourposition is different; and I bear not now, what I have borne before."

  "On my life," exclaimed the Marchioness, "this is admirable! Where doyou stand, girl?--Is this my brother's house, or yours?"

  "Your brother's, Madam, but not yours," replied Helen, "and I knowthat brother too well, to doubt that he will do justice, when he knowsthe truth. To him I am now going; and at his feet I will tell all,--myown fault, and my own folly.--Ay, and your crimes, to me and toothers."

  She took a step towards the door; but Madame de Chazeul cast herselfin the way, with a look of terrible fury. She well knew, that the poorgirl had the power, if she could but obtain a few moments' interviewwith the Count, of overthrowing all that she had done with him, ofexposing her conduct, ruining her schemes, and blasting by a breathall that she most desired to see bear fruit. The worm she had trampledupon, had turned to sting, her, and her only safety was to crush it.

  "Stand back, minion!" she cried in a stern tone; "back to your den,this moment!"

  "Nay, nay, Madam," cried Rose d'Albret interposing, "Helen hassuffered enough; you shall not make her suffer more here."

  "Blanchette, Blanchette!" exclaimed the Marchioness aloud, withoutheeding her, but still keeping between the door and her victim,"Blanchette, Blanchette!"

  The girl appeared and gazed in surprise upon a scene, in which shefound a new actor, whom she had thought far away. "Quick, call Martin,and the other men from the bottom of the stairs," cried theMarchioness. "Quick! not a moment!" and advancing again upon Helen,she repeated, "Back to your den, serpent! Back to your den!"

  "No!" cried Rose d'Albret taking her poor friend by the hand, "sheshall not be driven from my chamber, if she chooses to stay."

  But Helen whispered, "By the other way!" and running back into thepriest's room, she turned the lock and hastened to seek exit by thedoor at the top of the stairs.

  She had, however, to deal with one quicker in every combination thanherself, and ere she could unlock it, and go out, Madame de Chazeulwas there before her, calling loudly, "Martin! Martin!" At the sametime, she laid her hand upon the small dagger, which, as was notunfrequent with ladies in that day, she carried at her girdle. Helen,resolved to make a great effort, would in all probability haveattempted to pass her at all risks; and blood would very likely havebeen spilt; for the tiger in the heart of Jacqueline de Chazeul wasthoroughly roused and overbore every consideration even of danger. Butas the poor girl paused for a single instant, the heads of the manMartin and another appeared on the stairs, and she saw that her escapewas cut off.

  "Now, will you back?" exclaimed the Marchioness, with a triumphantsmile. "Oh, I am to be set at nought, am I?"

  With a sinking heart and a slow step, Helen retreated into her uncle'schamber; and Madame de Chazeul was following, when the voice ofMonsieur de Liancourt was heard below, exclaiming, "What is thematter, Jacqueline? Is anything amiss?"

  "Nothing! nothing," cried the Marchioness, "I will come and tell youdirectly."

  Helen sprang forward again; but the fierce woman caught her by theshoulder, and threw her back headlong into the room, muttering in alow bitter tone, "Back, minion, I say!--Stay on guard here, Martin,"she continued; "let no one in or out. If my brother come, beg himcivilly to pause. I will return in an instant."

  Thus saying she entered the chamber; where Helen, stunned and bruisedby the fall, still lay on the floor. Seizing her by the arm, Madame deChazeul dragged her further in and closed the door; then gazed on herfor a moment, while every terrible passion that can agitate the humancountenance, crossed the face turned towards poor Helen de laTremblade. The fingers of the Marchioness felt the hilt of her dagger,and the spirit of Cain moved her heart strongly; but she refrained forthe moment, murmuring, "No, not blood--not blood." Then advancing tothe door leading to the adjoining room, she tried it, took out thekey; and hurrying across to the other, she went out by it, and lockedit likewise.

  "Monsieur de Liancourt speaks, Madam," said the man Martin.

  "I am coming! I am coming!" cried the Marchioness, and began todescend.

  "Shall I wait here?" asked the servant.

  "No, all is safe now," rejoined his mistress, going on, "we shall wantyou for other matters, my good Martin."

  She hurried down without a moment's pause, endeavouring to smooth hercountenance, and to calm the vehement agitation of her thoughts as shewent; and although, in the latter effort, she was not altogethersuccessful, for her angry spirit when once moved, was long ere itregained tranquillity; yet her face was smiling--though with a curl ofcontempt hanging about the nostril and the corner of the lip--when shemet her brother just ascending to inquire the cause of the noise andoutcry which had reached his ear.

  "What is the matter, Jacqueline?" cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "hasanything new gone wrong?"

  "Nothing, nothing," replied the Marchioness; "something more amusingthan anything else. But I will tell you all about it after thefuneral. I think it will make you laugh to see, what tricks there arein this world."

  "But what is it? what is it?" asked the Count, whose mind, vacillatingand uncertain, was too much agitated by the course he was persuaded topursue against his better judgment, not to feel a movement of dread atevery new incident in the drama, whenever he fell back from a fit ofpassionate vehemence, into his usual state of weak hesitation.

  "Oh! I will tell you by and by," replied the Marchioness, who wasanxious to have a little time to arrange her plans, and to think overthe turn that she should give to all that had just taken place. "Thestory is too good to be spoilt by relating bits of it; and the hourappointed for the funeral is already past--hark! there is the bell.All the people must be waiting in the hall; and we must go and putpoor old Michael in the vault, before we can talk of other things."

  The Count suffered her to lead the way to that large hall in theCh?teau of Marzay, into which we first introduced the reader, when webrought him to the house. There several of the principal members ofthe household were assembled, under the guidance and direction of theCount's major domo; and they had already begun, with the assistance ofthe good priest of the village, to discuss some of the savourypasties, and rich old wines, which were spread out upon a table in themidst of the room.

  The worthy cur?; looked somewhat mortified at the early arrival of thetwo mourners, if we may so term the Count and his sister, for he hadgot his plate loaded with a fresh supply of viands, and it wasunderstood that their appearance was to be the signal for beginningthe ceremony. Monsieur de Liancourt, however, courteously pressed himto go on, and having a capacious mouth, and ready hand, the priestbrought his me
al to a speedy conclusion. It may be a curious question,whether the situation of that country is most unfortunate, where thepoverty of the clergy renders their appetites easy panders tocorruption; or that where their wealth tends to make them the slavesof their own passions. To say the truth, it was a relief to the Countto see the cur? eat, for Monsieur de Liancourt's mind, moreimpressible than that of his sister, shrunk from the solemn scene hewas about to witness. He felt higher and less worldly thoughts, whichhe dreaded and disliked, crowding upon him against his will; andcertainly the very mundane appetite of the Priest, though it formed astrange contrast with the functions he was about to exercise, was wellcalculated to deprive the ceremony of part of its gloomy solemnity,as, indeed, is the case with all eating and drinking on such sadoccasions.

  The moment he had done, the worthy man started up, wiped his knife,and put it in its case. Then turning to Monsieur de Liancourt, hesaid, "Give me three minutes, Sir, to get everything in order in thechapel, for as Monsieur de la Tremblade is ill, probably nopreparations are made."

  "How is he?" asked Monsieur de Liancourt; "have you seen him, father?"

  Before the cur? could answer, Madame de Chazeul's servant, Martin, whostood behind her, stepped forward, saying, "He is still asleep, Sir,and begged particularly not to be roused till he awoke himself."

  "Ay, let him sleep," said Madame de Chazeul, in a low and gloomy tone."He will have sorrow enough, poor man, when he awakes."

  The Count looked at her in surprise; but she nodded her headsignificantly; and the priest quitting the hall, hurried on to thechapel.

  The Count and his sister followed soon after, and the ceremonies ofthe interment began. Impressive and terrible as they always are,perhaps the peculiar forms and pomp of the Roman Church, add more tothem than to any other of the rites of religion. The Count felt themmuch; the tears rose in his eyes, when he thought of his brother, thecompanion of his boyhood, scarcely more than a year younger thanhimself, who had passed through life in friendship and affection withhim, but had gone down to the grave in indignation and justdispleasure at his acts. He asked himself, too, how long it might be,ere that vault, which now yawned in the midst of the chapel--with thestone which marked its place, and bore the name and arms of DeLiancourt lying by the side of the gaping chasm,--would open for himalso; and he shrunk with dread from the sad answer. A few shorthours--a few short days--it could not be longer than a few short years;and then, the dust to dust, and the spirit to God who gave it! Nextcame the--what then? The terrible, what then? The dread account--thesecrets of the heart laid open--the judgment, the stern, theirreversible, the unalterable decree, the doom for all eternity!

  He wished it was over; he loved not such thoughts: he felt his soulshaken within him. But the Roman Catholic Church affords so manypassages for escape from all those dark but gloomy convictions, whichthe tomb and its awful lessons are calculated to produce upon the mindof him who looks alone to Scripture for his guide--purgatory,absolution by the lips of men as frail as ourselves, indulgences, theintercession of saints, the masses for the dead--that Monsieur deLiancourt soon found means of consolation. He looked to theconfessional. He thought that there he would find relief from theburden. He vowed a hundred masses for his brother's soul; hedetermined that he would dedicate a lamp to the virgin; and give acandlestick to the altar of our Lady of Chartres; and half his sinsand errors vanished from his sight, when he remembered how easily thepast and the future might be atoned for.

  Madame de Chazeul felt none of these things. She maintained a decentgravity, indeed, but kept her eye fixed upon the countenance of herbrother, marking the varying emotions that passed over hiscountenance, and calculating very accurately, the sources from whichthey sprang in his mind. From time to time, she suffered her ownthoughts to revert to the conduct which she had to pursue; and herinsight into her brother's character, with the moving picture his facedisplayed, aided her not a little in determining her course. Of therest of the things around her, she took little or no heed. It was buta pageant in which she took a part; a procession in which she walked;one of those ceremonies, in which, her state and station as a mortalbeing, required her to share.

  Too much, indeed, are we apt to go through all the strange andinstructive scenes of life, as if we were automata. Their lessons arelearned by rote, and not by heart; and oh! how much wiser, and howmuch better, should we be, if out of everything that surrounds us, outof each event affecting ourselves and others, lighted by the word ofGod, we were to draw the high moral that is to be found in all hisdoings! Who would dare to commit wrong, if he saw the hand of Godclose to him in every event of existence?

  All was, at length, concluded; the body deposited in its last home;the priest returned to the altar; the labourer with his pickaxe, andhis trowel ready at the side of the vault, to close the coffin of thegood old Commander for ever from the light of day; and Monsieur deLiancourt, offering his hand to his sister, led her out into thecourt.

  The spring sunshine was beaming brightly; a light bird, perched upon ashrub that grew out of the wall, was caroling sweetly in the warmair--the image of thoughtless life; and the Count felt relieved; forit was all over, and his heavy thoughts were buried with his brotherin the tomb. Madame the Chazeul too felt relieved, though in anothermanner, for she had dreaded the effect of what had just taken placeupon her brother's mind. It was done. The sad paraphernalia of thefuneral would soon be removed from the chapel; the decorations for themarriage would take their place; and it seemed to her as if a step wasgained.

  "Well, Jacqueline," said the Count, as they came forth: "what is ityou have to tell me?"

  "It must be in private," replied the Marchioness, "for variousreasons, which you will soon see. Come to my apartments, where weshan't be interrupted.--But first give orders about the marriage. Wecannot get any flowers but violets and snowdrops: but they must deckthe hall and the chapel out as well as they can. You are sure thenotary will be here?--tell them to have everything ready." She didnothing without art, and even these ordinary words had their object.

  The Count hesitated, but her ascendancy was complete; and, after ashort pause, he called some of his servants to him, gave several ofthose orders, which his sister knew he would not be willing to recall,for fear of betraying that weakness of resolution of which he wasinternally conscious, and then accompanied the Marchioness to herapartment.