M'LLE DE LA SEIGLIERE. (Continued from page 609.) CHAPTER X. that his noble friend had given the same advice six months before, as to the very ignoble part which they had both been playing On the other hand, the new attitude which Bernard had recently assumed, filled the Marquis with fear. Since Helen no longer lent them the charm of her presence, the days had drawn sadly and slowly, and the eveings more sadly still. SINCE his interview with the abomina- than himself, he adored his daughter, and ble Des Tournelles, the Marquis could he was pained at the prospect that that neither eat, drink, nor sleep, though up to beautiful creature, after having become acthis time, thanks to the natural heedless- customed to luxury and ease, must again ness of his character and his disposition to return to that cold and sombre atmosphere look only on the bright side of things, he which enveloped her cradle. He hesitated. had cherished some degree of hope and There is more than one, who, under like entertained some illusions. For some time, circumstances, would have looked twice indeed, previous to this interview, there before deciding, without the excuse of an had been a gradual falling off in his usual adored daughter, and the fear of the buoyancy of spirits. Those piquant sal-gout. Yet what was he to do? Whichlies, and crazy projects, which afforded so ever way he turned, M. de La Seigmuch entertainment, were gradually be- liére saw only ruin and disgrace. Madame coming less and less frequent; still he seem- de Vaubert, who now uniformly responded ed occasionally to recover his former vivaci- to all his questions in the same way- -We ty, and would now and then return to the must wait and see-was far from affording whimsical petulance of his natural good na-him any assurance, and he secretly wished ture. He was a wounded butterfly, but still fluttering, when, under pretext of helping him out of difficulty, the heartless jurisconsult, delicately seizing him between his fingers, impaled him alive on the brazen rod of reality. Henceforward the martyrdom of the Marquis was altogether new in his experience. What would become of him? What should he do? If pride counselled him to retreat with a high head, selfishness was of a contrary opinion; and if pride backed up its proposition with good reasons, selfishness had an abundance at hand quite as good if not better. The Marquis was getting old; the gout was slowly but surely creeping upon him; five and twenty years of exile and privation had cured him of the heroic escapades and chivalric dreams of his youth. His somewhat familiar acquaintance with poverty had by no means increased its attractions; he felt his blood curdle in his veins at the very thought of that pale and sorrowful countenance which had sat at his table and by his fireside for twenty-five years. Moreover, although there was no one whom he loved better VOL. V. NO. I. NEW SERIES. In the morning, after breakfast, when M'lle de La Seigliére had ceased to appear, Bernard, leaving the Marquis to his reflections, mounted his horse and was not seen again till evening, when he returned more taciturn, cloudy, and forbidding, than he had departed. In the evening, after dinner, Helen almost immediately retired to her chamber, leaving Bernard alone in the salon with her father and Madame de Vaubert, who, having exhausted all the resources of her mind, and utterly discouraged besides, knew not how to abridge the silent course of the hours. Bernard had, from time to time, a way of looking at them, by turns, which made them shudder from head to foot. He who had been so 2 patient while Helen was there to restrain or appease him with a smile, would now, at a word of the Marquis or the baroness, fly into a passion, which they dreaded as peccant children do the uplifted rod. He had substituted action for recital, and gave battles instead of narrating them. When he retired, usually pale and cold with wrath, he no longer, as he had been accustomed to do, shook the hand of the Marquis, but left without even a salutation, while they, remaining alone, regarded each other in silence. "Well! Madame la baronne ?" "Oh! Monsieur le Marquis, we must wait and see," was still her reply; and the Marquis, with feet on the fender and nose over the embers, abandoned himself to mute despair, from which the baroness no longer even attempted to withdraw him. He expected, from day to day, to receive his notice to quit in due form of law. Nor was this all. M. de La Seigliére knew, beyond a reasonable doubt, that he was, for the country round about, as M. Des Tournelles had told him, a subject of derision and mockery, as well as of hatred and execration. Anonymous letters the diversion and pastime of the province-completed the bitterness of his cup of life, already steeped in gall and wormwood. No day passed which did not bring to him some one of those venomous flowers, which grow in the shade, and abound in the departmental soil. Some of them called him an aristocrat, and threatened to "lantern him."* Others accused him of ingratitude towards his old servant, and of seeking to disinherit the son after having cheated and plundered the father. Most of these letters were enriched with pen and ink illustrations, little sketches full of grace and amenity, which advantageously supplied, or agreeably completed, the text. There was, for instance, a gallows decorated with a poor fellow pendant, doubtless intended to represent the Marquis; or, perhaps, the same personage was sketched in the act of trying the virtues of another well known instrument of death at that time. To add still further to his anguish, the Gazette, which the Marquis had read assiduously since his consultation with the Poitevin "To lantern," was the republican phrase of the times for hanging to a lamp post.—TR. D'Aguesseau, was crowded with sinsiste predictions and ill-omened prophecies; Every day the liberal party was spoken of as a bomb which was about to blow up the hardly yet restored monarchy. Thus already begun to be confirmed the threatening words of the counsellor. M. de La Seigliére was in constant terror, and thought only of earthquakes and revolutions. In the night he would start up in his bed to listen to the fancied sound of the Marseillaise, and when, at length, overcome by fatigue, he fell asleep, it was only to see the hideous visage of the old Des Tournelles from behind the half drawn curtains bawling-Marry your daughter to Bernard. Now the Marquis was not the man to remain, if he could avoid it, in a position so frightful and so repugnant to all his feelings. He had neither the patience nor the perseverance which are the cement of energetic and bold spirits. Restless, irritated, humbled, exasperated, tired of waiting and seeing nothing done, lost in a swamp from which he saw no issue, the chances were a hundred to one that the Marquis would suddenly disappear by the aid of a pistol. But no, not even Madame de Vaubert could conjecture what bomb was to burst, no one save M. Des Tournelles, who had kindled the match. One evening in April, Madame de Vaubert sat alone with the Marquis, silent, and gazing steadfastly at the flashing embers which were dying in the fire-place. It was easy for the observer to see that deep anxiety brooded over her heart like a stormy atmosphere. Her eye was glassy, her brow heavy with care, her fingers clenched like one in extremity, and her mouth, usually cheerful and smiling, was contracted with a feeling of selfish despair. And she had, indeed, just cause of alarm. Her prospects became day by day more desperate, and she began to ask herself if there was not danger that she would be caught in her own snare? Bernard had the advantage, very decidedly, and looked and acted very much as if he regarded the estate as undoubtedly his own; and although she had not given up all hope, although she had not thrown the handle after the hatchet, yet, foreseeing that the time would perhaps come, when M. de La Seigliére would be obliged to evacuate the premises, the baroness had already begun to prepare the plan of the campaign which she would follow if matters should come to a pass as disastrous as she feared. She would not consent that her son should espouse M'lle de La Seigliére with no other dowry than her youth, beauty, and loveliness, and was already casting about for some means of disengaging, with respect to Helen and her father, the promise and the hand of Raoul. Such, for some weeks, was the unavowed subject of her secret meditations. While Madame de Vaubert was plunged in these reflections, the Marquis, seated by the other corner of the fire-side, and silent, like the baroness, was anxiously cogitating upon the best manner of commencing the battle which he was about to offer, and how he should contrive to disengage, with respect to Raoul and his mother, the promise and hand of Helen. "The poor Marquis!" said she to herself, casting towards him, from time to time, a furtive look, "If he is obliged to come to this, what a terrible blow it will be for him! I know it; he consoles himself with the thought, that, come what may, his daughter is to be the baroness of Vaubert. Poor man! He loves me; I know it. It is twenty years nearly since our intimacy was, in some sort, consecrated by the betrothal of our children. Dear friend! How shall I find courage to afflict so tender and devoted a heart, and to tear from him his last illusions? I expect nothing but furious strife and bitter recrimination. In his passion he will not fail to charge me with having courted his fortune, and turned my back upon him in his adversity. But I will be resolute; I will bring him to comprehend that it would be madness for two paupers to marry; inhuman to condemn his family and mine to the gnawing cares of eternal mediocrity. He will be appeased; we will sigh together over our common misfortune, and mingle our tears and our regrets. And then will come the grief of Helen, and the protestations of Bernard. Alas! the two dear children adore each other. God made them for one another. But we will make them listen to reason. In the course of six months they will recover from the shock. Raoul will marry the daughter of some wealthy upstart, who will be glad thus to ennoble his blood and furbish up his escutcheon. As to the Marquis, he is too deeply embued with family pride, too securely anchored in old prejudices, ever to consent to enrich himself or his family by an ignoble alliance. Since he clings to his parchment-well, we will try to find some country squire of the neighborhood for Helen, and I hope yet to see the good Marquis finish his days under the roof of a son-in-law." Thus reasoned Madame de Vaubert, taking things in their worst aspect. Still she was far from having let go her prey. She knew Helen perfectly, and had studied Bernard. If she had no suspicion of what was passing in the heart of Helen-Helen had none herself she had read the heart of the young man; she was much farther advanced in the secret of his trouble than he himself was. She thought that something might be done to forward her purpose by bringing them in contact; she felt that there was yet something, some incident, some chance, some occasion, which might avail her. But what? and how? These were the questions which she knew not how to answer, and she was almost indignant with herself that she could not. "That poor baroness!" said the Marquis, occasionally, in his turn, throwing a stealthy and timid glance towards his silent companion; "she little thinks of the blow which I am going to strike her! She is, on the whole, an amiable and faithful heart, a sincere and loyal soul. I am convinced that in all this affair she has sought only my happiness. I would swear that, for herself, she has no other ambition than to see Raoul united to Helen. Whenever it should take place she would be eager to receive us in her humble manor, and would esteem herself happy in sharing with us her modest competence. That her son should espouse a La Seigliére would be enough for her pride and her felicity. Dear affectionate soul! It would have been much more pleasing to me to have been enabled to realize so charming a dream, and to have spent my remaining days in her society. But when she learns that this hope, which has been so long cherished, must be renounced, she will break out into furious reproaches, alas! and merited, perhaps. Nevertheless, in good conscience, would it be wise or reasonable to expose our children to the rigors of poverty, and to bind ourselves together by an iron bond which, sooner or later, would wound us, and extort our curses? The baroness is a sensible person; the first transports appeased, she will understand how the matter stands, and resign herself to the arrangement; and as the Vauberts make merry of the democracy-well, Raoul is a fine boy, and we shall easily find for him some rich dowager in the neighborbood, who will be very willing to renew her age at the expense of her fortune." Thus reasoned the Marquis, but the truth is, he was like a man in tight boots, and would have felt just as much at ease in a thorn bush as in his cushioned chair. He feared Madame de Vaubert as a revolution. He was conscious of his own bad faith, and at the thought of the storm which he was bringing upon him, his heart seemed to die in his breast. At length, however, with desperate resolution, grasping his courage as it were, with both hands, he commenced the action in a hap-hazard kind of a way, letting off here and there at considerable intervals, a few random shots. "Don't you think, Madame la baronne," he suddenly broke out like a man little habituated to such skirmishes, "don't you think that Bernard is really a remarkable boy? The young man pleases me. Quick as powder, prompt as his sword, headstrong perhaps, and a little excitable, but frank and open hearted. I think he is of the pure metal. He is not exactly handsome, to be sure; but then, I like these strongly marked and masculine countenances. What an eye! and what a forehead! And then such a nose! How indicative of royalty! I should like to know where the fellow got it. Did you observe what a delicate and charming mouth he had under that brown moustache. God pardon me, it is the mouth of a Marquis. He knows enough; he carries with him undoubted evidence of his mental superiority. A little rough, perhaps, rather awkward, but he is fast wearing away these objections in our society. So gold becomes refined in the crucible. That he is a hero is unquestionable; no doubt of that. He is of that sort of timber which the Emperor used for dukes, princes, and marshals. I can see him yet mounted on Roland. What coolness! what courage! what intrepidity! Eh? Madame la baronne, there is no concealing the fact; I like the boy, and I don't feel it a particular humiliation to shake his hand." "Of whom are you speaking?" asked the baroness with the utmost nonchalance, and without apparently interrupting the train of her meditions. "Of our young friend," responded the Marquis complacently, "of our young chief-of-squadron." And you say "That nature has strange freaks, and that this boy ought to have been born a gentleman." "The little Bernard ?" said Madame de Vaubert, emphasizing the second word with considerable stress. "You might as well say, par Dieu, the great Bernard," replied the Marquis, just as emphatically thrusting his hands into his breeches pockets. "You are getting beside yourself, Marquis," briefly rejoined the baroness, as she resumed her serious and pensive attitude. Encouraged by this good success, like those prudent soldiers who, after having discharged their muskets, conceal themselves behind a tree for security while they are loading again, the Marquis remained coy, and there was again a long silence, disturbed only by the chirpings of a cricket concealed about the hearth, and the crackling of the wasting coals. Madame la baronne," suddenly resumed the Marquis, " does it not seem to you that I have been ungrateful towards the good M. Stamply? I must confess that, upon this point, my conscience is not quite at ease. It appears to me clearly that that excellent man restored me nothing, but that he gave me all outright. If it is so, is it not one of the finest instances of devotedness and generosity which history will ever have to record upon its tablets? That old Stamply, Madame, was a noble soul, and we owe something to his memory." Too deeply buried in her own selfish preoccupations even to trouble herself with a thought as to the purpose and drift of M. de La Seigliére's discourse, the baroness shrugged her shoulders, and made no reply. The Marquis began to despair of hitting the joint, when he very opportunely recalled to mind the lesson of M. Des Tournelles. He reached his hand towards a lackered stand, took from it a newspaper, "By the sword of my father! Madame," cried the Marquis, letting fall the newspaper, "you speak very much at your ease. Nonsense, I agree it is. Nonsense you may call it, if you please; but ventresaint-gris, I am inclined to think that this nonsense interests you and me more than you appear to be aware of." "Why see, Marquis, how things are going," rejoined the baroness in a manner that indicated that she was tired of the conversation. "His Majesty enjoys the most perfect health; our princes hunt, and the court is gay; the people are happy, and the rabble have enough to eat. What is there in all this that need cause alarm ?" "Twenty years ago, we talked just so," said the Marquis, opening his snuff-box, and delicately thrusting in his thumb and fore-finger. "The rabble had enough to eat, our princes hunted, they danced at court, and his Majesty was marvelously well. But all this did not prevent the old throne of France one fine morning from cracking, crumbling, and drawing us with it in its fall, and burying us, dead or alive, under its ruins. Things are going on now as they were then; we are upon a volcano." "You are mad, Marquis," said Madame de Vaubert, who, entirely occupied with her own concerns, and besides not thinking much of the fitness of a political discussion at so late an hour, did not deem it her duty to take up and refute the opinions of the old gentleman. "I repeat it, Madame la baronne, we are upon a volcano. The revolution is not dead; it is a half extinguished fire, which yet lurks beneath the ashes, and you will see it some day break forth, and consume the remains of the monarchy. It is a vast cave, where are gathered a crowd of worthless vagabonds, who call themselves representatives of the people. It is a mine dug beneath the throne, filled with powder, and just ready to blow it to the four winds of heaven. The liberals are the legitimate descendants of the sans-culottes ; liberalism will achieve what ninety-three begun. The question with us is whether we will suffer ourselves to be overwhelmed in the general catastrophe, or whether we will seek safety by embracing the very ideas which threaten to engulph us. "Really Marquis," said the baroness, you seem to be in earnest, as if you believed all this. An imaginary conflagration has got possession of your brain, and you see nothing all the while but your own house on fire." "Madame la baronne," cried the Marquis, "I am not selfish, and I can say boldly that personal interest was never my controlling motive. Whether my house burns or not is of little consequence. My preservation or prosperity is not the question at issue; it is the safety of us all, of the entire noblesse. What matter, in truth, if the name of La Seigliére shall become extinct, and soon be buried in silence and obscurity? But Madame, what is of vast importance is that the noblesse of France shall not perish." "I have a little curiosity to know how you purpose to help it," replied Madame de Vaubert, a hundred leagues from suspecting whither the Marquis was tending, and scarcely able to suppress her mirth at thus seeing so frivolous a person incontinently dealing with questions so difficult and dangerous. "It is a grave question, Madame, which I have succeeded in raising, but which I fear I shall not be able so successfully to resolve," promptly returned M. de La Seigliére, who, feeling that he was fairly under way, now began to advance with a more confident step. "Nevertheless, if I might be permitted to advance an idea or two upon so important a subject, I should say that it is not by isolating themselves in their castles that the nobility can recover that preponderance which it once had in the affairs of the country; perhaps I should add-between you and me- -that our old families have too long restricted themselves to alliances with each other, that for want of renovation, the old patrician blood has run out, and that in order to recover its force, its warmth and life, which seem almost to have left it, it must mingle itself with the younger, warmer, and more vigorous blood of the people, and the bour |