Part 18 (1/2)
”Will your majesty allow me to light the candles again?” asked Madame de Campan, extending her hand to the candlestick.
But the queen held her hand fast. ”Let them be,” she whispered, ”I want to see whether both the other lights--”
Suddenly she was convulsed, and, rising slowly from her arm-chair, pointed with silent amazement at the second candlestick.
One of the two other lights had gone out.
Only one was now burning, and dark shadows filled the cabinet. The one light faintly illumined only the centre, and shone with its glare upon the pale, horrified face of the queen.
”Campan,” she whispered, raising her arm, and pointing at the single light which remained burning, ”if this fourth light goes out like the other three, it is a bad omen for me, and forebodes the approach of misfortune.”
At this instant the light flared up and illumined the room more distinctly, then its flame began to die away. One flare more and this light went out, and a deep darkness reigned in the cabinet.
The queen uttered a loud, piercing cry, and sank in a swoon.
CHAPTER VIII.
BEFORE THE MARRIAGE.
The wedding guests were a.s.sembled. Madame Bugeaud had just put the veil upon the head of her daughter Margaret, and impressed upon her forehead the last kiss of motherly love. It was the hour when a mother holds her daughter as a child in her arms for the last time, bids adieu to the pleasant pictures of the past, and sends her child from her parents' house to go out into the world and seek a new home. Painful always is such an hour to a mother's heart, for the future is uncertain; no one knows any thing about the new vicissitudes that may arise.
And painful, too, to the wife of Councillor Bugeaud was this parting from her dearly-loved daughter, but she suppressed her deep emotion, restrained the tears in her heart, that not one should fall upon the bridal wreath of her loved daughter. Tears dropped upon the bridal wreath are the heralds of coming misfortune, the seal of pain which destiny stamps upon the brow of the doomed one.
And the tender mother would so gladly have taken away from her loved Margaret every pain and every misfortune! The times were threatening, and the horizon of the present was so full of stormy signs that it was necessary to look into the future with hope.
”Go, my daughter,” said Madame Bugeaud, with a smile, regarding which only G.o.d knew how much it cost the mother's heart--” go out into your new world, be happy, and may you never regret the moment when yon left the threshold of your father's house to enter a new home!”
”My dear mother,” cried Margaret, with beaming eyes, ”the house to which I am going is the house of him I love, and my new home is his heart, which is n.o.ble, great, and good, and in which all the treasures in the earth for me rest.”
”G.o.d grant, my daughter, that you may after many years be able to repeat those words!”
”I shall repeat them, mother, for in my heart is a joyful trust. I can never be unhappy, for Toulan loves me. But, hark! I hear him coming; it is his step, and listen! he is calling me!”
And the young girl, with reddening cheeks, directed her glowing eyes to the door, which just then opened, where appeared her lover, in a simple, dark, holiday-suit, with a friendly, grave countenance, his tender, beaming eyes turned toward his affianced.
He hastened to her, and kissed the little trembling hand which was extended to him.
”All the wedding guests are ready, my love. The carriages are waiting, and as soon as we enter the church the clergyman will advance to the altar to perform the ceremony.”
”Then let us go, Louis,” said Margaret, nodding to him, and arm-in- arm they went to the door.
But Toulan held back. ”Not yet, my dear one. Before we go to the church, I want to have a few words with you.”
”That is to say, my dear sir, that you would like to have me withdraw,” said the mother, with a smile. ”Do not apologize, my son, that is only natural, and I dare not be jealous. My daughter belongs to you, and I have no longer the right to press into your secrets.
So I will withdraw, and only G.o.d may hear what the lover has to say to his affianced before the wedding.”
She nodded in friendly fas.h.i.+on to the couple, and left the room.
”We are now alone, my Margaret,” said Toulan, putting his arm around the neck of the fair young maiden, and drawing her to himself. ”Only G.o.d is to hear what I have to say to you.”
”I hope, Louis,” whispered the young girl, trembling, ”I hope it is not bad news that you want to tell me. Your face is so grave, your whole look so solemn. You love me still, Louis?”
”Yes, Margaret, I do love you,” answered he, softly; ”but yet, before you speak the word which binds you to me forever, I must open my whole heart to you, and you must know all I feel, in order that, if there is a future to prove us, we may meet it with fixed gaze and joyful spirit.”