Part 65 (2/2)
There was a minute's silence, during which Lady Lanswell brought all her wit and courage to bear on the situation. She continued:
”Lady Chandos does not wish my son to go to Berlin. I suppose it is no secret from you that she entirely disapproves of her husband's friends.h.i.+p with you?”
Leone bowed her proud, beautiful head.
”That is a matter of little moment to me,” she said.
My lady's face flushed at the words.
”I may tell you,” she went on, ”that since Lady Chandos heard of this friends.h.i.+p, she has been very unhappy.”
”No one cared when I was unhappy,” said Leone; ”no one pleaded for me.”
”I do plead for Lady Marion,” said the countess, ”whatever you may think of me. She has done you no harm; why should you make mischief between her and her husband?”
”Why did you make mischief between me and mine?” retorted Leone; and my lady shrunk as she spoke.
”Listen to me, Leone,” she said; ”you must help me, you must be my friend. If my son goes to Berlin against his wife's prayers and wishes, she has declared that she will never speak to him or see him again.”
”That cannot concern me,” said Leone.
”For Heaven's sake listen, and do not speak to me so heartlessly. If he goes to Berlin, Lady Chandos will appeal to the Duke of Lester, who has just obtained for my son the greatest honor that can be conferred on an English gentleman--the Order of the Garter. In plain words, Leone, if my son follows you to Berlin, he will lose his wife, he will lose his good name, he will lose caste, his social position, his chance of courtly honors, the respect of his own cla.s.s. He will be laughed at as a dupe, as a man who has given up all the honors of life to dance attendance on an actress; in short, if he goes either with you, or after you, to Berlin, he is, in every sense of the word, a ruined man!” and my lady's voice faltered as she said the words.
”Why not tell Lord Chandos all this himself, and see what he says?”
asked Leone.
Perfect desperation brings about perfect frankness--my lady knew that it was quite useless to conceal anything.
”I have said all this and more to my son, but he will not even listen to me.”
A scornful smile curved those lovely lips.
”He persists in going to Berlin, then?” said Leone, quietly.
”Yes,” replied my lady, ”he persists in it.”
”Then why come to me? If your son persists in a certain course of action, why come to me?”
”Because you can influence him. I ask you to be n.o.ble beyond the n.o.bility of women, I ask you to be generous beyond the generosity of women, I ask you to forget the past and forbid my son to follow you to Berlin. You know the end must be a bad one--forbid it. I ask you with the warmest of prayers and of tears!”
It was then that Leone rose in righteous wrath, in not indignation, in angry pa.s.sion; rose and stood erect before the woman who had been her enemy.
”I refuse,” she said. ”Years ago I went to you a simple-hearted, loving girl, and I prayed you for Heaven's sake to have mercy on me. You received me with scorn and contumely; you insulted, outraged, tortured me; you laughed at my tears, you enjoyed my humiliation. I told you then that I would have my revenge, even should I lose everything on earth to obtain that revenge. Now it lays in my hands, and I grasp it--I glory in it. Your son shall follow me, shall lose wife, home, friends, position, fair name, as I lost all years ago at your bidding. Oh, cruel and wicked woman, behold my revenge! I repay you now. Oh, G.o.d,” she continued, with a pa.s.sionate cry, ”I thank Thee that I hold my vengeance in my hand; I will slay and spare not!”
Then she stood silent for some minutes, exhausted by the pa.s.sion of her own words.
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