Part 16 (1/2)

”I cannot admit it. Mademoiselle,” said I, with the honesty of irritation. ”I will not enter into comparisons, but the Countess de St.

Alyre is, in all respects, the most beautiful lady I ever beheld.”

The masque laughed coldly, and then, more and more softly, said, with a sigh, ”I will prove all I say.” And as she spoke she removed the mask: and the Countess de St. Alyre, smiling, confused, bashful, more beautiful than ever, stood before me!

”Good Heavens!” I exclaimed. ”How monstrously stupid I have been. And it was to Madame la Comtesse that I spoke for so long in the _salon!_”

I gazed on her in silence. And with a low sweet laugh of good nature she extended her hand. I took it and carried it to my lips.

”No, you must not do that,” she said quietly, ”we are not old enough friends yet. I find, although you were mistaken, that you do remember the Countess of the Belle etoile, and that you are a champion true and fearless. Had you yielded to the claims just now pressed upon you by the rivalry of Mademoiselle de la Valiere, in her mask, the Countess de St.

Alyre should never have trusted or seen you more. I now am sure that you are true, as well as brave. You now know that I have not forgotten you; and, also, that if you would risk your life for me, I, too, would brave some danger, rather than lose my friend forever. I have but a few moments more. Will you come here again tomorrow night, at a quarter past eleven? I will be here at that moment; you must exercise the most scrupulous care to prevent suspicion that you have come here, Monsieur.

_You owe that to me_.”

She spoke these last words with the most solemn entreaty.

I vowed again and again that I would die rather than permit the least rashness to endanger the secret which made all the interest and value of my life.

She was looking, I thought, more and more beautiful every moment. My enthusiasm expanded in proportion.

”You must come tomorrow night by a different route,” she said; ”and if you come again, we can change it once more. At the other side of the chateau there is a little churchyard, with a ruined chapel. The neighbors are afraid to pa.s.s it by night. The road is deserted there, and a stile opens a way into these grounds. Cross it and you can find a covert of thickets, to within fifty steps of this spot.”

I promised, of course, to observe her instructions implicitly.

”I have lived for more than a year in an agony of irresolution. I have decided at last. I have lived a melancholy life; a lonelier life than is pa.s.sed in the cloister. I have had no one to confide in; no one to advise me; no one to save me from the horrors of my existence. I have found a brave and prompt friend at last. Shall I ever forget the heroic tableau of the hall of the Belle etoile? Have you--have you really kept the rose I gave you, as we parted? Yes--you swear it. You need not; I trust you. Richard, how often have I in solitude repeated your name, learned from my servant. Richard, my hero! Oh! Richard! Oh, my king! I love you!”

I would have folded her to my heart--thrown myself at her feet. But this beautiful and--shall I say it--inconsistent woman repelled me.

”No, we must not waste our moments in extravagances. Understand my case.

There is no such thing as indifference in the married state. Not to love one's husband,” she continued, ”is to hate him. The Count, ridiculous in all else, is formidable in his jealousy. In mercy, then, to me, observe caution. Affect to all you speak to, the most complete ignorance of all the people in the Chateau de la Carque; and, if anyone in your presence mentions the Count or Countess de St. Alyre, be sure you say you never saw either. I shall have more to say to you tomorrow night. I have reasons that I cannot now explain, for all I do, and all I postpone.

Farewell. Go! Leave me.”

She waved me back, peremptorily. I echoed her ”farewell,” and obeyed.

This interview had not lasted, I think, more than ten minutes. I scaled the park wall again, and reached the Dragon Volant before its doors were closed.

I lay awake in my bed, in a fever of elation. I saw, till the dawn broke, and chased the vision, the beautiful Countess de St. Alyre, always in the dark, before me.

Chapter XVII

THE TENANT OF THE PALANQUIN

The Marquis called on me next day. My late breakfast was still upon the table. He had come, he said, to ask a favor. An accident had happened to his carriage in the crowd on leaving the ball, and he begged, if I were going into Paris, a seat in mine. I was going in, and was extremely glad of his company. He came with me to my hotel; we went up to my rooms. I was surprised to see a man seated in an easy chair, with his back towards us, reading a newspaper. He rose. It was the Count de St. Alyre, his gold spectacles on his nose; his black wig, in oily curls, lying close to his narrow head, and showing like carved ebony over a repulsive visage of boxwood. His black m.u.f.fler had been pulled down. His right arm was in a sling. I don't know whether there was anything unusual in his countenance that day, or whether it was but the effect of prejudice arising from all I had heard in my mysterious interview in his park, but I thought his countenance was more strikingly forbidding than I had seen it before.

I was not callous enough in the ways of sin to meet this man, injured at least in intent, thus suddenly, without a momentary disturbance.

He smiled.