Part 7 (1/2)
”I love you too much, Philip, to desire to foster illusions which will certainly never be realized. My decision is irrevocable; and if you still doubt the truth of my words, I will frankly tell you all. I am promised----”
”Promised!” exclaimed Philip, with a menacing gesture for the unknown man who had dared to become his rival. ”Promised!” he repeated. ”To whom?”
”To G.o.d!” responded Dolores, gently. ”I have just informed your father of my determination to enter a convent!”
Philip recoiled in horror and astonishment; then covering his face with his hands he fled through the lonely park, repeating again and again the name of her whom he so fondly loved but who would soon be lost to him forever. For some moments, Dolores remained motionless on the spot where she had just renounced her last hope of earthly happiness. Her eyes followed Philip in his frenzied flight, and, when he disappeared, she stretched out her hands with a gesture of mingled longing and despair.
But the weakness that had made this courageous soul falter for an instant soon vanished. She lifted her eyes toward Heaven as if imploring strength from on high and then walked slowly in the direction of the chateau. Suddenly, at a turn in the path, she met Coursegol. She had not time to conceal her face and he saw her tears. The memory of the past and the affection that filled his heart emboldened him to question one whom he regarded in some degree, at least, as his own child.
”Why do you weep, my dear Mademoiselle?” he asked, with anxious solicitude.
This question did not wound Dolores; on the contrary it consoled her.
She had found some one in whom she could confide. There are hours when the heart longs to pour out its sorrows to another heart that understands and sympathizes with its woes. Coursegol made his appearance at a propitious moment. Dolores regarded him with something very like filial affection; she had loved him devotedly even when she supposed herself the daughter of the Marquis de Chamondrin, and now that she knew her origin she regarded the son of a peasant as equal in every respect to a descendent of the gypsies, so she did not hesitate to open her soul to him. She told him of the conflicts through which she had pa.s.sed and the suffering they had caused her. She acknowledged the ardent love that had given her courage and strength to sacrifice her own happiness; and she wept before the friend of her childhood as unrestrainedly as she would have wept before her own father.
”I have been expecting this,” said Coursegol, sadly. ”Poor children, the truth was revealed too soon. You should have been left in ignorance until one of you was married. Then you would not have thought of uniting your destinies. Your mutual friends.h.i.+p would not have been transformed into an unfortunate pa.s.sion and all this misery would have been avoided.”
”It would have been far better,” replied Dolores.
”And now what do you intend to do?” inquired Coursegol.
”I shall enter a convent and remain there until Philip marries.”
”You in a convent! You, who are so gay, so full of life and health and exuberant spirits, immure yourself in a cloister! Impossible!”
”There is no alternative,” said Dolores, repeating to Coursegol what she had already said to the Marquis.
”I see that you must leave this house, but why do you select a cloister for your retreat?”
”Where else could I, alone and unprotected, find a refuge?”
”Do you not know that Coursegol is your friend, and that he is ready to leave everything and follow you? Where do you wish to go? I will accompany you; I will serve and defend you. I have some little property and it is entirely at your disposal.”
He made this offer very simply, but in a tone that left no possible doubt of his sincerity. Though she was touched by his devotion, Dolores firmly refused. She explained that his place was at the chateau, and that, as she expected to return there herself after Philip's marriage, a convent would be the safest and most dignified retreat she could enter.
”So be it, then,” responded Coursegol; ”but should you ever change your plans, remember that my life, my little fortune and my devotion are yours, to use as you see fit.”
His emotion, as he spoke, was even greater than hers.
Early in the year 1789 Dolores entered the convent of the Carmelites in Arles, not as a postulant--for she did not wish to devote herself to a religious life--but as a boarder, which placed a barrier between her and Philip for the time being, but left her free to decide upon her future.
Her departure filled Philip with despair. The death of Dolores could not have caused him more intense sorrow. For was she not dead to him? She had carefully concealed the fact that her sojourn at the convent would not be permanent. He supposed she had buried herself there forever. He mourned for her as we weep for those that death wrests from us, destroying their lives and our happiness at a single blow; but the very violence of his grief convinced his father that he was not inconsolable.
There are sorrows that kill; but, if they do not kill when they first fall upon us, we recover; and this would be the case with Philip. The certainty that Dolores would never belong to another, that she had refused him only to give herself to G.o.d, was of all circ.u.mstances the one most likely to console him. The presence of Antoinette--who honestly believed all Dolores had said concerning the state of her heart and the purely sisterly affection she felt for her adopted brother--and the timid, shrinking love of the young girl also aided not a little in a.s.suaging his grief. However ardent your pa.s.sion may be, you become reconciled to disappointment when the object of your love refuses your affection only to consecrate herself to G.o.d, and when she leaves with you as a comforter a companion who is her equal in gentleness and in goodness, if not in energy and n.o.bility of character. Without entering into other details, this sufficiently explains how Philip's pa.s.sionate grief came to abate in violence.
He wished to leave Chamondrin the very next day after the departure of Dolores, and to return to Versailles where his regiment was still stationed; but his father's entreaties induced him to abandon this project. The Marquis a.s.sured him that he could not live abandoned by both Dolores and his son, so Philip remained. This was one advantage gained for the Marquis. The causes previously referred to and Antoinette's charms accomplished the rest. Philip began to regard their marriage without aversion; but he would not consent to abruptly cast off one love for another. Time was needed for the transition. Even as he would have mourned for Dolores dead, he wished to mourn the Dolores he had lost, and to wait until his wounded heart was healed. He gave his father and also Mademoiselle de Mirandol to understand that, while he did not reject the idea of this union which seemed so pleasing to them, he must be allowed to fix the date of it. His will was law with both; the Marquis wisely concealed his impatience; Antoinette displayed great discretion, and matters were moving along smoothly when political events which had become more and more grave in character suddenly complicated the situation.
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH HISTORY IS MINGLED WITH ROMANCE.