Part 17 (1/2)
”Poor Hero! I did not mean to disturb you,” said Lucie, patting her dumb favorite, and rather embarra.s.sed, that she had unwarily produced so much excitement.
”Father Gilbert!” repeated Mad. de la Tour; ”and is he coming hither again?”
”No, I saw him but an instant,” said Lucie; ”and he has now disappeared behind the wall.”
She hesitated, and still kept her eyes fixed on her aunt's face, as if wis.h.i.+ng to ask some question, which she yet feared might not be well received.
”What would you say, Lucie?” asked Mad. de la Tour, with a faint smile; ”I perceive there is something on your mind, which you would fain unburthen; and why should you hesitate to speak it to me?”
”Perhaps it is an idle curiosity, dear aunt,” she replied; ”but you asked if father Gilbert was coming hither _again_, as though he had already been here; and, I confess, I am anxious to learn if I understood you correctly?”
”You did, Lucie; and you will be more surprised when I a.s.sure you, that I held a long conference with him this morning: one too, in which _you_ are particularly concerned.”
”_I_ concerned! _you_ hold a conference with father Gilbert!” said Lucie, in unfeigned astonishment; ”dearest aunt, I entreat you to explain yourself.”
”The explanation must necessarily be long, Lucie,” she replied; ”and as I know your feelings will be deeply excited, I fear the agitating events of this day have scarcely left you strength and spirits, to bear the recital. To-morrow”--
”Oh, now, dear aunt!” interrupted Lucie; ”I am well, indeed, and can bear any thing better than suspense. I too, have seen the priest to-day, and his look,--his manner was so changed, yet still so unaccountable, that he has not been since one instant from my mind.”
”Where did you see him, Lucie?” asked Mad. de la Tour; ”and why should you conceal the interview from me?”
Lucie, who, till this incidental recurrence to father Gilbert, had avoided mentioning even his name, since she found the subject so embarra.s.sing to her aunt, gladly relieved her mind, by relating the particulars of her rencontre with him in the morning, and described the deep interest with which he seemed to be watching her recovery. Madame de la Tour listened attentively to her recital, but apparently without surprise; and after a short pause, which was evidently employed in painful reflection, she said,
”It is time that all this mystery should be explained to you, Lucie; for, what I have so long attributed to the influence of your imagination, is now more rationally accounted for, though until a few hours since, I was, myself, ignorant of many facts, which I am about to relate to you. But I must first beg you to close the window; the air grows cool, and I should also be loath to have our discourse reach the ears of any loiterer.”
Lucie obeyed in silence; and drawing her chair closer to her aunt, she prepared to listen, with almost breathless attention.
”I must revert to the period of your mother's marriage, Lucie,” said Madame de la Tour, ”and, as briefly as possible, detail those unhappy circ.u.mstances which so soon deprived you of her protecting love. You will no longer be surprised that I have repressed your natural curiosity on this subject; for it must excite many painful feelings, which I would still spare you, had not a recent discovery rendered the disclosure unavoidable.”
”The subject agitates you, my dear aunt,” said Lucie, observing her changing complexion with anxiety; ”you are indeed too ill, this evening, to make so great an exertion, and I had far rather wait till another day, when you will probably be better able to bear it.”
”No, I am well now,” she replied; ”and will not keep you any longer in suspense.” She then resumed,
”Your mother, Lucie, had the innocence and purity of an angel; she was gay, beautiful, and accomplished,--the idol of her friends, the admiration of all who saw her. That picture, which you so often gaze on with delight, is but a faint resemblance of what she was. The lineaments are indeed true to nature, but no artist could catch the ever varying expression, or imbody that unrivalled grace, which threw a charm around her, more captivating even than her faultless beauty. She was just four years older than myself, but this difference of age did not prevent the closest union of sentiment and feeling between us; and, as she was almost my only companion, I early renounced my childish amus.e.m.e.nts for the more mature employments, which engaged her attention. We lived much in retirement; my father was attached to literary pursuits, and devoted himself to our education; a task which he shared with my eldest sister, who was many years our senior, and affectionately supplied the place of our mother, who died a few months after my birth.
”Your mother, Lucie, was scarcely sixteen when she first saw Mons. de Courcy. Chance introduced him to our acquaintance, as he was travelling through the province where we then resided; her loveliness attracted his admiration, and he soon avowed a deeper and more impa.s.sioned sentiment.
Till then she had never dreamed of love; it was reserved for him to awaken its first emotions in a heart susceptible of the most generous and devoted constancy, the most fervent and confiding tenderness, exalted by a delicacy and refinement, which could only emanate from a mind as virtuous and n.o.ble as her own.
”De Courcy had already pa.s.sed the season of early youth, and his disposition and feelings were, in many respects, extremely opposite to your mother's. His figure was commanding, his features regular and expressive; though, on the whole, he was remarked rather for the uncommon grace and elegance of his deportment, than for any of the peculiar attributes of manly beauty. His manners were cold, and even haughty, in his general intercourse with society; but, with those whom he loved and wished to please, he was gentle and insinuating; and when he chose to open the resources of his highly gifted mind, his conversational talents were more versatile and fascinating, than those of any individual whom I have ever known. There was a cast of deep thought, almost of melancholy, in his countenance, which was ascribed, I know not if correctly, to an early disappointment; but it was seldom banished, even from his smiles, and often increased when all around him seemed most gay and happy. His feelings, indeed, were never expended in light and trifling emotions; they were strong, silent, and indelible; and those who viewed the calmness of his exterior, little dreamed of the impetuous pa.s.sions which slumbered beneath, and which he was accustomed to restrain by the most rigid and habitual self-command. Some of these traits excited my father's solicitude for the future happiness of his daughter; but they were overbalanced by so many n.o.ble qualities and s.h.i.+ning virtues, that no other eye detected their blemishes. Your mother believed him faultless; she had given him her affections, with all the enthusiasm of her guileless heart; and he regarded her with a devotion, that almost bordered on idolatry.”
Madame de la Tour paused, and Lucie, raising her head from the att.i.tude of profound attention with which she listened, asked, in an accent which seemed to deprecate an affirmative answer,
”You are not weary, I hope, dearest aunt?”
”Not weary, Lucie,” she replied; ”but you must sometimes allow me a moment's respite, to collect and arrange my thoughts. More than twenty years have pa.s.sed since these events, yet, child as I then was, they made too deep an impression on my mind to be effaced by time; and I cannot, even now, reflect on them without emotion.
”I have dwelt thus minutely on your father's character,” she continued, ”that you may be prepared for”--
”For what?” interrupted Lucie; ”surely all these happy prospects were not soon darkened by clouds!”