Part 26 (2/2)

Matilda her terror no more could conceal.

”Duke,” she answer'd in accents short, cold and severe, As she rose from her seat, ”I continue to hear; But permit me to say, I no more understand.”

”Forgive!” with a nervous appeal of the hand, And a well-feign'd confusion of voice and of look, ”Forgive, oh, forgive me!” at once cried the Duke ”I forgot that you know me so slightly. Your leave I entreat (from your anger those words to retrieve) For one moment to speak of myself,--for I think That you wrong me--”

His voice, as in pain, seem'd to sink And tears in his eyes, as he lifted them, glisten'd.

XXVI.

Matilda, despite of herself, sat and listen'd.

XXVII.

”Beneath an exterior which seems, and may be, Worldly, frivolous, careless, my heart hides in me,”

He continued, ”a sorrow which draws me to side With all things that suffer. Nay, laugh not,” he cried, ”At so strange an avowal.

”I seek at a ball, For instance,--the beauty admired by all?

No! some plain, insignificant creature, who sits Scorn'd of course by the beauties, and shunn'd by the wits.

All the world is accustom'd to wound, or neglect, Or oppress, claims my heart and commands my respect.

No Quixote, I do not affect to belong, I admit, to those charter'd redressers of wrong; But I seek to console, where I can. 'Tis a part Not brilliant, I own, yet its joys bring no smart.”

These trite words, from the tone which he gave them, received An appearance of truth which might well be believed By a heart shrewder yet than Matilda's.

And so He continued... ”O lady! alas, could you know What injustice and wrong in this world I have seen!

How many a woman, believed to have been Without a regret, I have known turn aside To burst into heartbroken tears undescried!

On how many a lip have I witness'd the smile Which but hid what was breaking the poor heart the while!”

Said Matilda, ”Your life, it would seem, then, must be One long act of devotion”

”Perhaps so,” said he; ”But at least that devotion small merit can boast, For one day may yet come,--if ONE day at the most,-- When, perceiving at last all the difference--how great!-- Twixt the heart that neglects, and the heart that can wait, Twixt the natures that pity, the natures that pain, Some woman, that else might have pa.s.s'd in disdain Or indifference by me,--in pa.s.sing that day Might pause with a word or a smile to repay This devotion,--and then”...

XXVIII.

To Matilda's relief At that moment her husband approach'd.

With some grief I must own that her welcome, perchance, was express'd The more eagerly just for one twinge in her breast Of a conscience disturb'd, and her smile not less warm, Though she saw the Comtesse de Nevers on his arm.

The Duke turn'd and adjusted his collar.

Thought he, ”Good! the G.o.ds fight my battle to-night. I foresee That the family doctor's the part I must play.

Very well! but the patients my visits shall pay.”

Lord Alfred presented Lucile to his wife; And Matilda, repressing with effort the strife Of emotions which made her voice shake, murmur'd low Some faint, troubled greeting. The Duke, with a bow Which betoken'd a distant defiance, replied To Lucile's startled cry, as surprised she descried Her former gay wooer. Anon, with the grace Of that kindness which seeks to win kindness, her place She a.s.sumed by Matilda, unconscious, perchance, Or resolved not to notice the half-frighten'd glance, That follow'd that movement.

The Duke to his feet Arose; and, in silence, relinquish'd his seat.

One must own that the moment was awkward for all But nevertheless, before long, the strange thrall Of Lucile's gracious tact was by every one felt, And from each the reserve seem'd, reluctant, to melt; Thus, conversing together, the whole of the four Thro' the crowd saunter'd smiling.

XXIX.

Approaching the door, Eugene de Luvois, who had fallen behind, By Lucile, after some hesitation, was join'd.

With a gesture of gentle and kindly appeal, Which appear'd to imply, without words, ”Let us feel That the friends.h.i.+p between us in years that are fled, Has survived one mad moment forgotten,” she said: ”You remain, Duke, at Ems?”

He turn'd on her a look Of frigid, resentful, and sullen rebuke; And then, with a more than significant glance At Matilda, maliciously answer'd, ”Perchance.

I have here an attraction. And you?” he return'd.

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