Part 27 (1/2)
”Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf, you are _une enfant_. I will no longer trouble myself with looking out for a husband for you. You shall die a sour old maid,” and Monsieur Gironac left the room, pretending to be in a pa.s.sion.
A few days after the meeting with Count de Chavannes, Lionel made his appearance. My heart beat quick as I welcomed him.
”He is here,” said he, antic.i.p.ating my question, ”but I called just to know when we should come, and whether I was to say any thing to him before he came.”
”No, no, tell him nothing--bring him here directly--how long will it be before you return?”
”Not half an hour; I am at my old lodgings in Suffolk Street, so good-bye for the present,” and Lionel walked away again.
Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both out, and would not return for an hour or two. I thought the half hour would never pa.s.s, but it did at last, and they knocked at the door. Lionel entered, followed by my brother Auguste. I was surprised at his having grown so tall and handsome.
”Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle,” said Lionel.
”No, Monsieur Lionel.”
”Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de Chatenoeuf, a lieutenant in the service of his Majesty the King of the French.”
Auguste bowed, and, as I returned the salute, looked earnestly at me and started.
”Excuse me, mademoiselle,” said he, coming up to me, and speaking in a tremulous voice, ”but--yes, you must be Valerie.”
”Yes, dear Auguste,” cried I, opening my arms.
He rushed to me and covered me with kisses, and then staggering to a chair, sat down and wept. So did I, and so did Lionel, for sympathy and company.
”Why did you conceal this from me, Lionel?” said he after a time; ”see how you have unmanned me.”
”I only obeyed orders, Auguste,” replied Lionel; ”but, now that I have executed my commission, I will leave you together, for you must have much to say to each other. I will join you at dinner-time.”
Lionel went out and left us together; we renewed our embraces, and after we were more composed, entered into explanations. I told him my history in as few words as possible, promising to enter into details afterwards, and then I inquired about the family. Auguste replied, ”I will begin from the time of your disappearance. No one certainly had any suspicion of Madame d'Albret having spirited you away; indeed, she was, as you know, constantly at the barracks till my father left, and expressed her conviction that you had destroyed yourself. The outcry against your mother was universal; she dared not show herself, and your father was in a state to excite compa.s.sion. Four or five times a day did he take his melancholy walk down to the Morgue to ascertain if your body was found.
He became so melancholy, morose, and irritable, that people were afraid lest he would destroy himself. He never went home to your mother but there was a scene of reproaches on his part, and defence on hers, that was a scandal to the barracks. All her power over him ceased from that time, and has ceased for ever since, and perhaps you know that he has retired.”
”How should I know, Auguste?”
”Yes; he could not bear to look the other officers in the face; he told me that he considered himself, from his weakness and folly, to have been the murderer of his child, that he felt himself despicable, and could not longer remain with the regiment. As soon as the regiment arrived at Lyons, he sent in his retirement, and has ever since been living at Pau, in the south of France, upon his half-pay and the other property which he possesses.”
”My poor father!” exclaimed I, bursting into tears.
”As for me, you know that I obtained leave to quit the regiment, and have ever since been in the 51st of the line. I have obtained my grade of lieutenant. I have seen my father but once since I parted with him at Paris. He is much altered, and his hair is grey.”
”Is he comfortable where he is, Auguste?”
”Yes, Valerie; I think that he did wisely, for it was ruinous travelling about with so many children. He is comfortable, and, I believe, as happy as he can be. Oh, if he did but know that you were alive, it would add ten years to his life.”
”He shall know it, my dear Auguste,” exclaimed I, as the tears coursed down my cheeks. ”I feel now that I was very selfish in consenting to Madame d'Albret's proposal, but I was hardly in my senses at the time.”
”I cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I blame you. Your life was one of torture, and it was torture to others to see what you underwent.”
”I pity my father, for weak as he was, the punishment has been too severe.”