CHAPTER XL.
Parting with his sister at the bottom of the stairs which led up to the apartments of Rose d'Albret and the priest, Monsieur de Liancourt mounted in haste. It might be that, as he said, he was anxious to have a painful scene over as speedily as possible; it might be that, like a certain stage hero, of the name of Acres, he began to feel his courage oozing out of the tips of his fingers. It were vain to deny that, ere he came to the first landing, his heart beat quick and his breath began to fail; but finding the man Martin sitting there in an idle attitude, he found an excuse in that fact to pause for an instant, asking his sister's servant, why he did not go and join the rest in the hall, and ordering him to do so.
The man obeyed without reply; for, in the first place, he was tired of his post; in the next place, he never knew how far any one was trusted by the Marchioness, so that one indiscreet friend might do much mischief by chattering to another; and, in the third place, he could not well refuse or neglect to obey the orders of Monsieur de Liancourt in his own house.
As soon as he was gone, the Count resumed the ascent, and, in a moment or two, reached the door of the ante-room. He gave a gentle knock, and, entering, found Blanchette sitting with a pale cheek, a clouded countenance, and some piece of female apparel lying on her knee, apparently scarcely touched.
"Well, Blanchette," he said, as he went into the room, "is your mistress ready to accompany me?"
"I am sure, Sir," replied the maid, "I do not know. I got all her things ready, and told her what Madame de Chazeul said; but she answered me, as bold as a lion, that she would put on no other things than her ordinary clothes, as the idea of forcing her to a ceremony with a man she hates, was quite vain and foolish."
"She shall learn that it is not so," answered the Count, in a sharp and angry tone; "whether dressed as becomes a bride, or like a wandering vagrant as she returned hither, she shall be wedded this day, if my name by De Liancourt. Go, tell her I am waiting for her."
The maid went into the inner chamber; and the Count could hear the murmur of voices speaking for some moments; but yet Rose d'Albret did not appear.
"She mocks me," he said, at length; "she will not even come forth to speak with me. Then I must seek her," and, advancing to the door of her chamber, he entered without ceremony.
Rose was seated at the very farthest part of the room, with her hands clasped over her eyes, and the bitter tears rolling down her cheeks. The moment she heard his step, however, she dried them hastily, rose from her seat, and, advancing a step or two towards him, cast herself at his feet, clasping his knees.
He felt his resolution begin to waver; but, making an effort, he exclaimed, "How now! how now! No more of this! You know my determination. I announced it to you the day before yesterday, I have solemnly sworn to keep it; and I insist upon obedience."
"Hear me, hear me, Sir!" cried Rose; "if you have no pity, if you have no regard for me, hear me for my father's sake, hear me for the memory of your dead friend, and have some compassion on his child."
"It is no use hearing," answered the Count; "the matter is determined. It is to be done. Rise, and follow me! I command, I insist."
"Not till you have heard me," answered Rose; "that, at least, I may require. Would you, Monsieur de Liancourt, not only break your contract with my father, by which my hand was promised to Louis de Montigni--"
"Pshaw! that contract, if it referred to him at all, is at an end by his death," cried Monsieur de Liancourt; "talk not to me of that any more."
"But he lives, he lives!" exclaimed Rose, vehemently. "You have been deceived, indeed you have, by the tale they invented to deceive me; and I have more wrongs, more deceits to tell you of, from which I know your noble mind will shrink with horror--schemes which none but the basest of men could conceive or execute."
"It is all in vain, Rose, it is all in vain," answered the Count. "Nothing you can say will make the least difference. I know all that has taken place; Chazeul's folly, which has compromised your character, and all the rest. But he is sorry for it, is willing to do all that is right to justify your fame, by wedding you this moment, and--"
"Is willing, you mean to say, Sir," cried Rose, "to profit by his villany, to gain the very object he had in view, by the very means he employed. Why did he come here, but to injure my reputation, with the hope of forcing me to marry him, and inducing you to drive me to such a course? But I heard it all beforehand and escaped the snare. Helen de la Tremblade was sent by good father Walter to tell me of the base treachery, to warn me of my danger, and show me the means of escaping from it."
"She came here because she wants to marry him herself," replied the Count. "Once more I say, Mademoiselle d'Albret, I command you, as your guardian, to rise and follow me, without farther words, to give your hand to Monsieur de Chazeul, for whom I have long destined you, and to forget Louis de Montigni, who misled you to quit this house, and has since paid for some other imprudence with his life."
"He is living! Indeed, indeed, he is living!" cried Rose "Give me but an hour and a patient hearing, and I will show you, Sir, that he is living, and that it is you who have been deceived, not I."
"Thank God! I am not so easily deceived Mademoiselle d'Albret," replied the Count. "I cannot grant your request. The contract lies ready for signature; every one is waiting for you in the hall; they cannot be disappointed; my word shall not be broken, and I insist that this vain, this stupid, resistance cease instantly."
"The contract may lie there, Sir, for ever," replied Rose, rising and seating herself again. "I will never sign it, so help me God! You refuse to hear reason and truth; you listen to falsehood and wrong; you may kill me, place me in a convent, do aught with me you like; but make me the wife of Nicholas de Chazeul, of so base, so bad, so contemptible a being, you never shall, while I have breath."
"Now listen to me, Rose d'Albret," replied the Count, advancing angrily towards her. "I am your guardian; am I not? You are my ward; is it not so? By the power given me by the law, I have promised your hand to Nicholas de Chazeul--"
"In violation of the contract from which your only power is derived," replied Rose. "That contract, in which you are named my guardian, promises my hand to De Montigni."
"The girl will drive me mad!" exclaimed Monsieur de Liancourt. "Once more I tell you he is dead; and if you refuse yourself to sign the marriage contract, I will sign it for you. Rise, and come with me without another word, or you will compel me to force you."
"Never!" answered Rose. "Louis de Montigni is not dead. I have offered to prove it to you; but you will not even hear in what the proof consists, although you know that, until he has resigned his claim to the succession of De Liancourt, not even a doubt can exist that he is the person specified in the contract."
The Count seemed not shaken--no not in the least--but embarrassed; for his own doubts of De Montigni's death were strong upon the side of Rose d'Albret; and the certainty that, if his nephew still lived, he was committing a gross violation of the contract with her father, left him but little to say in his own defence. He was not shaken, for he had before made up his mind to overleap his own doubts upon that score, to take advantage of the bare report which had reached him, in order to justify the course to which he had been led by others, and resolutely to believe that report true, in despite of all that could be said to prove it false. The combat of weak people is with themselves, more than with any external things. They wish to convince themselves they are acting right, while they know they are acting wrong; and their labours for that object are not light. But Monsieur de Liancourt had no reply ready, no reason to assign for not listening to the proofs Rose offered, and he paused, for a full minute, in painful hesitation as to what he should say.
"This is all an artifice to gain time," he answered at length "and I will not yield to it. It is ascertained, beyond all doubt, that Louis de Montigni is no more, and has justly paid for insulting a prince like the Duke of Nemours."
"Oh! Sir," cried Rose, in a tone of mingled indignation and grief, "how can you suffer your own nature to be thus changed by the base counsels of others, so to speak of your sister's son? He is not dead! he will yet live to shame those who calumniate him. Were he indeed laid in the tomb, I still say, nothing should ever lead me to marry Nicholas de Chazeul; but, as long as Louis de Montigni lives, I shall regard him as my husband. Show me that he is indeed, gone; and I am willing to resign everything that this man really covets--my wealth, my lands--and to retire to a life of seclusion and prayer; but I am not willing, and never shall I be willing, to wed one whom I so much despise and abhor."
"You will have no choice," replied the Count. "You shall be his wife this day ere noon. These are all evasions and affectations.--I know right well which way your mind inclines. You would save your credit, Rose, appear reluctant, and only yield to force; but force shall not be wanting, and perhaps more than you expect or like.--Yes, you may weep!--We are prepared for such things; but you had better dry your eyes; and, as you must appear before a large assembly of witnesses, look your best."
"Sir, you are ungenerous and unkind," replied Rose d'Albret; "but I know whence your impulses are derived; and shame upon them who fill a noble mind with such base suspicions. Use what force you like; the power has not yet appeared on earth that shall make my hand or my tongue so belie my heart, as to promise aught like love, attachment, or obedience, towards Nicholas de Chazeul."
"Oh, is it so?" exclaimed the Count. "This is carrying the matter too far, Mademoiselle d'Albret. Will you, or will you not accompany me, in obedience to my commands, quietly and decently?"
Rose was silent; her mind agitated with many conflicting thoughts. She feared to yield the least point, lest it should be accepted as a promise of farther compliance; and yet she naturally shrunk, with all a woman's timidity, from driving those who oppressed her to have recourse to violence.--She dreaded the moment when it was to begin; she would fain have procrastinated: every minute seemed something gained ere the actual struggle commenced.
She was silent; but, after waiting a few moments, the Count seized her by the wrist, exclaiming, "Come, I insist.--Not one moment more!"
"Well, Sir, well," cried Rose d'Albret, trying to withdraw her hand, "I will go with you to the hall: but remember, it is but to refuse most resolutely to do that which would be equally against my duty and my heart."
"Duty!" cried the Count with a scoff, unloosing her arm. "Talk not of duty, after all that you have done! As to the course you intend to pursue, be it what it may, mine is determined. We shall see what is your conduct, and I will answer for it, I will match it.--Go on, Mademoiselle. You know your way to the hall, I think."
With a slow step and trembling limbs, Rose d'Albret proceeded through the ante-room, and down the stairs. She felt at every moment as if she should faint, but yet, remembering that if such a weakness overcame her, they might take advantage of her insensibility, to proceed rapidly in whatever course they thought fit, she nerved her heart to the best of her power, and paused for a moment before entering the hall, to make one more appeal to the Count de Liancourt.
But he would not hear her speak, and throwing open the door violently, he waved her to go in.
All seemed confusion, and dim indistinctness to her sight. There was a crowd of faces, some of which appeared strange, and some familiar; but they were almost all those of men. There was wine, and meat, and laughter, and flowers, and everything the most dissonant to all the feelings of her heart; while, through the whole mass of misty images was seen, in terrible prominence, like some colossal statue in an eastern temple, the tall rigid form, and stern sarcastic features of Madame de Chazeul.
She was leaning upon a table just opposite the door; her complexion, where not besmeared with rouge, was unusually pale; there was an expression of weariness, and even of pain in her face. But when Rose appeared, that harsh countenance lighted up with a look of scornful triumph; and the poor girl's eyes grew dim, her head turned giddy with the thought of all she was to encounter in that hall.