CHAPTER XXXVI.
It was with a quick and agitated step that the girl Blanchette returned to the room which served as her own bed-chamber and as the ante-room to that of her mistress. It was the sort of pace that, had she stopped for one moment, it must have been to stamp with rage; and, when she reached a seat, she cast herself into it, and burst forth into a violent fit of tears--passionate, not penitent; full of virulent anger, not of sorrow or remorse. The same feelings were in her heart, with which Macbeth exclaimed "For Banquo's issue have I 'filed my mind,"--feelings which lead to fresh crimes, rather than to atonement for those that are gone.
"I shall be discharged, shall I?" asked the girl, "and all for doing what she told me. I have heard of her ways. Fool that I was not to believe it. I might have known, if I had not been as stupid as an owl, that what she does to others, she would do to me. Oh that I could but match her!--Well, I may perhaps--Now if I could get Mademoiselle out of the château? But she will watch me.--Well, let her; I will watch her.--The old hag is cunning enough, but there may be others as shrewd;" and she dried her tears, and laughed at the thought of the bitter sweet potion of revenge.
"I know her now," she continued, sometimes speaking to herself in low murmurs, sometimes meditating in silence; "I know her now. Oh she can feign and speak sweet, and promise all kinds of things. But she shall not take me in any more. I can see well enough. Her game is nearly played. If she wants any more help, she will be as smooth as oil; and then, when all is done, I shall be kicked off to die on a dunghill, for what she cares. But I have taken care of that. I have got as many crowns as promises, and I will be caught by none of the latter any more. Oh yes, she will soon come, and be very civil doubtless, if she has anything for me to do; and tell me she was obliged to speak so before her brother, but that it meant nothing. She shall see that I am affronted, however; but not too much--no, not too much, for then she might not trust me any farther, and I should miss my opportunity; for vengeance I will have, one way or another."
With such sweet and innocent thoughts Blanchette entertained herself for some time, till at length the door swung open, and Madame de Chazeul walked in, with no signs of plausibility in her countenance. The girl was sitting, with the handkerchief which had lately wiped away her tears, upon her lap; and her whole face showed that she had undergone no light emotions. The Marchioness did not stay to inquire, of what sort they were, but jumped at the conclusion, that the dread of losing her place, was the cause of the girl's agitation; and, believing that, by that fear, she could rule her as she thought fit, she was only careful to prevent her from thinking the post of soubrette to the future Marchioness de Chazeul irretrievably gone.
"Why do you not rise, girl, when you see me?" she demanded in a haughty tone.
"Why, I have done so much wrong, Madam," said the maid with a sullen face, "in doing what I thought was your will and pleasure, that I am sure I know not what to do, to give satisfaction."
"You must do better than you have done, if you would long keep your place," replied the Marchioness; "but if you really thought you were pleasing me, that makes a difference. An error may be forgiven; disobedience not. Your mistress is up, I dare say."
"Oh yes, hours ago," answered Blanchette. "Shall I tell her you are here, Madam?"
"No!" replied Madame de Chazeul, advancing towards the opposite door, "we will have no farther ceremonies;" and, without giving any sign of her approach, she walked straight in.
Rose d'Albret was seated as before, near the window: the favourite spot of the prisoner, where he can see some part, if it be but a glimpse of that free world which is no longer his; but when the Marchioness entered, she started and rose. Madame de Chazeul had gathered her face into a frown; and Rose, who felt in her heart a deeper degree of indignation at the events of the last night, than at all the injuries, deceits, and harshness which had been practised on her before, gazed at her with a swelling heart and a firm determination to tell her what she thought of all her conduct.
The Marchioness did not clearly understand that look; and it somewhat puzzled her as to her course; but after a moments pause, she said, "I have come, Mademoiselle d'Albret, to tell you, that at eleven the contract is to be signed in the great hall; and, immediately after, the marriage will take place in the chapel."
"Madam, you have already had my answer," replied Rose, "and I have only to beg, that you will not insult me, even by naming your son's name in my hearing. I have long disliked and despised him. I now abhor and scorn him; and I would sooner give my hand to a beggar on the road, than to one so utterly base and degraded."
"I should have thought," answered the Marchioness, with a bitter sneer, "that, after what passed last night, your reluctance would have quite vanished, and that Nicholas de Chazeul would have found in Rose d'Albret a very willing--nay, perhaps, an over-willing bride;" and she pointed, smiling sarcastically, to a man's glove that lay upon the table.
"I had not remarked it," replied Rose, advancing to the table and taking it up with a look of disgust.
"No, I suppose not," answered Madame de Chazeul. "Such little oversights will occur in such circumstances, Mademoiselle."
"It was no oversight on his part, at least," said Rose, turning to the open window; "the low-minded villain who left it here, knew well in that respect, at least, what he was doing; but I treat it, and him, and all his arts, with the same contempt," and she threw it out into the court below.
"Weak, foolish, guilty girl!" cried the Marchioness. "Do not think to escape thus.--Your fate is sealed; and within three hours you are his wife, however unworthy to be so. For your own sake, for your own reputation's sake, it must be so. However little care you yourself take of your own fame, there are others bound to be more thoughtful, and to use any or all means of saving you from the disgrace which would fall upon you but for them."
"Madam, my reputation is in no danger," replied Rose; "happily, neither you nor your son can affect that."
"Indeed!" said Madame de Chazeul, with an incredulous smile. "Perhaps your high purity is not aware, that Monsieur de Chazeul was seen last night, by two trustworthy persons, entering your chamber at one o'clock, and quitting it somewhat after three; perhaps you are not aware, that your maid has confessed she gave him admission to it."
"To this chamber; not to mine, Madam," answered Rose, with a look of calm scorn. "Your admirable plan has failed, lady; and you cannot drive me into an union with one so despicable as to take part in it, even by the fear of calumny."
Madame de Chazeul gazed at her with rage struggling with surprise. "You are wonderfully tranquil," she said, at length; "but still all your calmness will not disprove to the good busy world what several persons, independent of each other, know: that Monsieur de Chazeul passed more than one hour in your chamber last night, and that your maid admits the fact."
"I have better witnesses than my calmness, Madam," replied Rose d'Albret, "who will be quite credible against your servants, planted on purpose on the stairs, and my maid, bribed long ago to betray and deceive her mistress; and they will prove that, warned of the base scheme contrived against me, informed of all its particulars, I slept undisturbed in another chamber; and that, if your son thought fit to pass his time in this place, he passed it here alone."
"It is the priest!" muttered Madame de Chazeul. "I have not spoken with him, since my return hither," said Rose, who caught the words not intended for her ear.
"Who are your witnesses, then, girl?" exclaimed Madame de Chazeul. "I do not believe you! The whole tale is false, invented but to screen your own dishonour."
"My witnesses I will produce when need may be," answered Rose, "but not to Madame de Chazeul alone; and, for the rest, you know right well, which tale is false, and which is true. It is needless to argue with one so well informed already. Moreover, remember, that no force shall ever make me wed your son. My hand is promised by myself to him, for whom my father destined it; and the well-devised story of his death has failed, as well as the artful scheme that followed it. I now know him to be living, as well, or, rather, better than you do; and you may find that he is so when you least expect to see him."
The Marchioness turned red, and then pale, even through the paint upon her face; but, for several moments, she made no reply, turning rapidly in her mind every chance in the wide range of circumstances that could have given to Rose the information she possessed. Be it remarked, however, that she never doubted the truth of what that Lady said; for, though the deceitful are ever suspicious, there is something in the plain, straightforward simplicity of truth, which raises it, in general, above doubt. Men may affect to disbelieve it, when it militates against them, but in their heart they recognize it for what it is.
"If the priest had not told her, who had?" Madame de Chazeul asked herself. "Could it be the maid?" But then Blanchette had not been informed of the whole plan. "Could it be one of the servants?" None knew more than a part. "Could Chazeul have betrayed the secret to some of his own people, who again had communicated it to Rose?" It was most improbable. "Could De Montigni himself have returned, and made his way into the château unperceived?" It might be so; but still her scheme was unknown to him. She was in a maze, which, with all her quick wit, she could not thread; and all that she could decide upon doing, was to pursue her plan boldly, to exercise all her influence over her brother's mind, to blind his eyes and overrule the better feelings of his heart, and to watch warily for every accident, to guard against any event, which might frustrate her design.
"It is all very well, Mademoiselle d'Albret," she said at length, in a calmer but not less stern tone than she had hitherto employed, "to set your simple assertions against facts unfortunately too well and widely known. I shall be happy to hear, when you are my son's wife, the proofs that you say you can give, that you did not commit the imprudence, to call it no worse, of admitting him to your chamber in secrecy and silence, at an hour past midnight. It will be a great satisfaction to me, and I will take care that those who witnessed the scene, and may otherwise spread the scandal abroad in the world, shall be present to hear your exculpation.--But it must be as my son's wife, for your guardian and myself have consulted, and have determined, that it is absolutely necessary for your fame and respectability that you should be united to him without delay. My brother, indeed, has sworn a dreadful oath, that he will compel you to obey before noon; and you well know when he has sworn--"
"Oh no, no!" cried Rose, now greatly agitated, "not sworn.--He would never swear!"
"Ay, but he has!" answered Madame de Chazeul; "he has sworn by all he holds sacred,--he has called down the vengeance of heaven on his head,--he has taken the name of his God and his Saviour to witness, that he will force you to follow his will, and relieve your name of the stain that hangs upon it, by your marriage with Nicholas de Chazeul."
Poor Rose d'Albret covered her eyes with her hands in terror and in grief; for she well knew that Monsieur de Liancourt was one who would consider such an oath, however rashly and intemperately spoken, as full justification for violating every dictate of propriety, right, and justice. Madame de Chazeul saw her agony, and enjoyed it; for anger and wounded pride had their share in the bitter determination which she had formed, to force the poor girl into the arms of her son; and amongst the many images which a quick fancy brought before her mind of future triumphs, was the prospect of mingling misery and care with Rose's married life, and taking vengeance, for what she called the disdain of the haughty girl, upon the unwilling bride. She sat silent, then, and Rose remained with her fair face covered, hiding the tears that would burst forth, and striving to smother the sobs that struggled for free course.
Neither uttered a word for several minutes. The house, and the chamber remained quite still; and then came a sound as of a key turning in a door, and next a gentle tap close to the chair where Madame de Chazeul was seated. Both Rose and the Marchioness started up, though with very different feeling; Rose with terror and alarm, lest Helen should discover herself; and the Marchioness with surprise, which did not at all deprive her of her prompt decision, and ready wit. Ere Mademoiselle d'Albret could utter a word, however, in the wild confusion into which her thoughts had been thrown, her fierce companion judging in a moment that the secret was about to be disclosed, said in a low, but quick tone. "Come in!" The door from the priest's room opened, and Helen de la Tremblade stood before them, with a face calm and placid when she first appeared, but which became glowing and agitated, as soon as she beheld her enemy.