“Well, the company left the ‘Folie,’ enchanted with their entertainment, and dispersed at daybreak to their respective hotels, without so much as bestowing a thought either on Madame de B. or her husband. The next day, however, loud was the wailing among the ladies, for the Marquis de J—— was missing from all his accustomed haunts, where he had been used daily to charm the eyes and captivate the hearts of his fair admirers. Kind and anxious messages were despatched to his quarters, and the answer given was, that the marquis was slightly indisposed, but would appear again in a day or two. The next rumour afloat was, that old B., the fermier-général, had sent back his wife to the convent from which he had taken her the year before to marry her; but no one felt astonishment at this—so cold, so awkward, so shy—not even polite to the Marquis de J——! Of course, poor old B. must feel assured he never could get on in the world with such a wife as that.
“The marquis appeared again in a few days after the fête, but much altered in appearance, with haggard, melancholy look, and sad, dejected spirits. His arm was in a sling, too, which gave rise to more tender questioning, which he sought to parry as well as he was able, by saying that he had met with an accident at M. de B——’s Folie.
“The history of the case was this. (Oh, jeune France, know you what even the meaning of the word ‘love’ is?) After the company had departed, M. and Madame de B—— had retired to their respective apartments, but M. de B——, being unable to sleep, had descended into the garden, to take a refreshing walk amid the groves, where still hung suspended the variegated lampions, extinguished, drowning with their vile odour the scent of the flowers. There was no moon, but the night was wearing away, and the dawn was just beginning to change the pitchy darkness to a pale tint of grey, when M. de B—— thought of retiring towards the house. Just as he was in the act of mounting the steps which led to the long glass windows of his own room, his attention was attracted by the sound of footsteps on the gravel walk beneath. He was by no means a coward, M. de B——, and his first thought was of his wife, and of the alarm which a hue and cry raised at such an hour might occasion her; so after calling ‘Qui vive?’ and receiving no answer, he slid gently down over the balustrade of the perron into the flower-garden below, feeling quite sure of the capture of the thief, as the little plot of ground belonging to his wife’s apartment had no communication with the park, save by a door of which she herself always kept the key. He ran lightly over the grass and along the gravel-walk; he could hear retreating footsteps; as he advanced he was sure of this, but the bushes overhung the narrow pathway in such luxuriance, that he could not discern the form which he was pursuing. At length he reached the bottom of the path—he distinctly heard the swinging of the gate as it was opened cautiously—he made one frantic bound across the flower-bed which skirted the path—the door must have been opened by some one, for it banged-to just as he approached—he heard a faint cry on the outer side, and then all was silent as the grave. M. de B—— could proceed no farther, for the key was not in the lock, and the door was closed, but he immediately sought the apartment of his wife, full of alarm concerning her, and dreading lest some thief, lured by the display of jewels which she had worn on the previous evening, might have endeavoured to force an entry through the ill-secured glass-windows of the chamber, which looked into the garden. To his utter astonishment, after having with difficulty regained his own room, and thence by the inner passages of the house arrived at the chamber of his wife, he found her up and dressed, still decked with the same jewels which she had worn at the fête. She evinced great alarm and trepidation at first, on hearing his recital, but, after a moment’s reflection, declared her belief that M. de B—— must have been under the influence of a dream, as she had herself been standing at the window taking the air, and had heard no sound nor beheld any shadow pass. He asked for the key of the gate: she had mislaid it, she said, and, the gate being so seldom used, she had not cared to search for it. So M. de B—— was fain to content himself with this assurance until daybreak, when he was determined to renew his search more minutely. The garden was torn and trampled towards the direction of the gate, but that might be by his own footsteps, for he had hurried in his pursuit after the flying thief. The gate was closed and locked, and yet there was still some mystery in the adventure, for, on the outer side, which opened into the park, the ground was stained by drops of blood, which could be traced to some little distance, and then ceased altogether. Here was more mystery still, for the gardener, on searching amid the bushes, found the key of the gate, which had so long been missing. M. de B—— instantly applied it to the lock, and the door yielded slowly and with difficulty to his endeavours to push it forward, and when at length it opened, and the obstacle was sought for, it was found to be a human finger, crushed and jammed against the doorpost, which, upon a close inspection, appeared to have been cut off close to the root by some rude and hurried operation.
“Alas! Madame de B——, who had remained calm and passive during the whole of this adventure, could not support this last disclosure, but was seized with violent hysterics upon being informed of the discovery which had taken place, and in the midst of her tears and convulsions, the name of the Marquis de J—— was for ever on her lips. Of course the adventure could no longer be kept secret; the coincidence of the wound, the utterance of the name of M. de J——, determined at once the nature of the occurrence. He himself described to me the terror of his flight through the flower-garden, the agony of fear with which he hurried forth lest she should be discovered. It was M. de B——, who, in pushing against the door, had jammed his finger in the lock, but he cared not for the pain so long as she was safe and secure from all suspicion, and, disdaining to call for help, he had himself drawn forth the little pocket-knife which he always carried, and cut off the finger by which he was detained. He had never once thought of the danger or disfigurement; he did it, not complaining, but rejoicing to think that she was unsuspected at least, and her reputation secure. His only regret was at having lost the key of the gate, which he had dropped among the bushes, when he had stopped to bandage with his pocket-handkerchief the bleeding wound. Had she not betrayed herself in her grief for him, their secret might yet have been kept. M. de J—— left Paris soon after, and travelled for some years, and Madame de B—— was despatched back again to the convent at Besançon, from which she had not been absent more than a twelvemonth in all. It is said that M. de J—— remained for ever faithful to his first love. It is certain that when he returned among us, handsome, brilliant as before, although less gay, he never sought to inspire affection in any of the fair ladies who were at so much pains to please him. He steadily refused all offers of marriage which were made him, although some of the most splendid partis, both maids and widows, were among the number. From the first moment of his beholding Madame de B——, which was on her arrival with her husband, while changing horses at the last relay towards Paris, at the post-house, where he happened to be halting with his troop—he had owned himself her slave; he vowed to me for years afterwards, that no other woman should ever boast of having won a thought from him, and that no other female hand should ever feel the pressure of his own. His heart was with her who was suffering loneliness and captivity for his sake, and he regarded as sacrilege the idea of a possibility that he could break his vow of fidelity to her. At the revolution, he was imprisoned, but released faute de preuves, and, meanwhile, the convents having been broken up and dispersed, his first step was to secure a safe retreat for Madame de B——. Together they fled to Holland, where they remained for some years, and returned, when the storm was over, as man and wife. They lived together in happiness, and we all can bear witness to the grace and distinction which she shed around the circle she frequented, and to the respect with which she inspired all who approached her, as well as to the regret which was universally felt when she was withdrawn from us for ever. Such is the true story of the Marquis de J——: now tell me, Jeune France, will ye dare to condemn the ancien régime, or say that you even understand the depth of devotion and of love from which such faith as this could spring?”
* * * * *
The prince rose as he concluded his story, and the grating of carriage-wheels on the gravel walk without the windows, announced the hour for the promenade. I took my seat in one of the landaus by the side of C., who had promised to show me the lions of the place, but it was some time before I could command my attention to the beauties of the scene, for the story of the prince had brought back the memory of my last soirée in Paris, where I had beheld a withered old man playing with avidity at bouillotte, and I remembered to have been startled and disgusted when he took up his cards in a three-fingered grasp. And now I remembered, too, that his partner had addressed him by the name of De J——.
CHAPTER V.
CHILDHOOD AND JUVENILE YEARS OF TALLEYRAND.
Our drive was delightful over the green turf beneath the arched vista of the old avenue. The rain-drops glittered on every leaf, and the turf, moistened by the shower, after the long drought, sent up a delicious fragrance beneath each pressure of our horses’ feet. The prince was alone in his carriage, with his dog Carlo. There was but one person in the whole world whom he ever allowed to take the seat beside him in his drives, and she was that day absent from Valençay. There was something touching and poetical in the solitary figure as he reclined back, leaning on his cane, not gazing on the landscape, but musing, abstracted and motionless, save that from time to time he would bend slightly forward, and pat old Carlo fondly on the neck, as if his train of thought had led him into recollections of the long attachment of the faithful animal, contrasting it, perhaps, with the treachery and ingratitude which he had met with in man.