“Oh! then, we must get a regiment for him, to give him rank and standing in society. Well, that’s all arranged, and it is well. Now, listen to me: he will absent himself for six months, merely for decency’s sake, will obtain leave of absence, no difficult matter now, as we are not at war—he will get himself presented to you for form’s sake, by some mutual friend, and then all will go on rightly.”
“I do not understand you, sir,” replied Marguerite, looking at the baron with an expression of profound astonishment.
“What I have said to you is, notwithstanding, perfectly pellucid,” rejoined the latter, with some show of impatience; “you have engagements on your side—I have on mine—but that is no reason for preventing an union which is perfectly suitable in every respect; and once accomplished, why, I think, we are bound to render it as bearable as we can. Do you comprehend me now?”
“Oh! pardon me, sir, pardon me,” cried Marguerite, starting back, as though these words had outraged her; “I have been very imprudent, very culpable perhaps; but whatever I may have been, I did not dream I could have merited so gross an insult. Oh! sir, the blush of shame is now scorching my cheek, but more for you than for myself. Yes, I understand you—an apparent love and a concealed one; the face of vice and the mask of virtue; and it is to me—to me, the daughter of the Marquis d’Auray, that so shameful, so humiliating, so infamous a bargain is proposed. Oh!” continued she, falling into an arm-chair, and hiding her face with both her hands, “I must then be a most unfortunate, most contemptible lost creature! Oh! my God! my God!”
“Emanuel! Emanuel!” cried the baron, opening the door, at which he rightly suspected Marguerite’s brother had remained; “come in, my dear friend; your sister is attacked with spasms; these things ought to be attended to, or they may become chronic; Madame do Moulan died of them. Here, take my scent bottle, and let her smell at it. As to myself, I am going down into the park. If you have nothing else to do, you can rejoin me there, and bring me, if you please, news of your sister.”
Saying these words, the Baron de Lectoure left the room with miraculous calmness, leaving Marguerite and Emanuel together.
CHAPTER XII.—THE CHALLENGE.
Do as you will, heap wrongs on wrongs upon me,
It shall not anger me—I tell thee Claudius,
Thou art enshrined in a holy circle
My foot can never pass—nor taunt, nor insult
Can e’er induce this hand to rise against thee.
Therefore be satisfied—
Once more I tell theo I will not fight with thee.
—Old Play.
On the day on which the interview between Marguerite and the Baron de Lectoure had taken place, the result of which had proved so diametrically opposed to the hopes and expectations of the young girl, on that day at four o’clock, the dinner bell recalled the baron to the castle. Emanuel did the honors of the table, for the marchioness could not leave her husband, and Marguerite had requested permission not to come down stairs. The other guests were the notary, the relations of the family, and the witnesses. The repast was a gloomy one, notwithstanding the imperturbable gaiety of Lectoure; but it was evident that by his joyous humor, so stirring that it appeared feverish, he strove to stun his own feelings. From time to time, indeed, his boisterous liveliness failed all at once, like a lamp, the oil of which is nearly extinguished, and then it suddenly burst forth again, as doth the flame when it devours its last aliment. At seven o’clock they rose from table, and went into the drawing-room. It would be difficult to form an idea of the strange aspect which the old castle then presented; the vast apartments of which were hung with damask draperies, with gothic designs, and ornamented with furniture of the times of Louis XIII. and Louis XIV.