Still the situation was one of great tension, and it required not only the wise forbearance of Hyde and Cornelia, but the domineering selfishness of Arenta and the suave clever diplomacies of Madame Jacobus to preserve at times the merely decent conventionalities of polite life. To keep the peace until the wedding was over—that was all that Rem promised himself; THEN! He often gave voice to this last word, though he had no distinct idea as to what measures he included in those four letters.
He told himself, however, that it would be well for George Hyde to be in England, and that if he were there, the General might be trusted to look after the marriage of his son. For he knew that an English noble would be of necessity bound by his caste and his connections, and that Hyde would have to face obligations he would not be able to shirk. “Then, then, his opportunity to win Cornelia would come!” And it was at this point the hopeful “maybe” entered into Rem’s desires and anticipations.
But wrath covered carries fate. Every one was in some measure conscious of this danger and glad when the wedding day approached. Even Arenta had grown a little weary of the prolonged excitement she had provoked, for everything had gone so well with her that she had taken the public very much into her confidence. There had been frequent little notices in the Gazette and Journal of the approaching day—of the wedding presents, the wedding favours, the wedding guests, and the wedding garments. And, as if to add the last touch of glory to the event, just a week before Arenta’s nuptials a French armed frigate came to New York bearing despatches for the Count de Moustier; and the Marquis de Tounnerre was selected to bear back to France the Minister’s Message. So the marriage was put forward a few days for this end, and Arenta in the most unexpected way obtained the bridal journey which she desired; and also with it the advantage of entering France in a semi-public and stately manner.
“I am the luckiest girl in the world,” she said to Cornelia and her brother when this point had been decided. They were tying up “dream-cake” for the wedding guests in madame’s queer, uncanny drawing-room as she spoke, and the words were yet on her lips when madame entered with a sandal wood box in her hands.
“Rem,” she said, “go with Cornelia into the dining-room a few minutes. I have something to say to Arenta that concerns no one else.”
As soon as they were alone madame opened the box and upon a white velvet cushion lay the string of oriental pearls which Arenta on certain occasions had been permitted to wear. Arenta’s eyes flashed with delight. She had longed for them to complete her wedding costume, but having a very strong hope that her aunt would offer her this favour, she had resolved to wait for her generosity until the last hour. Now she was going; to receive the reward of her prudent patience, and she said to herself, “How good it is to be discreet!” With an intense desire and interest she looked at the beautiful beads, but madame’s face was troubled and sombre, and she said almost reluctantly—
“Arenta, I am going to make you an offer. This necklace will be yours when I die, at any rate; but I think there is in your heart a wish to have it now. Is this so?”
“Aunt, I should like—oh, indeed I long to wear the beads at my marriage. I shall only be half-dressed without them.”
“You shall wear the necklace. And as you are going to what is left of the French Court, I will give it to you now, if the gift will be to your mind.”
“There is nothing that could be more to my mind, dear aunt. I would rather have the necklace, than twice its money’s worth. Thank you, aunt. You always know what is in a young girl’s heart.”