The Vicomte pretended not to hear that question. But, turning to Eugenie, took her aside, and said, with an air in which he endeavoured to throw a great deal of sorrow, "You know, my dear cousin, that, to oblige you, I consented to send for my son, though, as I always said, it is very unpleasant for a man like me, in the prime of life, to hawk about a great boy of nineteen or twenty. People soon say, 'Old Vaudemont and younq Vaudemont.' However, a father's feelings are never appealed to in vain." (Here the Vicomte put his handkerchief to his eyes, and after a pause, continued,)—"I sent for him—I even went to your old bonne, Madame Dufour, to make a bargain for her lodgings, and this day—guess my grief —I received a letter sealed with black. My son is dead!—a sudden fever—it is shocking!"
"Horrible! dead!—your own son, whom you hardly ever saw—never since he was an Infant!"
"Yes, that softens the blow very much. And now you see I must marry. If the boy had been good-looking, and like me, and so forth, why, as you observed, he might have made a good match, and allowed me a certain sum, or we could have all lived together."
"And your son is dead, and you come to a ball!"
"Je suis philosophe," said the Vicomte, shrugging his shoulders. "And, as you say, I never saw him. It saves me seven hundred francs a-year. Don't say a word to any one—I sha'n't give out that he is dead, poor fellow! Pray be discreet: you see there are some ill-natured people who might think it odd I do not shut myself up. I can wait till Paris is quite empty. It would be a pity to lose any opportunity at present, for now, you see, I must marry!" And the philosophe sauntered away.
CHAPTER XII.
GUIOMAR.
"Those devotions I am to pay
Are written in my heart, not in this book."
Enter RUTILIO.
"I am pursued—all the ports are stopped too,
Not any hope to escape—behind, before me,
On either side, I am beset."
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, The Custom of the Country
The party were just gone—it was already the peep of day—the wheels of the last carriage had died in the distance.
Madame de Merville had dismissed her woman, and was seated in her own room, leaning her head musingly on her hand.