My curiosity to learn the contents of the billet made me tear it open at once; but it was not before I had perused it several times that I could credit the lines before me. They were but few, and ran thus:—
Dear Sir,—May I request the honor of a visit from you this
evening at the Hôtel de Grammont?
Truly yours,
Marie d'Auvergne, née De Meudon.
Colonel Burke.
How did I read these lines over again and again!—now interpreting them as messengers of future hope; now fearing they might exclude every ray of it forever. One solution recurred to me at every moment, and tortured me to the very soul. Her family had all been Royalists. The mere accidents of youth had thrown her brother into the army, and herself into the Court of the Empire, where personal devotion and attachment to the Empress had retained her. What if she should exert her influence to induce me to accept the prince's offer? How could I resist a request, perhaps an entreaty, from her? The more I reflected over it, the more firmly this opinion gained ground with me, and the more deeply did I grieve over a position environed by such difficulty; and ardently as I longed for the moment of meeting her once more, the desire was tempered by a fear that the meeting should be our last.
The eventful moment of my destiny arrived, and found me at the door of the Hôtel de Grammont. A valet in waiting for my arrival conducted me to a salon, saying the countess would appear in a few moments.
What an anxious interval was that! I tried to occupy myself with the objects around, and distract my attention from the approaching interview; but every sound startled me, and I turned at each instant towards the door by which I expected her to enter.
The time appeared to drag heavily on,—minutes became like hours; and yet no one appeared. My impatience had reached its climax, when I heard my name spoken in a low soft voice. I turned, and she was before me.
She was dressed in deep mourning, and looked paler, perhaps thinner, than I had ever seen her,—but not less beautiful. Whether prompted by her own feelings at the moment, or called up by my unconsciously fixed look, she blushed deeply as our eyes met.
“I was about to leave France, Colonel,” said she, as soon as we were seated, “when I heard from my cousin, De Beauvais, that you were here, and delayed my departure to have the opportunity of seeing you.”
She paused here, and drew a deep breath to continue; but leaning her head on her hand, she seemed to have fallen into a reverie for some minutes, from which she started suddenly, by saying,—
“His royal highness has offered you your grade in the service, I understand?”