It was all very clever, but it did not do; and Tchernigow knew that it did not; and the Princess knew it also and better.
One night, at the Italiens, an Englishman who had known the Princess in former days saw her in her box, sitting radiantly in the front, while Madame Seymour occupied a less prominent position, and a couple of the most fashionable dandies of the day occupied the background. This gentleman had left a party of ladies in the boxes, and gone down to the stalls, and he now remarked to his companion:
"How awfully she is altered! I never saw such a wreck in so short a time. And surely that lady with her is some one I have seen before. Do you know who she is, Dollamore?"
"Yes, I do, of course. That lady is Madame Seymour, an Irish lady, a widow of large fortune, who is devotedly attached to the Princess Tchernigow. She lives with her,--for her, it almost appears; and she speaks French so like a native, that it is difficult to distinguish any difference."
"Ah, then, I am wrong; and we don't know her," said the gentleman, still looking curiously at the party.
"Well, perhaps you don't exactly know her," said Dollamore; "but you are right in thinking you had seen her. Madame Seymour used to be known at Redmoor as Mademoiselle Marcelline, and she was Mrs. Hammond's maid."
His hearer's exclamation of astonishment was checked by a sudden commotion in the Princess's box. She had recognized the English party at the moment when his companion addressed his last question to Lord Dollamore. She had fought hard for a moment against her overwhelming emotion; but the days of Laura's strength and self-mastery were over, and she fell fainting from her chair.
Very shortly after this occurrence the paternal yearnings of the Czar to behold Prince Tchernigow once more in the land of his birth proved too strong for his resistance. The Prince and Princess left France for Holy Russia; and that was the last that was seen of them in Paris.
Miss Constance Greenwood, Miss Gillespie, Lizzie Ponsford,--which you will--never saw Lady Mitford after that memorable occasion on which she yielded up possession of the forged bill. A considerable time afterwards Lady Mitford wrote to her a long and sweet letter, in which she reiterated her thanks for the great service which Miss Gillespie--so she still called her--had intended doing her; but she said, "even had the talisman which you left with me possessed the powers which you wished to invest it with, it was useless--it was too late." Lady Mitford added, that she had not forgotten the name under which Miss Gillespie had told her she was pursuing a theatrical career; that she had made inquiries, and found that "Miss Constance Greenwood" was spoken of in the highest terms, not merely for her transcendent abilities, but for the rectitude of her conduct. In conclusion, Lady Mitford invited her correspondent to come and stay with her when she would, and not to fail to apply immediately and directly to her when she was in strait or difficulty of any kind.
People had said that Miss Constance Greenwood's stage-tears were the most natural throughout the profession. They were not nearly so natural as those which welled up hot and blinding into her eyes as she perused Lady Mitford's letter, and which showered down thick and heavy on to the paper as she pressed it to her lips. That letter is yellow with age now; but, all stained and tear-blurred as it is, it is the choicest object in that delicate little desk in which Miss Constance Greenwood keeps all her treasures.