“And is it possible, monsieur,” said Julia Plessis, “that your heart never suggested the idea that Marie and Mabel were one and the same person? Was there no trace of the thin, pale girl left in the sweet face of my beloved friend to recall the past?”
“Yes,” replied the young man, gazing with fond delight upon the beautiful and happy girl who leaned upon his arm so confidingly. “Yes, the child’s image constantly haunted me; sleeping or waking the two faces appeared before me. It seemed to me as if I was loving both; I was most completely bewildered. Still, I really never for a moment thought it possible they could be one and the same; that idea never entered my head at all. It is true, Marie’s eyes always reminded me of Mabel’s; and I often in fancy pictured to myself my little protégée grown into just such another lovable being as Marie, and I continually tormented myself as to whether Mabel would ever remember me as anything but a brother, if I had kept my affections free.”
“Ah, the fact is, I was always quite right,” said Julia, laughing; “love is blind, and lovers infatuated.”
“But your time will come, fair Julia,” suggested the lieutenant.
“Eh, bien!” returned the lovely girl. “I will then beseech the saints to grant me patience, strengthen my digestion, and make me love a rational creature. But, badinage apart, I can’t endure that Monsieur Gramont; he says he had no share in the horrors committed at Lyons. I do not believe him; he belonged to the army of the ferocious Ronsin, and that’s enough to stamp his character in my mind. I wonder he had the face to acknowledge he was one of the monsters that so disgraced God’s own image.”
“Like you, Julia,” said Mabel, with a shudder, “I feel a kind of apprehension steal over me when I think of that man; indeed, I thought he looked at me with a strange inquiring expression. However, after all, it was perhaps mere fancy on my part.”
“Now, dearest,” interrupted our hero, addressing Mabel, “pray explain to me the singular and extraordinary circumstance of your being here, when I thought you were far away in Old England. It appears so unaccountable.”
“And yet,” returned Mabel, “most easily explained, and will appear very simple and natural, when you hear my explanation. From the moment I became aware that my beloved mother was alive and well and residing in Paris, an overpowering desire to fly to her arms took possession of me; I could not rest night or day—I could think of nothing else. Amongst the French refugees, acquaintances of Madame Volney’s, was a Madame de Tourville, whose family consisted of a son and daughter; their resources were very limited, and just at this time they received letters from an uncle, who was in power, and high in the French Directory. He urged their return to France, viâ Hamburg, with every hope of some of their estates being restored, on their taking the oath not to emigrate.
“They immediately resolved to return to their country. Madame Volney, knowing my intense desire to rejoin my parents, and participating in the feeling, and also knowing how necessary it was that I should procure proofs of my birth and my mother’s marriage, easily prevailed on Madame de Tourville to take me with her, as her daughter’s French attendant—her late one had refused to go back to France. Accordingly, we embarked for Hamburg, and the necessary papers being sent us by Madame de Tourville’s uncle, we travelled safely to Paris.
“Need I describe the joy and rapture of my beloved mother? I will pass over many things now for the sake of brevity. It was necessary that I should continue to represent Janette Brusset, the attendant of Madame Tourville; so I remained with Madame Plessis and my dear Julia, the beloved companion of my childhood, visiting my dear and still beautiful mother daily, and occasionally staying several days and nights as if in attendance on her. My mother’s ardent, burning desire is to get from France, and return to her own country.