“I thank you for the offer, my dear madame,” replied I, rising and courtseying; “I trust, however, that you will allow me a little time for reflection before I decide. You must admit that this is a most critical epoch in my life, and I must not make one false step if it is possible to prevent it.”
“Certainly,” replied Madame Bathurst, “certainly. You are right, Valerie, in reflecting well before you decide; but I must say that you are rather haughty in your manner towards me.”
“I may have been, my dear Madame Bathurst, but if so, take my excuses. Recollect the Valerie of yesterday, who was your visitor and young friend, is not the Valerie of to-day!” and with these words I took up the cheque for 500 francs which Madame Bathurst had laid on the table, left the room, and returned to my own apartment.
I returned to my room, and was glad to be once more alone, for although I bore up well under the circumstances, still the compressed excitement was wearying to the frame. I had resolved to accept the offer of Madame Bathurst at the time that she made it, but I did not choose to appear to jump at it, as she probably expected that I would. I felt no confidence in anyone but my own self after the treatment of Madame d’Albret, and I considered that Madame Bathurst would probably dismiss me as soon as my services were no longer required, with as little ceremony as had Madame d’Albret. That I was capable of taking charge of and instructing Caroline, I knew well, and that Madame Bathurst would not easily procure a governess so capable in singing and music as myself. There would be consequently no obligation, and I resolved that I would reject her terms if they were not favourable. I had some money, for I had spent but a small portion of twenty sovereigns which Madame d’Albret had given me in a purse when I quitted her. I had therefore the means of subsistence for some little time, should I not come to terms with Madame Bathurst.
After an hour’s reflection, I sat down and wrote a letter to Madame Paon, stating what had occurred, and my determination to obtain my own livelihood, and adding that as I was not sure whether I should accept of Madame Bathurst’s offer, I wished her to give me a letter of introduction to some French acquaintance of hers in London, as I was an utter stranger to everything, and without advice, should probably be cheated in every way. As soon as this letter was finished I commenced another to Madame d’Albret, which was in the following words:—
“My dear Madame,
“Yes, I will still say my dear madame, for although you will never hear of me again, you are still dear to me, more dear perhaps than you were, when I considered you my patroness and my more than mother. And why so,—because when those we love are in misfortune, when those who have benefited us are likely to soon want succour themselves, it is then the time that we should pour out our gratitude and love. I do not consider it your fault, my dear Madame d’Albret, that you have been deceived by a base hypocrite, who wears so captivating a mask; I do not blame you that you have been persuaded by him that I have slandered and behaved ungratefully to you. You have been blinded by your own feelings towards him and by his consummate art. I am also to blame for not having communicated to you that he made me a proposal of marriage but a short time previous to my departure, and which I indignantly rejected, because he had taken such an unusual step without any previous communication with you on the subject—not that I would have accepted him, even if you had wished it, for I knew how false and unworthy he was considered to be. I should have told you, my dear madame, of this offer of marriage on his part, but he requested me as a favour not to mention it to you, and I did not then know that he was a ruined man, a desperate gambler, and that he had been obliged to quit this country for dishonourable practices at the gaming-table, as you may easily discover to be true; for even Madame Paon can give you all the necessary information. And into this man’s hands have you fallen, my dear Madame d’Albret. Alas, how you are to be pitied! my heart bleeds for you, and I fear that a few months will suffice to prove to you the truth of what I now write. That I am a sufferer by the conduct of Monsieur de G— is true. I have lost a kind patroness, an indulgent mother, and am now left to obtain my own livelihood how I can. All my visions, all my dreams of happiness with you, all my wishes of proving my gratitude and love for your kindness have vanished, and here I am, young, alone, and unprotected. But I think not of myself; at all events I am free—I am not chained to such a person as Monsieur de G—, and it is of you, and all that you will have to suffer, that my thoughts and heart are full. I return you the cheque for 500 francs—I cannot take the money. You are married to Monsieur de G—, and I can accept nothing from one who has made you believe that Valerie could be calumnious and ungrateful. Adieu, my dear madame; I shall pray for you, and weep over your misfortunes.
“Yours ever gratefully,
“Valerie de Chatenoeuf.”
That there was a mixed feeling in this letter, I confess. As I said in it, I really pitied Madame d’Albret and forgave her her unkindness; but I sought revenge upon Monsieur de G—, and in seeking that, I planted daggers into the heart of Madame d’Albret; but I did not at the time that I wrote reflect upon this. What I wished to do was to vindicate myself, and that I could not do without exposing Monsieur de G—, and exposing him in his true colours was, of course, awakening Madame d’Albret to her position sooner than she would have been, and filling her mind with doubts and jealousy. That this was not kind, I felt when I had perused what I had written previous to folding the letter, but I felt no inclination to alter it, probably because I had not quite so wholly forgiven Madame d’Albret as I thought that I had. Be it as it may, the letter was sealed and despatched by that night’s post, as well as that written to Madame Paon.