We were visited daily by many of the fashionable men of Naples; we were escorted to and from the theatre by numerous beaux, and the gay cavaliers vied with each other in their attentions; yet the compliments, the civilities paid to actresses, are of a different tone to those rendered to ladies of private life. There is a tone to all expression, a gradation to every human feeling; there is an imperceptible something in expression which we can feel but cannot describe; and it was this something that I felt, but could not describe, when I regarded the opposite of attentions to a lady of rank, and compliments to an actress.
I endeavored to console myself for all regrets in philosophy, but sometimes feeling triumphed over even that, stoical as I thought myself. Sometimes attributing every thing to fate, sometimes believing in chance, I surrendered myself to the current of life’s troublous stream, and blindly glided on.
Among other visiters to the house, there came the beautiful Lord of Glenfells. I say beautiful, because handsome, manly, fine-looking, are not terms to express his ideal, his exquisite, shadowy, captivating loveliness. He often visited Blanche. I never obtruded on their interviews; and, save the ordinary civilities of etiquette, never had any acquaintance with him; yet, though I saw him frequently, the impression of his personal attractions ever seemed new to me. I know not if he were intelligent or otherwise. I once or twice spoke of him to her, but the embarrassment and rosy blush told of interested feeling, and perceiving she did not wish to converse about him, I ever afterwards waived the subject.
Busy gossiping tongues, however, with which the world is filled, who make it their business to attend to every body’s but their own, reported him as a man of immense wealth, travelling for amusement, or pleasure, which with the rich, and great, and fashionable, means the same thing. This was all I gathered concerning him; yet from what I saw of him, I considered him a man of dangerous attractions; artful, without appearing to be so, possessing a mournful tenderness, an abandon of manner, peculiarly attractive to a woman like Blanche. Though younger, I was superior in perception of the realities of life. I was not so dreamy, perhaps not so pure as she, my embodied concentration of the great, the beautiful, the good. God bless her! Let me not dilate upon that purity, that goodness. I feel my praise is inadequate to her merits; my commendations cannot add to the halo of immortality that surrounds her in the Elysian shades.
CHAPTER VIII.
The three weeks’ absence of Monsieur de Serval, was occupied in fulfilling our engagement in Ajesha, which was performed twenty nights, and obtained great popularity for itself and glorious fame for us. Upon the return of my lover, my comet-like career was to terminate into marriage and retirement into private life. Blanche still adhered to her resolution of remaining unmarried, though many good offers had been made her; and of the opinions of Inez in that particular, we had been duly informed by a letter from herself, describing her happiness, and pleasant home, and husband’s love.
The prophecy of old Acte lingered in my mind and constantly haunted me, and Blanche also seemed painfully impressed by her words. I observed for some days before M. de Serval’s return, that she would sit for hours—often all day—in absent thought, noticing no one, answering no one, if spoken to. Wondering at this neglect of my kindness in her, who had always from childhood manifested so much attachment to me, I felt a reproach to this coolness rise to my lips; but when I glanced at that calm, sweet face, and saw the pre-occupation of sad thought, all anger vanished, and quietly coinciding with her wish, I left her to her meditations.
The night before the day on which my lover returned, I sought my pillow early; but sleep fled my eager embrace. Restlessly I tossed: I could not rest. Madame Bonni had a library of select works fitted up in a little room on the ground floor; I remembered this, and wanting to amuse me till repose should come, I arose, slipped on an opera-cloak of blue satin, which happened to be lying near the bed, and thrusting my feet in slippers, descended the stairs: all the household were retired. I got my book from the library, and was about returning, when passing the door which led into the garden, at that late hour I was surprised to see it open. The resplendent moonlight streamed brightly through, disclosing my favorite seat beneath the blooming Acacia and those beds of roses so odorous, and that pretty garden looked so inviting, that I stepped out in the moonlight and looked around. All nature was hushed to repose,—that delightful calm which, unlike death, tells of prostrated strength presently to be revived. As I stood upon the porch, gazing vacantly around, voices struck my ear. Who could be there at that late hour? I thought of robbers, and trembled with fear. A moment’s listening re-assured me: it was a woman’s sweet tones I heard, and then those of a man in reply.
Far down the gravel-walk, at the extreme end of the garden—by the margin of a little fountain which had once played there, but whose source was now neglected and obstructed by weeds and stones—I thought I perceived two forms. Determined to ascertain who and what they were, I stole noiselessly down the walk, to the shade of my favorite tree, which now cast its deep shadow far down the way, and concealing myself behind the broad trunk, peeped from around it, and beheld, to my astonishment, Lord Glenfells and Blanche!