“Blanche is one of those strange, impulsive beings, who, if you can only thoroughly warm and interest, will go all lengths to love and please you. Lord Glenfells has acquired a great influence over her, and she has consented to forego respectability, society, everything for him. Oh, how I wish she had not done so; how I regret her loss.”
“She may repent this imprudence some day, and return to propriety; and you, do not grieve about her; summon your stoical philosophy, and practice your favorite aphorism. Never regret that which is past.”
“Yes, I know I ought to practice my precepts: philosophy triumphs over past and future ills, but present troubles overmaster philosophy.”
“True, love: a wise remark.”
“We were engaged to sing five nights yet, to complete our engagement; now she is flown, I shall have to finish alone,” I observed, absently; for, notwithstanding my joy at seeing my lover again, my thoughts reverted to the absent Blanche.
Monsieur de Serval drew me gently toward him, as he sat upon the sofa.
“Come hither dearest, come sit close by me, your presumptive and future lawful protector; do not look so sad; cheer up, and let us talk of happiness and love, and delightful scenes, and conversations, all in store for us in times to come.”
But I could not feel my usual cheerfulness, even for his sake, and after a slight conversation he went away, and I retired to my own room and my solitude; and then I wept for Blanche’s loss, and Blanche’s shame.
Nothing is sooner dried than a tear; and, as de Serval had said, my regrets could not restore her, could not undo her behaviour; and the deprivation of her sweet society, made me fonder still (if that could be) of that of Monsieur de Serval; my whole heart now exclusively centered in him. I performed my last engagement on the Neapolitan boards, and bade adieu to the distinguished patronage of royalty, and the humble, yet heartfelt admiration of the people. The journals doled forth newspaper sentiment and lamentations at the dramatic loss; and private circles wondered at my good fortune. For myself I did not think whether it was good fortune or not. I only knew, I only thought I loved him, and was willing to go any where, do anything, make any sacrifice for him. I will not describe the few weeks of courtship that intervened before my marriage; such scenes can only be felt, be experienced, they cannot be told; they are sad, yet sweet episodes in my memory, and though painful to recur to, yet mentally I treasure them, for that was my first love.
Signor, I married him; my wedding was simple, and celebrated with but little display; his noble friend, the Countess Bramonti honored it with her distinguished presence; and my guardian, teacher, and benefactor, Monsieur Belmont, gave me away. I was united to him in the pretty church of Sacre Cœur, where, some weeks before I had attended mass with Madame Bonni; it was filled with spectators, every one wishing to see the new singer married; and my kind hostess kissed me at the conclusion of the ceremony, and wished me happiness, with tears in her eyes, and smiles on her lips.