The salon in which I stood was well furnished. A Grecian couch occupied one corner; books, and toys, and instruments of music were scattered round, and reclining on this couch lay a woman of handsome form, but wild, haggard features, and insane expression; and on a low stool at her feet sat Pasiphae, my attendant.
Hearing the door open, she glanced around, and seeing me, shrieked, and covered her face with her hands:
“Gracious heavens! madame, how came you here? what brought you to these fated rooms?”
“What does this mean? speak, I command you! Who is this woman?—what are you doing here?”
“Ah, madame, why did you come here? Alas! alas! how unhappy; how unfortunate,” was the only reply she made, as she rocked herself to and fro.
“Tell me! tell me quickly,” I cried, seized with a horrible suspicion of the truth. At this the strange woman raised herself to a sitting posture, and regarding me with a countenance of melancholy wildness, said, clasping her hands together as she spoke:
“Oh, ask him, won’t you, to take me out of this;—I will be good, indeed I will: I never will come near him, if he don’t want to see me, if he will only take me away. Oh, do ask him: pray do?”
I went toward her mechanically, so stunned and stupid was I with astonishment. I sat down beside, and more closely observed the poor lunatic. I could plainly see fine traits in that blurred face; traces of mind, now scarred and erased, like a blotted crimpled page. Love, jealousy, humanity, and disgust, all told me that in this unhappy one I saw my husband’s victim. What could he mean by shutting her up there? Old Pasiphae still sat with her head bowed between her hands, and she momently exclaimed,—“What will master say? oh, how he will curse me!”
“No, no, Pasiphae; you shall not be blamed. Monsieur de Serval shall never know of my visit here. Get up, and tell me what this strange scene means.”
The maniac stared at me with her great black eyes, and then continued on in her sad tones. “No, no ball to-night; I cannot dance: he is coming for you to-morrow,—I cannot dance when I expect him; take away the dress; send away the carriage; I am going to sleep to dream of him,” and languidly closing her eyes, she sunk back on the couch, and lay perfectly still. Thinking the poor creature had fainted, I uttered an expression of fear, when Pasiphae, motioning me to silence, bent over her watchfully. Presently the sound of her regular breathing assured the old domestic that she slept. Smoothing back from her forehead the tangled masses of her hair, and covering the thin form with a large shawl, Pasiphae composed her delicate hands upon her breast, and then rising, took my hand in hers, and said mournfully: