The moment Morley's eyes fixed upon his bust, the lightning of the mind flashed back into the chasm of past years--the scenes of other days, the block, the axe, the chamber of the torture, and all the dark implements with which that terrible man built up the fabric of his greatness, came before his eyes in a moment, and, for the first time since the cloud of sorrow had fallen upon him, his spirit found a momentary sunshine in the memories of ancient lore.
He stood and gazed, then, with his arms folded on his chest, while the people walking to and fro passed and repassed him, and many a one commented as they went, and assigned him a history and a character from their own imagination. How seldom is it, in the busy world with which we mingle, that any of the conjectures regarding our thoughts, our feelings, our state of existence, are correct! How rarely, from any of the indications that man's external demeanour affords to society, can one single trait of the heart's countenance be divined! Alas, dear reader, that it should be so! but to one another we all wear a mask.
One man, as he passed by Morley Ernstein, and saw the traces of care and thought on his countenance, settled it at once that he was some young prodigal flying from his creditors--a very natural supposition in the town of Calais or Boulogne. Another, moralizing with a friend who walked beside him, declared, from his youth, his gloomy look, and his distinguished attire, that he must have killed his best friend in a duel, or committed some of those other dark crimes which society never punishes, but conscience, sooner or later, always does; another set him down for an indifferent milord:
"Parfait Anglais voyageant sans dessein,
Achetant cher de modernes antiques,
Regardant tout avec un air hautain,
Et méprisant les saints et leurs reliques."
But at that moment there was one near him who knew better; and while Morley continued to gaze at the bust of Richelieu, careless altogether of what any one thought of him--shut up, in short, like the lady of the Arabian giant, in a glass-case of his own sensations and thoughts, through which he could be seen, but could not be approached--he was suddenly roused by hearing his name pronounced, and, turning round, saw a countenance not less striking than that of Richelieu himself, nor, upon the whole, very different in character.
The first impression was not pleasant, for the loneliness of heart that he felt upon him, made him repugnant to all companionship. Neither was the man he saw one in whom he was inclined to trust, or to confide--one whose sympathies were with him, or upon whose counsel he could rely; but yet, to say the truth, when he remembered the charm of his conversation, the power that he seemed to possess of leading the mind of others, with whom he held any communication, away from all that was unpleasant or painful, to brighter objects and to calmer thoughts, the first shrinking feeling of unwillingness passed away, and he stretched out his hand frankly, exclaiming--"Lieberg! I little dreamed of meeting you here."
Now the reader may remark, with great justice--"What, then, Morley Ernstein was by this time willing to seek entertainment!--If so, his sorrow was on the wane." He may likewise observe, that after all the acts and deeds committed by the worthy gentleman who now stood before him, it would surely have been more characteristic of Morley Ernstein to turn his back than to hold out his hand. True, O courteous reader!--true, in both cases--with the qualification of a "but." Did you ever happen to take, under the influence of any of the many ills that flesh is heir to, a dose which seemed somewhat bitter at first, but which produced great relief to the sick heart, or the aching head? If you have, you will know that though you might nauseate the remedy at first, you sought it eagerly again as soon as you had experienced the benefit thereof. Now Morley Ernstein was exactly in that situation. Under the first pressure of grief, he had turned from the very thought of amusement with disgust; but in mere occupation he had found a mitigation of pain; and while gazing at the bust of that great and terrible man, and suffering his mind to run over the scenes of the past, he had felt an interval of tranquillity which he had not known for many a-day. Conscious therefore that in Lieberg's society he would find more of the same kind of relief than in that perhaps of any other man living, he was not unwilling to take the same medicine for his wound again, although there might be still a degree of repugnance lingering at his heart. In regard to the second point, let it be recollected, dear reader, that although our good friend, Count Lieberg, had done everything on earth which Morley Ernstein would have looked upon as base and villanous, had he been aware of the facts, not one particular of all those transactions with which the reader is fully acquainted had been made known to him either by Helen or Juliet; and he was utterly ignorant of the whole. He looked upon Lieberg merely as a man of the world, with better feelings than principles; for although Morley was somewhat philosophically disposed by nature, he wanted totally that experience which, in the end, convinces us that the separation between good principles and good feelings is much more rare than youth and passion are willing to admit.
Principle may be one check upon a man, good feeling another; the man who has both is sure to go right, but the man who has either will not go far astray, and in this case too you may know the tree by its fruits. Of Lieberg's conduct to Helen Barham, of his conduct to her brother, Morley was ignorant; and though at first, as I have said, he felt but little disposed to like the society of any one, yet the second impulse made him hold out his hand, and utter the words that I have mentioned.
"I as little thought to see you in Calais," said Lieberg, in reply; "but I did trust to overtake you in Paris; for on my return to town, I heard that you had suddenly quitted England, that something had gone wrong with you, and that you were about to make an autumnal wandering in other lands."
Lieberg paused, seeing that the allusion which he had made to the cause of his companion's quitting England made Morley's brow knit heavily, and his eyes seek the ground. "To say the truth," continued Lieberg, "I am not in the best spirits myself, and I am somewhat aweary of this working-day world. I tried all the various resources of Great Britain for shaking off the dulness of this season of the year--fired a gun or two upon the moors, spent a day at a fashionable watering-place, and finding that everything was vanity and vexation of spirit, set off, post haste, to overtake you in Paris, and see if you would take a grumbling tour with me through foreign lands."