One in a Thousand; or, The Days of Henri Quatre

by G. P. R. James

"You have inflicted upon me that mortifying reiteration, somewhat often," replied D'Aubin; "and perhaps I am not wrong when I ask, whether the want of love towards your promised husband in the past and the present, has not originated in love for another?"

Eugenie's cheek crimsoned to a hue deeper than the rose; and something between confusion and indignation kept her silent. D'Aubin drew his own conclusions; but, strange to say, though those conclusions were as bitter as well might be, they only added fire to the fierceness of his pursuit. His cheek, however, reddened also; but it was with the struggle of anger, and interest, pride and vanity; and he went on: "I see I am right, Mademoiselle de Menancourt, and am sorry to see it. Nevertheless, my confidence in you is such, that I entertain not the slightest doubt, that however unwisely you may have entertained such feelings hitherto, you will crush them with wise precaution, and bury them in speedy oblivion, when you become my wife. Nor am I inclined to resign my hopes of teaching you to change all such opinions by my own conduct, and of bringing you to love me, when your duty shall be engaged to second all my efforts."

Eugenie saw that her fate was determined, as far as the Count d'Aubin had power to govern it. She saw that with him entreaties would be ineffectual, and tears of no avail. Nothing then remained but resolution; and although she knew not what protection the law of her native land held out to one under her circumstances, and was too well aware that in the city where she was detained, popular violence had broken through all the restraints of society; yet she determined that no weakness or want of energy on her own part should favour the oppression to which she was subjected. As soon as she perceived that the humble supplications to which she had descended fell as vainly upon the ear of the Count d'Aubin as the song of the charmer upon the deaf adder, her whole manner changed; and, assuming the same look of unconquerable determination which he had put on towards her, she replied, "My duty, Sir Count d'Aubin, will never either second or prompt any efforts on my part to feel differently towards you than I do now; for I never will be, and never can be, your wife. The arm of power may drag me to the altar, and a mockery of religious service may be read between us; but there, as here, my voice shall steadfastly pronounce the same refusal; the ring, with which you think to wed me, shall be trampled under my feet; no contract shall ever be signed by me; and as long as I have strength to lift my voice, I will appeal against the tyranny which oppresses me. Moreover, let me warn you, that every step that you take forward in this brutal and ungentlemanly course will but increase those feelings which you have this day striven in vain to remove, till indifference becomes dislike, and dislike grows into detestation."

"You will think better of this, Eugenie," said D'Aubin, surprised and struck by energy and vehemence, such as he had never witnessed in her before. "We are destined to be united, and be assured that nothing can make a change in this arrangement. Let us not meet, then, at enmity. You will think better of this."

"Never," replied Eugenie, "never! You have roused a spirit in my bosom, Count d'Aubin, that you knew not existed there--that I knew not myself till this hour. But I feel that it will bear me through everything; and I tell you boldly, and at once, that I would infinitely rather die, were death within my choice, this moment, than be the wife of Philip d'Aubin."

D'Aubin bit his lip, and casting his eyes upon the ground, paused for a moment in deep thought, his resolutions and purposes shaken by what he had heard, and his mind once more undecided. "Tell me," he said at length, "tell me, Mademoiselle de Menancourt, if by my application to the Duke of Mayenne the ceremony of our marriage this night, which I see has been announced to you by the Duchess de Montpensier, can be put off to some later period, will you give me the hope, that after a certain time, during which my conduct towards yourself, and towards the world, shall be in every respect irreproachable, I may obtain your hand, without doing that violence to your feelings, which it seems would be the consequence of our present union?"

Eugenie turned deadly pale, under the emotion that she felt. The words of the Count d'Aubin offered her the prospect of a temporary relief--offered the means of obtaining invaluable time, during which a thousand changes of circumstances might take place to free her from the difficulties and dangers that surrounded her; but she asked herself, how was this to be bought? By deceit, by the first deceit she had ever been guilty of in life; and though many a casuist might argue, and argue perhaps justly, that she had a right to oppose the unjustifiable means employed against her, by any method in her power to use, the heart of Eugenie de Menancourt was not one that could admit such reasoning in regard to honesty and truth. She would not have bought her life by deceit; and though perhaps in the present instance she might feel that more than life itself was at stake, she would not sacrifice her own good opinion even for that.

"No, Monsieur d'Aubin," she replied, after a long and agitated pause--"No!--I will not deceive you. No time can change my opinion or determination. I never can be your wife. If you will desist from your present pursuit--if you will recollect the former generosity of your sentiments--if you will consider your own honour, and my peace of mind, and set me free from this persecution, you will merit and obtain my deepest gratitude, my thanks, and my admiration; but, Philip d'Aubin, you never can have more."

"Then you seal your own fate, Eugenie de Menancourt," replied D'Aubin, "and things must take their course, as already arranged. Yet think not that this arrangement has been planned solely to gratify me. Other and more important interests are involved therein, and you will see by this note from the Duke of Mayenne, that motives of state necessity compel both him and me to abridge that ceremonious delicacy which otherwise would have been extended towards you."

Eugenie took the paper, and tried to read it over; but agitation and apprehension caused the letters to dance before her eyes, and she only gathered the general import, and saw that as far as Mayenne and the Count d'Aubin had power, her fate was sealed indeed. Although her resolution remained in full force, and her mind was as unconquered as ever, she felt that her bodily powers were failing her; and fearful that Aubin should see how much she was overcome, as well as anxious for a few hours of uninterrupted thought, she waved her hand for him to leave her.