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

by G. P. R. James

D'Aubin rose in silent bitterness, and half turned away; but ere he went he again paused, as if to speak, and a few indistinct words trembled on his tongue. Beatrice, however, stopped him, and with an air of calm, stern dignity, exclaimed, "No more, Monsieur d'Aubin, I will hear no more; it is time, sir, that you should quit one whom you have so basely insulted. Your horse is in the stable, your health is restored; my servants will guide and guard you on your way, should you need protection; but never let your step cross the threshold of Beatrice of Ferrara again, as never again shall your image enter her mind."

"Your commands shall be obeyed, Lady," replied D'Aubin, proudly; "and as to protection, I need none. Fare you well, madam, with thanks for the kindness you showed me at first; and with silence--if so it must be--for the harshness you now show; and yet I could wish to be heard."

"Not a word more!" replied Beatrice. "Sir, I bid you farewell! Laura! Annette! Where are those girls? Annette, I say!" and turning from him, she hastened on in the direction which her maids had taken when she sent them from her. They were at no great distance; and bidding them follow her, Beatrice with a rapid step retrod her way towards the chateau. Firmly, and apparently unshaken by what had passed, but with her dark bright eyes bent upon the ground, the beautiful girl entered the gates of the house; hurried along its many passages to the chamber in which, during the first period of D'Aubin's illness, she had been accustomed to repose; and opening the door, advanced towards a chair. But the energy of her great effort did not last till she reached it; her brain reeled, her steps wavered, and she sunk upon the floor, insensible and silent, ere her attendants could catch her in their arms. That innate faculty which teaches women to divine, as by intuition, the secrets of their fellow woman's hearts, held the girls who had followed Beatrice quite silent and noiseless, as they did all in their power to recall her to herself. There was no bustle, no outcry, no running hither and thither for assistance; but with quiet and persevering assiduity they tended her, till at length she opened her eyes and gazed languidly round the chamber. Then came some broken sobs, and then a flood of tears; and then, wiping away the drops that gemmed her long dark eyelashes, Beatrice of Ferrara once more shook off the bonds of woman's weakness, and was herself again.

"Be silent on what has past, Annette," she said; "Laura, I know I can trust you. I would fain learn whether the chateau is free of all guests; I long to be alone in my own house again. Fly, Annette, and see."

The girl sped away, and soon returned, saying, "The count mounted his horse, lady, and rode away some twenty minutes since."

"Did he?" said Beatrice--"did he?" and she fell into a deep fit of thought.

CHAPTER XXXII.

So long as there was a human eye upon her, Beatrice of Ferrara governed the mingled and passionate feelings that struggled with each other in her bosom, and would fain have had the mastery of her also. After a time, however, when she had preserved her apparent calmness long enough to deceive completely those around her; when she had drawn, with a hand full of grace and fancy, the groups of flowers which were to serve as patterns for her maiden's embroidery--had struck the chords of her lute with a careless but skilful hand, and talked for some ten minutes on a butterfly--she desired to be left alone.

Then however, when, with the door closed and the arras drawn, there was no eye upon her but that of Heaven, she once more gave way to all she felt. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she cried, clasping her small hands, "to be thus treated by one whom I have so deeply loved--for whom I have done so much--for whose sake I sacrificed my nights and days, scattered my fortunes, left my state and station, took on me menial offices, put my life in peril, and even my good name to risk--and more, far more, for whom I forgot and pardoned those errors that women forget least easily, and loved him still, even when he sported with my love as a thing of nought! Oh, God! oh, God! that he who, if ever man yet believed the love of woman to be a pure and holy thing, should have held the feelings of my heart most sacred--that he should dare to talk to me the words of shame, the vile sophisms of guilt and infamy; that he should dream that I--I who have stood alone, in the midst of a depraved court, the wonder and hatred of them all--that I should become his paramour, his leman, to be held or discarded at his pleasure--to play him sweet airs upon the lute, and sing to him when he was in the mood, and be called the Italian mistress of the gay Count d'Aubin!" and, as she called up all the images of the degradation he had proposed, she strained her hands upon one another till the clear blood vanished from beneath the small finger nails; and she raised her dark eyes to heaven, as if asking, "Is it possible that God can permit such baseness."

"It is my own fault!" she cried at length; "it is my own fault! I should have known too well what a vile slave man is--how he licks the dust beneath our feet, so long as we tread upon his neck, and turns to smite us as soon as we smile upon him. I should have known it, and with haughty dignity and distant sternness commanded the love that I have stooped to win. It is my own fault, weak girl that I am--it is my own fault! He thought that she who could go masquerading in boy's attire, and make herself the companion of grooms and horse-boys for his sake--that she who could dare the perils of the camp in a strange guise--could come and go, at the risk of question and discovery, through the gates of a beleaguered city--could bind up his wounds with her own hands, and watch for fourteen nights by the side of his sick bed,--would surely refuse him nothing--no, not her honour. Or perhaps even now, in his profligacy of heart, he scoffs and jeers at the thought of my fastidiousness; or deems that, by a cunning device and affectation of virtue, I sought to patch up a ruined reputation by a marriage with him. He may hold me as some light wanton! Out upon him! out upon him! Did he but know the heart he tramples on!" and bursting into tears, she covered her face with her hands, and remained thus for several minutes in silent bitterness of heart.