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

by G. P. R. James

"No, no! St. Real," replied Eugenie with a sigh, "no, no! he loves nothing but himself. I know him better than you do. While I thought that, at some time, I was to become his wife, I strove to love him as great an effort as woman can strive to direct the feelings of her own heart. In striving to love him, I strove to know him; and thus I learned all the baseness, all the selfishness, of his character. Forgive me, St. Real, for using such harsh language: you know it is not in my nature to speak or to feel thus, except in a case where all my happiness is concerned: but I wish you to understand at once, and for ever, that I will not marry Philip d'Aubin--because I do not love him."

"But might not time, and assiduity, and nobler deeds, teach you to love him?" demanded St. Real: "for, believe me, Eugenie, better qualities lie slumbering in his heart, which a great object might awake and strengthen. Might he not teach you to love him?"

"I would not love him for a universe," replied Eugenie; "for the woman who loves him is sure to be miserable. But press me no more, St. Real, press me no more: my resolution is taken--my mind and my heart are fixed. I do not love Philip d'Aubin--I never have loved him--I never can love him; and, sooner than become his wife, I would resign all that I have on earth but the dowry of a nun; quit the world, and seek peace in the cloister."

St. Real replied but by a sigh; and although that sigh might be one of sorrow for the disappointment of his cousin, yet it called up in the bosom of Eugenie de Menancourt varied emotions, that, for a moment, sent another bright flush across her cheek, which, fading away again, left her as pale as death. Ere the soft natural hue had returned, and ere St. Real had time to separate his mingled feelings from each other, and give to those he thought it right to express, the door opened, and Madame de Montpensier appeared alone.

Strange is it to say, but no less true, that though Eugenie de Menancourt and Huon de St. Real had both longed for such a moment of calm and unobserved communion, the approach of a third person was, at that moment, a relief to both. Nor was the manner of Madame de Montpensier at all calculated to lessen that sensation: it was the same which she had assumed in the morning towards St. Real, and which she had found succeed so well, that she determined not to abandon it till he had quitted Paris. She was, perhaps, even calmer and more tranquil in her demeanour now than she had appeared before: for reading, with deep knowledge, the secrets of the human heart, she knew that such a demeanour was best in harmony with the feelings which she wished St. Real and Eugenie to experience towards each other. Approaching, then, slowly and tranquilly, she welcomed Mademoiselle de Menancourt cordially, and then proceeded to speak of various indifferent subjects with wit and grace, but with very tempered gaiety, until the appearance of the Duchess of Guise, and then of the Duke of Mayenne, gave a different turn to the conversation. Supper was almost immediately announced; and, during the meal, all passed in the same calm tone. Eugenie, for the first time in her life, thought Madame de Montpensier as fascinating in manners as she was generally reported to be; and although she could not help feeling, with a degree of discomfort, that the eyes of the princess were frequently upon her with an inquiring, or rather, investigating, glance, yet the minutes went by more pleasantly than any she had known for many months. St. Real, too, felt the time brief and sweet; but, arguing from the costly apparel of the Duchess and her sister, that they were either going forth to figure on some more splendid scene, or were about to receive other guests at home, he judged that the moments allowed to such conversation as he then enjoyed would be but few; and he tormented himself by remembering a thousand things he wished to say to Mademoiselle de Menancourt, which he had forgotten at the only time when they could have been said.

At length the party rose; and, if the sound of rolling wheels, and shouting attendants, and trampling horses, augured true, the members of the house of Guise were even somewhat late in preparing to receive the noble guests who were invited that night to meet together in gaiety and splendour, though the morning had passed with many in strife and bloodshed, and though iron war was thundering with his cannon at the gates.

On the first signal of their design to quit the supper table, the attendants, who stood round, threw open the doors of the hall, and Madame de Montpensier, taking Eugenie by the hand, led the way into another chamber, which was already brilliantly lighted, and evidently prepared for some occasion of splendour, but into which, as yet, no one had been admitted. Passing through that and several rooms beyond, they at length approached a saloon, the door of which was open, and from which proceeded the busy hum of many voices; while various figures were seen passing to and fro across the aperture of the doorway, like the painted shadows cast by a phantasmagoria. Some of those guests, however, who watch for great men's steps, and observe their looks, soon perceived the approach of the family of Guise; and the words, "The Duke, the Duke! His Highness the lieutenant-general!" pronounced by several voices within, created, for the moment a brief bustle among the guests, and then the silence of expectation, till the party entered the room.

The number already assembled might amount to nearly fifty, of whom the greater proportion were officers and soldiers, either personally attendant upon the Duke of Mayenne, or eager to pay court to him whose fortunes were for the time in the ascendant. For them, governments, commands, and the many military employments which gave profuse opportunity of squeezing a divided people, formed the attractions towards one at whose disposal were placed all the good things of at least one half the empire. The rest of the party who occupied the saloon were made up of the lower classes of the French nobility, male and female, principally the noblesse de la robe, who, with the same views as the others, though directed in a different line, sought to be amongst the first at the Hotel de Guise.

Not long after, however, another class began to arrive, who, willing to associate with Mayenne, to partake of the influence of his good fortune, to share what he chose to delegate of his power, and to obtain for their younger children the various benefices in his gift, were yet desirous of distinguishing themselves from even the democracy of their own order, by making the hour of their visit somewhat later, that they might not be confounded in the first rush of the subservient crowd. Last of all, as if in mockery of the pride of their immediate predecessors, came the fops, the coxcombs, the witlings, the debauchees of Paris, heedless of all interests but the dear first all-absorbing interests of their own vanity, and ready to laugh or sneer at everything and everybody, from the great Duke himself, down to the last new-made procureur, who claimed a right to bear arms and call himself gentilhomme.

On his arrival in the hall, the Duke advanced and bowed round him with the dignity, and perhaps with a little more than the pride, of a legitimate monarch. Though his eye had not much of the fire and energy which characterized that of his father and his brother, it was sufficiently quick and marking to observe in the room all those who are likely to be serviceable, either individually to himself, or more generally, to the state; and to each of these he took care to address some word of more particular favour and encouragement. Some he passed with a mere inclination of the head; some he noticed not at all. Madame de Montpensier, however, though in her heart prouder than her brother, was one of those--of those few persons--capable of feeling the master passions of human nature in all the terrible energy in which they can display themselves. Hatred, revenge, and ambition, were for the time, predominant in her heart: and these are idols to which, as to the Moloch of the Ammonites, pride will even sacrifice its children. Knowing and feeling that the meanest man present might accelerate or retard the objects of her desire, casting aside all her natural vanity, and all the haughtiness of her race, Madame de Montpensier mingled with the crowd, and--while her languishing sister, the Duchess of Guise, sat coquetting with her own particular admirers--she spoke with every one, smiled upon every one, and left each with increased prepossession in her favour, and renewed attachment to her cause.