"Duty!" cried the Count with a scoff, unloosing her arm. "Talk not of duty, after all that you have done! As to the course you intend to pursue, be it what it may, mine is determined. We shall see what is your conduct, and I will answer for it, I will match it.--Go on, Mademoiselle. You know your way to the hall, I think."
With a slow step and trembling limbs, Rose d'Albret proceeded through the ante-room, and down the stairs. She felt at every moment as if she should faint, but yet, remembering that if such a weakness overcame her, they might take advantage of her insensibility, to proceed rapidly in whatever course they thought fit, she nerved her heart to the best of her power, and paused for a moment before entering the hall, to make one more appeal to the Count de Liancourt.
But he would not hear her speak, and throwing open the door violently, he waved her to go in.
All seemed confusion, and dim indistinctness to her sight. There was a crowd of faces, some of which appeared strange, and some familiar; but they were almost all those of men. There was wine, and meat, and laughter, and flowers, and everything the most dissonant to all the feelings of her heart; while, through the whole mass of misty images was seen, in terrible prominence, like some colossal statue in an eastern temple, the tall rigid form, and stern sarcastic features of Madame de Chazeul.
She was leaning upon a table just opposite the door; her complexion, where not besmeared with rouge, was unusually pale; there was an expression of weariness, and even of pain in her face. But when Rose appeared, that harsh countenance lighted up with a look of scornful triumph; and the poor girl's eyes grew dim, her head turned giddy with the thought of all she was to encounter in that hall.
CHAPTER XLI.
Helen De La Tremblade sat alone in the priest's room; and sad and terrible were the thoughts that crossed her mind. It may seem that to have found one even out of many, though but a mere boy, sincerely attached, and willing to risk all and sacrifice all, for her happiness and deliverance, might well have brought, cheering consolation to her heart. He could have no concealed motive. He had no dark treachery to practise. There, in his young enthusiasm, he had stood before her, a friend indeed. But what was the errand on which he had been sent?--the errand which he had refused to fulfil?--To bear her poison!--to consign her to the grave at the mandate of one who had promised with specious and sweet-spoken words, to guard, protect, cherish, watch over her.--To consign her to the dark and silent grave! Such had been the command of the Marchioness de Chazeul, after having neglected, abandoned, ill-treated her.
There were glimpses of some of the darkest realities of earth breaking on the mind of one who had lived her youth as in a dream; and oh, how cold, and more cold, grew her heart, as proof after proof was given of what human beings can become, when Godless, and heartless, they give themselves up to the mastery of strong passion. It was more than even the kindness of the poor boy could compensate, though she had found some relief in every word he spoke.
She sat and gazed upon the poisoned drink, with thoughts, almost approaching to madness, flashing through her brain. She asked herself, "Shall I drink it?--Then pain, and anguish, and remorse, and shame, will be all over. I shall be delivered from all this weight, this intolerable burden. I shall be free.-They cannot say I did it.--It is no fault of mine. They sent it to me. They are murderers, not I.--Oh, how I long to be at rest!--But Rose, dear, good Rose,--I must not leave her to struggle on unaided. And yet it were a pleasant thing to die; but for the terrible world beyond the grave.--Oh no, I must not, dare not, die, with all my sins upon my head. I must have time for penitence and prayer.--The boy said he would soon be here. I will see," and opening the window, she looked down to the bottom of the deep corridor, or passage, between the château and the walls.
There was nobody there, however. All was solitary; and even on the ramparts, the scanty watch had dwindled away to nothing; every one who dared, hurrying away to witness the gay wedding of Mademoiselle d'Albret, and all making their own comments upon the decency and propriety which their noble lord and master displayed in burying his brother, and marrying his nephew on the selfsame morning.