“Great heaven! Is it possible that so much happiness awaits me?” cried the Marquis, scarcely able to believe his eyes or his ears: then, after gazing upon her for a few instants with all the rapturous ardour of a youthful lover, he sank upon his knees before her, exclaiming, “Laura, I adore you!”
The designing woman’s triumph was complete: the Marquis was inextricably entangled in her snares;—and, throwing her arms around his neck, she murmured, “Oh! it is an honour as well as a joy to possess your love!”
Then the old man covered the charming young woman’s countenance with kisses; and for several minutes not a word was spoken between them. But at length the Marquis, who could scarcely believe that he had won a prize the possession of which all the noblest, handsomest, and wealthiest young men in Paris would envy him, began to speak upon the course which it would be prudent for them to adopt. Laura at once gave him to understand that she should experience no sentiment of shame in appearing as his mistress; and she undertook—as well indeed she might do—to reconcile her mother to this connexion which she had formed.
“Let us then return to England without delay,’ said the Marquis. “The business which has brought me to Paris is now in such a position that an agent may manage it for me. But tell me—is your mother dependent upon you?”
“Entirely,” answered Laura, anticipating the course which her noble lover was about to adopt.
“And your fortune is doubtless large?” he continued, interrogatively.
“It is not nearly so large as rumour has alleged,” was the reply. “Still it is a handsome competency for one person.”
“Then, as there shall be nothing having even the slightest appearance of selfishness in my attachment towards you, Laura,” resumed the nobleman, “you must immediately assign all your property to your mother; and I will at once—yea, at once—give you a proof of the boundless devotion with which you have inspired me. Permit me the use of your desk for a few moments.”
Laura rang the bell, and ordered Rosalie to bring writing materials; and when this was done, the marquis seated himself at the table and wrote something upon a sheet of paper. He next penned a letter, which he folded up, sealed, and addressed; and, turning towards Laura, he said, “This draught, beloved girl, is for the sum of sixty thousand pounds, payable at sight at my bankers’ in London. This letter, which you will have the kindness to send through the post to-morrow, is to advise them of the fact of such a cheque having been given, and to prepare them to meet it, so that there may be no hesitation in paying such a large amount. For it will be my joy and delight to enrich you, my dearest Laura; so that the old man may to some extent repay the immense obligation under which he is placed by the possession of such a heart as thine. I would not have you remain wealthy through your own resources: henceforth you must owe every thing to me—for if you cannot be my wife in name, you shall at least be the sharer of my fortune, as you have consented to be the partner of my destinies.”
“Your generosity, my dear Marquis, only binds me the more closely to you,” exclaimed Laura, lavishing upon the old man the most exciting and apparently fervent caresses. “At the same time permit me to remind you that there is nothing selfish in that affection which so suddenly sprang up in my bosom towards you: because I am no needy adventuress—no intriguing fortune-hunter,—and you are well aware that many a French nobleman would be proud to lay his title at my feet, were I disposed to decorate my brow with a coronet. My father—who, as you have doubtless heard, accumulated some money in India—left me well provided for; and that fortune I shall cheerfully abandon to my mother, preferring to remain dependent on yourself.”