And Laura—what was passing in her mind? The readers may easily conceive: and yet, lest there should be one or two of imaginations so opaque as not to be able to divine her thoughts, we will describe them as succinctly as possible.
She had run down the institution of marriage when in conversation with the Marquis of Delmour, because she knew that he was already bound in matrimonial bonds, and that she therefore could not become his wife. The result was that she was enabled to consent to become his mistress with much less apparent violation of decency, and without the risk of shocking his feelings. And his mistress she would have become, as she indeed promised, had not the arrival of the Count of Carignano turned her thoughts into an entirely new channel, and placed her interests altogether in a new light. From the moment that he announced his title and his wealth, Laura resolved to throw the poor Marquis of Delmour overboard and accept the proposals of the Italian nobleman.
In fact, Fortune appeared to favour Laura marvellously. Ere now she had beholden a coronet at the end of a vista of some years: in her musings, she had said, “The Marquis will be worth two hundred thousand pounds to me: and then I may espouse a peer of high title!” Such was her ambitious speculation previously to the arrival of Lorenzo: and now, since he had come, she no longer need pass through the apprenticeship of mistress to one nobleman in order to become the wife of another. No—a coronet was within her grasp: a few days—a few hours might behold her Countess of Carignano,—with a husband of whom she could not but be proud, and not with an animated corpse bound to her side.
Here was another triumph for Laura—another cause of glorification in the possession of those matchless charms which thus captivated so hastily and triumphed so effectually. Within a few short weeks she had seen Charles Hatfield—the Marquis of Delmour—and the Count of Carignano at her feet. The first and last had enjoyed her favours: the second was in anticipation of them—and, in that anticipation, had paid sixty thousand pounds. To the first she was wedded—and their marriage was a secret: to the last she had consented to be allied—and their union would be proclaimed to all the world!
Oh! associated with all these reflections, were triumphs—glorious triumphs for Laura Mortimer; and as those thoughts rushed through her mind, as she lay half embraced in the arms of the fond and doting Italian nobleman, the delicious rosiness of animation spread over her cheeks, and kindred fires flashed from under her long silken lashes.
“How beautiful art thou, my adored one!” exclaimed Carignano, as he contemplated the glorious loveliness of her looks: and then he pressed his lips to that mouth which was so voluptuously formed, and which rather resembled a luscious fruit than anything belonging to human shape. “Oh! how I long to call thee mine—to know that thou art indissolubly linked to me! But say—tell me—when shall this happy, happy union take place?—when wilt thou accompany me to the altar?”
“Let us depart for England without delay, my dearest Lorenzo,” murmured Laura, lavishing upon him the most tender caresses; “and there—in London—our marriage can be celebrated immediately after our arrival. Have you any tie—and business on hand to retain you in Paris?”
“None in the world,” was the answer: “and even if I had, everything should give place to the accomplishment of my felicity and the fulfilment of your wishes.”
“Then let us take our departure as early as convenient to-morrow morning,” said Laura.
“And we shall not separate in the meantime?” observed the young Count, straining the syren to his breast.