'He was so handsome, my Lucien, so kind, so tender; and so good, so religious and true! He had that dark southern beauty which makes a man so attractive to a fair woman, and, moreover, he possessed that charm which is more attractive and dangerous still—he was interesting.'
Alison thought of her own fiancée, Bevil Goring, and believed she could understand all this to the fullest extent.
'His means were ample and his position good, for, apart from his rank in the artillery, he was the representative of the Volcarts, one of the seven Families Patriciennes d'Anvers, whose seven coats-of-arms, all bearing a fesse checky you may see at this hour carved in the ancient Steyne of Antwerp. But why think of or boast of such things, when life, we are told, is but a dream, and often a very painful and feverish one!
'I have told you that I was educated in the convent at Bruges with English girls and English ladies. Hence I picked up among them some of that genuine and honest freedom of action which they understood and enjoyed; so when my betrothal to Lucien was fully known, and even the time of our marriage stated, we contrived to have more than one pleasant meeting unknown to my grim guardian, M. Hoboken, whose absorption in business, and often long absence at the Bassin du Kattendyk, and even at Flushing, afforded us facilities we could not otherwise have had.
'But in all this there was a dire fatality, and I shall never forget the day that brought it about.
'M. Hoboken was to be absent at Flushing for two days, and madame was an invalid—unable to go abroad. I met Lucien by appointment in one of the solitary walks, in the quiet park near the Avenue du Commerce, with a gift I had procured for him, when within a week of our marriage.
'"Look what I have brought for you!" said I, as I opened a morocco case containing an armlet of silver, like an Indian bangle—you know what I mean—flat and broad, and closed by a spring lock. In raised letters on the outside was my name, Alison, with the date of our coming marriage.
'"You are my prisoner already," said I, laughingly, as I fitted the band round his wrist, and the spring closed with a snap, thus it could neither fall off nor pass over his hand.
'"My dear love!" he exclaimed, and pressed me passionately to his breast.
'"Now, you are most completely mine," I whispered; "fettered for life—as without my aid you can never get it off."