[CHAPTER XXVI.]
The gay, pleasure-loving Parisians were on the qui vive for Mrs. Carlyle's masquerade ball, for it was everywhere conceded that her entertainments were the most recherche and delightful in the whole city. Colonel Carlyle spared neither pains nor expense to render them so.
In his laudable desire to further Bonnibel's happiness, the colonel lavished gold like water. He knew no other path to success than this. He wanted to win her regard, if possible, and his experience in society had disposed him to believe that the most potent "open sesame" to a woman's heart was wealth and power.
How far the colonel's convictions were true, or how ably he might have succeeded in the darling wish of his heart, had things gone well, we shall never know, for the frail superstructure of his happiness, builded on the sand, was destined to be thrown down and shattered into fragments by the wild winds of fate, that should converge into storms on that fatal night to which so many looked forward with pleasure.
And yet not the faintest presentiment of evil came to him that day to whisper of the gathering clouds of destiny. He knew not that his "house of cards" tottered on its foundation, that the wreck and ruin of his dearest hope was about to be consummated. He knew not, or he might have exclaimed with the poet:
"Of all that life can teach us,
There's naught so true as this;
The winds of fate blow ever,
But ever blow amiss!"
The brief winter day came at length, gloomy and overcast, with clouded sky that overflowed with a wild, tempestuous rain, as though
"The heart of Heaven was breaking
In tears o'er the fallen earth."