But Fleurange gathered from this that the youth was one of M. Dornthal’s sons, and her uncle had not
been able to meet her for some reason connected with the festival of the following day. Her first impression was that her cousin’s manners were rather abrupt, and his face somewhat peculiar, but on the whole he had shown himself very efficient and attentive. As for his skill in driving it was unrivalled, the reins could not have been in better hands.
After this short interruption, they kept on their way without slackening an instant, notwithstanding more than one turn through the winding streets, and at length arrived at a place planted with trees, where the carriage stopped before a flight of steps leading to an oaken door adorned with a massive brass knocker.
Some one was evidently watching for them, for the door instantly flew open. Fleurange caught the glimpse of a bright light and many forms! Her cousin hastened to aid her in alighting. Confused voices were audible, all having a cordial accent of welcome. A strong hand supported Fleurange as she ascended the six stone steps and entered the passage. A tall woman dressed in gray, and wearing a cap trimmed with flowers, approached and embraced her. “It is my turn now!” said a deep and sonorous voice, “for I am her uncle.” Fleurange raised her eyes toward a noble countenance which had too young a look to be crowned with such white hair, and her uncle embraced her, murmuring in a softened tone the name of Margaret. Beside him stood a lovely young girl, grave and blonde, while another, fair as her sister but younger, divested Fleurange of the heavy fur cloak and untied her bonnet. A boy of seven years ran out into the street to aid his brother, and a little girl of four or five clung to her mother’s skirts, looking curiously, but with delight, at the strange visitor.
Fleurange, dazzled by the lights, and confused by the very cordiality of her reception, was incapable of uttering a word, but her large eyes, full of tears, were more expressive than any words, and the unusual brilliancy of her complexion, owing to the keen night air, and her long tresses falling over her shoulders when her bonnet was removed, gave her an unusually striking appearance which would have conciliated the most malevolent. How, then, must she have been regarded by those so ready to welcome her heartily?
They led her, triumphantly, as it were, into a spacious drawing-room which was still more dazzling. In the centre of the apartment stood a tree brilliantly illuminated and hung with toys, flowers, jewels, and fruit of all kinds. Two chandeliers added their light to that of the illuminated tree, under one of which half a dozen children were gathered around a table loaded with cakes. Several young ladies, as well as others who were older, were grouped here and there.
In short, Fleurange suddenly found herself, and for the first time in her life, in the midst of what seemed to her a very brilliant reunion, in which all the faces, even those of her hosts, were strange. The least timid would have been disconcerted, and Fleurange was completely abashed. The lady in gray with a cap trimmed with flowers, whom she supposed to be her aunt, took her by the hand, and hastily led her back into the passage, and thence into a small parlor lighted by a single lamp. In crossing the hall, they met Fleurange’s young guide.
“Is she ill? Does she need anything?” he asked in a kind and eager tone.
“Yes, she needs rest,” and with this reply Madame Dornthal shut the door in her son’s face.
Fleurange sat down and breathed more freely. Hitherto she had been unable not only to utter a word, but even to collect her thoughts. Now, thanks to the quiet room, she at once grew calm, and in a few minutes felt quite recovered. She was young and vigorous. She had scarcely felt the fatigue of the journey, and it was not in her nature to yield long to emotion and embarrassment, especially when in the depths of her heart she felt so happy! Had not a single glance, quick as a flash, sufficed to dissipate the burden which weighed on her heart, and to light it up with a transport of joy and hope? Her uncle’s voice, the words he murmured as he embraced her, “O Margaret, is it you?” gave her a thrill; then the soft glances of those fair young girls, the sight of the children gathered under the Christmas-tree, even the abrupt attentions of her young cousin—all gave her a delicious sensation of safety, an assurance of protection which in her moments of desolation she had desired more than joy or happiness.