The Prince paid no further attention to him, but placed a chair near Aminta, sat beside her, and pointing out a chair to the Marquis, bade him do so also.
"We thought you unwell," said the Marquise to her father-in-law, making an effort to restrain herself. "We are glad to see it is not the case."
"For three days," said the Prince, "I have not felt well. Too long a walk for a person of my age, and some important affairs have fatigued both my body and mind. I therefore determined to pass this evening calmly and quietly with you—with my family. I do not," said he, speaking to Henri, "expect it will be gay, but we cannot make a holiday all the time. We must sometimes be calm, and reflect. You, my daughter," said he to Aminta, "may be sure I will do all I can to aid you. I know you like to hear my old stories, but if you did not, and it were unpleasant to you, you would bear with me. I am about to tell you a long one." The Marquis and the Marquise listened to the Prince with surprise. The tone of this preamble seemed to them so foreign to the ordinary language and habits of the Prince, that they began to see something stranger even than the piquant anecdotes and traditions he delighted in narrating. "This story is a revelation of a story I long doubted whether or not I should confide to you. Its avowal cannot but be painful to me, and a man does not like to blush before his children."
"Why do so, then, my father?" said Henri.
"Because I wish to, monsieur," said the Prince sternly. "Because in the course of his life man must suffer, when its suffering is good in its effects, because thereby he may punish evil, and do his duty." The young couple looked at the Prince with terror, for his brow was moody, and on his lips—across which irony, gayety, and sarcasm so often played—there were now the marks of anger, menace, and indignation.
The old man spoke thus: "After leaving Mettan, whither I had followed the Princess, I went to Naples in 1792. Like almost all the émigrés of that day, I had no money. One of the first Frenchmen I met with in that city was Count Max de Nangis, with whom I had previously become acquainted in the strangest manner. We had been educated by the Benedictines, but our scholastic success was most unequal; for the Count saw me regularly surpass him, and carry away every college prize. He naturally disliked me. When we had entered society, our whimsical hate continued,—so that I seemed born to be the evil genius of the Count. If our horses were entered for the same stake, mine won the purse; sometimes by a length or a head only—but they won. If the Count fell in love, he did so with a woman that loved me, and the Count was soon sent adrift. My marriage soon capped the climax. Count Max had a charming cousin, Mlle. de Devonne, whom he loved passionately. Their marriage had been quietly agreed on between the families, and was to be solemnized on the majority of M. de Nangis. I was introduced to the Duke de Devonne, and saw his daughter, the most beautiful woman of the Court. After a short time I became passionately in love with her. I soon saw that my love was returned, and as the marriage to which I have referred had only been a matter of family-talk, known to a few friends, but not to the public, my father induced the Dauphin to ask the Duke de Nangis for his daughter's hand for me. Unwilling to offend the Prince, led astray by the manifest interest of his daughter, and anxious to gratify her, the Duke consented. The Count de Nangis was enraged, and challenged me;—I wounded him in the arm. We fought again;—I wounded him in the thigh. He challenged me again; and I run him through the body; he was forced to be satisfied. All these duels took place in the county of Saluces, in Savoy,—then belonging to my family, and whither I had gone to attend to business-matters. I married Mlle. de Devonne, who was your noble and excellent mother,"—this was said to Henri, "I have told you this to explain the hatred which had existed so long a time in the heart of M. de Nangis, when we met at Naples, in 1792. The first months of my sojourn were sad and solitary. Too proud to inform any one of the nature of my sufferings, I lived retired; and, except a few countrymen as poor as I was, saw no one. This was easy enough; for I had brought no letter of recommendation to the eminent people of that capital, in which I made such a bad figure, and amid which I was isolated. This life made one of my habits and tastes suffer cruelly. A painful circumstance, however, mortified my self-love, and increased my humiliation,—the Count de Nangis then was 'the observed of all observers,' in Naples. More prudent or more fortunate than I, he saved large sums of money from the tempest which overwhelmed all the large fortunes of France. He had a number of servants, and in luxury and magnificence equalled the wealthiest persons of the city. Notwithstanding my anxiety to avoid him, I met him frequently, and I saw in his expression a kind of disdain and contempt which wounded me to the soul. One day, when I was more desperate than ever, I received a letter from France, and in it a check for fifty thousand livres, which the Countess of Grandmesnil had sent me. Intoxicated with joy, I hastened to get possession of this money, and careless of the future, forgot this would be the only sum I should receive for a long time, or perhaps would ever receive. I indulged in mad extravagance, took a carriage, and three days afterwards presented myself at various noble houses, where my rank and title procured me a ready reception. I saw M. de Nangis; we met in the same rooms, amid people of high rank, and there was no trace of our old differences. I fancied, though, that the Count exhibited a secret spite at my recovery of fortune, which he thought more stable than it really was. At this time people in Naples played high. The palace of Prince Leta was every night filled with rich strangers, and with the principal nobles of Naples. Over his tables, loaded with gold, they played all night long. I was taken to Prince Leta's, where a strange idea took possession of me. I fancied that I might, without danger or risk, increase my revenue, and probably triple the poor sum I had been fortunate to receive. I played, and my good fortune did not desert me; at first I won with the strangest good fortune. My daring increased, and I made some bold bets, which were successful; so that in the course of a few evenings I won three hundred thousand francs."
The eyes of the Marquis glittered with strange light, as he heard his father speak thus. The Prince did not seem to observe it, and continued—
"Chance led me into a room where the Count de Nangis also was—he too played. Remembering how my fortune had always seemed to surpass his, and all the victories I had won at his expense, I could not refrain from secretly pitying him for the fate which had again brought him into contact with me, and which led him again to contend with one who had uniformly triumphed over and beaten him in fortune, love, and war. We began to play—the Count betting high, and I following his example. The game was something between faro and lansquenet, now completely forgotten, having been replaced by écarté." The Prince saw his son tremble at the mention of the last game; for a few moments he paused, and then continued—
"The first games were unfortunate for me; I lost—I doubled the stakes, and lost again. At the conclusion of the evening my hundred thousand crowns were reduced to a hundred thousand francs. I returned home completely overpowered, but less stupefied at my own losses than at the success of my rival, who heretofore had been so unfortunate. On the next day I sent to M. de Nangis, before noon, the fifty thousand francs I owed him—on the previous evening I had on my person only fifty thousand francs with me. That night we met again at Prince Leta's. The game began—there were many spectators. I won ten thousand francs, and smiled confidently at the change of fortune. It soon, however, changed once more.—When the clock struck twelve I was ruined! 'On my honor!' said the Count, 'I have sought for ten years to contend with you, Prince. If gold could indemnify me for all the losses you have caused me, confess that, to-day, we are even.' My heart was ready to burst with rage, and I was ready to insult him. 'We will not stop here, I hope,' said M. de Nangis; 'and I wish to have more of your money; provided I have fifty thousand francs of yours, I ask nothing more of the god Plutus.'
"A terrible contest then took place in my mind. To confess that I had no more money—that I was ruined, seemed impossible; a miserable false pride prevented me. Should I, however, go on, and contract a debt which I could not discharge? 'Prince,' said the Count, pushing ten notes of a thousand francs towards me, 'ten thousand francs more I wish to lose, and something tells me that luck is about to turn.' The devil spoke to me through the mouth of man. 'On parole,' said I, 'for I have no money with me.' 'Pardieu, said the Count, 'people like ourselves never have more than fifty thousand francs in our pocket-books. Parole is our cash, and none but citizens and bankers, who are loaded with gold like mules in Guatemala, have any thing else. Your word is good for five hundred thousand francs, and I will take it for cash.' I felt an icy coldness run through my veins and stop at my very heart. I played again, and again I lost and won again. An hour afterwards I owed sixty thousand francs to the Count de Nangis. 'What is the matter?' said he ironically, 'are you ill.' 'The heat,' said I, rising, 'is excessive; and if you please we will stop here.' 'As you please,' said the Count; 'and to-morrow you shall have your revenge.' 'To-morrow, then, be it,' said I. My head was hot, yet a cold perspiration stood on my brow; my sight became troubled, my legs quailed, and I saw before me the terrible spectacle of dishonor. He at last had his enemy in his power, and was about to doom him to infamy. Two words seemed written before my eyes, and by their aspect terrified me. Those two words contained all I had to fear and apprehend—they were worse to me than death. These words were a contract of honor, a sacred article in even the gambler's code. These words had been pronounced by the Count as he pushed his money towards me: they were 'on parole.' I went to my hotel—for I had not yet left the modest room I had inhabited while a more comfortable suite was being prepared—and gave way to despair. 'My name disgraced!' cried I, 'the name of the Prince de Maulear, which has been pure and honored for so many centuries, made vile and disgraced by a miserable debt of sixty thousand francs, a sum once scarcely to be considered as a fraction of the revenues of my family!' There was no one by to aid me—no one to whom I could own my fault, my remorse, and my despair. Day came, and the horror of my situation increased as the fatal hour drew near. Unable to resist this frightful torment I said, 'No! I will not live dishonored; I will not bear a disgraced, shameful, and dishonored life.' I went to the table and wrote: 'I owe to the Count de Nangis the sum of 60,000 francs, for which I bequeath him all the profits ever likely to accrue to me from my property in France. Here, when I am about to die, I enjoin my son to discharge this debt of honor by every means in his power.' I then took my pistols, loaded and cocked them—now be bold for one moment, and spare yourself years of shame and disgrace!—I placed one of the pistols with the muzzle at my heart, and the other in my mouth. I was about to pull the trigger when I heard a noise. The partition which divided me from the next room was shattered, and through the opening thus made, I saw a man, pale and agitated. This person advanced towards we with a pocket-book in his hands. 'Stop,' said he, 'here is what you owe—this pocket-book contains sixty thousand livres.'"