The Lady of Chateau Blanc. An historical romance

Front matter

THS IsADY OF GHATtsAU BkANG The bady of Chateau Blanc AN HISTORIGAk ROMANGB "A MALCOLM W. SPARROW, Author of " Matawanda," "The Portrait." "The Romance of La Tour,' •■ Beaubassin,' etc. TORONTO : THE BROUGH PRINTING Co 1 Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by Malcolm W. Spahrow, Toronto, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS To enumerate, by means of foot notes, the references necessary in a narrative such as I have attempted, would not only annoy the reader, but exasperate the printer. Yet I should not lay down my pen without mentioning the Memoirs of M. de Bourrienne, Duchesse d'Abrantes, Baron de Meneval, Prince Metternich, and the works of Imbert de Saint-Amand, Louisa Mulbach, Frederick Masson, and Lord Wolseley.

No one could write with assurance of the First Empire without the aid of these authors, and I wish to make this acknowledgment of their invalu able assistance. The Author. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Fortune's Smile, ---------- i II. Chateau Blanc 5 III. Selma, ....--- ... 8 IV. Agreeable Impression, --------- 13 V. Silence is Golden, - - - -- - - - - -'7 VI. A Declaration, ---------- 22 VII. Anxieties Will Never Cease, -------- 2 VIII. The Result of the Accident, - - - - - 28 IX. Three Gentlemen from Paris, - - 3° X. The Finding of a Treasure, ------- 35 XI. A Squad of Hussars Come Out of the Night, - - 39 XII. A Morning Dri\*e, - - ----- 43 XIII. The Secretary Shows His Hand, ------- 48 XIV. A Bas la Cocarde, - 51 XV. What de Banyan Learned at the Barracks, - - - - 57 XVI. Vive l'Empereur, - - - - 62 XVII. The Wounded Prisoner, - ....

Chapter 1

fortune's smile was a glorious morning in the fall of the year 1814. I Napoleon Bonaparte was at Elba ; Louis XVIII. was in Paris ; all France was dissembling to the Bourbons, and the Allies at the Congress of Vienna were quarrelling submit to the exile ofthe man who, out of the chaos of the Revolution, had made France. Yet there were men in Paris who fully understood the situation, and although they were prudent enough to keep their convictions beneath the sur face, they could not help feeling contempt for many who, having profitted under the Emperor, were now lauding the King. with one another over the map of Europe. The eagles that had figured so conspicuously at Austerlitz, Wagram, Friedland, Borodino, had suddenly disappeared, and de. pita the protestations of the soldiers, the fleur-de-lis of the restored King floated proudly and defiantly in the breeze from the dome of the Tuileries.

It had become dangerous to wear the tri-colors of the Empire ; patriotic to wear the white of the Bourbons; and while Vive s Em pereur was uttered with fear and trembling, Vive le Roi was shouted with an exultation that threatened to rend the sky. It was strange to many that they had not realized before how much they loved the King ; it was extraordinary that they had not perceived sooner the rapidity with which le petit corporal was At the Lion d'Or inn, in the Faubourg St. Antoine, on the morning already cited, three army officers sat chatting together over the present state of affairs. Gaspard Lemon t, the proprietor of the inn, a bustling little man in shirt sleeves and apron, with a face as round and as rubicund as a harvest moon, was looking after the comforts of his guests with an attention which was almost obsequious.

It was Monsieur le Colonel de Banyan this, and Monsieur le Major de Brissac that, and Monsieur le Captain Martello something else, with a politeness which led a man, who stood guzzling gin at the bar, to believe that the Lion d'Or inn was at that moment honored with distinguished guests. But when he discovered that these men were only half-pay officers, he shrugged his shoulders and resumed his drinking with a cynical expression of countenance that was decidedly uncom plimentary. Finally, however, this knowing customer, having imbibed a sufficient quantity of gin to render his equileading France to ruin. It was surprising how easily they could reconcile themselves to the return of the emigres, who for years had been fighting against France like brother against brother, and it was equally surprising how easily they could specimen of a soldier ot the Empire.

His fio-ure was tall, broad-shouldered, finely proportioned, and as straight as an arrow. His face was bronzed by the suns of many lands ; across his left cheek was a long red scar, the result of a Russian sabre cut at Borodino. His eyes were large and of a deep brown or hazel. His hair was black and wavy. His Roman features denoted great force, endurance and determination, and while there were evidences of fierceness and severity, there were also indications of gentleness and good fellowship. librium somewhat dubious, left the inn, and there being no more customers to serve at that moment, the attentive pro prietor drew off to await the possible re quirements of his military patrons, with a hope that he might overhear their con versation. " So the Due de Barri is to review the troops to-day," said Major de Brissac, re moving his pipe and blowing a cloud of smoke into the air with a toss of the head that might have meant contempt.

This man was short and rather thick set, with a round, ruddy face, curly black hair and side whiskers, black eyes and short, thick nose. His uniform was that of the Artillery. A few moments of silence ensued, during which de Banyan smoked vigorously. Martello was the first to speak. "These Bourbons apparently take great pleasure in showing themselves off to the soldiers," said Captain Martello, with a laugh. " It is starvation to remain here in Paris," said he. " If we ev er expect to join the Emperor at Elba, we should lose no time about it," said de Brissac. The Captain was quite a young man, having a bronzed though merry face, blue eyes, fair hair and a Grecian nose. He was tall of stature and had the physique of an athlete. His uniform was that of the — th Hussars. " Suppose we start the day after to morrow ?" said de Banyan.

"Why not to-morrow?" cried Martello. "Why not to-day?" exclaimed de Brissac. " 1 am getting sick of being treated like a dog." " The old idea of royalty has not gone out of them," said the Major. "Their doings are not what the people were led to expect." " Well, let us consider the matter," said de Banvan. " They are taking the wrong course," said Colonel de Banyan. "There is no policy in declaring the people of the Em pire rebels, nor is it decent of them to starve and abuse the men who have helped to make France. The country was never prosperous under these hated Bour bons, and she has been glorious under the Emperor." In the discussion which followed, de Banyan's suggestion to start in two days was agreed upon ; then they rose from their seats, drank a toast to the Emperor, paid their reckoning, and were about to leave the inn, when the door opened and gave admittance to a rather genteel-looking stranger.

He was dressed in the extreme of fashion and seemed to have popped out of a band-box. He viewed his surroundings for a moment with an air of disgust, as if the odor of liquor and the plainness of the room affected him greatly. Finally, perceiving de Banyan and his friends, he approached them with an air of diffidence. "They treat us like Cossacks!" ex claimed de Brissac, with a fierce scowl. ' They are making enemies," cried the Colonel, with spirit. " They will hear from the people soon." Colonel de Banyan, in the brilliant uni form of the Guard Chasseurs, was a fine " I beg pardon, gentlemen, for this seeming intrusion," said he. "But I think I have business with one ol~ you which may prove of considerable importance. I was informed that I should probably find Colonel de Banyan here Colonel Maurice de Banyan, of the Guard Chasseurs.

Which of you gentlemen is he ?" and perhaps I shall have the opportunity of showing my appreciation and grati tude." Here de Banyan turned to his friends. " You see, my dear friends," said he, " it will be necessary for me to leave Paris to-night." " We heartily congratulate you, Maur ice," saidde Brissac, somewhat jubilantly. " I am Colonel de Banyan, monsieur, at your service," said that worthy, stepping forward. " Congratulate me !" exclaimed de Banyan, with an expression which had in it evidences of surprise and disapproval. The expression of the stranger's face changed, as if he had been suddenly relieved of a great burden. The Major was quick to perceive that he had said the wrong thing. Yet it was only an instance of one man judging an other by himself. As he was somewhat diplomatic, however, he felt it necessary to justify his remark.

" Well, monsieur," said he, somewhat jocosely, " It is the devil's own chase I have had for you. To find a man in Paris, without knowing anything of his haunts, is like hunting a pearl in the sand. My name is Argeneau, and it grieves me to say that I am the bearer of sad news." " Well," said he, in a voice that hinted of chagrin. " The death of an uncle is, I presume, sad. But when that uncle is rich, and leaves his gilded slippers for his nephew to step into, that nephew, I take it, is in a fair position to be congratu lated." " Ah, indeed," exclaimed de Banyan, seriously. " Yes, monsieur. The fact is, your uncle, M. le General Baron de Banyan, whom I have had the honour of serving as private secretary, was stricken with apo plexy three days ago." " Still we should not fail in our respect to the dead, my dear Lucien," returned de Banyan, somewhat coldly.

"The baron was my father's brother, and des pite the fact that a quarrel early in my boyhood kept me from him, let me assure you, though I inherit his riches, his death is a severe blow to me." " Mon Dieu .' then — "Monsieur, the stroke was fatal." " Ah, parbleu ! that is sad news in deed." " Then pray pardon me, my dear Maur ice, for my impertinence ?" As de Banyan exhibited deep feeling, the stranger waited a few moments, during which time he helped himself to a pinch of snuff from a beautifully wrought snuff box, then continued : "Certainly, my dear friend. 1 shall see you and Louis again, after I have set tled my uncle's affairs. As soon as you can, join me at Chateau Blanc near Rouille, in the department of Seine-et- Marne,thenwe shall makefurtherarrange ments. Meanwhile, adieu. As I shali ride to my uncle's estate to night, I must at once secure a passage in the afternoon diligence."

" Being his private secretary, monsieur, I took the liberty to enquire into his af fairs to some extent, and finding that you were the nearest of kin, and therefore heir to his estates, I made it my business to hunt you up and inform you of what has happened." Here the stranger spoke up. " Thinking that you might wish to re- " You did right, Monsieur Argeneau, could find plenty of consolation in stepping into the old man's shoes, and I feel certain that I could manage to worry along without him. Eh ! Major?" turn with me. Monsieur le Colonel. I took the liberty of bringing the baron's carriage. It is at the Three Dolphins, at your disposal." " You are a prudent man, monsieur," said de Banyan, with a look of approval. " It may be that I shall need you in my service. I shall not forget you. And now my good friends, as my affairs will need some attention before I can leave the city, I shall bid you adieu."

" Right you are, my dear Captain. But de Banyan never knew how to appreciate the smiles of fortune. I take it he is sighing now like a love-lorn maiden over this bit of news, when he should be rejoicing over his good luck. Well, since he will not rejoice, it follows that we must, sor it means a franc or two in our own pockets. Maurice never forgets his friends." He shook hands with the Major and the Captain, and, accompanied by Mon sieur Argeneau, departed. "Nevertheless, Captain," said the Major, as de Banyan disappeared, " I think the Colonel a lucky dog. Fortune seems to smile on him always at the most opportune moment." "Then here's to Colonel Baron de Banyan," exclaimed the Captain, filling two glasses from the decanter on the table. " May he live long to enjoy his wealth." " He is a lucky dog and no mistake.

But if I were in his place, and were so suddenly bereft of an uncle, whose estates are worth several millions of francs, I " I heartily endorse the sentiment," said de Brissac. And they drained their glasses to the bottom.

Chapter II. Chateau

blanc. T was late in the afternoon. De Banyan sat in his carriage, silent and reflective. His companion, Monsieur Argeneau, had several times attempted to converse with him, but failing to draw so rth anything more melancholy was there to contradict the inference. It was certain, however, that he placed considerable importance on reaching the chateau as soon as possible, and the sound of the postilion's whip and voice was music in his ears. They had travelled thus for some distance, when de Banyan saw fit to address his companion. "By-the-by," said he, "I believe you intimated, when we first met, that I was the sole heir to the Baron's estate ; are you sure of this ?" than monosyllables, had finally subsided, and to all appearances was endeavoring to sleep in the seat opposite. The prospect of a conversation animat ed the face of Monsieur Argeneau.

He was one of those men who enjoy a con versation and are usually found trouble some just when one does not wish to talk. De Banyan's countenance was sad. He sat with his arms folded, and his chin low down in his collar. Now and again he heaved a sigh, which told of the melancholy working of his mind, of which his companion each time took notice with a furtive glance of his drowsy eyes. The postilion cracked his whip frequently, and urged on his horses with all the enthusiasm of one who realizes that time and tide wait for no man, and that the emergency of the moment is of vast importance. Hence the carriage lumbered along the dusty road with many a lunge and many a swerve that was unpleasant to its occupants, but nevertheless did not elicit from them the wish to decrease the speed. It would seem that de Banyan was anxious to assume his new role of Baron.

It would seem that he thought his uncle's riches might fly before he could get possession of them ; yet his extreme " I believe the estate is strictly entail ed, monsieur," said he. "You are, so far as I am able to discover, the only heir of the male line, and unless Mademoiselle Selma has some claim, I know of no other." "Mademoiselle Selma !" exclaimed de Banyan, in surprise. "Who is she?" "Oh, do you not know, monsieur? She is the Baron's adopted daughter." "The devil!" De Banyan settled back in his seat and looked at Argeneau in astonishment. "I was not aware of this," said he. "No one else knows of it either. She is generally supposed to be his daughter." "But he was married?" "Yes, in Egypt; but his wife died before he returned to France. He adopted the child in Egypt." stairway leading to the entrance, and also indications of there once having been a drawbridge and a moat.

Taken all together, it had rather a formidable appearance to those who were not of its household. "Strange I never knew of this." "Monsieur le Baron was very careful that it should not be known." "It throws another light on the sub sect." De Banyan was not long in gaining admittance, and, escorted by Argeneau, he immediately repaired to the library. At present he was more like the guest than the proprietor of the establishment, and was quite satisfied to let Argeneau do the honors. His arrival evidently was expected. Argeneau rang, and a servant entered. "The estate is strictly entailed, mon sieur, and can only pass to you." "But this girl must be provided for.' "There is enough for both, monsieur." "Perhaps she is already provided for "That is not unlikely, monsieur." "There is a will, of course?"

"Oh yes." "Do you know its purport?" "No." "Monsieur le Baron de Banyan has ar rived," said he. "Inform Madame Mort ier that we will lunch here." " How did you know of me?" ' ' Monsieur le Baron had spoken of you quite often. Besides, there are directions on the back of the will." "And who is Madame Mortier?" said de Banyan, after the servant had disappeared. "And you came at once?" "Immediately after his death." "The housekeeper, monsieur. As good a soul as ever lived. She was mademoi selle's nurse." "Why did you not come before? You say he was stricken three days ago." "And does she know of this Egyptian affair?" "We were greatly excited, monsieur. I did not think of you." "Yes, but she is ignorant of mademoi selle's origin. All she knows is the fact that when General de Banyan was aide de-camp to General Bonaparte at Cairo, he was possessed of the whim to adopt a female infant."

"But did not my uncle ask for me?" "He was unconscious from the moment he was stricken." "And Mademoiselle Selma?" "She knew nothing of you whatever." De Banyan was more anxious than ever to reach his destination. Several times he urged the postillion to increase the speed, but it was late in the night when thev reached the chateau. De Banyan could not suppress a smile. "Rather a strange whim for a soldier, was it not?" said he lightly. "There was a reason for it," answered Argeneau quickly. It was a beautiful place, and in the moonlight de Banyan perceived that the edifice and surroundings were not over pretentious, but were well in keeping with the unostentatious spirit of the late baron. There was also evidence of the building having, at some time or other, served as a fortress as well as a dwelling.

There were heavy stone walls with battle ments, two great stone towers, a stone "Oh, I don't doubt it in the least. But this Madame Mortier, is she trustworthy?" "Quite, as women go." "You mean — " "She should never know more about this affair than she does at present." "I understand." The conversation was interrupted by the entrance of two servants with the luncheon. As de Banyan and Argeneau were both hungry, and the presence of the servants prevented them renewing the topic, very little was said while the luncheon was being disposed of. De Banyan was thoughtful, and made only a few commonplace remarks. Argeneau showed a tendency to lead the conversation, but it finally dawned upon him that de Banyan was not giving the attention he desired, and he therefore deemed it prudent to finish his lunch in silence.

As de Banyan was raising a glass of rare old Burgundy to his lips, he paused suddenly, and, holding the glass aloft, sat looking at it contemplatively. said de Banyan, drawing back. "Per haps I had better retire." "She will not return, monsieur," said Argeneau. "In that case, then, leave me, but re main within call. For a few moments I wish to be alone." As Argeneau left the room, de Banyan advanced a few paces and stood beside the casket. It was a grand old face upon which he gazed ; the face of a soldier, wrinkled and weather-beaten, though pallid now in death. The white hair, falling about it, made it venerable. The long, deep scar across it from brow to cheek, telling of a sabre cut, made it heroic. The finely shaped mouth, hinting of mildness and generosity, made it lovable. The high, broad brow, suggesting benevolence and an elevated mind, made it honorable.

The broad" prominent chin, the large aquiline nose, the breadth of head be tween the ears, the heavy jaw, suggesting great executive ability, made it a formid able countenance, and filled one with awe and respect. The body was of splendid size and proportion, and was clothed in the uniform of a General of Division. It lay in a casket of mahogany, which rested upon a pall of black velvet, and was sur rounded by candles, according to the Catholic faith. There was no other light in the room. "Monsieur Argeneau," said he, still looking at his glass, "we will not disturb the papers to-night. Such haste would be disrespectful to the dead. I desire, therefore, to wait until after the funeral." He drank his wine and set down the glass. "As you please, monsieur," said Ar geneau. "I am at your service."

"But," continued de Banyan, "I de sire you to conduct me to the room con taining my uncle's remains, before I retire for the night." He rose from the table as he spoke. Argeneau rose also. "Certainly, monsieur," said Argeneau. "It is an easy matter. The room is near at hand." They passed along a wide corridor ; then, turning to the left, entered the death chamber. The room was lighted only by the candles which burned at the bier of the dead baron. As they entered, a young woman, who had been kneeling at the side of the corpse, suddenly rose to her feet, turned a frightened face to the intruders, then hurriedly left the room by another door. De Banyan stood for a time, with hands clasped before him and head bowed. He seemed to be studying the face as if to fix it in his memory. Occasionally he heaved a sigh, which told ot the sadness within.

Nearly eighteen years had passed since he had quarrelled with the man w-ho now lay dead before him. He had not been beneath his uncle's roof since, nor had he so much as exchanged a word with him. Now he regretted it all, and he was deep ly affected that he had not received his uncle's pardon before the hand of death "It is mademoiselle," said Argeneau. "She was much attached to the Baron." "I am sorry I have disturbed her," with my uncle's riches to lend me influhad snatched the opportunity from him for ever. Finally, however, he aroused himself and looked slowly about the room; then, with a half-lingering gaze at the corpse, he started for the doorway. On his way his attention was arrested by an object on the floor. He stooped and picked it up. It was a lady's handkerchief. He looked about the room, looked at the handkerchief, hesitated, then, putting the handkerchief in his pocket, opened the door. ence."

His right hand was resting upon the lintel of the door ; he leaned his brow up on it, and for a moment contemplated the floor. Then, with a deep sigh, he stepped within the room, and all grewstill through out the corridor.

Chapter III. Selma

"Argeneau," said he, in a low voice. "Here, monsieur," was the answer. Morning came, and with it a glorious sunshine, clear skies, and the songs of birds. Selma de Banyan sat at the win dow of her boudoir, gazing pensively out at the park, with her chin in her hand and her elbow on the window-sill. Now and then she bowed her head upon her arms and wept so that her whole form shook with her sobbing. Then, drying her eyes, she resumed her former occupa tion of gazing out at the park. "Conduct me to my apartments." Argeneau complied in silence. At the door de Banyan paused. "My uncle must have died suddenly," said he. "He was stricken in the forenoon, and died on the third day," said Argeneau. "He was alone at the time of -the attack. Upon entering the library two hours after he had breakfasted, I found him unconscious.

He was beyond the power of medical aid before the doctor arrived." She was attired in a black gown, which fell about her in graceful folds, and gave to the eye an agreeable conception of a beautiful figure. A snowy neck, a shape ly head, crowned with a wealth of golden tresses, a pink-and-white complexion that seemed like wax in contrast with her black gown, superb eyes, a fine nose, a beautiful mouth, together with a bright intelligent brow, were enough in them selves to win the admiration of the most critical. But, to the close observer, there was more to be admired than beautiful features. There was the expression of soul within, combined with womanly dig nity, sympathy, strength of character, and — crowning all — a sweet unconscious ness of self. She was probably not over seventeen, and, despite a suggestion of inexperience with the world, there was every evidence of quick-wittedness and independence.

"Had he been ailing at all?" "No, I believe not. I never heard him complain of anything, except an occa sional heavy pain in the chest." "It was indeed sudden." "Very." "When will the funeral take place?" "To-morrow, at three o'clock." "Very well. Good night, Argeneau." "Good night, Monsieur le Baron, and may your sleep be sweet." De Banyan stood in the half-opened doorway, watching Argeneau as he passed down the corridor. "Monsieur le Baron," murmured de Banyan. "How strange it sounds. It is a title I had never hoped for, and yet, if it were not for the charter which Louis XVIII. has been compelled to grant the people of France, I doubt if I should be anything more than plain Monsieur, even The room in which she sat was a most inviting apartment, with panelled walls, and ceiling tinted with pink, purple and gold, and was furnished in the height of fashion.

The number of rugs, portieres, divans and easy chairs to be seen sug gested every comfort. A harp stood in one corner of the room, in company with a lute and a cabinet of music. There was also a well-silled bookcase, and a dainty little escritore. On the walls were beau tiful pictures, and on an ease! in another corner was a full-sized painting of the late Baron de Banyan. A marble mantel, with a Venetian mirror reaching to the ceiling, and embellished with a deep frame of gold, supported a number of knick-knacks of a lady's choosing and a pretty clock of Italian marble. From a rosette in the ceiling depended a candela bra of twenty-five candles. At the farther end of the room a door opened into a sleeping apartment. To the left of this, in the adjoining wall, was the door which opened into the corridor.

"Why, nurse," said Selma, "what have you there?" "Your handkerchief, my love. Mon sieur the new baron gave it me, with his compliments to you. He picked it up last night in the room where monsieur your papa lies." "The new baron, dear nurse! Has he come so soon !" "Yes, my pretty one." "Then it was he who entered the room last night with M. Argeneau." "He arrived last night, deary, and he seems a very pleasant young man to meet. He wished me to convey his deepest sympathy to you, and say that he is at your service and awaits your command." "He is very kind, but I shall not com mand him, nurse; at least, not at present. My heart is too full of grief. But tell me, what is he like ? Is he handsome ? You say he is young?" "He is both young and handsome, and, judging from the scar upon his face, he is brave."

It was evident that Selma had been reared in luxury, and if she knew not how to meet the trials and tribulations of life it was through no fault of hers. The death of Baron de Banyan, whom she had looked upon as her father, was her first great grief. She had never known her mother, but had loved the Baron with all her heart. He had ever been kind and indulgent, and, now that he was no more, she was quite irreconcilable. Madame Mortier had sought to console her, but to no purpose. She frequently entered the room unannounced, looked solicitously at the sorrowing maiden, spoke a few comforting words, and disappeared; only to enter again in a few moments with a look of sympathy, and then disappear without saying anything. Presently, however, she entered with a smile on her face. She was a short, thick-set woman, with a full round face, and with hair and eyes as black as jet.

She held in her hand a deli cate lace handkerchief. " Indeed ! Is the scar like that of papa's ?" "Yes, only crossing the face at a different angle." "Then he is a soldier?" "He is a colonel of chasseurs." "Only a colonel! Papa was a general." "True ; but Monsieur le Colonel is young. It takes time to become a general. Besides, our little man is not in Paris now, you know, and the good King Louis is at peace with the world." "Why do you say the good King Louis, nurse? Is he so good? Only a short time ago I heard you say ' Long live the Emperor.' " "The King rules, my love. The Em peror is no longer a person of power. There is a reason for it, and it makes a difference." "But the Emperor will return. Coun tess de Vilma has told me so." THE LADY OF CAHTEAU BLANC. 10 "Ah, nurse, I do try; but how can I forget that my good, kind papa is dead?"