Chapter I. The Bois De Boulogne
MR. MORTON had been for some days ■"-*- in Paris, when, one afternoon, as usual, he drove to the Bois de Boulogne. Readers, we must, with your permission, pause for a moment, and contemplate this magnificent lung of the town. Our friend having taken his seat in the carriage at the hotel, went through the Rue de Castigli one, then turned to the right into the Rue de Rivoli, along the gardens of the Tuileries, and from thence crossing the Place de la Concorde, was in the Champs Elysees, which grand avenue leads directly to the Park. The attention is here arrested by the colossal Arc de Triomphe, erected by the Great Napoleon, at an enormous expense. VOL. II. B It is beautiful, and well worthy of careful inspection; and as one drives rapidly by, the desire to examine it forces itself into the mind.
After going round the bend, we are again in the straight and broad road leading to the gates of the Bois. After passing them we still continue in the long avenue, which leads to the fashionable road by the side of the lovely sheet of water. From the commencement of the lake to its end comprises the limits of the drive, during the hours of splendid reunion of beautiful equipages. It lies between the water on one side, and a long, extended forest of trees on the other, along which for most of the way runs the bridle path. During the height of the Parisian season the density of carriages is great — there are two lines going up, and two coming down, drawing themselves out in long con tinuous streams, that seem revolving on an unseen centre. The day which finds us in the Bois de Boulogne, seated by the side of Mr. Morton, was one of those lovely autumnal ones which, like an old man's child, seems to be more prized than any of the bright summer ones.
The sun was golden and warm, diffusing its heat through the cool air, until the just medium of temperature was obtained, neither too cold nor yet too warm. The trees still held their covering of leaves, although the latter had begun to change their green for more glowing tints, and stood erect and proud, as if conscious of their beauty ; their foliage now and then rustling forth plea sant sounds, as the gentle breezes played softly through it. The lake lay beneath them, and on its bosom the day-god's beams were mirrored, tinging each ripple with its golden colour. The brightness of its reflection dazzled the eye ; its splendour was radiated through everything. Now and then might be seen a boat, gliding over the water. How delightful on a moonlight night, with only a light breeze, to lie on its bosom, with the clear, b cold, silver moon above us, shedding its soft and dreamy light, the long dark range of trees in the distance, yielding entirely to our own thoughts, hearing only the ripples gently breaking at the bow, in low musical murmurs, and softly swelling, amid Night's silence, through our being.
To return to the neglected day. Mr. Morton was now one of a number of those who were being drawn slowly from end to end in their carriages, looking at each other as they passed and repassed in succession, until, as the time ran on, one could almost fancy oneself amidst a party of friends, so often did the faces appear and reappear. At length there was a slight stir amid the assembled people and vehicles. The gendarmes gallopped by, and soon we saw the effulgence of Imperial splendour burst upon us. The Empress of the French was passing, while every head was uncovered, as the lovely sovereign returned with a sweet smile the loyal welcome. At the time of which we write she was in the pride of her beauty, the fulness of her charms, when the years had mellowed into softness the radiant brightness of her fascinations.
Never did more lovely woman wear the ancient crown matrimonial of France. Seated in the Imperial carriage, she shone forth resplendent in the perfection of nature. We paid our homage to royalty and beauty. One of the splendid equipages that moved onward in the line contained an other worthy of admiration, royal in her loveliness, and possessed of all the attrac tions that render woman so irresistible when she assaults the heart. Mr. Morton was a man of high and honourable principle, but not strait-laced — no, far from it. He felt the blood of youth in his veins, and he did not sternly check its beating pulse. The fair creature who had just at this moment passed, had drawn his attention, and that right earnestly, on the several occasions on which he had driven in the park ; and he had become interested in her, and she, on her part, was not insensible to the glances that her charms were drawing from one who would pass before the severest critics as a hand some and attractive man.
Few women would feel displeased or annoyed at his attentions, either in words or looks. They passed and repassed, until the time appointed by fashion for the drive drew to a close, and the park was rapidly becoming empty; when Mr. Morton followed the rest, and the drive was at an end, and with it the scenes that made it so fascinating, but not so with the impressions they created. The next and the following days, during the ensuing week, found our friend in the Bois de Boulogne, and also found there the fair unknown. At last, determining to discover who this lady was that always seemed so pleased at seeing him, he gave orders to the coachman to follow her carriage ; he obeyed, lingering until she drove home ward, and then kept close behind. The equipage which held the lovely incognita entered the courtyard of one of the finest houses in the Faubourg St. Germain, but not before she had intuitively turned her head, and, on perceiving our friend, be stowed upon him a bewitching smile.
It was easy for him to learn the name of the hotel which he stood before ; and that very evening, wishing to amuse himself, and relishing the excitement that it would pro duce, he resolved to address the following note to the lady, whom he had found to be the Countess de la Tonr : " Paris, November 3, 18 — . " Fair Incognita, my good fortune has given to me a glimpse of thy beauty, and deep is the impression made by the glance thou didst give. Hoping that my pre sumption in addressing you will not be misconstrued, and reckoned as an act of rudeness, but held as a mark of my esteem and homage, if it be consistent with safety and honour, I pray you to give me a rendezvous, that I may express in words the sentiments which animate me. I remain as thou hast made me, " Your obedient servant, R. M. "Address, R. M., Galignani."
As Mr. Morton sealed and addressed the note, he smiled, for he was pleased at finding something to divert his thoughts from unpleasant subjects. Our readers must not suppose for a moment that his love had cooled toward Margaret. Far from it ; separation and time only served to strengthen it; her image was constantly before him — she *was very, very often the subject of his thoughts. But, as we have already said, he had some strong reason for wishing to free his heart from this passion, and in this little adventure he hoped to find some excitement to act as a counter-balance to his over-charged feel ings. He merely thought of the present pleasure, and not of the future conse quences of this step. In fact, as is the case with most men who have lived adventurous lives, he was generally careless as to consequences.
We will not anticipate, but patiently await the disclosures that the coming future may give us, and in due time present them faithfully to our readers. The next morning Mr. Morton called at Galignani's, and found there a reply to his note of the previous day. The con tents were as follows : — " Boulevart St. Germain, November 4th, 18 — . " Monsieur, " I cannot, with any show of reason, blame your note, for I know very well that it was my own conduct which caused you to write it. I am lonely — so very, very lonely, that I cannot resist the interest with which you have inspired me. I know how imprudently I am acting, but if you knew all you would, I think, be able to forgive me. You ask for an interview — ought I to grant it ? I hardly know, but in cases of doubt I always follow my in clinations, so you see your prayer is listened to.
Do you not think me foolish to make an appointment with an entire stranger? But our meeting may make you a friend, and then there will be no harm. Really I am chatting with you, thoughtless of our non-acquaintance. I must put an end to it. If you drive to the Bois de Boulogne to-day, leave your carriage at the bottom of the lake, and wait until you see me ; follow, when you see me alight — con tinue following until we are in some of the by-paths, then you may speak. You must be careful to keep at a distance during the walk, and, above all, do not let anyone watch you. The time to be there is four. " I remain, "L." Such was the letter from the fair Countess. Mr. Morton had not looked for so will ing a consent, and stood for some minutes doubting what to do. For although he was thoroughly brave and willing to do almost anything to divert his thoughts from Mar garet, he was well aware of all the danger of such an intrigue as the one in question.
At length, however, as the reader will have anticipated, he determined to go and see the end. Acting on this conclusion, he was at the appointed place at the specified time. Alighting to walk, he was not long in dis covering the Countess. Doing as he had been instructed, he went slowly after her. At the other end of the lake she left her carriage, as if to promenade, but soon crossed the road and turned into the forest of trees. She was out of sight of everybody but the one who followed. She stopped, turned, and smiled. Our friend at once approached, hat in hand, and took the little hand that was held out to him in his own. " I must beg a thousand pardons. You are very kind, Madame, to gratify my de sire. No one could see you without feeling it, and I could not without giving that de sire expression.
I hope that you do not think me rude." " Monsieur has done nothing which needs pardon, and had he, I could not refuse it. Let us go further on, Avhere no prying eyes can see us." "You seem much like an old friend, Madame. When I first saw you it seemed to me as though I had known you all my life — as though we had been brought up as children together, and that, if we could only meet, we should have a thousand interest ing things to say to each other." " Ah ! Monsieur, and my feeling, on the contrary, when we first met, was, that you were some one whom I had often longed to see, but then saw for the first time." As will be seen from the following re mark, Mr. Morton hastened to overwhelm the Countess with flattering speeches. " Monsieur is very gallant, and says many things, but does he think and feel all that he says ?"
" Ask yourself if one could do otherwise," replied Mr. Morton, taking her hand, to which she did not object. It was evident that she was becoming affected by the con versation. Our friend saw it, and the man could not repress a feeling of satisfied pride at the homage. What man could, when a beautiful woman was by his side, animated by such feelings as agitated the Countess. "You are a stranger in Paris, are you not, Monsieur ?" " No, not entirely a stranger ; I have been here before, but must own that one of its greatest attractions was hitherto un known to me." "We must return, or else some watchful eye may see us. I often fancy that you will think me very bold in giving you this rendezvous, but I could not resist my desire to meet you." " Think that by no means, madame. In meeting we have but obeyed the impulse of some mysterious power."
By this time they had reached the spot where they had met, and at which they must part. " To grant me the interview was most kind ; but I must say it is very short, and even the longest time would appear only as a moment in your society. Must you re turn so soon?" " Yes ; it would not do to remain longer. I run great risks even now — I tremble when I think of it." He felt the little hand twitch nervously in his own. " Is this to be our last meeting ? Can you not arrange some plan by which I can see you to-morrow ?" " I fear to name any," replied the Count ess ; " discovery would be ruin, which is fearful to contemplate." At this moment Mr. Morton thought of the apartments which he had engaged, and which would be ready to-day. They were at the corner of the Rue de la Paix and the Place Vendome, the left-hand side going to the Rue de Rivoli, and in a line with the Hotel Bristol.
It struck him that she might possibly consent to come there, if he could convince her that there Avould be no one to watch them. "If madame would not be angry, I have a proposition to make which will facilitate our meetings, if it should meet with your approbation." " Do tell me what it is ?" " I have apartments in the Place Ven dome on the first floor, where you could come without the slightest danger of dis covery. I hope you are not offended, madame ? You will be as safe and as much respected as in your own house." "Alas!" sighed the Countess to herself; " is it impossible, then, for a lonely woman to find a man who will be in all honour her friend ?" But as she again gazed into Mr. Mor ton's face, she saw there so much candour and so much respect for herself, that, after a pause, she said suddenly, with energy, " To-morrow at two you may expect me, if nothing should occur to prevent my com ing.
" Thanks, thanks — you are most kind. How can I ever thank you sufficiently?" They then separated, each returning to their carriages by different directions. They met again in the drive, and passed as strangers.
Chapter II. Love And Honour
THE next day found our friend installed in his new apartments. He was seated in an arm-chair smoking a cigar, and read ing Galignani. The suite of rooms com prised the drawing-room, dining-room, and two bed-rooms. They were furnished in a very sumptuous and elegant manner, displaying taste and costliness at the same time. As is customary in France, there was a clock in every room — it is a pecu liarity of the people. I cannot assign any reason for it ; they may do it to gratify a desire to be always informed of the time, or, it may be, from a love of display, and from their considering clocks as more orna mental than other things. No matter what the cause may be, the fact was that every mantelpiece in Mr. Morton's apartments had its clock. The other furniture indicated splendour and wealth.
The eyes of Mr. Morton were constantly raised from the paper, and fixed on the clock opposite to him. It yet wanted twenty minutes to the appointed time, and he was already growing impatient. Time passed on, and at length there was a knock at the door, which soon opened, and in walked a female, thickly veiled. Our friend arose, and was in a moment at her side, the veil was re moved, and the lovely Countess stood be fore him. They were soon seated. " Are you certain that no one will know about my being here? Is your servant to be relied on?" said the Countess, pale and agitated. She was conscious of doing wrong, and feared every shadow that raised itself before her. " Perfectly. You need give yourself no uneasiness ; it is not possible that you could be discovered. Let me thank you VOL. ii. c for thus honouring me with your presence.
I feared that you might not be able to come." "Fortunately, my husband left town this morning for his country-seat, having some business to transact there, so there was no thing to prevent me." Mr. Morton had set himself a very diffi cult task, and one which few men could carry out steadily. For the purpose of distracting his mind from the recollection of Margaret, he had resolved to yield to all. the fascinations of the Countess's society, and yet keep both her and himself free from any contact with dishonour. But now that the lady was actually before him, blushing, trembling, with all her charms heightened a hundred-fold by emotion, he saw with a thrill of dismay, and yet with a wild joy, on the edge of what a preci pice they stood. Controlling his feelings, however, and assuming an air of gaiety, he said, "He is truly very obliging to leave when it is most convenient to you.
How long does he intend staying away? Some time, I hope. No one, of course, knows of your present doings ?" " No one but my maid Nannette. She is as true as steel ; my secret is as safe in her care as in my own, and one must have some one to arrange everything. If my husband were at home Nannette would be indispensable ; in fact, we could not do without her." " You, of course, know best, but I al ways fear to trust any one with a secret of importance." "Never fear for that," replied the Coun tess. " Do you not think," she continued, "that I am very bold to come to your apartments in this manner ?" "Not at all," exclaimed Mr. Morton, who was seated near and held her hand. He was becoming more and more sensible to the fascinations of the lovely woman by his side. "Madame, you will pardon me for what I am forced to say.
I cannot resist telling you the love which your beauty has inspired me with. Since first C2 seeing you, your image has held itself centred in my heart. I love you. My feelings are too strong for me to restrain them. Will you not look with compassion on one who is your devoted slave ? Let me hope that you reciprocate the passion which your loveliness has created in me. Do not doom me to disappointment and misery, but shed on my life the bright effulgence of your love, which will dispel every cloud that hovers over me. Madame, may I hope ?" He now saw, by the looks and emotion of his fair companion, that she was not far from having the same feelings as himself, and in the ecstacy of the moment he placed his arm round her waist, and imprinted on her sweet lips a kiss that thrilled through the beings of the two, and mingled their souls together in the. soft and blissful sen sation of love's embrace.
" Monsieur, you must not. I fear you — I fear myself. I must not remain longer ; 'tis time that I returned. Do not keep me," she exclaimed, as he held her by the hand and waist. " I feel the fulness of your words and re-echo their sentiments. Would that they had never pleased my ear, or that all was changed. Do let me go-" She had not, until this moment, con sidered the danger she was running into. It now struck her with all its force, and she wished to escape ; she desired to have time to consider. " Do you mistrust me ? — have you at this early hour lost confidence in my honour ? You are unkind. Your words afflict me with sorrow." "No, no, it is not that I fear you, but I dare not trust myself. Let me go now, and some day you may come to my hotel to me. I will let you know by note. My husband will be away for some time.
The servants will consider you as a friend. Do not, I pray, lightly esteem my conduct. I am young, and no doubt foolish ; married to a man whom I can never love ; forced into it by my parents." With these words she arose to depart. Our friend pressed her hand to his lips, and she was gone, leaving him half chag rined and half pleased at this conclusion of an affair which at first bore every evidence of ending otherwise. He pondered for a long time, with various feelings, over every incident of the interview, sometimes heap ing contumelious epithets upon himself for allowing the beautiful Countess to slip so easily from his grasp. But at length his better thoughts prevailed, and he was not at all displeased at the turn that the inter view had taken, and resolved to put an end to the affair after one more meeting.
He thought of Margaret, and felt some pricks of conscience about his proceedings ; for her pure image still occupied the most elevated place in his heart — in fact, it was placed on the high altar of his affec tion. At times he felt inclined to return to England, and accept his friend Wilton's invitation, and so be near her ; but then that would not be consistent with his plan of banishing her, if possible, from his thoughts. He discarded this idea, therefore, and settled himself into his old resolutions again. That afternoon he did not go to the Bois de Boulogne, but occupied his time in writing to England, and reading. In the evening he went to the Opera. Two days afterwards he received a note from the Countess. This is a copy of the original : "Boulevart St. Germain, November 7th, 18 — , "My dearest Monsieur, "When last we met I promised to give you another appointment, and that at my hotel.
This morning I received a letter from the Count, my husband, in which he says that his stay will be pro tracted for another week. It would be better, perhaps, far better, if we never met again; but I have found that I can trust to your honour to respect that of a weak and far too fond woman. You must excuse me for my silence, as I was so agitated and alarmed by the novelty of my position at your apartments, as to render me unable until now to write. Why have you not been on the drive for the last two days? The place possessed no interest, you not being there. I only took a few turns, and returned home to think. Ah ! Mon sieur, I fear my thoughts are too much about you. I cannot help it, do what I will. Do not fail to come ; I must see you again, or else 1 will not say more, but leave you to imagine the contending emotions which possess me.
My maid will wait for an answer. " Your friend, "L ." He mused over this epistle for some minutes, and resolved at length to accept the invitation so kindly offered. It is now time to observe that the Countess, when she left Mr. Morton's, did not see a figure, some doors below, apparently look ing into the windows of a shop, but really gazing intently at her. She returned home, remaining in ignorance of what had occurred since her departure. Sometime after she had left her own home to proceed to Mr. Morton's, a gentleman might have been seen lingering about the place, until he was joined by a female, who appeared like a lady's-maid. They both walked away to some distance, and stopped round the corner of the next street. The man looked carefully round, and seeing no one near, said to his com panion, " Well, my little rogue, how have you succeeded ? — does everything go on well ?
Is she going to meet him?" he continued, while a bitter smile of fiendish triumph played over his face. " Yes, my lord ; it was she whom you just saw leaving the hotel. The appointment is for two o'clock." " Where is the place ?" asked the noble man, excitedly. " My lady is going to the English gentle man's own apartments." " How did you discover this ?" " My lady told me. They made the appointment when they met in the Bois de Boulogne. My lady did not wish at first to accept it, but there being no other place where they could come together, she at length consented." "You are a good girl — a very good girl — my pretty little one, and I will not for get you. You have done well. Are there no letters ?" " There are, my lord ; I have the one which my lady received from her lover, and also the copy of her reply.
Here they are," said the woman, handing at the same time two letters to the nobleman, who received them eagerly, and read them at once. When he had finished, he murmured to himself : " They are very cautious, but they are nevertheless invaluable. She cannot disprove this," he chuckled, with fiendish joy. "Ah! ha ! my little Countess, you are now in my power — nothing can save you from my vengeance. This is something that I have hoped for during the last two years. Little does she dream that I am here ; fool that she was to trust to Nannette ! Woman ! woman ! you must be less dependent on others if you wish to succeed. Never trust your own sex ! — Nannette," continued he, turning to her ; " you must meet me to night at my rooms, and tell me all about the occurrences of this interview. Do you hear? — you must not fail."
"Do I ever fail when you command me, my lord ? I shall be with you at nine this evening." " Good-bye for the present. Stop ! — first tell me where the apartments of this English gentleman are." She told him, and they separated — she returning to the hotel, and the nobleman to the Place Vendome, where we saw him watching the exit of the Countess, whom he recognised, despite her thick veil. It may be as well to describe the Comte de la Tour, for he it was, and also give our readers some insight into the family affairs. The Count was about middle height, bold and dashing in his appearance, but not handsome, very dark complexion, black eyes and hair, low forehead, good nose and mouth. Around the latter was a constant look of malignity, that destroyed much of its beauty. He wore a moustache and imperial.
Such is the man we have already partially introduced to our readers. He was of an old and proud family, and, being the only son, was naturally allowed his own way by fond and over-indulgent parents, who idolized him. The result of this, added to his own evil tendencies, brought about a very bad state of mind and conduct. His youth had been one of dissipation and recklessness, and although this course of life told on his health, that did not stop him in his career. At length something occurred which seemed likely to do so, for three years previously to our presenting him to the reader he had seen and loved the beautiful daughter of a neighbouring gentleman. The lady did not reciprocate his attachment, but the family made all the necessary arrangements, as is always done in France, without reference to the wishes of the parties most immediately concerned.
Louise de Beaufleur was at that time in her eighteenth year, in all the perfection of her maiden charms, beautiful of face, and lovely of form — the painter's dream, and the sculptor's model. Her hair was dark with the shade of night, as its waves floated backwards from the broad forehead and lay behind in masses. Her complexion was in clined slightly to fairness, with a soft tinge of a rich olive tint, and with a perceptible colour breaking through. The eyes were brown, soft, and bright, full of expression and depth, and the light of love. Her nose was of the purely Grecian order, above a short upper lip, and a small, well-shaped mouth with coral lips, beneath which, as the smile played around and partly opened them, were teeth of pearl. The neck and shoul ders were dazzlingly white and pure.
Such Avas the young girl whom the Count de manded in marriage, and whom her parents gave to him. For the first few months of his married life he was all devotion and love, but after that he soon tired and longed for new objects for the gratification of his passions. From that time his life had been the coun terpart of his youth, only aggravated and heightened, by greater dissoluteness than formerly, if that were possible. His young wife had borne all ; she found that repeated remonstrances were in vain, and only produced unpleasant results for her. The nature of the Countess was warm and loving ; she was a woman to whom love was a necessity, without which she found existence scarcely endurable. Her husband had rendered himself odious and hateful ; he had forced her by his conduct to entertain feelings of the most intense aversion towards him.
The opening of the book is shown; the full text loads in the reader.
Loading the full text…
The end
You’ve reached the end of The Mother's Favourite.