Thou art enshrined in a holy circle
My foot can never pass—nor taunt1, nor insult
Can e’er induce this hand to rise against thee.
Therefore be satisfied—
Once more I tell theo I will not fight with thee.
—Old Play.
On the day on which the interview between Marguerite and the Baron2 de Lectoure had taken place, the result of which had proved so diametrically opposed to the hopes and expectations of the young girl, on that day at four o’clock, the dinner bell recalled the baron to the castle. Emanuel did the honors of the table, for the marchioness could not leave her husband, and Marguerite had requested permission not to come down stairs. The other guests were the notary3, the relations of the family, and the witnesses. The repast was a gloomy one, notwithstanding the imperturbable5 gaiety of Lectoure; but it was evident that by his joyous6 humor, so stirring that it appeared feverish7, he strove to stun8 his own feelings. From time to time, indeed, his boisterous9 liveliness failed all at once, like a lamp, the oil of which is nearly extinguished, and then it suddenly burst forth10 again, as doth the flame when it devours11 its last aliment. At seven o’clock they rose from table, and went into the drawing-room. It would be difficult to form an idea of the strange aspect which the old castle then presented; the vast apartments of which were hung with damask draperies, with gothic designs, and ornamented12 with furniture of the times of Louis XIII. and Louis XIV.
They had been so long closed that they appeared unaccustomed to the presence of living beings. And, therefore, notwithstanding the abundance of chandeliers with which the servants had decorated the rooms, the feeble and vascillating light of the wax candles was insufficient13 to illuminate14 the vast rooms, and in which the voice resounded15 as under the arches of a cathedral. The small number of the guests, who were to be joined during the evening by some three or four gentlemen of the neighbourhood, increased the gloom which appeared to hover16 over the emblazoned columns of the castle. In the centre of one of the saloons, the same one in which Emanuel, at the moment after his arrival from Paris, had received Captain Paul, was placed a table prepared with much solemnity, on which was laid a closed portfolio17, which, to the eyes of a stranger ignorant of all that was preparing, might as well have enclosed a death warrant as a marriage contract. In the midst of these grave aspects and gloomy impressions, from time to time a shrill18 mocking laugh would reach the ears of a group of persons whispering to each other. It proceeded from Lectoure, who was amusing himself at the expense of some good country gentlemen, without any respect for the feelings of Emanuel, upon whom a portion of his raillery necessarily recoiled19. He would, however, every now and then cast an anxious glance around the room, and then a gloomy cloud would pervade20 his features, for he saw not either his father-in-law, or the marchioness, or Marguerite enter the room. As we have already stated, that neither of them had been present at the dinner table, and his interview with the latter had not, however careless he endeavored to appear, left him without some uneasiness with regard to the signing of the contract, which was to take place during the evening. Neither was Emanuel exempt21 from all anxiety, and he had just determined22 to go up to his sister’s apartment, when in passing through one of the rooms he saw Lectoure, who made a sign to him to draw near.
“By heaven! you have come in the nick of time, my dear count,” said he to him, while appearing to pay the greatest attention to a good country gentleman, who was talking to him, and of whom he seemed on terms of perfect intimacy23; “here is M. de Nozay, who is relating to me some very curious things, upon my word! But do you know,” continued he, turning to the narrator, “this is most admirable, and highly interesting. I also have marshes24 and ponds, and I must ask my steward25 as soon as I get to Paris, to tell me where they are situated26. And do you catch many wild ducks in this way.”
“An immense quantity,” replied the gentleman, and with the accent of perfect simplicity27, which proved that Lectoure could, without fear of detection, for some time longer sustain the conversation in the same tone.
“What, then, is this miraculous28 mode of sporting?” inquired Emanuel.
“Only imagine, my dear friend,” replied Lectoure, with the most complete sang froid, “that this gentleman gets into the water up to his neck,—At what time of the year, may I ask, without being indiscreet?”
“In the month of December and January.”
“It is impossible that any thing can be more picturesque29. I was saying, then, that he gets into the water up to his neck, puts a large toadstool over his head, and conceals30 himself among the bulrushes. This so completely metamorphoses him that the ducks do not recognise him, and allow him to come close to them. Did you not say so?”
“As near as I am to you.”
“Bah! really?” exclaimed Emanuel.
“And this gentleman kills just as many as he pleases.”
“I kill them by dozens,” said he, proudly, being enchanted31 by the attention which the two young men were paying to the recital32 of his exploits.
“It must be a delightful33 thing for your good lady, if she be fond of ducks,” said Emanuel.
“She adores them,” said M. de Nozay.
“I hope you will do me the honor to introduce me to so interesting a person,” said Lectoure, bowing.
“Undoubtedly baron.”
“I swear to you,” said Lectoure, “that instantly on my return to Paris, I will speak of this sport in the king’s dressing-room, and I am persuaded that his majesty34 himself will make a trial of it in one of his large ponds of Versailles.”
“I beg your pardon, dear marquis,” said Emanuel, taking Lectoure’s arm, and whispering in his ear, “this is one of our country neighbors, whom we could not do otherwise than invite on so solemn an occasion.”
“It requires no apology, my dear friend,” said Lectoure, using the same precaution not to be heard by the party in question: “you would have been decidedly wrong had you deprived me of so amusing a companion. He is an appendage35 to the dower of my future wife, and I should have been greatly chagrined36 not to have made his acquaintance.”
“Monsieur de la Jarry,” said a servant, opening the door.
“A sporting companion?” said Lectoure.
“No,” replied M. de Nozay; “he is a traveller.”
“Ah! ah!” exclaimed Lectoure, with an accent which announced that the newly arrived personage was to be the subject of a new attack. He had hardly made the ejaculation, when the person announced entered the room, muffled37 up in a Polish dress, lined with fur.
“Ah! my dear La Jarry,” cried Emanuel, advancing to meet him, and holding out his hand to him, “but how you are be-furred! Upon my honor, you look like the Czar Peter.”
“It is,” replied La Jarry, shivering, although the weather was by no means cold, “because, when one arrives from Naples—perrrrrou!”
“Ah! the gentleman has arrived from Naples,” said Lectoure, joining in the conversation.
“Direct, sir.”
“Did you ascend38 Vesuvius, sir?”
“No. I was satisfied with looking at it from my window. And then,” continued the traveller, with a tone of contempt, most humiliating to the volcano, “Vesuvius is not the most curious thing that is to be seen at Naples. A mountain that smokes? my chimney does as much, when the wind is in the wrong quarter,—and besides Madame La Jarry was dreadfully alarmed at the idea of an
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