Thou holdst me to, abide2 thou the result!
Answer to heaven for what I suffer! act!
Prepare thyself for such calamity3
To fall on me, and those whose evil
Have linked them with me, as no past mishap4,
However rare and marvellously Sad,
Can parallel.
Knowles—The Hunchback.
At the moment that Paul went into the study, the marchioness appeared at the door of the drawing-room, followed by the notary5, and the several persons who had been invited to be present at the signing of the contract. Notwithstanding the nature of the meeting, the marchioness had not considered it proper to lay aside, even for one evening, her mourning garments, and dressed in complete black, as she had been always during twenty years, she came into the room a few moments before the marquis. None of the persons present, not even his son, had seen the marquis for many years. Such attention was in those days paid to ancient forms, that the marchioness would not allow the marriage contract of her daughter to be signed, without the head of the family, although deprived of reason, being present; at the ceremony. However little accustomed Lectoure was to feel intimidated7, the marchioness produced upon him the effect which she did on every one that approached her, and on seeing her enter the room with so grave and dignified8 an aspect, he bowed to her with a feeling of profound respect.
“I am grateful to you, gentlemen,” said the marchioness, bowing to the persons who accompanied her, “for the honor you have been pleased to confer upon me, by being present at the betrothal9 of Mademoiselle Marguerite d’Auray, with the Baron10 de Lectoure. I, in consequence, was desirous that the marquis, although suffering from illness, should also be present at this meeting, to thank you at least by his presence, if he cannot do so verbally. You are all aware of his unfortunate malady11, and you will, therefore, not be astonished, should some disjointed words—”
“Yes, madam,” said Lectoure, interrupting her, “we know the misfortune which has befallen him, and we admire the devoted12 wife, who for twenty years has borne half the weight of this sad visitation.”
“You see, madam,” said Emanuel, addressing in his turn, and kissing the hand of his mother, “all the world bows down in admiration13 of your conjugal14 piety15.”
“Where is Marguerite?” murmured the marchioness, in a hair whisper.
“She was here not a moment ago,” said Emanuel. “Let her know that we are all assembled,” rejoined the marchioness, in the same tone.
A servant then announced “the Marquis d’Auray.” All present drew to one side, so as to leave free passage from the door, and all eyes were directed to the spot at which this new personage was to appear. It was not long before their curiosity was satisfied; the marquis came in almost immediately, supported by two servants.
He was an old man, whose countenance16, notwithstanding that the traces of suffering had deeply furrowed17 it, still retained that noble and dignified appearance which had rendered him one of the most distinguished18 men of the court of Louis XV. His large, hollow, and feverish19 eyes, glanced around the assembly with a strange expression of astonishment20. He was dressed in his costume of Steward21 of the Household, wore the order of the Holy Ghost suspended from his neck, and that of St. Louis, at his button hole. He advanced slowly, and without uttering a word. The two servants led him forward amid the most profound silence, to an arm-chair, in which he seated himself, and the servants left the room. The marchioness then placed herself at his right hand. The notary opened the portfolio22, drew from it the marriage contract and read it aloud. The marquis and the marchioness made over the sum of five hundred thousand francs to Lectoure, and gave a like sum to Marguerite, as her dowry.
During the whole of the time occupied by the reading of the contract, the marchioness, notwithstanding her great self command, had betrayed some symptoms of uneasiness. But just at the moment when the notary had placed the contract open on the table, Emanuel returned and approached his mother.
“And Marguerite?” said the marchioness.
“She will be here instantly.”
“Madam,” murmured Marguerite, half opening the door, and clasping her hands.
The marchioness pretended not to hear her, and pointed23 with her finger at the pen.
“Baron, it is you who are first to sign.”
Lectoure immediately approached the table and signed the contract.
“Madam!” cried Marguerite, in a tone of supplication24, and advancing one step toward her mother.
“Pass the pen to your betrothed25, Baron,” said the marchioness.
The Baron walked round the table, and drew near to Marguerite.
“Madam!” again cried the latter, with an accent so melancholy26, that it struck to the heart of every person present, and even the marquis himself raised his head.
“Sign!” said the marchioness, pointing to the marriage contract.
“Oh! my father! my father!” exclaimed Marguerite throwing herself at the feet of the marquis.
“What does this mean?” said the marchioness, leaning upon the arm of the marquis’ chair, and bending over him, “are you mad, mademoiselle?”
“My father! oh! my father!” again cried Marguerite, throwing her arms around him, “my father, have pity, save your daughter!”
“Marguerite!” murmured the marchioness, in a threatening accent.
“Madam!” replied Marguerite, “I cannot address myself to you—permit me, then, to implore27 my father’s pity; unless,” she added, pointing to the notary with a firm and determined28 gesture, “you would prefer my invoking29 the protection of the law.”
“Come, come,” said the marchioness, rising, and in a tone of bitter irony30, “this is a family scene, and which, although highly interesting to near relations, must be sufficiently31 tedious to strangers. Gentlemen, you will find refreshments32 in the adjoining rooms. My son, conduct these gentlemen, and do the honors. Baron, I must beg your pardon for a short time.” Emanuel and Lectoure bowed in silence and withdrew, followed by all the company. The marchioness remained motionless until the last of them had withdrawn33, and then she closed all the doors leading into the room, when, returning to the marquis, whom Marguerite still held clasped in her arms.
“And now,” said she, “that there is no one present excepting those who have the right to lay their commands upon you, sign that paper, mademoiselle, or leave the room.”
“For pity’s sake, madam, for pity’s sake, do not compel me to commit so infamous34 an act!”
“Have you not heard me?” said the marchioness, giving to her voice an imperative35 tone, which she thought impossible to be resisted, “or must I repeat my words? ‘Sign, or leave the room.’”
“Oh! my father!” cried Marguerite, “mercy! mercy! No, it shall not be said, that after having been banished36 from my father’s presence for ten years, I was torn from his arms the first time I again beheld37 him—and that, before he had recognized me, before he has embraced me. Oh! father! father!—it is I, it is your daughter!”
“What is that voice that is imploring38 me?” murmured the marquis. “Who is this child who calls me father?”
“That voice,” said the marchioness, seizing the arm of her daughter, “is a voice that is raised against the rights of nature. That child is a rebellious39 daughter.”
“My father!” cried Marguerite imploringly40, “look at me. Oh! my father, save me I defend me! I am Marguerite.”
“Marguerite? Marguerite?” stammered41 the marquis, “I had formerly42 a child of that name.”
“It is I! it is I!” rejoined Marguerite: “I am your child—I am your daughter.”
“There are no children but those who obey. Obey! and you will then have the right to call yourself our daughter,” rejoined the marchioness.
“To you, my father, yes,—to you I am ready to obey. But you do not command this sacrifice! you do not wish that I should be unhappy—unhappy even to despair—unhappy even to death.”
“Come! come!” said the marquis holding her in his turn, and pressing her to his heart. “Oh! this is a delicious and unknown feeling to me. And now—wait! wait!” He pressed his hand to his forehead. “It seems to me that I recollect43.”
“Sir!” cried the marchioness, “tell her that she ought to obey; that the malediction44 of God awaits rebellious children. Tell her that, rather than to encourage her in her
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