I—I—thy son—thine Arthur—I avenge1?
Never on thee.
Live happy—love my brother—
Forget that I was born.
Here, here—these proofs—
These—these!
Oh! see you where the words are blistered2
With my hot tears?
I wept—it was for joy—
I did not think of lands, of name, of birthright—
I did but think these arms should clasp a’ mother.
Bulwer.—The Sea Captain.
The marchioness closed the door as soon as they had withdrawn3, advanced into the middle of the room, and went without looking at Paul, and leaning upon the arm-chair in which the marquis had the night before been seated to sign the contract. There she remained standing4, with her eyes cast upon the ground. Paul for a moment experienced the desire to throw himself upon his knees before her, but there was upon the features of the marchioness such an expression of severity, that he repressed the yearnings of his heart, and stood motionless awaiting her commands. After a few moments of ice-like silence, the marchioness addressed him. “You desired to see me, sir, and I have come to know your will—you wished to speak to me—I am listening.”
These words were uttered without the marchioness making the least movement—her lips trembled, rather than opened—it seemed a marble statue that was speaking.
“Yes, madam,” replied Paul, in a tone of intense feeling, “yes, yes, I desired to speak with you; it is long since first this desire was cherished in my heart, and it has never left me. Recollections of infancy5 preyed6 upon the mind of the grown man. I remembered a woman who would formerly7 glide8 to my cradle, and in my youthful dreams, I thought her the guardian9 angel of my infancy. Since that time, still so fresh in my memory, although so distant, more than once, believe me, I have awakened10 with a start, imagining that I had felt upon my forehead the impression of a maternal11 kiss: and then seeing that there was no one near me, I would call that person, hoping she would, perhaps, return. It is now twenty years since first I thus had called, and this is the first time she has replied to me. Can it have been as I have often fearfully imagined, that you would have trembled at again beholding12 me? Can it be true, as I at this moment fear, that you have naught13 to say to me?”
“And had I feared your return,” said the marchioness, in a hollow tone, “should I have been to blame? You appeared before me only yesterday, sir, and now the mystery which ought to have been concealed14 to all but God and myself, is known to both my children.”
“Is it my fault that God has been pleased to reveal the secret to them? Was it I that conducted Marguerite, despairing and in tears, to the bedside of her dying father, whose protection she had gone to ask, and whose confession15 she was compelled to hear? Was it I that led her to Achard, and was it not you, madam, that followed her thither16? As to Emanuel, the report you heard, and that shattered glass, attest17, that I would have preferred death rather than to have saved my life at the expense of your secret. No, no, believe me, madam, I am the instrument, and not the hand; the effect, and not the cause. No, madam, it is God who has brought about all this, that you might see at your feet, as you have just now seen them, your two children whom you have so long banished18 from your arms!”
“But there is a third,” said the marchioness, in a voice in which emotion began to evince itself, “and I know not what I have to expect from him.”
“Let me accomplish a last duty, madam, and that once fulfilled, he will on his knees await your orders.”
“And of what nature is this duty?”
“It is to restore his brother to the rank to which he is entitled, his sister to that happiness which she has lost—to his mother that tranquillity19 of mind, which she has so long sought in vain.”
“And yet, thanks to you,” replied the marchioness, “M. de Maurepas refused to M. de Lectoure the regiment20 he had solicited21 for my son.”
“Because,” replied Paul, taking the commission from his pocket and laying it on the table, “because the king had already granted it to me, for the brother of Marguerite.”
The marchioness cast her eyes upon the commission, and saw that it was made out in the name of Emanuel d’Auray.
“And yet you would give the hand of Marguerite to a man without name, without fortune—and what is more, to a man who is banished.”
“You are mistaken, madam; I would give Marguerite to the man she loves. I would give Marguerite not to the banished Lusignan, but to the Baron22 Anatole de Lusignan, his majesty’s governor of the Island of Gaudaloupe—there is his commission also.” The marchioness looked at the parchment, and saw that in this instance, as in the former one, Paul had uttered but the truth.
“Yes, I acknowledge it,” she replied, “these will satisfy the ambition of Emanuel, and confer happiness on Marguerite.”
“And at the same time, secures your tranquillity madam; for Emanuel will join his regiment, and Marguerite will follow her husband. You will then remain here alone, as you have, alas
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CHAPTER XVII.—THE BROTHERS
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CHAPTER XIX.—THE FAREWELL.
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