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DE L'ORME. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 RICHELIEU," AND <' DARNLEY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HENRY COLBURN AND RICHARD BENTLEY, 
 
 NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1830. 
 
LONiJOX ; 
 PUIS TED BY SAMUEL JIP:NTLEV, 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street. 
 

 ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 It has been pointed out to the Author of 
 this book, that one passage of it contains a 
 story similar to a tale that has already appear- 
 ed. On reading the work alluded to, he cer- 
 tainly finds a resemblance, but not such, either 
 in matter or manner, as to induce him to 
 change what he has written, even if it were not 
 too late to make any alteration. 
 
 Such similarities must ever occasionally oc- 
 cur, as in this instance perfectly unwittingly ; 
 but, as the Author feels convinced that this 
 , Novel can do no possible harm to the talented 
 .^writer to whose work he refers, and that the 
 -^comparison can only be disadvantageous to 
 M himself, he has no scruple in letting the tale go 
 -J forth to the Public as it was originally written. 
 
DE L'ORME. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I WAS born in the heart of Beam, in the 
 year 1619 ; and if the scenery amongst which we 
 first open our eyes, and from which we receive 
 our earliest impressions, could communicate its 
 own peculiar character to our minds, I should 
 certainly have possessed a thousand great and 
 noble qualities, that would have taught me to 
 play a part, very different from that which I 
 have done, in the great tragic farce of human 
 life. Nevertheless, in contemplating the strange 
 contrasts of scenery, the gay, the sparkling, the 
 grand, the gloomy, the sublime, wherein my 
 infant years were passed, I have often thought 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2? DE LORME. 
 
 I saw a sort of picture of my own fate, with 
 its abrupt and rapid changes ; and even in some 
 degree of my own character, or rather of my 
 own mood, varying continually through all the 
 different shades of disposition, from the lightest 
 mirth to the most profound gloom, from the 
 idlest heedlessness to the most anxious thought. 
 
 However, it is not my own peculiar cha- 
 racter that I sit down to depict — that will 
 be sufficiently displayed in the detail of my ad- 
 ventures : but it is rather those strange and 
 singular events which, contrary to all proba- 
 bility, mingled me with great men, and with 
 great actions, and which, continually counter- 
 acting my own will, impelled me ever, on the 
 very opposite course from that which I struggled 
 to pursue. 
 
 For many reasons, it is necessary to com- 
 mence this narrative with those early years, 
 wherein the mind of man receives its first 
 bias, when the seeds of all our future actions 
 are sown in the heart, and when causes, in 
 themselves so trifling as almost to be imper- 
 ceptible, chain us to good or bad, to fortune 
 
 .]^P 
 
DE LORME. 3 
 
 or misfortune for ever. The character of man 
 is like a piece of potter's clay, which, when 
 fresh and new, is easily fashioned according to 
 the will of those into whose hands it falls ; but 
 its form once given and hardened, either by 
 the slow drying of time, or by its passage 
 through the ardent furnace of the world, 
 and one may break it to atoms, but never 
 bend it again to another mould. 
 
 Our parents, our teachers, our companions, 
 all serve to modify our dispositions. The very 
 proximity of their faults, their failings, or their 
 virtues, leaves, as it were, an impress on the 
 flexible mind of infancy, which the steadiest 
 reason can hardly do more than modify, and 
 years themselves can never erase. 
 
 To begin, then, with the beginning ; I was, as 
 I have said, born in the heart of the little 
 mountainous principality of Beam, which, 
 stretching along the northern side of the Py- 
 renees, contains within itself, some of the most 
 fertile and some of the most picturesque, some 
 of the sweetest and some of the grandest scenes, 
 that any part of Europe can boast. The chain 
 B 2 
 
4 DE LORME. 
 
 of my native mountains, interposing between 
 France and Spain, forms a gigantic wall where- 
 by the unerring hand of Nature has marked 
 the limits of either land; and although this 
 immense bulwark is, in itself, scarcely broken 
 by any, but very narrow and difficult passes, 
 yet the mountainous ridges which it sends off, 
 like enormous buttresses, into the plain coun- 
 try on each side, are intersected by a number 
 of wide and beautiful valleys, rich with all the 
 gifts of summer, and glowing with all the love- 
 liness of bright fertility. 
 
 One of the most striking, though perhaps 
 not one of the most extensive, of these valleys, 
 is that which, running from east to west, lies in 
 a direct line between Bagnerre de Bigorre and 
 the little town and castle of Lourdes. Never 
 have I seen, and certainly never shall I now see, 
 a valley so sweet, so fair, so tranquil ; — never, 
 one so bright in itself, or so surrounded by ob- 
 jects of grandeur and magnificence. I need 
 not say after this, that it was my native place. 
 
 The dwelling of my father, Roger de L'Orme, 
 Count de Bigorre, was perched up high upon 
 
DE L'ORME. 5 
 
 the hill-side, about two miles from Lourdes, 
 and looked far over all the splendid scene 
 below. The wide valley, with its rich carpet 
 of verdure, the river dashing in liquid diamonds 
 amidst the rocks and over the precipices ; the 
 long far windings of the deep purple mountains, 
 filling the mind with vague, but grand imagin- 
 ings ; the dark majestic shadows of the pine 
 forests that every here and there were cast like 
 a black mantle round the enormous limbs of 
 each giant hill ; the long wavy perspective of 
 the passes towards Cauteretz, and the Pont 
 d'Espagne, with the icy Vigne Malle raising 
 up his frozen head, as if to dare the full power 
 of the summer sun beyond, — all was spread 
 out to the eye, offering in one grand view a 
 thousand various sorts of loveliness. 
 
 I must be pardoned for dilating upon those 
 sweet scenes of my early childhood, whose very 
 memory bestows a calm and placid joy, which 
 I have never found in any other spot, or in 
 any other feeling; neither in the gaiety and 
 splendour of a court, the gratification of pas- 
 sion, the hurry and energy of political intrigue, 
 
6 DE L'ORME. 
 
 the excitement and triumph of the battle-field, 
 the struggle of conflicting hosts, or the mad- 
 dening thrill of victory — But for a moment, 
 let me indulge, and then I quit such memories 
 for things and circumstances whose interest is 
 more easily communicable to the minds of 
 others. 
 
 The chateau in which my eyes first opened 
 to the light, was little inferior in size to the 
 castle of Lourdes, and infinitely too large for 
 the small establishment of servants and retainers 
 which my father's reduced finances enabled him 
 to maintain. Our diminished household looked 
 within its enormous walls, like the shrunken 
 form of some careful old miser, insinuated into 
 the wide and hanging garments of his youth ; 
 and yet my excellent parent fondly insisted 
 upon as .nuch pomp and ceremony as his own 
 father had kept up with an hundred and fifty 
 retainers waiting in his hall. Still the trumpet 
 sounded at the hour of dinner, though the weak 
 lungs of the broken-winded old maitre d' hotel 
 produced but a cacophonous sound from the 
 hollow brass : still all the servants, who amount- 
 
DE l'ORME. 7 
 
 ed to five, including the gardener/the shepherd, 
 and the cook, were drawn up at the foot of the 
 staircase, in unstarched ruffs and tarnished 
 liveries of green and gold, while my father, 
 with slow and solemn pace, handed down to 
 dinner Madame la Comtesse ; still would he talk 
 of his vassals, and his seigneurial rights, though 
 his domain scarce covered five hundred acres of 
 wood and mountain, and vassals, God knows, 
 he had but few. However, the banners still 
 hung in the hall ; and it was impossible to gaze 
 upon the walls, the pinnacles, the towers, and 
 the battlements of the old castle, without at- 
 taching the idea of power and influence to the 
 lord of such a hold ; so that it was not extra- 
 ordinary he himself should, in some particulars, 
 forget the decay of his house, and fancy him- 
 self as great as his ancestors. 
 
 A thousand excellent qualities of the heart 
 covered any little foibles in my father's charac- 
 ter. He was liberal to a fault ; kind, with that 
 minute and discriminating benevolence which 
 weighs every word ere it be spoken, lest it 
 should hurt the feelings of another ; brave, to 
 
8 DE L'ORME. 
 
 that degree that scarcely believes in fear, yet 
 at the same time so humane that his sympathy 
 with others often proved the torture of his own 
 heart; but — — 
 
 Oh ! that in this world there should still be 
 a but, to qualify every thing that is good and 
 excellent ! — but, still he had one fault that 
 served greatly to counteract all the high qua- 
 lities which he possessed. He was invincibly 
 lazy in mind. - He could endure nothing that 
 gave him trouble ; and, though the natural 
 quickness of his disposition would lead him to 
 purpose a thousand great undertakings, yet 
 long ere the time came for executing them, 
 various little obstacles and impediments had 
 gradually worn down his resolution ; or else 
 the trouble of thinking about one thing for 
 long was too much for him, and the enterprise 
 dropped by its own weight. Had fortune 
 brought him great opportunities, no one would 
 have seized them more willingly, or used them 
 to better and to nobler purposes ; but fortune 
 was to seek — and he did nothing. 
 
 The wars of the League, in which his father 
 
DE L'oRME. 9 
 
 had taken a considerable part, had gradually 
 lopped away branch after branch of our estates, 
 and even hewn deeply into the trunk ; and my 
 father was not a man, either by active enter- 
 prise or by court intrigue, to mend the faihng 
 fortunes of his family. On the contrary, after 
 having served in two campaigns, and distin- 
 guished himself in several battles, out of pure 
 weariness, he retired to our chateau of de 
 rOrme, where, being once fixed in quiet, he 
 passed the rest of his days, never having cou- 
 rage to undertake a longer journey than to Pau, 
 or to Tarbes ; and forming in his solitude a 
 multitude of fine and glorious schemes, which 
 fell to nothing almost in the same moment that 
 they were erected : as we may see a child build 
 up, with a pack of cards, many a high and in- 
 genious structure, which the least breath of air 
 will instantly reduce to the same flat nonenti- 
 ties, from which they were reared at the first. 
 
 My mother's character is soon told. It was 
 
 all excellence ; or, if there was, indeed, in its 
 
 composition, one drop of that evil, from which 
 
 human nature is probably never entirely free, 
 
 B 5 
 
10 DE L'ORME. 
 
 it consisted in a touch of family pride — and 
 yet, while I write it, my heart reproaches me, 
 and says that it was not so. However, the 
 reader shall j udge by the sequel ; but if she 
 had this fault, it was her only one, and all the 
 rest was virtue and gentleness. Restricted as 
 were her means of charity, still every one that 
 came within the sphere of her influence expe- 
 rienced her kindness, or partook of her bounty. 
 Nor was her charity alone the charity that 
 gives ; it was the charity that feels, that ex- 
 cuses, that forgives. 
 
 A willing aid in all that was amiable and 
 benevolent was to be found in good Father 
 Francis of AUurdi, the chaplain of the chateau. 
 In his young days, they said, he had been a 
 soldier, and on some slight, received from a 
 world for which he was too good, he threw 
 away the corslet and took the gown, not with 
 the feeling of a misanthrope, but of a philan- 
 thropist. For many years he remained as 
 cure, at the little village of Allurdi, in the Val 
 d'Osseau ; but his sight and his strength both 
 failing him, and the cure being an arduous 
 
DE L'ORMB. 11 
 
 one, he resigned it to a younger man, (who, he 
 thought, might better perform the duties of the 
 station,) and brought as gentle a heart, and as 
 pure a spirit, as ever rested in a mortal frame, 
 to dwell with the two others I have described 
 in the chateau de TOrme. 
 
 It may be asked, if he too had his foible? 
 Believe me, dear reader, whoever thou art, 
 that every one on this earth has ; nor was he 
 without it : and, strange as it may appear, his 
 was superstition — I say, strange as it may 
 appear, for he was a man of a strong and 
 vigorous mind, calm, reflective, rational, with- 
 out any of that hurried and perturbed indis- 
 tinctness of judgment, which suffers imagina- 
 tion to usurp the place of reason. But still 
 he was superstitious to a great degree, affbrd- 
 ing a striking instance of that union of oppo- 
 site qualities, which every one who takes the 
 trouble of examining his own bosom, will find 
 more or less exemplified in himself. His su- 
 perstition, however, grew in a mild and bene- 
 volent soil, and was indeed but as one of those 
 tender climbing plants, which hang upon the 
 
12 DE L'ORME. 
 
 ruined tower or the shattered oak, and clothe 
 them with a verdure not their own : thus he 
 fondly adhered to the imaginative tenets of 
 ancient days fast falling into decay. He 
 peopled the air with spirits, and in his fancy 
 gave them visible shapes, and, in some de- 
 gree, even corporeal qualities. However, on 
 an ardent and youthful mind like mine, such 
 picturesque superstitions were most likely to 
 have effect ; and so far indeed did they influ- 
 ence me, that though reason in after life exert- 
 ed her power to sweep them all away, ima- 
 gination often rebelled, and clung fondly to the 
 delusion still. 
 
 Such as I have described them were the 
 denizens of the Chateau de TOrme at the time 
 of my birth, which was unmarked by any other 
 peculiarity than that of my mother having been 
 married, and yet childless, for more than eight 
 years. The joy which the unexpected birth of 
 an heir produced, may easily be imagined, 
 though little indeed was the inheritance which 
 1 came to claim. All with one consent gave 
 themselves up to hope and to gladness, and 
 
DE L'ORME. 13 
 
 more substantial signs of rejoicing were dis- 
 played in the hall than the chateau had known 
 for many a day. 
 
 My father declared that I should infallibly 
 retrieve the fortunes of my house. Father 
 Francis, with tears in his eyes, exclaimed that 
 it was evidently a blessing from Heaven ; and 
 even my mother discovered that, though futu- 
 rity w^as still misty and indistinct, there was 
 now a landmark to guide on hope across the 
 wide ocean of the years to come. 
 
14 DE L'ORME. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I KNOW not by what letters patent the pri- 
 vilege is held, but it seems clearly established, 
 that the parents of an only child have full right 
 and liberty to spoil him to whatsoever extent 
 they may please ; and though, my grandfathers 
 on both sides of the house being dead long 
 before my birth, I wanted the usual chief 
 aidors and abettors of over-indulgence ; yet, in 
 consideration of my being an unexpected gift, 
 my father thought himself entitled to expend 
 more unrestrictive fondness upon me, than if 
 my birth had taken place at an earlier period 
 of his marriage. 
 
 My education was in consequence somewhat 
 desultory. The persuasions of Father Francis, 
 
DE L'oRME. 15 
 
 indeed, often won me for a time to study, and 
 the wishes of ray mother, whose word was ever 
 law to her son, made me perhaps attend to the 
 instructions of the good old Priest more than 
 my natural volatility would have otherwise ad- 
 mitted. At times, too, the mad spirit of laugh- 
 ing and jesting at every thing, which possessed 
 me from my earliest youth, would suddenly 
 and unaccountably be changed into the most 
 profound pensiveness, and reading would be- 
 come a delight and a relief. I thus acquired a 
 certain knowledge of Latin and of Greek, the 
 first principles of mathematics, and a great 
 many of those absurd and antiquated the- 
 ories, which were taught in that day, under the 
 name of philosophy. But from Father Francis, 
 also, I learned what should always form one prin- 
 cipal branch of a child's education — a very tole- 
 rable knowledge of my native language, which 
 I need not say is, in general, spoken in Beam 
 in the most corrupt and barbarous manner. 
 
 Thus, very irregularly, proceeded the course 
 of my mental instruction ; my corporeal edu- 
 cation my father took upon himself, and as his 
 
16 DE L'oRME. 
 
 laziness was of the mind rather than the body, 
 he taught me thoroughly, from my very in- 
 fancy, all those exercises which, according to his 
 conception, were necessary to make a perfect 
 cavalier. I could ride, I could shoot, I could 
 fence, I could wrestle, before I was twelve years 
 old ; and of course the very nature of these 
 lessons tended to harden and confirm a frame 
 originally strong, and a constitution little sus- 
 ceptible of disease. 
 
 The buoyancy of youth, the springy vigour 
 of my muscles, and a good deal of imaginative 
 feeling, gave me a sort of indescribable passion 
 for adventure from my childhood, which requir- 
 ed even the stimulus of danger to satisfy. Had 
 I lived in the olden time, I had certainly been a 
 knight errant. Every thing that was wild, and 
 strange, and even fearful, was to me delight ; 
 and it needed many a hard morsel from the 
 rough hand of the world, to quell such a spirits 
 appetite for excitement. 
 
 To climb the highest pinnacles of the rocks, 
 to plunge into the deepest caverns, to stand on 
 the very brink of the precipices and look down 
 
DE l'oRME. 17 
 
 into the dizzy void below, to hang above the 
 cataract on some tottering stone, and gaze upon 
 the frantic fury of the river boiling in the pools 
 beneath, till my eye was wearied, and my ear 
 deafened with the flashing whiteness of the 
 stream, and the thundering roar of its fall — 
 these were the enjoyments of my youth, and 
 many, I am afraid, were the anxious pangs 
 which my temerity inflicted on the bosom of 
 my mother. 
 
 I will pass over all the little accidents and 
 misadventure of youth, but on one circum- 
 stance, which occurred when I was about twelve 
 years old, I must dwell more particularly, inas- 
 much as it was not only of import at the time, 
 but also afl'ected all my future life by its con- 
 sequences. 
 
 On a fine clear summer morning, I had risen 
 in one of those thoughtful moods, which rarely 
 cloud the sunny mind of youth, but which, as 
 I have said, frequently succeeded to my gayest 
 moments ; and, walking slowly down the side 
 of the hill, I took my way through the wind- 
 ings of a deep glen, that led far into the heart 
 
18 DE L'ORME. 
 
 of the mountain. I was well acquainted with 
 the spot, and wandered on almost unconsciously, 
 with scarcely more attention to any external 
 object than a casual glance to the rocks that 
 lay tossed about on either side, amidst a pro- 
 fusion of shrubs and flowers and trees of every 
 hue and leaf. 
 
 The path ran along on a high bank of rocks 
 overhanging the river, which dashing in and out 
 round a thousand stony promontories and over 
 a thousand bright cascades, gradually collected 
 its waters into a fuller body, and flowed down 
 in a deep swift stream towards a more profound 
 fall below. At that spot, the most industrious 
 of all the universe's insects, man, had taken ad- 
 vantage of the combination of stream and preci- 
 pice, and fixed a small mill-wheel under the full 
 jet of water, the clacking sound of which, ming- 
 ling with the murmur of the stream, and the 
 savage scenery around, communicated strange, 
 undefined sensations to my mind, associating all 
 the cheerful ideas of human proximity, with 
 the wild grandeur of rude uncultivated nature. 
 
 I was too young to unravel my feelings, or 
 
DE L'ORME. 19 
 
 trace the sources of the pleasure I experienced ; 
 but getting to the very verge of the rock, a 
 little way above the mill, I stood, watching the 
 dashing eddies as they hurried on to be preci- 
 pitated down the fall, and listening to the vari- 
 ous sounds that came floating on the air. 
 
 Why or how, I forget at this moment, but 
 after gazing for some time, I put my foot still 
 farther towards the edge of the rocky stone on 
 which I stood, and bent over to look down the 
 side of the bank. The stone was a detached 
 fragment of gray marble, laying somewhat 
 loosely upon the edge of the descent — my 
 weight overthrew its balance — it tottered — I 
 made a violent effort to recover myself, but in 
 vain — the rock rolled over, and I was pitched 
 headlong into the stream. 
 
 The agony of finding myself irretrievably 
 gone— the dazzle and the flash of the water as it 
 closed over my head — the thousand regrets that 
 whirled through my brain during the brief mo- 
 ment that 1 was below the surface — the strug- 
 gle of renewed hope as I rose again and beheld 
 the blue sky, and the fair face of nature, are all 
 
20 DE l'orme. 
 
 as deeply graven on my memory as if it was 
 yesterday. Although all panting when I got 
 my head above the water, I succeeded in utter- 
 ing a loud shout for assistance, while I strug- 
 gled to keep myself up with my hand : but as 
 I had never learned to swim, I soon sunk again, 
 and on rising a second time, my strength was 
 so far gone, I could but give voice to a feeble 
 cry, though I saw myself drifting quickly to- 
 wards the mill and the waterfall, where death 
 seemed inevitable. My only hope was that the 
 miller would hear me ; but, to my dismay, I 
 found that my call, though uttered with all the 
 power I had left, was far too faint to rise above 
 the roar of the cascade and the clatter of the 
 mill-wheels. 
 
 Hope gave way, and, ceasing to struggle, I 
 was letting myself sink, when I caught a faint 
 glimpse of some one running down amongst the 
 rocks towards me, but at that moment, in spite 
 of my renewed efforts, the water overwhelmed 
 me again. For an instant there was an intole- 
 rable sense of suffocation — a ringing in my 
 ears, and a flashing of light in my e3'es that 
 
DE L'ORME. 21 
 
 was very dreadful, but it passed quickly away, 
 and a sweet dreamy sensation came over me, as 
 if I was walking in green fields, I did not well 
 know where — the fear and the struggle was all 
 gone, and gradually losing remembrance of 
 every thing, I seemed to fall asleep. 
 
 Such is all that my memory has preserved of 
 the sensations I experienced in drowning — a 
 death generally considered a very dreadful one, 
 but which is, in reality, any thing but painful. 
 We have no means of judging what is suffered 
 in almost any other manner of passing from the 
 world, but were I to speak from what I myself 
 felt in the circumstances I have detailed, I 
 should certainly say that it is the fear that is 
 the death. 
 
 My next remembrance is of a most painful 
 tingling, spreading itself through every part of 
 my body, even to my very heart, without any 
 other consciousness of active being, till at length 
 opening my eyes, I found myself lying in a 
 large barely furnished room in the mill, with 
 a multitude of faces gazing at me, some strange 
 and some familiar, amongst the last of which I 
 
22 DE l'orme. 
 
 perceived the pimpled nose of the old mmtre 
 (T hotel, and the mild countenance of Father 
 Francis of Allurdi. 
 
 My father, too, was there, and I remember 
 seeing him with his arms folded on his breast, 
 and his eyes straining upon me as if his whole 
 soul was in them. When I opened mine, he 
 raised his look towards heaven, and a tear 
 rolled over his cheek ; but I saw or heard little 
 of what passed, for an irresistible sensation of 
 weariness came over me, and the moment after 
 I awoke from the sleep of death, I fell into a 
 quiet and refreshing slumber, very different 
 from the " cold obstruction" of the others. 
 
 I will pass over all the rejoicing that sig- 
 nalized my recovery — my father's joy, my 
 mother'*s thanks and prayers, the servants'* ca- 
 rousing, and the potations, deep and strong, of 
 the pimple-nosed maitre d'hotel, whose hatred 
 of water never demonstrated itself more strongly 
 than the day after I had escaped drowning. 
 As soon as I had completely regained my 
 strength, my mother told me, that after having 
 shown our gratitude to God, it became our 
 
DE l'orme. 23 
 
 duty to show our gratitude also to the person 
 who had been the immediate means of saving 
 me from destruction ; and it was then I learned 
 that I owed my life to the courage and skill 
 of a lad but little older than myself, the son of 
 a poor procureur, or attorney, at Lourdes. He 
 had been fishing in the stream at the time the 
 rock gave way under my feet, and, seeing my 
 fall, hurried to save me. With much difficulty 
 and danger he accomplished his object, and, 
 having drawn me from the water, carried me to 
 the mill, where he remained only long enough 
 to see me open my eyes, retiring modestly the 
 moment he was assured of my safety. 
 
 In those young days, life was to me so bright 
 a plaything, all the wheels of existence moved 
 so easily, there was so much beauty in the 
 world, so much delight in being, that my most 
 enthusiastic gratitude was sure to follow such 
 a service as that I had received. My mother's 
 proposal was willingly assented to, that she 
 should accompany me to Lourdes to offer our 
 thanks — not as with the world in general, in 
 mere empty words, as unsubstantial as the air 
 
24 DE l'orme. 
 
 that bears them, but by some more lasting mark 
 of our gratitude. 
 
 Upon the nature of the recompense she was 
 to offer, she held a long consultation with my 
 father, who, unwilling to give any thing minute 
 consideration, left it entirely to her own judg- 
 ment, promising the fullest acquiescence in 
 whatever she should think fit ; and accordingly 
 we set out early the next day for Lourdes, my 
 mother mounted on a hawking palfrey, and I 
 riding by her side on a small fleet Limousin 
 horse, which my father had given me a few 
 days before. 
 
 This was not, indeed, the equipage with 
 which the Countess de Bigorre should have 
 visited a town once under the dominion of her 
 husband's ancestors ; but what was to be done ? 
 A carriage indeed we had, which would have 
 held six, and if required, eight persons; though 
 the gilding was somewhat tarnished, and a few 
 industrious spiders had spun their delicate nets 
 in the windows, and between the spokes of the 
 wheels. Neither were horses wanting, for on the 
 side of the mountain were eight coursers, with 
 
DE L'ORME. 25 
 
 tails and manes as long as the locks of a mer- 
 maid, and a plentiful supply of hair to corre- 
 spond about their feet. They were somewhat 
 aged, indeed, and for the last six years they 
 had gone about slip-shod amongst the hills, 
 enjoying the otium cum dignitate which neither 
 men nor horses often find. Still they would 
 have done : but, where were we to find the six 
 men dressed in the colours of the family, ne- 
 cessary to protect the foot-board behind ? where 
 the four stout cavaliers armed up to the teeth, 
 to ride by the side of the carriage ? where the 
 postilions ? where the coachman ? 
 
 My mother did much more wisely than strive 
 for a pomp which we were never to see again. 
 She went quietly and simply, to discharge what 
 she considered a duty, with as little ostentation 
 as possible ; and when the worthy maitre d'ho- 
 tel lamented, with the familiarity of long ser- 
 vice, that the Countess de Bigorre should go 
 without such a retinue as in his day had always 
 made the name respected, she replied, quietly, 
 that those who were as proud of the name as 
 she was, would find no retinue needful to make 
 
 vor.. I. c 
 
26 DE l'orme. 
 
 it respectable. My father retired into his li- 
 brary, as we were about to depart, saying to 
 my mother, that he hoped she had commanded 
 such a body of retainers to accompany her as 
 she thought necessary. She merely replied that 
 she had ; and set out, with a single groom to 
 hold the horses, and a boy to show us the way 
 to the dwelling of the Procureur. 
 
 Let it be observed, that, up to the commence- 
 ment of the year of which I speak, Lourdes 
 had never been visited with the plague of an 
 attorney ; but at that epoch, the father of the 
 lad who had saved my life, and who, like him, 
 was named Jean Baptiste Arnault, had come 
 to settle in that place, much to the horror 
 and astonishment of the inhabitants. He had, 
 it was rumoured, been originally Intendant, 
 or steward, to some nobleman in Poitou, and 
 having, by means best known to himself, ob- 
 tained the charge of Procureur in Beam, he 
 had first visited Pau, and thence removed to 
 Lourdes. 
 
 The name of an attorney had at first fright- 
 ened the good Bearnois of that town, but they 
 
DE l/ORME. 27 
 
 soon discovered that Maitre Jean Baptiste Ar- 
 nault was a very clever, quiet, amiable, little 
 man, about two cubits in height, of which sta- 
 ture, his head monopolized at least the moiety. 
 He was not particularly handsome ; but, as he 
 appeared to have other better qualities, that did 
 not much signify, and they gradually made him 
 their friend, their confidant, and their adviser ; 
 in all of which capacities, he acted in a mild, 
 tranquil, easy little manner, that seemed quite 
 delightful : but, notwithstanding all this, the 
 people of the town of Lourdes began insensibly 
 to get of a quarrelsome and a litigious turn, so 
 that Jean Baptiste Arnault had his study in 
 general pretty full of clients ; and, though he 
 made it appear clearly to the most common un- 
 derstanding, that his sole object was to promote 
 peace and good-will ; yet, strange to say, dis- 
 cord, the faithful jackal of all attornies, was a 
 very constant attendant on his steps. 
 
 Such were the reports that had reached us 
 
 at the Chateau de KOrme ; and the maitre 
 
 d* hotel, when he repeated them, laid his finger 
 
 upon the side of his prominent and rubicund 
 
 c 2 
 
28 DE l'orme. 
 
 proboscis, and screwed up his eye till it nearly 
 suffered an eclipse, saying as plainly as nose 
 and eye could say, *' Monsieur Jean Baptiste 
 Arnault is a cunning fellow." However, my 
 father had no will to believe ill of any one and 
 my mother as little ; so that, when we set 
 out for Lourdes, both were fully convinced 
 that the parent of their child'*s deliverer was 
 one of the most excellent of men. 
 
 After visiting the church, and offering at the 
 shrine of Notre Dame du bon secours, we pro- 
 ceeded to the dwelling of the Procureur, and 
 dismounting from our horses, entered the etude 
 or office, of the lawyer ; the boy, who had come 
 to show us the way, throwing open the door 
 with a consequential fling, calculated to impress 
 the mind of the attorney with the honour 
 which we did him. It was a miserable cham- 
 ber, with a low table, and a few chairs, both 
 strewed with some books of law and written 
 papers, greased and browned by the continual 
 thumbing of the coarse-handed peasants, in 
 whose concerns they were written. 
 
 Jean Baptiste Arnault was not there, but 
 
DE l'orme. 29 
 
 in his place appeared a person, plainly dressed 
 in a suit of black, with buttons of jet, with- 
 out any embroidery or ornament whatever. 
 He wore a pair of riding-boots, with immense 
 tops, shaped like a funnel, according to the 
 mode of the day, and the dust upon these ap- 
 pendages, as well as the disordered state of his 
 long wavy hair, seemed to announce that he 
 had ridden far ; while a large Sombrero hat, 
 and a long steel-hilt ed Toledo sword, v^hich lay 
 beside him, led the mind naturally to conclude 
 that his journey had been from Spain. 
 
 To judge of his station by his dress, one 
 would have concluded him to be some Spanish 
 merchant of no very large fortune ; but his 
 person and his air told a different tale. Pale, 
 and even rather sallow in complexion, the high 
 broad forehead, rising almost upright from his 
 brow, and seen still higher through the floating 
 curls of his dark hair, the straight, finely-turned 
 nose, the small mouth curled with a sort of 
 smile, strangely mingled of various expressions, 
 half cynical, half bland, the full rounded chin, 
 the very turn of his head and neck, as he sat 
 
30 DE L-'ORME. 
 
 writing at a table exactly opposite the door, 
 all gave that nobility to his aspect, which was 
 not to be mistaken. 
 
 On our entrance, the stranger rose, and in 
 answer to my mother's inquiry for the Pro- 
 cureur, replied, " Arnault is not at present 
 here, but if the Countess de Bigorre will sit 
 down, he shall attend her immediately,"" and 
 taking up the letter he had been writing, he 
 left the apartment. 
 
 The moment after, the door, by which he 
 had gone out, again opened, and Jean Baptiste 
 Arnault entered the room, at once verifying 
 by his appearance every thing we had heard of 
 his person. He was quite a dwarf in stature ; 
 and, in size at least, dame Nature had certainly 
 very much favoured his head, at the expense of 
 the rest of his body. His face, to my youth- 
 ful eyes, appeared at least two feet square, with 
 all the features in proportion, except the eyes, 
 which were peculiarly small and black ; and 
 not being very regularly set in his head, seemed 
 like two small boats, nearly lost in the vast 
 ocean of countenance which lav before us. 
 
DE L'ORME. 31 
 
 I do not precisely remember the particulars 
 of the conversation which took place upon his 
 coming in, but I very well recollect laughing 
 most amazingly at his appearance, in spite of 
 my mother's reproof, and telling hira, with the 
 unceremonious candour of a spoiled child, that 
 he was certainly the ugliest man I had ever 
 seen. He affected to take my boldness in very 
 good part, and called me a fine frank boy ; but 
 there was a vindictive gleam in his little black 
 eyes, which contradicted his words ; and I have 
 since had reason to believe that he never forgot 
 or forgave my childish rudeness. It is a very 
 general rule, that a man is personally vain in 
 proportion to his ugliness, and hates the truth 
 in the same degree that he deceives himself. 
 Certain it is, no man was ever more ugly, or 
 ever more vain, and his conceit had not been 
 nourished a little by marrying a very handsome 
 woman. 
 
 Of course, the first subject of conversation 
 which arose between my mother and himself, 
 was the service which his son had rendered me; 
 and, as a recompense, she offered that the 
 
32 DE l'orme. 
 
 young Jean Baptiste should be received into 
 the Chateau de L'Orme, and educated with its 
 heir, which she considered as the highest honour 
 that could be conferred on the young roturier ; 
 and in the second place, she promised in the 
 name of my father, that five hundred livres 
 per annum should be settled upon him for life, 
 a sum of no small importance in those days, 
 and in that part of the country. 
 
 The surprise and gratitude of the Attorney 
 can hardly be properly expressed. Of liberali- 
 ty he had not in his own bosom one single 
 idea; and, I verily believe, that at first, he 
 thought my mother had some sinister object 
 in the proposals which she made ; but speedily 
 recovering himself, he accepted with great 
 readiness the pension that was offered to his 
 son ; at the same time hesitating a good deal 
 in regard to sending him to the Chateau de 
 L'Orme. He enlarged upon his sense of the 
 honour, and the favour, and the condescension, 
 but his son, he said, was the only person he had 
 who could act as his clerk, and he was afraid 
 he could not continue his business without him. 
 
DE l'orme. 33 
 
 In short, his objections hurt my mother's pride, 
 and she was rising with an air of dignity to 
 put an end to the matter, by taking her depar- 
 ture, when, as if by a sudden thought, the 
 Procureur besought her to stay one moment, 
 and as her bounty had already been so great, 
 perhaps she would extend it one degree farther. 
 His son, he said, was absolutely necessary to 
 him to carry on his business ; but he had one 
 daughter, whom, her mother being dead, he 
 had no means of educating as he could wish. 
 " If,'' said he, " Madame la Comtesse de 
 Bigorre, will transfer the benefit she intended 
 for my son to his sister, she will lay my whole 
 family under an everlasting obligation ; and 
 I will take upon myself to affirm, that the 
 disposition and talents of the child are such 
 as will do justice to the kindness of her bene- 
 factress." 
 
 These words he pronounced in a loud voice, 
 and then starting up, as if to cut across all 
 deliberation on the subject, he said he would 
 call both his children, and left the room. 
 
 After having been absent some time, he 
 c 5 
 
34 DE l'orme. 
 
 returned with the lad who had saved my life, 
 and a little girl of about ten years old. Jean 
 Baptiste, the younger, was at this time about 
 fifteen ; and though totally unlike his father in 
 stature, in make, or in mind, he had still a 
 sufficient touch of the old procureur in his 
 countenance, to justify his mother in the mat- 
 ter of paternity. 
 
 Not so the little Helen, whose face was cer- 
 tainly not a reflexion of her father's, if such he 
 was. Her long soft dark eyes alone, were suf- 
 ficient to have overset the whole relationship, 
 without even the glossy brown hair that curled 
 round her brow, the high clear forehead, the 
 mouth like twin cherries, or the brilliant com- 
 plexion, which certainly put Monsieur Ar- 
 nault's coff*ee-coloured skin very much out of 
 countenance. 
 
 Her manners were as sweet and gentle as 
 her person, my mother's heart was soon won, 
 and the exchange proposed readily conceded. 
 
 The young Jean Baptiste was thanked both 
 by my mother and myself, in all the terms we 
 could find to express our gratitude, all which he 
 
DE l'orme. 35 
 
 received in a good-humoured and yet a sheepish 
 manner, as if he were at once gratified and 
 distressed, by the commendations that were 
 showered upon him. Helen, it was agreed 
 should be brought over to the chateau the 
 next day, and having now acquitted ourselves 
 of the debt of obligation under which we had 
 lain, we again mounted our horses and rode 
 away from Lourdes. 
 
36 DE L^ORME. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Although I hate to be my own historian, 
 and string I, and I, and I, together to the end 
 of the chapter, yet I nevertheless believe that 
 no man's history can be so well told as by him- 
 self, if he will but be candid ; for no one can so 
 completely enter into his feelings, or have so 
 vivid an impression of the circumstances amidst 
 which he has acted. Notwithstanding this, it 
 shall be my endeavour to pass over the events 
 of my youth as rapidly as possible, for the pur- 
 pose of arriving at that part of this history 
 where the stirring nature of the scenes in which 
 I mingled may cover the egotism of the detail ; 
 but still, as there are persons and occurrences 
 
DE l'orme. 37 
 
 yet unmentioned, by which my after life was 
 entirely modified, I must still pause a little on 
 this part of my tale. 
 
 Faithful to the charge she had undertaken, 
 my mother made the education of Helen Ar- 
 nault her particular care. At first, she confined 
 her instructions to those arts alone that were 
 likely to be useful to her in the bonrgeoise class 
 in which she had been born, but there was a 
 degree of ready genius mixed with the infinite 
 gentleness of Helen''s disposition, which gradu- 
 ally seduced my mother into teaching her much 
 more than she had at first intended. Nor was 
 she ill qualified for the task, possessing every 
 female accomplishment, both mental and cor- 
 poreal, in as much perfection as they had re- 
 ceived in those days. At first, the education 
 of the sweet girl, thus placed under her pro- 
 tection, formed a sort of amusement for her, 
 when my father and myself were absent in any 
 of the long rides we used to take through the 
 country — gradually it became so habitual as to 
 be necessary to her comfort, and Helen so com- 
 
38 DE L*ORME. 
 
 pletely wound herself round the Countess's 
 heart, that she could not bear to be without 
 her for any considerable length of time. 
 
 Perhaps it was the very attachment which 
 she herself experienced towards Helen^ that 
 made my mother feel how strong might be the 
 effect of such sweetness and such beauty at 
 some after time upon the heart of an ardent, 
 sensitive, imaginative youth — and my mother 
 from the first knew me to be such. Whatever 
 was the cause, certain it is she took care that 
 between Helen and myself should be placed a 
 barrier of severe and chilling formality, calcu- 
 lated to repress the least intimacy in its very 
 bud. Whenever she mentioned my name to 
 her young protegee, it was always under the 
 ceremonious epithet of Count Louis. When- 
 ever I entered the room, Helen Arnault was 
 sent away, upon some excuse which prevented 
 her return ; or if she was permitted to remain, 
 there was a sort of courtly etiquette maintain- 
 ed, well calculated to freeze all the warmer 
 blood of youth. 
 
 All this my mind has commented on since, 
 
DE l'orme. 39 
 
 though I only regarded it, at the time, as some- 
 thing very disagreeable, without in the least 
 understanding why my mother chose to play so 
 very different a part from that which suited her 
 natural character. She certainly acted for the 
 best, but I think she v^^as mistaken in her 
 judgment of the means to be employed for 
 effecting her object. It is probable, that had 
 she suffered me at the first to look upon 
 Helen Arnault as a sister, and taught her to 
 consider me as her brother, the feelings which 
 we acquired towards each other at ten and 
 twelve years old, would have remained un- 
 changed at a later period. God knows how it 
 would have been ! I am afraid that all experi- 
 ments upon young hearts are dangerous things. 
 The only remedy is, I believe, a stone waU, and 
 the example of Pyramus and Thisbe demon- 
 strates that even it must not have a crack 
 in it. 
 
 As it was, the years rolled on, and I began 
 to acquire the sensations of manhood. I saw 
 Helen Arnault but by glimpses, but I saw no- 
 thing on earth so lovely. Every day new beau- 
 
40 DE l'orme. 
 
 ties broke forth upon me, and it was impossible 
 to behold her hour by hour, expanding into 
 the perfection of womanhood, without experi- 
 encing those feelings with which we see a bud 
 open out into the rose — a wish to possess so 
 beautiful a thing. 
 
 In the meanwhile, several changes took place 
 in our vicinity ; the most important of which 
 was the arrival of a neighbour. The Chateau 
 de L'Orme stood, as I have said, upon the 
 side of the hill, commanding an extensive view 
 through the valley below. It had originally 
 been nothing more than one of those towers to 
 be found in every gorge of the Pyrenees, built 
 in times long past to defend the country from 
 the incursions of the Moors of Spain. 
 
 After the expulsion of the infidels from the 
 Peninsula, it had been converted into a hunting 
 residence for the Counts of Bigorre, and a great 
 many additions made to it, according to the 
 various tastes of a long line of proprietors, who 
 had each in general followed the particular 
 style of architecture which accorded with his 
 own immediate pursuits. The more warlike 
 
DE L'ORME. 41 
 
 had built towers, and walls, and turrets, and 
 battlements. One of the Counts dying without 
 children, it had fallen into the hands of his 
 brother, who was a bishop. He added a gothic 
 chapel and a dormitory for ecclesiastics. His 
 nephew, a famous lawyer and President de Gre- 
 noble, no sooner succeeded, than he built an im- 
 mense hall, exactly copied from the hall of 
 justice in which he had so often presided ; 
 and others of different dispositions had equally 
 taken care of the stables, the dairy, and the 
 kitchen. 
 
 In short, they had been like the fairies called 
 to the birth of a child in our nursery tales ; 
 each had endowed the building with some par- 
 ticular gift, so that on the whole, though some- 
 what straggling and irregular, it contained an 
 apartment of every kind, sort, and description, 
 that could be wanted or wished for. 
 
 In one of the square towers, built upon the 
 edge of a steep rock, some ninety feet in height, 
 my father had fixed his library. Here he could 
 read whatever book he chose, in a quiet, dozy 
 sort of manner, without hearing any noise from 
 
42 DE LORME. 
 
 the rest of the house ; though at the same 
 time, he just caught, through the open win- 
 dows, the murmuring of the waterfall below, 
 and could look up from what he was perusing, 
 and run his eye through all the windings of the 
 valley, with a dreamy contemplative listless- 
 ness, in which he was very fond to indulge. 
 
 At about a quarter of a mile from the cha- 
 teau, and amongst the first objects within the 
 scope of my father's view as he sat in this 
 library, was a small house, which had belonged 
 to some of the w^ealthier retainers of the family, 
 when it had been in its flush prosperity. This 
 had since passed into the hands of a farmer, at 
 the time that my grandfather had judged pro- 
 per to diminish the family estate, and expend 
 its current representative in gunpowder and 
 cannon balls ; but a year or two before the 
 time to which I refer, it had become vacant by 
 the death of its occupier, and had remained 
 shut up ever since. 
 
 Little care being taken to keep this house in 
 repair, it formed a sort of eye-sore in my father's 
 view, and regularly every month he declared he 
 
DE l'orme. 4«3 
 
 would repurchase it, and arrange it according to 
 his own taste, with a degree of energy and even 
 vehemence of manner, which would have led 
 any one, who did not know him, to suppose 
 that within an hour the purchase would be 
 completed, and the alterations put in train ; but 
 the moment he had shut the library door be- 
 hind him, he began to think of something 
 else, and before he was in the court-yard he 
 had forgot all about it. 
 
 One morning, however, he was not a little 
 surprised to see the windows of the house 
 opened, and two or three workmen of various 
 kinds employed in rendering it habitable. 
 Without giving himself time to recover from 
 his astonishment, or to forget the change, he 
 sent down the lackey to inquire the name of its 
 new occupier, and, in short, the whole parti- 
 culars. 
 
 How the man executed his commission I 
 know not, but the reply was, that the Cheva- 
 lier de Montenero would do himself the honour 
 of waiting upon the Count de Bigorre. My 
 father said, " Very well,"" and resolved to have 
 
44? DE l'orme. 
 
 every thing prepared to receive this new neigh- 
 bour with ceremony ; but finding that the ar- 
 rangements required a good deal of thought, he 
 resolved to leave them all to my mother, and 
 was proceeding to her apartments for the pur- 
 pose of casting the weight of it upon her shoul- 
 ders, when, in the corridor, he met little Helen 
 Arnault, who had then been with us about six 
 months — began playing with and caressing her 
 — forgot the Chevalier de Montenero, and went 
 out to ride with me towards Bigorre. 
 
 On our return, we found a strong iron-grey 
 horse saddled in the court-yard, and were in- 
 formed that the Chevalier de Montenero was in 
 the apartments of Madame la Comtesse. On 
 following my father thither, I instantly recog- 
 nised the person we had seen in the etude of the 
 Procureur at Lourdes. The sight, I will own, 
 was a pleasing one to me, for from the moment 
 I had first beheld him I had wished to hear 
 and see more. There was a sort of dignity 
 in his aspect that struck my boyish imagina- 
 tion, and captivated me in a way I cannot 
 account for. I am well aware that on everv 
 
DE L'ORME. 45 
 
 principle of right reasoning, the theory of in- 
 nate sympathies is one of the most ridiculous 
 that ever the theory- mongers of this earth pro- 
 duced, but yet, though strange, it is no less a 
 fact, which every one must have felt, that there 
 are persons whom we meet in the world, and 
 who, without one personal beauty to attract, 
 and, even before we have had any opportunity of 
 judging of their minds, obtain a sort of hold 
 upon our feelings and imagination, more pow- 
 erful than long acquaintance, with their quali- 
 ties of mind could produce. Perhaps it is by 
 some association between their persons and our 
 preconceived ideas of goodness. 
 
 The Chevalier de Montenero, however, in his 
 youth must have been remarkable for personal 
 beauty, and the strongest traces of it remained 
 even yet, though, in this respect, years had 
 been the less merciful, inasmuch as they had 
 been leagued with care. Deep lines of pain- 
 ful and anxious thought were evident on the 
 Chevalier's forehead and in his cheek — but it was 
 not thought of a mean or sordid nature. The 
 grandeur of his brow, the erect unshrinking 
 
46 DE l'orme. 
 
 dignity of his carriage, all contradicted it. Pow- 
 erful, or rather overpowering passions, might 
 perchance speak forth in the flash of his dark 
 eye, but its expression for good or bad, was 
 still great and elevated. There was something 
 also that might be called impenetrable in his 
 air. It was that of a man long accustomed to 
 bury matters of much import deep in his own 
 bosom ; and very few, I believe, would have 
 liked to ask him an impertinent question. 
 
 In manner he v^^as mild and grave; and 
 though his name was evidently Spanish, and 
 his whole dress and appearance betrayed that 
 he had very lately arrived from that country, 
 yet he spoke our language with perfect facility, 
 and without the slightest foreign accent. I 
 believe the pleasure I felt in seeing him again, 
 showed itself in somewhat of youthful gladness, 
 and as he was not a man to despise any thing 
 that was pure and unaffected, he seemed grati- 
 fied by my remembrance, and invited me to 
 visit him in his solitude. " I mean, Madame," 
 said he, turning to my mother, " to make the 
 house which I have bought in the valley a 
 
DE l'orme. 47 
 
 hermitage, in almost every thing but the name ; 
 but if you will occasionally permit your son to 
 cheer it with his company, I shall be the hap- 
 pier in the society of one who as yet is certainly 
 uncorrupted by this bad world, and, in return, 
 he may perhaps learn from me some of that 
 lore which long commerce with my fellow-crea- 
 tures, and much familiarity with great and 
 strange events, have taught me." 
 
 1 eagerly seized on the permission, and from 
 that day, whenever my mood turned towards 
 the serious and the thoughtful, my steps natu- 
 rally followed the path towards the dwelling of 
 the Chevalier. I may say that I won his affec- 
 tion, and much did he strive to correct and 
 guide my disposition to high and noble objects, 
 marking keenly every propensity in my nature, 
 and endeavouring to direct them aright. 
 
 There was a charm in his conversation, an 
 impressive truth in all he said, that both per- 
 suaded and convinced ; and, had I followed the 
 lessons of wisdom I heard from his lips, I 
 should have been both happier and better in my 
 after life ; but the struggle of youthful passion 
 
.48 DE l'orme. 
 
 was ever ' too strong for reason, and for many 
 years of my being I was but a creature of im- 
 pulse, carried away by the wish of the moment, 
 and forgetting, at the time I most needed them, 
 all the resolutions I had founded upon the ex- 
 perience of others. 
 
 The Chevalier evidently saw and regretted 
 the wildness of my disposition, but I do not 
 think he loved me the less. There was some- 
 thing in it that harmonized with his own cha- 
 racter ; for often, notwithstanding all that he 
 had learned in the impressive school of the 
 world, the original enthusiasm of his heart 
 would shine out, in spite of the veil of stern 
 coldness with which he covered his warmer 
 feelings. This I remarked afterwards; but 
 suffice it in this place to say, that his regard for 
 me assumed a character of almost paternal ten- 
 derness, which I ever repaid by a respect and 
 reverence I am afraid more than filial. In his 
 manners, to every one but the members of our 
 family, he was distant and cold, but it seemed 
 as if towards us his heart had expanded from 
 the first. My mother he would often visit, 
 
DE l'orme. 49 
 
 behaving on such occasions with the calm, ele- 
 gant attention of high bred courtesy, never 
 stiffening into coldness or sinking into fami- 
 liarity. With my father he would sit for many 
 hours at a time, conversing over various sub- 
 jects of life and morals, with which, even t() 
 my young mind, it was apparent that he was 
 actively and practically acquainted; while my 
 father, though perhaps his reasoning was as 
 good, spoke evidently but from what he had 
 read and what he had heard, without the clear 
 precision of personal knowledge. 
 
 Other acquaintances, also, though of an in- 
 ferior class, and very different character, must 
 now be mentioned, though neither their habits 
 of life, or rank in society, were calculated to 
 throw much lustre on those who in any way 
 consorted with them. 
 
 The excessive height to which the Gabelle 
 had carried the price of salt, acted as one of 
 the greatest encouragements to those Spanish 
 smugglers, who have in all times frequented 
 the various passes of the Pyrenees, and distin- 
 guished themselves by a daring and reckless 
 VOL. I. D 
 
50 DE l'orme. 
 
 courage, and a keen penetrating sagacity, which 
 might have raised them individually to the 
 highest stations of society, if employed for the 
 nobler and better purposes of existence. 
 
 It unfortunately happens in the world, that 
 talent is less frequently wanting than the wis- 
 dom to employ it ; and many men, who, to my 
 knowledge, might have established their own 
 fortune, served their country, and rendered their 
 name immortal, have wasted grand abilities 
 upon petty schemes, and heroic courage upon 
 disgraceful enterprises. So was it, though in a 
 minor degree, v^^ith many of the Spanish smug- 
 glers that were continually passing to and fro in 
 our immediate neighbourhood ; and a braver 
 or more ingenious race of men never existed. 
 
 Of course they were not without their aiders 
 and abettors on the French side of the moun- 
 tains ; and it v^as very generally supposed that 
 the mill, near which! had fallen into the wa- 
 ter, was a great receptacle for the contra- 
 band goods which they imported. However, 
 nothing of the kind was to be discovered, al- 
 though the officers of the Gabelle, called Gabel- 
 
DE L'ORME. 51 
 
 lateurs, and the Douaniers, or custom-house 
 officers, had visited it at all times and seasons. 
 The mill had ever been found clear and fair, 
 and the miller, a quiet, civil sort of person, 
 who let them look where they listed, and took 
 it all in good part. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this fair appearance, 
 which baffled even the keen eyes of thos^ inte- 
 rested in the discovery, and deceived coYn- 
 pletely all who were not interested in the 
 smuggling itself, whenever my father wanted 
 some good Alicante wine, or Xeres, or any 
 thing else of the same nature, he sent to the 
 miller, who was always found ready to oblige 
 Monseigneur le Comte. Often also, in my 
 childhood, did I visit the mill in company with 
 the old maitre d'hotel, whose predilection for 
 the good things of this life, especially in the 
 form of liquids, would have led him to cul- 
 tivate the acquaintance of the Devil himself, 
 if he had appeared with a bottle of wine under 
 his arm. Many was the curious scene that I 
 thus saw, now floating faintly before my me- 
 mory as a remembered dream ; and many were 
 D 2 
 
 U. OF ILL. Lii^, 
 
52 DE l'orme. 
 
 the means employed to make the amiable prac- 
 tice of smuggling palatable to the taste of the 
 heir of Bigorre. Oranges, and pomegranates, 
 and dates, were always brought forward to 
 gratify the young Count, and my bold and 
 daring spirit, even as a child, excited the ad- 
 miration /'nd delight of many of the dark 
 smugglers, who used, in return, to tell me 
 Unf y stories of their strange adventures, which, 
 heightened by the barbarous yet picturesque 
 dialect that they spoke, excited my fancy to 
 the utmost, and sent me away with my brain 
 full of wild imaginations. 
 
 Very often, if any of these men had some- 
 thing peculiarly rare or curious to dispose of, 
 they went so far as to bring it up to the Cha- 
 teau de rOrme, where my father generally be- 
 came a purchaser, notwithstanding a remon- 
 strance which my mother would occasionally 
 venture to make against the encouragement of 
 persons habitually infringing the law of the 
 land. 
 
 Our family thus acquired the reputation 
 amongst the smugglers of being their patrons 
 
DE l'orme. 53 
 
 and benefactors; and violent in all their pas- 
 sions, whether good or bad, their gratitude 
 was enthusiastic in proportion. One of them, 
 named Pedro Garcias, deserves more particular 
 notice than the rest on many accounts. When 
 I first knew him, he was a man of about forty, 
 perhaps more ; but time and da^igor, and ex- 
 cited passion and fatigue, had maa^ as little 
 impression upon him as the soft waves of some 
 sheltered bay do upon the granite rocks tha*^ 
 surround it. He was born at the little village 
 of Hacca, on the other side of the mountains, 
 the son of a wealthy farmer, who afforded him 
 an education much superior to his rank in life. 
 The blood of his ancestors, they said, was mingled 
 with that of the jNIoors, and instead of feeling 
 this circumstance as a stain upon his race, like 
 most of his countrymen, he seemed rather to 
 glory in his descent from a valiant and conquer- 
 ing people, and to exult in the African fire that 
 circled in his veins. 
 
 His complexion, however, was not peculiarly 
 swarthy, though his long stiff black hair, and 
 flashing eyes, spoke out in favour of his 
 
54 DE l'orme. 
 
 Moorish origin. In height he was nearly six 
 feet three inches; but instead of any of the 
 awkward disproportion which we sometimes see 
 in tall people, his form was cast in the most ex- 
 quisite mould of vigorous masculine beauty. 
 
 There existed be<-ween his mind and person 
 that sim^*^.: ,ty which we more frequently find 
 amongst , ^e uncultivated children of Nature, 
 than where education has changed the cha- 
 racter, or impeded its development. His in- 
 tellect and all his perceptions were strong, 
 powerful, and active, with a certain cast of 
 fearless grandeur about them, that gave some- 
 thing of great and fine even to the employ- 
 ment he had chosen. His disposition also was 
 quick, hasty, and unsparing, but full of a 
 rude enthusiastic generosity, that would have 
 taught him to die for those he considered his 
 friends, and also a bold dignity, which led him 
 to trust to daring more than cunning. He had 
 in his nature much of the beast of prey, but it 
 was of the nobler kind. 
 
 Heaven knows how, with so many qualities 
 of mind and person — qualities calculated to 
 
DE l'orme. 55 
 
 raise him above, rather than sink him below 
 the station in which he was born — Heaven 
 knows how he fell into the perilous but inglo- 
 rious life of a simple contrabandisto between 
 France and Spain. 
 
 This man was one of the smugglers who most 
 frequently visited the chateau, and it sometimes 
 happened that the intermediation of the old 
 matt re d'hote! was dispensed with, and that he 
 would be admitted to an audience of my father 
 himself, which generally lasted a considerable 
 time ; for Garcias possessed that sort of natural 
 eloquence which, mingled with a degree of 
 caustic humour, was sure to command attention, 
 and to engage without wearying. There was 
 something too in his very appearance that attract- 
 ed and interested. Certainly never was a more 
 picturesque, I may say, a more striking figure 
 seen, than he presented, as I have beheld him, 
 often, coming down amongst the mountains, 
 whose child he seemed to be ; his long black 
 hair gathered into a net under his broad som- 
 brero ; his cloak of chequered cloth, mantling 
 all the upper ])art of his figure, and only leav- 
 
56 DE l'orme. 
 
 ing free the left hip, with the steel hilt of his 
 sword, and the right arm ready to make use of 
 it ; while his legs, whose swelling muscles told 
 of their gigantic strength, appeared striding 
 underneath, covered to the knees with the tight 
 elastic silk breeches of the Aragonese moun- 
 taineers. The rest of his dress generally con- 
 sisted of a brown cloth jacket, a crimson sash 
 round his waist, containing his pistols and long 
 knife, white stockings, and a pair of mountain 
 sandals, made of untanned cowhide, laced up 
 to his ankle. 
 
 Such were the various persons that surround- 
 ed me in my youth ; and such indeed were the 
 only ones with whom I had any communica- 
 tion, except the young Jean Baptiste Arnault, 
 who used to come frequently to see his sister. 
 Her father troubled himself very little about 
 her, after she was once fairly under the protec- 
 tion of my mother ; but her brother was not so 
 remiss, and, whenever he came, was received 
 with kindness by all the family, nor suffered to 
 depart without some little token of regard. 
 For my own part, the memory of the service 
 
DE l'orme. 57 
 
 he had rendered me remained ever upon my 
 mind, and showed itself in every way that my 
 youthful imagination could devise ; till, at 
 length, the good simple-hearted lad, from the 
 person obliging, began to feel himself the 
 obliged, and both feelings mingling in his 
 heart together, produced towards me the most 
 generous and disinterested attachment. 
 
 I have said that I was between twelve and 
 thirteen years old when Helen Arnault first 
 became an inmate of the same dwelling. Two 
 years rapidly passed by, and not long after I 
 had reached the age of fourteen, I was sent to 
 the college of Pau, where three years and a 
 half more glided away in imperturbed tran- 
 quillity — cahn — quiet — slow ; but what a 
 change had taken place in all my thoughts and 
 feelings by the time they had passed ! 1 was 
 farther advanced both in stature, in form, and 
 ideas, than most youths of my age. Childhood 
 was gone — manhood was at hand. I had left 
 the placid, innocent bowers of infancy, with 
 their cool and passionless shades ; and I stood 
 with my footstep on the threshold of man's 
 D 5 
 
58 DE l'orme. 
 
 busy and tumultuous theatre, ready to plunge 
 into the arena and struggle with the rest. My 
 heart full of strong and ardent passions, my 
 imagination vivid and uncontrolled, with some 
 knowledge gained from books, and some shrewd 
 sense of my own, but with little self-govern- 
 ment, and no experience, I set out from Pau, 
 to return to my paternal mansion ; and as from 
 that day I may date the commencement of a 
 new existence, I will pause, and begin my 
 manhood with a chapter to itself. 
 
DE l'orme 59 
 
 CHAPTER TV. 
 
 I WAS now eighteen ; slim, tall, and vigor- 
 ous, inheriting some portion both of my father's 
 and of my mother's personal beauty, and super- 
 adding all those graces which are peculiarly the 
 property of youth ; the flowers which partial 
 Nature bestows upon the spring of life, and 
 which are rarely compensated by the fruits of 
 manhood's summer. I know not why I should 
 refrain from saying I was handsome. Long 
 before any one reads these lines, that which was 
 so, will be dust and ashes, — a thing, that crea- 
 tures composed of the same sordid materials, 
 cemented by the same fragile medium of life, 
 will turn from with insect disgust. With this 
 consciousness before me, I will venture, then, to 
 
60 DE l'orme. 
 
 say, that I ivas handsome — If ever I was per- 
 sonally vain, such a folly is amongst those that 
 have left me. 
 
 However, with some good looks, and some 
 knowledge that I did possess them, it is not 
 very wonderful that I should try to set them 
 off to the best advantage, on my return 
 home after a long absence. There might be a 
 little native puppyism in the business ; there 
 might be, also, some thought of looking well in 
 the eyes of Helen Arnault, for even at that 
 early age, I had begun to think about her a 
 great deal more than was necessary ; and to 
 pamper my imagination with a thousand fine 
 romances which need the lustrous air, the glow- 
 ing skies, the magnificent scenes, of the romance 
 breathing Pyrenees, to make them at all com- 
 prehensible. Certain it is, that I did think of 
 Helen Arnault very often ; but never was her 
 idea more strongly in my mind than on that 
 morning when I was awakened for the purpose 
 of bidding adieu to my college studies, and of 
 returning once more to my home, and my pa- 
 rents, and the scenes of m.y infancy. I am 
 
DE l'oRME. 61 
 
 afraid, that amongst all the expectations which 
 crowded upon my imagination, the thought of 
 Helen Arnault was most prominent. 
 
 At five o'clock precisely, old Houssaye, who 
 had been trumpeter to my grandfather's regi- 
 ment of royalists in the wars of the League, 
 and was now promoted to the high and digni- 
 fied station of my valet de chambre and gou- 
 verneur, stood at my bed-side, and told me that 
 our horses were saddled, our baggage packed 
 up, and that I had nothing to do but to dress 
 myself, mount, and set out. He was somewhat 
 astonished, I believe, at seeing me lie, for some 
 ten minutes after he had drawn the curtains, 
 in the midst of meditation, which to him seem- 
 ed very simple meditations indeed, but which 
 were, in fact, so complicated of thoughts, and 
 feelings, and hopes, and wishes, and remem- 
 brances, that I defy any mortal being to have 
 disentangled the Gordian knot into which I had 
 twisted them. After trying some time in vain, 
 I took the method of that great Macedonian 
 baby, who found the world too small a play- 
 thing, and by jumping up, I cut the knot with 
 
62 DE l'orme. 
 
 all its involutions asunder. But my farther 
 proceedings greatly increased good master Hous- 
 saye''s astonishment, for instead of contenting 
 myself with my student's dress of simple black, 
 with a low collar devoid of lace, which he 
 judged would suit a dusty road better than any 
 other suit I had, I insisted on his again opening 
 the valise, and taking out my very best slashed 
 pourpoint, my lace collar, my white buskins, 
 and my gilt spurs. Then, having dressed my- 
 self en cavalier parfait, drawn the long curls 
 of my dark hair over my forehead, and tossed 
 on my feathered hat, instead of the prim-look- 
 ing conceit with which I had covered my head 
 at college, I rushed down the interminable stair- 
 case into the court-yard, with a sudden burst 
 of youthful extravagance; and, springing on 
 my horse, left poor Houssaye to follow as he 
 best might. 
 
 Away I went out of Pau, like a young colt 
 when first freed from the restraint of the stable, 
 and turned out to grass in the joy-inspiring 
 fields. Over hill and dale, and rough and 
 smooth, I spurred on, with very little regard to 
 
DR l'orme. 68 
 
 my horse's wind, till I came to the rising 
 ground which presents itself just before cross- 
 ing the river to reach Estelle. The first ob- 
 ject on the height is the Chateau of Coarasse, 
 in which Henry IV. passed the earlier years of 
 his youth, and wherein he received that edu- 
 cation which gave to the world one of the 
 most noble and generous-hearted of its kings. 
 I had seen it often before, and I know not what 
 chain of association established itself between 
 my own feelings at the time, and the memories 
 that hovered round its old grey walls, but I 
 drew in my horse's bridle on the verge, and 
 gazed upon the building before me, as if inter- 
 rogating it of greatness, and of fame, and of 
 the world's applause. There was, however, a 
 chill and a sternness about all that it replied, 
 which fell coldly upon the warm wishes of 
 youth. It spoke of glory, indeed, and of ho- 
 nour, and the immortality of a mighty name: 
 but it spoke also, of the dead — of those who 
 could not hear, who could not enjoy the cheer- 
 less recompense of posthumous renown. It 
 told, too, of Fortune's fickleness — of a world's 
 
64 
 
 ingratitude — of the vanity of greatness — and 
 the emptiness of hope. 
 
 With a tightened bridle, and slow pace, I 
 pursued my way to Estelle, and dismounting 
 in the yard of the post-house, 1 desired the 
 saddle to be taken off my horse, which was 
 wearied with my inconsiderate galloping up and 
 down hill, and to be then placed on the best 
 beast which was disengaged in the stable. 
 
 While this was in execution, I walked into 
 the kitchen with some degree of sulkiness of 
 mood, at not being able to squeeze some 
 brighter encouragement from a place so full of 
 great memories as the Chateau of Henry 
 Quatre, and laying my hat on the table, I 
 amused myself for some time, with twisting 
 the straws upon the floor into various shapes, 
 with the point of my sword ; and then returned 
 to the court to see if I had been obeyed. The 
 saddle, it is true, had been placed upon the 
 fresh horse, but just as this was finished, a 
 gentleman rode into the yard with four or five 
 servants — smooth-faced, pink-and-white lackeys 
 — with that look of swaggering tiptoe insolence 
 
DE l'orme. 65 
 
 which bespeaks in general, either a weak or 
 an uncourteous lord. Seeing my saddle on a 
 horse that suited his whim, the stranger, with- 
 out ceremony, ordered the hostler to take it 
 off instantly, and prepare the beast for his use- 
 
 He was a tall, elegant man, of about forty, 
 with an air of most insufferable pride ; which — 
 though ever but tinsel quality at the best — 
 shone like gold in the master, when compared 
 with the genuine brass of his servants, who, 
 while their Lord dismounted, treated the hostler 
 with the sweet and delectable epithets of, 
 villain, hog, slave, and ass, for simply setting 
 forth, that the horse was pre-engaged. 
 
 There have been many moments in my life, 
 when either laziness, or good-humour, or care- 
 lessness, would have prevented me from op- 
 posing this sort of infraction of my prior right ; 
 but, on the present occasion, I was not in a 
 humour to yield one step to any body. With- 
 out seeking my hat, therefore, I walked up to 
 the Cavalier, who still stood in the court, and in- 
 formed him that the saddle must not be removed, 
 for that I had engaged the horse. Without 
 
66 DE l'orme. 
 
 turning round, he looked at me for a moment 
 over his shoulder, and seeing a face fringed 
 by no martial beard, yet insolent enough to 
 contradict his will, he bestowed a buffet upon 
 it with the back of his hand, which deluged my 
 fine lace collar in blood from my nose. 
 
 The soul of Laure de Bigorre, my ancestress, 
 who contended for her birthright with a king, 
 rose in my bosom at the affront, and drawing 
 my sword, without a moment's hesitation, I 
 lunged straight at his heart. The dazzling of 
 my eyes from the blow he had given me, just 
 gave him time to draw and parry my thrust, or 
 that instant he had lain a dead man at my feet. 
 The scorn with which he treated me at first, 
 now turned to rage at the boldness of my at- 
 tack, and the moment he had parried, he 
 pressed me hard in return, thinking, doubt- 
 less, soon to master the sword of an inexpe- 
 rienced boy. A severe wound in his sword-arm, 
 was the first thing that showed him his mistake, 
 and in an instant after, in making a furious 
 lunge, his foot slipped, and he fell ; his weapon 
 at the same time flying out of his hand in ano- 
 
DE l'orme. 67 
 
 ther direction, while his thunder-struck lackeys 
 stood gaping with open mouths and bloodless 
 cheeks, turned into statues by a magical mix- 
 ture of fright and astonishment. 
 
 I am ashamed to say, that anger over-pow- 
 ered my better-feelings, and I was about to 
 wash out the indignity he had offered me in 
 his blood, when I heard some one opposite 
 exclaim, "Ha!" in an accent both of surprise 
 and reproach. I looked up, and immediately 
 my eyes encountered those of Chevalier de 
 Montenero, standing in the yard, with his 
 arms crossed upon his bosom, regarding us 
 intently. 
 
 I understood the meaning of his exclamation 
 at once, and dropping the point of my weapon, 
 I turned to my adversary, saying, " Rise, Sir, 
 and take up your sword."' 
 
 He rose slowly and sullenly, and while his 
 servants pressed round to aid him, returned 
 his blade into its scabbard, bending his brows 
 upon me with a very sinister frown — " We 
 shall meet again, young Sir," said he with a 
 meaning nod ; " we shall meet again where I 
 
68 DE l'orme. 
 
 may have better space to chastise your inso- 
 lence." 
 
 " I dare say we shall meet again,^^ answered 
 I, " what may come then God knows ;*" and I 
 turned upon my heel towards the Chevalier, 
 who embraced me affectionately, whispering at 
 the same time, " Wash the blood from your 
 face and mount as quickly as you can ; your 
 adversary is not a man who may be offended 
 with impunity ."'' 
 
 I did as he bade me, and we rode out of the 
 court together, taking our way onward towards 
 Lourdes. As we went, the Chevalier threw 
 back his hat from his face, and with one of 
 those beaming smiles that sometimes lighted 
 up his whole countenance, bestowed the highest 
 praises on my conduct. 
 
 " Believe me, my dear Count Louis,"' said he, 
 " such is the way to pass tranquilly tlirough 
 life ; for with courage, and skill, and modera- 
 tion, such as you have shown to-day, bad men 
 will be afraid to be your enemies, and good men 
 will be proud to be your friends." He then 
 informed me that my opponent was the famous 
 
DE l'orme. 69 
 
 Marquis de Saint Brie, who had been strongly 
 suspected in two instances of having used some- 
 what foul means to rid himself of a success- 
 ful rival. " He prevailed on the Chevalier de 
 Valen9ais to sup with him," proceeded the Che- 
 valier. " The supper was good, the wine ex- 
 cellent, the Marquis fascinating ; and poor De 
 Valen^ais returned home, believing that he had 
 lost an enemy and gained a friend. Ere he had 
 been half an hour in bed, he called his valet 
 in great agony, arid before morning he had lost 
 all his enemies together, and gone to join his 
 friends in Heaven. The physician shook his 
 head, but after having had an hour's conversa- 
 tion with the Marquis, he became quite con- 
 vinced that the poor youth had died of an 
 inflammation. 
 
 " The other is not so distinct a tale," con- 
 tinued the Chevalier, " or I have not heard it 
 so completely, but from this man's general cha- 
 racter, I have no doubt of his criminality. He 
 some years ago proposed to marry the beauti- 
 ful Henriette de Yergne, and offered himself 
 to her father. The old man examined his 
 
70 DE l'orme. 
 
 rents, and finding that he had three hundred 
 thousand livres per annum, he felt instantly con- 
 vinced the Marquis de St. Brie was the most no- 
 ble-minded, honourable, sweet-tempered, and 
 amiable man in the world ; and possessed all 
 these qualities in exactly the proportion of 
 three to one more than the Count de Bagnols, 
 to whom he had before promised his daughter, 
 and who had but one hundred thousand livres 
 per annum. His calculation was soon made, 
 and sending for the young Count, he informed 
 him that he was not near so good a man as the 
 Marquis de St. Brie, and gave him his reasons 
 for thinking so; at the same time breaking 
 formally his former engagement. De Bagnols 
 instantly sent his cartel to the Marquis de St. 
 Brie, who accepted it, but named a distant 
 day. Before that day arrived, the young Count 
 was accused of aiding the Huguenots at Ro- 
 chelle, and was arrested ; but he contrived to 
 escape and transfer great part of his property 
 to Spain. Now comes the more obscure part 
 of the tale. The marriage of the Marquis 
 with Mademoiselle de Vergne approached, and 
 
DE l'ORME. 71 
 
 great preparations were made at her father's 
 chateau, but a man was seen lurking about the 
 park, whom many of the servants recognised as 
 the Count de Bagnols. They were wise, how- 
 ever, and said nothing, though it was gene- 
 rally rumoured amongst them that the Count 
 had been privately married to their young 
 lady some weeks before his arrest. The night, 
 however, on which Monsieur de St. Brie ar- 
 rived, and which was to precede his marriage 
 by one week, an uneasy conscience having ren- 
 dered him restless, he by chance beheld a man 
 descend from the window of Mademoiselle de 
 Vergne'*s apartment. He gave the alarm, and 
 with much fury declared he had been cheated, 
 deceived, betrayed, and it then appeared, they 
 say, that the fair Henriette had really married 
 her lover. He was now, however, an exile, 
 and a wanderer ; and her father declared he 
 would have the marriage annulled, if the Mar- 
 quis de St. Brie would but do him the honour 
 to stay and wed his daughter. The Marquis, 
 however, sternly refused, and that very night 
 departed and took up his lodging at the village 
 
72 DE l'orme. 
 
 hard by. The Count de Bagnols was never 
 heard of more. Two mornings afterwards, 
 there was found in the park of M. de Vergne, 
 a broken sword, near the spot were it was sup- 
 ]X)sed the lover used to leap the wall. The 
 ground round about was dented with the strug- 
 gling of many feet, died and dabbled with gore. 
 Part of a torn cloak too was found, and a long 
 train of bloody drops from that place to the 
 bank of the river ; a peasant also deposed to 
 having seen two men fling a heavy burden into 
 the stream at that spot — he would not swear 
 that it was a dead body, but he thought it 
 was.'"* 
 
 " And what became of Mademoiselle de la 
 Vergne ?"" demanded I. 
 
 " The Countess de Bagnols," said the Che- 
 valier, " for no doubt remained of her marriage, 
 removed, or was removed, I know not precisely 
 which, to a convent, where she died about five or 
 six months afterwards." 
 
 The Chevalier ceased, and we both fell into 
 a deep silence. The fate of the two lovers, 
 whose story he had just told, was one well cal- 
 
DE l'orme. 73 
 
 culated to excite many of those feelings in my 
 young heart, which, when really strong, do not 
 evaporate in words. I could have wept for the 
 fate of the two lovers, and my heart burned like 
 fire to think that such base wrongs should exist 
 — and exist unpunished. All the sympathy I 
 felt for them, easily changed into indignation 
 towards him whom I looked upon as the cause 
 of the death of both ; and I regretted that I had 
 not passed my sword through the heart of their 
 murderer when he lay prostrate on the ground 
 before me. 
 
 " Had I known," cried I, at length—" Had I 
 known but half an hour ago, who was the man, 
 and what were his actions, yon black-hearted 
 assassin should have gone to another world to 
 answer for the crimes he has committed in 
 this." 
 
 " You did wisely to refrain," replied the 
 Chevalier, with a tone of calmness that to my 
 unrepressed heat smacked of apathetic frigidity : 
 " Viewed by an honourable mind, my dear 
 Louis, his very fall covered him with a shield 
 more impenetrable than the sevenfold buckler 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
74 DE l'orme. 
 
 of Telamon. Never regret an act of generosity, 
 however worthless the object. If you act 
 nobly to one that deserves nobly, you confer 
 a benefit on him and a benefit on yourself: if 
 he be undeserving, still the very action does 
 good to your own heart. In the present in- 
 stance, had you slain that bad man, you would 
 probably have entailed ruin on yourself for ever. 
 Allied as he is to all the most powerful of the 
 land, the direst vengeance would infallibly 
 follow his fall, from whatever hand it came, 
 and instant flight or certain death must have 
 been your choice. Even as it is, you have 
 called upon yourself the hatred of a man who 
 was never known to forgive. When the first 
 heat of his rage is past, he may seem to forget 
 the affront he has received, but still it will be 
 remembered and treasured up till occasion 
 serves for wiping it out in the most remorseless 
 manner. At present, I would certainly advise 
 your father to take advantage of the temporary 
 peace that exists with Spain, and send you into 
 that land, till the man you have offended has 
 quitted this part of the country, and it is pos- 
 
DK l'orme. 75 
 
 sible you may never meet with him again. If 
 you do, however, beware, for his anger, believe 
 me, is as imperishable as the fabled wrath of 
 Juno. I am going to Saragossa myself upon 
 business of importance, and will willingly take 
 alJ charge of you, if you will join me there. 
 Tell the Count what has happened — tell him 
 what I say, and bid him lose no time — I would 
 urge it upon him personally, but the affairs 
 that call me into Spain admit of no delay." 
 
76 BE l'orme. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 As the Chevalier concluded, he put his horse 
 into a quicker pace, and in a minute or two 
 after, the road opened out into the beautiful 
 valley of Lourdes. 
 
 It would be difficult to express the thrilling 
 feelings of exquisite delight with which I be- 
 held again the scenes of ray early remembrances. 
 One must be a mountaineer to feel that strange 
 attachment to one particular spot of earth 
 which makes all the rest of the world but a 
 desert to the heart. I have read a thousand 
 theories, by a thousand philosophers, intended 
 to show the latent causes of such sensations, and 
 on comparing them with the living feelings of 
 my own breast, I have found them what I be- 
 
DE l'orme. 77 
 
 lieve the theories of philosophers generally are, 
 chains of reasoning as fragile and unsubstantial 
 as those links which the children in the country 
 weave out of flowers, graceful in formation and 
 apparently firmly united, but which the slightest 
 touch will snap asunder. Such feelings are too 
 fine, too subtle for the grasp of reason ; they 
 cannot be analysed ; they cannot be described ; 
 and even while we experience them, we can 
 render to ourselves no account of why they are 
 felt. The first sight of the Castle of Lourdes, 
 perched upon its high rock, with its battle- 
 ments, and turrets, and watch-towers; while 
 the mountains sweeping round it formed a glo- 
 rious purple background to its bold features, 
 and the sparkling stream seemed playing at its 
 feet — the very first sight made my heart beat 
 like a young lover's when he sees again after 
 a long absence the first inspirer of his airy 
 dreams. 
 
 Each blue hill, each winding path, each de- 
 tached rock, each ancient tree, that my eye 
 rested upon, was a landmark to guide the wan- 
 derer, memory, back through the waste of 
 
18 DE L'ORME. 
 
 years, to some joy, or some sport, or some 
 pleasure, long left behind. Eagerly I followed 
 the Chevalier on, from one object to another, 
 gleaning bright remembrances as I went along, 
 while the rapid mind, with every footfall of my 
 horse, still ran through a thousand associations, 
 and came back like light to mark some new 
 theme of memory. Even the dirty, little, insig- 
 nificant town of Lourdes, had greater charms, in 
 my eyes, than a city of palaces would, at that 
 moment, have possessed, and I looked upon all 
 the faces that I saw as if I recognized them 
 for my kinsfolk. 
 
 When we arrived at the market-place, the 
 Chevalier, who was about to visit the house of 
 Arnault, his procureur, left me, and I proceeded 
 alone, riding rapidly on till the path, winding 
 through the narrow gorge beyond Lourdes, 
 opened out into the wide basin of Argeles. I 
 paused for a moment to look over its far extent, 
 rich in sunny magnificence. All seemed bright- 
 ness, and tranquillity, and summer ; every aspe- 
 rity was smoothed and harmonized, and the 
 lustrous purple of the distant air, spread a 
 
DE L'ORME. 79 
 
 misty softness over each rough feature of the 
 mountains ; while a thousand blue and indis- 
 tinct passes wound away on every side, pro- 
 mising to lead to calm and splendid lands be- 
 yond. It was like the prospect of life to a 
 young and ardent imagination, before years 
 have clouded the scene, or experience has ex- 
 posed its ruggedness. There, was the dazzling 
 misty sunshine with which fancy invests every 
 distant object — there, the sweet valleys of re- 
 pose where we promise ourselves peace and en- 
 joyment — there, the mighty steps whereby am- 
 bition would mount unto the sky ; while the 
 dim passes that branched away on either hand, 
 imaged not ill the thousand vague and dreamy 
 schemes of youth for reaching fancied delights 
 which shall never be attained. 
 
 There were, however, real and substantial 
 joys before me, which I hurried on to taste ; 
 and in the expectation of which, was mingled 
 no probable alloy, although I had been so long 
 absent from my native home. The meeting 
 of long separated friends is rarely indeed 
 without its pain. To mark the ravages that 
 
80 DE l'orme. 
 
 Time's deliberate, remorseless hand has work- 
 ed upon those we love — to see a grace fled 
 — or a happiness — any, any change in what is 
 dear, is something to regret. But I was not at 
 a time of life to anticipate sorrow; and my 
 parents had seen me at Pau some four months 
 before, so that but little alteration could have 
 taken place. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, waited me but delight. 
 My horse flew rather than ran, and the dwell- 
 ing of my sires was soon within sight. I 
 sprang to the ground in the court yard, and, 
 without a moment's pause, ran up the stairs to 
 my mother's apartments, not hearing or attend- 
 ing to the old maitre cThotel, who reiterated 
 that she was in the garden. 
 
 There was delight in treading each old ac- 
 customed step of my infancy, of gazing round 
 upon objects, every line of which was a memory. 
 The gloom of the old vestibule, the channeled 
 marble of the grand staircase, the immense oaken 
 door of my mother's apartments, all called up 
 remembrances of the sweet past ; and I hurried 
 on, gathering recollections, till I entered the 
 
DE L'oRME. 81 
 
 embroidery- room, where I had sprung a thou- 
 sand times to her arms in my early boyhood. 
 
 The only person that I found there was Helen. 
 She had risen on hearing my step, and what 
 was passing in her mind I know not, but the 
 blood rushed up through her beautiful clear 
 skin till it covered her whole forehead and her 
 temples with a hue like the rose ; and I could 
 see her lip quiver, and her knees shake, as 
 she waited to receive my first salutation. I 
 was carried on by the joyful impetus of my 
 return, or, perhaps, I might have been as 
 embarrassed as herself ; but springing forward 
 towards her, without giving myself time to be- 
 come agitated, I kissed the one fair cheek she 
 turned towards me, and was going on in the 
 usual form to have kissed the other, but in 
 travelling round, my lips passed hers, and they 
 were so round, so full, so sweet, for my life 
 I could not get any farther, and I stopped my 
 journey there. 
 
 Helen started back, and gazing at me with 
 a look of deep surprise and even mortification, 
 sunk into the chair from which she had risen 
 E 5 
 
82 DE l'orme. 
 
 at my coming ; while I, with a brain reeling 
 with strange and new feelings, and a heart 
 palpitating with I knew not what, hurried 
 away to seek my mother ; unable even to find 
 one word of excuse for what I had done, and 
 feeling it wrong, very wrong, but finding it 
 impossible to wish it undone. 
 
 The garden consisted of about an acre of 
 ground, disposed in a long parallelogram, and 
 forced into a level much against the will of the 
 mountain, which invaded its rectilinear figure 
 with several unmathematical rocks. Luckily 
 my mother was at the extreme end, leaning on 
 the arm of my father, who with an affection 
 that the chilly touch of Time had found no 
 power to cool, was supporting her in her walk 
 with as much attentive kindness as he had 
 shown to his bride upon his wedding day. 
 
 I had thus time to get rid of a certain sort 
 of whirl in my brain, which the impress of 
 Helen's lips had left, and to turn the current 
 of my thoughts back to those parents, for 
 whom in truth I entertained the deepest af- 
 fection. 
 
DE l'orme. 83 
 
 My mother, I found, had been ill, and was 
 so still, though in some degree better ; so that 
 my sorrow to see her so much enfeebled as she 
 appeared to be, together with many other feel- 
 ings, drove my adventure of the morning, the 
 Marquis de St. Brie, and the advice of the 
 Chevalier, entirely out of my thoughts, till 
 poor Houssaye, whom I had left at Pau, ar- 
 rived, bringing a sadly mangled and magnified 
 account of my rencontre, gathered from hostlers 
 and postilions at Estelle. 
 
 As his history of my exploits went to give 
 me credit for the death of five or six giants 
 and anthropophagi, I thought it necessary to 
 interrupt him, and told my own tale myself. 
 The different effects that it produced upon a 
 brave man and a timid woman may well be 
 conceived. My father said I had acted right 
 in every thing, and my mother nearly fainted. 
 Perceiving her agitation, I thought it better to 
 delay the message of the Chevalier till dinner, 
 when I judged that her mind would be in some 
 degree calmed, for she wept over the first essay 
 of my sword, as if it had been a misfortune. 
 
84 DE l'orme. 
 
 My father and myself conducted the Countess 
 to her apartments, where Helen still sat, hard- 
 ly recovered from the agitation into which I 
 had thrown her. On seeing me again, she cast 
 down her look, and the tell-tale blood rushed 
 up into her cheek so quickly, that had not my 
 mother's eyes been otherwise engaged in weep- 
 ing, she must have remarked her sudden change 
 of colour. Observing the Countess's tears, 
 Helen glided forward, and cast her arms round 
 the neck of her patroness, saying that she hoped 
 that nothing had occurred to give her alarm 
 or discomfort. 
 
 " Both, Helen !" repHed my mother ; " both !" 
 and then proceeded to detail the whole story, 
 foreboding danger and sorrow, from my early 
 initiation into strife and bloodshed. Yet, al- 
 though not knowing it, my mother, I am sure, 
 did not escape without feeling some small share 
 of maternal pride at her son's first achievement. 
 I saw it in her face, I heard it in her tone ; and 
 often since I have had occasion to remark, how 
 like the passions, the feelings, and the preju- 
 dices, which swarm in our bosoms, are to a 
 
DE l'orme. 85 
 
 large mixed society, wherein the news that is 
 painful to one is pleasing to another, and joy 
 and sorrow are the results of the same cause, 
 at the same moment. Man's heart is a micro- 
 cosm, the actors in which are the passions, as 
 varied as opposed, as shaded one into the other, 
 as we see the characters of men, in the great 
 scene of the world. 
 
 As my mother spoke, Helen's lovely face 
 grew paler and paler, and I could see her full 
 snowy bosom, which was just panting into 
 womanhood, heave as with some strong in- 
 ternal emotion, till at length she suddenly fell 
 back, apparently lifeless. 
 
 It was long ere we could bring her back to 
 sensation ; but when she was fully recovered, 
 she attributed her illness to having remained 
 the whole day stooping over a miniature pic- 
 ture, which she was drawing of my mother ; 
 and the Countess, whose love for her had by 
 this time" become nearly maternal, exacted a 
 promise from her that she would take a moun- 
 tain walk every morning before she began her 
 task. 
 
86 DE l'orme. 
 
 This may seem a trifle; but I have learned 
 by many a rude rebuff to know, that there is 
 no such thing as a trifle in this world. All is 
 of consequence— all may be of import. He- 
 len's mountain walks sealed my fate. At din- 
 ner I delivered the message and advice, with 
 which the Chevalier had charged me, and, after 
 some discussion, it was determined that it 
 should be followed. My father at first op- 
 posed it, and indignantly spurned at the idea 
 of any one attempting injury to the heir of 
 Bigorre in his paternal dwelling; but my mo- 
 ther'^s anxiety prevailed, backed by the advice 
 and persuasions of good Father Francis of 
 Allurdi, who offered to accompany me for the 
 short time that my absence might be necessary. 
 My father soon grew weary of making any 
 opposition ; and it was agreed that myself. 
 Father Francis, and Houssaye, my valet, should 
 take our departure for Spain within two days, 
 and, joining the Chevalier at Saragossa, should 
 remain there till we received information that 
 the Marquis de St. Brie had quitted Beam. 
 
 That day ended, and another began, and, 
 
DE l'orme. 87 
 
 springing from my bed with the vigorous fresh- 
 ness that dwellers in cities never know, I took 
 my gun, and proceeded to the mountain, pur- 
 posing to search the rocks for an izzard. Gra- 
 dually, however, I became thoughtful ; and, re- 
 volving the events of the previous day, many a 
 varied feeling rose in my mind, and I found 
 that that one stirring and active day had 
 changed me more than years of what had pass- 
 ed before — that it was, in fact, my first day 
 of manhood. I had staked and won in the 
 perilous game of mortal strife. I had shed 
 blood — I had passed the rubicon — I was a 
 man. Onward ! onward ! onward ! was the 
 cry of my heart. I felt that I could not — 
 and I wished not that I could — go back from 
 that I was, to that which I had been. And yet 
 there was a regret — a feeling of indefinable 
 clinging to the past — a sort of innate convic- 
 tion that the peaceful, the quiet, the tranquil, 
 was left behind for ever ; and even while I 
 joyed in the active and gay existence that 
 Fancy and Hope spread out before me, I 
 looked back to the gone, and yielded it a 
 
88 DE l'orme. 
 
 sigh, for the calm enjoyments that were lost 
 for ever. 
 
 From these ideas, my mind easily turned to 
 the latter part of that day which formed the 
 theme of my thoughts, and I could not help 
 hoping, nay, even believing, that the fainting 
 of Helen Arnault was linked in some degree 
 vi^ith concern for me. I had remarked the 
 blush and the agitation when first I came ; I 
 had noted her behaviour on the kiss which I 
 had taken ; and from the whole I gathered 
 hope. 
 
 Yet, nevertheless, I reproached myself for 
 having used a liberty with her, which her de- 
 pendent situation might lead her to look upon 
 less as a token of love than as an insult, and I 
 resolved to justify myself in her eyes. And 
 how to justify myself .^^ it may be asked. By 
 taking that irrevocable step which would clear 
 all doubt from her mind. But whether it was 
 solely to efface any bad impression that my 
 conduct might have caused, or whether it was, 
 that I gladly availed myself of that pretext to 
 act as my heart rather than my reason prompt- 
 
DE l'orme. 89 
 
 ed, I do not know. Certain it is, that I loved 
 her with an ardour and a truth that I did not 
 even know myself; and such a passion could 
 not long have been concealed, even if the impa- 
 tience of my disposition had not hurried me on 
 to acknowledge it to her so soon. 
 
 By the time I had taken this resolution, I 
 had climbed high amongst the hills, and was 
 wandering on upon the rocky ridge that over- 
 hung the valley of the Gave, when I caught a 
 glimpse of some one strolling slowly onward 
 along the path by the river-side. It wanted 
 but one look to tell me that it was Helen. 
 High above her as I was, I could distinguish 
 neither her figure nor her face ; but it mat- 
 tered not — I felt as well convinced that it was 
 she, as if I had stood within a pace of her, and 
 began descending the rocks as quickly as I 
 could to join her in her walk, watching her as I 
 did so, to see that she did not turn back before 
 I could reach her. 
 
 After having gone some way up the valley, 
 looking back every ten steps towards the cha- 
 teau, as if she had imposed on herself the task 
 
90 DE l'orme. 
 
 of walking a certain distance, and would be 
 glad when it was over, Helen at length seated 
 herself on a piece of rock, under the shade of 
 an old oak, that started out across the stream ; 
 and there, with her head bent over the running 
 waters, she offered one of the loveliest pictures 
 my eyes ever beheld. She was, as I have said, 
 in the spring of womanhood. Time had not 
 laid his withering touch upon a single grace, or 
 a single beauty ; it was all expanding love- 
 liness — that perfect moment of human exist- 
 ence, when all has been gained and nothing has 
 been lost ; when Nature has done her utmost, 
 and years have yet known nothing of decay. 
 
 I approached her as quietly as I could, and 
 when I came near, only said, " Helen," in a 
 low tone, not calculated to surprise her. She 
 started up, however, and the same blush man- 
 tled in her cheeks which I had seen the day 
 before. The good-morrow that she gave me 
 was confused enough ; and, in truth, my own 
 heart beat so fast, that I did not know how to 
 proceed, till I saw her about to return to the 
 chateau. 
 
DE L'ORME. 91 
 
 " Stay, Helen," said I, taking her hand, and 
 bringing her again to the rock on which she 
 had been sitting — " Stay for one moment, and 
 hsten to me; for I have something to say to 
 you, which, perhaps, I may never have an op- 
 portunity of saying hereafter.'"' 
 
 The colours' varied in her cheek like the hues 
 of an evening sky, and she trembled very much, 
 but she let me lead her back ; and for a mo- 
 ment raising her eyes from the ground, they 
 glanced towards my face, from under their 
 long dark lashes, with a look in which fear and 
 timidity, and love, too, I thought, were all 
 mingled ; but it fell in a moment, and I went 
 on with a greater degree of boldness ; for all 
 that love well, I believe are, in some degree, 
 cowards, and but gain courage from the fears 
 of those they seek to win. 
 
 " There is a secret, Helen,''' I said, assuming 
 as calm a tone as I could, " which I cannot go 
 into Spain without communicating to some one, 
 as it is one of the greatest importance, and I 
 have fixed upon you to tell it to, because, I am 
 sure, you will keep it well and truly ; without. 
 
92 DE l'orme. 
 
 indeed," I added, " I were by any chance to 
 die in Spain, when you may freely reveal it. 
 Nay, more, I request you would do so to both 
 my parents.'' 
 
 Helen was deceived, and looked up with 
 some degree of curiosity, brushing back the 
 dark ringlets from her clear fair brow. " Will 
 you promise me, Helen," I asked, " by all you 
 hold most sacred, never to reveal my secret so 
 long as I am in life .?" 
 
 *' Had you not better make some other 
 person the depositary of so serious a trust ?" 
 She answered, half-afraid, half-curious still — 
 " Think, Count Louis, I am but a poor inex- 
 perienced girl — tell it to Father Francis, he 
 will both respect your secret, and counsel you 
 as to your actions."*' 
 
 " He will not do," I replied ; " besides, he is 
 going with me. Will you promise me, Helen ? 
 It is necessary to my happiness." 
 
 " Oh, then I will," replied she, with a tone 
 and a look that went to my very heart, and 
 had almost made me cast myself at her feet 
 at once. 
 
DE l'orme. 93 
 
 " You must know, then, Helen," I proceed- 
 ed, " that there is, on this earth, one sweet girl 
 that I love more than any other thing that it 
 contains," — while I spoke, she turned so deadly 
 pale, that I thought she was going to faint 
 again. " Listen to me, Helen," I continued, 
 rapidly, " Listen to me, dear Helen,— I love 
 her, I adore her, and I would not offend her 
 for the world. If, therefore, I pained her for 
 one instant, by robbing her lips of a kiss in the 
 full joy of my return, I am here to atone it, 
 by any penance which she may think fit to 
 impose." 
 
 While I spoke, my arm had glided round her 
 waist, and my hand had clasped one of her's. 
 Helen's head sunk upon my shoulder, and 
 she wept so long, that I could have fancied her 
 deeply grieved at the discovery of my love, 
 but that the hand which I had taken remained 
 entirely abandoned in mine, and that, from 
 time to time, she murmured " Oh, Louis !" in 
 a voice indistinct to any thing but the ears of 
 love. 
 
 At length, however, she recovered herself. 
 
94 DE LORME. 
 
 and raised her head, though she still left her 
 hand in mine : — "Oh, Louis,'' she said, ''you 
 have made me both very happy, and very un- 
 happy : very happy, because I am sure that 
 you are too generous, too noble, to deceive, 
 even in the least, a poor girl that doubts not 
 one word from your lips ; but I am very unhap- 
 py to feel sure, as I do, that neither your father 
 nor your mother, will ever consent that you 
 should wed any one in the class bourgeoise, even 
 though it were their ovv^n little Helen, on whom 
 they have already showered so many bounties. 
 It cannot be, indeed it cannot be ! The very 
 mention of it would make them wretched, and 
 that must never happen, on account of one who 
 owes them so deep a debt of gratitude." 
 
 I tried to persuade her, as I had persuaded 
 myself, that in time they would consent ; but 
 I failed in the endeavour, and as the first agi- 
 tation subsided, and she began to reflect upon 
 her situation at the moment, she became anxious 
 to leave me. — " Let me return home," she said ; 
 " and, oh, Louis ! if you love me, never try to 
 meet me in this way again, for I shall always 
 
DE l'orme. 95 
 
 feel like a guilty thing when I see your mother 
 afterwards. I have your secret, and as I have 
 promised, I will keep it : you have mine, and 
 let me conjure you to hold it equally sacred. 
 Forget poor Helen Arnault, as soon as you can, 
 and marry some lady in your own rank, who 
 may love you perhaps as " 
 
 The tears prevented her going on. 
 
 " Never, Helen, never !" exclaimed I, still 
 holding her hand ; " Stay yet one moment — 
 We are about to part for some months ; pro- 
 mise me, before I go, if you would make my 
 absence from you endurable, that sooner or 
 later you will be my wife !" 
 
 " No, Louis, no !'' answered she firmly, " that 
 I will not promise ; for I will never be your 
 wife without the consent of your parents. But 
 I will promise," she added, seeing that her re- 
 fusal to accede to what I asked had pained my 
 impatient spirit more than she expected, " I 
 will vowy if you require it, never, never, to be 
 the wife of another."' 
 
 With these words, she withdrew her hand, 
 and left me, turning her steps towards the 
 
96 DE l'orme. 
 
 chateau ; while I, delighted to find myself 
 loved, yet vexed she would not promise more, 
 darted away into the hills ; and, as if to escape 
 the pursuit of feelings which, though in some de- 
 gree happy, were still too strong for endurance, 
 I sprang from rock to rock after the izzards, 
 with agility and daring little less than their 
 own, making the crags ring with my car- 
 bine, till I could return home sufficiently suc- 
 cessful in the chase, to prevent any one sup- 
 posing I had been otherwise employed. 
 
DE l'orme. 97 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 We were very young to feel such passions 
 as then throbbed within our bosoms, so strong, 
 so keen, so durable ; but our hearts had never 
 known any other — they had not been hardened 
 in the petrifying stream of time, nor had the 
 world engraved so many lines upon the tablets 
 of feeling, as to render them unsusceptible of 
 any deep and defined impression. Our whole 
 hearts were open to love, and we loved with 
 our whole hearts. 
 
 The two days of my stay soon drew to an 
 end, and on the morning of the third, my horse 
 and that of Houssaye, together with a mule for 
 Father Francis, were brought into the court- 
 yard ; and, after receiving my mother's coun- 
 sel and my father's blessing, I mounted and 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 DE l/ORME. 
 
 rode forth with few of those pleasurable feel- 
 ings which I had anticipated in setting out to 
 explore foreign lands. But love was at that 
 moment the predominant feeling in my bosom, 
 and I would have resigned all, abandoned all, 
 to have stayed and passed my life in tranquil- 
 lity beside Helen. 
 
 It was not to be, and I went forth ; but a 
 sensation of swelling at my heart prevented me 
 from either conversing with Father Francis, 
 or noticing the beautiful country through 
 which we travelled — a thing seldom lost to my 
 eyes. 
 
 By the time we reached Pierrefitte, however, 
 a distance of about ten miles, the successive 
 passing of different objects, though each but 
 called my attention in the very slightest degree, 
 upon the whole, began to draw my mind from 
 itself ; and when proceeding onward, we wound 
 our horses through the narrow gorge leading 
 towards Luz, the magnificent scenery of the 
 pass, with its enormous rocks, its luxuriant 
 woods, and its rushing river, stole from me 
 my feelings of regret, and left me nothing but 
 
DE l'orme. 99 
 
 admiration of the grand and beautiful works 
 which Nature had spread around. By this 
 time, the day had somewhat waned, for we 
 were obliged to conform our horses'* pace to 
 the humour of Father Francis"* mule, which was 
 not the most vivacious of animals. The sun 
 had got behind the high mountains on our 
 right, which, now robed in one vast pall of 
 purple shadow, rose like Titans against the 
 sky, and seemed to cover at least one-third of 
 its extent ; but the western hills still caught 
 the rays, and kept glowing with a thousand 
 varied hues as we went along, like the quick 
 changes of hope as man advances along the tor- 
 tuous and varied path of existence. 
 
 Amongst other objects, on which the sun- 
 shine still caught, was a little woody mound 
 projecting from the surface of the hill, and 
 crowned with an old round tower beginning to 
 fall into ruins. As we passed it, the good 
 priest, who never loved to see me in any of 
 those fits of gloom which sometimes fell upon 
 me — the natural placidity of his disposition 
 leading him to miscomprehend the variability 
 F 2 
 
100 DE I/O R ME. 
 
 of mine — pointed out to me the mound and the 
 crumbling tower as the spot where a great 
 victory had been gained over the Moors, in 
 times long gone ; and our conversation gra- 
 dually turned to war and deeds of renown : 
 but Father Francis had abjured the sword, 
 and little appreciated the word glory, 
 
 " Glory, my dear Louis,'" said he, "accord- 
 ing to the world's acceptation of the word, is, 
 I am afraid, little better in general than the 
 gilding with which mighty robbers cover over 
 great crimes. When I was young, however, I 
 thought like you, and I am afraid all young 
 men will think so, till reason teaches them that 
 the only true glory which man can have is to 
 be found in the love of his fellow-creatures, not 
 in their fears. All other glory is but empti- 
 ness. You remember the Italian poet's lines 
 on the field of Cannae. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Glory ! alas ! what is it but a name ? 
 
 Go search the records of the years of old. 
 And thou shall find, too sure, that brightest fame, 
 
 For which hard toiled the skilful and the bold, 
 
DE L'ORME. 101 
 
 Was but a magic gift that none could hold — 
 
 A name^ traced with an infant's finger in the sand. 
 
 O'er which dark Time's effacing waves are rolled — 
 A fragile blossom in a giant's hand. 
 
 Crushed with a thousand more, that die as they expand. 
 
 II. 
 
 " I stand on Cannse — Here, for endless years. 
 
 Might fond remembrance dream o'er days passed by, 
 Tracing this bitter place of many tears: 
 
 But mem'ry too has flown, and leaves the eye 
 To rest on nouglit but bleakness, and the sigh 
 
 To mourn the frailty of man's greatest deeds — 
 Oh, would he learn by truth such deeds to try, 
 
 Lo ! how devouring Time on conquest feeds ; 
 Forgot the hand that slays, forgot the land that bleeds. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Time ! mighty vaunter ! Thou of all the race 
 
 That strive for glory, o'er thine acts canst raise 
 The monument that never falls, and place 
 
 The ruins of a world to mark thy ways. 
 Each other conq'ror's memory decays 
 
 To heap the pile that comments on thy name ; 
 Thy column rises with increasing days. 
 
 And desolation adds unto thy fame; 
 But Cannae was forgot — Time, 'tis with thee the same. " 
 
 It is astonishing how chilly the words of 
 age fall upon the glowing enthusiasm of youth. 
 As we go on through life, doubtless we gather 
 
102 DE l'orme. 
 
 all the same cold truths ; but it is by degrees, 
 not all at once, as when the freezing experience 
 of many years is poured forth, like a sudden 
 fall of snow, upon our hearts. Lucky, most 
 lucky is it, that we cannot believe the lessons 
 which the old would teach us ; for certainly if 
 we were as wise when we came into life as we 
 are when we go out of it, there would be no- 
 thing great, and very little good, done in the 
 world ; I mean that there would be no enthu- 
 siasm of wish or of endeavour. 
 
 Nevertheless there is always some damp rests 
 upon the mind from such views of human exist- 
 ence, however warm may be the fire of the 
 heart ; and when Father Francis had repeated 
 his lines upon Glory, he left a weight upon me 
 which I found difficult to throw off. 
 
 We were now near Luz, and the good Fa- 
 therms mule — which, by the way, was the best 
 epitome I ever saw of a selfish and interested 
 spirit— as if it entertained a presentiment of ap- 
 proaching hay and oats, suffered its sober legs 
 to be seduced into an amble that speedily 
 brought us to the door of the little cabaret 
 
DE l'orme. 103 
 
 where we were to pass the night. The accom- 
 modations, which its appearance promised, were 
 not of the most exquisite description, and one 
 must have been very charitable to suppose it 
 contained any thing better than pumpkin soup 
 and gooses thighs.* Father Francis, however, 
 was tired and exhausted with a longer ride 
 than he had taken for more than fifty years. 
 Houssaye was an old soldier, and I was too 
 young and in too high health to trouble myself 
 much about the quality of my entertainment. 
 Dismounting then, our horses were led into the 
 stable, and we ourselves were shown to the 
 room of general reception, which we found al- 
 ready tenanted by a fat monk, all grease and 
 jollity ; and a thin gentleman in black, who for 
 grimness and solemnity looked like a mourning 
 sword in a black scabbard. It seemed as if 
 nature, having made a more fat and jovial man 
 than ordinary in the capuchin, had been fain to 
 patch up his companion out of the scrapings of 
 her dish. 
 
 Father Francis did not appear to like the 
 
 * A favourite dish in the small inns of Beam to this 
 day. 
 
104 DE l'orme. 
 
 couple, and indeed he had reason, for it wanted 
 no great skill in physiognomy to read in the 
 jovial countenance of the monk a very plain 
 history of the sort of self-denial and sensual 
 mortification which he practised on himself. 
 As for his companion, had I known as much of 
 the world as I do now, I should instantly have 
 understood him to be one of those solemn villains 
 who, if they sometimes lose a good opportunity 
 by want of conversational powers, often catch 
 many a gull by their gravity, and escape many 
 an error into which a talkative rascal is sure to 
 fall by his very volubility. 
 
 However, I was at an age when every one, 
 more or less, pays for experience; and if I 
 took upon me to judge the pair of worthies 
 before me, I did not judge them rightly. 
 Immediately after our entrance, Father Fran- 
 cis, as I have said, being very much fa- 
 tigued, retired to bed, whispering to me that 
 I had better get my supper and follow his 
 example as soon as I could. To this, how- 
 ever, I was not very well inclined, my stock of 
 animal powers for the day not being yet half 
 
DE l'orme. 105 
 
 exhausted ; and as I saw the Aubergiste begin- 
 ning to place on the table before the monk and 
 his companion various savoury dishes, for which 
 my ride had provided an appetite, I whispered 
 to Houssaye, and proposed to them to join 
 their table. The matter was soon arranged, my 
 Capuchin professing a taste for good cheer and 
 good company, somewhat opposed to his vows 
 of fasting and meditation, and my thin cavalier, 
 laying his hand on his heart, and making the 
 most solemn bow that his stiff back-bone could 
 achieve. 
 
 The viands set before us offered a very 
 palatable contradiction to what the appearance 
 of the house had promised ; and the conver- 
 sation was as savoury as the dishes, for the 
 monk was a man whose fat and happiness over- 
 flowed in a jocose and merry humour ; and even 
 the thin person in black, though his mustachios 
 were rather of a grave cast, would occasionally 
 venture a dry and solemn joke, which was a 
 good deal enhanced by his appearance. The 
 wine, however, was the most thin, poor, mise- 
 rable abortion of vinegar that ever I tasted; 
 F 5 
 
106 D£ l'orme. 
 
 and, after having made every tooth in my head 
 as sharp as a drawn sword by attempting to 
 drink it, I inquired of the Capuchin whether 
 any better could be procured within twenty 
 miles for love or money. 
 
 *' Most assuredly,'' answered he, " for money, 
 though not for love. No one gives any thing 
 for love, except a young girl of sixteen, or an 
 old woman of seventy. But the truth is, my 
 host tells us always that this is the best wine in 
 the w^orld, till he sees a piece of silver between 
 the fingers of some worthy Signor who desires 
 to treat a poor Capuchin to a horn of the best 
 Cahors, and then he procures it without jump- 
 ing as far as the Devil did when he was kicked 
 by St. Denis." 
 
 " And pray how far was that .^" demanded I. 
 
 " What !" cried the Capuchin, " were you 
 never in Normandy ? Well ! order the wine, 
 and I will tell you the story as we discuss it — 
 I never could tell a story upon sour puddle 
 like that. Ho ! Aubergiste ! a flagon of your 
 best for this sweet youth ; and mind, I tell you, 
 'tis a mortal sin to give bad wine when 'tis well 
 paid for, and a Capuchin is to drink it." 
 
DE l'orme. 107 
 
 I was not at the time of life to estimate very 
 critically every propriety in the demeanour of 
 a companion for half an hour. Man, unlike 
 the insect, begins the being as a butterfly, 
 which he generally ends as a chrysalis. Amuse- 
 ment, or as it should be called, excitement, is 
 every thing at nineteen ; and the butterfly, 
 though it destroys not like the worm, nor 
 hoards like the bee, still flies to every leaf that 
 meets its sight, if it be but for the sake of the 
 flutter. The Capuchin''s gaiety amused me, and 
 I saw no deeper into his character. The wine 
 was brought, and having passed once round and 
 proved to all our tastes, the jovial monk set the 
 flagon between himself and me, and began his 
 tale, which, though not the most edifying, was 
 at all events well suited to the person who 
 told it. 
 
 THE capuchin's TALE. 
 
 " Now I pray you, mark me, gentlemen,'' 
 said the Capuchin, " and remember my story 
 is true. If there be one word of falsehood in 
 it, may this be the last drop I ever shall drink 
 in my life;" and thereupon he filled his cup, 
 
108 DE l'orme. 
 
 and emptied it to the dregs, with a neat, clear, 
 self-confident toss, calculated to impress one 
 with the idea of his own belief in the veracity 
 of his tale. 
 
 " Once upon a time, in a certain town of 
 Normandy, which shall be nameless — there's 
 no use naming towns any more than persons, 
 especially when the Devil has had any thing to 
 do with either — but in this town, which I allude 
 to, there lived a young lady, as good as young 
 ladies generally are, and a great deal hand- 
 somer. She had the prettiest foot in the world? 
 and the prettiest ankle, and the prettiest mouth, 
 and the prettiest person altogether ; so that every 
 body was in love with her, high and low, rich 
 and poor ; and the whole town made her an offer. 
 Nevertheless, whether it was prudery, or coquet- 
 ry, or coldness, or what, matters not one sou to 
 my story ; but nobody would she marry, telling 
 them all civilly that she did not care a straw 
 for them, that they might all go back just as 
 they came, and that she should not mind to 
 see them all drowned the next day, as her 
 grandmother drowned her kittens once a month. 
 
DE l'orme. 109 
 
 " Now in the same town was a young priest, 
 the most handsome man in all the world, who 
 moreover had the advantage of being this young 
 lady''s confessor, so that they met regularly 
 once a week ; for she took good care not to 
 let her sins get stale, and had them all off 
 her conscience every Saturday morning. How 
 the business went on I cannot take upon me 
 to say, but the Devil always got behind the 
 young priest when he v^^as reading his breviary ; 
 and whenever he looked at the picture of the 
 Virgin Mary, Satan slipped it quietly out of 
 the book, and in he put that of the young 
 lady, so that there was fine work for the young 
 priest's fancy 
 
 " If it is not true, every word of it, may this 
 be the last draught I ever shall drink,"*' and he 
 replenished his cup and drained it as before. 
 
 " Well, as I was saying," continued the Ca- 
 puchin, " one morning, early, the priest went 
 out to take a walk on the high hill behind the 
 town, and he was just looking out pensively 
 over the valley to another hill beyond, when 
 he saw, tripping up the path before him, the 
 
110 DE L'ORME. 
 
 young lady, his penitent, holding up her pet- 
 ticoat — not to show her ankle, but to keep 
 the hem out of the dust. The young priest 
 looked at her piously — so piously, indeed, that 
 he did not see the Devil slip out from a bush 
 close by, and nich himself up behind an old 
 stone cross that stood thereabout. However, 
 the young lady came up, and made the young 
 priest a low curtsey, with a very dismal face. 
 He could not do less than ask what was the 
 matter with her, to which she replied that she 
 was very much afraid she had committed a 
 great sin. So then the young priest got into 
 a great flutter. Heaven knows what sin he 
 fancied she had committed, but, being very 
 anxious to hear all about it, he said to her, 
 ' Well, I have half an hour to spare, and if 
 you think you cannot get on till Saturday, I 
 will confess you now. This place is all conve- 
 nient." — ' So it is,** said the young lady, ' and 
 nobody can see us.' So down they sat on the 
 stone at the foot of the cross, and she put her 
 mouth to his ear, and because the stone was 
 not large enough for both of them to sit con- 
 
DE L'ORME. Ill 
 
 veniently, he slipped his arm round her waist, 
 just to keep her on 
 
 " If it is not as true as holy writ, may this be 
 the last drop I shall ever drink in my life," and 
 he applied himself vigorously again to the good 
 wine of Cahors. 
 
 " ' Oh, Father Philip,' said the young lady, 
 ' I am afraid I have committed a great sin, a 
 terrible sin, an abominable sin, — ' ' Pish !' 
 cried Father Philip. ' A very abominable sin !' 
 repeated she. ' Out with it, daughter V said the 
 priest. ' I have fallen in love !' replied the 
 young lady. 'The devil you have!' cried 
 Father Philip. ' Don't interrupt her,' whis- 
 pered the Devil from behind. ' I have fallen in 
 love — with a priest !' cried she, making a vio- 
 lent exertion. ' Oh ! ho !' said Father Philip. 
 ' Oh ho !' said the Devil from behind ; but 
 just at that moment, plump ! down comes 
 St. Denis and taps the Devil on the shoulder, 
 saying, ' Holla ! Satan, what are you about 
 here ?' — ' Mind your own business, Denis," 
 answered the Devil, ' and leave me alone to 
 mind mine." — ' Come, don't be insolent,' replied 
 
112 DE L*ORME. 
 
 the Saint ; 'but you shall not make two 
 very good people two very bad ones, while I 
 am in the land of the living ; — so budge !' — ' I'll 
 be d — d if I do !' said Satan : * You don't treat 
 me like a gentleman, Maitre Denis, and you 
 know that I am better than you are both by 
 birth and education.' — ' You foul-mouthed 
 thief,' cried the Saint ; ' say that again if you 
 dare!'— * What then?' cried the Devil: 'I 
 do say it again ! Now !' and he set his arms 
 akimbo, and stuck out his under-jaw in the 
 Saint's face. But Saint Denis lost all pa- 
 tience, and, seizing him by the arm, gave him 
 a turn round as quick as light, set his foot just 
 under his tail, and, with one kick, sent him 
 over the valley to the hill on the other side. 
 
 " That part of the hill was rather sloppy, and 
 the Devil's hoofs sticking in the mud, annoyed 
 him greatly ; so he floundered about in vain 
 to get out, crying out, ' I wish Denis was at 
 the devil for getting me into this mess.' 
 
 " Heartily had the Saint laughed to behold 
 Satan fly across the valley like a tennis ball ; 
 and, seeing him stick on the other side, he took 
 
DE L'ORME. 113 
 
 a hop, skip, and a jump, and coming up with 
 him in a minute, he gave him another kick in 
 the same part, which sent him just as far as the 
 first. Thus they went on, from mountain to 
 mountain, the Saint kicking, and the Devil 
 kicked, all through Normandy, till at length 
 the poor Devil got sore, and was fain to cover 
 himself up behind with the palms of his hands, 
 which made him such a ridiculous figure, that 
 the Saint had nearly split his sides with laugh- 
 ing ; and a few miles beyond Caen, out of sheer 
 compassion, he mustered up a good kick, and 
 pitched him into the sea. After which, St. 
 Denis went back, with the best intention in 
 the world, to see what had become of the priest 
 and the young lady, when he found, to his 
 astonishment, that they had both gone home.* — 
 
 * This story has come down word for word to the 
 present times, and is told both in Britanny and Nor- 
 mandy, where many of the hills, which formed the Devil's 
 halting-places, are stiU shown, and the vacuities over 
 which the Saint is supposed to have kicked him, are 
 to this day termed Les sauts du Diahle, or the Devil's 
 jumps. The person who told this tale to the writer of 
 these pages repeated it almost literally as above, except 
 that he put the Archangel St. Michael in the place of 
 
114 DE L'ORME. 
 
 And if every word of this story is not true, 
 may this be the last drop I ever drink in my 
 life !" and the Capuchin emptied the flagon. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," said the man 
 in black. 
 
 " And I say it's true," reiterated the Ca- 
 puchin, laughing till a stag might have jumped 
 down his throat. " Order another flagon of 
 wine, and I will drink upon it till the death.'' 
 
 " Nay," replied the other, " I will play you 
 a flagon of the best at trictrac, and treat the 
 company." 
 
 The Capuchin readily accepted the defiance ; 
 the cards were brought, the windows shut, and 
 mine host lighted six large candles in an im- 
 mense sconce, just behind the Capuchin and 
 myself. The thin gentleman, with his mus- 
 tachios, was on the other side of the table, 
 with old Houssaye, who, though an indefa- 
 tigable old soldier, seemed tired out, and, lay- 
 ing his head upon his folded arms, fell asleep. 
 
 St. Denis, and made the Devil's last leap to have been 
 from the famous Mont St. Michel. This, for obvious 
 reasons, has been altered, though the narrator believed 
 it fully more than the Capuchin. 
 
DE L'ORME. 115 
 
 In the mean while, the wine made its appear- 
 ance, and passed round ; after which, the game 
 began, and the poor player in black lost his 
 flagon of wine in the space of five minutes, 
 much to the amusement of the Capuchin, who 
 chuckled and drank with much profane glee. 
 
 The whole scene amused me. I flattered my- 
 self I was fond of studying character, and I 
 would have done a great deal to excite the two 
 originals before me to unfold themselves. This 
 they seemed very well inclined to do, without 
 my taking any trouble to bring it about. The 
 thin gentleman got somewhat angry, and claim- 
 ed his revenge of the Capuchin, who beat him 
 again, and chuckled more than ever. The 
 other's rage then burst forth ; he attributed his 
 defeat to ill luck, and demanded what the 
 Monk meant by laughing, and whether he 
 meant to say he had played ill. 
 
 " Ay, truly !" replied the Capuchin, " and 
 so ill, that I will answer for it this young gen- 
 tleman, even if he knows nothing of the game, 
 will beat you for a pistole ;" and, turning 
 round, he asked me, " if I knew the game .?" or 
 
116 DE l'ORME. 
 
 if I was afraid to play with so skilful an an- 
 tagonist. 
 
 I said that 1 knew very little of it, but 
 that I was willing to play, and took the cards, 
 only intending to sit one game, seeing that my 
 opponent played miserably ill. He lost as be- 
 fore, and, still cursing his luck, demanded his 
 revenge, which was worse. Nothing could be 
 more diverting than the fury into which he cast 
 himself, twisting up his mustachios, and wrig- 
 gling his back into contortions, of which I had 
 not deemed its rigidity capable, while the Ca- 
 puchin chuckled, and, looking over my cards, 
 advised me what to do. At length my adver- 
 sary proposed to double, to which I agreed, 
 hoping heartily that he would win, and thus 
 leave us as we had sat down ; but fortune was 
 still against him, or rather his bad playing, for 
 he laid his game entirely open, and suffered me 
 to play through it. He lost, and drawing forth 
 a leathern pouch, was about to pay me, when 
 the Capuchin said, that perhaps I would play 
 one more game for the twelve pistoles. The 
 thin gentleman said it would be but generous 
 
DE L'ORME. 117 
 
 of me, but, however, he could not demand, if I 
 chose to refuse. So much foolish shame did I 
 feel about taking his money, that, to tell the 
 truth, I was glad to sit down again, and we re- 
 commenced, each staking twelve pistoles. For- 
 tune had changed, however ; the dice favour- 
 ed him, he played more carefully, and won 
 the game, but by so slight a matter, that it 
 showed nothing but extraordinary luck could 
 have made him gain it. 
 
 " It was now my turn to be anxious. I had 
 lost six pistoles out of the money my father 
 had given for my journey to Spain. How 
 could I tell Father Francis ? I asked myself, 
 especially when I had lost them in such a man- 
 ner and in such company. My antagonist, too, 
 had won by such a mere trifle, that it made me 
 angry ; I therefore resolved to try again — and 
 again I lost. The sum was so considerable, I 
 dared not now stop, and I claimed my revenge. 
 My adversary was all complaisance, and, as be- 
 fore, we doubled our stake. An intolerable 
 thirst had now seized upon me, and, pouring 
 out a cup of wine, I set it down beside me 
 
118 DE l'ORME. 
 
 while I played. The game went on, and I 
 never suspected false play, though my oppo- 
 nent paused long between each of his cards ; 
 but that was natural, as the stake was large, 
 and I fancied that he felt the same palpitating 
 anxiety that I did myself. To conceal this as 
 much as possible, while he pondered, I fixed 
 my eyes upon the cup of wine, in which the 
 lights of the sconce were reflected very bril- 
 liantly. Suddenly, two of the flames seemed to 
 become obscured, for I lost the reflection in 
 the wine. This surprised me ; but I had still 
 sufficient presence of mind to take no notice, 
 and keep my eyes fixed, when presently the 
 lights appeared again. The moment after the 
 same eclipse took place, and, raising my eyes 
 to my opponent's countenance, I perceived that 
 his glance was fixed upon a point immediately 
 above my head. 
 
 " The matter was now clear ; my good friend, 
 the Capuchin, who was kindly giving me his 
 advice and assistance, seeming all the while 
 most anxious that I should recover my loss, 
 and assuring me that it was a momentary run 
 
DE L'ORME. 119 
 
 of ill luck, which must change within five 
 minutes, took care, at the same time, to com- 
 municate to my adversary, by signs above my 
 head, the cards I had in my hand, and what I 
 was likely to play. 
 
 " What was to be done I knew not. To be 
 cheated in so barefaced a manner was unen- 
 durable ; and yet, how to avoid paying what I 
 lost, unless I could prove the fraud, was a 
 question difficult to solve. In this dilemma, I 
 resolved to wake my faithful Houssaye, by 
 touching his foot under the table, at the mo- 
 ment the Capuchin was executing his fraud. 
 What was my joy then, when, on glancing to- 
 wards the ci-devant trumpeter, I perceived his 
 eyes twinkling brightly just above his arms, 
 notwithstanding that he still pretended to sleep, 
 and I immediately saw that he had, from the 
 first, appreciated the talents of my companions. 
 
 My resolution was instantly taken, and let- 
 ting the game proceed to its most anxious 
 point, I saw in the accidental mirror that the 
 wine afforded me, the signs of the worthy Ca- 
 puchin, proceeding with vast celerity, when, 
 
120 DE L'oRME. 
 
 starting suddenly up, I caught his wrist, as the 
 hand was in the ^'ery act, and held it there 
 with all the vigour of a young and powerful 
 frame, excited to unusual energy by anger and 
 indignation. 
 
 Houssaye was upon his feet in a moment, and 
 catching the collar of the black Cavalier, who 
 v^as beginning to swear some very big oaths, 
 he flung him back upon the ground with little 
 ceremony, at the same time dislodging from the 
 lawn frills which adorned his wrists a pair of 
 dice, that the honest gentleman kept there to 
 meet all occasions. 
 
 For a minute or two, the presence of mind, 
 which is part of a sharper^s profession, aban- 
 doned our two amiable companions; the Ca- 
 puchin especially, remaining without motion of 
 any kind, his mouth open, his eyes staring, and 
 bis hands up in the air, with three fingers ex- 
 tended, exactly in the same attitude as he was 
 when I detected his knavery. He soon, how- 
 ever, recovered himself, and jerking his hand 
 out of my grasp, with a force I knew not he 
 possessed, he burst into a fit of laughter —" Very 
 
DE L'ORME. 121 
 
 good ! very good, indeed," cried he ; '• so you 
 have found it out. Well, are you not very 
 much obliged to us for the lesson ? Remember 
 it, young man ! remember it, to the last day 
 you have to live ; for you may chance to fall 
 into the hands of sharpers, from whom you may 
 not escape very easily ! 
 
 The impudence of the fellow was beyond my 
 patience, especially as while he was speaking, 
 1 had split one of the dice produced from his 
 companion's sleeve, and found it loaded with a 
 piece of lead the size of a pea. " Whenever I 
 meet with sharpers," said I, " I shall treat 
 them but one way, namely ; if they do not get 
 out of the room whenever they are found out, 
 I shall kick them down stairs, from the top to 
 the bottom ."" 
 
 " Suppose there are no stairs .?" said the Ca- 
 puchin, coolly, moving towards the door at the 
 same time. 
 
 " Then I shall throw them out of the win- 
 dow," replied I. 
 
 "I weigh two hundred weight," answered the 
 monk, with the same imperturbable composure. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
122 DE l'orme. 
 
 "Goodnight, myyoungWittol; you'll be caught 
 yet, though your wings are so free. Come along, 
 Count Crack !" he continued to his companion, 
 whom I suffered to take up his own money after 
 I had repossessed myself of the pistoles which 
 he had won before I had discovered his fraud. 
 " Your game is over for to-night. Good night, 
 fair Sirs, good night ! God bless you, and 
 keep you from sharpers,'''' and leering his small 
 leaden eyes, with a look strangely compounded 
 of humour and cunning, and even stupidity ; 
 he rolled out of the room with his companion, 
 leaving us to our own reflections. 
 
 When they were gone, my worthy attendant 
 and myself stood looking at each other for 
 some moments in silence. At length, however, 
 he began laughing. " I saw," cried he, " what 
 they were about from the first, but I did not 
 think your young wit was as sharp as my old 
 knowledge; so I pretended to be asleep, and 
 lay watching them. But you served them a 
 famous trick. Count Louis, that you did ; your 
 father would laugh heartily to hear it.'' 
 
DE l'orme. 123 
 
 " Hush, hush !'' cried I, " for Heaven's sake, 
 never mention it to my father, or to any one ; 
 but, above all, on no account to Father Fran- 
 cis." I then exacted a promise to this effect 
 from the good old soldier, feeling heartily 
 ashamed of my night's employment ; and turn- 
 ing as red as fire every time the thought cross- 
 ed my mind, that I had been sitting drinking 
 and playing with a couple of vulgar sharpers, 
 who had nearly succeeded in cheating me of all 
 the money which my father had given me from 
 his own limited means. To get rid of these plea- 
 sant reflections, I hurried to bed ; and meeting 
 the rotund form of the Capuchin on the stairs, 
 nearly jostled him to the bottom in pure ill- 
 humour. 
 
 G 2 
 
124 DE l'orme. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Early the next morning we arose, and 
 took our departure for Gavarnie. Mine host 
 at Luz, however, drew me aside as we were 
 setting out, sCnd said he hoped we had not 
 suffered ourselves to be cheated by the Capu- 
 chin or his companion, each of whom he was 
 sure was a great rogue, and the Capuchin, he 
 believed, had no more of the monk about him 
 than the gown and shaved head. " Be cau- 
 tious, be cautious," said he, " and if ever you 
 meet them again, have nothing to do with them." 
 I thanked this candid host for his information, 
 giving him at the same time to understand, that 
 he had better have warned me the night before, 
 and that I took his tardy caution at no more 
 
DE l'orme. 125 
 
 than it was worth ; after which I spurred on, 
 and joined Father Francis and Housaye, who 
 had not proceeded far on their journey ere I 
 reached them. 
 
 Our road to Gavarnie lay through scenery 
 of that grand and magnificent nature, which 
 mocks the feeble power of language. The 
 change was still from sublime to sublime, till 
 the heart seemed to ache at its own expan- 
 sion. The vast, the wonderful, the beautiful, 
 the sweet, were spread around in dazzling con- 
 fusion. The gigantic rocks and precipices, the 
 profuse vegetation, the peculiar lustrous atmos- 
 phere of the mountains, the thousand rare and 
 lovely flowers with which every spot of soil 
 was carpeted and every rock adorned, the very 
 butterflies which, fluttering about in thousands, 
 seemed like flying blossoms; all, occupied my 
 mind with new and beautiful objects, till it was 
 almost wearied with the exhaustless novelty. 
 All was lovely, and yet I felt then, and always 
 do feel, in such scenes, a degree of calm melan- 
 choly, so undefined in its nature, that I know 
 not in what to seek its cause. Whether it is, 
 
126 DE l'orme. 
 
 that man feels all the weaknesses and follies of 
 his passions, reproved by the calm grandeur of 
 Nature'^s vaster works ; or whether his spirit, 
 excited by the view of things so beautiful, seem 
 clogged and shackled by the clay to which She 
 is joined, and longs to throw off those earthly 
 trammels which circumscribe her powers to en- 
 joy, to estimate, to comprehend 1 know not. 
 
 Had the scenery through which we passed 
 needed a climax even more sublime than itself, 
 it could not have been more exquisitely termi- 
 nated than by the famous Circle of Gavarnie, 
 where above an amphitheatre of black marble 
 fourteen hundred feet in height — perpendicular 
 as a wall, and sweeping round an extent of half 
 a league — rises the icy summit of the Pyrenees, 
 flashing back the rays of the sun in long beams 
 of many coloured light. When we arrived in 
 the centre of the amphitheatre, a light cloud 
 was stretched across the top of the cascade, 
 while the stream, shooting over the precipice 
 above us, fell with one burst full fourteen hun- 
 dred feet ; and, before it reached the ground, 
 also spread out into another cloud. Gazing 
 
DE L'ORME. 127 
 
 upon it, as we did, from a distance, we saw it 
 thus pouring on, between the two, without per- 
 ceiving whence it came, or whither it went ; so 
 that the long defined line of its waters, stream- 
 ing from the one indistinct vapour to the other, 
 offered no bad image of the course of mortal 
 time flowing on between two misty eternities. 
 At the same time, the bright diamond heads of 
 the mountains shone out above the clouds, with 
 a grand unearthly lustre, like those mighty vi- 
 sions of heaven seen by the inspired Apostle at 
 Samos. 
 
 I could have gazed on it for ever, but the 
 evening light soon began to fail, and as we had 
 to rise early also the next morning, our stay in 
 the amphitheatre was necessarily curtailed. 
 Winding round the little lakes* that the stream 
 forms after its fall, we returned to the filthy 
 hut in which we were to pass the night, often 
 
 * Although no such lakes are now in existence, we 
 find in consulting- authorities contemporary with the 
 writer of these memoirs, that the valley of Gavarnie, 
 from the village to the Marbor^ was in that day com- 
 pletely filled with a chain of small lakes, the basins of 
 which are still evident 
 
128 DE l'orme. 
 
 looking back by the way to catch another 
 glance of that grand and wonderful scene whose 
 very remembrance makes every other object 
 seem small and insignificant. 
 
 By sunrise we were once more upon our vs^ay, 
 and passing through what is called the Port de 
 Gavarnie, entered Spain, after having been 
 examined from top to toe by the officers of the 
 Spanish custom-house. A wide and wavy sea 
 of blue interminable hills now presented them- 
 selves ; and a guide, whom we had hired at 
 Gavarnie, pointed out a spot in the distance 
 which he called Saragossa. Had he called it 
 Jerusalem, he might have done so uncontra- 
 dicted by any object visible to our eyes, for 
 nothing was to be seen but hill beyond hill, 
 valley running into valley, till the far distance 
 and the blue sky mingled together, with scarcely 
 a perceptible line to mark the division. Thither- 
 ward, however, we wended on, and some hours 
 after reached Hacca, where out of complai- 
 sance to Father Francis's mule, we remain- 
 ed for the night, and set off before day-break 
 the next morning, hoping to escape the heat of 
 
129 
 
 the middle of the day. In this we were deceiv- 
 ed, making less progress than we anticipated, 
 and enjoying the scorching of a meridian sun 
 till we reached the gates of Saragossa. 
 
 On arriving at the inn, we inquired for the 
 Chevalier as we had been directed, but found 
 that he had ridden out early in the morning. 
 He returned, however, soon after, and having 
 welcomed us cordially to Spain, as no apart- 
 ments could be procured in the house, he led us 
 out to seek for a lodging in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood. It was sometime before we could 
 discover one to our mind, for it is with great 
 difficulty that the Spaniards can be induced to 
 receive any foreigner into their dwelling, and 
 even when we did so, we had to undergo as 
 strict an examination by the old lady of the 
 house, as we had bestowed upon her apart- 
 ments. She said it was but just that both 
 parties should be satisfied, she with us as well 
 as we with her ; and not content with asking all 
 manner of questions, which had as much to do 
 with her lodgings, as with her hopes of heaven, 
 she actually turned me round to take a more 
 G 5 
 
130 DE l'oraie. 
 
 complete view of my figure. This was carrying 
 the ridiculous to so high a point, that I burst 
 out into a fit of laughter, which far from offend- 
 ing the good dame tickled her own organs of 
 risibility, and from that moment we were the 
 best friends in the world. Our baggage being 
 brought, and it being agreed that we should 
 eat at the Posada with the Chevalier, nothing 
 remained but to distribute the three chambers 
 upon the same floor, which constituted our 
 apartments, according to our various tastes. 
 As Father Francis sought more quiet than 
 amusement, he fixed upon the large room be- 
 hind, where he certainly could be quiet enough, 
 for if ever even the distant voice of an amorous 
 cat on the house-top reached his solitude, it 
 must have been a far and a faint sound, like 
 the hymns of angels said to be heard by monks 
 in the cells of a monastery. Houssaye took up 
 with the small chamber between the two larger 
 ones, and I occupied the front room of a tall 
 house in a narrow street, whose extreme width 
 might possibly be two ells. Nevertheless, what- 
 ever was to be seen, was to be seen from my 
 
DE l'oRME. 131 
 
 window, and my very first determination was 
 to see as much of Spain while I was in it, as I 
 possibly could. 
 
 At eighteen, one has very few doubts, and 
 very few fears ; much passion, and much curi- 
 osity ; and for my own part, I had resolved if 
 I did not view the Spaniard in all situations, it 
 should not be my fault. In short, by the time 
 I arrived at Saragossa, I was willing to enter 
 into any sort of adventure that might present 
 itself, and though the memory of Helen might 
 act as some restraint upon me, yet I am afraid 
 I wanted that strong moral principle, which 
 ought ever to guide us in all our actions. I 
 make this acknowledgment, because I look upon 
 these sheets to be a sort of confession, which in 
 making at all, I am bound to make true, and 
 though I shall eater into none of those scenes 
 of vice which might lead others by the mere 
 detail into the very errors that I commemorate, 
 be it remembered, that I seek not to show my- 
 self at any period of my life as better or purer 
 than I was. With regard to every feeling 
 that came within the direct code of honour, or 
 
132 DE [/or ME. 
 
 even its refinements, I had imbibed them from 
 my earhest days ; but I was a countryman of 
 Henry Quatre, and not without a great share 
 of that weakness, which in the gallant monarch 
 was redeemed by a thousand great and shining 
 qualities. But the love of adventure was my 
 principal failing, which is a sort of mental 
 spirit drinking, as hard to be overcome as the 
 passion for strong waters itself. 
 
 I know not why or how, but the Chevalier 
 seemed to have an instinctive perception of 
 my character which almost frightened me, and 
 while Father Francis was seeking in his bags 
 for a parcel which Arnault at Lourdes had en- 
 trusted to his care, my keen sighted companion 
 drew me to the window of the front chamber, 
 and after having by a few brief observations 
 on my disposition, shown me that he saw into 
 my bosom even more clearly than I did myself, 
 he warned me of many of the dangers of a 
 Spanish town. " Remember, my dear Louis,'*' 
 continued he, " that I only tell you that such 
 things exist,— I do not tell you to avoid them. 
 Your own good sense, as far as the good sense 
 
DE l'orme. 133 
 
 of a very young man can go, will tell you how 
 to act, and I am afraid that all men in this 
 world must buy experience for themselves, for 
 if an angel from heaven were to vouch its 
 truths, they would not believe the experience 
 of others. However, loving you as I do — and 
 you do not know how much I love you — there 
 is one thing I must exact — if you want advice, 
 apply to me — if you want assistance, apply to 
 me- — if you want a sword to back your quarrel, 
 you must seek none but mine/' 
 
 As he spoke. Father Francis entered the 
 room with a look of much consternation and 
 sorrow. " I hope and trust," said he advancing 
 to the Chevalier, " that the packet which your 
 Procureur Arnault entrusted to me for you is 
 of no great value, for on my honour it has been 
 stolen by some one out of my bags." 
 
 The pale cheek of the Chevalier grew a shade 
 paler, and though no other emotion was visible, 
 that one sign led me to think that the packet 
 was of the utmost import, for never before did 
 I see him yield the least symptom of agita- 
 tion to any event whatever. " I did expect," 
 
134 DE l'orme. 
 
 replied he, in a calm unshaken voice, " some 
 papers of much consequence, but I know not 
 whether this packet you mention contained 
 them There is no use, my good Father 
 Francis, of distressing yourself upon the sub- 
 ject ;" he added, seeing the very great pain 
 which the accident had caused to the worthy 
 old man ; " if, by calling to mind the circum- 
 stances, you can find a probability of its reco- 
 very, we will immediately take measures to effect 
 it- If not, the packet is lost and we will for- 
 get it.'' 
 
 " How it has been abstracted or when,'' 
 answered the good Priest, " I know not. On 
 arriving at Luz, at the end of our first day's 
 journey, I opened my valise on purpose to put 
 it in safety, wrapping it up with some small 
 stock of money that I had laid by for the 
 purpose of doing alms, but both are gone." 
 
 " Stolen for the sake of the money !" said the 
 Chevalier, shutting his teeth and compressing 
 his lips, as if to master the vexation he felt. 
 " Well," proceeded he with a sigh, " it is in 
 vain we struggle against dbstiny. For sixteen 
 
DE l'orme. 135 
 
 years I have been seeking those papers, but 
 always by some unfortunate accident they have 
 been thrown out of my reach — Destiny wills 
 not that I shall have them, and I will give 
 it up." 
 
 " And what do you mean by Destiny, my 
 dear son ?" demanded Father Francis, with the 
 anxious haste of an enthusiastic man who fancies 
 he discovers some great error or mistake in a 
 person he esteems. " Many people allow their 
 energies to be benumbed, and even their religion, 
 by a theory of fatalism which has its founda- 
 tion in a great mistake."" 
 
 " It appears to me, my good Father,*" replied 
 the Chevalier with a melancholy smile, " that 
 Fate grasps us, as it were, in a cleft stick, as I 
 have seen many a boor catch a viper — there 
 we may struggle as much as we like, but we 
 are fixed down and cannot escape." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Father Francis, " it is, 
 denying the goodness of God. Every one must 
 feel within himself the power of choosing what- 
 ever way or whatever conduct he thinks fit. A 
 man standing at a spot where two roads sepa- 
 
136 DE l'orme. 
 
 rate, does he not always feel within himself 
 the power to follow whichever he likes ? and 
 yet, perhaps, death lies on the one road, and 
 good fortune on the other." 
 
 " But if he is destined to die that day, that 
 day will he die," replied the Chevalier. " And 
 if you allow that God foresees which the travel- 
 ler will take, of course he must take it, and his 
 free will is at an end." 
 
 " Nay, my son, not so," replied the old man. 
 " What you call foresight, is in the Deity what 
 memor}^ would be in man, if it were perfect. 
 It is knowledge. Standing in the midst of 
 Eternity, all is present to the eye of God ; and 
 he knows what man will do, as well as what 
 man has done ; but that does not imply that 
 man has not the liberty of choice, for it is his 
 very own choice that Conducts him to the re- 
 sults which God already knows. When a 
 lizard runs away frightened from before your 
 footsteps, you may know positively that it will 
 fly to its hole, but your knowledge does not 
 affect its purpose ; nor would it, if your know- 
 ledge was as certain as Omniscience. If you 
 
DE l'orme. 137 
 
 ask me why, if man's choice will be bad, the 
 Omnipotent does not will it to be good, I say, 
 it is to leave him that very freedom of choice 
 which you deny. Farther, if there were no 
 evil in the world, morally or physically, and it 
 would be easy to show that one cannot exist 
 without the other, what would the world be ? 
 There would be no virtue, because there could 
 be no possibility of vice ; there would be no 
 passions, because there would be nothing to 
 excite them ; there would be no wishes, be- 
 cause privation being an ill, no desire for any 
 thing could possibly exist ; there could be no 
 motion, for the movement of one thing would 
 displace another, which was in its proper place 
 before; there would be no action, for there 
 being neither passions nor wishes, nothing 
 would prompt action. In short, the argument 
 might be carried on to show that the universe 
 would not be, and that the whole would be 
 God alone. No one will deny that the least 
 imperfection is in itself evil, and that without 
 God created what was equal to himself, — which 
 implies, as far as the act of creation goes, a 
 
138 DE l'orme. 
 
 mathematical impossibility, — whatever he cre- 
 ated must have been subject to imperfection, and 
 consequently would admit of evil. Evil once 
 admitted, all the rest follows ; and if any one 
 dare to ask, why then God created at all ? let 
 him look round on the splendid universe, the 
 thousand magnificent effects of divine love, 
 of divine bounty, and of divine power, and 
 feel himself rebuked for thinking that such 
 attributes could slumber unexerted." 
 
 " But,^' said the Chevalier, " it appears to 
 me that your argument militates against the 
 first principle of our religion — the Divinity 
 of Christ : for you say it implies an impossibi- 
 lity that God should create w^hat was equal to 
 himself." 
 
 " Christ was not created," replied the Priest, 
 and laying his hand on his breast he bowed his 
 head reverently repeating the words of Scrip- 
 ture : " This is my only begotten son, in 
 whom I am well pleased." 
 
 Whether the Chevalier retained his own opi- 
 nions or not I cannot tell ; but most probably 
 he did, for certain it is, that nothing is more 
 
DE l'orme. 139 
 
 difficult to find in any man, than the faculty 
 of being convinced. However, he dropped the 
 subject, and never more to my knowledge re- 
 sumed it. 
 
 Father Francis, whose whole heart was mild- 
 ness and humility, -began to fancy after a few 
 minutes that he had been guilty of some pre- 
 sumption in arguing so boldly on the secrets 
 of Providence. " God forgive me," said he, 
 " if I have done irreverently in seeking, as 
 far as my poor intellect could go, to demon- 
 strate by simple reasoning, that which we 
 ought to receive as a matter of faith ; but often, 
 in my more solitary hours, in thinking over 
 these subjects I would find a degree of obscuri- 
 ty and confusion in my own ideas, which im- 
 pelled me to endeavour to clear and to arrange 
 them." 
 
 " I am convinced you did very right, my 
 good Father," replied the Chevalier, " and 
 that one great object in the good regulations 
 of one's mind is to obtain fixed principles on 
 every subject which comes under our review, 
 carrying to the examination an ardent desire 
 
140 DE l'orme. 
 
 for truth ; and to religious enquiries, that pro- 
 found reverence and humble diffidence of human 
 reason, that so deep and so important a subject 
 imperatively requires/"* 
 
 Here dropped the conversation, leaving both 
 parties better satisfied with each other than 
 usually happens after any discussion, but more 
 especially where religion is at all involved. 
 
DE L'ORME. 141 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 My first care, after finding myself com- 
 pletely settled at Saragossa, was to overcome 
 the difiiculties of the Spanish language. I had 
 studied it superficially long before, and, thanks 
 to my Bearnaise tongue, I now accomplished 
 the hardest part of the undertaking, namely, 
 the pronunciation which is very rarely acquired 
 by Frenchmen in general. By the time this 
 was gained, I had been three months in Spain, 
 living in a state of high ease and tranquillity, 
 very much against my will ; finding nothing to 
 excite or to romance upon ; and, at best, meet- 
 ing with but those little adventures, which are 
 unworthy, if not unfit, for detail. It was not, 
 however, my fault. I went continually to the 
 
142 DE l'orme. 
 
 Teatro, to the Plaza de Toros, and to all those 
 places where one may most easily get oneself 
 into mischief, without accomplishing my ob- 
 ject ; going from one to the other with the most 
 provoking, quiet, uninterrupted facility that 
 fortune could furnish forth to annoy me withal. 
 Every one was calm, polite, and cold ; no one 
 fell in love with me; no one quarrelled with 
 me ; no one took any notice of me, and I was 
 beginning to think the Spaniards the most 
 stupid, sober, mole-like race, that the world 
 contained, when some circumstances occurred, 
 which, from the very first, excited my curiosity, 
 if they did not reach any more violent passion. 
 I have said, that the room which I had chosen 
 looked into the street wherein we lodged, and 
 also that that street was very narrow. At 
 first, I had hoped to draw something from this 
 circumstance, having always entertained high 
 ideas of the pleasures and agitations of making 
 love across a street, and for the whole first 
 night after our arrival, I amused myself with 
 fancying some very beautiful lady, with some 
 very horrible guardian, who would find means 
 
DE L'ORME. 143 
 
 of conversing with me from the jalousies on 
 the other side. 
 
 I was soon undeceived ; a very little know- 
 ledge of the localities showing me that the 
 windows opposite to my own were placed in 
 the back of a row of houses, forming one side 
 of the principal street, to which our own was 
 parallel ; and I had reason to believe that none 
 but servants and inferior persons in general dwelt 
 in those rooms, whose windows might commu- 
 nicate with mine. This was a disappointment, 
 and I thought no more of it till one day, when 
 I had been riding in the environs with the Che- 
 valier de Montenero, who, in general, gave me 
 about an hour of his society every day: — the 
 rest of his time was principally spent, I under- 
 stood, in reading and writing, and in bringing 
 to a conclusion some affairs of importance, 
 which had accumulated during a long absence 
 in the New World, where, my talkative land- 
 lady assured me, he had won high honours 
 both as a statesman and a warrior. — On the 
 day which I speak of, however, we had been 
 absent nearly three hours, and, returning some- 
 
144 DE l'orme. 
 
 what heated, I threw myself down before the 
 open window, with a book in my hand. How 
 I happened to raise my eyes to the opposite 
 houses, I know not ; but doing so, I saw the 
 fingers of a hand so fair, that it could belong 
 to no servant, resting on the bars of the jalousie, 
 while, at the same time, a very bright pair of 
 eyes glittered through the aperture, apparently 
 rather turned down the street, as if watching 
 for the coming of some one. 
 
 My own jalousie was drawn for the sake of 
 the shade, so that I could observe without 
 being remarked ; and, approaching the win- 
 dow, in a few minutes after, I saw a priest 
 enter at a small door, just below the window, 
 where the eyes were watching. I concluded 
 that this was the Father Confessor, and I took 
 care to see him depart ; after which, I partly 
 opened my blind, and remarked, behind the 
 one opposite, the same eyes I had before seen, 
 but now evidently turned towards myself, and 
 I determined not to lose, for lack of boldness, 
 whatever good fortune should fall in my way. 
 
 Love, of course, was out of the question ; 
 
DE l'orme. 145 
 
 for I certainly loved Helen now as deeply as 
 ever ; and having no excuse, I shall not seek 
 one, nor even try to palliate my fault. The 
 only incentives I had, were, idleness, youth, 
 and a passion for adventure ; but these were 
 quite sufficient to carry me headlong on, upon 
 the first mad scheme that opened to my view. 
 Every one, I believe, feels, or must have felt, 
 sensations somewhat similar, when the heart's 
 wild spirit seems rioting to be free, and hurry- 
 ing on reason, and thought, and virtue, tumul- 
 tuously along the mad course of passion. What 
 I sought I hardly know. It was not vice —it 
 was adventure. 
 
 From that day forward, I was more fre- 
 (juently at my window than any where else; 
 and I cannot say, that the fair object of my 
 watchings seemed, after a time, to find the 
 proximity of her own blind the most disagree- 
 able part of her apartment. Indeed, the wea- 
 ther was so warm and so oppressive, that on 
 more than one occasion she partially opened 
 the jalousie, to admit a freer current of air, 
 giving one, at the same time, an opportunity of 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 DE l'orme. 
 
 beholding one of the loveliest faces and forms I 
 ever beheld, though so shadowed by the semi- 
 darkness of the room, as to throw over the 
 whole a mysterious air of dimness, doubly excit- 
 ing. Of course the matter paused not here. I 
 had heard and read a thousand tales of such en- 
 counters ; I was as deeply read in all romances of 
 love, as the Knight of La Mancha was in those 
 of chivalry ; and I had recourse to the only 
 means in my power of commencing a commu- 
 nication with my fair neighbour, namely, by 
 signs. At first she withdrew, as if indignant ; 
 then endured them ; then laughed at them ; 
 and, in the end, somewhat suddenly and ab- 
 ruptly seemed to return them, though so slight- 
 ly, that all my ingenuity would not serve me 
 to comprehend what she sought to express. I 
 had heard that the ladies of Spain were so 
 skilful in finding the means of carrying on 
 these mute conversations, that many a tender 
 tale had been told in silently playing with a 
 fan, and I somewhat wondered to find even 
 one Spanish girl so ignorant of the language 
 of signs. She had evidently, however, en- 
 
DE l'orme. 147 
 
 deavoured to return an answer to mine, and 
 that was enough to make my heart beat high. 
 
 As soon as night followed upon the day 
 which had beheld this gracious and favourable 
 change, I returned to my station at the win- 
 dow. The jalousies were closed, and no sign 
 or symptom announced that any one was within 
 for near half an hour, when suddenly I heard 
 them move, and beheld them slowly and cau- 
 tiously open, to perhaps the extent of three 
 inches. I could see nothing, but that they 
 were open, though I strained my eyes to dis- 
 cover what was beyond. However, after a mo- 
 ment's silence, I had my recompense, by hear- 
 ing a very soft and musical voice demand, in a 
 low tone, " Are you there ?" 
 
 " I am," answered I, in the hyperbolic style 
 usual to Spanish gallants — "I am, fairest of 
 earth's creatures ! and ready to serve you with 
 life and " 
 
 " Hush !" said the voice quickly ; '' go in- 
 stantly to the theatre, and ask for the box 
 marked G. Wait there, whatever betide — and 
 say no more." 
 
 H 2 
 
148 DE l'orme. 
 
 The jalousie immediately closed, and, snatch- 
 ing up my hat, I prepared to obey the com- 
 mand, when my door opened, and Father Fran- 
 cis appeared with a light. 
 
 " In the dark, my dear Louis !"" said he, 
 with some astonishment ; " What are you 
 doing in the dark ? Better come, and read 
 Seneca with me." 
 
 " I am just going to the play," replied I, 
 holding up my hand to my eyes, as if the sud- 
 den light affected them, but, in reality, to cover 
 a certain crimsoning of the cheek, which the 
 mere presence of so good and pure a being 
 called up, in spite of my efforts to prevent it. 
 " They play to-night Calderon's Cisma de In- 
 glaterra.'''' 
 
 " You are all too fond of that bad place, a 
 Theatre," said Father Francis ; " but I sup- 
 pose, Louis, that it will always be so at your 
 age. I must not forget now, when I can no 
 longer enjoy, that you are in the season of en- 
 joyment, and that I was like you. However, 
 I hope that your love of theatres will soon 
 pass. They were instituted, doubtless, to pro- 
 
DE L'ORME. 149 
 
 mote morality, and to do good, but they are 
 
 sadly perverted in our day ^^Well, God be 
 
 with you !" 
 
 I could have well spared the interruption, 
 but more especially the good Father's recom- 
 mendation to God, when my purpose was not 
 what my own heart could fully approve. Not 
 that I had any formed design of evil — ^not that 
 I had an}^ wish of wronging innocence — nay, 
 nor of breaking my faith to Helen. 'Twas 
 but excitement I sought ; and though perhaps 
 I wished I had not advanced so far, I was 
 ashamed of drawing back, and I hurried on to 
 the theatre. 
 
 A great crowd was going in, and following 
 the course of the stream, I sought for the box 
 marked G. On finding it, I was surprised to 
 discover that it was one of the curtained boxes 
 reserved for the principal officers of the city 
 An old woman had the keys of these boxes in 
 charge, and to her I applied for admission. 
 The face of surprise which she assumed, I shall 
 not easily forget ; " Heyday !" she exclaimed, 
 " let you into the box of the Corregidor ! I 
 
150 DE l'orme. 
 
 dare say ! Pray, young Sir, where is your 
 order ?" 
 
 " Here !" said I, nothing abashed, and re- 
 solved to accomplish my object ; and, putting 
 my hand in my pocket, I seemed to search for 
 the order till some persons who were near had 
 passed on. I then produced a pistole, which the 
 old lady found to be an order in so good and 
 authentic a form, that she drew forth the key, 
 and proceeded towards the door, saying, " The 
 Corregidor went out of town this morning, and 
 will not return for two days, so there can be no' 
 great harm in letting you in, but keep the cur- 
 tains close. You can see and hear very well 
 through the chinks, without showing yourself 
 in the Corregidor's box, I warrant." 
 
 I promised to observe her directions, and 
 entered the box, which was empty. I seated 
 myself behind the curtains, which, drawn com- 
 pletely across the front, hid me from the spec- 
 tators, though I had still a good view of the 
 stage. The play, indeed, was not what I came 
 to see ; and at first I listened with eager and 
 attentive ears to the sound of every foot that 
 
DE L'ORME. 151 
 
 passed by the door of the box. Actually trem- 
 bling with anxiety and excitement, I could 
 hear one person after another go by, till the 
 tide of spectators began to slacken, and at last, 
 but the solitary step of some late straggler 
 sounded along the passage, hurrying on to 
 make up for his delay. Two or three times, 
 when the foot was lighter than the rest, or 
 when it seemed to pause near the door, I start- 
 ed up, and my heart beat till it was actually 
 painful to feel it throbbing against my side ; 
 but, after a while, in order to calm such sensa^ 
 tions, I endeavoured to fix my mind upon the 
 play, and won by the cunning of the scene, I 
 gradually entered into the passions I saw pour- 
 tray ed. 
 
 The play (La Cisma de Inglaterra) contained 
 all Calderon's vigour and wit, and also all his 
 extravagance. The first scene, representing the 
 dream of Henry the Eighth, king of England, 
 and his reception of the two letters from the 
 Pope, and from Martin Luther, was too full of 
 petty conceits to engage me for a moment ; but 
 the description of Anne Bullen, as given by 
 
152 DE l'orme. 
 
 Carlos, in the second scene, caught my young 
 imagination, and the exquisite wit of the court- 
 fool, Pasquin, soon riveted my attention. This 
 character had been allotted to one of the best 
 performers of the company, and it was wonderful 
 what point he gave to the least word of the 
 jester. Calderon had done much, but every thea- 
 trical writer must leave much for the player, and 
 in this instance, nothing he could have wished 
 expressed was either omitted or caricatured. 
 It was all true and simple, from the broad 
 childish stare, half folly, half satire, with which 
 he exclaimed, " Que soy galan de galanes^'' to 
 the face of moralizing meditation, half bewil- 
 dered, half severe, with which he commented 
 on the king"'s melancholy — 
 
 " Triste esta el Rey, de que sirve 
 Quanto puede, quanto manda 
 Si no puede, estar alegre 
 Quando quiere ?'' 
 
 The play had proceeded for some time, and 
 I was listening with deep interest to the ex- 
 quisite dialogue between the King and Anne 
 Bullen, in which he first discovers his passion 
 
DE l'orme. 153 
 
 to her, when the door of the box opened, and 
 a lady entered, wrapped in a black mantilla. 
 Her face was also concealed with a black velvet 
 mask, and though, after shutting the door of 
 the box carefully, she dropped the mantilla, 
 discovering a form on whose beauties I will not 
 dwell, she still retained the mask for some mo- 
 ments ; and I could see her hand shake as it 
 leaned on the back of one of the seats. My 
 heart beat so violently that I could scarcely 
 speak, and I would have given worlds for 
 one word from her lips, to which 1 might 
 have replied. Time, however, was not to be 
 lost, and advancing, I offered my hand to lead 
 her forward ; but she raised her finger, saying, 
 in a very low voice " Hush ! Is there any one 
 in the box to the left ?" 
 
 '• I have heard no one," replied I, rejoicing 
 to recognize the same tones in which the ap- 
 pointment had been made with me ; '' Nay, do 
 not tremble so," I added, laying my hand on 
 her'*s, and I believe the agitation which that 
 touch must have told her I experienced my- 
 self, served more to re-assure her than my 
 H 5 
 
154 DE l'orme. 
 
 words — " Why should you fear, with a friend, a 
 lover, an adorer ? Why, too, should you hide 
 your face from one to whom its lightest look is 
 joy ? Will you not take off your mask ?" 
 
 The lady made no reply ; but, seating her- 
 self in the back part of the box, leaned her 
 head for some time upon her hand, over which 
 the ringlets of her rich black hair fell in glossy 
 profusion. My agitation gradually subsided ; 
 I added caresses to tender language — 1 held her 
 hand in mine — I ventured to carry it to my lips, 
 and I am afraid many a burning word did pas- 
 sion suggest to my tongue. For a moment or 
 two, she let me retain her hand, seeming to- 
 tally absorbed by feelings which gave no other 
 sense power to act ; but at length, she gently 
 withdrew it from mine, and untying a string 
 that passed through her hair, let the mask drop 
 from her face. If her figure had struck me as 
 lovely, how transcendently beautiful did her 
 face appear, when that which hid it was thus 
 suddenly removed. She could not be more 
 than eighteen, and each clear, exquisite fea- 
 ture, seemed moulded after the enchanting spe- 
 cimens of ancient art, but animated with that 
 
DE l'orme. 155 
 
 living grace which leaves the statue far bejow^ 
 Her lip was all sweetness, and her brow all 
 bland expanse, but there was a wild energetic 
 fire in her eye, which spoke of the strong and 
 ardent passions of her country, and there was 
 also an occasional gleam in it, that had some- 
 thing almost approaching the intensity of men- 
 tal wandering. Let me not say that those eyes 
 were any thing less than beautiful. They were 
 of those full, dark, thrilling orbs, that seem to 
 look deep into the heart of man, and exercise 
 upon all its pulses a strange, attracting influence, 
 like that which the bright moon holds over the 
 waters of the world, while round them swept a 
 long, black, silky fringe, that shaded and soft- 
 ened without diminishing their lustre by a ray. 
 As soon as she recovered herself sufficiently 
 to speak, she replied to my ardent profes- 
 sions in language which, though somewhat 
 wild and undefined, left me no doubt of her 
 feelings. She told me too, that she was the 
 daughter of the Corregidor ; that her mother 
 was dead, and that her father loved her even 
 to idolatry; that she returned his affection, 
 and that never, even were it to wed a mo- 
 
156 DE l'orme. 
 
 narch, would she leave him. At the same 
 time, she spoke enthusiastically, even wildly, 
 of love and passion, and to what it might 
 prompt a determined heart. She spoke, too, 
 of jealousy, but she said it was incompatible 
 with love, for that a mind which felt like her's, 
 would instantly convert its love into hate, if it 
 once found itself deceived ; and what was there, 
 she asked, that such hate would not do ? 
 
 On this subject she threw out some dark and 
 mysterious hints, which, at any other moment, 
 might have made me estimate the dangerous 
 excess of all her passions, but I was infatuated, 
 and would not see the perils that surrounded 
 the intrigue into which I was plunging. We 
 talked long, and we talked ardently, and in the 
 end, when some little time before the play was 
 concluded she rose to leave me, my brain was in 
 a whirl that wanted little but the name to be 
 madness. 
 
 ^^ Though I have unlimited power over my 
 own actions," said she, " even perhaps too much 
 so — for, ungrateful that I am ! I sometimes 
 wish my father loved me less, or more wisely ; 
 but, as I said, though I have unlimited power 
 
DE l'orme. 157 
 
 over my own actions, some reasons forbade me 
 to-night receiving you in my own house. To- 
 morrow night you may come. — You have re- 
 marked," she added, putting on her mask and 
 wrapping her mantilla round her, " a small 
 door under the window of my dressing-room ; at 
 midnight it will be open — come thither, for 
 there are many things I wish to say.' She then 
 enjoined me not to leave the theatre till the play 
 was completely over, and left me, my whole 
 mind and thoughts in a state of agitation and 
 confusion hardly to be expressed. I will not 
 say that conscience did not somewhat whisper I 
 was doing wrong ; but the tumult of excited 
 passion, and the gratification of my spirit of 
 romance, prevented me even from calculating 
 how far I might be hurried. There was cer- 
 tainly some vague point where I proposed to 
 stop short of vice ; and I trust I should have 
 done so, even had not other circumstances in- 
 tervened to save me therefrom. However that 
 may be, let it be marked and remembered, 
 that the steps I took in wrong, by an extraor- 
 dinary chain of circumstances, caused all the 
 misery of my existence. 
 
158 DE l'orme. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Never, perhaps, in my existence — an exist- 
 ence varied by dangers, by difficulties, by pas- 
 sions, and by follies — never did any day seem 
 to drag so heavily towards its conclusion as 
 that which lay between me and the meeting 
 appointed for the following night. It was 
 not alone that impatient expectation, which 
 lengthens time till moments seem eternities, but 
 it was, added to this, that I had to find occupa- 
 tion for every moment, lest tardy regrets should 
 interpose, and mingle bitter with what was ever 
 a sweet cup to me, excitement. Verily do I be- 
 lieve that I crowded into that one day more em- 
 ployments than many men bestow upon a year. 
 I rode through the whole town ; I witnessed the 
 
DE l'orme. 159 
 
 bull-fight ; I wrote a letter to my father — God 
 knows what it contained, for I know not, and I 
 never knew : I read Plato, which was like pour- 
 ing cold water on a burning furnace ; I played 
 on my guitar — I sung to it : I solved a prob- 
 lem of Euclid : I read a page of Descartes : 
 and thousands of other things did I do to fill 
 up the horrid vacancy of each long-expectant 
 minute. At length, however, day waned, night 
 came, and the hour approached, nearer and 
 more near. At ten o'clock I pretended fatigue, 
 and leaving Father Francis, who seemed well 
 inclined to consume the midnight oil, I retired 
 to my apartment, as if to bed. Old Houssaye 
 came to assist me, but I made an excuse to 
 send him away, which, though perhaps a lame 
 one, he was too old a soldier not to take at 
 once. He was a man that never asked any 
 questions ; whatever the order was, he obeyed 
 it instantly, and he was unrivalled at the quick 
 conception of a hint. Thus I had scarcely 
 finished my first sentence explanatory of my 
 reasons for not requiring his services, than run- 
 
160 DE l'orme. 
 
 ning on at once to the conclusion, he made his 
 bow and quitted the room. 
 
 Being left alone, two more long hours did I 
 wear out in the fever of expectation. All noises 
 gradually subsided in the town and in the 
 house, and every body was evidently at repose 
 before half-past eleven. This was now the 
 longest half hour of all. I thought the church 
 clock must have gone wrong, and have stopped, 
 and I was confirmed in this idea when I heard 
 the midnight round of the patrol of the holy 
 brotherhood pass by the house, as usual pushing 
 at every door to see that all were closed for the 
 night. Shortly after, however, the chimes of 
 midnight began ; and, with a beating heart, I 
 descended the stairs, having previously insured 
 the means of opening the door without noise. 
 In a moment after the fresh night air blew 
 chill upon my cheek, and conveyed a sort of 
 shudder to my heart, which I could scarce 
 help feeling as a sinister omen : but, closing 
 the door as near as I could, without shutting 
 it entirely, I darted across the street, pushed 
 open the little door and entered. As I did so, 
 
DE L'ORME. 161 
 
 the garments of a woman rustled against me, 
 and I caught the same fair soft hand I had 
 held the former night. It burned like a living- 
 fire, and as I held it in mine, it did not return 
 or even seem sensible to the pressure, but my 
 fingers felt almost scorched with the feverish 
 heat of hers. 
 
 Cautiously shutting the door, she led me by 
 the hand up a flight of stairs to a small elegant 
 dressing-room, wherein, on the toilet table, was 
 a burning lamp. It shone dimly, but with 
 sufficient light to show me that my fair com- 
 panion, though lovely as ever, was deadly pale ; 
 and attributing it to that agitation which she 
 could not but feel a thousand times more than 
 even I did, I attempted to compose her by a 
 multitude of caresses and vows, which she suf- 
 fered me to lavish upon her almost unnoticed, 
 remaining with a mute tongue and wandering 
 eye, as if my words scarcely found their way 
 to the seat of intellect. At length, laying her 
 hand upon the hilt of my sword, with a faint 
 smile, she said, " What ! a sword ! You should 
 never come to see a lady with a sword," and, 
 
162 DE l'orme. 
 
 unbuckling it with her own hand, she laid it 
 on the table. 
 
 " Now,'^ proceeded she, taking up the lamp, 
 and leading the way into a splendid room 
 beyond, " now you must give me a proof of 
 your love T' and she shut the door suddenly 
 behind us, with a quickness which almost made 
 me start. 
 
 Her whole conduct, her whole appearance 
 was strange. That she should appear agitated 
 was not surprising ; but her eye wandered with 
 a fearful sort of wildness, and her cheek was 
 so deadly, deadly pale, that I scarcely ever 
 thought to see such a hue in any thing living. 
 At the same time, the hand with which she 
 held one of mine, as she led me on, confirmed 
 its grasp with a tighter and a tighter clasp, 
 till every slender burning finger seemed im- 
 pressing itself on my flesh. " Have you a firm 
 heart?" asked she at length, fixing her eyes 
 upon me, and compressing her full beautiful 
 lips as if to master her own sensations. 
 
 I answered that I had ; and, indeed, as the 
 agitation of passion gave way to other feelings. 
 
DE l'orme. 163 
 
 called forth by her singular manner and be- 
 haviour, the natural unblenching courage of 
 my race returned to my aid, and I was no 
 longer the tremblingly empassioned boy that I 
 entered her house. 
 
 " It is well !" said she ; " Come hither, then !" 
 and she led me towards what seemed a heap of 
 cushions covered with a large sheet of linen. 
 For a moment she paused before them, with her 
 foot advanced, as if about to make another step 
 forward, and her eye straining upon the mo- 
 tionless pile before her, as if it were some very 
 horrible object ; then, suddenly taking the edge 
 of the cloth, she threw it back at once, disco- 
 vering the dead body of a priest weltering in 
 its gore. He seemed to have been a man of 
 about thirty, both by his form and face, 
 which was full, and unmarked by any lines of 
 age. It was turned towards me, and had been 
 slightly convulsed by the pang of death ; but 
 still, even in the cold meaning-less features, I 
 thought I could perceive that look of an habitu- 
 ally dissolute mind, which stamps itself in un- 
 efFaceable characters ; and there was a dark 
 
164 DE l'orme. 
 
 determined scowl still upon the brow of death, 
 which to my fancy spoke of the remorseless vio- 
 lation of the most sacred duties. The limbs 
 were contracted, and one of the hands clenched, 
 as if there had been a momentary struggle be- 
 fore he was mastered to his fate, while the 
 other hand was stretched out, with all the 
 fingers wide extended, as while still striving to 
 draw the last few agonizing breaths. His gown 
 was gashed on the left side, and dripping 
 with gore ; and it is probable that the wound 
 it covered went directly to his heart, from 
 the great effusion of blood that had taken 
 place. 
 
 It was a dreadful sight ; and, after looking 
 on it for a few moments in astonishment and 
 horror, I turned my aching eyes towards the 
 lovely girl that had conducted me to such a 
 strange and awful exhibition. She, too, was 
 gazing at it with that sort of fixed intensity of 
 look, which told that her mind gathered there 
 materials for strong and all-absorbing thoughts. 
 " In the name of heaven !" cried I, " who has 
 done this .^" 
 
DE l'orme. 165 
 
 " I !'' answered she, with a strange degree of 
 calmness ; — " I did it !" 
 
 " And what on earth could tempt you,"" I 
 continued, " to so bloody and horrible a 
 crime ?'"* 
 
 " You shall hear,"" she replied. " That 
 man was my confessor. He took advantage of 
 his power over my mind — he won me to all 
 that he wished — and then — he turned to an- 
 other — fairer, perhaps, and equally w^eak. I 
 discovered his treachery, but I heeded it the 
 less, as I had seen you, and for the first time 
 knew what love was; but I warned him never 
 to approach me again, if he would escape that 
 Spanish revenge whose power he ought to have 
 known. He came, this very night — warm from 
 the arms of another — and yet dared to talk to 
 me of passion and of love ! thinking me still 
 weak enough to yield to him. Oh ! with what 
 patience I was endued not to slay him then ! I 
 bade him go forth, and never to approach me 
 again — he became enraged — he threatened to 
 betray me— to publish my shame — and he is — 
 what he is !" — There was a dreadful pause : 
 
166 DE l'orme. 
 
 she had worked herself up by the details to a 
 pitch of almost frenzied rage, and gazing upon 
 the body of him that had wronged her with a 
 flushed cheek and flashing eyes, she seemed as 
 if she would have smote him again. — " The 
 story is told,'' cried she at length ; " and now, 
 if you love me, as you have said, you must 
 carry him forth, and cast him into the great 
 fosse of the city. — Ha ! you will not ! You 
 hate me — you despise me ! Then I must speak 
 another language — You shall ! Yes, you shall ! 
 or both you and I will join him in the grave !" 
 and drawing a poniard from her bosom, she 
 placed herself between me and the door. 
 
 " And do you think me so great a coward," 
 replied I, hastily, " to be frightened into doing 
 what I disapprove, by a poniard in the hand of 
 a woman ? No, lady, no ;"" I continued more 
 kindly, believing her as I did, to be disordered 
 in mind by the intensity of her feelings — '' I 
 pity you from my heart — I pity you for the 
 base injuries you have sufifered, and even, 
 though I cannot but condemn the crime you 
 have committed, I would do much, very much 
 
DE l'orme. 167 
 
 to soothe, to calm, to heal your wounded spirit, 
 
 but " 
 
 I spoke long — gently — kindly to her. It 
 reached her heart— it touched the better feelings 
 of what might have been a fine though exqui- 
 sitely sensitive mind, and, throwing away the 
 poniard, she cast herself at my feet, where 
 clasping my knees, she wept till her agony of 
 tears became perfectly fearful. I did every 
 thing I could to tranquillize her ; I entreated, I 
 persuaded, I reasoned, I even caressed. There 
 was something so lovely, yet so terrible in it 
 all — her face, her form, her agitation, the 
 sweetness of her voice, the despairing, heart- 
 broken expression of her eyes, that in spite of 
 her crime, I raised her from my feet, I held her 
 in my arms, and I promised to do all that she 
 would have me. 
 
 After a time, she began to recover herself, 
 and gently disengaging herself from me, she 
 gazed at me with a look of calm, powerful, 
 painful regret, that I never can forget. " Count 
 Louis," she said, " you must abhor me, and 
 you have, alas ! learned to do so at a moment 
 
168 DE l'orme. 
 
 when I have learned to love you the more. 
 Your kindness has made me weep. It was 
 what I needed — it has cleared a cloud from my 
 brain, and I now find how very, very guilty I 
 am. Do not take me to your arms ; I am un- 
 worthy they should touch me — but fly from 
 me, and from this place of horror as speedily as 
 you can, for I will not take advantage of the 
 generous offer you make to do that which I so 
 ungenerously asked. I asked it in madness, for 
 I feel that within the last few hours, my reason 
 has not been with me. It slept — I have now 
 wept, and it is awake to all the misery I have 
 brought upon myself — Go — go — leave me, I 
 will stay and meet the fate my crime deserves ; 
 but, oh ! I cannot bear to think upon the dis- 
 honour and misery of my father's old age !" 
 and again she wept as bitterly as before. 
 
 Again I applied myself to soothe her, and im- 
 prudently certainly, — perhaps wrongly — insist- 
 ed upon carrying away the evidence of her guilt, 
 and disposing of it as she had at first demanded. 
 But two short streets lay between the spot where 
 we were and the old boundary of the city, over 
 
DE l'orme. 169 
 
 which it was easy to cast the body into the 
 water below. At that hour I was not likely to 
 meet with any one, as all the sober inhabitants 
 of the town were by this time in their first sleep, 
 and the guard had made its round some time 
 before. I told her all this, and expressed my 
 determination not to leave her in such dreadful 
 circumstances ; so that, seeing me resolved upon 
 doing what I had proposed, the natural horror 
 of death and shame overcame her first regret ■ 
 at the thought of implicating me, and she ac- 
 quiesced. 
 
 As I approached the body for the purpose 
 of taking it in my arms, I will own, a re- 
 pulsive feeling of horror gathered about my 
 heart, and a slight shudder passed over me. 
 She saw it, and casting her beautiful arms 
 round my neck, held me back with a melan- 
 choly shake of the head, saying, " No, no, 
 no!" But I again expressed myself determin- 
 ed, and suddenly pressing her burning lips to 
 mine, she let me go. " Pardon me !" said she, 
 " it is the last I shall ever have, most generous 
 of human beings.'' And turning away, she 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
170 DE l'orme. 
 
 kneeled by her bed-side, hiding her face upon 
 the clothes, while I raised the body of the Priest 
 in my arms, and bore it down-stairs. 
 
 Being fortunately of a very strong and vigo- 
 rous mould, and well hardened by athletic exer- 
 cises, I could carry a very great weight, but 
 never did 1 know till then, how much more pon- 
 derous and unwieldy a dead body is than a liv- 
 ing one. I however gained the street with my 
 burden ; and with a beating heart, and anxious 
 glaring eye, proceeded as fast as I could to- 
 wards the walls. Every thing I saw caused 
 me anxiety and alarm ; the small fountain at 
 the corner of the Calle del Sol, made me start 
 and almost drop the body ; and each shadow 
 that the moon cast across the street, cost me 
 many a painful throb. At length, however, 
 I reached the old rampart, where it looks out 
 over the olive grounds, and advancing hurriedly 
 forward, I gave a glance around to see that no 
 one was there, and cast the corpse down into 
 the fosse which was full of water ; I heard the 
 plunge of the body and the rush of the agitated 
 waters, and a shudder passed over me to think 
 
DE L'ORME. 171 
 
 of thus consigning the frail tabernacle, that not 
 long since had enshrined a sinful but immor- 
 tal spirit, to a dark and nameless grave. All 
 the weaknesses of our nature cling to the 
 rites of sepulture, and at any time I should 
 have felt, in so dismissing a dead body to un- 
 mourned oblivion, that I was violating the 
 most sacred prejudices of our nature ; but when 
 I thought upon the how, and the wherefore, my 
 blood felt chill, and I dared not look back to 
 see the full completions of that night''s dreadful 
 deeds. 
 
 My heart was lightened, however, that it 
 was now done, and I turned to proceed home, 
 having had enough of adventure to serve me 
 for a long while. Before I went I gave an 
 anxious glance around to see whether any one 
 was watching me, but all seemed void and lone- 
 ly. I then darted away as fast as I could, still 
 concealing myself in the shadowy sides of the 
 streets, and following a thousand turnings and 
 windings to insure that my path was not track- 
 ed. At length, approaching the street wherein 
 I lived, I looked round carefully on all sides, 
 I 2 
 
172 DE l'orme. 
 
 and seeing no one, darted up it, sprang forward 
 and pushed open the door of my lodging. 
 At that moment a figure passed me coming 
 the other way ; it was the Chevalier de Mon- 
 tenero, and though he evidently saw me, he 
 went on without remark. I closed the door 
 carefully, groped my way up to my own cham- 
 ber, and striking a light, examined my doublet, 
 to see if it had received any stains from the 
 gory burden I had carried. In spite of every 
 precaution I had taken, it was wet with blood 
 in three places, and I had much trouble in 
 washing out the marks, though it was itself 
 of murray-coloured cloth, somewhat similar in 
 hue. 
 
 Difficult is it to tell my feelings while en- 
 gaged in this employment — the horror, the dis- 
 gust, at each new stain I discovered, mingled 
 with the painful anxiety to efface every trace 
 which the blood of my fellow being had left. 
 Then to dispose of the water, whose sanguine 
 colour kept glaring in my eye wherever I 
 turned, as if I could see nothing but it, be- 
 came the question ; and I was obliged to open 
 
DE L'ORME. 173 
 
 the casement, and pour it gently over the 
 window-sill, without unclosing the jalousies^ so 
 as to permit its trickling down the front of 
 the house, where I knew it must be evaporated 
 before the next morning. This took me some 
 time, as I did it by but very cautious degrees ; 
 but then, when it was done, all vestiges of the 
 deed in which I had been engaged was effaced, 
 and to my satisfaction I discovered, on examin- 
 ing every part of my apparel with the most 
 painful minuteness, that all was free and clear. 
 
 Extinguishing my light, I now undressed 
 and went to bed, but of course not to sleep. 
 For hours and hours, the scenes in which I had 
 that night taken part, floated upon the blank 
 darkness before my eyes, and filled me with 
 horrible imaginations. A thousand times did 
 I attempt to banish them, and give myself up 
 to slumber, and a thousand times did they 
 return in new and more horrible shapes ; till 
 the faint light of the morning began to shine 
 through the openings of the blinds, when I 
 fell into a disturbed and feverish sleep. It 
 was no relief — it was no oblivion. The same 
 
174 DE l'orme. 
 
 dreadful scenes returned with their full original 
 force, heightened and rendered still more ter- 
 rific by a thousand wild accessories that un- 
 controlled fancy brought forward to support 
 them. All was horror and despair ; and I again 
 woke, haggard and worn out, as the matin bell 
 was sounding from the neighbouring convent : 
 I tried it once more, and at length succeeded 
 in obtaining a temporary forgetfulness. 
 
175 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I WAS still in a most profound sleep, when 
 I was woke by some one shaking me rudely 
 by the arm, and starting up I found my cham- 
 ber full of the officers of justice. By my side 
 stood an Alguazil, and at my table, a sort of 
 Escribano was already taking a precise ac- 
 count of the state of the apartment ; while in 
 conjunction with him, various members of the 
 Holy Brotherhood were examining without 
 ceremony every article of my apparel. 
 
 For a moment or two, the surprise, mingled 
 with the consciousness of what might be laid to 
 my charge, confounded and bewildered me, 
 and I gazed about upon all that was taking 
 place with the stupid stare of one still half 
 
176 DE L'ORME, 
 
 asleep. I soon, however, recovered myself; 
 and hurriedly determined in my own mind 
 the line of conduct that it was necessary to 
 pursue, both for the purpose of saving myself, 
 and shielding the unfortunate girl, of whose 
 crime I doubted not that I should be ac- 
 cused. 
 
 The Alguazil was proceeding, with a face 
 in which he had concentrated all the stray 
 beams of transmitted authority, to question 
 me in a very high tone respecting my occupa- 
 tions of the foregoing night ; when I cut him 
 short, demanding what he and his myrmidons 
 did in my apartment, and warning him, that 
 if he expected to extort money from me by 
 such a display, he was labouring in vain. The 
 worthy officer expressed himself as much of- 
 fended at this insinuation as if it had been true, 
 and informed me that he had come to arrest me 
 on the charge of having the night before mur- 
 dered in cold blood one Father Acevido, and 
 cast him into the fosse below the old wall. He 
 farther added, that a messenger had been sent 
 for the Corregidor, who was at a small town 
 
DE l'orme. 177 
 
 not far off, and that he was expected in an 
 hour. 
 
 " Well, then,'" replied I boldly, '' wake me 
 when he comes, and make as little noise as 
 possible at present,'^ and 1 turned round on 
 my other side, as if to address myself to sleep. 
 My real purpose, however, was twofold ; to 
 gain time for thought, and to avoid all questions 
 from the Alguazil, till I had learned upon 
 what grounds I was accused. 
 
 But in this I was defeated by Father Francis, 
 who interfered with the very best intentions 
 in the world, and advancing, addressed me 
 in French, whereupon the Alguazil instantly 
 stopped him, declaring he would not have 
 any conversation in a foreign tongue. 
 
 " Houssaye V cried I, turning to the old 
 soldier, and pointing to the Alguazil, while I 
 spoke out in Spanish. — " If that fellow med- 
 dles any more kick him down-stairs — and now, 
 my good Father, what were you about to 
 say?" 
 
 This conduct, impudent as it was, I well 
 knew was the only thing that could save me 
 I 5 
 
178 DE l'orme. 
 
 from being questioned and cross-examined by 
 the inferior officers before the arrival of the 
 Corregidor. If I answered, I might embarrass 
 myself in my after-defence ; and if I refused to 
 answer, my contumacy would be construed into 
 guilt ; all that remained, therefore, was to treat 
 the Alguazils with a degree of scorn which 
 would check their interrogation in its very 
 commencement, and which was in some degree 
 justified by the well known corruption and 
 mercenary character of the inferior officers of 
 the Spanish police. This proceeding seemed to 
 have the full effect which I intended, for the 
 pompous official not only ceased his questions, 
 but at the hint of being kicked, suffered Father 
 Francis to go on, judging very wisely, that, 
 however justice might afterwards avenge him, 
 his posteriors would at all events suffer in the 
 mean time. 
 
 *' My dear Louis," said the good Priest, 
 " you had better rise and clear yourself from 
 the accusation of these men. Every one in this 
 house knows your innocence, but here is an 
 officer of the real hacienda, without, who swears 
 
DE l'ormk. 179 
 
 that he saw the murderer enter this house, and 
 we have all suffered ourselves to be examined 
 previous to your having been disturbed. Rise, 
 then, and when you have dressed yourself, per- 
 mit him to see that you are not the person, 
 and probably by answering the questions of 
 these people, you may save yourself from being 
 dragged before the Corregidor, like a culprit.'*' 
 
 I replied with the same bold tone which I 
 had at first assumed, and still speaking aloud 
 in Spanish, " In regard to answering any ques- 
 tions put to me by these knaves, who are but 
 as the skirts of the robe of office, I shall cer- 
 tainly not demean myself so far ; but, to what- 
 ever the Corregidor chooses to demand, I will 
 reply instantly ; for I am sure that he will not 
 countenance a plot of this kind, which, beyond 
 all doubt, has been contrived to extort money 
 from a stranger ; I will rise, however, as you 
 seem to wish, and then all the world may look 
 at me as long as they will." 
 
 I accordingly rose and dressed myself, put- 
 ting on, though I own it was not without much 
 reluctance, the same murray-coloured suit I 
 
180 DE l'orme. 
 
 had worn the night before. As soon as I was 
 dressed, the officer of the real hacienda was 
 called in, and immediately pointed me out, say- 
 ing, " That is the man !" in so positive a tone, 
 that it required all the resolution I possessed, 
 to demand, with a contemptuous smile, " Pray, 
 Sir, how much is it you expect to extort from 
 me, by averring such a notorious falsehood ? — 
 Take notice, if it be above half a rial, you shall 
 not have it." 
 
 " If you were to give me all that you possess, 
 young gentleman," answered the man, calmly 
 and civilly, " I would still aver the same thing 
 — that you are the man who cast the dead 
 body of Father Acevido into the fosse last 
 night, while I was on my duty, seeing that 
 no contraband things were brought into the 
 city. I tracked you through the streets till 
 you entered this house, and I took good care 
 to remark your person, so as to identify it any 
 where." 
 
 The man was so clear in his statement, and I 
 knew it to be so true, that the blood mounted 
 up into my face, in spite of every effort I could 
 
DE L'ORME. 181 
 
 make to maintain my air of scornful indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Ha ha ! you colour !" said the Alguazil ; 
 " What do you say to that, my young Don ?" 
 
 " I say !'"* replied I, turning upon him fiercely, 
 " that this man's story has been well contrived, 
 and that he tells it coolly ; but, depend on it, 
 my good friend, when I have cleared myself of 
 this, my remembrance and thanks shall light 
 upon your shoulders in the most tangible form 
 I can discover. But now, take me to the Cor- 
 regidor ; only, while I am gone, let some ho- 
 nest person stay and watch these gentry who 
 are fingering my apparel, or they will save 
 Seiior Escribano the trouble of making a very 
 long catalogue." 
 
 A crowd of persons were round the door, 
 gossiping with an Alguazil, who had been left 
 there as a sort of guard, and the moment I was 
 brought out, the noise they were making very 
 much increased with the vociferous delight 
 which all vulgar minds experience on behold- 
 ing criminals. 'Tis a strange, devilish propen- 
 sity that in human nature-^The child loves to 
 
182 DE l'orme. 
 
 torture the fly or the worm, the serf runs to 
 see the victim struggling at the gallows, or 
 writhing on the wheel ; and, it is in the child 
 and the vulgar that human nature shines out 
 in its original metal, unsilvered over by the 
 false hue of education. Those who have best 
 defended man, attribute his passion for scenes 
 of blood and horror, to the renewed feeling 
 which he thence derives of his own security. 
 And is there, then, no way of showing him not 
 cruel, but by proving him base ? Must he be 
 ever vilely selfish, if he is not savagely brutal ? 
 The populace roared, as I came forth, with 
 such a shout, as we may suppose those refined 
 tigers the Romans bestowed on the devoted 
 gladiator when he entered the arena. I felt 
 certain the sounds must reach another person, 
 to whose bosom they would convey greater 
 pangs than even to mine ; and though I could 
 not pause to observe any thing minutely, as I 
 was hurried on, I glanced my eye up towards 
 the window on the other side of the way, and I 
 am sure I saw a female hand rest on one of the 
 bars of the jalousie. 
 
DE l'orme. 183 
 
 Scarcely two minutes were occupied in bring- 
 ing me round to the great entrance of the Cor- 
 regidor's house, and finding that he had not 
 arrived, the Alguazils made me sit down in a 
 large hall, keeping every one else out, even 
 Father Francis and Houssaye ; and enjoying 
 my society, uninterrupted by the presence of 
 any one but the servants of the Corregidor. 
 
 Whether it was done on purpose, or not, I 
 cannot say ; but, first one dropped away, and 
 then another, till I was left alone with the 
 chief Alguazil, who, the moment they were all 
 gone, addressed me with a meaning sort of 
 smile ; *' Now, young Sir,"" said he, " what 
 would you give to get off?" 
 
 Doubtless, as many bargains are made in 
 halls of justice, as on the exchange, and I was 
 even then very well aware that such is the 
 case ; but I knew not whether, if my offers did 
 not equal the incorruptible officer's expectation, 
 my words might not be made use of against 
 myself, and therefore I simply replied " No- 
 thing !" At the same time, I cannot deny, that 
 I -would willingly have given my whole inherit- 
 
184 DE l'orme. 
 
 ance to have been safe on the other side of the 
 Pyrenees. 
 
 No long time was allowed for deliberation, 
 for a moment after the Corregidor arrived, and, 
 as if by magic, I found myself instantly sur- 
 rounded by all the Alguazils and servants who 
 had before disappeared. 
 
 The magistrate did not pass through the hall 
 wherein I was detained, but after a few mi- 
 nutes, probably spent by him in receiving an 
 account of the whole transaction, an officer ap. 
 proached, and led me to a small audience-room, 
 in which he was seated. Before him was a 
 table with a clerk, and behind him two doors 
 leading to the domestic parts of his dwelling. 
 
 He appeared to me about sixty, and was as 
 noble a looking man as I had ever beheld. In 
 his face I could trace all his daughter's features, 
 raised and strengthened into the perfection of 
 masculine beauty ; and, though his hair was 
 as white as snow, and time had laid a long 
 wrinkle or two across the broad expanse of his 
 forehead, yet age, in other respects, had dealt 
 mildly with him, and left the fine arch of his 
 
DE l'orme. 185 
 
 lip unbroken, nor stolen one ray of light from 
 his clear intellectual eye. 
 
 As I approached the table at which he was 
 seated, he gazed at me with a steady, but yet a 
 feeling glance, and pointed to a seat, " I am 
 sorry, Sir," he said, " that one so young, so 
 noble in appearance, and especially a stranger 
 to this country, should be accused before me 
 of a great and dreadful crime, by an officer, 
 who, having in all relations of life conducted 
 himself well, leaves no reason to suppose he acts 
 on culpable motives. The duty of my office is 
 a strict one; and whatever prepossession I may 
 feel in your favour, all 1 can do is to receive 
 the accuser's evidence before you ; and then, 
 if no evident falsehood appears in his testimony, 
 to order your detention till the case can be ex- 
 amined at large, and judged according to its 
 merits." 
 
 In the calm dignity of his manner, and the 
 mild firmness of his tone, there was something 
 far more appalling to my mind, knowing well, 
 as I did, the truth of the charge against me, 
 than any menaces could have been. I felt no 
 
186 DE l'orme. 
 
 inclination, and indeed no power, to treat the 
 accusation with that scorn and indignation 
 which I had formerly affected, but advancing 
 towards the table at which the Corregidor was 
 seated, I replied as calmly as I could, " You 
 seem. Sir, well inclined to do ^le justice, and I 
 must consequently leave my fate in your hands ; 
 but, before you commit me to a prison, which 
 is in itself a punishment, and consequently an 
 act of injustice to an innocent man, permit me 
 to make one or two observations in my own 
 defence." 
 
 " Certainly," replied the Corregidor ; " I 
 hold myself bound to attend to every reason- 
 able argument you can adduce, although I am 
 afraid my duty will not permit me to interpose 
 between an accused person and the regular 
 course of investigation. But proceed ! " 
 
 " In the first place, then," I replied, " I have 
 to protest my innocence of the blood which is 
 laid to my charge, in the most solemn manner 
 — on my honour as a gentleman, on my faith as 
 a Christian. In the next place, I have to ask 
 whether there exists the least probability that I 
 
DE l'orme. 187 
 
 should murder in cold blood a stranger, with 
 whom I had no acquaintance ; for I defy any 
 one to show that I knew one single priest in 
 this city, or was ever seen to speak to one. In 
 addition to this, which makes my guilt highly 
 improbable, let me beg you to examine my pre- 
 ceptor, my valet, and the proprietors of the 
 house in which I lodge." 
 
 " I am afraid that will be impossible in this 
 stage of the business," replied the Magistrate, 
 " without some glaring discrepancy appears in 
 the accuser's testimony ; but let him be called 
 in." 
 
 Hitherto the audience- chamber had been 
 occupied alone by the Corregidor, his secretary, 
 two Alguazils, and myself, but the moment 
 afterwards the doors were opened, and a rush 
 of people took place from without, filling up 
 the space behind me. The presence of the mul- 
 titude made my heart beat, I confess, and turn- 
 ing my head, I beheld amongst other faces 
 those of Father Francis, of Houssaye, of the 
 landlady of our dwelling, and lastly, of the Che- 
 valier de Montenero. The last was a counte- 
 
188 DE l'orme. 
 
 nance I wished not to behold, and the one 
 glance of his eye pained me more than all the 
 busy whispering and observations of the mob. 
 The officer of the real hacienda was now called 
 forward, and immediately swore positively to 
 my person, as well as to having tracked me 
 through various turnings and windings to the 
 end of the street wherein I lodged, from whence 
 he saw me enter the house in which I was taken. 
 He then clearly described the manner in which 
 I had cast the body over into the water, and 
 its state and situation when he found it, after 
 having called the city guard to his assistance. 
 
 At this moment the Chevalier advanced 
 through the crowd, and, passing round the 
 table, took a seat beside the Corregidor, who 
 seemed to know him well. " Will you permit 
 me," said he, addressing the Magistrate, " to 
 ask this man a few questions ? I am deeply 
 interested in the young gentleman whom he 
 accuses, and who, I feel sure, is incapable of 
 committing an action like that attributed to 
 him. Do you permit me.?" 
 
 The Corregidor signified his assent, and the 
 
189 
 
 Chevalier, without a word or a look towards 
 me, proceeded to question my accuser with the 
 keen and rapid acumen of one long accustomed 
 to hunt out truth through all the intricacies in 
 which human cunning can involve her. He did 
 not, indeed, attempt to puzzle or to frighten 
 him, but by what he wrung from him he gave a 
 very different colouring to his evidence against 
 me. He made him own that he had but seen 
 me in the shadow ; that I had never for a mo- 
 ment emerged into even the moonlight ; and 
 that when he arrived at the end of the street 
 where I lodged, he was so far behind that he 
 but caught a glimpse of my figure entering the 
 house. The Chevalier did more ; he drew 
 from him an acknowledgment that he had 
 entertained some doubts as to which house it 
 was ; and then he argued how liable one might 
 be to mistake the person of another under such 
 circumstances. " Even I myself," said the 
 Chevalier, in a tone full of meaning to my ears, 
 " even I myself have been sometimes greatly 
 deceived in thinking I recognized those even I 
 know best, when circumstances have afterwards 
 
190 DE l'orme. 
 
 proved that it could not have been them," and 
 he glanced his eye to my face with a look that 
 I could not misunderstand. 
 
 The man, however, still swore decidedly to 
 my person ; and my good friend the pompous 
 Alguazil, probably to repay me for the dis- 
 respect with which I had treated him in the 
 morning, now advanced, and pointed out to 
 the Corregidor that my pourpoint had been 
 washed in more than one place. 
 
 This was quite sufficient. A loud murmur 
 ran through the crowd ; the Chevalier clenched 
 his teeth and was silent, and the Corregidor's 
 brov^^ gathered into a heavy frown, — but as he 
 was in the very act of ordering me to be con- 
 veyed to the town prison, one of the doors 
 behind him opened, and a servant entering, 
 whispered something in his ear. 
 
 " I cannot come now !" cried the Corregidor 
 hastily, "I am busy — engaged in the duties 
 of my office, and I will not be disturbed." 
 
 " Then I am to give you this. Sir,'' replied 
 the servant, and, placing in his hand a small 
 note, he bowed and retired. 
 
DE l'ORME. 191 
 
 The Corregidor opened the paper and glanced 
 his eye over its contents. As he did so, his 
 cheek became deadly pale, and the ball of his 
 eye seemed straining from its socket. " Wait ! 
 wait !" cried he at length to the Alguazils, 
 " wait till I come back !"" and, starting from his 
 seat, he retired by the same door which had 
 admitted the servant. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, the restraint which 
 respect for his person and office had before im- 
 posed upon the people, seemed at once thrown 
 off, the murmur of voices canvassing the whole 
 affair became loud and general, and many per- 
 sons advanced to look at me, though the offi- 
 cers would not allow any one to speak to me. 
 The Chevalier turned away, and walking to 
 one of the windows, folded his arms upon his 
 breast, and continued to look into the street, 
 without offering me even a look of consolation. 
 I understood all the doubts that now tenanted 
 his bosom, and yet, though I knew their cause, 
 I felt hurt and offended that he should enter- 
 tain them. In the mean while I heard the 
 tongue of our good landlady, whose favour I 
 
192 DE l'orme. 
 
 had v/on by joking with her whenever I met 
 her on the stairs, now loud in my defence ; and 
 however w^eak an organ may seem the tongue 
 of an old woman, it in this instance, by con- 
 tinual reiteration and replication, completely 
 effected a revolution in the popular feeling 
 towards me ; so much so indeed, that tw^o monks, 
 who had before been whispering that I ought to 
 be given up to the holy Inquisition, now took a 
 different view of the case, and declared they 
 believed me innocent. 
 
 Half an hour — an hour elapsed, and yet 
 the Corregidor did not return, during which 
 time the feelings of my heart may easily be 
 conceived. At length, however, he came, but 
 never, before or since, have I beheld such a 
 change take place in any man so rapidly. I 
 have seen age come on by slow degrees, one 
 year after another, stealing still some faculty 
 or some power, till all was nothing — I have 
 seen rapid disease wear quickly away each 
 grace of youth, and each energy of manhood ; 
 but never but that once have I seen the pangs 
 of the mind, in one single hour, change health, 
 
DE L'ORME. 193 
 
 and vigour, and n^oble bearing, to age, infirmity, 
 and almost decrepitude. 
 
 A murmur of astonishment and grief ran 
 through the people, by whom he was much 
 beloved. Casting himself recklessly in the 
 chair, he turned to his secretary. " Call the 
 witnesses," said he, " that the accused proposed 
 to adduce. — This case is an obscure one. — 
 Take their evidence — I am not capable.'** 
 
 The clerk immediately desired me, in the 
 name of the Corregidor, to bring forward any 
 persons who were likely to disprove the testi- 
 mony against me. 
 
 Father Francis was of course the first I 
 called. He swore that I had left him, and 
 entered my own chamber for the purpose of 
 going to bed, at ten o'clock on the night of the 
 murder. He farther said, that he had remain- 
 ed reading till one in the morning, and must 
 have heard me if I had gone down the stairs, — 
 which, indeed, would have been the case if my 
 step had been as heavy as it usually was. 
 
 As to Houssaye, he swore through thick 
 and thin, and, could he have known my wishes, 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
194 DE l'orme. 
 
 would have witnessed any thing I liked to dic- 
 tate. In the first place, he declared he had 
 undressed me, and seen me in bed. In the 
 next, he vowed he had washed out several oil 
 spots upon my doublet the day before ; and in 
 the third, that he lay with his door, at the top 
 of the stairs, open all night ; that he had never 
 closed an eye till daybreak, and, finally, that I 
 had certainly never passed that way. " I might 
 have got out at the window, it was true," he 
 observed, " but that, my window being forty 
 feet from the street, it was not very probable 
 I should have chosen such a means of descent.'"* 
 
 I need scarcely say, that though his depo- 
 sition was assuredly a very splendid effort of 
 genius, yet there was nevertheless not a word 
 of truth in it. 
 
 The next person I called was the landlady, 
 who gave evidence that she found the door 
 (which she had fastened the night before with 
 various bolts, bars, and locks, which she de- 
 scribed,) exactly in the same state as that in 
 which she left it ; and, in the end, availing her- 
 self of her privilege, she turned round, and 
 
DE l'orme. 195 
 
 abused my accuser with great volubility and 
 effect. 
 
 The uncertain wind of popular opinion had 
 now completely veered about, and many of* 
 those who were behind me scrupled not to pro- 
 claim aloud that I had established my inno- 
 cence, the news of which, spreading to a mul- 
 titude of persons collected without, produced a 
 shout amongst them, which seemed painfully 
 to affect the Corregidor. " Hush !^' cried he, 
 raising his hand — " Hush ! I entreat — I com- 
 mand ! This young gentleman is evidently 
 innocent ; but do not insult my sorrow. My 
 good friends and fellow-citizens,'' he proceeded, 
 making a great effort to speak calmly, " I have 
 always tried to act towards you all as a common 
 father, and I am sure that you love me suffi- 
 ciently to leave me, and retire quietly and in 
 silence, when I tell you, that I have now no 
 other children but yourselves. My daughter 
 — is dead !" and covering his eyes with his 
 hands, he gave way to a passionate burst of 
 tears. 
 
 A deep silence reigned for a moment or two 
 K 2 
 
196 DE l'orme. 
 
 amongst the people, as if they could scarcely 
 believe what they had heard : then one whis- 
 pered to another, and dropping gradually 
 away, they left the audience chamber. A mo- 
 mentary murmur was heard without, as the sad 
 news was told and commented in the crowd : it 
 also died away, and all was silence. 
 
 But what were my own sensations ? I can 
 hardly tell. At first I stood as one thunder- 
 struck, with power to feel much, but not to 
 reason on it. It seemed as if I had killed her ; 
 and for long I could not persuade myself that 
 I was in no way accessory to her death. After 
 a moment or two, however, my thoughts were 
 interrupted by the Corregidor, who recovered 
 himself, and, wiping the tears from his eyes, 
 rose and turned towards Father Francis. 
 
 " Your pupil, Sir," said he, in a calm firm 
 tone, " is free ; but yet, notwithstanding the 
 melancholy event which has occurred in my 
 family, I will ask a few minutes' private con- 
 versation with him, as I wish to give him some 
 advice, which he may find of service. He shall 
 return home in half an hour. Signor Conde de 
 
DE l'orme. 197 
 
 Montenero/' he proceeded, speaking to the 
 Chevalier, " I know you will pardon me in 
 leaving you. Young gentleman, will you ac- 
 company me ?" 
 
 The Chevalier bowed, and retired with Fa- 
 ther Francis and Houssaye, and the Corregidor 
 led me into a long gallery, and thence into a 
 private room beyond. 
 
 On the table lay my sword, vi^hich I had left 
 behind the night before, forgetting it in the 
 agitation of the moment. The Corregidor shut 
 the door, and pointed to the weapon with a 
 look of that unutterable, heart-broken despair, 
 which was agonizing even to behold. The 
 thoughts of all that had past — the lovely en- 
 chanting girl that he had lost — his passionate 
 affection towards her — the knowledge he must 
 now have of her crime — the desolation of his 
 age — the void that must be in his heart — the 
 horrid absence of love and of hope — the agony 
 of memory — I saw them all in that look, and 
 they found their way to every sympathy of my 
 nature. 
 
 I must have been marble, or have wept — I 
 
198 DE l'orme. 
 
 could not help it ; and the old man cast him- 
 self upon my neck, and mingled his tears with 
 mine. 
 
 '' Count Louis," said the Corregidor, after 
 we had somewhat mastered our first agitation, 
 " I know all. My unfortunate child, before 
 the poison she had taken had completed her 
 fatal intention, told me every thing. Her love 
 for you — your generous self-sacrifice to her — 
 all is known to me. You pity me — I see you 
 pity me. If you do, grant me the only solace 
 that my misery can have — respect my poor 
 child's memory — promise me — and I know 
 your promise is inviolable, never while you are 
 in Spain, or to a Spaniard, on any account, or 
 for any reason, to divulge the fatal history, of 
 which you are the only depositary ; and even 
 if you tell her story in other countries, oh ! 
 add that her crimes were greatly her weak 
 father's fault, who, with a foolish fondness, 
 gave way to all her inclinations, and thus pam- 
 pered the passions that proved her ruin and 
 her death." 
 
 I could not refuse him ; I promised, and 
 
DE l'orme. 199 
 
 was glad, at least, to see that the assurance of 
 my secrecy took some part, even though a small 
 one, from the load of misery that had fallen 
 upon him. He spoke to me long and tenderly, 
 advising me to quit Spain as soon as possible, 
 lest the Inquisition should regard the matter 
 as within their cognizance, from the murdered 
 man having been a priest. At length I took 
 leave of him, renewing my promise, and re- 
 turned home, with a heart saddened and re- 
 buked, but I hope amended and improved. 
 
200 DE L'ORME. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 With a slow and thoughtful step I mount- 
 ed the staircase, glad to escape, by the quiet 
 tardiness of my return, the importunate con- 
 gratulations which my landlady, attributing 
 my delivery entirely to her own eloquence, was 
 prepared to shower upon me as soon as I came 
 back. 
 
 Cutting her off then from this very laudable 
 exercise of her tongue and gratification of her 
 vanity, I ascended the stairs, as I have said, in 
 silence, and was first met by Father Francis, 
 who, after embracing me, drew me into his own 
 apartment, and informed me that a letter had 
 arrived from my father, requiring my imme- 
 diate return to France ; " and, God be praised ! 
 
DE l'orme. 201 
 
 my dear son,"" said the old man, " that you are 
 at Hberty to quit this dark and fearful coimtry, 
 and return to your parents and happy native 
 land. But go," continued he, " into your own 
 apartment, where your good friend the Cheva- 
 lier waits you. I know not why, but he seems 
 in a strange agitation, speaks abruptly, and 
 appears to me displeased, though with what I 
 know not, without it be your sudden recall to 
 your own home. In truth, I never saw him so 
 affected." 
 
 I well understood the meaning of the Che- 
 valier's agitation ; I myself vs^as agitated, and 
 embarrassed how to act, and consequently I 
 acted ill. 
 
 When I entered, my friend was walking up 
 and down the room, with his eyes fixed upon 
 the ground ; but, on hearing my step, he raised 
 them, and fixed them sternly on my face. The 
 fear of appearing guilty, and the impossibility 
 of clearly exculpating myself, had a greater 
 effect upon my countenance than perhaps real 
 guilt would have had, and the rebellious blood 
 flew up with provoking hurry to my cheek. 
 K 5 
 
202 ' DE l'orme. 
 
 Angry at my own embarrassment, I resolved 
 to master it ; but the effort communicated 
 something of bitterness to my manner towards 
 the Chevalier, who had hitherto said nothing 
 to call it forth. He remarked it, and, striding 
 towards the door, which I had left open, he 
 shut it impatiently ; then turned towards me, 
 and, with a straining eye, demanded — " Tell 
 me. Count Louis de Bigorre, after all the evi- 
 dence brought forward to prove that you pass- 
 ed last night in this house — tell me, was it, or 
 was it not you, that I saw enter this door at 
 two o'clock this morning ?" 
 
 " I should think,'' replied I coldly, " that 
 what satisfied the Judge before whom I was 
 accused, would be enough to satisfy any one 
 really my friend." 
 
 " Not when their own eyes were evidence 
 against you," answered the Chevalier indig- 
 nantly. " I thought you incapable of a sub- 
 terfuge. Once more, was it you, or was it 
 not.?'' 
 
 " Though I deny your right to question 
 me," I replied, growing heated at the autho- 
 
DE l'orme. 203 
 
 rity he assumed ; " yet to show that I seek no 
 subterfuge, I answer it was; but, at the same 
 time, I repeat, that I am innocent — perfectly 
 innocent of the crime with which I was 
 'charged." 
 
 " Pshaw !" cried the Chevalier, with an air 
 of scorn that almost mastered my patience — 
 " Pshaw !" and, turning on his heel, he quitted 
 the room and the house. 
 
 When what we have done produces a dis- 
 agreeable consequence, whether we have really 
 acted right or not, we are apt to call to mind 
 every line of conduct which we might have 
 pursued, and fix upon any other as preferable 
 to that which we have adopted. Thus, no 
 sooner had the Chevalier left me, than I thought 
 of a thousand means whereby I might have 
 persuaded him of my innocence, without break- 
 ing my promise to the Corregidor ; and I re- 
 solved to seek him, as soon as the preparations 
 for my return to France were completed, and 
 explain myself, as far as I could, without 
 violating the confidence reposed in me. 
 
 My resolution, however, came too late. 
 
204 DE L'ORxME. 
 
 About an hour after his departure, one of 
 the servants of the house, where he lodged, 
 brought me a letter from him, of the following 
 tenure : — 
 
 " I leave you, and for ever. You have done 
 me the greatest injury that one man can in- 
 flict upon another. You have shown me what 
 human nature really is, and you have made me 
 a misanthrope. I had watched you from your 
 infancy, and I had fancied that, amongst the 
 many faults and errors, from which youth is 
 never exempt, I perceived the germ of great 
 and shining qualities of heart and mind. I 
 devoted myself to cultivate them to maturity, 
 and to train them aright. Perhaps I was 
 selfish in doing so ; for what man is not selfish ; 
 but bitter is the atonement which you have 
 forced me to make. Adieu ! seek me not 
 henceforth — know me not if we meet — be to 
 me as a stranger. Though, for the sake of 
 your unhappy father, I rejoice in your escape 
 from the punishment your crime deserves ; my 
 interest in yourself is over, and I would fain 
 
DE l'orme. 205 
 
 rase out from the tablets of memory all that 
 concerns one so unworthy of the esteem I once 
 entertained for him." 
 
 This was hard to endure, especially from 
 one that I both respected and loved. My 
 heart swelled with a mixture of indignation 
 and sorrow, both at the loss of a friend, and 
 at his unjust suspicions; and though my con- 
 sciousness of innocence guarded me from bit- 
 terer regrets, yet it increased my painful irri- 
 tation at the wrong I suffered, and at my dis- 
 appointment in not being able to exculpate 
 myself. Occupation, however — in every situa- 
 tion of life the greatest blessing and relief — 
 now came to my aid, and called my attention 
 for a time from the dark and gloomy views 
 that the circumstances of my fate presented at 
 the moment. Our departure was fixed for the 
 next morning, and all the thousand petty accu- 
 mulations of business, which always hang about 
 the last day of one's sojourn in any place, now 
 came upon me at once. 
 
 The weather had much altered since our ar- 
 
206 DE l'orme, 
 
 rival at Saragossa, for three months had tamed 
 the lion of the summer, and it was not, at all 
 events, heat that we had to fear on our journey. 
 Cold autumn winds were now blowing, and 
 saluted us rudely the moment we got beyond 
 the sheltering walls of the city, piercing to our 
 very bones. I would have given a pistole for 
 half an hour of the hot-breathed Siroc to warm 
 the air till we could heat ourselves by ex- 
 ercise. 
 
 As we approached the mountains, however, 
 it became colder and more cold, and the pros- 
 pect of their snowy passes, fell chill and cheer- 
 less upon our anticipations. Yet there was 
 something vast and majestic in their aspect, 
 which raised and elevated the mind above the 
 petty cares and sorrows of existence. I had 
 been grave, I had been gloomy — I had been 
 perhaps peevish, but the contrast between the 
 transitory littleness of all human things, and 
 the eternal grandeur of such objects, reproved 
 the impatient repinings of my heart. I felt a 
 consolation in looking upon them as they 
 stretched along before me, in the same bold 
 
DE l'orme. 207 
 
 towering forms that they had presented unme- 
 moried centuries ago. It seemed as if they 
 said, " Ages and generations, nations and lan- 
 guages, have passed away and been forgotten, 
 with all their idle hopes and vain solicitudes, 
 while we have stood unmoved, unaged, unalter- 
 ed. Even Time, the inexorable enemy of all 
 man's works, lays not upon us his profaning 
 finger, and while he overthrows the arch that 
 records man's glory, and hurls down the column 
 that monuments his grave, he dares not spoil 
 the fabrics of that great God who created him 
 and us." 
 
 Under the influence of such thoughts, the 
 recollections of the last two days gradually lost 
 themselves, and, though I rode along, grave, 
 and perhaps melancholy ; my melancholy was 
 not of that bitter and gloomy nature produced 
 by worldly cares and griefs. Father Francis 
 was well acquainted with the many changes of 
 my mood, and, consequently, found it not at 
 all extraordinary that I was silent and thought- 
 ful; but, attributing my seriousness to the 
 events which had happened at Saragossa, he 
 
208 DE l'orme. 
 
 wisely let them sleep, hoping that they would 
 soon pass from my memory. 
 
 Towards the evening, on the second day of 
 our journey, we arrived at a little village con- 
 sisting of about half a dozen shepherds' huts, 
 situated at the very foot of the mountains ; and 
 here we learned that the Fort de Gavarnie, by 
 which we intended to have entered France, was 
 completely blocked up with snow ; but that less 
 had fallen near Gabas, and that consequently, 
 the passes in that direction were practicable. 
 Thither then we directed our steps the next 
 morning, having procured a guide amongst the 
 shepherds, who agreed to conduct us as far 
 as Laruns, though he often looked at the sky, 
 which had by this time become covered with 
 heavy leaden-looking clouds, and shook his head 
 saying, that we must make all speed. There 
 was but little good augury in his looks, and less 
 in the prospect around us ; for, as we began to 
 ascend, the whole scene appeared covered with 
 the cold robe of winter. All the higher parts 
 of the mountains showed but one mass of snow, 
 and every precipice under which we passed 
 
DE l'orme. 209 
 
 seemed crowned with an impending avalanche, 
 which nothing but the black limbs of the gigantic 
 pines, in which that region abounds, held from 
 an instantaneous descent upon our heads. 
 
 No frost, however, had yet reached the bot- 
 tom of the ravines through which we travelled. 
 The path was rather damp and slippy, and the 
 stream rushed on over the rocks without show- 
 ing one icicle to mark the reign of winter. 
 Father Francis's mule, which had delayed us on 
 our former journey, now proved more sure-foot- 
 ed, at least than either of the horses, and the 
 good priest, finding himself quite secure and at 
 his ease, dilated on the grandeur of the scenery 
 and the magnificence of Nature, even in her 
 rudest forms. 
 
 " I am nothing of a misanthrope," said he, 
 " and yet, I find in the contemplation of the 
 works of God, a charm that man and all his 
 arts can never communicate. When I look 
 upon the mighty efforts of creation, I feel them 
 to be all true and genuine — all unchangeable — 
 the effect of universal Beneficence acting with 
 Almighty power : but when I consider even 
 
210 
 
 the greatest and most splendid deeds of man- 
 kind, I am never certain in what base motives 
 they originated, or for what bad ends they were 
 designed; how much pain and injustice their 
 execution may have cost, or how much misery 
 and vice may attend upon their consequences. 
 In all man does there is that germ from w^hich 
 evil may ever spring, while the works of God 
 are always beautiful in themselves, and excel- 
 lent in their purpose." 
 
 " And yet, my good Father,*" said I, willing 
 enough to shorten the tedious way with conver- 
 sation, " though you pronounce the flash of 
 glory to be but a misleading meteor, and power 
 a dangerous precipice, and love a volcano as 
 full of earthquakes as fertility, yet still there 
 are some things amongst men's deeds, which 
 even you can contemplate with delight and ad- 
 miration, — the protecting the weak, the assuag- 
 ing grief, the dispensing joy, the leading unto 
 virtue and right.*" 
 
 " True, Louis ! true !" answered he, " and 
 yet I know not whether my mind is saddened 
 to-day, but though all these actions are admir- 
 
DE l'ORME. 211 
 
 able, how rare it is we can be certain that the 
 motives which prompted them were good — only, 
 I believe, when we look into our own breast ; 
 and then, if we examine steadfastly, clearly, ac- 
 curately, how many faults, how many weak- 
 nesses, how many follies, how many crimes, do 
 we not find to make us turn away our eyes from 
 the sad prospect of the human heart ! Here I 
 can look around me, and see beauty springing 
 from beneficence, and every thing that is mag- 
 nificent proceeding from every thing that is 
 wise. And oh ! how happy, how full of joy 
 and tranquillity is the conviction, that death 
 itself, the worst evil which can happen to this 
 frail body, is the work of that great Creator 
 who made both the body and the soul, and cer- 
 tainly made them not in vain." 
 
 A moment or two after, indeed, but so close 
 upon what he said that no other observation 
 had been made, I heard a kind of rushing noise, 
 and looking up towards the cloud above us, 
 which hid with a thick veil the whole tops of 
 the mountains, I saw it agitated as if by a 
 strong wind, while a roar, more awful than that 
 
212 DE l'orme. 
 
 of thunder, made itself heard above. I knew 
 the voice of the lavange, and with an instant 
 perception, I know not how nor why, that it was 
 rather behind than before us, I laid my hand 
 upon Father Francis's bridle, and spurred for- 
 ward like lightning. To my surprise the ob- 
 stinate mule on which he was mounted, instead 
 of resisting my effort to make it go on, put itself 
 at once into a gallop, as if it were instinctively 
 aware of the approaching danger. Houssaye 
 and the guide followed with all speed ; and, in 
 a moment after, we reached a spot where the 
 valley turning abruptly to the left afforded a 
 certain shelter. 
 
 Here I turned to look, and never shall I 
 forget the scene that I witnessed. Thunder- 
 ing down the side of the hill, rushing, and 
 roaring, and devastating in its course, came an 
 immense shapeless mass of a dim hue, raising 
 a sort of misty atmosphere round itself as it 
 fell. The mountain, even to where we stood, 
 shook under its descent; the valleys, and the 
 precipices, and the caverns, echoed back the 
 tremendous roar of its fall. Immense masses 
 
DE l'orme. 213 
 
 of rock rolled down, before it, impelled by the 
 violent pressure of the air which it occasioned ; 
 and long ere it reached them, the tall pines 
 tottered and swayed as if writhing under the 
 consciousness of approaching destruction, till 
 at length it touched them, when one after 
 another fell crashing and uprooted into its tre- 
 mendous mass, and were hurled along with it 
 down the side of the steep. 
 
 Down, down it rushed, dazzling the eye and 
 deafening the ear, and sweeping all before it, 
 till striking the bottom of the valley with a 
 sound as if a thousand cannon had been dis- 
 charged at once, it blocked up the whole pass, 
 dispersing the stream in a cloud of mist, and 
 shaking by the mere concussion a multitude 
 of crags and rocks down from the summit of 
 the mountain. Long after it fell the hollow 
 windings of the ravines prolonged its roar with 
 many an echoing sound, dying slowly away till 
 all again was silence, and the mist dispersing 
 left the frowning destruction that it had caused 
 exposed to the sight in all its full horrors. 
 
 Father Francis raised his hands to Heaven, 
 
214 
 
 and though I am sure that few men were 
 better prepared to leave this earth, and had 
 less of man's Imgering desire still to remain 
 upon it, yet with that instinctive love of life, 
 which neither religion nor philosophy can 
 wholly banish, he thanked God most fervently 
 for our preservation from the fate which had 
 just passed us by. We had, indeed, many 
 reasons to be thankful, not only for our escape 
 from the immediate danger of the lavange, but 
 also for having been enabled to accomplish our 
 passage before its fall had blocked up the path 
 along which we were proceeding. The guide 
 indeed seemed little disposed to prophesy good, 
 even from what we had escaped. The Ava- 
 lanches, he said, were very uncommon at that 
 season of the year, and when they did happen, 
 they were always indicative of some great com- 
 motion likely to take place in the atmosphere. 
 Neither did he love, he proceeded to say, those 
 heavy clouds that rested half way down the 
 sides of the mountains, nor the dead stillness 
 of the air; both of which seemed to him 
 to forebode a snow storm, the most certain 
 
DE l'orme. 215 
 
 agent of the traveller's destruction in the 
 winter. 
 
 Nothing remained, however, but to urge 
 our course forward as fast as possible ; but the 
 mule of the good Priest had now resumed her 
 hereditary obstinacy, and neither blows nor fair 
 words would induce her to move one step faster 
 than suited her immediate convenience ; so that 
 it bade fair to be near midnight before we 
 could reach the first town in the valley 
 D'^Osseau. 
 
 After many a vain attempt upon the im- 
 passible animal, we were obliged to yield and 
 proceed onward as slowly as she chose, while 
 occasionly a sort of low howling noise in the 
 gorges of the mountain, gave notice that the 
 apprehensions of the guide were likely to be 
 verified. A large eagle too, kept sailing slowly 
 before us, breaking with its ill-omened voice, as 
 it flitted down the ravine, the profound death- 
 like silence of the air. Over the whole of the 
 scene there was a dark inexpressible gloom, 
 which found its way heavily to our own hearts. 
 All was still too and noiseless, except the dull 
 
216 DE l'orme. 
 
 melancholy sounds I have mentioned : it seemed 
 as if Nature had become dumb with awe at the 
 approaching tempest. No bird enlivened the 
 air with its song, no insect interrupted the 
 stillness with its hum, no object of life presented 
 itself, except a hawk or a raven, shooting 
 quickly across, evidently not in pursuit of 
 prey, but in search of shelter. The hills 
 and rocks were all cold and grey, except where 
 the snow had lodged in large white masses, 
 which rendered their aspect still more cheer- 
 less, and desolate. The sky was dark, heavy, 
 and frowning; and every object seemed be- 
 numbed by the hand of death ; so that it was 
 impossible, on looking around upon that sad, 
 chill, powerless scene, to fancy it could ever re- 
 awaken into life and sunshine and summer. 
 
 Gradually the howling of the mountains in- 
 creased, and the wind began to break upon us 
 with quick sharp gusts, that almost threw us 
 from our horses, while a shower of small fine 
 sleet drove in our faces, fatiguing and teasing 
 us, as well as impeding our progress. The 
 guide began now to grumble loudly at the 
 
DE l'orme. 217 
 
 slowness of Father Francis' mule, and to declare 
 that he would not stay and risk his life for any 
 mule in France or Arragon. 
 
 We were now upon the French side of the 
 mountains, and, as the road was sufficiently 
 defined, I doubted not that we should be able 
 to find our way without his assistance. As 
 his insolence became louder, therefore, I told 
 him, if he were a coward and afraid to stay by 
 those persons he had undertaken to guide, 
 to spur on his horse and deliver us from his 
 tongue as speedily as possible. He took me at 
 my word, replying that he was no coward, 
 but that having his vnfe and children to pro- 
 vide for, his life was of value; that if we 
 would go faster, he would stay with us and 
 guide us on ; but that if we would not, the 
 path was straight before us, and that we had 
 nothing to do but follow it by the side of the 
 stream till it led us to a town. Seeing him 
 thus determined, I thought it better to send 
 forward Houssaye along with him, giving him 
 directions to return with some people of the 
 country, to lead us right if we should have 
 VOL. I. L 
 
218 DE l'orme. 
 
 missed our way, and to relieve us in case we 
 should be overwhelmed by the snow. Hous- 
 saye still smacked too much of the old soldier 
 to say a word in opposition to a received or- 
 der; and though he looked very much as if 
 he would have willingly stayed with Father 
 Francis and myself, yet he instantly obeyed, 
 and putting spurs to his horse, followed the 
 guide on towards Laruns. 
 
 The storm every moment began to increase, 
 and so sharp was the wind in our faces, that we 
 could hardly distinguish our way, being nearly 
 blinded with snow, mingled with a sort of ex- 
 tremely fine hail. The atmosphere also, loaded 
 with these particles, was now so dim and ob- 
 scure, that it was not possible to see more than 
 fifty yards before us ; and, while wandering on 
 through the semi-opaque air, the objects around 
 appeared^to assume a thousand strange and fan- 
 tastic shapes, of giants, and towers, and castles, 
 as their indistinct forms were changed by the 
 hand of fancy. Even to the animals that bore 
 us, these transformations seemed to be visible, 
 for more than once my horse started from a rock 
 
DE l'orme. 219 
 
 which had taken the shape of some beast ; and 
 once we were nearly half an hour in getting 
 the mule past an old pine, which the tempest 
 had hurled down the mountain, and which, 
 leaning over a mass of stone, looked like an im- 
 mense serpent, stretching out its neck to devour 
 whatever living thing should pass before it. 
 
 In the mean while the ground gradually be- 
 came thickly covered with snow, and every 
 footfall of the horse left a deep mark, telling 
 plainly how rapidly the accumulation was going 
 on. Still we made but little progress, and, 
 what between slipping and climbing, both the 
 mule and the horse soon lost their vigour with 
 fatigue, and we had now much difficulty to 
 make them proceed. 
 
 Not long after the guide left us, it evidently 
 began to grow dark ; and it was with feelings I 
 have seldom felt, that I observed the gathering 
 gloom which grew around. The white glare 
 of the snow did indeed afford some light, but 
 so confused and indistinct, that it served to 
 dazzle, but not to guide. 
 
 All vestige of a path was soon effaced, and 
 L 2 
 
220 DE l'orme. 
 
 the only means of ascertaining in which way 
 our road lay, was by the murmuring of the 
 stream that still continued to rush on at the 
 bottom of the precipice over which we passed. 
 Even the black patches which had been left, 
 where some large stone or salient crag had 
 sheltered any spot from the drift, were soon 
 lost ; and it became evident that much more 
 snow had fallen on the French side of the moun- 
 tains, even before that day, than we had been 
 led to expect. 
 
 Our farther progress became at every step 
 more and more perilous, for none of the crevices 
 and gaps in the path were now visible, and the 
 tormenting dashing of the snovv^ in our eyes, 
 and in those of our beasts, prevented us or 
 them from choosing even those parts which 
 appeared most solid and secure. I had hitherto 
 led the way, but Father Francis now insisted 
 upon going first, on account of the sure-footed 
 nature of the mule, whose instinctive perception 
 of every dangerous step was certain to secure 
 him, he observed, from perils of that nature. 
 The mule might also, he continued, in some 
 
DE l'orme. 221 
 
 degree serve to guide my horse, who had more 
 than once stumbled upon the slippery and 
 uneven rocks, concealed as they were by the 
 snow. 
 
 After some opposition, I consented to his 
 doing so, feeling a sort of depression of mind, 
 which I can only attribute to fatigue. It was 
 not fear : but there was a sort of deep despon- 
 dency grew upon me, which made me give up 
 all hope of ever disentangling ourselves from 
 the dangerous situation in which we were 
 placed. The cold, the darkness, the chilly, 
 piercing wind, the void, yawning expanse of 
 the dim hollow before me, the melancholy 
 howling of the mountains, the rush and the 
 tumult of the swelling stream below, the whis- 
 pering murmur of the pine-woods above, be- 
 ginning with a gentle sigh, and growing hoarser 
 and hoarser till it ended in a roar like the 
 angry billows of the ocean, all affected my 
 mind with dark and gloomy presentiments; — I 
 never hoped to save my life from the rude 
 hand of the tempest, I hardly know whether I 
 vv^ished it ; despair had obtained so firm a 
 
222 DE l'orme. 
 
 hold of my mind, that it had scarcely power 
 even to wish. 
 
 After we had changed the order of our pro- 
 gression, however, we went on for some time 
 much more securely, the mule stepping on with 
 a quiet caution and certainty, peculiar to those 
 animals, and my horse following it step by 
 step, as if perfectly well understanding her su- 
 periority in such circumstances, and allowing 
 her to lead without one feeling of jealousy. 
 
 Still the snow fell, and the wind blew, and 
 the irritating howling and roaring of the 
 mountains continued with increasing violence, 
 while the blank darkness of the night sur-^ 
 rounded us on all sides ; when suddenly the 
 mule stopped, and showed an evident deter- 
 mination of proceeding no farther. Fearful 
 lest there should be any hidden danger which 
 she did not choose to pass, I dismounted as 
 carefully from my horse as I could, and pro- 
 ceeding round the spot where she stood, I went 
 on a few paces, trying the ground at each step 
 I took ; but all was firm and even, indeed 
 much more smooth than any we had hitherto 
 
DE l'orme. 223 
 
 passed. The path, it is true, ran along on the 
 verge of the precipice, but there wanted no room 
 for two or three horses to have advanced abreast ; 
 and consequently, seeing that the beast was 
 actuated by a fit of obstinacy, I mounted again, 
 and proceeded to ride round for the purpose of 
 leading the way, to try whether she would not 
 then follow. Accordingly, I spurred on my 
 horse, but he had scarcely taken two steps for- 
 ward, when the vicious mule struck out with 
 her hind feet full in his chest. He reared — 
 plunged — reared again, and in a moment I 
 found his haunches slipping over the precipice 
 behind. It was the work of a moment ; but, 
 with the overpowering instinct of self-preserva- 
 tion, I let go the bridle, sprang forward from 
 his back, and catching hold of the rhododen- 
 drons and other tough shrubs on the brink, 
 found myself hanging in the air with my feet 
 just beating against the face of the rock. My 
 brain turned giddy, and an agonizing cry, some- 
 thing between a neigh and a scream, from the 
 depth below, told me dreadfully the fate which 
 I had just escaped. 
 
224 DE l'orme. 
 
 Slowly, and cautiously, fearing every mo- 
 ment that the slender twigs by which I held 
 would give way, and precipitate me down into 
 the horrid abyss that had received my poor 
 horse, I contrived to raise myself till I stood 
 once more upon firm ground ; and then replied 
 to the anxious calls of Father Francis, who had 
 dimly seen the horse plunge over, and had 
 heard his cry from below, but knew not -whe- 
 ther I had fallen with him or not. 
 
 My heart still beat too fast, and my brain 
 turned round too much, to permit of our pro- 
 ceeding for some minutes ; the loss of my horse, 
 also, was likely to prove a serious addition, if 
 not to our danger, at least to my fatigues. No- 
 thing, however, could be done to remedy the mis- 
 fortune, and after pausing for a while, in order 
 to gain breath, we attempted to recommence our 
 journey. For the purpose of leading her on, I 
 laid my hand upon the mule's bridle ; but no- 
 thing would make her move ; and the moment 
 I tried to pull her forward, or Father Francis 
 touched her with the whip, she ran back to- 
 wards the edge of the precipice, till another 
 
 I 
 
DE l'or\je. 225 
 
 step would have plunged her over. Nothing 
 now remained but for the good Priest to de- 
 scend and take his journey forward also on 
 foot. As soon as he was safely off the back of 
 the vicious beast which had caused us so much 
 uncomfort and danger, I again attempted to 
 make her proceed ; resolving, in the height of 
 my anger, if she again approached the side, 
 rather to push her over than save her; but with 
 cunning equal to her obstinacy, she perceived 
 that we should not entertain the same fear as 
 when her rider was upon her back, and instead 
 of pulling backwards as before, she calmly laid 
 herself down on her side, leaving us no resource 
 but to go forward without her. 
 
 The most painful part of our journey now 
 began. Every step was dangerous, every step 
 was difficult ; nothing but horror and gloom 
 surrounded us on all sides, and death lay 
 around us in a thousand unknown shapes. 
 Wherever we ascended, we had to struggle with 
 the full force of the overpowering blast, and 
 wherever the path verged into a descent, there 
 we had slowly to choose our way with re- 
 L 5 
 
226 DE l'orme. 
 
 doubled caution ; with a road so slippery, that 
 it was hardly possible to keep one's feet, and a 
 profound precipice below ; while the wind tore 
 us in its fury, and the snow and sleet beat upon 
 us without ceasing. For nearly an hour we 
 continued to bear up against it, struggling 
 onward with increasing difficulties, sometimes 
 faUing, sometimes dashed back by the wind, 
 with our clothes drenched in consequence of 
 the snow melting upon us, and the cold of the 
 atmosphere growing more intense as every mi- 
 nute of the night advanced. At length hope 
 itself was wearied out ; and at a spot where the 
 ravine opened out into a valley to the right and 
 left, while our path continued over a sort of 
 causeway, with the river on one hand, and a 
 deep dell filled up with snow on the other. 
 Father Francis, who had hitherto struggled on 
 with more vigour than might have been expect- 
 ed from his age, suddenly stopped, and resting 
 on a rock, declared his incapacity to go any 
 farther. " My days are over, Louis," said 
 he ; " leave me, and go forward as fast as 
 you can. If I mistake not, that is the pass just 
 
DE l'orme. 227 
 
 above Laruns. Speed on, speed on, my dear 
 boy ; a quarter of an hour, I know, would put 
 us in safety, but I have not strength to sustain 
 myself any longer : I have done my utmost, and 
 I must stop.*" 
 
 He spoke so feebly, that the very tone of his 
 voice left me no hope that he would be able to 
 proceed, especially across that open part of the 
 valley, where we were exposed to the full force 
 of the wind. It already dashed against us with 
 more tremendous gusts than we had yet felt, 
 whirling up the snow into thick columns that 
 threatened every moment to overwhelm us, and 
 I doubted not that the path beyond lay still 
 more open to its fury. To leave the good old 
 man in that situation, was of course what I 
 never dreamed of; and consequently I express- 
 ed my own determination to wait there also for 
 the return of Houssaye, who, I deemed, could 
 not be long in coming to search for us. 
 
 " No, Louis, no!" cried Father Francis, 
 " the wind, the snow, the cold, are all increas- 
 ing. You must attempt to go on, for, if you do 
 not, you will perish also. But first listen to an 
 
228 DE l'orme. 
 
 important piece of information which has been 
 confided to me. As I cannot bear the message 
 myself, you must deliver it to your mother — 
 
 Tell her " 
 
 I could hardly hear what he said, his voice 
 was so faint and the howling of the storm so 
 deadful ; and before he had concluded, a gust 
 of wind more violent than any we had hitherto 
 encountered whirled round us both with irre- 
 sistible power. I strove to hold by the rock 
 with all my force, but in vain. I was torn 
 from it as if I had been a straw, and the 
 next moment was dashed with the good priest 
 into the midst of the snow that had collect- 
 ed in the dell below. We sunk deep down 
 into the yielding drift, which, rising high above 
 our heads, for a moment nearly suffocated me. 
 Soon, however, I found that I could breathe, 
 and though all hope was now over, I contrived 
 to remove the snow that lay between myself 
 and Father Francis, of whose gown I had still 
 retained a hold. I told him I was safe, and 
 called to him to answer me. He made no reply 
 — I raised his head — he moved not — I put my 
 hand upon his heart — it had ceased to beat ! 
 
DE l'oRxME. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 I HAVE told all that I remember of that 
 night, — a night whose horrible events still 
 haunt my memory like the ghosts of the un- 
 buried on the banks of Styx, often flitting 
 across my mind's eye when it would fain turn 
 to scenes of happiness and joy. If ever a hor- 
 rible dream disturbs my slumber, it is also sure 
 to refer to that night, and I find myself labour- 
 ing on in the midst of wilds and darkness, 
 rocks and precipices, the tempest dashing in 
 my face, and the wind hurling me into the 
 midst of the suffocating snow. 
 
 My recovery from the sort of stupor in 
 which I had fallen, after I had discovered the 
 death of poor Father Francis, was very differ- 
 
230 DE l'orme. 
 
 ent in all its sensations from my resuscitation 
 after drowning. I remember nothing' of the 
 actual return to life, and it must indeed have 
 been some weeks before I regained my powers 
 of reason and perception in their full force, pass- 
 ing the interval in a state of delirium, brought 
 on by the cold, and also perhaps by the exces- 
 sive excitement in which I had been for some 
 hours previous to my losing my recollection. 
 
 When I first woke, as it were, from this 
 state of mental alienation, I found myself ly- 
 ing on a bed, stretched in my mother's toilet 
 chamber. I believe I had been asleep, and felt 
 excessively enfeebled — so much so indeed, that, 
 though I plainly saw my mother just rising 
 from beside me, I could not summon sufficient 
 energy to speak to her, and I re-closed my 
 eyes. I heard her say, however, " He wakes ! 
 try, dear Helen, to soothe him to sleep again, 
 while I go and endeavour to rest myself, for I 
 am very much worn with watching last night.^' 
 Her steps retreated, for she fancied me still 
 delirious ; and I could hear some one else 
 glide forward — though the footfall was per- 
 
DE l'orme. 231 
 
 haps the lightest that ever touched the earth 
 — and take the seat my mother had left. So 
 acute had become my sense of hearing, that 
 the least sound was perceptible to my ears, 
 even for many weeks afterwards, to such a de- 
 gree as to be positively painful to me. 
 
 I was well aware that it was Helen Arnault 
 — my beloved Helen that sat beside me, and yet, 
 though I can scarcely say my senses were suflR>- 
 ciently restored for me positively to exercise 
 that faculty which is called thinking, there was 
 upon my mind a vague dreamy remembrance 
 that I had acted wrong in her regard, which 
 made me still keep my eyes closed, trying to 
 call up more clearly the images of all my ad- 
 ventures at Saragossa. As I lay thus, I felt a 
 soft sweet breath fan my cheek, like the air of 
 Spring, and then a warm drop or two fall upon 
 it, like a spring shower. I opened my eyes, 
 and saw Helen gazing upon me and weeping. 
 She raised her head slightly, for her lips had 
 been close to my cheek, but thinking, that my 
 mind was still in the same wandering state, she 
 continued to gaze upon my face, and I could 
 
232 DE l'oRxME. 
 
 see in her eyes the look of that deep, devoted, 
 resolute affection, with which woman is pre- 
 eminently endowed — her blessing or her curse ! 
 I laid my hand gently upon one of hers which 
 rested on the side of my bed, and drawing it 
 towards me, I pressed it to my lips. She in- 
 stantly started up, and looked at me with a 
 glance of surprise and joy that I can see even 
 now. 
 
 " Oh, is it possible !" cried she ; " are you 
 better really ?" and she seemed as if about to 
 start away to convey the tidings to my mother ; 
 but I beckoned her to bend her head down 
 towards me, and when she had done so, I 
 thanked her, in a low voice, but with energetic 
 words, for her care, her kindness, and for her 
 love. Her blushing cheek was close to my lips, 
 but sickness, which had rendered all my sensa- 
 tions morbidly acute, had also made my feelings 
 of delicacy much more refined, and had given 
 a degree of timidity I did not often otherwise 
 feel. I would not for the world have taken 
 advantage of the opportunity which her kind- 
 ness and confidence afforded ; and though, as I 
 
DE l'oriMe. 233 
 
 have said, her cheek, looking like the summer 
 side of a blooming peach, was within the reach 
 of my lips, I let her raise it without a touch, 
 when I had poured forth my thanks into her 
 ear ; and suffered her to do her joyful errand to 
 my mother, only venturing to tell her, ere she 
 went, how much I loved, and how much I 
 would love her to the end of my existence. 
 
 A moment after, my mother returned herself, 
 her eyes streaming with tears of joy, and, 
 kneeling by my bedside, she covered my cheek 
 with those fond maternal kisses, whose un- 
 mixed purity gives them a sweet and holy 
 balm, which love with all its fire and bright- 
 ness can seldom, seldom attain. 
 
 My convalescence was tedious, and months 
 elapsed before I regained any thing like the 
 robust health which I had formerly enjoyed. 
 Months of sickness are very apt to make a 
 spoilt child, and had I not lately received 
 some lessons hard to be forgot, such might 
 have been the case with me, when I saw the 
 whole happiness of the three persons I my- 
 self loved best, depending upon my slightest 
 
234 DE l'orme. 
 
 change of looks. My father's delight at my 
 recovery was not less than my mother's ; and 
 every day that I met Helen, I could see her 
 eye rest for an instant upon my face, as if 
 to watch what progress returning health had 
 made since the day before ; and when, by 
 chance, it had gained a deeper touch of red, 
 or my eyes had acquired a ray of renewed fire, 
 the happiness of her heart raised the blood 
 into her cheek, and made her look a thousand 
 times lovelier than ever. 
 
 We now also met oftener than formerly. 
 The ties which she had entwined round my 
 mother''s heart had been, during my illness, 
 drawn more tightly than ever. That restraint 
 no longer existed which had formerly proved 
 so irksome to me ; Helen was in every way 
 treated as a child of the family ; and, had she 
 chosen it, might have yielded me many an 
 hour of that private conversation which I was 
 not remiss in seeking. But far from it ; with 
 an ingenuity, which mingled gentleness, per- 
 haps even affection, with reserve, she avoided 
 all opportunity of hearing what her heart for- 
 
DE l'orme. 235 
 
 bade her to reprove, and to which she yet felt 
 it wrong to listen. 
 
 When before my father or mother, instead 
 of appearing to feel a greater degree of timi- 
 dity, it seemed as if the restraint was removed, 
 and she would behave towards me as a gentle 
 and affectionate sister ; but if ever she en- 
 countered me alone, she had still some excuse 
 to leave me, ere I could tell her all that was 
 passing in my heart, or win from her any re- 
 iteration of her once acknowledged regard. 
 
 Her conduct made me grave and melancholy. 
 My bosom was full of a passion that I burned 
 to pour forth with all the ardour of youth, and 
 it drove me forth to solitude to dream over the 
 feelings I was denied the power to communi- 
 cate. My father observed my long and lonely 
 ramblings ; and remonstrated with me on giv- 
 ing way to such melancholy gloom, when I had 
 so many causes for happiness and for gratitude 
 to Heaven. " Not," said he, " that I contemn 
 an occasional recourse to the commune of one's 
 own thoughts; it enlarges, it elevates, it im- 
 proves the mind ; and I am convinced that 
 
236 DE L'ORiME. 
 
 the beautiful Roman fable of Numa and Ege- 
 ria was but a fine allegory, to express that the 
 Roman king learned wisdom by a frequent 
 intercourse with the divine and instructive 
 spirit of solitude. But your retirement, my 
 dear Louis, seems to me of a gloomy and dis- 
 satisfied nature ; perhaps it originates in a de- 
 sire to see more of courts and cities than you 
 have hitherto done. If so, it is easy to gratify 
 you, however painful it may be to your mother 
 and myself to lose your society." 
 
 In reply, I assured him that I entertained 
 no desire of the kind ; but he had persuaded 
 himself that such was the case, and still re- 
 tained his first opinion, though God knows to 
 leave Helen was the last thing I sought. He 
 continued, however, to turn in his own mind 
 his project of sending me to the court, notwith- 
 standing which, it is probable that the whole 
 would have gradually passed away from his 
 memory, had not my mother, to whom he 
 had communicated his wishes, from other mo- 
 tives determined upon the same proceeding : 
 and with her calm but active spirit, while 
 my father spoke of it every day, yet took no 
 
DE l'orme. 237 
 
 step towards its accomplishment, she hardly 
 mentioned the subject, but carried it into 
 effect. 
 
 As I recovered my health, there was of 
 course much to hear concerning all that had 
 occurred, both during my absence in Spain, 
 and my illness after my return. 
 
 In regard to the first, I shall merely notice 
 the circumstance which occasioned my father 
 to recall me ; this was nothing else than a visit 
 from the Marquis de St. Brie, of whom the 
 Chevalier had instilled into our minds so un- 
 favourable an opinion. 
 
 On his presenting himself at the Chateau, 
 my father received him coldly and haughtily ; 
 but the Marquis soon, by the polished elegance 
 of his manners, and the apparent frankness of 
 his character, did away the evil impression 
 which had been created against him. He spoke 
 of his rencontre with me, and he praised my 
 conduct in the highest manner. Courage, and 
 skill, and generous forbearance, were all attri- 
 buted to me ; and the ears of the parent were 
 easily soothed by the commendation bestowed 
 upon his child. Besides, my father was too 
 
238 DE l'orme. 
 
 lazy to hold his opinion steadfastly, when any 
 one strove to steal it from him ; and he gra- 
 dually brought himself to believe that the 
 Marquis de St. Brie was a very much slan- 
 dered person, and that, so far from having 
 any evil intent towards me, the Marquis was 
 my very good friend and well-wisher. 
 
 My mother was slower to be convinced, but 
 the language of my former adversary was so 
 high whenever he spoke of me, that she also 
 gradually yielded her unfavourable impressions, 
 and willingly consented to my recall — the Mar- 
 quis having promised to re-visit the Chateau 
 de L'Orme in the spring, and expressed a wish 
 to see me, offering at the same time, if his 
 interest could be of service to my views, to use 
 it to the utmost in my behalf. My mother 
 looked upon this, at the worst, as an empty 
 profession, and my father almost believed him 
 to be sincere. 
 
 Thus I was recalled ; and my adventures on 
 my return being already told, I have only far- 
 ther to relate the means by which I was saved 
 from the fate that menaced me. Immediately 
 
DE l'orme. 239 
 
 on quitting Father Francis and myself, my 
 faithful Houssaye had ridden on with the guide 
 to Laruns, as hard as he could. The wind, 
 however, and the snow had delayed them far 
 longer than he had anticipated; and, anxious 
 for my safety, he galloped to the little cabaret 
 in search of some one to return and lend their 
 assistance in finding me out, and rescuing me 
 from the peril in which he had left me. 
 
 The first persons whom he encountered in 
 the auberge, were Arnault, the Procureur of 
 Lourdes, and his son, the latter of whom in- 
 stantly proffered to join the party, and aid 
 with all his heart. But the old Procureur was 
 thereupon immediately smitten with a fit of 
 paternal tenderness, such as had not visited him 
 for many years before ; and he not only posi- 
 tively prohibited Jean Baptiste from encoun- 
 tering the dangers of the snow himself, but he 
 also pronounced such a pathetic oration upon 
 the horrors and dangers of the undertaking, 
 that of the whole party collected in the cabaret, 
 not one could be found to venture. 
 
 Houssaye's next resource was amongst the 
 
240 DR l'orme. 
 
 cottagers round about, and, by promises and 
 persuasion, he induced eight sturdy mountain- 
 eers to accompany him with the resin torches 
 for which they are famous in that part of the 
 country, and which are ahnost as difficult to 
 extinguish as the celebrated fire of Callinicus, 
 with which they began their search on the road 
 towards Gabas ; but scarcely had they passed 
 the defile immediately above Laruns, than the 
 light of the torches flashed over a spot where 
 the snow had evidently been disturbed, and on 
 examining they found a part of my clothes not 
 yet covered with the drift which had come down 
 since the wind had swept Father Francis and 
 myself from the path. We were soon extri- 
 cated, and carried to Laruns apparently dead. 
 
 Here all means were applied to recall us to 
 life, but they proved successful only with me ; 
 on Father Francis they had no eff'ect, though 
 Houssaye assured me that every thing which 
 could be devised was employed in vain. 
 
 Amongst the most active in rendering me 
 every assistance after I was extricated was the 
 good youth who had saved me before from a 
 
DE l'orme. 241 
 
 watery grave ; but in the midst of his endea- 
 vours, his father checked him, and calling him 
 on one side, spoke to him for long in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " The old fox thought I could hear nothing," 
 said Houssaye; " but enough reached me to 
 make me understand he would rather have 
 had you die than live. If he dies, I heard 
 him say, you shall have both — something which 
 I did not hear — and all the property ; but 
 if he lives, mark if he do not thwart us, 
 though I will take care to throw obstacles 
 enough in his way ! The lad seemed well 
 enough inclined to help you still," proceeded 
 Houssaye, " but his father would not let him, 
 though he came the next morning himself, 
 fawning and asking if he could bear any mes- 
 sage back to Lourdes, whither he was about to 
 return, finding that he could not pass into 
 Spain as he had intended." 
 
 This latter part of the worthy old trumpeter's 
 narration astonished and embarrassed me a good 
 deal ; and after turning it in every way that 
 my imagination could suggest, without being 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 DE l'orme. 
 
 able to discover any solution of the mystery, I 
 was obliged to conclude, that in what the nar- 
 rator declared he had overheard, fancy had full 
 as great a share as matter-of-fact. Arnault 
 might dislike me — indeed I was very sure that 
 he did so, but how my life might thwart his 
 views, or my death might profit him, I was at a 
 loss to discover. 
 
 One thing, however, I remarked ; Arnault, 
 after my recovery, came more than once to see 
 his daughter, which he had not done more than 
 twice before, since she had been at the Chateau. 
 Her brother also was more frequently with her, 
 and on these occasions the father, if he met any 
 member of my family, was humble and fawn- 
 ing, the son awkward and sheepish ; and it 
 struck me that the behaviour of the latter was 
 very much changed towards myself, as if he 
 were playing a part learned by rote, which nei- 
 ther assimilated with his character nor suited 
 his inclination. 
 
 I also perceived a change take place in 
 Helen. She grew silent, pale, thoughtful. 
 When she looked at me it seemed as if her 
 
DE l'orme. 243 
 
 eyes would overflow with tears, were it not for 
 the restraint imposed upon her by the presence 
 of others. Her gaiety was gone ; and even the 
 servants, amongst whom she was almost adored, 
 began to remark the sadness of Mademoiselle 
 Helene, and comment on its cause. All this 
 was to me a mystery ; and doubt of any kind, 
 even concerning a trifle, has ever been, to me, a 
 thousand times more painful than evident dan- 
 ger or real misfortune. Doubt is to my mind 
 what the darkness of night is to a ghost-fright- 
 ened school-boy — I go on gazing anxiously 
 about me on every side, conjuring up a thou- 
 sand ideal spectres, and distorting every dim 
 object that I see into the likeness of some fear- 
 ful phantom of the imagination ; nor can all 
 the reasoning in my power divest my mind of 
 the credulity with which I listen either to hope 
 or to apprehension : though I well know that 
 apprehension is to sorrow what hope is to joy — 
 a sort of avant courier, who greatly magnifies 
 the importance of the personage whom he pre- 
 cedes. 
 
 In the present instance, I determined to 
 M 2 
 
244 DE l'orme. 
 
 change my doubts to certainties, if human inge- 
 nuity might do so. Probably I should have 
 accomplished it, but passion — which generally 
 interferes with the best laid schemes of human 
 wisdom, suggesting that the gratification which 
 the heart seeks may easily be blended with the 
 designs which the brain has formed — was inge- 
 nious enough to persuade me that the very best 
 thing I could do for the accomplishment of 
 my object was suddenly to explain myself with 
 Helen. She avoided giving me any opportu- 
 nity of doing so. I persisted with all the 
 ardour of my nature, watching with unwearied 
 assiduity even to gain a quarter of an hour ; 
 but I watched in vain. 
 
 Thus lapsed first a week, and then another, at 
 the end of which the Marquis de St. Brie arrived 
 at the Chateau, full ten days before he had been 
 expected. He came, however, with no train 
 which could incommode his host and hostess. 
 Two servants were all that accompanied him ; 
 and the seeming frankness of this conduct even 
 won much upon my opinion. I found him a dif- 
 ferent person from what I had conceived. He 
 
DE l'orme. 245 
 
 was proud, perhaps, in manner, but not haugh- 
 ty ; he was witty, he was well informed, he 
 was pleasing. In short, he was the opposite to 
 that Marquis de St. Brie whom I had more than 
 once regretted not having sent to his long ac- 
 count at the time it was in my power to do so. 
 
 Was he changed — or was 1 .^ Perhaps both 
 — and I am afraid that a degree of pique to- 
 wards the Chevalier did certainly make me 
 easily receive every favourable impression that 
 the manners and appearance of my former ad- 
 versary were calculated to produce. In latter 
 years I have tried to judge my own motives in 
 the various events of life — I have judged them 
 strictly — as strictly as it is possible for a man 
 to do ; but not too much so, for it is impos- 
 sible that any one can be too severe upon him- 
 self. The result of my self-investigation on 
 this point has been, that had my friendship for 
 the Chevalier been as lively as ever, I should 
 have found less charms in the society of the 
 Marquis de St. Brie. 
 
246 DE l'orme. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 By a long system of exact economy, my 
 mother had, by this time,, repaired, in some 
 degree, the ravages which many generations of 
 extravagance had committed on our family 
 estates ; and though the pimple-nosed maitre 
 cfhotel and old Houssaye, with two other sep- 
 tuagenarian lackeys, who might be considered 
 as heir-looms in the family, still maintained 
 their faces in the hall, yet four other more 
 youthful attendants had been added to the 
 number ; and on the first day of the Marquis 
 de St. Briefs arrival, all eight figured in new 
 bright liveries of green and gold, with well- 
 starched ruffs, and white sword scabbards. 
 This was an expansion of liberality on the part 
 
DE l'orme. 247 
 
 of my mother which I had not expected ; not 
 that for a moment I mean to insinuate that the 
 spirit of frugahty was in her the effect of a 
 sordid heart— far, far from it. It was an effort 
 of her mind, and had ever been a painful one. 
 She had herself experienced all the uncomforts 
 of that miserable combination, a great name 
 and an inferior fortune, and she was resolved, 
 if possible, to save her son from the same dis- 
 tresses. 
 
 In the present instance she was actuated by a 
 feeling of that refined delicacy towards her hus- 
 band, which ever taught her not only to respect 
 him herself, but to throw a veil even round his 
 foibles, for the purpose of hiding them from the 
 eyes of others. She had heard my father calmly 
 talk to the Marquis de St. Brie, on the former 
 visit, of his retinue, and his vassals ; and a slight 
 smile had played about the guesfs lip, which 
 my father never saw, but which wounded my 
 mother for him. She instantly determined to 
 sacrifice some part of her system of economy, 
 without attempting any vain display, or going 
 beyond what she could reasonably afford ; and 
 
248 DE l'orme. 
 
 the present effect was that which I have de- 
 scribed. 
 
 We dined in general a little after noon, but 
 on the day of the Marquis's arrival, which was 
 looked upon by the servants as one of those 
 occasions of ceremony, when their rights and 
 privileges were to be as strictly enforced as 
 the official tenures at a royal coronation; the 
 announcement of dinner was somewhat delayed 
 by a contest between Houssaye and the maitre 
 d^ hotel, in regard to which should sound the 
 trumpet. Houssaye grounded his claim upon 
 patent of office, as the trumpeter- general to 
 the Counts of Bigorre ; and the maitre (Thotel 
 contended for the honour as a right-prescrip- 
 tive, which he had exercised for thirty years. 
 The maitre cfhotel would certainly have carried 
 the day, being in possession of the brazen tube 
 in dispute ; but Houssaye, like a true old sol- 
 dier, hung upon his flanks, embarrassed his 
 manoeuvres, and at length defeated him by a 
 coup-de-main. The maitre dViotel, having pos- 
 session, as I have said, resolved to exercise his 
 right ; and, at the hour appointed, raised the 
 
DE l'orme. 249. 
 
 trumpet to his lips and prepared an energetic 
 breath. His red cheeks swelled till they looked 
 like a ripe pomegranate; his eyes stared as 
 if they would start from their sockets; his 
 long, pimpled nose was nearly eclipsed by its 
 rubicund neighbours, the cheeks, and would 
 hardly have been seen but for a vibratory sort 
 of movement about the end, produced, proba- 
 bly, by the compression of his breath. All an- 
 nounced a most terrible explosion, when sud- 
 denly the undaunted Houssaye stepped up, 
 and applying his thumb to the cheek of this 
 unhappy aspirant to tubicinal honours, expelled 
 the breath before the lips were prepared. The 
 cheeks sunk, the eyes relapsed, the nose pro- 
 truded, and a hollow murmur died along the 
 resonant cavities of the brass — a sort of dirge 
 to the pseudo-trumpeter's defeat. 
 
 The whole scene was visible to me through 
 the open door of the vestibule, and so irresisti- 
 bly comic was it altogether, that I could not 
 refrain from staying to witness its termination. 
 Again the maitre d hotel essayed the feat, and 
 again the malicious Houssaye rendered his 
 M 5 
 
250 DE l'orme. 
 
 efforts abortive ; upon which the discomfited 
 party declared he would carry his cause before 
 a higher tribunal, and was proceeding towards 
 my father's apartments to state his grievances. 
 But he committed one momentous oversight 
 which completed his defeat. 
 
 In the agitation of the moment he laid the 
 trumpet down ; Houssaye pounced upon it 
 like lightning, started upon a chair, and applied 
 the brass to his lips. The maitre d'hote! threw 
 his arms round him to pull him down, but 
 Houssaye's weight overbalanced his adversary, 
 and both rolled upon the floor together. 
 
 The old trumpeter, however, had blown 
 many an inspiring blast on horseback and on 
 foot, in the charge, in the retreat, in the camp, 
 or in the rage of the battle ; all situations were 
 alike to him, and as he rolled over and over 
 with the maitre d'hotel, he still kept the trum- 
 pet to his lips, and blew, and blevr, and blew, 
 till such a call to the standard echoed through 
 the chateau, as had never before disturbed its 
 peaceful halls. 
 
 After I had seen the conclusion of this 
 
DE l'orme. 251 
 
 doughty contention, I was proceeding towards 
 my father'*s library, when I was met in the cor- 
 ridor by the whole party coming from their 
 various apartments. My father resigned to no 
 one the honour of handing down the Countess, 
 and the Marquis turned to offer his hand to 
 Helen, who followed her, giving a slight sort of 
 start as his eye fell upon so much loveliness. 
 
 " I did not know, Madam," said he, " that 
 you had so fair a daughter.'"" 
 
 " She is no farther my daughter," replied 
 the Countess, looking back to Helen with a 
 smile, " than in being the daughter of my love. 
 Mademoiselle Arnault, Monsieur le Marquis de 
 St. Brie !" 
 
 The hall, as we entered it, looked more splen- 
 did than ever I had seen it. With infinite la- 
 bour, the old banners, that flaunted in the air 
 above the table, had been cleared of their an- 
 tique dust ; all our family plate was displayed 
 upon the buffet ; and the eight liveried lackeys, 
 in their new suits, gave an air of feudal state to 
 the hall, that it had not possessed since the 
 days of Henry Quatre. 
 
252 DE l'orme. 
 
 During the first service, but little was said 
 by any one. After the grave employment of 
 half an hour, however, the mind would fain 
 have its share of activity; and, though some- 
 what impeded by the gross aliments of the 
 body, found means to issue forth and mingle 
 with the banquet. 
 
 " The bird of Juno," said the Marquis, 
 pointing to a peacock that, with its spread tail 
 and elevated crest, ornamented the centre of 
 the table, '' is a fitting dish in such a proud 
 hall as this. I love to dine in a vast and an- 
 tique room, with every haughty accessory that 
 can give solemnity to the repast." 
 
 " And is it," demanded my father, with a 
 smile, " from a conviction of the importance, or 
 the littleness of the employment .P" 
 
 " Oh, of its meanness, certainly !" replied the 
 Marquis ; " it needs, I think, all the ingenuity 
 of man's pride —all that he can collect of grand 
 or striking, associated with himself, to soothe 
 his vanity under the weight of his weaknesses 
 and necessities ; and what can be more pain- 
 
253 
 
 fully degrading than this propensity to de- 
 vour ?" 
 
 " It is a philosophy I can hardly admit," re- 
 plied my father ; " the simple act of eating is 
 surely not degrading, and, when employed but 
 as the means of support, it becomes dignified by 
 the great objects to which it tends — the preser- 
 vation of life, the invigorating the body, and, 
 consequently, the liberation of the mind from 
 all those oppressive chains, with which corporeal 
 weakness or ill-health is sure to enthral it. In 
 my eyes, every thing that Nature has given, or 
 taught, is beautiful ; and never becomes de- 
 grading but by the corruption with which it is 
 mingled by man himself." 
 
 " I know not," answered the Marquis, smil- 
 ing at the enthusiasm with which my father sus- 
 tained what was one of his most favourite theses, 
 ** but I can conceive no dignity in eating the 
 mangled limbs of other animals slaughtered for 
 our use." 
 
 " You look not so cynically, I hope, on all 
 other failings of humanity ?" demanded my mo- 
 
254 DE l'orme. 
 
 tlier, willing to change the subject : and, chang- 
 ing it to one on which every Frenchwoman 
 thinks or has thought a great deal, she added, 
 " Love, for instance ?" 
 
 The Marquis bowed. " No one can be more 
 devoted," replied he, " to the lovelier part of 
 the creation than I am, and yet I cannot but 
 think that the ancients did well to represent 
 Venus as springing from the foam of the sea."" 
 
 " Somewhat light, you would say, in her 
 nature," rejoined my father, " and variable as 
 her parent waves ^" 
 
 " And sometimes as cold and as uncertain too,'" 
 said I ; but, as I did so, I saw a slight flush 
 pass over Helen's brow, and I added, " But 
 you forget. Monsieur le Marquis, or rather, 
 like a skilful arguer, you do not notice, that 
 the blood of Coelus, which we translate, almost 
 literally, a drop from heaven, was mingled with 
 the foam of the sea to produce the goddess." 
 
 " Happily turned !" replied the Marquis with 
 a smile ; " but I trust, my young friend, you 
 are aware that the Queen of Love is only to be 
 won by the god of arms, as our sweet and tumid 
 
DE l'orme. 255 
 
 Raccan would put it. Have you yet entered 
 the path in which you are born to distinguish 
 yourself; I mean the service of your King ?" 
 
 With somewhat of a blush, I replied that I 
 had not, and the Marquis proceeded. " Fie, 
 now ! 'tis a shame that a sword, which I know, 
 to my cost, is a good one, should rust in its 
 scabbard. Every gentleman, whatever may be 
 his ultimate objects in life, should serve his 
 country for at least one campaign. It is 
 rumoured that our wars in Italy will infallibly 
 be renewed : in that case, I shall of course take 
 the command of my regiment, and if your noble 
 father will allow you to accompany me, we will 
 turn the two good swords, that once crossed 
 upon a foolish quarrel, against the enemies of 
 our king and our country." 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation I should have 
 accepted the proposal ; but my mother inter- 
 posed. " I have already," said she, after hav. 
 ing expressed her thanks to the Marquis for the 
 honour he proposed to her son — " I have already 
 written to her Highness the Countess de Sois- 
 sons, who honoured me in my youth with her 
 
256 DE l'orme. 
 
 favour and affection, soliciting, if it be possible, 
 that Louis may, for a short period, enjoy the 
 advantage of being near Monsieur le Comte, her 
 son. I have no doubt that she will comply with 
 my request ; and, at all events, we must, of 
 course, suspend every other plan till her High- 
 ness''s answer is received."" 
 
 The Marquis appeared somewhat mortified, 
 but immediately changed the conversation to 
 other subjects, and certainly, no man I ever met 
 could render himself more fascinating when he 
 chose to do so. His language was as elegant as 
 his manners, and he mingled, with a playful, 
 shining, unforced wit, a slight degree of cynical 
 bitterness, which rendered it more exciting by 
 its pungency. He had the great art too, of 
 suiting his conversation exactly to those with 
 whom he conversed ; not precisely as the came- 
 lion, taking its hue from the object next to it, 
 but rather like a fine piece of polished china, 
 receiving a sufficient reflection from whatever 
 salient colour was placed near, without losing the 
 original figures with which it was itself marked. 
 Thus he never lost in manner a certain degree of 
 
DE l'orme. 257 
 
 pride, which was the great master-passion of his 
 soul, but when he wished to please or win, he 
 made even this pride subservient to his purpose, 
 by acting as an opposition to his courtesy and 
 condescension. Nor did he ever in the fits of 
 that cynical humour, which he either affected 
 or possessed from nature, go beyond the exact 
 point at which it could amuse or stimulate 
 those that listened to him ; and he calculated 
 with wonderful insight into their characters, the 
 precise portions that each could bear or relish. 
 With whatever feelings one entered his society, 
 one quitted it struck and fascinated. I did so 
 myself, notwithstanding the warning I had re- 
 ceived with regard to him — notwithstanding a 
 strong prepossession against him. I felt at- 
 tracted, amused, and pleased ; and every mi- 
 nute that I passed in his company, I had to re- 
 call the demoniacal passions his countenance had 
 expressed at' Estelle, and ask myself, can this 
 be the same man ? It was ; and when closely 
 observed, there was a glance of malignity in the 
 eye, which if rightly read, would have told that 
 there the real man shone out, and that the rest 
 
258 ' DE l'orme. 
 
 was all a mask. The nations of the East have a 
 superstition, that their Dives, Afrits, and other 
 evil spirits, have the power of transforming 
 themselves into the most beautiful and enticing 
 shapes ; but that some one spot of their body is 
 always exempt from this change, and remains in 
 its original hideousness. Thus I believe it is 
 with the human character ; give it what gracious 
 form you will, there is still some original feature 
 will rest unchanged, to show what shape it had 
 at first received from nature. 
 
 The Marquis de St. Brie, however, main- 
 tained the doubtful favour he had gained with 
 the inhabitants of the Chateau de L'Orme as 
 long as he remained within its walls, which was 
 during the space of three days. Each passed 
 much like the former, with the exception of 
 the second, in the course, of which we went 
 out upon the mountains to shoot the izzard. 
 
 At the hour appointed for setting forth, it 
 so happened that I was a moment later than 
 my Father and the Marquis. My mother too, 
 was in the court seeing the preparations for 
 our departure ; when, on going from my bed- 
 
DE l'orme. 259 
 
 chamber into the corridor, I was met by Helen, 
 who instead of passing me hastily, as she 
 usually did, paused a moment as if anxious to 
 speak. Her cheek was rather flushed, and 
 never did I behold her looking more lovely. 
 The temptation to delay was not to be resisted, 
 and besides, such a moment might never come 
 again. "Helen!" said I, taking her hand, 
 " Dearest Helen, I would give a world to 
 speak with you alone, for but five minutes. 
 You once said you loved me — you promised 
 you would always love me — - Helen, you must 
 have seen how much I have wished for such 
 an opportunity, and yet you have never since 
 my return given me one moment of your pri- 
 vate time.*" 
 
 " Indeed, Louis," she answered, still letting 
 me keep her hand ; " I could not then — I 
 thought it would be wrong. Now, perhaps, I 
 may think differently ; and I will no longer 
 avoid you as I have done. But what I sought 
 you for now, was to say, beware of that Mar- 
 quis de St. Brie. I am sure — I feel sure, that 
 he is a villain. And oh, Louis, beware of him !- 
 
260 DE l'orme. 
 
 for your sake — for mine."*'' So saying, she 
 waited for no reply, but drawing away her 
 hand, glided back to the Countess's apart- 
 ments. 
 
 Oh, what a nicely balanced lever is the mind 
 of youth ! a breath will depress it, or a breath 
 will raise. For days before, I had been gloomy 
 and desponding. Existence, and all that sur- 
 rounded it, I had looked upon with a jaundiced 
 eye, which saw only defects. I could have 
 quarrelled with the sunbeam for ever casting 
 a shade — the summer breeze for ever bearing 
 a vapour on its wings ; and now I went away 
 from Helen with a heart beating high with 
 expectation and delight ! One kind word; one 
 affectionate look ; one expression of interest 
 and love, and every cloud was banished from 
 my mind ; and all was again sunshine, and 
 summer, and enjoyment. My father and the 
 Marquis had already set out, but a few steps 
 brought me to their side ; and, speeding on 
 towards the heights above the valley of Ar- 
 gelez, we separated, to beat a narrow lateral 
 dell, while the servants spreading in a larger 
 
DE l'orme. 261 
 
 circle, drove the game in towards us. My 
 father took his range along one side of the hol- 
 low, and I on the other; while the Marquis 
 chose a path above mine, having a view of the 
 whole side of the hill. 
 
 For some time we met with little success, 
 when suddenly an izzard bounded away along 
 the path, about three hundred yards in advance. 
 Before I could fire, it was out of shot ; but 
 springing after it, I followed eagerly along the 
 shelf of rock, knowing that a little farther a pre- 
 cipice intervened, which I did not believe the 
 animal could leap ; and consequently, if it es- 
 caped me, it must run up the hill and cross the 
 Marquis, or go down into the valley and come 
 w^ithin my father's range. As I went on, cir- 
 cling round the mountain, apiece of rock jutted 
 out across the path about thirty yards in ad- 
 vance, and hid the precipice from my view. 
 The izzard I doubted not was there, hesitating 
 on the brink, as they often do when the leap is 
 dangerous ; and hoping to obtain a shot at it 
 before it turned, I was hurrying on, when sud- 
 denly I heard the ringing of a carbine and a 
 
262 DE l'orme. 
 
 bullet whistled close to my ear. Its course 
 must have lain within two inches of my head ; 
 and, not a little angry, I turned, and saw 
 the Marquis standing on a rock a Httle way 
 above me. 
 
 "There! there!" cried he, pointing with 
 his hand ; " There, I have missed him ! Why 
 don't you fire ?" 
 
 At that moment I caught a sight of the 
 izzard actually springing up the most perpen- 
 dicular part of the mountain. It was almost 
 beyond the range of my carbine, but however, 
 I fired, and the animal rolled down dead into 
 the valley. 
 
 Neither the Marquis nor myself alluded to 
 the shot which he had discharged, and it re- 
 mained a very great doubt in my mind, whether 
 he had missed me or the izzard. 
 
DE l'orme. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It may seem strange, very strange, that with 
 such suspicions on my mind, I should accept an 
 invitation to visit the man who had excited 
 them. Nevertheless I did, and what is perhaps 
 still more strange, those very suspicions were in 
 some degree a cause of my doing so. 
 
 When the Marquis first proposed that I 
 should spend a day or two with him at his 
 pavilion de chasse, in the neighbourhood of Bag- 
 neres, I felt a doubt in regard to it, of which I 
 was ashamed — I was afraid of feeling afraid of 
 any thing, and I instantly accepted his invi- 
 tation. I know not whether this may be very 
 comprehensible to every one, but let any man 
 remember his feelings when he was nineteen, — 
 
264 DE l'orme. 
 
 an age at which we have not learned to distin- 
 guish between courage and rashness, prudence 
 and timidity, — and he will, at least, in some 
 degree, understand, though he may blame my 
 having acted as I did. 
 
 I would willingly have suffered the Marquis 
 to be a day in advance before I fulfilled my 
 engagement, longing for that promised half 
 hour of conversation with Helen, which was to 
 me one of those cherished anticipations on which 
 the heart of youth spends half its ardour. Oh, 
 how often I wish, now-a-day, that I could long 
 for any thing as I did in my childhood, and fill 
 up the interval between the promise and the 
 fulfilment with bright dreams worth a world of 
 realities. But, alas ! the uncertainty of every 
 thing earthly, gradually teaches man to crowd 
 the vacancy of expectation with fears instead of 
 hopes, and to guard against disappointment in- 
 stead of dreaming of enjoyment. However, as 
 the Marquis was only to remain three days at 
 his pavilion ere he set out for Paris, he insisted 
 on my accompanying him when he left the 
 Chateau de L'Orme. 
 
DE l'orme. 265 
 
 The ride was delightful in itself, but he 
 contrived to withdraw my attention from the 
 scenery by the charms of his conversation. The 
 first subject that he entered upon, was my pro- 
 posed visit to the court ; and he drew a thousand 
 light yet faithful sketches of all the principal 
 courtiers of the day. 
 
 " Amongst others," said he, after specifying 
 several that I now forget, " you will see the 
 Duke of Bouillon, brave, shrewd, yet hasty, 
 always hurrying into danger with fearless im- 
 petuosity, and then finding means of escape 
 with a coolness which, if exerted at first, would 
 have kept him free from peril. He puts me in 
 mind of a rope-dancer, whose every spring seems 
 as if it would be his last, and yet he catches him- 
 self somehow when he appears inevitably gone. 
 In his brother, Turenne, a very different charac- 
 ter is to be met with, or rather, perhaps, the same 
 character without its defects. What in Bouil- 
 lon is rashness, in Turenne is courage ; what is 
 cunning in the one, is wisdom in the other. I 
 believe Turenne would sacrifice himself to his 
 country ; but if Bouillon were to erect an altar 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 DE l'orme. 
 
 to any deity it would be, 1 am afraid, to him- 
 self. Then there is the young and daring Jean 
 de Gondi, who is striving for the archbishopric 
 of Paris ; the most talented man in Europe, 
 but gifted or cursed with that strange lightness 
 of soul which sports with every thing as if it 
 were a trifle ; — who would overthrow an empire 
 but to remodel it : or raise an insurrection but 
 to guide the wild horses that draw the chariot 
 of tumult. Had he lived in the ancient days, 
 he would have burnt the temple of the Ephesian 
 goddess to build, in one Olympiad, what cost 
 two hundred years. His mind, in short, is like 
 the ocean, deep and profound ; that plays with 
 a feather, or supports a navy ; that now is rip- 
 pling in golden tranquillity, and now is raging 
 in fury and in tumult ; that now scarce shakes 
 the pebble on the shore, and now spreads round 
 confusion, destruction, and death. In regard 
 to the Count de Soissons, to whom you go, his 
 character is difficult to know ; but yet I think 
 I know it. He has many high and noble quali- 
 ties, and though at present he appears intolera- 
 bly proud, yet that is a fault of his education, 
 
DE l'orme. 267 
 
 not of his disposition ; he has it from his mo- 
 ther, and will conquer it, I doubt not. But 
 there is one virtue he wants, without which 
 talents, and skill, and courage are nothing ; — 
 he wants resolution. He is somewhat obstinate, 
 but that does not imply that he is resolute ; and 
 a man without resolution may be looked upon 
 in the light of a miser : all the riches that 
 Nature can give are useless to him, because he 
 has not the courage to make use of them." 
 
 " You must have been a very keen observer," 
 said I, " of those persons with whom you have 
 mingled, and doubtless also of human life in 
 general." 
 
 " Life," replied he, '' as life, is very little 
 worth considering. It is a stream that flows 
 by us without our knowing how. Its turbulence 
 or its tranquillity, I believe, depend little upon 
 ourselves. If there be rain in the mountains, it 
 will be a torrent ; if it prove a dry season, it 
 will be a rivulet. We must let it flow as it 
 will till it come to an end, and then we have 
 nothing to do but die." 
 
 " And of death," said I, " have you not 
 N 2 
 
2G8 DE l'orme. 
 
 thought of that ? As it is the very opposite of 
 life it may have merited some more thought."" 
 
 " Less, far less !" said he; " with some trou- 
 ble, we may change the course of the rivulet ; 
 but with all our efforts, we cannot alter the 
 bounds of the sea. Look on death how we will, 
 we can derive nothing from it. The pleasures 
 and pains of existence are so balanced, we can- 
 not tell whether death be a relief or a depriva- 
 tion, and as to the bubble of something after 
 death, it is somewhat emptier than that now 
 floating down the stream." 
 
 I started and said nothing, and gradually the 
 conversation dropped of itself. After a pause, 
 he again turned it into other channels, speaking 
 of pleasure, and the excesses and gratifications 
 of a court ; and though he recommended mode- 
 ration, as the most golden word that any lan- 
 guage possessed, yet it was upon no principle 
 of virtue, either moral or religious. It was for 
 the sake of pleasure alone — that it might be 
 more durable in itself, and never counterba- 
 lanced by painful consequences. 
 
 My mind naturally turned to my many con- 
 
DE l'orme. 269 
 
 versations with the Chevalier ; and, by compa- 
 rison, I found his morality of a very different 
 quality. I merely replied, however, that I be- 
 lieved, if people had no stronger motives to 
 moderation than the expectation of remote 
 effects, they vt^ould seldom put much restraint 
 upon their passions. 
 
 Soon after we arrived at the Pavilion de 
 Chasse : and, I must own, that never did a 
 more exquisitely luxurious dwelling meet my 
 eye. It was not large, but all was disposed for 
 ease and pleasure. Piles of cushions, rich car- 
 pets, easy chairs, Persian sofas, exquisite tapes- 
 tries, filled every chamber. Books, too, and 
 pictures were there, but the books and the pic- 
 tures were generally of one class. Catullus, 
 Ovid, Petronius, or Tibullus, lay upon the ta- 
 bles or on the shelves ; while the walls were 
 adorned with many a nymph and many a god- 
 dess, liberal of their charms: though, at the 
 same time, Horace and Virgil appeared cast 
 upon one of the sofas ; and, every now and 
 then, the eye would fall on one of the sunshiny 
 landscapes of Claude de Lorraine, and dream 
 
2T0 DE L'ORME. 
 
 for a moment amidst the sleepy splendour of 
 his far perspectives. 
 
 " And is it possible !" said I, turning to the 
 Marquis as he led me through this luxurious 
 place, "is it possible that you can quit such 
 a spot willingly, for the dangers and hardships 
 of war ?" 
 
 "There are various sorts of pleasure," re- 
 plied he, " and without varying, and changing, 
 and opposing them one to another, we cannot 
 enjoy any long. Every man has his particular 
 pleasures, and his particular arrangement of 
 them. I, for instance, require the stimulus of 
 war, to make me enjoy these luxuries of peace. 
 But you have yet seen little of the beauties of 
 the place. Let us go out into the park. The 
 perfection of a place of this kind depends, al- 
 most entirely, upon the grounds that surround 
 it." 
 
 The two days that I spent at the pavilion of 
 Monsieur de St. Brie, passed like lightning. 
 Not a moment paused, for he contrived to fill 
 every hour with some pleasure of its own ; but 
 it was all too sweet. One felt it to be luscious. 
 
DE l'orme. 271 
 
 Like the luxurious Romans, he mingled his 
 wine with honey, and the draught was both 
 cloying and intoxicating. 
 
 On the third morning, I rose early from my 
 bed to take a review of the beautiful grounds 
 which surrounded the house ; and after wan- 
 dering about for half an hour, I turned to a 
 river that ran through the park, resolving to 
 take my way towards the house by the side of 
 the waters. The path that I followed was hid- 
 den by trees, but there was a transverse alley 
 that came down to the water, and joined the 
 one in which I walked, about one hundred 
 yards farther on. As I advanced, I heard the 
 voice of the Marquis talking earnestly with 
 some other person ; and, though at first what 
 he said was very indistinct, yet I soon heard 
 more without seeking to do so or indeed wish- 
 ing it. " Hold him down," said the Marquis, 
 *' when you have got him safely on the ground, 
 and cut his throat just under the jaws — if you 
 go deep enough he is dead in a moment." 
 
 As he gave this somewhat bloody direction, 
 he turned into the same path with myself, ac- 
 
272 DE l'orme. 
 
 companied by another person, whose appearance 
 is worthy of some description. He was about 
 my own height, which is not inconsiderable, 
 but, at the same time, he was remarkably stout 
 — I should say even fat, with a face in which a 
 great degree of jollity and merriment was min- 
 gled with a leering sort of slyness of eye, and 
 a slight twist of the mouth, that gave rather a 
 sinister expression to the drollery of his coun- 
 tenance. He wore short black mustachios, and 
 a small pointed beard ; and from his head 
 hung down upon his shoulders a profusion of 
 black wavy hair. His dress also was somewhat 
 singular. Instead of the broad low-crowned 
 plumed hats which were then in fashion, his 
 head was surmounted with an interminable 
 beaver, whose high-pointed crown resembled 
 the steeple of a church. We have seen many 
 of them since amongst the English and the 
 Swiss, but, at that time, such a thing was so 
 uncommon, and its effect appeared so ridicu- 
 lous that I could scarce refrain from laughing, 
 though my blood was somewhat chilled with 
 the conversation I had just overheard. The 
 
DE l'orme. 273 
 
 rest of this stout gentleman's habiliments con- 
 sisted of a somewhat coarse brown pourpoint, 
 laced with tarnished gold, and a slashed haut 
 de chausse, tied with black ribbons : while a 
 huge sword and dagger ornamented his side, 
 and a pair of funnel-shaped riding-boots com- 
 pleted his equipment. 
 
 The Marquis's eye fell upon me instantly, and, 
 advancing without embarrassment, he embraced 
 me and gave me the compliments of the morn- 
 ing. Then turning, he introduced his friend, 
 Monsieur de Simon. " The greatest fisherman 
 in France,'^ said he ; " we were speaking just 
 now about killing a carp," he continued, " which 
 you know is dreadfully tenacious of life. Are 
 you a fisherman at all ?''' 
 
 I answered, " not in the least," and the con- 
 versation went on for some time, on various to- 
 pics, till at length Monsieur de Simon took his 
 leave. 
 
 " I am sorry you cannot take your breakfast 
 with us," said the Marquis, " but remember 
 when I am gone, you are most welcome to fish, 
 ^vhenever you think fit, upon my property." 
 N 5 
 
274 DE l'orme. 
 
 " I thank you, I thank you, most noble 
 Marquis,"" said the other, with a curious sort of 
 rogueish twinkle of the eye, " I will take you 
 at your word, and will rid your streams of all 
 those gudgeons that you dislike so much, but 
 which I dote upon. Oh, 'tis a dainty fish — a 
 gudgeon !" 
 
 At about one o'clock my horse was ready, 
 and I took leave of the Marquis ; I cannot say, 
 with feelings either of reverence or regard ; and 
 I have always found it an invariable fact, that 
 when a man has amused us without gaining our 
 esteem, and pleased without winning our confi- 
 dence, there is something naturally bad at the 
 bottom of his character, which we should do 
 well to avoid. 
 
 As I mounted my horse, I remarked that my 
 worthy valet Houssaye had imbibed as much 
 liquor as would permit him to stand upright, 
 and that it was not without great difficulty and 
 scrupulous attention to the equipoise that he at 
 all maintained his vertical position. 
 
 " Your servant is tipsy," said the Marquis, 
 
DE l'orme. 2Y5 
 
 " you had better leave him here till he recovers 
 his intellects." 
 
 " I am as sober as a priest," hickupped 
 Houssaye, who overheard the accusation the 
 Marquis brought against him, and repelled it 
 with the most drunken certainty of his own so- 
 briety. " Monseigneur, you do me wrong. I 
 am sober, upon my conscience and my trum- 
 pet !" So saying, he swung himself up to his 
 horse's back, and forgetting to wait for me, gal- 
 loped on before, sounding a charge through his 
 fist, as if he was leading on a regiment of horse. 
 
 The Marquis laughed ; and once more bid- 
 ding him adieu, I followed the pot-valiant 
 trumpeter, who, without any mercy on his poor 
 horse, urged him on upon the road to Lourdes 
 as fast as he could go. Very soon, I doubt 
 not, he quite forgot that I was behind, for, fol- 
 lowing much more slowly, as I did not choose 
 to fatigue my jennet at the outset, I soon lost 
 sight of him, and for half an hour perceived no 
 traces of him whatever. 
 
 I have heard that the effect of the fresh air. 
 
276 DE l'orme. 
 
 far from diminishing the inebriation of a drunk- 
 ard, greatly increases it. Probably this was 
 the case with Houssaye, for at the distance of 
 about four miles from the park of the Marquis, 
 I found him lying by the side of the road, 
 apparently sound asleep, while his horse was 
 calmly turning the accident of his master to the 
 best account, by cropping the grass and shrubs 
 at the road- side. 
 
 This accident embarrassed me a good deal, 
 for I had set out late ; and, of course, I could 
 not leave the poor drunkard to be gnawed by 
 the bears, or devoured by the wolves, whose 
 regard for a sleeping man might be found of 
 somewhat too selfish a nature. After having 
 shaken him, therefore, two or three times for 
 the purpose of recalling him to himself, without 
 producing any other effect than an inarticulate 
 grunt, I returned to a village about a mile 
 nearer Bagneres, and having procured the aid 
 of some cottagers, I had the overthrown trum- 
 peter carried back, and left him there in se- 
 curity, till he should have recovered from the 
 
DE l'orme. 277 
 
 state of intoxication in which he had phinged 
 himself. 
 
 All this delayed me for some time, so that it 
 was near four oVlock before I again resumed 
 my journey. Nor was I sorry, indeed, that the 
 sun had got behind the mountains, whose long 
 shadows saved my eyes from the horizontal 
 rays, which, as my way lay due west, would 
 have dazzled me all along the road^ had I set 
 out earlier. In about two hours it began to 
 grow dusk, and I put my horse into a quicker 
 pace, lest the family at the chateau should con- 
 clude that I intended to remain another night. 
 There was one person also that, I knew, would 
 be anxious till they saw me return safe ; and, 
 for the world, I would not have given Helen a 
 moment's unnecessary pain. What made her 
 suspect the Marquis of any evil designs towards 
 me I knew not, but I knew that she did sus- 
 pect him, and that was sufficient to make me 
 hurry on to assure her of my safety. 
 
 There is a thick wood covers the side of the 
 mountain about five miles from the chateau de 
 
278 DE l'orme. 
 
 rOrme, extending high up on the one hand, 
 very nearly to the crest of the hill, and spread- 
 ing down on the other till the stream in the val- 
 ley bathes the roots of its trees. In a few mi- 
 nutes after I had entered this wood, I suddenly 
 heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs close behind 
 me — so near, it must have sprung out of the 
 coppice. I instantly turned my head to ascertain 
 what it was, when I received a violent blow 
 just above the eyebrow, which nearly laid my 
 skull bare, and struck me headlong to the ground, 
 before I could see who was the horseman. 
 
 Though bruised and dizzied, I endeavoured 
 to struggle up ; but my adversary threw him- 
 self from his horse, grappled with me, and cast 
 me back upon the ground with my face up- 
 wards. Oh ! how shall I describe the fearful 
 struggle for life that then ensued ? — the ago- 
 nizing grasp with which I clenched the hands 
 wherewith he endeavoured to reach my neck — 
 the pressure of his knees upon my chest — the 
 beating of my heart as I still strove, yet found 
 myself overmastered, and my strength failing — 
 the dreadful, eager haste with which he tried 
 
DE l'orme. 279 
 
 to hold back my head, and gash my throat 
 with the knife he held in his hand — and the 
 muttered curses he vented, on finding my re- 
 sistance so long protracted. 
 
 Five times he shook off my grasp, and five 
 times I caught his hands again, as they were 
 in the act of completing his object. At the 
 same time, I could hear his teeth cranching 
 against each other with the violence of his ef- 
 forts. My hands were all cut and bleeding, 
 his dress was nearly torn to pieces, the strength 
 of both was well nigh exhausted, when we 
 heard the sounds of voices advancing along the 
 road. Though our struggle had hitherto been 
 silent, I now called loudly for assistance. He 
 heard the noise also : " This then shall settle 
 it," cried he, raising his arm to plunge the 
 knife into my chest, but I interposed my hand, 
 and though the force with which he dealt the 
 blow was such as to drive the point through 
 my palm, yet this saved my life, for before he 
 could repeat the stroke the horsemen had come 
 up, attracted by the cries I continued to utter. 
 One of them sprang from his horse, beheld the 
 
280 DE l'orme. 
 
 deathly struggle going on, and not knawing 
 which was the aggressor, but seeing that one 
 held the other at a fatal disadvantage, called to 
 my assailant instantly to desist or die. The as- 
 sassin again raised his arm : the horseman saw 
 him about to strike — levelled a pistol at his 
 head — fired — and the murderer dropping the 
 weapon from his hand, staggered up upon his 
 feet — reeled for a moment, and then fell dead 
 across my chest. 
 
DE l'oraje. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Oh life ! thou strange mysterious tie be- 
 tween the spirit and the clay ; what is it makes 
 the bravest of us shrink from that separation 
 which the small dagger or the tiny asp can 
 so easily effect ! 
 
 For a moment I lay to recover myself from 
 all the agitated feelings that hurried through 
 my heart, and then struggling up, I rolled the 
 ponderous mass of the dead man from off my 
 breast, and rose from the ground. 
 
 " Is it Count Louis de Bigorre ?" said the 
 voice of the Chevalier de Montenero. I an- 
 swered that it was; and he proceeded, " I 
 thought so ; infatuated young man, why would 
 you trust yourself in the hands of your enemy, 
 
282 DE l'orme. 
 
 when you were warned of his cruelty and his 
 baseness ?" 
 
 " Because," I answered, " I thought that 
 a person who had done injustice to me, might 
 also do injustice to him." 
 
 " When a man has the means of clearing 
 himself, and does not choose to do so,**' replied 
 the Chevalier, well understanding to what I 
 alluded ; "he must rest under the imputation 
 of guilt till he does. Now, Sir, I leave you. 
 Arnault, give him your assistance, and rejoin 
 me to-morrow morning:" and so - saying, with- 
 out farther explanation, he turned his horse 
 and galloped away. 
 
 Though the evening light was of that dim 
 and dusky nature, which affords, perhaps, less 
 assistance to the eye than even the more posi- 
 tive darkness of the night, yet I could very well 
 distinguish by the height and form, that the 
 person the Chevalier called Arnault was not 
 the little, large-headed, procureur of Lourdes, 
 but rather his son ; and as soon as we were 
 alone, he confirmed my conjecture by his voice, 
 asking if I were hurt. 
 
DE l'orme. 283 
 
 " Not much, Jean Baptiste," replied I ; " my 
 hands are cut, and he has grazed my throat 
 with his knife ; but he has not injured me se- 
 riously. Catch my horse, good Arnault !" I 
 continued, " and ride on to the cottage, about 
 half-a-mile on the road — bring some one with 
 lights, that we may see who this is— though in 
 truth I guess." 
 
 " You had better take my pistols, Monsieur 
 le Comte," said the honest youth, " lest there 
 should be a second of these gentlemen in the 
 wood."*' 
 
 I took one, and lea^'ing him the other for his 
 own defence, sent him on as fast as possible to 
 the cottage, for although, from the manner in 
 which my assailant had attempted to effect my 
 death, so like the Marquis de St Erie's direc- 
 tions for killing the carp, I had little doubt in 
 regard to whom I should find in the person of 
 the dead man, yet I wished to ascertain the 
 fact more precisely, that no dubitation should 
 remain upon my mind in regard to Monsieur 
 de St. Brie himself. 
 
 Soon after Jean Baptiste was gone, the moon 
 
284 DE l'orme. 
 
 began to raise her head over the mountain ; 
 and, streaming directly down the road, showed 
 me fully the person of the dead man, through 
 whose head the ball of the Chevalier's pistol 
 had passed in a direct line, causing almost in- 
 stantaneous death. 
 
 All doubt vs^as now at an end ; there lay the 
 large heavy limbs of the man, who had been 
 called Monsieur de Simon, while his steeple- 
 crowned hat appeared rolled to some distance 
 on the road. The effects of the dreadful strug- 
 gle between us were visible in all his apparel. 
 His doublet was torn in twenty different places 
 with the straining grasp in which I had held 
 him, and an immense black wig, which he had 
 worn as a sort of disguise, had followed his 
 hat, and left his head bare. In rising I had 
 rolled him off me on his back, so that he was 
 lying with the beams of the moon shining full 
 in his face. 
 
 I advanced and gazed upon him for a mo- 
 ment ; and now, as he appeared with his shaved 
 head, and the fraise, or ruff torn off his neck, 
 I could not help thinking that his countenance 
 
285 
 
 was familiar to me. The mustachios and the 
 beard, it was true, made a great alteration, but 
 in every other respect it was the face of the 
 Capuchin, who had joined in attempting to 
 plunder me at Luz. I looked nearer, and re- 
 membering that in six months his beard would 
 have had full time to grow, I became convinced 
 that it was the same. 
 
 As I examined him attentively, I perceived 
 a sort of packet protruding from a pocket in 
 the breast of his doublet, and taking it out I 
 found it to be a bundle of old, and somewhat 
 worn papers, wrapped in a piece of sheepskin, 
 and tied round with a leathern thong. . 
 
 Amongst these I doubted not that I should 
 find some interesting correspondence between 
 the subordinate assassin and his instigator, and 
 consequently took care to secure them ; after 
 which I waited quietly for the return of Jean 
 Baptiste, who I doubted not would relieve me 
 from my troublesome guard over the dead body, 
 as soon as he could procure lights and assist- 
 ance. His absence of course appeared long; 
 but after the lapse of about ten minutes I began 
 
286 DE l'orme. 
 
 to perceive some glimmering sparks through 
 the trees, and a moment after the inhabitants of 
 the cottage appeared, men and children, with 
 as many resin candles as their dwelling could 
 afford. 
 
 Jean Baptiste was with them ; but another 
 personage of much more extraordinary mien 
 led the way, bearing in his hand a candle about 
 the thickness of his little finger, but which he 
 brandished above his head in the manner of a 
 torch, striding on at the same time with enor- 
 mous steps, and somewhat grotesque gestures. 
 " Where is the body ?"' exclaimed he with a 
 loud tone and vast emphasis, " Where is the 
 body of the sacred dead ?"" 
 
 The person who asked this question was a 
 man of about five foot three in height, fluttering 
 in a pourpoint, whose ribbons and rags vied in 
 number, while the brass buttons with which it 
 was thickly strewed, might, by their irregula- 
 rity of position, have induced me to believe him 
 to be a poet, had not his theatrical tone and air 
 stamped him as a disciple of Thespis. 
 
 *' ' Perc^ jusqa' au fond du coeur 
 D'une atteinte imprevue, aussi-bien que mortelle.' " 
 
DE l'orme. 287 
 
 cried he, when he beheld the dead body. " Oh 
 what would I have eiven to have been here 
 when he was killed. Did he fall so at once — 
 I beseech you tell me, did he fall thus?" and 
 down he cast himself upon his back, in the 
 attitude of the dead body. 
 
 If any thing could have rendered so dreadful 
 a sight as the corpse of the murderer with his 
 blackened temples, clenched hands, and cold 
 meaningless glare of eye, in any degree ridicu- 
 lous, it would have been to see the little player 
 cast upon the ground beside the vast bulk of 
 the dead man, striving to imitate the position 
 in which he had fallen ; and every now and 
 then raising his pert head from his mockery of 
 death's stillness, and peeping over the corpse to 
 see how the arm or the hand had fallen in 
 dying. 
 
 I was in no mood, however, for such fool- 
 eries ; my head ached violently from the blow 
 I had received above the eye ; my hands, espe- 
 cially the one that had intercepted the stab of 
 the knife, gave me intolerable pain. I was 
 fatigued also, and fevered with the struggle 
 and the agitation, so that my corporeal sensa- 
 
288 DE l'orme. 
 
 tions were not at all favourable to the wretched 
 player's buffoonery, even had the scene been 
 one that admitted of merriment. 
 
 Stirring him then rather rudely with my foot, 
 I bade him rise and assist in carrying the body 
 to the cottage. Up started the actor in a mo- 
 ment, and, taking the corpse by the feet, replied 
 he was ready to do any thing the manager bade 
 him : one of the cottagers lent his aid, and 
 we soon reached the cottage with our burden. 
 Here all the women made a vast outcry at the 
 sight of the dead body, but more still on be- 
 holding the state in which the assassin's efforts 
 had left their young Count Louis, for I was 
 now within the old domain of our own Chateau. 
 
 I know not whether from the loss of blood, 
 or the irritating pain of the wounds, but I cer- 
 tainly felt very faint, and probably my counte- 
 nance showed how much I was suffering, for 
 while the young Arnault and some others were 
 examining the person of the dead man, and 
 taking what papers and effects he had upon 
 him, the player stepped forward, and offered 
 to render me his assistance as a surgeon. 
 
DE l'orme. 289 
 
 Thinking that the devil of buffoonery still pos- 
 sessed him, I repulsed him somewhat rudely ; 
 but yet unrepelled, he laid his hand upon his 
 heart, made me a low bow, and said, " Listen, 
 noble youth, scion of an illustrious house, and 
 you shall hear that which shall make you 
 yield yourself to my hands, as willingly as 
 Maladine gave herself up to Milsenio. Know 
 then, before my superior genius prompted me 
 to fit on the buskin, I trod the stage of life in 
 a high-heeled shoe, not indeed the Cothurnus ; 
 far, far from it, for in those days, alas ! though 
 I was clothed in tragic black, and held the 
 dagger and the bowl, I shed real blood behind 
 the curtain, and inflicted my cruelties on the 
 real flesh and blood/' 
 
 " I begin somewhat to understand you," I 
 replied ; " but if you would have me attend to 
 you seriously, my friend, you must drop that 
 exalted style, and speak common sense in com- 
 mon language.'' 
 
 " Well then, Sir, I will," he answered, in- 
 stantly changing his tone, and taking one which 
 strangely blended in itself insignificance and 
 
 VOL. I. O 
 
290 DE l'orme. 
 
 sharpness, but which harmonized much better 
 with his little eager countenance and twinkling 
 black eyes, than his tumid, bombastic loudness 
 had done. "■ What I mean is, that before I 
 went on the stage, I studied under an apothe- 
 car}^ My disposition is not naturally cruel, 
 and I was not hard-hearted enough to succeed 
 in that profession. Now, though with the 
 deviFs assistance and my master'*s skill, I aided 
 in conveying many a worthy patient from their 
 bed to their coffin, yet I think I remember some 
 few simples which would allay the irritation of 
 your wounds, and I will undertake for their 
 innocuousness." 
 
 No surer aid was at hand, and therefore I 
 willingly allowed the metamorphosed apothecary 
 to bandage up my forehead with such applica- 
 tions as he thought fit, as well as to use his 
 skill upon my hands ; and certainly the ease 
 which I derived from his assistance, fully re- 
 paid the confidence I had placed in him. 
 
 In the mean while the body of the murderer 
 had been searched, and the various objects found 
 upon him, being brought to me, proved to con- 
 
DE L'ORME. 291 
 
 sist of nothing more, besides the packet of 
 papers which I had ah'eady taken, than a few 
 pieces of gold, one or two licentious letters and 
 songs, a pack of cards, some loaded dice, a 
 missal, two short daggers, and a rosary, all 
 articles very serviceable in one or other of his 
 callings. One of the cottage-boys had by this 
 time caught the horse which this very respect- 
 able person had ridden, and strapped upon it 
 behind was found what at first appeared a 
 cloak, but which proved, upon examination, to 
 be a Capuchin''s gown, confirming my opinion in 
 regard to the owner's identity with the card- 
 player at Luz. 
 
 When this examination was over, I prepared 
 to mount my horse and proceed home, but be- 
 fore I went, I turned to gaze once more upon 
 the lifeless form of my dead adversary ; and 
 in looking upon his clumsy limbs and obesity of 
 body, I could not understand how he could have 
 so easily overcome me, endowed, as I felt my- 
 self to be, with equal strength and far superior 
 agility. The sudden surprise could alone have 
 been the cause, and I resolved through my 
 o 2 
 
292 
 
 future life, to struggle for that presence of mind, 
 which in circumstances of danger and difficulty, 
 is a buckler worth all the armour of Achilles. 
 After this, I bestowed a gold piece upon the 
 player-apothecary for the ease he had given me, 
 and bade him come over to the Chateau de 
 L'Orme the next day for a farther reward, and 
 then escaping as fast as I could from his hy- 
 perbolical thanks, I mounted, and ' accompanied 
 by Jean Baptiste, rode on towards my home. 
 
 My first question, as we went, was how long 
 the Chevalier had returned from Spain, and what 
 had brought him on the road towards Lourdes 
 at that time of night. At first, Jean Baptiste 
 seemed somewhat reserved, but upon being 
 pressed closely on the subject, his frank nature 
 would not let him maintain his silence; and he 
 informed me, that the Chevalier had returned 
 that very morning from Spain; but that on 
 hearing that the Marquis de St. Brie had been 
 received as a visitor at the chateau, and that I, 
 in return, had gone to pass some time with him, 
 he had desired the young procureur to accom- 
 pany him and set out for Bagneres without 
 
DE l'orme. 293 
 
 delay, saying that I must be saved at all risks. 
 "But still," continued Jean Baptiste, "you 
 have done something in Spain to lose the Che- 
 valier's love ; for though he would come away 
 after you to-night, in spite of all my father 
 could do to prevent him, he always took care to 
 say, ' for his father's sake — for his mother's 
 sake, he would rescue Count Louis from the 
 dangers into which he was plunged.' " 
 
 The gloomiest knell that rings over the fall 
 from virtue, must be to hear of the lost esteem 
 of those we love. That must be the dark, the 
 damning scourge which drives on human weak- 
 ness to despairing crime. Could the great 
 fallen angel ever have returned ? I do not be- 
 lieve it. The glorious confidence of Heaven 
 was lost, and mercy would have been nothing 
 without oblivion. 
 
 I felt that my friend did me wrong, but 
 even that did not save me from the whole bit- 
 terness of having lost his regard. And I in- 
 ternally asked myself, what would my feel- 
 ings have been, had I really merited his bad 
 opinion ? 
 
294 DE l'orme. 
 
 "Where is the Chevalier?" demanded I. 
 " Is he at his own house ?" 
 
 " No," answered the young man ; " he is 
 at my father's, at Lourdes." 
 
 My determination was taken immediately, to 
 ride over to Lourdes the next day, and explain 
 to the Chevalier my conduct, as far as I could 
 with honour ; to represent to him, that I was 
 under a most positive promise not to disclose to 
 any Spaniard the events of that night wherein 
 his suspicions had been excited, and to add my 
 most solemn asseverations to convince him of 
 my innocence. My pride, I will own, struggled 
 against this resolution, but still I saw, in the 
 Chevalier's conduct towards me, a degree of 
 lingering affection, which I could not bear to 
 lose. The good spirit triumphed; and I de- 
 termined to sacrifice my pride for the sake of his 
 esteem. 
 
 These thoughts kept me silent till our arrival 
 at the Chateau de L'Orme, where my appearance 
 in such a state, I need not say, created the most 
 terrible consternation. But I will pass by all 
 that ; suffice it, that I had to tell my story 
 
DE l'orme. 29-5 
 
 over at least one hundred times, before I was 
 suffered to retire to bed. Helen, happily, was 
 not present when I arrived, but my mother's 
 embroidery woman did not fail to wake her, as 
 I afterwards heard, for the purpose of com- 
 municating the agreeable intelligence, and 
 doubtless made it a thousand times worse than 
 it really was. My poor Helen's night, I am 
 afraid, was but sadly spent. 
 
 However, when I had satisfied both my 
 father and mother that I was not dangerously 
 injured, and related my story to every old ser- 
 vant in the family, who thought they had a right 
 to be as accurately informed in regard to all 
 that occurred to Count Louis as his confessor, 
 I retired to my chamber ; and while the maitre 
 (Thotel fulfilled the functions of Houssaye in 
 assisting to undress me, I opened the packet I 
 had found upon the monk, and examined the 
 papers which it contained, but to my surprise 
 I found nothing at all relating directly to the 
 Marquis de St. Brie. 
 
 The first thing that presented itself was a re- 
 gular certificate of the marriage of Gaston Fran- 
 
296 DE l'orme. 
 
 cois de Bagnol, Count de Bagnol, with Hen- 
 riette de Vergne, dated some seventeen years 
 before, with the names of several witnesses at- 
 tached. Then followed a paper of a much 
 fresher appearance, containing the names of 
 these witnesses, with the word dead marked after 
 one, and the address of their present residence 
 affixed to each of the others. Then came a Ions 
 epistolary correspondence between the above 
 Count de Bagnol and various persons in the town 
 of Rochelle, at the time of its siege ; by read- 
 ing which I clearly found that the unfortunate 
 young nobleman, though influenced by every 
 motive of friendship or relationship to give his 
 aid to the rebellious Rochellois, had constantly 
 refused to do so, and that in consequence the 
 accusation, which the Chevalier informed me 
 had been brought against him, must have been 
 false. On remembering, also, the cause of en- 
 mity which the Marquis de St. Brie had against 
 him, and associating that fact w^ith the circum- 
 stance of my having found these papers on the 
 body of an assassin hired by the same man, I 
 doubted not for a moment that the charge had 
 
DE l'orme. 297 
 
 been forged by the Marquis himself, and these 
 letters withheld on purpose to prevent the Count 
 from establishing his innocence. Why the Mar- 
 quis had let them pass from his own hands I 
 could not divine ; without, indeed, he consider- 
 ed them as valueless, now he had taken care 
 that the justice or injustice of this world could 
 no way affect his victim. I knew that he was 
 far too much a lover of this life alone to value, 
 in his own case or that of others, the cold meed 
 of posthumous renown. 
 
 Long before I had finished these reflections 
 and the reading of the letters, the maitre d' hotel., 
 who, as I have said, supplied Houssaye's place, 
 had done his part in undressing me ; and soon, 
 after ordering my horse to be ready early, I 
 dismissed him and slept. 
 
 Before closing this chapter, however, I must 
 remark that, for many reasons, I had restricted 
 to the safe guardianship of my own breast the 
 various reasons that led me to suppose the Mar- 
 quis de St. Brie had instigated the attack under 
 which I had so nearly fallen. The suspicions 
 of both my parents turned naturally in that 
 o 5 
 
298 DE l'orme. 
 
 direction, but I well knew that if my father had 
 possessed half the knowledge which I did upon 
 the subject, he would have allowed no conside- 
 ration to prevent his pursuing the Marquis with 
 the most determined vengeance, to the destruc- 
 tion perhaps of all parties. I therefore merely 
 described the attack, but withheld the circum- 
 stances which preceded it; and though there 
 are few actions in a man's life which do not 
 either afford him regret or disappointment, this 
 piece of prudence is amongst the scanty number 
 I have never had cause to wish undone. 
 
299 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I SLEPT soundly and I rose refreshed, al- 
 though my hands were very stiff, and my head 
 was not without its pains from the rude treat- 
 ment that each had undergone. No one in the 
 house was up when I woke, and saddling my 
 own horse as well as I could, I left word with 
 the old gardener that I should return before 
 the hour of breakfast, and set out for Lourdes. 
 
 If I was not always very considerate in form- 
 ing my resolutions, as the wise axiom recom- 
 mends, I was certainly not slow in executing 
 them : and I now proceeded at full speed to ful- 
 fil my determination of the night before in re- 
 gard to the Chevalier. Stopping at Arnault's 
 house, I threw myself off my horse and entered 
 
300 DE l'orme. 
 
 his etude, which appeared to be just opened; 
 nor did the least doubt enter my mind that 
 the person I sought was still there. 
 
 The first thing, however, that I perceived was 
 the enormous head of the old Procureur him- 
 self, looking through the sort of barred screen 
 that surrounded his writing-table, like some 
 strange beast in a menagerie. I was not very 
 much inclined to treat this incubus of the law 
 with any great civility on my own account, as I 
 was aware that, for some reason to himself best 
 known, he bore me no extraordinary love ; but 
 as Helenas father, he commanded other feel- 
 ings, and I therefore addressed him as politely 
 as I could. 
 
 In answer to my enquiries for the Chevalier, 
 he bowed most profoundly, replying that the 
 Monsieur de Montenero would be quite in de- 
 spair when he found that I had come to honour 
 him with a visit only five minutes after his 
 departure. 
 
 " What ! is he gone already .?'"* cried I. 
 " When did he go ? where did he go to .?"" 
 
 " He is indeed, I am sorry to say, gone, 
 
DE l'orme. 301 
 
 Monsieur le Comte,"' replied the Procureur ; 
 " and in answer to your second interrogatory, 
 I can reply, that he has been gone precisely 
 nine minutes and three quarters ; but in regard 
 to the third question, all I can depone is, that 
 I do not at all know — only that he spoke of 
 being absent some three months or more." 
 
 Angry, vexed, and disappointed, I turned 
 unceremoniously on my heel ; and as I went 
 out, I heard a sort of suppressed laugh issue 
 through the wide unmoved jaws of the Pro- 
 cureur, whose imperturbable countenance an- 
 nounced nothing in the least like mirth ; and 
 yet I am certain that he was at that moment 
 laughing most heartily at the deceit he had 
 put upon me; for, as I afterwards learned, 
 the Chevalier was in his house at the very 
 time. 
 
 The distance between Lourdes and the cha- 
 teau was narrowed in a moment ; and on my 
 arrival, I found the domestic microcosm I had 
 left behind sound asleep an hour before, now 
 just beginning to buzz. My father had not yet 
 quitted his own room, but the servants were all 
 
302 DE l'orme. 
 
 bustling about in the preparations of the morn- 
 ing ; and as I rode up, old Houssaye himself 
 recovered from his drunkenness, sneaked into 
 the court like a beaten dog — not that he was 
 at all ashamed of having been drunk — it was a 
 part of his profession ; but upon the road he 
 had heard my adventures of the night before 
 detailed in very glowing language ; and he justly 
 feared that the indignation of the whole house- 
 hold would fall upon his head for having been 
 absent in the moment of danger. 
 
 Beckoning him to speak to me, I gave him a 
 hint that I had been tender of his name, and 
 that, if he chose to keep his own counsel, he 
 'might yet pass scathless from the rest of the 
 family. " I shall punish you myself, Maitre 
 Houssaye," continued I, " for I ivill teach you 
 to get drunk at proper times and seasons only."' 
 
 " As I hope to live," answered the trumpeter, 
 " I did but drink two cups ; and you well know. 
 Monsieur, that two cups of wine to me, or the 
 maitre (Thotel, who have drunk so many hun- 
 dred tuns in our lives, is but as a cup of cold 
 water to another man. They must have been 
 
DE l'orme. 303 
 
 drugged those two cups, — for a certainty 
 they must have been drugged." 
 
 At breakfast, I found Helen with my father. 
 They were alone, for my mother was ill from 
 the, agitation of the night before, and had re- 
 mained in her own chamber, desiring not to be 
 disturbed. The moment my step sounded in 
 the vestibule, Helen's eyes darted towards the 
 door, and I could see the flush of eagerness on 
 her cheek, and the paleness that then overspread 
 it, as she saw my head bound up; and then 
 again the blood mounting quickly, lest any one 
 should see the busy feelings of her swelling 
 heart. It was a mute language which I could 
 read as easily as my own thoughts ; but still I 
 would have given worlds to have been per- 
 mitted to hear and speak to her with the open- 
 ness of acknowledged love. The breakfast pass- 
 ed over. Helen left the hall ; and after a few 
 minutes' conversation, my father went to the 
 library, while I gazed for a moment from the 
 window, meditating over a thousand hopes, in 
 all of which Helen had her part — letting 
 thought wander gaily through a thousand mazy 
 
304 DE l'orme. 
 
 turns, like a child sporting in a meadow with- 
 out other object than <lelight, roaming heed- 
 lessly here and there, and gathering fresh 
 flowers at every step. 
 
 As I gazed, I saw the figure of Helen glide 
 from the door of the square tower, and take her 
 way towards the park. — Now, now then was the 
 opportunity. She had promised not to avoid 
 me any longer. Now then was the moment 
 for which my heart had longed, more than lan- 
 guage can express ; and snatching a gun, to 
 excuse the wanderings, which indeed needed no 
 excuse, I was hastening to pour forth the mul- 
 titude of accumulated feelings, and thoughts, 
 and dreams, and wishes, which had gathered in 
 my bosom during so many months of silence, 
 when I was called to speak with my father, 
 just as my foot was on the step of the door. 
 
 I will own, that if ever I felt undutiful, it 
 was then. However, I could not avoid going, 
 and certainly with a very unwilling heart I 
 mounted the stairs, and entered the library. 
 My father had a letter in his hand, which I 
 soon found came from the Countess de Soissons, 
 
DE l'orme. 305 
 
 and contained a reply favourable to my mother's 
 request, that I might be placed near the person 
 of the Prince, her son, so well known under the 
 name of Monsieur le Comte. My ^father placed 
 it in my hands, and seemed to expect that I 
 should be very much gratified at the news ; but 
 I could only reply, as I had done before, that I 
 had not the least inclination to quit my pater- 
 nal home, without, indeed, it was for the pur- 
 pose of serving for a campaign or two in the 
 armies of my country. " Well, Louis,'' re- 
 plied my father, thinking me doubtless a way- 
 ward and whimsical boy, " if you will look at 
 the proscriptum, you will perceive that you are 
 likely to be gratified in that point at least, for 
 the Countess states that his Highness, her son, 
 though at present at Sedan, from some little 
 rupture with the Court, is likely to receive the 
 command of one of the armies. However, take 
 the letter, consider its contents, and at dinner, 
 let me know when you will be prepared to 
 set out." 
 
 Glad to escape so soon, I flew out into the 
 park in search of my beautiful Helen. It was 
 
306 DE l'orme. 
 
 now a fine day in the beginning of May, as 
 warm as summer — as bright, as lovely. Na- 
 ture was in her very freshest robe of green ; 
 the air Avas full of sweetness and balm ; and as 
 I went, a lark rose up before my steps, and 
 mounting high in the sunshine, hung a far 
 speck upon its quivering wings, making the 
 whole air thrill with its melodious happiness. 
 I love the lark above all other birds. Though 
 there is something more tender and plaintive in 
 the liquid music of the nightingale, yet there 
 seems a touch of repining in its solitude and its 
 gloom : but the lark images always to my mind 
 a happy and contented spirit, who, full of love 
 and delight, soars up towards the benificent 
 heaven, and sings its song of joy and gratitude 
 in presence of all the listening creation. 
 
 All objects in external nature have a very 
 great effect upon my mind ; whether I will or 
 not, they are received by my imagination as 
 omens. And catching the lark's song as a hap- 
 py augury, I sped on upon my way. As much 
 had been done as possible to render the park, 
 which extended behind the chateau, regular 
 
DE L'ORME. .^7 
 
 and symmetrical ; but the ground was so un- 
 even in its nature, so broken with rocks, and 
 hills, and streams, and dells, that it retained 
 much more of the symmetry of nature than any 
 thing else; which after all, to my taste, is more 
 beautiful than any thing man can devise. 
 
 If Helen had wandered very far from the 
 house, it would have been a difficult mat- 
 ter to have found her, but a sort of instinct 
 guided me to where she was. I thought of the 
 spot, I believe, which I myself would have 
 chosen for lonely musing — a spot where a bower 
 of high trees arched over a little cascade of 
 about ten feet in height, whose waters, after 
 escaping from the clear pool into which they 
 fell, rushed quickly down the slanting ravine 
 before them, nourishing the roots of innumera- 
 ble shrubs, and trees, and flowers, and spread- 
 ins; a soft murmur and a cool freshness wher- 
 ever they turned. 
 
 Helen was sitting on the bank over which the 
 stream fell, and though she held in her hand 
 some piece of female work, which, while my 
 mother slept, she had brought out to occupy 
 
308 DE l'orme. 
 
 herself in the park ; yet her eyes were fixed 
 upon the rushing waters of the fall. At that 
 moment, catching a stray sunbeam that found 
 its way through the trees, the cascade had de- 
 corated itself with a fluttering iris, which, varied 
 with a thousand hues, waved over the cataract 
 like those changeful hopes of life, which hang- 
 ing bright and beautiful over all the precipices 
 of human existence, still waver and change to 
 suit every wind that blows along the course of 
 time. My footstep was upon the green sward, 
 so that Helen heard it not, and she continued 
 to sit with her full dark eyes fixed upon the 
 waterfall, her soft downy cheek resting upon 
 the slender, graceful hand, which might have 
 formed a model for the statuary or the painter ; 
 and her whole figure leaning forward with that 
 untaught elegance of form and position, which 
 never but once did painter or statuary succeed 
 in representing. 
 
 When she did hear me she looked up, but 
 there was no longer the quick start to avoid me, 
 as if she feared a moment's unobserved conver- 
 sation. Her cheek, it is true, turned a shade 
 
DE l'orme. 309 
 
 redder, and I could see that she was some- 
 what agitated ; but still those dear, tender eyes 
 turned upon me, and a smile that owned she 
 was happy in my presence, broke from her heart 
 itself, and found its way to her lips. 
 
 " Dear, dear Helen," said I, seating myself 
 beside her, " thank you for the promise that 
 you would not avoid me ; and thank you for 
 its fulfilment ; and thank you for that look, 
 and thank you for that smile. Oh, Helen ! 
 you know not how like a monarch you are, in 
 having the power, by a w^ord, or a glance, or a 
 tone, to confer happiness, and to raise from 
 misery and doubt, to hope, and life, and de- 
 light." 
 
 " Indeed, Louis !" answered she in a very 
 different manner from that which I had ever 
 seen in her before — " if I do possess such 
 power, I am not sorry that it is so ; for I am 
 sure that while it remains with me to make you 
 happy, you shall never be otherwise. — You 
 think it very strange," she added with a smile, 
 " to hear me talk as I do now ; and I would 
 never, never have done so had not circum- 
 
310 DE l'orme. 
 
 stances changed. But they have changed, 
 Louis ; and as I now see some hope of — *" 
 She paused a moment, as if seeking means to 
 express herself, and I saw a bright, ingenuous 
 blush spread over her whole countenance. 
 " Why should I hesitate to say it ?" she 
 added, '•' as I see some hope now of becom- 
 ing your wife, without entering into a family 
 unwilling to receive me. 1 know not why I 
 should not tell yoii also this that has made 
 me so happy." 
 
 " A thousand and a thousand thanks, dearest 
 Helen," answered I ; " but tell me on what 
 circumstance you, who once doubted my pa- 
 rents'* consent so much more than I ever did, 
 now found expectations so joyful — let me say, 
 for us both." 
 
 " You must not ask me, Louis," answered 
 Helen ; " the only reason that could at all 
 have influenced me to withhold from you what 
 I hoped — what I was sure would make you 
 happy, was, that I felt myself bound to be silent 
 on more than one subject. You cannot fancy 
 how I dislike any thing that seems to imply 
 
DE L'ORME. 311 
 
 mystery and want of confidence between two 
 people that love one another ; and indeed it is 
 the greatest happiness I anticipate in being 
 yours, that then I shall have neither thought, 
 nor feeling, nor action, that you may not know 
 — but in the present case you must spare me. 
 Do not ask me, Louis, if you love me." 
 
 Of course, however much my curiosity might 
 be excited, I put no farther question, merely 
 asking as calmly as I could, fearful lest I 
 should instil some new doubts in Helen's mind, 
 if she was sure, very sure, that the joyful news 
 she gave me was perfectly certain, for, I owned 
 that it took such a burden from my heart, I 
 could scarce believe my own hopes. 
 
 " All I can say, Louis,*" answered she, " is, 
 that I feel sure, neither your father nor your 
 mother will object to our union when the time 
 arrives to think that it may take place — of 
 course we are yet far too young." 
 
 " Too young !" said I ; '' why too young, 
 dear Helen ?"" 
 
 " Oh, for many reasons," she answered, 
 smiling : " you have yet to mingle with the 
 
312 DE l'orme. 
 
 world ; at least so I have heard people, who 
 know the world, say that it is necessary for a 
 young man to do before he dreams of mar- 
 riage. You have to see all the fair, and the 
 young, and the gay, which that world contains, 
 before you can rightly judge whether your 
 poor Helen may still possess your heart/' 
 
 " And do you doubt me ?" demanded I. 
 " Helen, you have promised me never to give 
 your hand to another ; and, without one doubt 
 or one hesitation, do I promise the same to you 
 — by yourself — by my hopes of happiness in 
 this world or the next — by all that I hold 
 sacred — " 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! dear Louis !" replied she ; 
 " do not swear so deeply. There are many, 
 many temptations, I have heard, in the great 
 world, which are difficult for a young man to re- 
 sist — Louis, have you not found it so already .?" 
 
 There was a peculiar emphasis in her ques- 
 tion, which surprised and hurt me ; but in 
 a moment it flashed through my mind — the 
 Chevalier had communicated his suspicions of 
 me to Arnault, and Arnault had taken care to 
 
DE l'orme. 313 
 
 impart them to his daughter. I stood for a 
 moment as one stupified — then, taking her 
 hands in mine, I asked, " Helen, what is it 
 that you mean ? Can 3^ou — do you in the least 
 believe me guilty ?" 
 
 " No, Louis — no, dear Louis !" answered 
 she, with a look of full, undoubting, unhesi- 
 tating confidence ; "if all the world were to 
 declare you guilty, mine should be the dissent- 
 ing voice ; and I would never, never believe it 
 — I will not deny that tales have reached me, 
 which I do not dwell on, because I am sure 
 they are false — basely, ungenerously false, or 
 originating in some mistake which you can cor- 
 rect when you will, and will correct when you 
 ought. Do not explain them to me — do not 
 waste a word or a thought upon them, as far as 
 I am concerned," she added, seeing me about 
 to speak, "for I believe not a word of them — 
 not one single word." 
 
 Oh, woman's love ! It is like the sunshine, 
 so pure, so bright, so cheering, and there is 
 nothing in all creation equal to it ! I threw 
 my arms round her unopposed — I pressed my 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
314 DE l'orme. 
 
 lips upon hers ; but the kiss that I then took 
 was as pure as gratitude for such generous 
 affection could suggest — I say not that it was 
 brotherly, for it was dearer— sweeter ; but if 
 there be a man on earth who says there was 
 one unholy feeling mingled therein, I tell him, 
 in his throat, he lies ! 
 
 At that moment the figure of a man broke 
 at once through the boughs upon us. Helen 
 turned, and, confused and ashamed at any one 
 having seen her so clasped in my arms, fled in- 
 stinctively like lightning, while the intruder ad- 
 vanced upon me in a menacing attitude. — It 
 was Jean Baptiste Arnault ; and with a flushed 
 cheek and a raised stick he came quickly upon 
 me, exclaiming, " Villain, you have seduced 
 my sister, and, by the God above, your nobility 
 shall not protect you !" 
 
 " Hear me, Arnault !" cried I ; but he still 
 advanced with the stick lifted, in an attitude to 
 strike. My blood took fire. *' Hear me,'' re- 
 peated 1, snatching up my carbine, — "hear me, 
 or take the consequences f "* and I retreated up 
 the hill, with the gun pointed towards his breast. 
 
DE l'orme. 315 
 
 Mad, I believe — for his conduct can hardly be 
 attributed to an}^ thing but frenzy — he rushed 
 on upon me without giving time for any ex- 
 planation and struck a violent blow at my head 
 with his stick. I started back to avoid it ; 
 my foot struck against an angle of the rock ; 
 I stumbled : the gun went off, and Arnault, 
 after reeling for a moment with an ineffectual 
 effort to stand, pressed his hand upon his 
 bosom, and fell hfeless at my feet. 
 
316 DE l'orme. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 There is nothing like remorse: — it is the 
 fiery gulf into which our passions and our 
 follies lash us with whips of snakes. What 
 language can tell the feelings of my bosom, 
 while I stood and gazed upon the lifeless form 
 of Helen's brother, as he lay before me slain 
 by my hand ? And oh ! what words of hor- 
 ror and of agony did I not read in every 
 line of that cold, still, mindless countenance, 
 as it glared at me with an expression still min- 
 gled of the anger which had animated him, 
 and the pang with which he had died. 
 
 It was terrible beyond all description. My 
 whole heart, and mind, and brain, and soul, 
 was one whirl of dreadful sensations. I had 
 
DE l'orme. 317 
 
 done that which it was impossible to recall — 1 
 had taken from my fellow-being that which I 
 could never restore — I had extinguished the 
 bright mysterious lamp of life : and where, 
 oh ! where could I find the Promethean flame 
 wherewith to light it again to action and to 
 being ? 
 
 In vain ! The irrevocable deed had gone 
 forth ; and sorrow, and tears, and regret, and 
 agony, could have no more effect upon it than 
 on the granite of the mountains that sur- 
 rounded me. It was done ! It was written on 
 the book of Fate ! It was between me and my 
 God, — a dreadful account, never to pass from 
 my memory. I felt the finger, that had branded 
 murderer! on the brow of Cain,, tracing the 
 same damning word in characters of fire upon 
 my heart. And yet I gazed on, upon the 
 thing that I had made, with horror amounting 
 to stupefaction. Like the head of the Gor- 
 gon, it seemed to have turned me into stone ; 
 and though I would have given worlds to have 
 banished it for ever from my sight and my 
 memory, I stood with my eyes fixed upon it 
 
318 DB l'orme. 
 
 as if I sought to impress every lifeless linea- 
 ment on my remembrance with lines that time 
 should never have power to efface. 
 
 A heavy hand, laid upon my shoulder, was 
 the first thing that roused me; and turning 
 round, I beheld Pedro Garcias, the Spanish 
 smuggler, standing by my side. The dis- 
 charged gun was still in my hand ; the bleed- 
 ing corpse lay before me ; and had he had 
 occasion to ask who had done the deed, whose 
 consequences he beheld, I am sure that my 
 countenance would have afforded a sufficient 
 reply. No one but a murderer could have 
 looked and felt as I did. 
 
 *' Hov/ did this happen ?" asked he bluntly, 
 and without giving me either name or title; 
 for no one could look upon the humbling 
 object before us, and cast away one name of 
 honour upon earthly rank. For a moment, 
 I gazed upon the smuggler wildly and va- 
 cantly ; for the strong impression of the thing 
 itself had almost banished from my mind the 
 circumstances that preceded it ; but recollect- 
 
DE l'orme. 319 
 
 ing myself at length, I gave him a scarcely 
 coherent account of what had happened. 
 
 " You should not have seduced his sister," 
 replied the smuggler, fixing his large dark eye 
 upon me. " You men of rank think that the 
 plain bourgeois feels not such a stain upon his 
 honour as the loss of his child's or of his sis- 
 ter's virtue. But they do ! — they do, as 
 bitterly, as keenly, as madly, as the proudest 
 Count that ever spread his banner to the wind." 
 " Seduce his sister ! — seduce Helen !" cried 
 I, turning quickly upon him. " It is false ! 
 Who dares to say it ^ I would not wrong her 
 for a world — not for a thousand worlds !" 
 
 " That changes the case," replied the smug- 
 gler. " He wronged you then, and deserved 
 to die. — But come away from this spot. Fie ! 
 do not look so ghastly. We shall all wear his 
 likeness one day, and it matters little whether 
 it be a day sooner or a day later. — But come 
 along to the mill. Harm may come of this ; 
 for his father will not want friends to pursue 
 this deed to the utmost. — Come, come ! You 
 
320 , DE l'orme. 
 
 shall not stay here, and risk your life too. 
 One dead man is enough for one day at least. 
 — Comer 
 
 So saying, he hurried me away to the mill, 
 where we found the door apparently locked, 
 the wheel at rest, and the miller out ; but on 
 tapping three times, thrice repeated, we were 
 admitted by the miller, who seemed somewhat 
 surprised to see me with Garcias. The event 
 that had driven me there was soon told ; and 
 after a consultation between the two, it was 
 agreed that beyond all doubt, I might com- 
 promise my own life, and the security of my 
 family, by remaining in France. How far they 
 were right, would have been difficult to deter- 
 mine, even had my mind been in a state to have 
 examined the question. The privileges of the 
 nobility were great, but not such as to have 
 secured my immunity, if it could have been 
 proved that the homicide had been intentional. 
 Nothing remained for me according to their 
 showing, but once more to try the air of Spain, 
 till such time as my pardon could be obtained, 
 which might indeed be long ; for it had lately 
 
DE l'orme. 321 
 
 been the policy of the prime minister, to strike 
 every possible blow at the power of the nobi- 
 lity ; and to show less lenity towards any mem- 
 ber of their body, than to those of the common 
 classes. Little did I heed their reasoning on 
 the subject. The conclusion was all that 
 reached my mind, and the idea of there being 
 an absolute necessity for my quitting the coun- 
 try was in itself a relief. Even to think of 
 remaining in those scenes was horror ; and to 
 have met Helen's eyes, after slaying her brother, 
 would have been a thousand times worse than 
 death. 
 
 " Come, cheer up. Count Louis !" cried 
 Garcias ; " I did not think to see so brave a 
 heart as yours overset by a thing that happens 
 to every one now and then. — Give him a horn 
 of La Mancha brandy, Seiior Miller ;, 'twill com- 
 fort his heart, and get rid of such foolish 
 qualms. In the mean while, I will go out and 
 see after the body. If no one has come near 
 it, and I can get it down to the river, I will 
 cast it in below the fall. The waters are full, 
 and it may go down for ten or fifteen miles, so 
 P 5 
 
322 DE l'orme. 
 
 that nobody will hear more of it, and the Count 
 may stay in his own land. But if they have 
 discovered the business, our young Seigneur 
 must lie here till midnight, and then be off with 
 me into Spain. I shall meet my good fellows 
 in the mountains; and then the douamiiers 
 who would stop us must have iron hands and 
 a brazen face. 
 
 I let them do with me whatsoever they liked. 
 It seemed that those fine ties which connect the 
 mind and the body were so far broken or re- 
 laxed, that the sensations of the one had no 
 longer their effect upon the other. My heart 
 was on fire, and my thoughts were as busy as 
 hell could wish ; but I scarcely saw, or heard, or 
 knew, what was passing around me ; and I let 
 Garcias and the miller manage me as if I had 
 been an automaton, without exerting any voli- 
 tion of my own. I drank the raw spirit that 
 the miller gave me, and indeed it might as well 
 have been water. I suffered him, when Garcias 
 was gone, to pour on his consolations, which 
 fell cold and heavy upon my ear, but found not 
 their way to my heart. Nor indeed did he 
 
DE l'orme. 323 
 
 seem to understand the cause of that despairing 
 melancholy in which I was plunged, attributing 
 my grief to fear of the consequences, or to dis- 
 like to quit my country. I had not the spirit 
 even to repel such a supposition, though my 
 feelings were very, very different. The ab- 
 sorbing consciousness of guilt prevented me at 
 first from even remembering or thinking of the 
 impassable barrier now placed between me and 
 Helen. That was an after-thought, infinitely 
 painful, it is true, but it came not at once. The 
 only thought which occupied me, if indeed 
 thought it can be called, was the mental endea- 
 vour to qualify the bitterness of my feelings, by 
 remembering that the act which had so suddenly 
 plunged me into misery was not a voluntary 
 one : and I had continually to reiterate, to 
 press upon my own mind, that it was accidental, 
 and to call up the memory of every painful cir- 
 cumstance, in order to assure myself that I was 
 practising no self-deception. Then too came 
 the consciousness that I had pointed the gun, 
 and a thousand times I asked myself, what 
 would have been my conduct had I not stum- 
 
324 DE l'orme. 
 
 bled over the rock. — Would I have fired ? 
 Would I have refrained ? I know not ! and 
 still my own heart condemned me, and branded 
 me with the name of murderer. 
 
 It seemed long, long ere Garcias came back ; 
 for to those who despair, as well as to those who 
 hope, each minute lingers out an age. When 
 he came, he brought the news that the body 
 had been removed before he had arrived at the 
 spot ; and that, by creeping on behind the trees, 
 he had caught a glimpse of the persons that 
 bore it, who were evidently proceeding towards 
 the chateau. 
 
 As he spoke, I covered my eyes with my hands, 
 as if to shut out the view of Helen's first sight 
 of her brother's corpse. She had fled so fast at 
 the first sound of footsteps, that she could not 
 have known who it was had approached ; but 
 now she would see him, bleeding from a wound 
 by my hand ; and by the place where he was 
 found, she would easily divine who Avas the 
 murderer. It wanted but that thought to work 
 up my agony to the highest pitch, and it burst 
 forth in a torrent of passionate tears. 
 
325 
 
 " Fie ! fie !" cried Garcias. " Sefior, are you 
 a man? I would not, for very shame, have 
 any one see you look so womanly. You have 
 slain a man ! Good ! Had you not good cause ? 
 Were he alive again, and were to offer you a 
 blow, would you not slay him again ? If you 
 would not, you are yourself unworthy to live ; 
 for the man that outlives his honour, is a dis- 
 grace to existence. A man once told me, I 
 lied," continued the smuggler, advancing and 
 laying his gigantic hand upon my arm, to call 
 my attention ; while the dark fire flashed out of 
 his eyes, as if his heart still flamed at the insult. 
 " He told me, I lied ! We were sitting in a 
 peaceful circle upon the green top of the first 
 step of the Maladetta, where it juts out over 
 the plain, with a precipice two hundred feet 
 high. He told me I lied, in the presence of the 
 girl I loved ; — he told me I lied ; — and I pitched 
 him as far into the open air, as I have seen a 
 hurler cast a disk. — I can see him now, sprawl- 
 ing midway between heaven and earth, till he 
 fell dashed to atoms on the rocks below. And 
 think you that I give it one vain regret, one 
 
326 DE l'orme. 
 
 weak womanish thought ? Did we stand there 
 again, with the same provocation, I would send 
 him again as far — ay, farther, were it possible. 
 — Come, come," he added ; " no more of this ! 
 — Miller, give him another cup of consolation." 
 
 The smuggler took perhaps the best way of 
 teaching me to bear the weight of what I had 
 done, by showing me that there were others 
 who walked under it so lightly. Wondering at 
 his coolness, yet envying it, I took another and 
 another cup of the spirit, till I began to find 
 some relief, and could look around me and gain 
 some knowledge of the external objects. It was 
 then I perceived the reason why the miller had 
 been so slow in admitting us. The whole place 
 was strewed with various contraband goods, 
 which had not yet been deposited in their usual 
 receptacle, which was apparently an under- 
 chamber, reached by a trap-door in the floor 
 of the mill, so artfully contrived that it had 
 escaped even my eyes in my frequent visits to 
 the place. 
 
 It now stood open, and no sooner did Garcias 
 perceive that the brandy and his conversation 
 
DE l'orme. 327 
 
 had produced some effect upon me, than point- 
 ing to a low bed in one corner, he advised me 
 to lie down and go to sleep, while he helped 
 the miller to conceal the salt and other prohi- 
 bited articles with which the floor was encum- 
 bered. I said I could not sleep, and he made 
 me take a fourth cup of brandy, which soon 
 plunged me at least into forgetfulness. 
 
 How long I lay I know not, but when I woke 
 the interior of the mill was quite dark, except 
 where a moonbeam streamed in through a high 
 window and fell upon the dark gigantic figure 
 of Garcias standing with the miller near the 
 door, apparently in the act of listening. At the 
 same time a high pile of salt, moved to the 
 edge of the trap-door, but not yet let down, 
 proved that the smugglers had been interrupted 
 in their employment. In an instant a tremen- 
 dous knocking, which had most probably been 
 the cause of my waking, was repeated against 
 the mill-door, and a voice was heard crying, 
 " If you do not open the door, take the conse- 
 quences, for I give you notice that I shall break 
 it open ; I am Francois Derville, officer of his 
 
328 
 
 Majesty's douannei and I charge you to yield 
 me entrance!" 
 
 " Ay, I know you well !" muttered Garcias 
 to himself, '' and a bold fellow you are too. — 
 See, miller, by the loop-hole," he continued, in 
 the same under-tone, — " see whether there is 
 any one with him ?" 
 
 The miller climbed up to a small aperture 
 high in the wall, v/hich apparently commanded 
 a view of the door ; and after looking through it 
 for a moment, while the blows were reiterated 
 on the outside, he descended, saying, "He is 
 alone ; I have looked all up the valley and no 
 one is near him ; but I see'he has got an iron 
 crow to break open the door." 
 
 " He will not try that when he knows I am 
 here," said Garcias ; and elevating his voice to 
 a tone that drowned the knocking without, he 
 added, " Hold ! Derville, hold ! I am here, — 
 Pedro Garcias, — you know me, and you know 
 I am not one to be disturbed ; so, go away 
 about your business, if you w^ould not have 
 worse come of it." 
 
 " Pedro Garcias, or Pedro Devil !" replied 
 
DE l'orme. 329 
 
 the man without, " what matters it to me ? I 
 will do my duty. Therefore, let me in, or I 
 will break open the door;" and a heavy blow 
 of his crow confirmed this expression of his 
 intention. 
 
 "The man is mad !" said Garcias, with that 
 calm, cold tone which very often in men of 
 stormy passions announces a more deadly de- 
 gree of wrath than when their anger exhausts 
 itself in noisy fury ;— " the man is mad !" and 
 stooping down he took up one of the heavy 
 wooden mallets with which he had been break- 
 ing the salt. 
 
 In the mean while the blows without were re- 
 doubled, and the door evidently began to give 
 way. " Take care what you are doing !" cried 
 Garcias, in a voice of thunder ; " you are rush- 
 ing into the lion's den f Another and another 
 blow were instantly struck, the door staggered 
 open, and the douannier stood full in the 
 portal. 
 
 Garcias raised his arm — the mallet fell, and 
 the unhappy officer rolled upon the floor with 
 his skull dashed to atoms, like an ox before the 
 
330 DE l'orme. 
 
 blow of the butcher. He made no cry or sound, 
 except a sort of inarticulate moan, but fell 
 dead at once, without a struggle. 
 
 " Good God ! what have you done ?" cried I, 
 starting from the bed where I had hitherto 
 lain, and approaching Garcias. 
 
 " Punished a villain for breaking the law of 
 every civilized land :" replied the smuggler, 
 " for no country authorizes one man to infringe 
 the dwelling of another without authority ; and 
 he had no authority or he would have shown it. 
 At least,'*" he added, in a lighter tone, — though, 
 perhaps, what he did add, proceeded from a 
 more serious feeling, for that dark and wily 
 thing, the human heart, thus often covers itself, 
 even from ourselves, with a disguise the most 
 opposite to its native character; — "at least, I 
 hope he had none. At all events, he knew well 
 what he was about : I warned him beforehand . 
 and now, — I think he will never break into any 
 one's house again. — Shut the door, miller, and 
 let us have a light." 
 
 The coolness with which he contemplated the 
 body of his victim produced very strange and 
 
DE l'orme. 331 
 
 perhaps evil impressions in my breast. Cer- 
 tainly, in that small, silent court of justice which 
 every man holds within his own breast, both 
 upon his own and upon other people's actions, 
 I condemned the deed I had seen committed ; 
 and I found myself too, guilty : but his crime 
 seemed so much more enormous than mine, that 
 the partial judge was willing, I am afraid, to 
 pardon the minor offender. But it was the ex- 
 ample of his calmness that had strongest effect 
 upon me; and I began to value human life at 
 less, since I saw it estimated so low by others. 
 
 Neither Garcias nor the miller seemed to 
 give one thought of remorse to the deed ; the 
 miller speaking of it in his cool, placid manner; 
 and Garcias treating it as one of those matters 
 which every man was called to perform at some 
 time of his life. Both of them also justified it 
 to themselves as an act of absolute necessity 
 for their own security. 
 
 To what crime, to what folly has not that plea 
 of necessity pandered at one time or another in 
 this world ? From the statesman to the pick- 
 purse ; from the warrior to the cut- throat, all, 
 
332 DE l'orme. 
 
 all, shield themselves behind necessity from the 
 arrows which conscience vainly aims at the re- 
 bellious heart of man. 
 
 The question now became how to dispose of 
 the body, but the smuggler soon arranged his 
 plan, with an art in concealing such deeds 
 which, though doubtless gained in the wild 
 hazardous traffic he carried on, I own, made me 
 shudder with associations I liked not to dwell 
 upon. Without any apparent reluctance, he 
 raised the corpse in his arms, and carried it out 
 to a crag that overhung the stream, having an 
 elevation of about an hundred yards perpen- 
 dicular. Underneath this point were several 
 masses of rock and stone, a fall on which would 
 infallibly have produced death, with much the 
 same appearances as those to be found on the 
 body of the douannier. But without trusting to 
 this, Garcias carried the body to the top of the 
 rock, and cast it down headlong upon the stones 
 below, which it spattered with its blood and 
 brains, and then, rolling over into the river, was 
 carried away with the stream. The next thing 
 was to cast down the iron crow, which might 
 
DE L'ORME. 333 
 
 have been supposed to drop from his hand in 
 falling ; and then the smuggler broke away a 
 part of the mould and turf that covered the 
 top of the rock, leaving such an appearance as 
 the spot would have presented had the ground 
 given way under the officer's feet. 
 
 All this being done, he returned to the mill, 
 and telling me that it would soon be time for 
 us to set out, he applied himself to concluding 
 the work in which he had been disturbed by 
 the arrival of the douannier, as calmly as if the 
 fearful transactions of the last half hour had left 
 no impress upon his memory. The only thing 
 that might perchance betray any regret or re- 
 morse was the dead silence with which he pro- 
 ceeded, as if his thoughts were deeply occupied 
 with some engrossing subject. 
 
 At length, however, he turned to the miller : 
 " Come, give me a horn of the aguardetite P"* 
 cried he, with a sigh that commented on his 
 demand, " and stow away those two lumps of 
 salt yourself. — Have you put the door to rights ? 
 It will tell tales to-morrow if you do not take 
 heed : and wipe up that blood upon the floor." 
 
334 DE l'orme. 
 
 So saying, he cast his gigantic limbs upon a 
 seat, mused a moment or two with a frowning 
 brow ; and I thought I could see that he strove 
 to summon up again, in his bosom, the angry 
 feelings under which he had slain his fellow- 
 creature, to counterbalance the regret that was 
 gaining mastery over his heart. His lip curl- 
 ed, and his eye flashed, and, tossing off the cup 
 of spirits which the miller proffered, he cast 
 his mantle across his shoulders and prepared to 
 set out. 
 
 Had he shown no touch of remorse, there 
 would have existed no link of association be- 
 tween his feelings and mine ; but I saw that 
 though his heart had been hardened in scenes 
 of danger and guilt, it was still accessible to 
 some better sensations. There was also a simi- 
 larity in the events which had that day hap- 
 pened to us both, that created a degree of sym- 
 pathy between us ; and I rose willingly to ac- 
 company the smuggler, when he announced 
 that he was ready to depart. 
 
 To my surprise, however, he turned not to- 
 wards the door by which we had entered, but 
 
DE l'orme. 335 
 
 going into a small sort of closet, in which ap- 
 peared a variety of sacks, and measures, and 
 other accessories of a miller''s trade, he bade 
 me do precisely as he did. For my part, I saw 
 no means of exit from that place, but I found 
 that there were more secrets in the mill than I 
 had dreamed of. Choosing out a large spare 
 millstone, that lay upon the floor of the closet, 
 Garcias mounted thereon, and dropped his 
 arms by his sides, when instantly the stone 
 began to sink under his weight, and he disap- 
 peared by degrees like some gigantic genius in 
 a fairy tale. The miller handed him a lantern 
 the moment he had descended, sufiiciently to be 
 clear of the hole through which the stone had 
 sunk. He then jumped off* the millstone, which 
 rose up rapidly in its place counterbalanced by 
 some other weight ; and on my stepping upon 
 it, it again descended with me, when I found 
 myself in a sort of cave, whether artificial or 
 natural I know not, but which ran some way 
 into the rock under the mill. The Miller fol- 
 lowed with a key, and a gourd fashioned into a 
 bottle, which he bestowed upon me, and which 
 
336 DE l'orme. 
 
 I afterwards found to be full of brandy. He 
 then opened a small door which gave us egress 
 close to the water-wheel ; and bidding him fare- 
 well, we issued forth, and in a moment stood in 
 the moon-light by the side of the river. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 I'lllN'ltD BY SAMUEL BtNTLEY, 
 
 Dorset Sli eet, Fleet Slreet. 
 
L'ORME. 
 
 ?A,VOL. I' 
 
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