-I 
 
 J 
 
 a

 
 
 THE DUKE'S MAEEIAGE
 
 ' Dieu ! qui tenez la France sous vos ailes ! 
 Ne souffrez pas, Seigneur, ces luttes eternelles, 
 Ces trones qu'on e'leve et qu'on brise en courant . 
 Ces tristes liberies qu'on donne et qu'on reprend 
 Ce noir torrent de lois, de passions, d'idees, 
 Qui jette sur nos moeurs ses vagues debordees ; 
 Ces tribuns opposant, lorsqu'on les reunit, 
 Des chartes de platre aux abus de granit ! 
 Cette guerre toujours de plus en plus profonde 
 Aux sinistres eclairs de Torage sur I'onde, 
 Des partis au Pouvoir, du Pouvoir aux partis, 
 L'aversion des grands qui rongent les petits. . . . 
 
 Victor Hugo.
 
 THE DUKE'S MAREIAGE 
 
 IN THJREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 IJublisfjcrs in ©rtinarg to l^n: fHajcstg tfjc ©ucen. 
 
 1885. 
 (All rights reserved.)
 
 
 ; CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 ^_ 
 — / 
 
 ^ CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Duke's Offer ... ... ... 1 
 
 II. A Remonstrance Unheeded ... 17 
 
 III. Roland's Wooing ... ... ... 32 
 
 IV. The Perplexities of Hucks Littlepoint 51 
 V. Dr. Claverley's Threats ... ... 63 
 
 VI. Claverley's Revolutionary Friend 83 
 
 p^ VII. Mrs. Nethersole's Invitation ... ... 95 
 
 '' VIII. Mrs. Nethersole's Party ... 109 
 
 IX. The Omen of the Fallen Branch ... 123 
 
 X. An Offer of Two Wives ... ... 137 
 
 XI. Pauline Juva ... ... ... 158 
 
 XII. Pauline's Deception ... ... 169 
 
 XIII. A Photograph of Gertrude ... ... 186 
 
 XIV. A Miraculous Apparition... ... 196 
 
 XV. Oddities of Marriage Law ... ... 208 
 
 XVI. A French Lady of Fashion ... 228
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 OHAPTKR PAGE 
 
 XYII. The Duke at Lewbury ... ... 252 
 
 XVIII. Days of Courting ... ... 271 
 
 XIX. M. Grachard sues for a Pardon ... 287 
 
 XX. The Corringtons' Ball ... ... 297 
 
 XXI. " The Dog's Bite " ... ... ... .317
 
 THE DUKE'S MAKRIAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE duke's offer. 
 
 Gertrude Corrington — " Flirtie," as many of 
 her kind friends called her — was engaged to 
 marry the French Due d'Alma. 
 
 Flirtie was a girl with wavy hair and a little 
 mouth, the belle of Lewbury, and twenty- one 
 years old. She had had her dozen of love-aifairs 
 already (certainly not one less, affirmed Mrs. 
 Nethersole, who had a retentive memory for 
 the doings of her neighbours), and it was reported 
 that Dr. Claverley, the rising young surgeon, and 
 ]Vlr. Oram, the curate of Westover, who were 
 both smitten with her charms, would never pro- 
 pose to her because she was too fast. But now 
 of a sudden, Flirtie was about to become a 
 
 ^. VOL. I. 1
 
 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 duchess, the wife of a rich and handsome 
 foreigner, who kept a stud of race-horses, one of 
 which had fanned the pride of Gaul into a flame 
 by winning the English Derby. 
 
 To be sure, this horse's master was only a 
 French duke, said Mrs. Nethersole and some 
 others, who were anxious to show that they knew 
 the difference between the sterling value of an 
 English coronet and the electro-plated imitations 
 w^hich foreigners presume to wear; but this 
 would not prevent Gertie from being styled 
 " duchess," and soaring into a social sphere far 
 above that where Mrs. Nethersole waddled. The 
 girl was, in fact, going to become Duchesse 
 d'Alma, Marchioness of Palestro, and Countess de 
 Beauregard- Voilay ; to be mistress of the historical 
 Castle of Beauregard, in the Valley of the Loire ; 
 and to take a foremost place in the brilliant 
 court of Napoleon III., who then ruled on the 
 French throne. Pretty well this, for the daughter 
 of a half-pay major-general with six children. 
 
 General Corrington and his w^ife certainly 
 thought so, and deemed that Gertrude had played 
 her cards wondrous well. Who would have 
 imagined that the sly puss could have made such 
 capital use of a month's stay at Ostend ? Venit,
 
 THE duke's offer. 
 
 vidit, vicit ; she had carried the Duke's heart by 
 storm, out-manceuvring ever so many besieging 
 parties of active young widows and demurely 
 scheming virgins. In the fashionable Flemish 
 watering-place, overflowing with visitors from all 
 parts of Europe, she had suddenly achieved a 
 success like that which an obscure actress, leaving 
 the boards of a country theatre, sometimes wins 
 on a first-rate stage in an evening. 
 
 She was pronounced ravissante, divine ; she 
 was stared at, almost mobbed, and there were 
 even some of her own sex who praised her. On 
 the Digue de Mer, the parade where people saunter 
 all day, at the hotel tables d'hdte, in the ball and 
 concert rooms of the Kursaal, visitors, a week 
 after G-ertie's arrival, were all saying to one 
 another, '' Have you seen the beautiful Miss 
 Corrington 1 " and those who had not seen were 
 told that they could not conceive how lovely she 
 was. So it befell that the Due d'Alma, an Adonis 
 of thirty, a little tired of female worship, a little 
 sceptical, too, of girlish witchery, heard of the 
 English beauty and saw her. 
 
 He was leaning over the railings of the Digue 
 one morning, gazing out lazily over the sunlit 
 sea, when he beheld Gertrude Corrington coming
 
 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 over the sands, with her brother and two younger 
 sisters. She wore a pretty sailor hat, and under 
 it her splendid hair, damp from the salt water, 
 flowed all down her back like a golden mantle. 
 The sight pleased the Duke, and called to his 
 mind the lines of a Provencal minstrel-poet — 
 
 " In every weather, heat or cold, 
 She had no dress but her hair of gold, 
 Which, like a mantle rich and strong. 
 Draped her limbs as she went along." * 
 
 Having repeated which lines to himself, the noble 
 sportsman strolled off to find some English friend 
 who might introduce him to General Corrington. 
 He soon stumbled upon Lord Oldborn, an elderly 
 peer, who acceded with pleasure to his request. 
 The General was just then basking on the terrace 
 of the Kursaal, with his double eye-glass on, and 
 a copy of the Times in his hand, his mind deep 
 in the Gazette of army promotions, and innocently 
 unconscious of the stir which his daughter's good 
 looks were making in the place. 
 
 French declarations of an amorous nature 
 
 * " Per qualche temps che fessa, per fredda o fredura, 
 Anltr' habit non abbia che la sion cabalhira, 
 Qualche como un' mantel d'or tant eram bel et blond, 
 La cobra della testa fin 'al bas des talons."
 
 THE DUKES OFFER. 5 
 
 never hang fire long. Wliatever courtship has to 
 be gone through is regarded as a formality to be 
 discharged after a proposal of marriage has been 
 made and accepted. An introduction at the 
 Kursaal followed by a valse ; a meeting next day, 
 which was not so accidental as it looked, durinsf 
 an excursion to Ghent ; a trip by canal to 
 picturesque old Bruges, with a picnic, at which 
 the Duke mixed the salad, uncorked the cham- 
 pagne, and sang some ballads of his country in 
 a bold and gay tenor voice ; — these were the only 
 preliminaries to Gertrude's engagement. Per- 
 haps mamma noticed that Gertie and the Duke 
 were sitting rather confidentially in the bows 
 of the boat as it was being towed back to 
 Ostend in the moonlight, by a pair of tattered 
 Flemings ; but this did not prepare the good 
 lady for the announcement which her daughter 
 made, mth an outburst of blushing joy, as soon 
 as they had returned to their hotel, " Oh, mamma, 
 the Due d'Alma has asked me to marry him ! " 
 
 The other children had gone to bed. The 
 General and Mrs. Corrington, a little upset by 
 the tidings, remained alone to hear how the sur- 
 prising thing had happened ; but Gertie could 
 not say much that night.
 
 6 THE DUKES MAREIAGE. 
 
 " He made his proposal so suddenly, mamma, 
 that I thought he was joking ; but he is so good 
 that I am sure I shall love him dearly. He is 
 going to speak to you to-morrow." Upon which 
 Miss Beauty hurriedly kissed her parents and 
 fled to her room, for emotion overcame her. 
 
 " This is very unexpected," said the General, 
 as soon as she was gone. He was a tall, stiff- 
 backed old officer, a martyr to duty and pipeclay, 
 with a queer voice, loudish and cracked, which 
 sounded as if he were giving the word of command 
 in a high wind. He was a little puzzle-headed 
 too. " I hope it's all right, my dear, eh ? I 
 only made the Duke's acquaintance last Monday. 
 I don't suppose he can be trifling — eh, what ? 
 We must see what happens to-morrow." 
 
 General Corrington harboured a native sus- 
 piciousness of Frenchmen, perhaps because he 
 had been born in the year of Waterloo ; and he 
 had only heard of the Due d'Alma as of a 
 dashing nobleman, noted for his successes on the 
 turf, and for his anglomania ; but he need have 
 been under no apprehension as to the sincerity of 
 this foreigner's attentions, for on the following day 
 the Duke formally made his proposal by proxy. 
 
 All the traditions of French etiquette were
 
 THE DUKES OFFER. 7 
 
 observed on the occasion. The friend whom the 
 Duke sent to bear his offer of marriage was his 
 cousin, the Marquis de Maisonbelle, a general 
 and a dandy of forty-five, who was equerry to 
 Napoleon III., and sported a nose, a waxed 
 moustache, and chin tuft, which made him look 
 absurdly like his imperial master. The Marquis 
 arrived at midday, calm, polite, smiling, arrayed 
 in ceremonious evening dress, and with the red 
 collar of the Legion of Honour commandership 
 round his neck. He could not speak a word of 
 English, and neither the General nor his wife 
 were proficient in French ; but they understood 
 enough to seize all the points of the courteous 
 harangue which their visitor delivered, after 
 making them a very low bow. 
 
 The substance of the Marquis's communication 
 amounted to this : that his cousin was sprung 
 from one of the best families in France, as all the 
 world knew. His late father, the Marechal Count 
 de Beauregard-Voilay, was an illustrious soldier, 
 and had been created Due d'Alma for his 
 achievements during the Siege of Sevastopol. 
 Eoland, the present Duke, was an orphan ; he 
 had an income of five liundred thousand francs, 
 and was heir to the estate of his grandmother,
 
 8 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 the aged Marquise de Ch^teaufort, conjointly 
 with his only sister, the Countess de Beaujeu. 
 The Countess de Beaujeu was married to a senator 
 of the empire. Eoland himself was in the army, 
 and held the rank of lieutenant-colonel on the 
 staff and aide-de-camp to the Empress Eugenie. 
 *' As to his character and talents," concluded the 
 Marquis, ** I trust you will find, on closer ac- 
 quaintance with him, that they are all that the 
 most exacting parents can require in a son-in- 
 law." 
 
 "Nous sommestres-heureux,"muttered General 
 Corrington, not liking to hazard a longer state- 
 ment. 
 
 " I wish I could speak French as Gertie does," 
 remarked Mrs. Corrington ; but this exclamation 
 was lost on Monsieur de Maison belle, who only 
 understood the wistful smile which accompanied 
 it. As this smile conveyed full acquiescence in 
 his cousin's suit, he rose to make a new bow and 
 depart. Without asking to see Gertrude, he 
 expressed the hope that he should be honoured 
 with an introduction on a future occasion ; mean- 
 while, he would hurry back to his cousin, who, 
 he felt sure, was waiting with the utmost anxiety 
 for the joyful tidings that were in store for him.
 
 THE DUKES OFFER. \J 
 
 As soon as this urbane emissary had retired, 
 Mrs. Corrington hastened to her daughter's room, 
 and hugged Gertie in the fondest embrace. ^' Oh, 
 my darling, this all comes of your having learned 
 to speak French so well ! Wasn't I right to give 
 you girls a French governess when you were 
 small ? " 
 
 " I suppose you were, mamma," laughed Ger- 
 trude, with a blush. 
 
 " Yet you used to dislike that poor Mademoi- 
 selle Lepine so at first, and tease her shamefully, 
 23oor creature ! But never mind all that now. 
 How lucky it is that the Duke speaks English ! 
 It would have been a dreadful thing to have a 
 son-in-law with whom I couldn't talk ! " 
 
 " Eoland speaks English beautifully, mamma. 
 He so often goes to England for the races." 
 
 '' Eowland is his Christian name, is it ? Well, 
 it's a pretty name. And he is such a charmiDg 
 man, too ; though he keeps race-horses, there is 
 nothing horsey about him ; and people say he is 
 not in the least extravagant. I heard Mrs. 
 Nethersole speaking about him at the Kursaal 
 the other day, and I am sure, if there is a thing 
 to tell against a human creature, she is the 
 woman to find it out ; but she spoke in the
 
 10 THE duke's MAEKIAGE. 
 
 highest terms of the Duke. Gertie dear, you 
 may consider yourself a lucky girl." 
 
 '' It is all so sudden," said Gertie, " I can 
 hardly realize it." 
 
 " Didn't you suspect anything before he asked 
 you ? " inquired Mrs. Corrington, archly. " Come, 
 you must have suspected a little wee bit — eh, 
 Gertie ? " 
 
 " No, mamma, I assure you," and Gertie 
 turned red as a cherry. " Until yesterday I had 
 not made up my mind as to whether I thought 
 him nice or not." 
 
 " And have you made up your mind now ? " 
 
 " I am sure I shall love him," answered Gertie, 
 with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Well, my dear child, it seems to your father 
 and me that you have made a very wise choice," 
 said Mrs. Corrington, affectionately patting her 
 daughter's cheek and looking with maternal pride 
 upon her beautiful face. The good lady was 
 stout and florid ; her life had been for some 
 years past a peaceable one, and her daughter's 
 engagement was just beginning to work her up 
 into a state of excitement quite novel to her. 
 Her thoughts were already rambling upon wedding 
 dresses, breakfasts, bridesmaids. "We must
 
 THE DUKES OFFER. 11 
 
 write to Aunt Jenny and Aunt Bessie about 
 this," she said, sitting down and thinking of her 
 relations. " How astonished they'll be ! And, 
 of course, you will write to Kate yourself; she 
 ought to be told by to-day's post." Kate was 
 Gertie's elder sister, married to Mr. Littlepoint, a 
 solicitor in Lewbury. 
 
 The mention of her sister's name seemed to 
 produce an effect on Gertie, for she hung her 
 head, and her lips began to twitch. She was 
 standing beside her mother's chair, with her hand 
 resting on the back of it. Suddenly tears 
 trickled from her eyes, and her hand trembled. 
 Mrs. Corrington, looking up, saw her daughter 
 crying. 
 
 Gertie's emotion under the circumstances was 
 too natural to cause her mother any surprise, so 
 Mrs. Corrington drew her on to a chair near hers, 
 and, twining her arm round her neck, fondled her 
 with endearing words ; but Gertie only cried the 
 more, till at last, to her mother's alarm, she 
 sobbed outright. " Oli, mamma dear, please give 
 me advice 1 I don't know how Kate will tak(^ 
 this ; she wanted me so much to maxry Laurence 
 Claverley — and, and — Dr. Claverley proposed to 
 me just before we left Eugkind."
 
 12 THE duke's MAERIAGE. 
 
 '' Dr. Claverley proposed to you ? " echoed 
 Mrs. Corrington, astonished. " Why, had you 
 given him any encouragement ? " 
 
 " Kate says I had ; but I didn't mean to," 
 was the doleful reply. 
 
 " And what did you say to the proposal ? " 
 
 " I said nothing ; at least, not much. I said 
 I didn't know, and that we must wait. Oh, 
 mamma, I don't like Dr. Claverley at all." 
 
 " Well, then, my precious pet, why trouble 
 your head about him ? " exclaimed the fond 
 mother, indignant that such a person as a 
 Lewbury doctor should have pestered her child 
 for an affection which she could not give. A 
 week before she might have thought the doctor 
 no bad match, for she had already given her 
 eldest daughter to Lawyer Littlepoint, who was 
 no magnate. But now times were changed. " I 
 am surprised," she said, "that Dr. Claverley 
 should not have had more tact than to make 
 offers to you without first being sure of your 
 parents' approval. I gave him credit for more 
 propriety." 
 
 " Kate said that I ought to marry him," mur- 
 mured Gertie, plaintively. " I am sure she will 
 think I have not treated him well."
 
 THE duke's offer. 13 
 
 " Leave me to deal with Kate," replied Mrs. 
 Corrington, shrilly. " I won't have her or any- 
 body else dictating to you in matters where your 
 happiness is involved. Dr. Claverley indeed ! 
 I wonder Kate can find anything to admire in 
 such a man ! If it had been Mr. Oram now — 
 and, to tell you the truth, Gertie, I did think 
 the curate w^as a little smitten with you." 
 
 '^ Oh, mamma, I never cared for Mr. Oram 
 a bit," answered Gertie, still crying, but more 
 quietly. '^ People only talked because I helped 
 him, with a lot of other girls, to put up the 
 decorations in church last Christmas, and he said 
 something silly about my making a good clergy- 
 man's wife." 
 
 " People will talk, that's certain," remarked 
 Mrs. Corrington, reflectively. " There's your 
 papa, for instance, felt convinced there was some- 
 thing between you and young Purkiss Nether- 
 sole, and grew quite uneasy about it. All that 
 comes from your being such a pretty girl, my 
 pet. But never mind ; you must dry your eyes 
 now, for I expect the Duke will be coming 
 presently. You have found a good husband this 
 time, and people won't talk any more. As for 
 Dr. Claverley, he had better be on his good
 
 14 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 behaviour, or he shall never come into our house 
 again." 
 
 After this Gertie dried her eyes as requested, 
 and went into her room to put on her prettiest 
 dress for the Duke's coming. As for Mrs. 
 Corrington, she sat down without any loss of 
 time, and commenced a scolding letter to her 
 eldest daughter Kate. 
 
 The Corringtons were not such great people, 
 though, that Mrs. Corrington could take high 
 ground in rebuking her eldest daughter. The 
 General had been an artillery officer. He was 
 the grand nephew of a baronet, and prided him- 
 self on coming of good old Yorkshire stock ; but 
 his family had never been influential enough to 
 assist him in his career, or to lend him a penny. 
 His father had been a colonel, and his grandfather 
 a captain in the navy. On Mrs. Corrington's 
 side, the lineage was rather more illustrious ; for 
 there was a lord somewhere among the good lady's 
 ancestors on the mother's side, which gave her 
 occasion to describe herself sometimes as a con- 
 nection of two or three noble families, with 
 whom, however, she had diffidently forborne to 
 claim personal acquaintanceship. 
 
 In sum Mrs. Corrington was the daughter of
 
 THE DUKES OFFER. 15 
 
 an army surgeon named Perkins, and she had 
 considered that she was making rather a good 
 match when, out in India, she had married Tom 
 Corrington, who was a captain at the time, with 
 nothing but his pay. A good match it had been, 
 for she had never repented of it ; but the life she 
 had led whilst her husband struggled for promo- 
 tion had been exempt neither from fatigues nor 
 disappointments. All her six children were born 
 in different parts of the world — Kate in Calcutta, 
 Gertrude in Canada, and so on — and there had 
 been whole twelvemonths at different times 
 during which Mrs. Corrington had been separated 
 either from her husband or her children. Now 
 that the General was at length settled down in 
 an English country town, with an income derived 
 from his half-pay and the interest of a small 
 legacy left him by an aunt, his wife had begun 
 to appreciate the blessings of having a permanent 
 home of her own, and she had been minded that 
 lier daughters should not marry wanderers. 
 
 She esteemed that Kate had done well for 
 herself in marrying Hucks Littlepoint, a promising 
 young lawyer, who was as likely as not to 
 become clerk of the peace or coroner of the 
 county someday; and a week ago she would
 
 16 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 have welcomed Dr. Claverley as a second son-in- 
 law, all the more readily as she had entertained 
 fears about Mr. Oram the curate, who had no 
 immediate prospect of a living, and was ob- 
 jectionable from having divided the parish on 
 the subject of candles and auricular confession. 
 But now this trip to Ostend — undertaken with 
 no other object but that of getting a change of 
 air, after nearly ten years' uninterrupted residence 
 in one place — this trip had changed everything. 
 The offer from a French duke with £20,000 a 
 year — a handsome young duke, too — aroused 
 pride and ambition in the maternal breast, so 
 that the letter to Kate, which began and ended 
 joyfully as a poean, contained some rather high- 
 flown considerations about detrimental suitors 
 like that presumptuous Lewbury doctor.
 
 ( 1^ ) 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A EEMONSTRANCE UNHEEDED. 
 
 The Due d'Alma sat in his room at the Hotel 
 Fontaine, awaiting with some trepidation the 
 return of his cousin from the errand on whicli he 
 had sent him. 
 
 " Well ? " he exclaimed, starting from his 
 chair as the Marquis de Maisonbelie entered the 
 room with his military air, head erect and gait 
 elastic/' " Good news or bad ? " 
 
 " Mon cher, tu as fait une betise," answered 
 the replica of Napoleon III., drawing off liis 
 straw-coloured gloves, and throwiug them into 
 his hat. 
 
 " Why, have they rejected me ? " asked the 
 Duke in an altered voice. 
 
 The Marquis shrugged liis shoulders. " Was 
 it likely ? They seemed rather to wondtn* whether 
 
 VOL. I. -
 
 18 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 I was not joking. I left them half -throttled with 
 astonishment and satisfaction." 
 
 '' Ah, then, Heaven be praised ! The rest 
 concerns me ! " 
 
 ''It concerns your family as well as yourself," 
 answered the Marquis, putting his beaky nose 
 close to his cousin's, and laying a hand on his 
 shoulder. The Marquis de Maisonbelle, with that 
 scarlet riband round his throat, looked much like 
 a grey parrot with a red breast. He w^as a 
 veteran courtier, and it was reported that his 
 morals were easy ; but he feared ridicule as 
 a cat does water, and a breach of social pro- 
 prieties as much as a stain on his honour or his 
 shirt-front. 
 
 He had consented to act as Eoland's emissary 
 because Roland was his cousin, and it is correct 
 that cousins should act for one another at such 
 junctures ; but he had disliked his embassy from 
 the first, and, since he had seen what people the 
 Corrino^tons were, he marvelled whether the Duke 
 had not "got a spider in his ceiling," which is 
 the French for a bee in the bonnet. But for the 
 fact that Gertrude's father was a general, and 
 that military rank was a thing he perforce re- 
 spected, he would have pronounced the word
 
 A REMONSTRANCE UNHEEDED. 19 
 
 mesalliance ; as it was, he endeavoured to convey 
 this idea by serious expostulations. 
 
 " Have you considered," he said, *' what 
 your grandmother, the Marquise de Chateaufort, 
 would say to your marrying a Protestant — she is 
 such a rigid Catholic ? " 
 
 " Pooh, my poor grandmother is almost in her 
 dotage. You would not have me regulate my 
 actions according to her crotchets ? " 
 
 *' But you must ask her consent to your 
 marriao^e, and I doubt whether she will give it 
 you. I question also whether the Emperor and 
 Empress would approve such a match. There 
 are proprieties which ought not to be violated. 
 Let me remind you, cousin, that you belong to a 
 family who have been Catholics since — since, in 
 fact, it was the right thing to be a Catholic." 
 
 " Say, rather, that my ancestors worshipjocd 
 Yenus, Bacchus, and Mars," retorted the Duke, 
 with good-humoured flippancy ; " and as for you, 
 De Maisonbelle, I will bet you ten napoleons to 
 a cigarette that you cannot recite the credo 
 straight off." 
 
 "Farhleu, I should lose my cigarette," acknow- 
 ledged the equerry ; " but be good enough to 
 recollect that I obey many a statute that I can't
 
 20 THE duke's MAERIAGE. 
 
 quote. Seriously, Roland, I told you my opinion 
 about this matrimonial freak of yours this 
 morning, and now that I have seen these Cor- 
 ringtons, I warn you that they are horrihlement 
 bourgeois. They are people who go to the 
 temple three times on Sundays, nourish them- 
 selves on tea and the " Vicar of Wakefield," and 
 would redden to the roots of their hair if you 
 dropped the word ' pantaloons ' in their hearing/' 
 
 The Duke laughed. " You have all a French- 
 man's prejudices against the English, my dear 
 cousin ; but I know the people well, and like 
 them. They are Dot such oafs or such prudes as 
 you ma}^ imagine." 
 
 " Sacrebleu ! no, their girls are certainly not 
 prudes," admitted the Marquis, drily. " They get 
 up flirtations with Tom and John, ramble on the 
 sands by moonlight, far from the eyes of their 
 mammas, who care not, and the first man who 
 pleases may kiss them on condition of doing it 
 in a dark corner, and being prepared to fece an 
 action for breach of promise of marriage after- 
 w^ards. I know the " 
 
 " You don't know them at all," replied 
 Roland, amused ; for he was in high spirits. 
 "English girls enjoy more liberty than ours, but
 
 A EEMONSTRANCE UXHEEDED. 21 
 
 they are all the better for it, and they make 
 excellent wives." 
 
 De Maisonbelle grinned. " So I have heard,'" 
 was his rejoinder. '^ But, once again, are you sure 
 that you are fitted for the enjoyment of matri- 
 monial bliss as an Euoiish wife defines it ? If 
 you carry your homage to the feet of any other 
 woman — just for a change occasionally, and to 
 make the time pass — you must rely on no French 
 indulgence from her. The young matron, who 
 was so placid at the conjugal tea-table, cutting 
 bread and butter for her progeny, will become a 
 raging lioness, and go roaring to her London 
 Divorce Court for redress. Have you thought 
 upon that ? " 
 
 "It is a pretty picture," laughed the Duke ; 
 " but you forget one thing — that I marry for the 
 sake of changing my life. I have had enough of 
 light loves. They weary me. In taking an 
 English wife, I will adopt the manners and morals 
 of a husband a VanglaiseJ' 
 
 " Mes complimens,'' replied the incredulous 
 Marquis. " However, having had my say, 
 nothinfr remains for me but to hold out my 
 hand and wish you the realization of the hap- 
 piness you seem to anticipate," saying whicli lie
 
 22 THE duke's maepjage. 
 
 suited the action to the word, like one who means 
 to wash his hands afterwards. 
 
 This was all that the Duke wanted. The old 
 grey parrot, worldly-wise as he was, could not 
 turn him from a marriage on which he had set 
 his heart ; besides, the die was cast now, and 
 there was no retreating from an offer of marriage 
 duly made. Gertrude herself might still break 
 off the match, for she had not yet formally 
 accepted her lover ; but nobody else could do so. 
 
 The Emperor's equerry had plenty of things 
 to do at Ostend. He was going to carry a dozen 
 pairs of gloves to an actress with whom he had 
 lost a bet overnight ; afterwards he purposed 
 paying his respects to a Kussian ambassadress, 
 whose husband was absent. So, having interfered 
 with his cousin's concerns to the extent which 
 the duty of kinship commanded, but not so far 
 as to ruffle Roland's temper and create a quarrel 
 (which would have been de mauvais ton ; for you 
 must never get angry with a man for jumping 
 into a ditch, if such be his fancy), he went off to 
 his apartment to take off his ceremonial garments. 
 As for Roland, he retired to his dressing-room to 
 put on a frock-coat and otherwise beautify 
 himself for his visit to Gertrude.
 
 A REMONSTEANCE UNHEEDED. 23 
 
 He was as much excited as a boy who is iu 
 love for the first time ; and there was, indeed, in 
 his passion for Gertrude something different from 
 the fleeting affections he had from time to time 
 bestowed on other women. What were stas^e 
 ingenues, and the frisky matrons of the imperial 
 court, as compared with this coquettes English 
 child, so lovely and so pure ? Eoland spoke truly 
 in tellino^ his cousin that he knew the Enoiish 
 and liked them ; nor was his notion of taking 
 an English wife any sudden fancy born of his 
 admiration for Gertrude. He had thought of 
 doing such a thing long before he had set eyes 
 on her. 
 
 For some seasons past his relations — nay, even 
 that august lady, the Empress Eugenie, whose 
 A.D.C. he was — had been telling him that he 
 ought to take a wife, and he had always parried 
 this suggestion with the time-honoured pleasantry, 
 which used to make her Majesty laugh, saying, 
 " Whose wife ? " But he had pondered over the 
 subject, notwithstanding. His aged grandmother 
 wished to arrano-e a marriao^e for him with a 
 young lady of high birth and large fortune, who 
 was being educated in a Breton convent at 
 Auray ; his young married sister desired to get
 
 24 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Mm wedded to a damsel equally gifted, who lived 
 in the seclusion of a convent in Paris. Had he 
 accepted either match, the Duke would have been 
 presented to a girl brought out of a nunnery on 
 purpose to see him ; and the mere fact of her 
 beiug so trotted out for his inspection would 
 have implied a betrothal, whether he felt drawn 
 towards the girl or not. Then there would have 
 been a short but formal courtship, a series of 
 interviews between family notaries, ending in the 
 execution of a tremendous marriage contract, and 
 the Due d'Alma would have found himself united 
 to a raw schoolgirl, knowing absolutely nothing 
 of the world, and very impatient to drink deep 
 of its pleasures. This was not exactly what 
 Eoland wanted. He had had his experience of 
 worldly adventures as a soldier, courtier, and 
 viveur, and looked to marriage as a haven where 
 he might ride for the future in still waters. 
 
 He was an easy-going man, too, and felt 
 more disposed to be led by a wife having an 
 original mind and a will of her own, than to 
 shape the character of an utterly inexperienced 
 girl. For it is always a delicate task for a 
 husband, this moulding of a young nun-bred 
 wife's character. Pie must be very cautious to
 
 A EEMOXSTRA^'CE UNHEEDED. 'lo 
 
 set no bad example, instil no loose principles, or 
 tliey may bring up a crop which he will garner 
 sorrowfully enough in his old age. A man does 
 not indulge in such reflections between twenty 
 and twenty-five, and he is apt to scout them 
 between fifty and eighty, if he sets his heart 
 upon marrying a young girl at such a period ; 
 but they are very apt to trouble him when he has 
 reached the critical age of thirty, which is near 
 the half-way house in man's journey up the hill 
 of life and down. 
 
 They had assailed Eoland with the more 
 force because of his acquaintance with Englisli 
 manners, so difi"erent from those of his own 
 country. 
 
 In his frequent visits to England, where he 
 always stayed at the houses of the richest and 
 noblest of the land, he had been charmed at 
 seeinsf the freedom allowed to Eno:lish cfirls. 
 Their society was delightful to him. He could 
 talk to them as to rational beings, instead of 
 having to mince his words as if they were children ; 
 and the circumstance of his never being in any 
 one English house long at a time, prevented him 
 from detecting abuses which might attend this 
 liberty.
 
 26 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 So he had often said to himself that he should 
 like to wed some bright, good English girl, who 
 would take him of her own free choice, and 
 cling to him the more closely through life from 
 remembering that she had chosen him instead of 
 having been thrust into his arms by match-making 
 relatives. Unfortunately for Eoland, his luck 
 had never thrown him in the way of any high- 
 born English girl who spoke French to perfection, 
 whilst his own knowledge of English, such as it 
 was, laid him rather under a disadvantage than 
 otherwise in prosecuting so serious a thing as 
 a courtship. 
 
 Eoland spoke English well, but he thought 
 in French, and the result was an occasional 
 quaintness of speech which made his hearers smile. 
 Now, a Frenchman who knows but little or no 
 English can go a long way in making love to an 
 English girl, because his utter helplessness renders 
 him interesting ; but the case is not the same 
 when a man is sufficiently conversant with the 
 language to be afraid of committing mistakes in 
 it, and carefully measures his expressions lest he 
 should say more or less than he means. Such 
 restraints clip the wings of eloquence. They had 
 often caused the Duke, who chatted so glibly at
 
 A REMONSTRANCE UNHEEDED. 27 
 
 ordinary times, to appear sliy and reserved in 
 those moments wtien tie was burning to put a 
 great many pretty things into words. 
 
 But in truth, if marriages be made in heaven, 
 one must suppose that Eoland was not destined 
 to meet his appointed bride imtil he encountered 
 Gertrude Corrington. She spoke French with a 
 fluency that was rare. In that boat excursion 
 to Bruges, she had prattled to him in his own 
 tongue with far more assurance than any French 
 girl of her age could have shown in speaking to 
 a man, and with a faint foreign accent which 
 only lent piquancy to her pronunciation. The 
 Due d'Alma had never heard talk so sprightly, 
 and yet so innocent, in his own language from 
 any woman ; for, to his thinking, the ladies of 
 France were a trifle too bold, and the girls never 
 bold enough. 
 
 When he complimented Gertrude on her pro- 
 ficiency, she told him of her French governess, 
 poor little Mademoiselle Lepine, the daughter of 
 a political refugee who had written a grammar, 
 which was to his daughter the book of books. 
 After an amnesty had allowed her father to return 
 to France, Mademoiselle Lepine had set up a 
 school at BouloGjne, and Gertrude had several
 
 28 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 times gone to spend six weeks witli her during 
 the summer holidays, "to re-set her participles 
 and tune her accent." She was also in the habit 
 of writing to Mademoiselle Lepine once a week, by 
 way of exercise, and the schoolmistress answered 
 in English, so that each might correct the other's 
 faults — an arrangement which worked exceedingly 
 well, and which Eoland, when it was explained to 
 him, thought the happiest idea that had ever been 
 conceived since the invention of gunpowder. 
 
 When Roland had put on his frock-coat after 
 the Marquis's departure, and placed a rosette in 
 his button-hole — for he was an officer of the 
 Legion of Honour — he took a survey of himself 
 in the glass, and was tolerably pleased with the 
 image it reflected. 
 
 The Due d'Alma was a soldierly man, tall, 
 with dark hair slightly curling, kindly hazel 
 eyes, and a fine black moustache. Having lived 
 fast, however, in barracks and at court, he was 
 afflicted with incipient baldness, and was growing 
 a little stout, which gave vexation to his spirit. 
 His lost hair could never be got back, though he 
 had tried the lotions of twenty mendacious hair- 
 dressers for the purpose ; but he endeavoured to 
 combat his plumpness of girth by hard riding,
 
 A EEMONSTRANCE UNHEEDED. 29 
 
 scientific diet, and by wearing clothes cut by the 
 prince of London tailors. The coat he had just 
 donned was a master-work of correctness, and he 
 buttoned it high, so as to show underneath only 
 an edge of white waistcoat and a black satin 
 scarf, in which was stuck a pear-shaped pearl of 
 great beauty. Having thus accoutred himself, 
 the Duke bethought him of ordering a bouquet 
 for his bride-elect, and rang the bell for his 
 English valet Barney. 
 
 The Duke's coachman and grooms all were 
 English, and this Barney had once been a groom. 
 He vvas a dapper man of about forty, with a 
 clean shaven face and knowing grey eyes. A 
 smart, active servant he was, by no means 
 bashful in giving his opinion when asked, and of 
 a very cheerful disposition altogether. He had 
 not the manifold talents of those foreign valets 
 who can do twenty things and jabber five 
 toDgucs ; but he had not his equal for keeping 
 clothes and boots in order, and seeing that his 
 master was properly attended to by the servants, 
 whether at home or when he travelled. He 
 addressed his master in the English style as 
 ''Your Grace." 
 
 " Barney," said tlie Duke, " I must announce
 
 30 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 to you a piece of news. I am going to marry 
 myself." 
 
 '' Indeed, your Grace ! " This with respectful 
 surprise. 
 
 " I have proposed to the daughter of General 
 Corringtonne, and from this day I make my 
 court." 
 
 "I congratulate your Grace," muttered Barney, 
 who began to wonder whether his own position 
 would be affected by this change. He had never 
 seen Miss Corrington, or heard of her. " I am 
 glad your Grace is going to marry an English 
 lady," he added. 
 
 "Ah ! that pleases you," smiled Roland. "Well, 
 you may show it by your zeal in executing this 
 command. You must go to the florist and order 
 him to send every day a bouquet to the Hotel 
 Royal for Miss Gertrude. You will explain it is 
 for my fiancee. He will understand ; and the 
 flowers, they must be of the finest." 
 
 " Very well, your Grace. Begging pardon, 
 sir, but is the wedding day to be soon ? " 
 
 " I hope so. In a month, no doubt. In any 
 case, I shall have to return to France first to 
 make arrangements. It is in England that we 
 marry ourselves."
 
 A REMONSTEAXCE UNHEEDED. 31 
 
 " In London, your Grace ? " 
 
 " No ; I believe it will be in Lewbury, a little 
 town of the provinces. But I know not yet. 
 You will be particular about those bouquets, 
 Barney. The florist must excel himself."
 
 32 THE duke's MARPJAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ROLANDS WOOING. 
 
 On the strength of Gertrude's promotion, the 
 Corringtons had hastily removed from a small 
 and inconvenient set of rooms they had occupied 
 on the fourth floor of the hotel to a large and 
 magnificent suite on the first. Mrs. Corrington, 
 in the fulness of her heart, had told her maid 
 what Avas going to take place ; this damsel had 
 spoken of it in the servants' hall ; the matter had 
 reached the landlord's ears, and he made diligence 
 to accommodate the fortunate family with a set 
 of rooms which were generally reserved for visitors 
 of large fortune and distinction. They fronted 
 the sea, and cost only a hundred francs a day ; 
 but Mrs. Corrington compounded for this outlay 
 by reflecting that they must all be leaving Ostend 
 very soon now to prepare for the wedding.
 
 Roland's wooing. 33 
 
 The Duke was ushered into a drawing-room 
 gaudily furnished with carmine satin. Through 
 the three open windows, shaded by pink and 
 white awnings, there was a splendid view of the 
 sea, whose calm blue waters were dotted with a 
 fleet of little white sails gleaming in the midday 
 sunlight. It was a lovely day. Hundreds of 
 children were pattering about the sands, while 
 their elders sat reading or working under canvas 
 covers. Brass bands were playing everywhere, 
 and the Digue was crowded with people who had 
 bathed, or were going to bathe, or had come out 
 to see others bathe. 
 
 The Duke's interview with the General and 
 his wife was short, but very cordial. He said 
 just the right thing. He was fully alive to the 
 responsibility he was incurring in proposing to 
 take Gertrude from a happy home, but promised 
 so to act that neither she nor her parents should 
 ever feel that he had been false to his trust. 
 Then he turned to the General, and said, "A 
 soldier myself, sir, I am proud to ally myself 
 with the family of so distinguished an officer." 
 
 "I am very glad, I'm sure," replied the 
 General, briefly ; for he was not a ceremonious 
 mortal, and hardly considered himself a dis- 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 tinguished man. "I saw something of your 
 father in the Crimea. I dined once at his table, 
 when I was a major in the 105th." 
 
 '' Ah, yes, my poor father ! He was a general 
 then. He commanded a division at Inkermann." 
 
 " I recollect his voice now ; yours is just like 
 it. Did you see any regimental service before 
 joining the staff ? " 
 
 " I was in the Cuirassiers of the Guard, and 
 served in my father's division at Magenta and 
 Solferino," answered the Duke, modestly. He 
 did not say that he had been wounded and 
 decorated on the battle-field. 
 
 " Your duties are not heavy now, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " I lead the cotillons at the balls of the 
 Tuileries," laughed Eoland. "I try to amuse the 
 ladies in waiting and maids of honour when the 
 Court is at Fontainebleau or Compiegne ; and 
 sometimes, when a foreign prince comes to Paris, 
 I am told off to pilot him among the museums 
 and theatres." 
 
 Mrs. Corrington found all this delightful to 
 hear. She was sure her future son-in-law must 
 be a great pet at the French Court. " You have 
 no brothers, I believe ? " she inquired kindly.
 
 Roland's wooing. 35 
 
 " No ; I have only a sister, and we are 
 orphans ; our dear mother died whilst I was a 
 boy." The Duke lowered his voice here, and 
 spoke with much feeling of his dead parents. The 
 memory of his mother lingered with him ever 
 fresh and hallowed, so that he never breathed her 
 name without coupling it with an expression of 
 tenderness ; his father he had dearly loved and 
 honoured, and, proud of his fame, he was grateful 
 to all who praised it, or who furnished to his own 
 filial piety the o^^portunity of doing homage to it. 
 
 There was a pause presently, and Roland ap- 
 proached with tact the subject of settlements. 
 He wished to intimate that, of course, he expected 
 no dower with Gertrude. " If you will permit 
 me, General, I will put my notary. Monsieur 
 Eagotin, of Paris, in communication with your 
 solicitor, that a contract may be drafted." 
 
 " Thankee," said the General, who had not the 
 slightest intention of portioning his daughter. 
 *' My lawyer is Mr. Littlepoint, of Lewbury, my 
 son-in-law." 
 
 "Mr. Leetlepoint?" 
 
 " Yes ; he married my eldest daughter Kate 
 — a steady young fellow. But 1 am afraid he 
 doesn't know much French."
 
 36 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 At this the Duke smiled, and Mrs. Corring- 
 ton invited him to luncheon. Then she and the 
 General withdrew, in order that he might see 
 Gertrude alone. 
 
 Gertrude presently came in, looking a little 
 timid, but absolutely bewitching in a light silk 
 dress, with pale blue and white stripes, and with 
 her golden hair all clustering in little curls. 
 
 Eoland ran forward to greet her with both 
 hands extended, and, drawing her to him, kissed 
 her tenderly. '' My sweet Gertrude," he said to 
 her in French, '' your parents have given their 
 consent. Say that you will be my wife ? " 
 
 '' Oh, Duke, I am sure I am not good enough 
 for you ! " she answered, her cheeks tinted with 
 very becoming blushes. 
 
 " My dear little one, it is I who am not good 
 enough for you. I have been repeating this to 
 myself a hundred times ; but I will become better. 
 I will cure myself of my faults to make you 
 happy, because nothing will be so precious to me 
 henceforth as your happiness. You must call me 
 by my name, Roland — will you ? And say you 
 will trust me, my darling ? " 
 
 " You are so good," she replied softly. 
 
 They were seated now very close together,
 
 Roland's wooixa. 37 
 
 near the window, w^here they could see the people 
 pass without being seen, for they were behind a 
 muslin curtain. One of Gertrude's hands was 
 clasped within Koland's, and he stroked it fondly 
 whilst he poured the most ardent vows of attach- 
 ment into her ear. It was very pretty music, for 
 Eoland made love wdth the fervid volubility of a 
 Frenchman, never pausing for a word, but saying 
 all that came into his imaginative mind, and 
 speaking wdth a manly earnestness. Gertrude 
 had been made love to before, more than once, 
 but never so eloquently as this. 
 
 Some time elapsed before the torrent of 
 Eoland's words decreased, allowing the conversa- 
 tion to flow in a quieter stream of question and 
 answer. Eoland drew from his waistcoat pocket 
 a little ring of turquoises and pearls, which had 
 belonged to his mother, and he placed it on the 
 third finger of Gertrude's left hand to seal their 
 eno^ao^ement. 
 
 " What a pretty ring ! " she said, turning it to 
 the light to admire it ; and she looked thankfully 
 into his face, lowering her eyes instantly, how- 
 ever, when they met his, so burning w^th love. 
 After a minute, during which he got possession of 
 her hand, she asked him a question about his
 
 38 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 relatives. " What will they say to your marry- 
 ing me, Koland ? Do you think they will 
 like it ? " 
 
 " My little one, I have only my grandmamma 
 and my sister Aimee. My grandmamma is very 
 old — eighty-five — and she adores me. What I 
 like, she likes ; and she will love you with all her 
 heart. My sister, the Countess deBeaujeu, adores 
 me also. She is twenty-eight, and has been married 
 ten years ; she has two little children — two angels, 
 with rosy cheeks and blue eyes. She is a little 
 giddy, my sister, but so good, and she has a heart 
 of gold. You will become her best friend at 
 once, and will remain so ; for everybody becomes 
 her best friend, and she never seeks quarrels." 
 
 " But your grandmamma and sister are both 
 Catholics, I suppose ? Won't they object to my 
 being a Protestant ? " 
 
 " Oh, religious differences do not signify," 
 answered the Duke, lightly. " I myself look 
 upon good Catholics, Protestants, Jews, or Mussul- 
 mans as belonging to so many different regiments 
 in God's army. It is their business to fight 
 wicked people, not to fight one another." 
 
 Gertrude was rather shocked at this, for she 
 was persuaded that a hot place was being reserved
 
 Roland's wooing. 39 
 
 in the next world for Jews and other sucli repro- 
 bates. But she saw that Eoland intended to speak 
 comfortingly. " Do you know/' she answered, 
 " I do not think I have ever been inside a 
 Catholic church while service was going on." 
 
 "Nor I," was the unexpected rejoinder ; "at 
 least, not since I was]quite small. I go to church 
 when my friends are being married or buried. I 
 attend the official Te Deum on the 15th of August, 
 the Emperor's fete ; and ah, sometimes when I am 
 on duty near the Empress, I attend mass in the 
 private chapel at the Tuileries, and, squeezed up 
 in a corner among the maids of honour, I hear 
 Monsignor Bauer preach to the Court. But I 
 never go to church for my own pleasure." 
 " Not even to mass on Sundays ? " 
 " No, my darling ; why should I trouble God ? 
 I have nothing to ask of Him. He has given me 
 money, health, a good digestion, and now He has 
 given me you for my wife. To beg Him for 
 more would be unreasonable. Kather is it good 
 policy on my part to avoid attracting His close 
 attention lest He should say, ' Ah, you are never 
 satisfied ; the time is come for teaching you a 
 little lesson,' and by way of a reminder, He might 
 send me rheumatisms, which are the things I
 
 40 THE duke's MAERIAGE. 
 
 most dread, as they would prevent me riding on 
 horseback." 
 
 Gertrude did not know what to make of these 
 sentiments. "But surely, Duke — Eoland, you 
 do say your prayers, sometimes ? " she asked 
 gently. 
 
 He at first glanced at her with amusement ; 
 but suddenly, to her surprise, his eyes filled with 
 tears, and, seizing both her hands, he bent his 
 head over them and burst out crying. " Oh, my 
 little one, you remind me of my dear mother 
 when you speak and look like that ! Let me cry ; 
 these tears do me good. When I was small, I 
 used to kneel with my mother, and she taught 
 me to pray. We used to pray for my father 
 when he was in battle ; and every day we went 
 to church, and burned a taper for him at the Lady 
 Altar. My dear mother made me promise that I 
 would always pray, but she was taken from me, 
 and then my father went ; and I had nobody to 
 pray for, for my sister has no need of my prayers. 
 She is happy. As for my grandmother, it would 
 be like off'ering alms to a Kothschild to pray for 
 her ; she is so religious herself, and is protected, 
 I believe, by a great many saints whose names I 
 do not even know. But now, my sweet darling,
 
 Roland's wooing. 41 
 
 as I am going to marry you, I shall have some- 
 body to pray for. Be sure, my little one, that if 
 you want anything of Heaven, I will go down on 
 my knees and ask for it. I will not be too proud 
 to do that. You shall see." 
 
 Gertrude, however strange she might think 
 her lover's language, was moved by this little 
 scene, which gave her a reassuring insight into 
 the nature of the man she was going to marry. 
 Laurence Claverley would not have cried on her 
 lap in this way, nor would Mr. Oram, the curate. 
 They were matter-of-fact men, who kept their 
 emotions under control ; yet how could a girl help 
 feeling drawn towards a man who made such an 
 unaflfected display of feeling ? 
 
 So with m.ute sympathy she laid a hand on 
 her French lover's head as she would have done 
 on a child's. His tears lasted no longer than an 
 April shower. Wiping them away, he soon looked 
 into her eyes with a smile. 
 
 " My little one, I have wept before you ; you 
 see, my heart is yours. We are man and wife ; 
 and now we must get married soon. What sliall 
 you say to this day month ? " 
 
 " Oh, in a month ! That is very soon," 
 answered Gertrude, a little startled.
 
 42 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 " No ; we are in June. If we marry in July, 
 we can go on a tour of Europe for three months ; 
 then we will return to Paris for the winter season, 
 and I will present you at Court. If it pleases 
 you, I will go to France in two or three clays and 
 see my grandmother ; then I must ask leave of 
 the War Minister to be married, as I am in the 
 army, and get the Empress's permission, as I am 
 her aide-de-camp. But those are only formalities. 
 After that, I will go to Lewbury, and we shall see 
 each other every day till the wedding." 
 
 *' You won't remain away long when you go 
 to France ? " asked Gertrude, abeady reluctant to 
 part with him. 
 
 " No, my darling, only a week at most, and 
 we will write to each other every day — won't we ? 
 You will write to me, Gertrude ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And it is agreed, then, is it not — we marry 
 in a month ? " 
 
 " Whenever you like," whispered Gertrude, 
 her head nestling on his shoulder ; for he had 
 drawn her to him again, and was kissing her on 
 the lips. 
 
 At this juncture Gertrude's youngest sister, 
 Mab, ran into the room to announce that luncheon
 
 Roland's wooing. 43 
 
 was ready. Mab was a high-spirited, pretty- 
 child, twelve years old, and with hair like Ger- 
 trude's, flowing in a cascade over her shoulders. 
 
 " Come here, little young lady," said the Duke, 
 stooping to shake hands and make friends with 
 her. "You know I am going to become your 
 brother." 
 
 " You are going to marry sister Gertie," 
 answered Mab, a little shyly ; for his moustache, 
 seen so close, rather intimidated her. 
 
 '' And you will promise to be always very 
 good, and to make a great pet of me, and say to 
 everybody that I am the best brother alive ; for 
 that is how I like my little sister to be." 
 
 Mab laughed. She had no answer prepared, 
 and so ran away, colouring, into the dining-room, 
 where the General, his wife, and two of their 
 other children were waiting. 
 
 General Corrington had six children. The 
 eldest, Kate, married to Mr. Littlepoint, lived ot 
 Lewbury ; Clive, the second, a lieutenant in the 
 Buifs, was stationed at Gibraltar ; next came 
 Gertrude ; then Dick, a cadet at Woolwich, who 
 was now at Ostend for his holidays ; after them, 
 Bertha, who was sixteen ; and Mab, who was often 
 called Baby.
 
 44 THE duke's MARKIAGE. 
 
 - Bertha was a dark and serious young lady, 
 who read good books, and belonged to a mutual 
 improvement association of Lewbury maidens, 
 who met on Saturday afternoons to point out 
 their defects to one another. Those who denied 
 a defect, which was said by the others to be 
 glaring, were fined twopence. The proceedings of 
 this association were conducted with a sisterly 
 frankness which kept its members in a chronic 
 state of irritable self-consciousness. At Ostend, 
 Bertha was occupied in drawing up a memoir, 
 which she intended to read before the association 
 Avhen she got home, and which contained thought- 
 ful notes on the sinfulness of visitors, their ex- 
 ceeding frivolity, and so forth. But Bertha had 
 a skeleton in her cupboard. She was alarmingly 
 fond of cake and sweetmeats, and had long 
 trembled lest her visits to the pastry cook's should 
 be detected, and form the subject for debate at 
 one of the Saturday meetings. She was constantly 
 communing with herself as to whether she ought 
 not to lay her failing candidly before the associa- 
 tion, but hitherto she had not done so, and felt 
 wicked. 
 
 Mab was a little romp altogether, who tripped 
 along when she should have walked staidly, and
 
 eoland's wooing. 45 
 
 fidgeted when she ought to have sat quiet. She 
 was very fond of Gertie, who was her governess ; 
 but she rebelled against the authority of her 
 brother Dick, who was a tease, and thought that 
 sisters were made to act as fags. Having been 
 educated at a public school, where he won renown 
 as a cricketer, he had been made rather too much 
 of at home, and his elder sisters had fallen into 
 the way of humouring him and regarding him as 
 a clever boy. Now that he was at Woolwich, he 
 gave himself greater airs than ever, setting up as 
 a humourist and a determined propagator of 
 slang ; but he was not a bad-hearted youngster. 
 
 Just before Mab had gone to summon Roland 
 and Gertie to luncheon, Dick, lounging with his 
 hands in his pockets, had been entertaining his 
 mother and sisters with his view on the pros and 
 cons of the forthcoming match. 
 
 "Old Mother Nethersole has heard of it 
 already," he said. " I passed by the Kursaal half 
 an hour ag^o, and she screamed to ask me if it 
 was true. I said I believed it was a fact that we 
 were going to admit a frog into our family." 
 
 " Dick, I won't have you talking slang in 
 that vulgar way ! " remonstrated Mrs. Corrington, 
 angrily. " I have told you this before."
 
 46 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 " All right, mother ; but how am I to address 
 this fellow ? Shall I call him ' Mossoo ' ? I'm 
 not a dab at parleyvooing." 
 
 *• You must address him as ' Duke ' until he 
 tells you to do otherwise ; and I trust you may 
 be induced to take pattern from his manners, 
 which are perfect." 
 
 " He may certainly have his advantages as a 
 connection," confessed Dick. '^ A man who owns 
 Derby winners ought to be able to put one up to 
 some straight tips. All the same, it will be rum 
 to see Gertie married to a ^Johnny Crapand.' 
 Suppose there should be war between the two 
 countries, I may be obliged in the course of duty 
 to have chilled shot bowled at his legs. He's a 
 colonel, isn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes, and that's more than you will ever be at 
 his age, unless you take care," remarked Bertha. 
 
 * ' Take care of what ? ' ' responded Dick. ' ' Don't 
 you be cheeky, Bertie. I'll teach you a song, 
 which you may sing to the Duke if he asks you 
 to show off your talents. I don't remember it 
 all, but there's a chorus which runs — ■ 
 
 " ' And we will teach those bragging foes 
 That beef and beer hit harder blows 
 Than soup and toasted frogs.' "
 
 Roland's wooing. 47 
 
 ^' I shall order you out of the room, Dick, if 
 you go on in this way," said Mrs. Corrington, 
 indignantly. 
 
 During the above conversation General Cor- 
 rington had been pacing to and fro, with his 
 hands behind his back, watching the cloth being 
 laid for luncheon. He had not overheard Dick's re- 
 marks, for the latter was standing with one foot 
 on the balcony and the other in the room, and 
 he had spoken not too loud, so that his words 
 might not reach the waiters. Bad the General 
 joined in the conversation, Dick would have said 
 less, for his father was somewhat of a disciplin- 
 arian, and had but a dull appreciation of humour. 
 
 An elaborate dejeuner had been prepared, 
 after consultation with the maitre cVhotel, who 
 had come up in person to superintend the arrange- 
 ments. There were three waiters in the room ; 
 menus near all the plates ; gold-capped champagne 
 bottles in ice-pails on the side- board ; and the air 
 was fragrant with flowers, melons, and straw- 
 berries. Just as the Duke entered with Gertrude, 
 the bouquet which Barney had ordered arrived 
 from the florist's. It was a splendid creation of a 
 master mind, almost a yard in circumference, and 
 surrounded with a border of real lace. It was
 
 48 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 placed as a centre-piece on the table, dethroning 
 a more modest yet tasteful nosegay which the 
 landlord had caused to be set there. The whole 
 Corrington family, excepting Gertrude, were 
 abashed by its magnificence. 
 
 The Duke took his place at Mrs. Corrington's 
 rio'ht hand, havinsf Gertrude on the other side of 
 him, and throughout the meal he charmed every- 
 body by his agreeable flow of talk and his genial 
 manners. He was such a thorough man of the 
 world that conversation could never languish 
 when he was present. He knew how to pass 
 with the easiest transition from gay topics to 
 srave, drawinsf out others on to the ground most 
 familiar to them, and making them dance there, 
 as it were, whilst he piped softly to their 
 measures. He set the General talking about 
 military grievances ; Mrs. Corrington, about the 
 difficulty of finding good servants in these our 
 times ; Dick, about the unfairness of army ex- 
 aminers ; and Bertha, about introspection. All 
 the while his attentions to Gertrude were so 
 watchful, so full of unspoken caresses, that they 
 made Mrs. Corrington's motherly heart warm 
 towards him, and she kept repeating to herself 
 that her Gertie was indeed a lucky girl.
 
 rolaxd's wooixg. 49 
 
 Dick noticed that the French Duke drank 
 nothing but a little red wine and water ; and, 
 after luncheon, it transj^ired that he did not 
 smoke. Dick had counted upon enjoying a cigar 
 on the balcony, and was disappointed. 
 
 " So you will soon be an officer, my young 
 friend," said Koland, laying a hand amiably on 
 his shoulder; ''and I sujDpose you are a learned 
 mathematician, since you are going into a scientific 
 corps i 
 
 " Oh, Duke, I wish you would question tliat 
 boy about his studies,'' interposed Mrs. Corrington 
 " I am sure he is idHng away his time at AVool- 
 wich." 
 
 Dick pulled a wry face, but Roland glanced 
 liumourously at him, and said, " My dear Dick, 
 when I was at your age and studying at St. Cyr, 
 I was the idlest boy in the school. The professors 
 did me the honour to affirm that with an 
 unanimity not observable in their opinions on 
 other subjects. But I consoled myself. Did not 
 the masters at the school of Brienne predict tliat 
 young Bonaparte would never make his way in 
 the army? He won Austcrlitz, notwithstanding." 
 
 " Whicli must have been a sell for his mater,'' 
 remarked Dick, sotto rove; and by-and-bv he 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 said privately to Bertha, " I declare, Froggie isn't 
 half a bad fellow." 
 
 After luncheon Mrs. Corrington and her 
 daughters left the room to put on their bonnets 
 or hats for a walk with the Duke. They were to 
 go to the Kursaal to hear the afternoon concert, 
 and this promenade was to be a solemn showing 
 forth of Gertrude to Ostend society as the Due 
 d'Alma's betrothed. 
 
 But all these glories moved Dick Corrington 
 to philosophize. " I say, Ber," he whispered, 
 displaying new dog-skin gloves before his sister's 
 eyes, " if we're going in for a course of ruination 
 like this, putting on our best go-to-meetings 
 every day, I hope the guv'ner will increase my 
 allowance." 
 
 " You tiresome boy, you think of nothing but 
 money. Do be quiet ! " 
 
 "I'll be quiet. But I say, if Froggie thinks 
 we always live up to the style of to-day's lunch, 
 he must fancy we're awful swells. As plain- 
 speaking is in your line, you'd better hint to him 
 that cold mutton and swipes are not unknown at 
 our table." 
 
 *'I shall do no such thing," replied Bertha, 
 indignantly.
 
 ( 51 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE PERPLEXITIES OF HUCKS LITTLEPOINT. 
 
 Mks. Nethersole and her son Purkiss were 
 staying at Ostend. They witnessed the honours 
 paid to Gertrude wherever she went with her 
 betrothed, and they both knew that this young 
 lady had been nearly, if not quite, engaged to 
 Dr. Claverley. 
 
 Mrs". Nethersole was a small, lean widow uf 
 fifty, whose nose changed its tints with the 
 weather. She was a truly good person, who had 
 issued to herself a permanent commission to hold 
 moral assizes on the doino^s of her neighbours. 
 None knew better than she how to convict her 
 friends of sin, and to lay down the law, religious 
 or social, by which people ought to be guided in 
 their actions. She could quote from the Bible or 
 the manual of etiquette with an equal felicity of
 
 O'Z THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 selection, and she humbly disclaimed any purpose 
 but that of doing good to those whom her tongue 
 hurt or annoyed. Mrs. Nethersole's smallest foible 
 was the fondness for spreading news, and she 
 hastened to inform her familiars in Lewbury, by 
 letter, of Gertrude's surprising betrothal. The 
 tidings caused a sensation in the town, where 
 General Corrington and his family were known to 
 everybody and respected. 
 
 Lewbury is a clean, old, and dull parlia- 
 mentary borough, which has seen better days 
 long ago. It is very ancient, but does not look 
 so, for its monuments are few. It once boasted 
 a renowned priory, the ruins of which may be 
 admired in the parish of Westover, which lies at 
 the foot of a hill ; and on the highest mound of 
 the upper part moulder the donjon and keep of a 
 venerable castle, wedged in among the purlieus 
 of the High Street. It has an hotel, the Star, 
 which has kept its name and position for cen- 
 turies, as is proved by a picture in the bar 
 parlour, which represents a group of heretics 
 being consumed with fire outside this self-same 
 hostelry in the reign of Mary. 
 
 The place keeps up a sleepy existence of its 
 own. It is an assize town ; the county gaol
 
 THE PEEPLEXITIES OF HUCKS LITTLEPOINT. 53 
 
 stands there ; it lias also barracks for militia, and 
 a race-course. Five or six times a year the town 
 wakes up, overflows with visitors during a few 
 days, and then relapses into somnolency. It has 
 no fine shops, for Brightport being but ten 
 minutes' distant by rail, ladies prefer to go there 
 when they have anything to buy. Everybody in 
 Lewbury would rather reside at Brightport, if it 
 were not for the expense ; but everybody, with 
 practical philosophy, pretends to be well-satisfied 
 with the place, and accuses Brightport of being 
 too noisy. 
 
 It was entirely from motives of economy, and 
 not from any constitutional aversion to gay sea- 
 ports, that General Corrington had come to Lew- 
 bury. After retiring from the army on half-pay, 
 he had intended to settle at Brightport — he had, 
 indeed, been looking forward to doing so for 
 years ; but rents are dear in this queen of 
 watering places, and the General heard of a large 
 and commodious house which was to be had 
 cheap at Lewbury. 
 
 The Corringtons had been ten years in Lew- 
 ])ury at the date when this story commences, and 
 tliey had led comfortable lives there. They took 
 the lead of the local society, such as it was,
 
 54 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 having no equals, except Mr. Jentleigli, the rector 
 of Westover, and Mr. Butterby the banker. The 
 General was a magistrate, and one of the visiting 
 justices of the gaol, a post which provided him 
 with some of that responsible work without 
 thanks or pay, in which English gentlemen — 
 alone of the human race — take pleasure. 
 
 The King's House (or Kingshouse), where he 
 resided — so called from Charles 11. being said to 
 have lurked in it for three days, whilst he was 
 avoiding his affectionate subjects after the battle 
 of Worcester — was the most interesting mansion 
 in Westover. It must once have been connected 
 with the priory, for there were abbots' mitres on 
 the stone shields above the doorway. Probably 
 it was the Guest House, reserved for noble visitors 
 who came with large suites, and were able to pay 
 royally for the hospitality which they were sup- 
 posed to receive gratis. On the scroll-work inter- 
 lacing the shields was carved the eclectic motto, 
 " Hospes, quisquis es, eras, eris ; salve, vale ; " but 
 some have conjectured that the poorer guests 
 who knocked too confidently at this door were 
 more often reofaled with the word vale than sahc. 
 It was on a wet day in June, 1870, when the 
 rain had been dripping in a dispiriting way since
 
 THE PERPLEXITIES OF BUCKS LITTLEPOINT. 55 
 
 morning, that the General's son-in-law, Mr. 
 Hucks Littlepoint, sat at the desk in his office 
 in the High Street, and rubbed his ear with a 
 perplexed air. His wife, seated in the chair 
 where clients generally ensconced themselves, and 
 holding her last-born baby on her lap, eyed him 
 with an equal perplexity. The midday post 
 had brought them the news of Gertrude's en- 
 gagement to the French duke, and nothing 
 within the range of possible events could well 
 have astonished them more. Mrs. Littlepoint, to 
 Avhom the tidings had been addressed in a letter 
 sent by Gertrude herself, and in another from 
 her mother, had been unable to bring them at 
 once to her husband, because there had been 
 clients in his office ; but now it was close upon 
 two o'clock, the lawyer's dinner hour, the last 
 visitor had gone, and there she sat, watching her 
 husband's face with an inquiring gaze as he 
 re-read the letters and rubbed his right ear. 
 
 Mr. Littlepoint was a pale young lawyer, with 
 a wild head of hair and gold-rimmed spectacles, 
 and he was easily made to look perplexed. Any- 
 thing out of the common knocked him out of his 
 methodical range of thoughts, like a spider out 
 of his web, though he always dangled on to a
 
 56 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 thread, as it were, by which he slowly climbed 
 lip again. 
 
 " I am afraid it will be a disappointment to 
 Claverley," he remarked at length. 
 
 "A disappointment!" echoed Kate Littlepoint, 
 who was a handsome, dark-eyed young woman, 
 with a warm heart and impulsive habits both 
 of speech and action. " I should think Dr. 
 Claverley will be maddened, dear. He considered 
 himself engaged to Gertrude, and so did I. He 
 has just had a quantity of new furniture put 
 into his house, and I helped him to choose it. 
 He asked me only yesterday to select a pretty 
 dessert service for him next time I went to 
 Brightport." 
 
 " Are you sure, Kate, that Gertrude formally 
 accepted Claverley ? " inquired the lawyer very 
 seriously. He was an honourable man, who had 
 a horror of breaches of contract, though he lived 
 by such things. 
 
 ''Well, yes, dear ; at least, I thought so. And 
 I can't imagine why mamma writes to me so 
 sharply, just as if I had been trying to drag 
 Gertie into a match against her consent. I am 
 sure I did nothing beyond doing my best to 
 encourage them both."
 
 THE PERPLEXITIES OF HUCKS LITTLEPOINT. 57 
 
 " You were very anxious about the match, 
 dear." 
 
 " But so were you, Hu." Hu was diminutive 
 for Hucks. Kate had tried at first to call her 
 husband Hucks, but it wouldn't do, and Hucky 
 sounded no better. 
 
 " Laurence Claverley is young, handsome, 
 clever — a bit conceited, perhaps ; but all young 
 doctors are that — he has money of his own, and 
 is making a good practice. I thought he was just 
 the man for Gertie, and we agreed how nice it 
 would be to have Gertie settled in Lewbury close 
 to us. You never saw any objection to Dr. 
 Claverley, Hu." 
 
 " No. But the question is, did Gertie accept 
 him ? " 
 
 '' This is exactly how things happened," said 
 Mrs. Littlepoint, composing herself by dandling 
 her baby. '' It was the last time they came to 
 tea here, three days before Gertie went to Ostend. 
 Dr. Claverley and she were in a corner of the 
 drawing-room, looking at the stereoscopic views 
 of Paris, and Gertie suddenly exclaimed, * How 
 I should like to go to Paris I ' Then Dr. Claverley 
 took her hand, and said, ' Will you go tliere witli 
 me for a honeymoon ? "
 
 58 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 " What did she answer ? " 
 
 " She didn't say ^yes' or 'no' ; but then, girls 
 don't always give plain replies to proposals. I 
 didn't say ^ yes ' to you, Hu, when you asked 
 me. I think Gertie merely said, * Oh, it's very 
 sudden. I don't know,' and things of that kind. 
 But in the course of the evening, Dr. Claverley 
 managed to give her a kiss in the passage, as he 
 Avas helping her to put on her cloak ; for I saw 
 him do it by the reflection in the looking-glass, 
 because the drawing-room door was open, and 
 he certainly went away with the impression that 
 Gertie had accepted him." 
 
 " I know he entertained that impression, but 
 1 should like to ascertain whether it was justified 
 by what Gertie said or did ? " 
 
 " I think it decidedly was, beyond any 
 question, dear." 
 
 "Well, ladies are the best judges on such a 
 point," said Hucks Littlepoint, with a sigh. He 
 was beginning to feel dismayed by his sister-in- 
 law's conduct. 
 
 " 1 wouldn't speak too positively, though," re- 
 joined Mrs. Littlepoint, alarmed at the respon- 
 sibility thrust upon her. " I can't say that 
 Gertie was actually in love with Dr. Claverley,
 
 THE PERPLEXITIES OF HUCKS LITTLEPOIXT. 59 
 
 and I know she was very anxious that I should 
 say nothing about the proposal to mamma. 
 After all, Hu, I may be mistaken. Girls are so 
 difficult to understand in these affairs ; and Gertie 
 appears to have become very fond of this French 
 duke, and mamma says he is so nice. Let me 
 see again what her letter says." 
 
 She took up the letter and read aloud Mrs. 
 Corrington's enthusiastic account of the Due 
 d'Alma, and the introductions to all sorts of dis- 
 tinguished people, friends of the Duke, who had 
 come to leave congratulatory cards at the hotel. 
 
 All this was so novel to the Littlepoints, that 
 they heard of it wdth bewilderment. There was 
 not a tittle of jealousy in Kate's mind about her 
 sister's marrying in a rank so much above her 
 own, but she was sorry to think that she and 
 Gertrude would now be parted for life, for it 
 was complete separation that must result from 
 Gertrude's becoming the wife of a foreigner ; and 
 she was concerned also for Laurence Claverley's 
 sake. Nevertheless, she made up her mind tliat 
 she must stand by her sister in this affair, what- 
 ever befell ; for she was a staunch ally to her own 
 kin, and, right or wrong, would cudgel for them 
 before the whole world.
 
 60 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 " Dr. Claveiiey will have to bear his disap- 
 pointment as he can, dear," she said to her 
 husband. "It is unfortunate that he should have 
 been mistaken about Gertie's feelin^fs : but he 
 can't do anything." 
 
 " No, he can't do anything," said the lawyer. 
 " I think, though, he should hear the tidings 
 from me. It will be more considerate than 
 allowino^ them to reacli him throuo'h other 
 channels. I will call on him presently." 
 
 " Oh, as IVLrs. Nethersole is at Ostend, I dare 
 say the news will be all over the town soon ! " 
 observed Kate. " That odious old woman will 
 be raising quite a screech over this, for I told 
 her of Gertie's eno-aaement with the doctor." 
 
 " It was a pity you did that, Kate," said the 
 lawyer, looking up ; " and I — I don't think it 
 wise to call anybody an odious old woman." 
 
 '' It is a pity, because things have turned out 
 as they have," answered Kate, rebelliously ; " but 
 I told her in order to keep that abominable son 
 of hers, Purkiss, from worrying Gertie with his 
 attentions. He used to follow her about every- 
 where, squeeze her hand in corners, wink at her 
 vrhen people were looking on, and behave in such 
 a way that she was sometimes ready to scream.
 
 THE PERPLEXITIES OF HUCKS LITTLEPOIXT. 61 
 
 I was afraid the doctor might notice his goings 
 on, and fancy Gertie had encouraged him to take 
 liberties." 
 
 " I dare say the doctor will be at home now," 
 said Hucks, consulting his watch. *' I think I 
 will just step round." 
 
 " No ; you must have your dinner first, dear," 
 said Kate. " It is ready now. Come along." 
 
 Hucks obeyed, though he had lost appetite for 
 his dinner. He was a queerly grave and respect- 
 able youDg man of thirty, who had already 
 adopted the costume and habits of eldeiiiness, 
 and was not likely to alter in appearance for the 
 next forty years. He dressed in black, loved his 
 home, and lived in small things subject to his 
 wife. 
 
 But throughout dinner on this day, Hucks was 
 very thoughtful about' his sister-in-law. He was 
 both shocked and amazed that Gertie should 
 liave jilted Dr. Claverley for the sake of a ricli 
 foreigner, and the idea of the public scandal that 
 might result from this made him wince. Kate's 
 vivacious prattle, which generally cheered liini 
 at table, failed to do so, and almost irritated 
 liim. 
 
 \Yhen the meal was over, Hucks put on his
 
 62 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 hat, and took his umbrella from the stand in the 
 haU. 
 
 " I shall go down to Kingshouse presently to 
 give orders about everything being got ready for 
 the day after to-morrow, as mamma says they 
 are all coming then/' said Kate. " I suppose 
 you will find Dr. Claverley at the Eeading- 
 rooms, dear. He is more likely to be there than 
 at home at this hour. Do your best with him." 
 
 " Yes, I'll go to the Eeading-rooms," answered 
 Hucks, sallying out into the rain. " I can't help 
 thinking Claverley is an awkward man to offend. 
 He is a clever fellow, energetic, and generally 
 respected, as you know." 
 
 " Don't let him bully you, dear," said Kate 
 wistfully, from the doorstep.
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DR. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. 
 
 The Eeading-rooms at Lewbuiy were used as a 
 kind of club. There was a round j^ublic room, 
 with wooden forms and long tables covered witli 
 novels and newspapers, where lady-subscribers 
 were to be seen at all hours, and a smaller room 
 sacred to persons who paid a guinea a year. 
 Herein ladies never entered, but the sanctum 
 was resorted to by the gentlemen of the town, 
 who came to read the news and to chat. 
 
 When Hucks Littlepoint walked in, after 
 depositing his dripping umbrella in the hall, he 
 found only two persons in the room. A short, 
 pudgy, good-humoured gentleman with a bakl 
 head, who answered to the name of Quaug, sat 
 nursing his leg in an armchair, and laugliing 
 over a comic })aper ; whilst a spare, Ian tern -jawed
 
 64 THE duke's MARPJAGE. 
 
 curate, with a very long coat which reached to 
 the calves of his legs, stood with his back to the 
 empty fireplace blinking at the rain, which was 
 still pouring outside as if it were never going to 
 be fine again. This clergyman was the Kev. 
 Chrysostom Oram, curate to old Mr. Jentleigh, 
 the rector of Westover. He was the best fellow 
 in the world, but in Church matters had much 
 tribulation through disputes with his rector's 
 daughter, Miss Kose Jentleigh, about ritual. He 
 liad fought with beasts at Ephesus, as he put it ; 
 that is, with his bishop and otlier raging Low 
 Churchmen, and he had generally prevailed in 
 these encounters, but he had no hopes of ever 
 prevailing on Miss Kose to mind her own 
 business. The rector was an easy man, and his 
 daughter had instituted herself priestess in his 
 stead, vexing the gentle soul of the curate by her 
 interpretations of the rubric. 
 
 Mr. Quang was a jolly little gentleman, who, 
 having no business of his own, found plenty of 
 leisure to bestow on other people's. He had 
 once been sleeping partner in a bank, and 
 enjoyed an income which allowed him to live in 
 not too straitened circumstances, seeking: amuse- 
 ments for himself and familv. He had five
 
 DR. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. 65 
 
 unmarried daugliters, who were not pretty nor 
 plain, clever or stupid, and who were always 
 dunning him for pocket-money. Mr. Quang 
 was a great promoter of social festivities and 
 expedients for killing other people's time. He 
 belonged to a Mutton-chop Club at Brightport ; 
 he went up to London with deputations who had 
 claims to urge upon Cabinet ministers ; he was a 
 member of divers annual-dinner-o-ivino^ associa- 
 tions for setting up or putting down things ; he 
 had been half-way up Mont Blanc ; he could 
 brew punch, play whist, and tell anecdotes which 
 everybody knew, but which could be laughed at 
 without effort. 
 
 Mr. Quang was a great crony of Mrs. 
 Nethersole, and just before Hucks Littlepoint 
 came in, he had l)een reading to the unhappy 
 curate a long letter from that lady, in which she 
 announced Gertrude's betrothal, and spoke of the 
 oTcat stir it was makinir at Ostend. Mr. Oram 
 was in love with Gertrude, but had been too 
 Ijashful to propose to her. When he was told of 
 her engagement to Dr. Claverley, he suffered a 
 sharp spasm ; but now that he heard of her being- 
 affianced to the Due d'Alma, he felt utterly 
 miserable from reflectim>' that the first rumour 
 
 o 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 was untrue, and that if lie had proposed to 
 Gertrude just before her departure for the 
 continent he might have had her. That is why 
 he looked out so sorrowfully at the rain, moaning 
 in spirit like a man who has missed a happy 
 destiny for want of a little courage at the right 
 time. As a matter of fact, Mr. Oram could not 
 have had Gertrude for the asking, so that there 
 was a flaw in his reasoning ; but a curate is not 
 bound to be a logician. 
 
 ''Ah, littlepoint, you are just the man we 
 wanted to see," exclaimed Mr. Quang, holding 
 out his hand to the lawyer. "Well, so it seems 
 we have to congratulate you on your sister-in- 
 law's enojaorement to a French duke "? " 
 
 '' You have heard of it, then ? " replied 
 Hucks, nervously, as he gave his hand to Mr. 
 Quang, who did not at once release it, but 
 worked it up and down like a pump-handle, 
 grinning. 
 
 " Oh yes, I've a long letter from my good 
 friend Mrs. Nethersole," said Mr. Quang, who 
 called this lady his " good friend " on the same 
 principle as the Greeks styled the Furies 
 *' Eumenides." '*' She writes me there have been 
 grand goiugs-on, and sends an extract from an
 
 DR. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. 67 
 
 Ostend paper, in which they speak of Gertrude 
 as a ' damoselle d'oon rare boty.' But I say, I. 
 thought that Gertrude was engaged to Claverley ? " 
 
 " Did you ? " said Hucks ; but he despised 
 himself for this dissimulation, and at once added, 
 " To tell you the truth, I did too ; Init it seems 
 we were mistaken. How d'ye do, Oram ? What 
 wretched weather this is ! " 
 
 " It is miserable weather," rejoined the curate, 
 gloomily. He would have liked to ask whether 
 Miss Corrinofton's eno^ao^ement was irrevocable, 
 but the words stuck in his throat. He could 
 only glance in despair at his muddy boots, which 
 were of no small size. 
 
 " We wanted somethino* of this kind to wake 
 
 o 
 
 us all up, for I'll be bound it will be a grand 
 wedding," continued the cheerful Mr. Quang, 
 who thought he might already fish for an 
 invitation to the breakfast. " The dining-room 
 at Kingshouse will be just the place for a bridal 
 feast ; and, I say, if the General likes, I'll put him 
 up to a hint or two for giving something quite 
 novel in the way of an entertainment." 
 
 " Claverley hasn't been here, has he ? " in- 
 quired the lawyer. 
 
 *'No ; I saw him drive out in his dogcart this
 
 68 THE duke's MAPtPJAGE. 
 
 morning, but lie hasn't come by again. I sup- 
 pose the doctor will be pulling a face over this 
 affair, eh ? Odd thing, his having spread the 
 rumour of his eno'ao'ement when it wasn't true. 
 "What, are you going already ? " 
 
 " I only looked in to see Claverley." 
 
 " None of the babies ill, I hope ? " 
 
 "No, no." 
 
 '^I shall be writing to Ostend by this night's 
 mail," said Mr. Quang, following Hucks to the 
 door, *' and all the girls will send a line, too, to 
 offer their congratulations. Some of them will 
 be expecting to be bridesmaids. I've been telling 
 them they will have to draw lots for it, aha ! " 
 
 Hucks fled from Mr. Quang out into the rain 
 again. He called at the doctor's house, but 
 Claverley was not at home ; so he left a card, and 
 returned to his office, where a farmer was waiting 
 to see him about a case of trespass. Kate had 
 been gone from the house about five minutes. 
 
 Shod in her thickest boots, covered with a 
 grey cloak, and holding an umbrella against which 
 the rain-drops rattled like peas, Kate walked 
 down to Kingshouse to give orders to her 
 mother's servants. 
 
 The house had been left in charsfe of a cook
 
 DE. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. G9 
 
 and a housemaid on board wages, and Kate 
 thought she would set them briskly to work by 
 tellino^ them of Miss Corrino;ton's forthcomiuo- 
 marriage. The communication had the desired 
 effect ; for the prospect of a wedding is always 
 enlivening to the female-servant mind. The 
 cook cried *'Lor!" the housemaid simpered, and 
 was then ordered off to fetch a pail and a mop 
 and commence a general clean-up. Fires would 
 have to be lighted in all the rooms to drive tlie 
 damp out, clean sheets must be laid in the beds, 
 the silver must be polished, the carpets beaten, 
 muslin curtains just home from the wash must 
 be put up, and all that within two days ; so that 
 there was no time to lose. In a few minutes the 
 maid, bare- armed, and with her gown pinned u}), 
 was carrying coals, faggots, mop, pail, and broom 
 from the kitchen ; and Kate Littlepoint, having 
 taken off her cloak and hat, repaired to the liuen 
 room to give out the sheets. 
 
 As she went about her work, she pondered in 
 a sisterly way over the brilliant offer which 
 Gertrude had received. Gertie a duchess ! Gertie 
 shining as one of the beauties of Napoleon's 
 Court ! It sounded like one of the romances they 
 used to weave together when they were little
 
 70 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 girls, and used to play at having husbands with 
 fine titles. Gertie and Kate had always been 
 very fond of each other, and, notwithstanding 
 her alarm about Dr. Claverley, there was a thrill 
 of pleasure and pride in the elder sister's heart at 
 the flattering recognition which Gertrude's beauty 
 had met with abroad. 
 
 "I wish I could have seen her when the 
 Duke proposed. I hope she wore her blue dress ; 
 she looks best in it," thought Kate ; and she 
 resolved that, whatever her husband might say or 
 think, she would be very good to Gertie during 
 the last month they would spend near each other. 
 She would not say a word about Dr. Claverley to 
 make her feel uncomfortable. The conversation 
 on this subject should be with their mother, who 
 had written so unkindly in accusiog her (Kate) 
 of seeking to foist the doctor upon Gertie — "just 
 as if I could foresee that this French duke was 
 coming," murmured the aggrieved lady. 
 
 Thus musing, Kate had walked into Gertrude's 
 bedroom, which overlooked the road leading into 
 the country past the militia barracks. There she 
 saw through the window a dogcart drawn by a 
 high-stepping horse, and being driven at a rapid 
 rate towards Kingshouse.
 
 DR. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. 71 
 
 " Why, that is Dr. Chiveiiey, and Hu can't 
 have seen him," muttered Kate ; and immediately 
 she ran downstairs and opened the street-door, so 
 as to stop the doctor as he passed. 
 
 It was a bold move, and as soon as she had 
 taken it she repented, thinking she would have 
 done better to leave the interview with the 
 doctor to her husband ; but having once put her 
 head through the doorway, she did not like to 
 retreat, lest Claverley should have seen her. 
 
 " After all, it is better to get the explanation 
 done with/' she said to herself, and waited. 
 
 Dr. Claverley had been driving out to see a 
 country patient, who had met w^ith an accident. 
 He was wrapped in a mackintosh, and drove hard 
 through the rain without saying a word to the 
 servant, who sat by his side with arms folded. 
 Claverley, too, had received a letter from Mrs. 
 Nethersole, just before he had been summoned to 
 set his patient's leg at noon, and he was as 
 mortified and furious as it is possible for a man 
 to be. He loved Gertrude ; he believed that she 
 loved him, and, esteeming that she had acce})ted 
 him, he would have thouejht Mrs. Nethersole's 
 news incredible had not her letter been so cir- 
 cumstantial. Even now, as his mind whirled in
 
 72 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 a very eddy, he was persuaded that Gertrude 
 could not have broken her troth of her own 
 accord, but must have been forced to do so by her 
 parents. And he vowed that if this were the 
 case, he would marry her, in spite of father and 
 mother. 
 
 Laurence Claverley was a self-made man, and 
 everybody was aware of the fact, for at the outset 
 of his medical career he had often boasted rather 
 too loudly about it. 
 
 He was the son of a footman and a house- 
 maid ; but he had been sent early to a school 
 where there was a good master, and had been 
 lucky enough to obtain, in his twelfth year, a 
 situation as page to a warm-hearted, eccentric 
 physician, who practised at Brightport. This 
 doctor, finding that Laurence was a sharp and 
 cheerful boy, had taken a fancy to him, and con- 
 tinued his education, till by degrees the page 
 ceased to be a servant, and became his master's 
 pupil and surgery assistant. 
 
 Meanwhile, Laurence's parents having left 
 domestic service and established themselves in a 
 house at Brightport, where they let lodgings, the 
 l^oy got help at the turning-point of his life. By 
 his master's advice he was sent to study for three
 
 DE. CLAVERLEy's THREATS. 73 
 
 years at Bonn, and he made such good use of his 
 opportunities that soon after his return to Eng- 
 land he passed for a B.A. degree at the university 
 of London, and subsequently got his diploma 
 from the College of Physicians. His master, who 
 had employed him as assistant after he came 
 back from Germany, then took him into partner- 
 ship, and two years later CJaverley's parents, botli 
 dying in the same year, left him a few hundred 
 pounds, with which he was enabled to buy a 
 house at Lewbury, and to start a practice on his 
 own account. 
 
 It must be noticed that Hucks Littlepoint 
 and his wife, in their conversation about Claverley, 
 did not allude to the lowliness of his origin, the 
 fact being that the young doctor had, by his 
 talents and his good manners, acquired an excel- 
 lent position in Lewbury and considerable popu- 
 larity. He was then thirty years old — a tall, 
 handsome man (his father, the footman, had been 
 a splendid creature) ; he was a good doctor, and it 
 mattered not a pill to his patients whose son he 
 was. The battle about his ancestry had been 
 fought out when he first came to Lewbury, and 
 when his professional rivals, thinking to damage 
 him by proclaiming that his fatlier was a footman,
 
 74 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 had done him good by their vulgar sneering. 
 There is no country where the advantages of birth 
 and connections are so justly appreciated as in 
 England, and no country where a clever man can 
 get on so well without these adjuncts, provided he 
 is not ashamed of being without them. Claverley, 
 however, nearly put himself in the wrong at first 
 by talking with bravado, as if it were a merit to 
 be a footman's son, and as if persons who had no 
 plush in their family w^ere to be pitied. The 
 people of Lewbury were not prepared to admit 
 that much, and the young doctor, out of his 
 ambition, soon found the sense to see that he had 
 better take the world as the world took him, 
 without seeking to give offence. 
 
 Of course, in his heart he would rather that 
 his father had been dignified by gunpowder than 
 hair-powder, and in paying his addresses to 
 Gertrude, he had not been insensible to the con- 
 sideration that she was the daughter of a general 
 ofiicer. He loved her for herself — he loved her 
 beauty, her grace, her character ; but he had felt 
 it was a social honour to be accepted by her, and 
 it gave a fearful bitterness to his reflections to 
 imagine that she had possibly been impelled by 
 her family to break off her engagement because
 
 DR. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. 75 
 
 of the pedigree whicli caused his enemies to nick- 
 name liim " Jeames " behind his back. 
 
 Perceiving Kate standing in the doorway as 
 he neared Kingshouse, Dr. Claverley drew up his 
 horse with a jerk, and threw the reins to his 
 servant. " Put up," he said ; '' I shall walk 
 home." 
 
 " Dr. Claverley, I want to speak to you ; 
 that's why I came here," said Kate, trying to 
 smile and look pleasant. 
 
 " I want to speak to you, too," he answered 
 significantly, as he descended from the trap. 
 
 In the hall he showed that he was preparing 
 for a serious interview by divesting himself of his 
 w^aterproof coat and hanging up his hat. Kate 
 led him into her father's old-fashioned study on 
 the ground floor, and shut the door. He was 
 flushed, and his mouth was firm set ; stealing a 
 look at him, Kate did not like his expression 
 at all. 
 
 Laurence Claverley was nearly six feet high, 
 well-shaped, and upright. His complexion was 
 pale but clear ; he had large dark eyes, with a 
 glance that was steady and a little hard ; small 
 black whiskers and hair of the same colour, cut 
 short and neatly brushed. He dressed well ; his
 
 76 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 voice and naanners were those of a gentleman ; 
 and there was an air of professional dignity in his 
 bearing which reassured patients who might have 
 objected to his youthful appearance. But Kate 
 had always seen him in pleasant moods, for he 
 could be very pleasant, and his present aspect 
 struck a chill in her. 
 
 " Have you heard ? " she asked ruefully, as 
 she sat down and motioned to him to take a seat. 
 
 *'Yes, I have heard," he answered, without 
 sitting down ; " and I want to ask you what on 
 earth it means. Gertrude cannot intend to throw 
 me over in this unceremonious way ? " 
 
 " She does not consider herself bound to you. 
 Dr. Claverley ; it seems we mistook her senti- 
 ments." 
 
 " Can you look me in the face and repeat 
 that ? " he asked sternly. *' Is it not a fact that 
 you regarded us as engaged ? Were you not 
 talking with me about our marriage only 
 yesterday ? " 
 
 Kate could not look him in the face and tell 
 him a fib. " Well, / did think you as good as 
 engaged," she confessed, reddening ; " and I am 
 very sorry for you, Dr. Claverley, indeed I am. 
 But what can we do ? You proposed to Gertrude
 
 DR. CLAYERLEY S THREATS. 7/ 
 
 in this small country town, where she had seen 
 little society ; she goes somewhere else, and sees a 
 man whom she loves better than you. Tliosc 
 things happen constantly. She cannot have cared 
 for you, or she would not have accepted the man 
 who will be her husband." 
 
 '' He shall never be her husband if I can 
 help it ! " 
 
 " But you can't help it," retorted Kate. " Be 
 sensible, Dr. Claverley. When Gertrude comes 
 back, shake hands with her as if nothing had 
 happened. It looks so well for a man to be 
 magnanimous." 
 
 " Mrs. Littlepoint, an infamous slight has 
 been put upon me," said Claverley, " and I do 
 not believe Gertrude has thus dealt with me of 
 her own accord. She must have been instigated 
 by friends who, perhaps, worked upon my social 
 status as inferior to hers ; but let me tell you 
 that " 
 
 " Oh no, you are quite wrong there ! " inter- 
 rupted Kate, eagerly. '' Gertrude has written to 
 me herself, and says she loves the Due d'Alma. 
 She is overjoyed at the match — one can see it in 
 every line she writes ; and there is not a word 
 about you in the letter."
 
 78 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 This sliot struck harder than Kate had meant 
 it to do. Claverley grasped the back of a heavy 
 oak chair, whilst his features grew livid. 
 
 " If that be the case," he answered, hoarse 
 with restrained passion, " there are no words in 
 which I can express my reprobation of Gertrude's 
 conduct. She has deliberately trifled with me. 
 She has shown herself heartless and mercenary. 
 She is unworthy to become the wife of an honest 
 man, and her father, if he has sanctioned her 
 conduct, is unworthy to be called an officer and a 
 o-entleman." 
 
 " You have no business to speak of my 
 sister in that way," protested Kate, losing her 
 temper. 
 
 *' I shall teach her that I am not the man to 
 submit tamely to such an insult," continued 
 Claverley, without heeding her. *' After she left 
 for Ostend, I wrote at length as her accepted 
 lover, and she answered in such a way as to 
 encourage me in my belief. That was but a 
 fortnight ago, and now " 
 
 " You don't mean to say Gertrude has written 
 to you since she has been abroad ? " inquired 
 Kate, disconcerted. 
 
 " Yes, and here is her letter." The doctor
 
 DR. CLAVERLEy's THREATS. 79 
 
 drew a note on pink pajDer from his pocket-book 
 and displayed it. Kate was strongly tempted to 
 tear it from him, but he may have divined her 
 impulse, and held it with both hands. " You can 
 read it, Mrs. Littlepoint." 
 
 Kate did read it with a thumping heart. The 
 note was very short, but it was undeniably 
 couched in such terms as to encouraire Claverlev's 
 hope. 
 
 " If you are a gentleman. Dr. Claverley," said 
 Kate, " you will give me that letter that I may 
 destroy it." 
 
 " I shall hand it to a lawyer," responded the 
 doctor, vehemently. "There is but one way of 
 punishing an offence like your sister's, Mrs. 
 Littlepoint. To vindicate my own conduct, I 
 shall bring an action for breach of promise of 
 marriage." 
 
 " You would not do such a silly thing as that, 
 Dr. Claverley ? " exclaimed Kate, eyeing him as if 
 he were mad. 
 
 " I have been made to look silly enough as it 
 is," replied Claverley, bitterly. " Have I not 
 told all my friends of my engagement ? Have I 
 not been refurnishing my house ? It will be said 
 that I was not jilted for nothing. Aspersions
 
 80 THE duke's marpjage. 
 
 will be cast upon my character, and those shall 
 be publicly removed." 
 
 " You expect a jury will give you damages ? " 
 cried Kate, mockingly, and looking as if she could 
 beat him. 
 
 "I do not want damages, Mrs. Littlepoint, 
 but reparation, I shall read Gertrude a lesson 
 which may not be lost upon other girls tempted to 
 misbehave as she has done. Perhaps this fine 
 marriage with a guileless foreigner will not take 
 place after all.'* 
 
 This was too much for Kate, who stood up 
 and confronted him with brave scorn in her 
 glance. " If you act in that ungentlemanlike 
 way, Dr. Claverley, you will become the laughing- 
 stock of all England. There is not a girl of any 
 spirit who will marry you. You will have con- 
 ducted yourself with such contemptible vindictive- 
 ness that everybody will think Gertrude was very 
 lucky not to have married you. I rejoice, for my 
 part, that she never cared for you. She evidently 
 had a clearer insight into your character than I 
 had." 
 
 " I will take my chance of what people shall 
 say, Mrs. Littlepoint," answered Claverley, trying 
 to remain calm, but stuttering in the attempt ;
 
 DR. CLAVERLEY's THREATS. 81 
 
 and upon this he left the room without salutation 
 of any sort. It was clear from the redness of his 
 face and the thickness of his speech that he was 
 utterly beside himself with anger. He walked 
 out of the house, letting the door slam behind 
 him, and forgetting his waterproof in the hall. 
 
 Kate was very much frightened. She put on 
 her hat and cloak, and tore home. Her husband 
 was in his office, busy over some dot-and-carry- 
 one process, with all his tin boxes around him. 
 '' Hu, Hu ! " she exclaimed, sinking into a chair, 
 *' I have just seen Dr. Claverley. He is in such 
 a state ! " and Kate unfolded her terrible story. 
 
 " An action for breach of promise 1 " in- 
 credulously echoed Hucks, when he had heard 
 her to the end. " I do not think Claverley will 
 commit himself in that way." 
 
 " But he declares he will, Hu. He is quite 
 ferocious." 
 
 " If men kept all the threats they make in 
 angry moments, this world would be no place to 
 live in," said the lawyer; "but it's a lamentalbe 
 business, Kate." 
 
 " At any rate, I shall write to Gertrude and 
 mamma by this day's post," answered Kate, who 
 was all flurried by the interview. " In his present 
 
 VOL. L 6
 
 82 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 temper tlie doctor might do something outrageous 
 when they return. They ought to be warned." 
 
 Hucks agreed that his wife must write to 
 convey a warning, so she hastened to her draw- 
 ing-room, and dashed off a letter to Gertrude. 
 But she had no time to write to her mother by 
 that post, and the one letter went off alone. It 
 reached Gertrude on the following day, just as 
 she was in the heyday of joy over her growing 
 love. She coloured as she read it, but did not 
 waver long about what was to be done. She 
 went coolly to her mother, and said — 
 
 " Mamma dear, please ask papa to protect me 
 against this man. See what Kate writes about 
 him. He has no business to tease me in this 
 way." 
 
 '' Protect you, my darling ! of course he 
 will," exclaimed Mrs. Corrington, stupefied when 
 she had perused her eldest daughter's letter 
 through her glasses. '' Why, the man must have 
 taken leave of his senses ; and as for Kate, all 
 this is her fault. She has behaved like a perfect 
 goose."
 
 ( 83 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 claverley's revolutionary friend. 
 
 There was living at tliat time in Lewbury a 
 French refugee named Gracharcl — Christian name, 
 Timon — who gave lessons at several schools, and 
 eked out his resources by contributing queer, 
 anonymous articles on English politics to a Red 
 Rej)ublican newspaper in Paris. 
 
 He was a thin, dark man of forty, with a 
 black beard and restless eyes, who dressed de- 
 corously as an undertaker, but smelt strongly of 
 tobacco, and had several of his fino;ers smudo:ed 
 with brown stains, which came from smoking 
 cigarettes which he rolled for himself. Grachard 
 had been sentenced to death, 2)er contumaciam, 
 for joining in a plot to overthrow the imperial 
 dynasty, and he had been living fifteen years in 
 England, where he felt as completely a stranger
 
 84 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 as on the day of his arrival, though he had 
 learned to speak the language after a fashion, 
 always using the verbs shall and will in the 
 wrong places. 
 
 Nobody in Lewbury had cared to cultivate 
 M. Grachard's private acquaintance except a few 
 sempstresses, who admired his black beard, and 
 Laurence Claverley, who liked his independence 
 of character, and was interested in his advanced 
 opinions, which he thought good for France, that 
 corpus vile of political experiments. 
 
 Grachard was a violent Republican and an 
 atheist, one of those men who shake their fists at 
 God Almighty out of garret windows, and marvel 
 that the " impostures " of religion should not yet 
 have been swept away by the reasonings of 
 Parisian newspapers. Such views not being 
 popular at British tea-tables, M. Grachard (who 
 advocated political assassination also) had been 
 kept at arm's length, and he looked upon Eugland 
 as a canting, inhospitable country ; but he was 
 very fond of Claverley, who had been kind to 
 him, and whom he esteemed as a superior Briton. 
 The doctor had attended him through an illness, 
 and had refused to accept any fees ; but not to 
 wound the poor Frenchman's susceptibilities, he
 
 clavekley's revolutionary friend. 85 
 
 had taken out his payment in French lessons. 
 Grachard used to come to his house for an hour 
 in the evening two or three times a week, and 
 thus a pretty strong friendship had gradually 
 sprung up between them ; for it was impossible to 
 become intimate with Grachard without hating 
 or liking him thoroughly, so self- asserting was he. 
 Timon Grachard knew of Claverley's love for 
 Miss Corrington, and was disgusted at hearing in 
 the town how that faithless young person had 
 thrown his friend over for one of the Emperor 
 Napoleon's dukes. At the young ladies' schools, 
 where he taught French out of "Telemaque " and 
 Bossuet's "Orations" (w^orks w^hich, having been 
 composed by " clericals," he considered degrading 
 to the human intellect), he was much questioned 
 about the Due d'Alma, and was at some pains to 
 keep his temper in replying that he knew nothing 
 of this nobleman. The governesses and pupils 
 did not expect him to know much about dukes, 
 but they wanted him to say whether his dis- 
 tinguished countryman was rich and handsome, 
 how it was that he had never fallen in love with 
 a girl of the French aristocracy, etc., and these 
 questions maddened the Kcpublican. He thought 
 that friendship's voice called him to the doctor's
 
 86 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 house to offer consolations, and he accordingly 
 went there on the day after Claverley had received 
 his great blow. 
 
 It was in the evening, and Claverley w^as 
 taking a solitary cup of tea, more composed in 
 spirit, but by no means disposed to find comfort 
 in talking about his sorrow. Englishmen show a 
 reserve in their love affairs which Frenchmen 
 like Grachard cannot understand. 
 
 Claverley lived in the High Street, in a house 
 of substantial appearance. There was a brass 
 plate on the door with his name, and a separate 
 entrance to the surgery round the corner, with a 
 lamp over it. The place had just been refurnished, 
 and the sight of some workmen laying down a 
 new carpet in his dining-room had made the 
 doctor turn almost sick with suppressed rage, as 
 he passed through the hall on the day before, 
 after his scene with Mrs. Littlepoint. But it was 
 worse when, in his study, his eye fell upon two 
 photographs of Gertrude on the chimney-piece. 
 He had placed them there in frames, where any 
 of his patients might see them — rather an im- 
 prudent thing to do, but natural in a young man 
 who exults in his love. Convinced of Gertrude's 
 treachery, he removed them and locked them up
 
 claverley's ee volution aky friend. 87 
 
 in a drawer, but the doing so forced a moan from 
 him like a sob. Seeking a relief to his feelings, 
 he, of course, sat down and wrote to Gertrude. 
 But even as his hand flew over the paper he felt 
 that it is all up with a man who is obliged to 
 write such a letter as he was composing ; for he 
 could find no tender expressions ; his words were 
 all angry and bitterly reproachful. 
 
 There is no torture like that of being jilted. 
 It cuts deep down into a man's heart, making his 
 pride bleed in torrents, and leaving a wound, 
 where a sore place will remain for a lifetime. 
 But the sore is much worse in a man of low birth 
 who has been jilted by a girl who is his superior 
 in station. The world had been kind to the 
 Lewbury doctor, making him feel no mortification 
 for being a footman's son ; but his rejection by 
 Gertrude punctured the poison-bag of class hatred 
 which lurks within all men of low degree, and 
 sufi'used his whole being of a sudden with a moral 
 jaundice. In a sleepless night he had brooded 
 over every plan of revenge that could occur to an 
 inflamed mind, and, losing all self-respect in his 
 abasement to the jealous devil within him, he 
 felt cruel, mean, and powerless, as he had never 
 done before. But outwardly his handsome face
 
 88 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 looked calm and hard to the Frenchman who 
 brought him sympathy. 
 
 So Grachard was rather put out, for he had 
 expected to find his friend in a jDaroxysm of rage 
 and grief. Claverley shook hands with him in a 
 collected way, and asked him to take some tea. 
 Nevertheless, while the Frenchman sipped this 
 beverage, he examined the doctor attentively, till 
 at length he saw the gloom settle on his brow, 
 and then he spoke out. 
 
 '' Tell me all that is on your heart, Claverley ; 
 it shall relieve you." 
 
 *' I had rather not talk about it," answered 
 the doctor, in a tone which, had he been speaking 
 to a countryman, would have precluded all further 
 allusion to the topic ; but Grachard was entirely 
 frank about his own afiairs, and had lately 
 solicited advice and compassion from the doctor 
 touching an entanglement into which he had got 
 with Miss Hopkins, the daughter of his landlady, 
 so that he felt he had placed himself under 
 an obligation which now was the time to dis- 
 charge. 
 
 "My poor friend, I am so sorry," he said, 
 laying a hand kindly on Claverley 's knee. "If 
 Miss Corrington knew you as I do, she would not
 
 claverley's revolutionary friend. 89 
 
 reject you thus for a miserable debauchee, who 
 thinks of nothing but women and horses." 
 
 " Tell me all that you know about this Due 
 d'Alma," said the doctor, moodily. " Has he a 
 bad character ? " 
 
 '* His father was a villain, and the son must 
 be like him," declared Grachard, energetically. 
 " No courtier of Bonaparte's can be a man of 
 honour. The late Duke, General de Beauregard, 
 as we then called him, was one of Badinguet's* 
 myrmidons at the coup cVetat, and will you 
 that I tell what he then did ? Well, this is what 
 he did. There was a crowd of peaceable citizens, 
 some women, some children, on the Boulevard. 
 They did nothing. They regarded the soldiers 
 who came. They laughed. They did not think 
 their blood would soon dye the pavements. My 
 friend Lerouge was in that crowd with his young 
 wife. Of a sudden General de Beaureo^ard, ridino^ 
 at the head of his staff, gives the order, ' Sweep 
 away that canaille I ' and in a moment p)if^ V^^f^ 
 crack — the bullets whistled like hail. The crowd 
 
 * Opprobrious nickname given to Napoleon III. 
 Badinguet was the name of the workman whoso clothes 
 Louis Napoleon borrowed when he escaped from the prison 
 of Him in 1846.
 
 90 THE ,duke's mareiage. 
 
 fled, stupefied and shrieking. The men, the 
 women fell ; the chiklren were trampled under 
 foot. It w^as a carnage. My friend Lerouge is 
 struck down by a bullet; he raises himself; he 
 sees his young wife tottering, with the bayonet 
 of a soldier throuo-h her breast. When Leroufife 
 comes to himself, he is mad, and he dies a year 
 after in an asylum. Ask me now what General 
 de Beauregard was, and I shall tell you. He was 
 a bandit ! " 
 
 Claverley was aware that any reminiscence of 
 the cou]j d'etat, which had placed the Emperor 
 on the throne, excited Grachard to frenzy. The 
 Frenchman could not keep his seat, but stood 
 up, pale and glaring, whilst his whole frame 
 shook. Claverley, who had often seen him in 
 this state, merely asked, "You know nothing 
 against the Beauregards except their politics ? " 
 
 " Politics ? You call that politics, you ? " 
 screamed Grachard. " A man steeps his hands 
 in the blood of innocents, and I must ask whether 
 he has not done anything else before I have the 
 right to call him brigand ! Those innocents, they 
 died that a rascal might wear a crown, and give 
 titles, riches, posts to his friends. General de 
 Beauregard becomes a marshal and Due d'Alma,
 
 claverley's revolutioxary friend. 91 
 
 and his son who grows up learns to think his 
 father a great and good man. What can you 
 expect from such a disorder in men's ideas of 
 right and wrong ? This Duke, who divides his 
 time between boudoirs and stables, takes your 
 betrothed from you, and proposes to marry her. 
 Will he marry her ? We will see. If so, you 
 have luck. It would be more like one of his 
 race to ruin her, then cast her back in your 
 arms, saying, ' Take her now, if you will.' 
 Thunder ! you talk of divine justice ; but where 
 is your Deity if he permits such things ? Is he 
 asleep ? Talk to me not of divine justice. These 
 emperors and dukes, with their swords and their 
 gold, are our masters ; you, I, all of us, are their 
 victims ; and if one of them fall by the hand of 
 some avenger, your priests declare that he is in 
 heaven, and consign us, his enemies, to maledic- 
 tion ! Ah, I thank God I am an atheist ! " 
 
 After this sally Grachard cooled and dis- 
 cussed the situation from another light. 
 
 *' Marriage is an institution profoundly im- 
 moral," said he, gesticulating with his tea-cup. 
 " In a society well organized on a basis of equality, 
 you choose the woman who has affiuities with 
 you, and she becomes the mother of your children.
 
 92 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 You need no priests or mayors to assist that 
 arrangement, and public morality will oblige 
 you not to repudiate obligations which you have 
 contracted. That is what I say to Miss Hopkins ; 
 but she is incredulous, for I. too, my friend, have 
 my troubles with women. In a society well 
 constituted, I should not have to enter into 
 relations with Miss Hopkins ; but I am a poor 
 refugee driven from his own land, away from 
 women to my liking, and your English girls of 
 education would not accept me, because I have 
 no money. So I took refuge with Miss Hopkins 
 in a moment of forgetfulness, and now I must 
 wed with her because I am an honest man, and 
 cannot refuse to let her live unhappily with me if 
 she thinks it is her interest. Thus is your society 
 made ! " 
 
 Infuriated by his own picture of society, 
 M. Grachard clapped his hat on and marched out, 
 promising to call again when his blood was no 
 longer boiling. After he had gone, Laurence 
 Claverley was doubtful what to think about the 
 Due d'Alma. He did not want to think well of 
 him, and though he could not trust Grachard's 
 account of the man, it gave him a grim feeling of 
 satisfaction to reflect that he might be a libertine
 
 CLAVERLEYS REVOLUTIOXARY FRIEXD. 93 
 
 who would make Gertrude cruelly expiate her 
 infatuation for his title. Jealousy despises no 
 weapon of vengeance ; it poisons every thought ; 
 it is a fever whose only medicine is tears forced 
 from the eyes of him or her who caused the fever. 
 
 Claverley had torn up half a dozen drafts of 
 letters which he had written to Gertrude. He 
 was asking himself now how he should act after 
 her return — whether he should attemj^t to see her 
 and overwhelm her with upbraidings, or treat 
 her with distant scorn. His resolutions varied 
 according as hot or cold fits of jealous fever 
 possessed him, and he had not made up his mind 
 when the Corringtons came back to Lewbury. 
 
 The worst of it was that during this interval 
 he had to go about and see his patients as usual, 
 and it was surprising how many people in 
 Lewbury became unwell at this time and required 
 his services. He knew that he was being watched 
 with mocking eyes, and he had to bear himself as 
 if nothing was the matter. But all this gave 
 him a loathing for his profession. It was one in 
 which he could never hope to win that kind of 
 distinction by which he might dazzle the girl 
 who had played him false. If he had been a 
 soldier, a barrister, an author, he might have
 
 94 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 looked to professional success for his consolation 
 and vengeance ; but what is the success of a 
 country doctor worth ? Laurence Claverley asked 
 himself more than once during those wretched 
 days, whether he should not throw up his practice 
 and leave Lewbury ?
 
 ( 95 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE's INVITATION. 
 
 The Corringtons on their return were warmly 
 received by their friends ; for " so long as thou 
 doest well unto thyself, men shall speak well of 
 thee." A gallant little paragraph about Ger- 
 trude's betrothal appeared in the Lewhurij 
 Chronicle, and the news was copied into the 
 principal London papers under the heading of 
 " Marriages in High Life." Wherever Gertrude 
 went, she had to return the obsequious pressure 
 of outstretched hands ; and this public homage 
 would have been very grateful to her if she had 
 not been so uneasy about what Dr. Claverley 
 might do, and so sore about Hucks Littlepoint's 
 coldness towards her. 
 
 Hucks was the only person who abstained 
 from offering her any congratulations. His wife
 
 96 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 had in vain attempted to persuade him that her 
 sister had done no wrong ; he answered guardedly 
 — for he weighed his words in scruples as 
 chemists do their drugs — that he trusted it was 
 so, and he shook hands with his sister-in-law as 
 usual, but he showed by making no allusion to 
 her engagement that he thought she ought to 
 give 'some explanation of her conduct. Hucks 
 also had a long private interview with the 
 General and Mrs. Corrington, the result of which 
 was to make Gertrude's father exceeding wroth 
 with Dr. Claverley. 
 
 General Corrington, on being apprised at 
 Ostend of the doctor's alleged grievance and 
 threats, had merely said, in that loud, cracked 
 voice of his, " Pooh 1 we must take no notice of 
 the fellow ; " and he had not even questioned 
 Gertrude as to her past relations with Claverley. 
 He chose to treat the matter as a piece of childish 
 folly beneath his notice, and continued to do this 
 after his interview with Hucks. Mrs. Corrington 
 told Gertrude that her father would know how to 
 deal with '' that man " if he dared to make 
 himself objectionable. 
 
 Laurence Claverley, meanwhile, had already 
 perceived that by his foolish threat of bringing
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE's INVITATION. 97 
 
 an action for breach of promise he had forfeited 
 the dignity which might have belonged to him as 
 a man in love who had been grossly treated. 
 This was a false step from which there must be 
 a retreat at once. During several days he ex- 
 pected that General Corrington would call upon 
 him ; but the General did no such thing. He 
 had an idea that Hucks Littlepoint would come, 
 or that Gertrude would send him a message ; but 
 neither of these incidents occurred. Accordingly 
 he made the first advance by returning to Kate 
 Littlepoint the letter which Gertrude had sent 
 him from Ostend, along with this note : — 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Littlepoint, 
 
 " I return you Miss Corriugton's 
 letter as you desired, and I wish to express my 
 regret for some hasty expressions which escaped 
 me the other day under the influence of stroug 
 excitement. I shall not cease to feel that I have 
 been very badly treated ; but the remembrance 
 of the past is so painful that I must try to 
 dismiss it. 
 
 *' Yours truly, 
 
 " Laurence Claverlev." 
 
 There was no overture to a reconciliation in 
 VOL. I. ■ 7
 
 98 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 these lines. Claverley did not inteod to forgive 
 Gertrude, and Kate knew this when she read his 
 letter. It was a comfort to her and her husband 
 to be relieved of the fear they had entertained 
 lest the doctor should cause a scandal ; but Kate 
 remained angry with him for having given her 
 such a fright. By his bluster, Claverley had 
 destroyed the sympathy wdiich, with her natural 
 generosity, she would otherwise have felt for him ; 
 and Kate, running to the opposite extreme, set 
 him down as a cantankerous and ill-bred man, 
 who could never have made a nice husband. 
 
 Gertrude was also relieved of lier terrors ; for 
 she had been horribly alarmed at the idea that 
 Laurence Claverley might write to the Duke. 
 Hucks Littlepoint now congratulated her, and 
 she condescended to express to herself a little 
 pity for the doctor. No girl can feel quite in- 
 different to a man who has proposed to her out 
 of love ; and the future duchess would have liked 
 to meet Claverley just for once, and prove to him 
 by quiet argument — all the arguing being on her 
 side — that she had never wronged him. 
 
 Did she at heart feel contrite for her be- 
 haviour ? Well, just a little, no more. She was 
 neither saint nor siuner, but an ordinary English
 
 MRS. xethersole's ixvitatiox. 99 
 
 girl, with many sound homespun qualities and 
 a few human failings. She was merry, fond of 
 pleasure, and had too often been told she was 
 pretty not to believe it. Since she had been to 
 her first ball at seventeen, she had indulged in 
 more than one flirtation with young officers of 
 the Brightport garrison and undergraduates home 
 for vacations. She knew how to draw a man to 
 her side by a glance, enchant him with a smile, 
 flurry him with a pout, try his temper by alter- 
 nations of confidential tenderness and raillery, or 
 repel him altogether by icy reserve. These were 
 little arts which she had practised on the youth 
 of Britain by manner of pastime and in full 
 security. To squeezes of the hand, exchanges of 
 photographs, and stolen kisses, she attached little 
 importance ; they are the wild flowers which 
 English girls scatter before marriage, and how 
 much more innocuous are they than the wild oats 
 which young men sow at the same season ! 
 
 But Gertrude knew the value of a matrimonial 
 ofier made by a responsible householder, having 
 a profession and a good name in the world ; so 
 she had never treated Laurence Claverley like 
 other young men. He was one of those whose 
 attentions mean business, and it had been her
 
 100 THE duke's MARRIA.GE. 
 
 object to win his best opinion while studying 
 him with a cool and careful eye, as one whose 
 board she might have to share for the remainder 
 of her days. 
 
 Claverley had never received a coquettish 
 glance from her, nor a lock of hair, nor a kiss ; 
 he had snatched one kiss from her after making 
 his offer, but she had not been a consenting 
 party, and the impress of his lips had caused her 
 to blush deeper than she had ever reddened for 
 all bygone kisses. She had made up her mind, 
 however, to accept the doctor soon or late, and 
 Jiere was the gist of her serious offence against 
 liim. If she had returned from Ostend dis- 
 engaged, she would certainly have become his 
 wife. She could not well have helped herself, for 
 her father and mother, who now spoke so con- 
 temptuously of Claverley, would have urged upon 
 her the advantages of the match ; her sister Kate 
 would have warmly advocated it ; and Gertrude 
 herself had seen nothing in the doctor's character 
 that could prevent her from becoming very fond 
 of him after marriage. As to his being the son 
 of a footman, she had never troubled herself about 
 that version of his pedigree, and indeed, had 
 dosed her ears to it.
 
 MRS. nethersole's I^'VITATIOX. 101 
 
 But now, since lier brilliant Ostend campaign, 
 it seemed to Gertrude as if the time when it had 
 been possible that she could love Laurence 
 Ciaverley was ever so remote. She had entered 
 a new world bounded by an enlarged and more 
 glorious horizon, and she gratefully loved the 
 man Avho had led her in view of this happy 
 country. She felt it was rather gracious on her 
 part that she should forgive Dr. Ciaverley for 
 having so nearly entrapped her into becoming 
 a country surgeon's wife. AVhat a fate that 
 would have been ! Supposing she had gone away 
 to Ostend irretrievably engaged to Laurence 
 Ciaverley, and had been obliged to renounce the 
 Duke's offer to keep faith with a man, the 
 branches of whose genealogical tree, ]3erhaps, 
 swarmed w^ith ostlers and housemaids ? There 
 was enough in the idea to make her shudder. 
 
 One might suppose from this that Gertrude 
 liad little heart ; but she was only a girl of 
 twenty-one. We do not expect boys at that 
 spring age to be weaned from all vanities. We 
 are not astonished if they fall short of ideal 
 goodness, or despair of them if some selfishness 
 and WTongheadedness regulate their conduct. 
 Why, then, should there be a stricter exaction
 
 102 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 from girls ? Gertrude Corrington had a very 
 good heart, but Laurence Claverley had failed to 
 touch it ; that is all. 
 
 The opportunity of meeting the doctor, which 
 Gertrude half desired, was soon furnished her ; for 
 our friend Mrs. Nethersole issued invitations to 
 a grand evening party, and invited the Cor- 
 ringtons as well as the doctor. The old lady 
 wanted to see what would come of the rencounter 
 between " Flirtie " and her jilted lover. 
 
 The Corringtons doubted at first whether they 
 could go to the party ; for Gertrude, with her 
 mother and Bertha, went every day into Bright- 
 port to see milliners, make purchases, and try on 
 dresses. Those were the days of bandboxes and 
 parcels arriving constantly ; silks and velvets had 
 to be matched ; there were anxious consultations 
 as to whether the wedding dress should be white, 
 or cream-coloured ; and a dressmaker had been 
 hired by the day and located in the schoolroom, 
 where the tic-tac of her sewing machine made 
 a music dear to female ears. However, it was 
 decided at length that Mrs. Nethersole's invita- 
 tion should be accepted. '' She's such a spiteful 
 old cat," said Kate, '' that she would declare we 
 were afraid to meet the doctor if we did not go."
 
 MRS. KETHERSOLES IXVTTATIOX. 103 
 
 Gertrude's dressmaker wa3 none otlier tLau 
 Polly Hopkins, M. Grachard's intended. Polly's 
 mother let lodgings, and was the Frenchman's 
 landlady. The relations between M. Grachard 
 and Miss Hopkins having reached a point 
 which no prudent mother could approve, Mrs. 
 Hopkins had insisted upon marriage, and " Tim," 
 as Miss Hopkins called him, had, as we know, 
 surrendered to a sense of his duties. But he 
 would not hear of being married in a church, 
 for he looked upon such edifices as monuments 
 of human folly ; while Mrs. Hopkins argued that 
 since he was not a Catholic — for which she 
 thanked her Maker — nor a Jew, as was shown 
 by his eating sausages, he must be a Churchman, 
 a Baptist, or, at least, a Quaker, though it pleased 
 that silly French head of his to think otherwise. 
 j\Iiss Hopkins cared not where or how she was 
 married, so long as the ceremony took place 
 soon, and was graced with a proper amount of 
 pomp. 
 
 She was a sly maiden, with a pert nose, grey 
 eyes, and a quick tongue. Grachard had given 
 her his emphatic opinion about Miss Corrington's 
 bad behaviour ; but in this, as in many otlier 
 things, Miss Hopkins did not agree with liei-
 
 104 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 future husband, and she had an idea lying deep 
 and quiet in her own mind that Gertrude might 
 be useful to her, by obtaining her Tim's pardon 
 from the Emperor Napoleon. 
 
 Grachard had told her that if he were back 
 in his own country, he should fill a high position 
 there as a journalist and politician, but he always 
 added that he would perish rather than sue for 
 grace. With such scruples the high-minded Miss 
 Hopkins had nothiog to do, and she had resolved 
 that if Tim would not crave the Due d' Alma's 
 intercession, she would do so privately in his 
 stead. 
 
 She had informed Gertrude of her engagement, 
 and Gertrude was, of course, much interested in 
 her, owing to the coincidence of their both being 
 about to become Frenchwomen. Polly Hopkins, 
 on her side, was interested in the goings-on at 
 Kingshouse. She kept her eyes and ears on the 
 watch, and picked up odds and ends of conversa- 
 tion which she retailed to Tim, through whom 
 they reached Laurence Claverley. Thus the 
 doctor overheard scraps of the discussion as to 
 whether Mrs. Nethersole's invitation should be 
 accepted by the Corringtons. He himself meant 
 to go to the party. He thought it best to meet
 
 MRS. xethersole's ixyitation. 105 
 
 the Corringtous and have done with it, though 
 how he should behave in their presence — whether 
 he should accost or ignore them, speak to them 
 coldly, coolly, or not at all — were points on which 
 his resolutions varied from hour to hour. 
 
 Grachard's warm sympathy poured out when- 
 ever the friends met, ended by thawing Claverley's 
 reserve, and the doctor sometimes let his morti- 
 fication be seen by the Frenchman at their even- 
 inof lessons. 
 
 '' They are a mean lot, the whole family of 
 them," he once said bitterly. " There is that 
 cur, Hucks Littlepoint, who purposely avoids me. 
 I saw him duck down a side street to-day when 
 he sighted my dogcart. And the General, too, 
 as an officer and gentleman, he knows that he 
 owes me an apology." 
 
 *' Why don't you pull their ears ? " shrieked 
 Grachard. " I would spit at their faces in 
 public. They should fight me and have six 
 inches of my foil in their bodies. Ah, sacrehleii, 
 what a country is this, wherein there is no 
 remedy for outraged honour ! Why, what cure 
 is there for a worry like yours ? " 
 
 "To grin and bear it, I suppose," muttered 
 Claverley; ''so let us turn to our Voltaire. A
 
 106 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 chapter of tlie PhilosojDliical Dictionary is what 
 I most want, and I'll light a pipe/' 
 
 But sometimes the advice which Grachard 
 gave was of the thoughtful kind which beseemed 
 true friendship. 
 
 " You fret, my poor friend," he said one even- 
 ing ; " but that is worth nothing. You should 
 show contempt. Will you that I tell you what 
 I should do in your pLace ? AVell, I would prove 
 to that proud Gertrude that it is she who has 
 made the bad bargain, not 1. I would laugh 
 and pay my court to another girl. There are 
 j)lenty. I would marry, be a good husband, a 
 triumphant father. I woukl work at my profes- 
 sion, and make the world speak well of me, so 
 tliat your faithless one should bite her lips and 
 say, 'I deceived myself about that man.' To 
 every one comes the opportunity of reprisals, 
 and, as the Italians say, ^' Eevenge is a dish 
 that should be eaten cold." 
 
 *' I thought you did not believe in Providence," 
 remarked Claverley. 
 
 "No ! but I believe in the logic of facts ! " ex- 
 claimed the Frenchman. " You do a wrong ; 
 you stir up against you the hatred, the contempt, 
 the vindictiveness of others, and you are like one
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE's INYITATIOX. lOT 
 
 who unchains so many ferocious dogs to roam 
 about in the woods where he takes his daily 
 walks. Soon or late they shall bite him. Miss 
 Gertrude has betrayed you to marry a duke, but 
 think not she will foro-et you. She shall be un- 
 easy ; her conscience shall condemn her. You 
 shall be ever present in her memory, and your 
 character will be the standard by which she will 
 judge that of her husband. If he is brutal, 
 neglectful, stupid, she shall think of you ; if her 
 life is unhappy and that of your wife is all the 
 contrary, you shall have planted a dagger in her 
 heart. A duchess does not wear her coronet in 
 her bedroom ; in the moments when she is a 
 mere woman, she holds titles cheap ; she ranks 
 men according to her feelings, and the love of 
 an honest heart seems to her, after all, the only 
 thing worth having. Look well, therefore, that 
 by your conduct now you leave on this cruel girl 
 an impression that will never be effaced." 
 
 This was good advice, but not more easy to 
 f jllow on that account. To begin with, Claverley 
 was not disposed to go and form some random 
 loveless attachment simply to sjute Gertrude ; 
 and as to fortitude, some little event contributed 
 every day to upset the philosophy with which
 
 108 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 lie tried to balance his mind before starting on 
 liis morning's rounds. Here it was some in- 
 judicious offer of sympathy from a lady patient, 
 or a clumsy question from a friend in the streets, 
 or an inquiry from one of his own servants 
 wanting to know " whether it was true, sir, 
 that there wasn't going to be a w^edding ? " (Jn 
 the very day of Mrs. Nethersole's party Claverley 
 received by post — anonymously, of course — a 
 parody of " The Frog he would a- wooing go." 
 It ran — 
 
 " Jeames he would a wooing go," 
 and was illustrated with a pen and ink daub of 
 a footman being kicked out of a house by a man 
 with bis: moustaches and a coronet. 
 
 Against such potions even Voltaire provides 
 no antedote in his Philosophy.
 
 ( 109 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 MRS. NETHEESOLE's PARTY, 
 
 Mrs. Nethersole lived with her son Purkiss in 
 Priory Crescent. Her reputation as a spiteful 
 old cat did not prevent people from keeping on 
 good terms with her, as she had a talent for 
 avoiding quarrels. Her damaging rumours could 
 never be positively traced to her, for she had 
 always heard them from other persons, and she 
 retailed them in an interrogative form, wanting 
 to know whether they were true, and sincerely 
 liopiug they were not. 
 
 Since her return to Lewbury, she had asked 
 a dozen sets of visitors whetlier it was a fact that 
 Dr. Claverley and Gertrude had been engaged, 
 and wondered indignantly what people could 
 mean by spreading such idle rumours. Her son 
 Purkiss likewise went about button-holinur .Mr.
 
 110 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Quang and others, saying with a giggle, " I say, 
 rum start that, isn't it, between ' Flirtie ' and the 
 Sawbones ? " But Purkiss had to drop that chaff 
 on espying that public opinion took so respectful 
 a view of Gertrude's engagement. Mr. Quang, 
 who did not often rebuke anybody, once ventured 
 to say, " I wouldn't call Miss Corrington ' Flirtie ' 
 if I were you. It doesn't sound proper." 
 
 He niio'ht have added that Purkiss Nether- 
 sole should have been the last man to throw 
 stones about flirting, being himself a sad offender 
 in this respect. Purkiss Nethersole was one of 
 the most objectionable and dangerous of young 
 men. The only child of his widowed mother, he 
 had been spoilt, and had never made use of his 
 time at school, so that he had grown up unfit for 
 any profession. He had talked at one time of 
 going into the army, then he was to eat his terms 
 for the bar ; but in the upshot he remained at 
 Lewbury, leading a loafer's life, and screwing as 
 much as he could out of his mother for cheap 
 amusements. The creature did not drink nor 
 gamble, so that he was reputed to have no vices, 
 and mothers trusted him more than was prudent. 
 
 He knew all the girls of Lewbury, addressed 
 them by their Christian names, and was called
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE's PARTY. Ill 
 
 by tliem '' Purkiss." He could dance well and 
 strum a little on the piano, so tliat lie was always 
 useful at parties ; and if girls were going to 
 Briglitport to shop, his escort was accepted as 
 that of a brother. Nobody liked him or hated 
 him, for there was nothing salient in his nature ; 
 but mothers talked of him with good-humoured 
 tolerance, as heiug very harmless, which he was 
 not. Their dauohters knew better. There was 
 scarcely a marriageable young lady in the town 
 whom he had not kissed and " spooned." They 
 used to flush up sometimes, and cry, *' Purkiss, 
 how dare you ? " but what more could they say ? 
 One or two had slapped his ears, which did not 
 keep him in check. Gertrude was one of those 
 who had slapped his ears, and he had taken less 
 liberties with her than with others, because she 
 liad her brother Dick to protect her. When 
 there were no brothers at hand, Purkiss had 
 things his own way ; and, after all, he used to 
 make girls titter by talking to them of love, 
 marriage, and such things, and by regaling them 
 with tattle not always suited to maiden ears. 
 He had a long upper lip, tusky front teeth, and 
 a face rather like a sheep's. " I say, liere's a 
 lark," was his favourite exordium ; and he called
 
 112 THE duke's MAKPcIAGE. 
 
 everything a lark which tended to the exposure 
 of people's little foibles, or to their public dis- 
 comfiture. It was a great lark, in his opinion, 
 that Gertrude and Dr. Claverley should be 
 brought together, " like a pair of Kilkenny cats,'' 
 in his mother's drawing-room ; and he had 
 promised the five Quang girls — Dora, Hilda, 
 Caroline, Bessie, and Priscilla — that he would 
 hit upon something to make the pair '' smoke," 
 i.e. blush. Such was this young man. 
 
 Mrs. Nethersole's party — a stuffing of forty 
 guests into two small drawing-rooms — com- 
 menced at nine, and it was ten o'clock when 
 Claverley arrived, looking his best in his dress- 
 clothes. As the greengrocer, hired for the 
 evening to play waiter, announced his name, 
 many a girl in the crowded little rooms eyed 
 him kindly. He might have had any of the five 
 Quang girls for the asking. He might have had 
 Miss Claribel Jupe, a long-necked young person 
 (daughter of Dr. Jupe, a professional rival), who 
 sat at the piano, howling " He thinks I do not 
 love him.'' Miss Susan Jentleigh, the rector's 
 daughter, a brave and warm-hearted girl, the 
 mainstay of orthodoxy in her father's parish 
 against the ritualistic encroachments of Mr.
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE'S PARTY. 113 
 
 Oram, was not insensible to his merits. What a 
 pity that so handsome and popular a man should 
 have taken a fancy to a girl who had trifled with 
 him ! 
 
 Miss Jupe, in the midst of her song, screeched 
 a false note or two ; for the doctor's entrance 
 produced a sudden silence, which caused her to 
 glance over her shoulder. Purkiss was turning 
 the leaves of her music, and winked to her. 
 Gertrude, who was seated among the five Misses 
 Quang, flushed pink, though she tried to appear 
 indifierent. Claverley made his bow to Mrs. 
 Nethersole, and then accosted Mrs. Corrington, 
 who sat beside her. His manner was stifi" and 
 embarrassed. 
 
 " Is General Corrington quite well ? " he 
 asked, with an efibrt. 
 
 " Yes, thanks ; he is playing whist in the 
 next room." This was said very drily, and 
 sounded almost aggressive, because, in the silence 
 of the room, the words rang so loud. 
 
 There were plenty of other ladies to be 
 shaken hands with. Kate Littlepoint was there, 
 in a very elegant black net dress, and with a 
 white rose in her hair ; and her turn came iu 
 time. 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 " How do you do, Dr. Claverley ? " she said, 
 with a greater appearance of cordiality than she 
 had intended to display, for she felt anxious as 
 to how the doctor would salute her sister. 
 
 Everybody in the room had begun to talk 
 again, so as not to seem preoccupied about the 
 little scene that was going to be enacted ; but 
 everybody was listening with strained ears, and 
 looking towards Claverley or Gertrude. It was 
 like a minor concerto of fiddles playing the 
 prelude to a duet. 
 
 Gertrude was tastefully dressed in white silk, 
 with a few moss roses on the skirt. It was a 
 plain dress, but beautifully made in the latest 
 fashion ; and Gertrude's hair was also arranged 
 in a new style. She seemed lovelier to Claverley 
 than when he had last seen her — though she had 
 seemed peerless then — and there was a some- 
 thing about her altogether which revealed her 
 social promotion. She looked out of place in 
 this provincial drawing-room — no longer the sort 
 of a girl whom a struggling surgeon would ask 
 to be his wife. 
 
 After saying a few words to Kate, the doctor 
 walked straight up to Gertrude, and bowed, with- 
 out holding out his hand.
 
 MKS. NETHERSOLE's PARTY. 115 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Corrington," he said in 
 a voice which trembled slightly. 
 
 "Good evening, Dr. Claverley," she mur- 
 mured, blushing deeply and without raising her 
 glance to his. She did not feel much disposed 
 to argue with him at that moment. 
 
 " I have to wish you joy of your engage- 
 ment," he continued, forcing himself to speak 
 calmly. 
 
 "Thank you." And that was all, for the 
 doctor bowed again and passed on into the back 
 drawing-room, where there was a whist table. 
 
 Kate Littlepoint began to breathe more freely. 
 The meeting was going off much better than she 
 had expected, and Dr. Claverley was behaving 
 like a gentleman. But at this moment Purkiss 
 Nethersole proceeded to execute the little plot he 
 had formed for making Gertrude and the doctor 
 look foolish. 
 
 Miss Jupe had finished her song amid polite 
 applause. While the greengrocer and a maid 
 were going round with refreshments, Purkiss 
 approached the group of Quang girls, and asked 
 if any of them would sing. 
 
 "Dora, please give us one of your Scotch 
 songs."
 
 116 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 '' Ob, Purkiss, I have sung already. I think 
 you should treat us to a performance now." 
 
 "You know I can't sing," said Purkiss. 
 " I only wobble." 
 
 "Well, then, warble us one of your comic 
 songs. You always give them with great expres- 
 
 sion." 
 
 "Since you compel me, I'll try something 
 better than that," bleated Purkiss. " I'll indulge 
 in a ballad ; but you must promise not to encore, 
 because I'm bashful." 
 
 There was something in the look of the 
 Quang girls which struck Kate Littlepoint. They 
 simpered and gazed at the carpet, while Purkiss's 
 readiness to sing was suspicious, for he disliked 
 singing. All this gave indications of a con- 
 spiracy, and made Kate wonder. 
 
 Purkiss sat down to the piano, splashed out 
 the notes of his prelude with remarkable action, 
 cleared his throat, and sang this : — 
 
 " 'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 
 'Twas empire charmed thy heart ; 
 But love was wealth, the world to me ; 
 Then, false one, let us part. 
 
 " The prize I fondly deemed my own 
 Another's now may be ;
 
 MRS. NETHEESOLE's PARTY. 117 
 
 For all ! with love life's gladness flown, 
 Leaves grief to wed with me.'* 
 
 and Purkiss repeated confuoco — 
 
 " Leaves grie-ie-ief to we-ed with me-e-e-e ! " 
 
 The song was concluded amidst a general 
 feeling of awkwardness, the guests munching 
 biscuits and burying their noses in their teacups 
 to avoid making remarks. The allusion was too 
 transparent, and Purkiss had decidedly " put his 
 foot into it." He was not prepared for the swift 
 retribution which Kate Littlepoint dealt out to 
 him, though he ought to have known that this 
 impulsive lady never allowed a friend, much less 
 a relative, to be attacked without flying to the 
 rescue. 
 
 " Purkiss," she said promptly, as she rattled 
 her fan, " I suppose that ballad describes the 
 feelings which possessed you when Patty Brown, 
 the pastrycook's daughter, jilted you to marry 
 Mr. Dove, the hosier ? " 
 
 " AVhat's that, Mrs. Littlepoint ? " asked Pur- 
 kiss, turning very red, but looking blue. 
 
 His mother, perceiving his uneasiness, smiled 
 in a wry way as she echoed his inquiry, " What 
 are you saying, my dear Kate ? "
 
 118 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 " Oh, Purkiss knows," laughed Kate, speaking 
 distinctly, so that all might hear. "He was 
 very tender about Miss Patty Brown. He used 
 to make love to her over the counter, and spend 
 his money on sweets for the good of the house. 
 One day he took her to Brightport, and she 
 allowed him to treat her to a pair of gloves. 
 After so much liberality, it must have been a 
 great blow to him, poor fellow, when she married 
 Mr. Dove." 
 
 ''Come, Mrs. Littlepoint, you — you ought 
 not to say such things," stammered Purkiss in 
 consternation ; for all this was true. 
 
 "Why not, since you sing about them in 
 that ballad of yours, and talk about being 
 'wedded to grief?" retorted Kate. "But I 
 must say, Purkiss, you are not very constant to 
 that Miss Grief, whoever she may be, for you 
 have taken of late to setting your sprouting 
 whiskers at our housemaid, Betsy. You know, 
 Mrs. Nethersole, Betsy is a pretty girl. Well, 
 would you believe it, Purkiss contrives to pass 
 our house in the morning while she is washing 
 the doorstep, and he casts soft glances at her ? 
 I told Betty the other day this must not go too 
 far, unless Purkiss intended to propose to her.
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE's PARTY. 119 
 
 In that case, I said, as I should consider it a 
 very suitable match " 
 
 A general burst of laughter drowned the rest 
 of Kate's sentence. The ^yq plain Quang girls 
 laughed louder than anybody, for they had 
 noticed some fiery sparks in Kate's fine eyes, and 
 were horribly afraid lest, having made an example 
 of Purkiss, she should give each of them a cut 
 with her tongue. Poor Purkiss was so mortified 
 and dumbfounded by this turning of tables that 
 he slunk away and busied himself with some 
 music-books, that he might not meet the glance 
 of his scandalized parent. Altogether Kate's 
 brilliant charge completely routed the Nether- 
 soles. 
 
 But now Gertrude was sitting alone, for Dr. 
 Claverley, after his retreat into the next room, 
 had joined the whist-party. He was playing in 
 a listless way, having Mr. Quang for his partner. 
 Nor did he speak to Gertrude again that evening, 
 beyond wishing her coldly " Good night " when 
 she went away. 
 
 Gertrude felt piqued, and half afraid, with a 
 presentiment that all was not yet over between 
 herself and the doctor. But, returning home, she 
 found a loni^ letter from Poland, and tliis consoled
 
 120 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 her. The Duke wrote in French, a language 
 which lends itself so well to the strains of tender 
 love and the turning of pretty compliments. 
 How could the poet Lamartine have called it a 
 cold language — une langue dJ arithmeticien f You 
 may boldly say in it things which, put into 
 English, read like craziness or grotesque affec- 
 tations. A Frenchman may be grandiloquent, 
 chalorous, sentimental, or witty, without ceasing 
 to be natural. Eead an English love-letter in a 
 law court, and it excites roars of laughter ; read 
 one before an average of audience of Frenchmen, 
 and if it provoke a smile at all it will be a very 
 kindly one. 
 
 Is this because the French look upon love- 
 jnaking as the grand business of life, whereas the 
 English affect to treat it only as a weakness of 
 the flesh, to be half-ashamed of, and to be kept 
 very sly and private ? Your Gaul, duke or 
 soldier, does not mind declaring before all the 
 world that he is ready to die for his lady love ; 
 and he expects to be believed, and he is believed. 
 And from the Empress to the flower-girl in the 
 street, every woman who hears him thinks this 
 mode of expressing himself perfectly natural and 
 proper, " Mes amis, je suis amoureux ? EUe
 
 MRS. NETHERSOLE's PARTY. 121 
 
 m'aime. . . . Felicitez-moi ; j'en pleure de joie." 
 Do we Englishmen dare to say such things to our 
 friends, in a room where there are strangers 
 present ? The Frenchman does so every day, and 
 cares not who listens. 
 
 So in Koland's letter there came to Gertrude 
 as it were a wafting of warm air from that fair 
 land of France, which is a land of love — a land 
 where women have always been queens in spite 
 of Salic law; whose history is made up of the 
 doings of women ; whose kings have been popular, 
 according as they loved most. A Frenchman's 
 love, however, is not always bestowed on his wife, 
 or on the girl he is going to marry ; and in this 
 Gertrude was lucky to get a husband who was 
 going to be her lover too. Her pulses throbbed 
 as she caught the glow of those fervent lines, as 
 one catches the rhythm of good poetry which 
 carries you along with a voluptuous sensation as 
 of floating oflf earth. 
 
 Eoland not only made passionate declarations 
 of his love, but he wrote in good spirits about 
 the prospect of soon being with Gertrude again. 
 He had started for Brittany to see his grand- 
 mother, and hoped to get his business there soon 
 concluded. Gertrude read this letter twice in
 
 122 THE duke's MAKRIAGE. 
 
 her room ; then stood by her window for awhile, 
 gazing at the moonlight, which threw its soft 
 blueish glare on the night. 
 
 She thought of the home she was going to 
 leave — it had been a happy one — but she did not 
 regret to leave it ; for the trying scene to which 
 she had been subjected that night had put her out 
 of conceit with Lewbury and its wretched pro- 
 vincial society, where creatures like that Purkiss 
 Nethersole made a pleasure of annoying her. 
 Then, as the languor of hopeful love stole over 
 her, her fancy flapped its wings onwards towards 
 the great world which she was about to enter, 
 and she felt so comforted and happy that she 
 pressed Eoland's letter to her lips. And when 
 she went to bed, she hid that letter under her 
 pillow, that she might read it again in the 
 morning.
 
 ( 123 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BKANCH. 
 
 The Due cVAlma had gone to France to ask the 
 consent of his maternal grandmother to his 
 marriage. He would have been bound to do this 
 even if he had been seventy years of age, and had 
 had parents or grandparents still living. The 
 aged Marquise de Chateaufort could not, by with- 
 holding her consent, forbid his marriage ; but she 
 could, according to French law, compel him to go 
 through formalities which are always disagreeable. 
 He would be obliged to send to the Marquise, 
 through a public notary, a respectful intimation 
 (acte resjyectueux) of his intention to disregard 
 her wishes, and all the world would then know 
 that he had quarrelled with his grandmother. 
 
 Would the old lady be willing that he should 
 marry an English Protestant ? As Roland
 
 124 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 travelled towards Brittany, he had his misgivings 
 on the point. He had proposed to Gertrude 
 without any thought of his family, and he in- 
 tended to marry her, whether his relatives were 
 pleased or not. But he would like things to be 
 made pleasant all round. The Marquise was 
 eighty-five, and a rigid Catholic. She was very 
 fond of him, however, and she was almost in her 
 dotage ; that is to say, there were days when her 
 memory got confused, so that he hoped she might 
 give her consent without exactly understanding 
 that he was going to marry a "heretic." She 
 would only have to put her signature before 
 witnesses to a document drawn up by Eoland's 
 notary, Monsieur Eagotin. 
 
 Chateaufort was situated at a few miles from 
 Auray, on the w^ildest part of the coast of 
 Morbihan. It was close to the Heath of Carnac, 
 with its countless Celtic remains, dolmans, 
 menhirs, and cromlechs ; and the waves of the 
 Gulf of Morbihan, a sea of innumerable rugged 
 islands and treacherous tides, tumbled roaring 
 amidst a mass of huge black rocks that could be 
 seen from its windows. It was a gloomy and 
 romantic place, the seat of many Breton legends 
 and superstitions ; and the peasantry, who still
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BRANCH. 125 
 
 wore the picturesque Breton costume and talked 
 Gaelic, were a rude uncultured race, believing in 
 all that their priests and their old women told 
 them. 
 
 Eoland d'Alma had no love for this spot, 
 where his mother had been brought up. It made 
 him dismal to go there. He was a nineteenth- 
 century Parisian, who thought Catholic and 
 Eoyalist Brittany a good place to read of in books, 
 or to boast of as the locality where some of his 
 ancestors had hunted and fought, but not a place 
 to inhabit one's self Yet, out of the filial respect 
 which is always strong in the French, he used to 
 pay visits to Chateauforfc several times a year, to 
 spend a few days with the Marquise. He called 
 this taking his fated dose of ennui, and hoped it 
 would be counted to him in purgatory. The air 
 of Carnac seemed to him saturated with melan- 
 choly ; and at night, when the noise of tlie sea 
 mingled with the plaintive soughing of the wind 
 through the pine woods, when the doors of the 
 old castle creaked and the window panes rattled, 
 he wondered how any human creature possessing 
 money could care to live in such a hole. 
 
 There was nothing in the conversation of the 
 natives, either, to enliven the Duke. From the
 
 126 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 toothlesss old crones who hobbled among the 
 Druidical stones gathering simples, to the white- 
 capped village wenches who sold their hair at the 
 fairs of Auray to make chignons for Parisian 
 ladies ; from the stiff-jointed fathers of the village, 
 with their baggy canvas breeches, and their broad - 
 brimmed, low-crowned hats, to the clattering 
 hobbledehoys in wooden shoes, who blubbered 
 when the conscription took them ; — there was not 
 a man or woman in this bleak place but saw 
 in the commonest disturbances of the elements 
 portents of death or disaster. If they perceived 
 a crow, or heard a dog howl, they muttered an 
 ave. Their very pigs seemed loaded to the snout 
 with prophecy ; for if one of these animals grunted 
 too loud on a Friday morning, it was taken to 
 mean that there would be rain all through the 
 ensuing week. 
 
 Eoland had telegraphed from Paris to an- 
 nounce his arrival, so that on reaching Auray 
 he found his grandmother's landau waiting for 
 him at the station. He was also met by a lanky 
 young priest, with enormous hands and feet and 
 a very greasy cassock. This was the Marquise's 
 chaplain, the Abbe Jerome Juva de Penmarck. 
 
 Jerome Juva had bright blue eyes and fair
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BRANCH. 127 
 
 hair that fell to his shoulders ; but his shoulders 
 stooped, and his eyes, though so handsome, 
 seemed, out of timidity, to retreat from anybody's 
 straight gaze, like moles backing into their holes 
 away from lantern light. He had a juvenile, 
 gawkish gait and expression, smiled readily, and 
 listened with an eager, respectful curiosity to all 
 that was said to him. When in the presence of 
 strangers, he held his long bony arms down- 
 wards almost level with his knees, and rubbed 
 his hands nervously, as if he hoped to extract 
 sparks of conversation from them. He appeared 
 to be a very good young man, painfully anxious 
 to do the right thing, and ever tormented by the 
 idea that he was not doing enough. 
 
 Roland, who had known him since he was a 
 boy, greeted him with a friendly pat on the 
 shoulder. '^ It's kind of you to have come, 
 Jerome. How is my grandmamma ? " 
 
 '' She is fairly well. Allow me to take your 
 bag, sir ; " and, seizing the bag with all his 
 strength in his desire to oblige, he snatched it 
 out of the Duke's hands and tottered three paces 
 backwards with it. 
 
 The family coachman, old Bernard Kergarec 
 — an outlandish figure in a mouldy blue coat
 
 128 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 with half a dozen capes, and a glazed cap with 
 a blackened gold band round it — now croaked 
 his welcome in a husky voice — 
 
 "Pot diou, wionsiou, we are glad to see 
 you ; but I'd rather you had brought two boxes 
 instead of one, even though I should have had 
 to carry them to the chateau on my own 
 shoulders. This doesn't look like a long stay, 
 monsiou,'' added Bernard, trying to lift the large 
 portmanteau ; and though he had expressed his 
 willingness to carry two boxes to the chateau, 
 he found this single one as much as he could 
 manage, and had to be assisted by the Duke's 
 English valet, Barney, and a porter. In fact, 
 he did little of the work, but made a great show 
 of performing it all. 
 
 ''Energetic as ever, my good Bernard," said 
 the Duke. " And I see your horses are always 
 patterns of fine grooming." 
 
 " Yes, monsiou, I'll wager they've no horses 
 in Paris to beat them." 
 
 ''And not a coachman in the world to rival 
 you, eh ? " added the Duke. 
 
 This was an eternal joke which old Bernard 
 pocketed unsuspiciously as a compliment, and 
 which always made Barney laugh consumedly in
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BRANCH. 129 
 
 his sleeve. For the antiquity of the Marquise's 
 landau, its heavy wheels and hard springs, the 
 shaggy look of its pair of Norman horses, and 
 the odd turn-out of Bernard himself, were most 
 entertainino^ thinojs to the Eng^lish valet. Koland 
 would have preferred a modern vehicle. The 
 hood of the carriage was pulled down, and he 
 seated himself, half reclining on cushions broad 
 as an ottoman ; but the unyielding springs gave 
 him a cruel jolting, and the deafening noise 
 which the old wheels made in going over the 
 paved high - roads precluded all conversation 
 between him and Jerome. 
 
 It was a beautiful evening, cooled by a soft 
 breeze that smelt of seaweed. On that wild 
 coast, where it so often rains, and w^liere grey 
 mists may be called the every-day garb of the 
 moorlands, the few fine days of summer may be 
 compared to Sundays, when the country puts on 
 a holiday attire of lovely colours. The Celtic 
 boulders on the plain of Carnac were crested with 
 little tufts of green, or coated with patches of 
 fresh velvet moss. In the chinks of old stones, 
 brown with the polish of centuries, sprouted 
 little plants with yellow flowers ; and the ground 
 w^as carpeted with pink and white heather, wliicli 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 blended into a uniform tint of purple when seen 
 from afar, as it stretched away undulating for 
 miles. The sea coming in view glowed like a 
 calm lake ; and the western sky, where the sun 
 was setting, looked like a large sheet of green 
 glass blazing and streaked with long lines of 
 blood red. 
 
 Leaving the high-road on the border of the 
 heath, the landau ascended a narrower road, 
 which sloped upwards for half a mile till it came 
 to a forest of pines, which formed the girdle of 
 the estate. There was a low paling all round 
 it, and the entrance to the wood was guarded by 
 a thatched porter's lodge, and by a pair of tall 
 rusty gates with coroneted escutcheons of wrought 
 iron, which a couple of bareheaded urchins in 
 sabots swung back by jumping on them as if 
 they were swings. 
 
 Just as the landau had passed through the 
 gates it was pulled up short, and the coachman 
 uttered a shout of alarm as he reined in by 
 jerking up his elbows to the level of his ears. 
 There had been a crash aloft, and the dead 
 branch of a tree came crackling down, and fell 
 right across the road, scattering a shower of dust 
 and twigs.
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BRANCH. 131 
 
 *^ Malediction ! " howled old Bernard, who had 
 been almost thrown off by the oscillation of the 
 ponderous carriage in his sudden stop. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked the Duke, 
 standing up. 
 
 " May the devil take thee, Odette, slut, wench, 
 wicked little vaurienne ! " continued Bernard, 
 shaking his whip at somebody in the tree. 
 
 And Roland saw a wild-looking girl, with a 
 patched kirtle, standing bare-legged on one of the 
 lower branches. She stared rather mockingly at 
 him for a moment, then scrambled lightly down 
 from the tree, slipped her feet into a pair of 
 wooden shoes, and ran to pull the branch out of 
 the way. 
 
 " There, it's gone ! You needn't growl and 
 grunt any more, uncle," she cried, smothering 
 a laugh. 
 
 " But the presage isn't gone ! " shouted old 
 Bernard, lashing at her furiously with his whip. 
 " Holy St. Anne of Auray, defend us from your 
 wiles, you little sorceress. I believe you did it 
 on purpose." 
 
 " Why is he so excited ? " asked the Duke, of 
 Jerome ; for he could not understand why the fall 
 of a rotten branch of a tree should throw the old
 
 132 THE duke's MAERIAGE. 
 
 man into such a rao^e ; but now he noticed that 
 the priest was moved too. He had made the 
 sign of the cross, and was muttering a prayer. 
 
 " Sir, God is good," he stammered ; " but the 
 branch of a tree across the path of one returning 
 home is supposed by our people to bode mis- 
 chance." 
 
 " No doubt it does to a rider coming home 
 on a foo^ofY nio;ht," answered the Duke, who felt 
 a little uneasy nevertheless, for, like most French- 
 men, he had his grain of superstition. He was 
 annoyed that the priest had told him of the 
 presage. " Is it good to frighten a young girl 
 like that with such ideas, Jerome ? It's Odette, 
 the cow -girl, isn't it ? — Hie, Odette ! " 
 
 But Odette, after skipping out of reach of her 
 uncle's whip, had hidden behind a tree, and put 
 out her tongue at her relative. When the Duke 
 called, she took to her heels, and vanished in the 
 wood. 
 
 There had been an amused spectator of this 
 scene. A man who looked like a pedlar was 
 leaning against one of the gate pillars, with a 
 pack on his back and a bundle lying at his feet. 
 He was a fellow with a merry eye and a swarthy 
 Italian face. His costume was the blue French
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BRANCH. 133 
 
 blouse, with leather leggings ; but he wore a 
 Tyrolese hat, and smoked a cigarette with the 
 lazy daintiness of a Spaniard. ' 
 
 *^ Pardon me. Monsieur le Due," he said, 
 throwing away a cigarette half- consumed, and 
 lifting his hat with easy politeness as he advanced, 
 " I am afraid I was the cause of this little mishap 
 by asking the young lady who has just fled to 
 catch a squirrel for me. She told me she could 
 catch squirrels. I am sorry that she has so upset 
 Monsieur I'Abbe." 
 
 " You appear to know me, sir," replied 
 Eoland, struck by the man's expressive face, good 
 manners, and foreign accent ; " and it seems to me 
 I have seen you before." 
 
 " No doubt you have, sir. I travel a good 
 deal. My name is Quirolo, but people have 
 punned on my patronymic, and call me Pierre 
 Quiroule." * 
 
 '•' I have not seen you in Brittany, though. 
 Monsieur Quiroule, nor under this costume, I 
 think. It seems to me that — at a court ball " 
 
 " I am a man of many trades. Monsieur le 
 Due," interrupted the pedlar, with a composed 
 smile. " I am engaged at present in fostering 
 
 * Pierre qui roule — Kolling Stone.
 
 134 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 the piety of this very religious province by selling 
 relics, images, and little medals blessed by the 
 Pope. Will you allow me to offer you one of St. 
 Denis and St. George ? " 
 
 " Why, it bears the heads of General Garibaldi 
 and Henri Eochefort ! " observed the Duke, 
 amused. 
 
 "So it does. I beg your pardon ; I went to 
 the wrong pocket," said Pierre Quiroule, with a 
 laugh, quite unabashed. *'You know, sir, each 
 locality has its saints, and one must humour 
 every form of belief These two are worshipped 
 in manufacturing towns. Here are St. Denis 
 and St. Georofe, emblematical of the entente 
 cordiale between France and England, and, may 
 I add, of your coming marriage, to which I wish 
 every happiness." 
 
 The pedlar's unexpected speech was cut short 
 by old Bernard's urging his team on. 
 
 " I wonder who that fellow is ? " murmured 
 the Duke, astonished. ** I could swear I had 
 seen him at a court ball in some foreign uniform. 
 And where has he heard that I am going to be 
 married ? " 
 
 " He is a very dangerous man," observed 
 Jerome Juva, somewhat excitedly, and with a
 
 THE OMEN OF THE FALLEN BRANCH. 135 
 
 solemn shake of the head. " He comes here 
 about twice a year, sir, and he turns the heads of 
 all the girls, selling them cheap jewellery and 
 books of idle stories. He has been here since 
 yesterday, and I dare say he is going away with 
 his pockets full of money." 
 
 Eoland, marvelling how the pedlar could have 
 heard of his coming marriage, was tempted to 
 ask whether the news of it had reached Chateau- 
 fort ; but he refrained. The landau was toiling 
 up a private road full of deep ruts, and jolted so 
 violently that of a sudden Jerome bit his tongue, 
 and uttered a squall of pain. 
 
 Onwards and still upwards went the private 
 road, a mere carriage way through the wood, till, 
 at about half a mile from the lodge, the ascent 
 terminated abruptly in a plateau of about half 
 an acre in extent, in the centre of which rose the 
 chateau. 
 
 There had been a time when, standing on one 
 of the gate towers of their castle, the Seigneurs 
 of Chateaufort could count the steeples of twenty 
 villages all their own. Their lands reached from 
 Carnac to Auray on the one side, and from 
 Carnac to Quiberon on the other. But now, 
 thanks to revolutionary confiscations, the Marquise
 
 136 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 owned little property outside the forest. The 
 greater part of her income was derived from 
 money in the funds ; but she made a fair profit 
 yearly out of the sale of her timber, her cattle, 
 sheep, and the produce of her dairy. There was 
 a fine dairy on the plateau, and, when younger, 
 she had superintended it herself; but now it was 
 managed by her steward, Alain Kergarec. All 
 the servants in the household were Kergarecs, 
 relatives of Alain, whose family had served the 
 lords of Ch^teaufort for centuries.
 
 ( 137 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 
 
 The castle had scarcely altered in outward ap- 
 pearance since it was built in the reign of 
 Charles VI. It was a massive place of grey 
 stone, two stories high, partially cloaked with 
 ivy, and having a diadem of battlements. At 
 each angle of the front stood a round tower, and 
 there were a pair of turrets, with pointed roofs 
 flanking the large doorway, which had a port- 
 cullis, and was still approached over a moat and 
 a drawbridge, which Jehan Kergarec, the porter, 
 pulled up every night. 
 
 The landau, rumbling over the drawbridge 
 and under a deep archway, entered a quadrangle 
 of good size, with a grass plat in the centre. To 
 the right of it was a chapel in the flamboyant 
 style, very black, and with niches full of broken- 
 nosed saints ; to the left were stables, a kitchen,
 
 138 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 and a refectory. The fourth side of the chateau, 
 which from its crenelated roof to the basement 
 was draped entirely with ivy, was occupied by 
 the private apartments. A paved, but weed- 
 grown carriage-sweep, encircling the lawn of ill- 
 kept turf, on which household linen was hanging 
 out to dry, led up to the door, which was sur- 
 mounted by an elaborately carved stone shield, 
 bearing the arms of the Kerouailles. 
 
 On the steps stood a pretty girl in a grey 
 frock and broad-brimmed straw hat with red 
 trimming — a girl of small stature and neat figure, 
 with large grave blue eyes. The brim of her 
 hat, keeping her face in the shade, darkened her 
 ruddy, rustic complexion, and made her eyes 
 seem all the larger and more serious, so that a 
 stranger would have taken her to be twenty-five 
 years old, instead of being, as she actually was, 
 scarcely twenty. This was Pauline Juva, Jerome's 
 sister. She had formerly been the Marquise de 
 Chateaufort's companion and reader, but was now 
 the housekeeper of the chateau. Her position of 
 trust was denoted by a purse-bag suspended to 
 her black and silver girdle, and containing a big 
 bunch of keys ; it was also evinced by a some- 
 what prim demeanour. A countrified little thing
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 139 
 
 slie was, evidently intimidated by the Duke's 
 arrival, for she coloured as the carriage drove up ; 
 yet she stood her ground, as if it were part of her 
 duty to be there and greet him. 
 
 " Good evening, my dear Pauline ; I need not 
 ask how you are," said Eoland, in a brotherly 
 tone, after he had alighted gingerly from the 
 landau, which had four steps, one of which was 
 broken. Jerome put his inexperienced foot 
 through this step, and descended from the carriage 
 with more speed than ecclesiastical decorum. 
 " Is grandmamma awake ? " continued the Duke, 
 as he returned the salutation of the major-domo, 
 the coachman's brother and another Kergarec, 
 who muttered a querulous blessing at him in 
 Gaelic. All these old servants, though devotedly 
 attached, looked chronically out of sorts. 
 
 " Madame is taking a nap ; but I will awake 
 her, for she is very impatient to see you," said 
 Pauline, in a voice that was soft and musical, but 
 louder in its pitch than that of town -bred girls. 
 
 " I understood from Jerome that she was quite 
 well ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, she has received news which 
 greatly agitated her." 
 
 " What news ? "
 
 140 THE duke's MAREIAGE. 
 
 " That you were going to be married, cousin," 
 answered Pauline, reddening. 
 
 She called the Duke " cousin," because she 
 came- of a very ancient family, which in old 
 times had intermarried with the Kerouailles. 
 
 " May I ask who brought you this news ? " 
 inquired Eoland. 
 
 " We read it in the newspapers." 
 
 " Ah, I thought you received only the Gazette 
 de France here ? I did not know that pious 
 journal was so well-informed about mundane 
 affairs." 
 
 " We only receive the Gazette de France,'' 
 admitted Pauline ; " but somebody in Paris — we 
 do not know who — sent the Marquise two 
 newspapers, in which it was stated that you were 
 to marry a — a Protestant." 
 
 " My future wife is a good Christian, my 
 dear Pauline." 
 
 ^' The newspaper said she was a Protestant," 
 replied Pauline, glancing up at him timidly. 
 
 " But so am I a Protestant," answered Eoland, 
 with a light laugh to conceal his vexation ; for he 
 was annoyed to find that a prejudice had been 
 created against Gertrude before he could plead 
 her cause himself. " I protest against all sorts of
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 141 
 
 things ; so do you ; so does everybody. I will 
 prove to Jerome presently that he is an arch 
 heretic, who doesn't know half the canons of our 
 Mother Church." 
 
 Jerome giggled. Pauline said nothing, but 
 led the way into an entrance hall, with a low- 
 panelled oak ceiling, black with the grime of 
 centuries. The floor was paved with flags, many 
 of them cracked, and the walls were covered with 
 faded tapestry, with antlers and with trophies of 
 arms, helmets, and breastplates, bearing the dents 
 of battles, the causes of which have long- ceased 
 to worry the world. An itinerant dealer in 
 bric-a-brac had once found his way into this 
 place, and his eyes fairly watered as he mentally 
 marked out its contents into lots and priced 
 them. The whole chateau was a very museum 
 of antiquities. The chairs in all the rooms were 
 adorned with tapestries, wrought by the fingers 
 of Kerouailles ladies long departed. The newest 
 piece of heavy furniture in them dated from 
 Louis XV. 's reign, and the smallest ornaments 
 in them, whether of china, wood, or metal, had 
 their value as curiosities. But all this was 
 comfortless, and made the Duke feel as in a 
 store-house rather than in a home.
 
 142 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Pauline, having ascertained that it was 
 Eoland's pleasure to see his grandmother at once 
 before dining, clapped her hands, and at the 
 summons a tall Breton man-servant, who had 
 been hovering about the hall, emerged from a 
 passage, bobbing his head humbly to the Duke. 
 This was Clovis Kergarec, son of Bernard, the 
 coachman. His flaxen hair was combed over his 
 forehead, and cut straight just above the eye- 
 brows, while behind and at the sides of the 
 head it fell lank to the shoulders. If this lono- 
 hair had shown a little more of the forehead, and 
 had been brushed back behind the ears, it would 
 have given Clovis's smooth-shaven face a comely 
 appearance ; but, concealing his ears and part of 
 his cheeks, it made him look atrociously shaggy 
 and almost ruffianly. Clovis wore the national 
 Breton costume ; that is, a white jacket with 
 four rows of small brass buttons, a blue waist- 
 coat with a roll collar buttoned up to the chin, a 
 broad red sash, wide canvas breeches, and grey 
 worsted stockings. 
 
 Pauline gave this uncouth Cornouailler an 
 order in Gaelic, and he fetched a massive silver 
 candlestick, with a tallow candle in it, to escort 
 the Duke to his room ; while Pauline herself went
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 143 
 
 to prepare the Marquise for her grandson's visit. 
 It was not yet dusk, but the passages in the 
 castle were so dark that the flickering dip which 
 Clovis carried, as he strode five steps ahead of his 
 master, gave no more light than was enough to 
 guide Roland as he went upstairs to the large 
 state bedroom, which was always made ready for 
 him when he came to the chateau. The bed in 
 this chamber was hidden in a deep alcove, and 
 the fireplace was so wide that the wind roared in 
 the chimney day and night with frightful noises. 
 The brown planks of the flooring were polished 
 like glass, but there was many a crevice in them, 
 out of which mice crawled in the dark, and the 
 draughts were so numerous that they kept the 
 curtains, hangings, and even the pictures in 
 the room continuously swaying or trembling. 
 
 Roland did not remain long in this chamber 
 of delights. He washed his hands, chanofed his 
 attire with his valet's assistance, and then went 
 downstairs a^rain. Pauline was waiting: for him 
 in the hall. She had been standing near the 
 window in a pensive attitude, gazing out at the 
 sea, which glimmered under the sunset light in 
 the distance. So wrapt was she in her meditation 
 that she did not hear Roland till lie was close
 
 144 THE duke's mareiage. 
 
 upon lier ; then she turned with a slight start, 
 but, recovering her self-possession, she mur- 
 mured — 
 
 " Madame is awake and ready to see you, 
 cousin/' Then, without another word, she led 
 him down a corridor to a door which she noise- 
 lessly opened, and left him. 
 
 Eoland entered on tiptoe, and glanced 
 anxiously at the bed, expecting to find his aged 
 grandmother in a state of prostration ; but, on 
 the contrary, the Marquise was wide awake and 
 refreshed after her recent nap. It has been said 
 that there were days when her memory was 
 clouded, but there were others when she had full 
 230ssession of her senses, and this was one of 
 them. 
 
 Propped by large square pillows with broad 
 frills, the old lady sat up in a big oaken bed with 
 carved columns and tester which filled up half 
 the space in her small room. This chamber was 
 on the ground floor ; it had once been a boudoir, 
 but had become the Marquise's bed-chamber since 
 a paralytic seizure had disabled her from ascend- 
 ing staircases. A door facing the bed led into 
 a small oratory, where there was an altar and a 
 couple of fald-stools. Here Jerome Juva said his
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 145 
 
 mass every morning, the door being left open so 
 that the Marquise could join in the service 
 without leaving her bed. On a little table at the 
 foot of the bed stood a statuette three feet high 
 in painted wood, which represented her patroness, 
 St. Anne of Auray. It was gorgeously clothed 
 in gold brocade, lace, and real jewels ; and when 
 the Marquise said her prayers, she always made 
 an invocation to it. 
 
 A regard for appearances never forsakes French 
 ladies, so Madame de Chateaufort's venerable head 
 and shoulders were swathed in rich folds of lace, 
 and jewelled rings glittered on her small wasted 
 hands. Very decrepit she would have looked if 
 she had not been ''made up" by her old maid 
 Agathe to receive her grandson. She had a set 
 of false teeth, a front of fine silvery hair fluffed 
 in little bunches on either side of her forehead, 
 and there was a suspicion of pink pearl powder 
 on her cheeks. The Marquise had outlived 
 wrinkles, the skin on her face was tightly drawn, 
 and so the artificial colour imparted to her the 
 appearance of a quaint little wax figure. But 
 hers was a kindly, dignified face, which lit up 
 with a very tender expression when her grandson 
 ifcook her in his arms and kissed her. Tie had 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 always been her pet, and after their greetings 
 were over, she said to him in a tone of motherly 
 remonstrance — 
 
 " My dear child, what is this strange fancy of 
 yours for marrying a girl of naught ? You must 
 leave Mademoiselle Corrington to her English 
 fogs." 
 
 '*You would love her so much if you saw 
 her, grandmamma," answered Koland, joining 
 issue at once. " She is beautiful and good. I 
 have not found a fault in her." 
 
 " That may be," replied the Marquise, calmly, 
 in a low quavering voice. " I am always glad to 
 see a pretty girl, but to admit her into my family 
 is another matter. There has never been a 
 mesalliance in our house. This young person is 
 not even noble." 
 
 " She would be if the English nobility were 
 like the French, grandmamma. The grandson of 
 a French duke's younger son may be a count 
 during his grandfather's lifetime, but the son of 
 an English duke's second son bears no title at all. 
 General Corrington's father was the younger son 
 of a baronet." 
 
 " Baronets are very small nobility, Eoland." 
 
 " Surely they are the equals of most French
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 147 
 
 counts," demurred the Duke, coaxiDgly. "We 
 have a hundred and fifty thousand people in this 
 country who bear nobiliary titles, and four 
 hundred other thousands who tack the particle 
 * De ' to their names ; whereas there are scarcely 
 five thousand people in the British Isles who 
 sport an hereditary prefix." 
 
 But the Marquise shook her head. She had 
 lived seven years in England as an emigree during 
 the Great Eevolution, and for want of better 
 employment there had studied British peerage 
 and baronetage. She could recite the names of 
 all the leading families in the three kingdoms, 
 and was disposed to give due honour to many 
 members of the ancient squirearchy who were 
 untitled, and especially to the Tres, Pols, and 
 Pens of Cornwall, with whom the Breton nobility 
 had in the days of yore intermarried ; but she 
 knew not the Corringtons. 
 
 " If you married this young person," she said, 
 '' you could not pin a notice to her shawl to 
 explain to people what the English laws of 
 succession are. It would be said that you, a 
 Beauregard on your father's side and a Kerouailles 
 de Chateaufort on your mother's, had married a 
 girl of no blood (une rotmihe), and this would
 
 148 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 be a disgrace. Besides, Mademoiselle Corrington 
 is a Protestant, and you could not commit the 
 impiety of marrying a girl who was hostile to 
 your Church." 
 
 "Would you have considered the religious 
 question a drawback if I had contemplated marry- 
 ing the daughter of an English duke ? " inquired 
 Koland, seeing he must face the religious difficulty 
 without subterfuge. 
 
 "What a question, my dear child! The 
 daughter of an English duke would have felt 
 what was due to her husband, and would have 
 recanted her heresies before her marriage. Do 
 you wish a test of Miss Corrington's feelings 
 towards you ? Has she promised to enter a 
 convent for a year and be baptized ? If not, she 
 can have no true love for you." 
 
 " Is not the test rather a hard one ? " rejoined 
 Eoland, with perfect patience. " Gertrude is not 
 like one of those German princesses who are 
 brought up as unattached Christians, ready to 
 adopt the tenets of any husband whom it may be 
 convenient for them to wed. If she is staunch 
 to her faith, this offers a guarantee that she will 
 be true to me." 
 
 "Tut, tut, ce sont des phrases tout 9a. A
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 149 
 
 husband and wife must kneel in the same church. 
 If she thinks you wrong in your religion, she may 
 think you wrong in other matters ; and a pretty 
 state of things that would be." 
 
 " I don't want her to think me infallible, 
 grandmamma." 
 
 "As to that, my dear child, you would be 
 like other husbands, I suppose. We women 
 never think our husbands infallible, but every 
 husband expects us to make some pretence that 
 way ; and it is madness to add to the many 
 causes of dispute that may spring up between 
 man and wife such a miserable element of discord 
 as religious differences. It would be as if your 
 bride came to you with a firebrand in her 
 trousseau." 
 
 " I don't look upon it in that light, grand- 
 mamma," said the Duke. " I fancy in these 
 times few of us reason on religion so — so staunchly 
 as you do." 
 
 *' And why do you not reason as I do ? " 
 inquired the Marquise, looking hard at him. 
 " Why are you not a good Catholic, like the best 
 of your ancestors, Eoland ? What has God done 
 to you that you should desert him ? Has he not 
 loaded you with favours, and ought you not in
 
 150 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 the midst of a godless generation to be one of 
 those who set the example of keeping your faith 
 pure and whole ? Is it now the time to desert 
 your Church, when the rabble in all our large 
 cities are turning it into mockery ; when false 
 savants, false wits, and all who are depraved in 
 this unhappy nation want to shake off moral 
 restraints that would check them from wallowing 
 in sin, and would break the altars of their God, 
 as they have overturned the throne of their king ? 
 As for me " — and the old lady trembled all over 
 with emotion as she said this — " I pray Heaven 
 I may die sooner than see you disgrace your 
 name by bringing a Protestant wife to this castle. 
 Don't tell me that these Protestants are Christians 
 like ourselves ; they are rebellious, disobedient 
 children who have broken away from the dis- 
 cipline of our Church. God may forgive them — 
 we must in charity hope He will ; but we cannot, 
 unless we see them come back humbly and sue 
 for pardon. This projected marriage of yours, 
 my dear child, has grieved me more than I can 
 tell you ; but I am sure you will not persevere in 
 it against my wishes. If I thought you would 
 do so, I would write to Miss Corrington, I would 
 write to her father and mother, and ask them
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 151 
 
 whether they intended to bring an old woman 
 heartbroken to her grave ; for that would be the 
 result of your marriage, and it would carry no 
 blessing to you or your children." 
 
 Koland moaned in spirit at this vehement 
 outburst. He took his grandmother's paralyzed 
 hand between his, patting it gently, and returned 
 no answer. He saw that it would be useless to 
 argue. 
 
 What could he say ? The Marquise had 
 spoken with an energy which had altogether sur- 
 prised him, for at his last visit to Chateaufort 
 her talk had been incoherent, and he had con- 
 cluded that she was sinking into dotage. 
 
 He was so good-natured, however, that he 
 showed no sign of irritation. A bad -hearted 
 man would have grown sulky, and have tried to 
 reduce the Marquise by making her wretched ; 
 but it never occurred to Eoland to do this. 
 
 He continued to stroke her hand, while she 
 went on talking ; and as he mechanically nodded 
 his head to what she said, the poor old lady 
 flattered herself that he was beginning to coincide 
 with her views. 
 
 " You must not be angry with me for feeling 
 so strongly about anything that concerns your
 
 152 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 welfare, my dear child," she said, glaDcing at 
 him fondly. " I want to see you married ; and 
 now that your thoughts are turned on marriage, 
 you would gladden my last hours if you 
 adopted the scheme I had planned for you, and 
 took as your wife my old friend De Rocarme's 
 only daughter Laure. She has some of the best 
 blood of France in her veins, and will have a 
 million francs on her wedding-day, with twice as 
 much besides when her father dies ; and all this, 
 added to your money and mine, would make you 
 a princely fortune. If you had three sons, the 
 eldest would inherit your title of Beauregard '' 
 (the Marquise never acknowledged the dukedom 
 of Alma, conferred on Eoland's father by an 
 usurper ; her grandson was always to her Count 
 de Beauregard- Voilay) ; " the second might be 
 Marquis de Chateaufort, though really the 
 Kerouailles de Chateaufort are of older nobility 
 than you Beauregards, so that you ought to 
 assume the Chateaufort title when I die ; and 
 your third son could take his mother's fortune 
 and his maternal grandfathers title of Due de 
 Rocarme. You can apply to Henri V., when he 
 gets his own again, to have the transmission of 
 our titles made to your younger sons ; or if that
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO WIVES. 153 
 
 Bonaparte of yours is still on the throne, his 
 keeper of the seals must be told to do what you 
 wish. Oh, Eoland, my beloved boy ! I should 
 die happy if I could see you married to Laure de 
 Rocarme, even though I may not live to fondle 
 your children. I have told Pauline that she is to 
 be their governess. You will find her a good girl, 
 and she will imjDrove as she gets older, poor little 
 soul." 
 
 There was a contrast that might have amused 
 a humourist between the lofty ground the 
 Marquise had taken up to combat her grandson's 
 marriage with Gertrude, and the very low ground 
 of worldly interest on which she urged his 
 alliance with Mademoiselle Laure de Rocarme, 
 whom he had never seen ; but Roland was not in 
 a mood to notice the humour of the thing. The 
 mention of Pauline's name set him thinking that 
 this young lady might, perhaps, have more power 
 than anybody else to help him out of his difficulty. 
 She was the Marquise's coiifidante; her brother 
 was the confessor. Between them the pair must 
 exercise an absolute ascendancy over the aged 
 lady's mind at the periods when it was weak. 
 Roland felt sure that Pauline could easily be 
 tutored into actinsf under his instruction. Mean-
 
 154 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 time he thought he would pave the way to an 
 understanding with her by doing her a good 
 turn. He took it for granted that a girl in her 
 dependent position would be glad to get a dower 
 in order to have some chance of finding a husband 
 ■ — French girls of good family having very little 
 chance when they are portionless, and yet too 
 proud to marry beneath them. 
 
 " Pauline is a pretty girl, grandmamma," he 
 said. "You ought to think of getting her 
 married." 
 
 " Pauline has no desire for marriage," replied 
 the old lady testily. " She is a De Penmarck. 
 Her ancestors had tower, dovecot, and gibbet like 
 our own ; her father, as you know, was a naval 
 officer. Pauline can only marry a man of her 
 rank, and with money enough for two, if at all. 
 When it pleases God to bring a great family to 
 the dust, Poland, be sure He intends the survivors 
 to devote themselves to His service. Jerome has 
 become a priest ; Pauline will educate your 
 children, which will be more agreeable for her 
 than going into a convent." 
 
 " I should think she would find it more agree- 
 able to have a husband and children of her own. 
 Why not give her a dower? She has been like a
 
 AN OFFEE OF TWO WIVES. 155 
 
 daughter to you for several years. If you let it 
 be known that she would have a hundred 
 thousand francs at her wedding, she would soon 
 find a husband." 
 
 ''I could not spare Pauline," said the Mar- 
 quise, with senile selfishness. '* She must remain 
 with me till my death, unless " — and the old lady 
 suddenly turned towards her grandson — " unless 
 you would marry her yourself, Eoland. Is that 
 what you were thinking of ? " 
 
 " I, grandmamma ? Oh no ; such a thought 
 was far from me." 
 
 " But you said you thought her a pretty 
 girl ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but that is no reason " 
 
 "Why shouldn't you marry her?" interrupted 
 the old lady absently, as if she were conning 
 over all the pros and cons of this new scheme. 
 " She is of more ancient blood than any of us ; 
 that is a point beyond dispute. Those Penmarcks 
 go back into the night of history. If you married 
 her, she would still remain with me, and you 
 would be obliged to stay here too, so it would be 
 all gain to me. Why did I never think of all 
 this before ? Eoland, if you like to ask for 
 Pauline's hand, you shall have my consent."
 
 156 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 The Duke tliouglit tliat his grandmother's 
 miud was wandering. The new ideas that had 
 got into it had suddenly burned up the other, 
 and was blazing there like a straw fire. Made- 
 moiselle de Eocarme, her fortune and dukedom, 
 were no longer thought of. The Marquise talked 
 of Pauline Juya, her qualities and desirable points 
 as a wife, with as much volubility as if a hundred 
 revealed truths about the girl had started to her 
 reflection — which, indeed, was the case, for she 
 had always till then regarded Pauline as a child. 
 
 " Grandmamma, dear, we will talk about all 
 this another time," said Poland, as he saw the 
 Marquise grow so agitated. " You must try to 
 sleep now." 
 
 '' Very well, dear child," she muttered ; " but 
 before you go, give me your hand, and kneel down 
 while I say my prayer to our good Sainte Anne, 
 who guards us all." 
 
 Poland did as he was bidden reverently 
 enough, and the Marquise, closing her eyes, 
 moved her lips for a minute or two in silent 
 prayer. She prayed that St. Anne and the 
 Blessed Virgin might use all their power to 
 prevent him from thinking any more about the 
 heretic English girl, and Poland, not knowing
 
 AN OFFER OF TWO, WIVES. 157 
 
 what she said, responded " Amen " when she had 
 finished. 
 
 After he had retired, Agathe, the maid — an 
 old woman with a face like a baked apple — came 
 into the room ; and the Marquise, who could not 
 compose herself to sleep, ordered her to fetch 
 Mademoiselle Juva. Pauline quickly arrived. 
 
 *' Come here, child," said the old lady, 
 beckoning to her. *' Let me take a good look at 
 you. Do you know, monsieur says you are a 
 very pretty girl." 
 
 "Madame!" 
 
 "I may speak to you as if you were my 
 daughter, my dear, as your mother is dead. Tell 
 me, would it please you to become my grandson's 
 wife ? Ah, you redden ; he is not distasteful to 
 you, then ? Can it be that you have ever 
 thought of this ? How could I have been so 
 blind as not to suspect it ? AVell, my little one, I 
 should approve of this marriage ; and, if you like, 
 I think it can be arranged. Eoland has recog- 
 nized the absurdity of that English mesalliance^'' 
 
 Pauline's only answer was to bend her blush- 
 ing face over her benefactress's hand, and to kiss 
 it. In her ecstasy of joy and amazement, slie 
 could not speak. It was as if heaven had 
 suddenly opened to her.
 
 158 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 PAULINE JUVA. 
 
 Pauline had long loved Eoland. How could she 
 have helped falling in love with him ? 
 
 He was so different from all the other men 
 she had ever seen. When he came to Chateaufort, 
 he brought with him a living reflection of the 
 great world. In his looks, his bearing, his 
 pleasant courtly chatter, his dress — and how well 
 he dressed ! — he was all that a girl thinks a noble- 
 man ought to be. 
 
 He was brave, too ; and was not reduced, like 
 those Legitimist squires of the neighbourhood, 
 who declined to serve in Napoleon III.'s armies, 
 to brag of the feats of his ancestors. He had led 
 a charge at Solferino, and had been wounded. 
 His grandmother, who would not let his foreign 
 ducal title supersede the more ancient one of De
 
 PAULINE JUVA. 159 
 
 Beauregard, talked often enough of the battles 
 where his father had won it, and she had kept the 
 newspaper in which Eoland was gazetted Knight 
 of the Legion of Honour for his gallantry by his 
 father's side. 
 
 The gentlemen whom Pauline had met at 
 Chateaufort since leaving the convent at Morlaix, 
 where she had spent her girlhood, were mostly 
 squires of small estates and small brains, who 
 wore ill- cut clothes, and drove from the plain 
 in tumble-down traps. Their manners were 
 awkward, and their conversation dreary. None 
 of them made love to her, because she was 
 believed to be a portionless dependent. Indeed, 
 they all spoke with punctilio, as if afraid of 
 raising presumptuous expectations in her bosom. 
 Only one, a young Count Eene de Polhuan — aged 
 thirty, and noted as a sad dog — had once so far 
 forgotten himself as to pay her a compliment. 
 He had said to her, in the hearing of his parents, 
 that the birds would be pecking at her lips some 
 day, mistaking them for cherries ; but his mamma 
 must have read him a severe lecture upon tliis 
 flight of fancy (which had set Pauline laugliing), 
 for next time he called he was as formal and 
 sulky as the others. It was generally taken for
 
 160 THE duke's makriage. 
 
 granted that when the Marquise died, Pauline 
 would enter a convent. 
 
 She had that sort of vocation for the cloister 
 which may be acquired by looking forward to it 
 as an inevitable fate. She was the daughter of a 
 naval officer, who had left his children unprovided 
 for, while bequeathing to them a name too noble 
 to be trailed about in any menial occupation. 
 Her brother had become a priest, and it was 
 natural she should become a nun, since she was 
 too proud to misally herself to any rich hourgeois 
 who might like to buy her escutcheon to cover 
 up his trade mark. 
 
 So Pauline's love for Poland de Beauregard 
 had been a mere piece of romance, the recreation 
 of her thoughts in lonely hours when she sat 
 watching purple sunsets, or embroidered church 
 vestments for her brother with tiny needles and 
 silk threads, while the rain dripped outside for 
 long, long hours. Girls will dream, and compose 
 novels of which they are the heroines ; and they 
 will conjure up heroes. Poland had been PauHne's 
 hero. 
 
 But since she had heard of Poland's project 
 of marrying an English Protestant, Pauline had 
 been almost beside herself with astonishment and
 
 PAULINE JUVA. 161 
 
 mortification. If he had married a Catholic, his 
 equal in birth and fortune, she could have borne 
 it. The dream in her heart would have been 
 extinguished, as the lights in a chapel are put out 
 after the adoration is over ; she would have locked 
 the door of the chapel, and there would have been 
 an end of it. But that he should be going to 
 marry a foreigner who was not of noble blood, 
 and whose religion was a heresy — that was in- 
 tolerable. Even as the Kev. Chrysostom Oram 
 was thinking at Lewbury, that he had lost 
 (4ertrude from not having dared put his fate to 
 the touch while it was yet time, so Pauline, 
 during several days, could not banish the thought 
 that she had valued Eoland far more than he 
 valued himself. The man whom she had loved in 
 a far-off way, with a sense of her own un worthi- 
 ness, had been treated as mere human flesh and 
 blood by her rival, and this crafty girl was now 
 going to drag him down to her own level. 
 
 There was a feeling of personal humiliation 
 and bitterness in this which had aroused all the 
 combative instincts that had till then laid 
 dormant in the Breton girl's nature. Her pride 
 of caste, her religious fanaticism, her loyalty to 
 the Marquise her benefactress, and even that 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 THE duke's marpjage. 
 
 secret antipathy towards the English which she 
 had inherited from her father the sailor, were all 
 up in arms against the shameless alien heretic 
 who had robbed her of her hero. 
 
 But now all this was over. From the depth 
 of her despair Pauline had been raised to unex- 
 pected triumph. Her hero was faithful after all 
 — a true Catholic and Frenchman, who had 
 listened to the pleadings of his mother's mother 
 and turned penitently from his brief error. 
 
 Overcome by her emotion, Pauline, having 
 left the Marquise to Agathe's care, fled to her 
 own room. It was a little place at the t023 of the 
 house, hardly better than a servant's room. The 
 walls were whitewashed, a crucifix in black wood 
 and ivory, and a few cheap crudely coloured 
 prints of saints, hung upon them. The small iron 
 bedstead with white curtains, the sheepskin mat 
 beside it, a rush-bottomed prie-dieu, and a small 
 rusty stove, in which there had not been a fire for 
 years, formed the principal items of furniture. 
 
 Here Pauline shut herself in by drawing the 
 heavy wooden bolt of the door, and she waited 
 with a thumping heart. She knew that she ought 
 to be downstairs to see that monsieur's dinner 
 was properly served ; but she did not dare go.
 
 PAULINE JUVA. 163 
 
 Every noise she heard brought a flow of colour 
 to her face, and made her check her breath. She 
 expected that Eoland Avould send for her to 
 declare his suit in person, and she would have 
 jDleaded for time, as she wanted to compose her- 
 self — to reopen her dazzled eyes, as it were, and 
 consider the glorious sunshine that had suddenly 
 fallen upon her p>ath. 
 
 Nobody came, and by degrees she grew more 
 calm. After kneeling for a time on her prie- 
 dieii and panting incoherent prayers, she arose 
 and went to the window, pressing her forehead 
 against the diamond panes for coolness. Then 
 she bathed her face, and as it was growing dark, 
 and she had brought no candle to the room, 
 she employed the last moments of twiHght in 
 smoothing her hair before a tiny mirror. She 
 could make no change in her dress, for her grey 
 stuff frock, sparingly trimmed with black velvet, 
 was the best she had ; but she did not trouble 
 herself about that, for she thought it a fine frock, 
 and had never desired a better. 
 
 One question sj)un round and round in the 
 eddy of her thoughts — What would Roland say 
 to her ? Would he be formal, polite, playful, or 
 tender ? Would he kiss her, and would she have
 
 164 THE. duke's marriage. 
 
 to kiss him ? Her position was peculiar ; for 
 though she considered herself already as affianced, 
 she had no surety of her future husband's love. 
 jNTevertheless, the astounding revelation of 
 Eoland's abrupt change of purpose . could not 
 long disconcert her French notions. The Marquise 
 had asked her grandson to give up his project of 
 marrying Miss Corrington, and it was quite 
 ]jatural that Eoland, out of filial obedience, 
 should instantly transfer his affections from the 
 English girl to Pauline herself. Marriages were 
 constantly made in this fashion, and Pauline 
 coidd have no objection to accept a husband 
 whom she loved merely because he had not come 
 to her Cjuite of his own accord. It would be the 
 business of her life to make him love her ; and 
 she was rather afraid of her own awkwardness in 
 the preliminaries of courtship than doubtful at 
 all as to her ultimate success in the mission of mar- 
 ried life. She felt, in fact, as all girls must do 
 under such circumstances, the need of a mother 
 to advise her. 
 
 But reflection came to the aid of her inexperi- 
 ence, and whispered to her to have faith in the 
 man she loved. He would be sure to do all thinirs 
 for the best in the best way. Probably he would
 
 PAULINE JUVA. 1G5 
 
 make no formal proposal for several days, hut 
 remain at the chateau, and live much in her 
 companionship, so that he would be quite in love 
 by the time he proposed — say, in about a week, 
 or next Sunday afternoon after vespers, which 
 was the time when village lads generally did their 
 courting. Many tens of minutes had crept away 
 while Pauline thought of all this, still standing 
 by the window of her room. It was quite dark 
 now, for the moon had not yet risen ; and the 
 girl had to grope her way to the door, when she 
 felt, at length, that she must go downstairs to 
 give the servants their orders for next day's 
 work. 
 
 She stole downstairs on tiptoe, pausing now 
 and then to listen. If she had heard an ascendino- 
 
 o 
 
 step, she would have run back ; but there was 
 not a sound in the house. Descending to the 
 front hall, where a dull oil lamp rather speckled 
 the darkness than gave light, she walked to the 
 end of a passage which led to the kitchen, and 
 opening a door hearkened. Eoland's servant 
 Barney was talking in broken French to all the 
 servants gathered round the kitchen fire, and 
 was trying to make them laugh. Some di<l 
 laugh, but in a rather forced way, as it seemed
 
 166 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 to Pauline. The kitchen company was dull that 
 evening. 
 
 Then Pauline retraced her steps and went 
 into the dining-room, a large apartment all wains- 
 coted with oak, and never used except when 
 monsieur was at the chateau. The dinner-cloth 
 had long been removed, but Jerome Juva sat at 
 one end of the table in the circle of lio'ht formed 
 
 o 
 
 by a moderator lamp, and pored intently over a 
 well-thumbed folio of the " Lives of the Saints." 
 His fore-arms were laid squarely on the table, 
 and his chin rested on his knuckles. The " Lives 
 of the Saints " was the only book he ever read, 
 excepting his breviary, and it was a treasure of 
 book which yielded whatever sensations its reader 
 might happen to desire — excitement if he was 
 wakeful, and sweet sleep when he was in som- 
 nolent mood. 
 
 ''The blessed St. Labre lived for thirty -five 
 years without using soap or tvater," said Jerome, 
 reading aloud, when his sister appeared — just as 
 a schoolboy might do who, caught napping, 
 wants to show that he is awake. " This he did 
 to mortify the flesh, for he had been a voluptuary 
 in his youth'' 
 
 *' Monsieur has dined ? " asked Pauline.
 
 PAULINE JUVA. 167 
 
 " Yes, more than an hour since," replied the 
 young priest, sitting up and stretching his long 
 arms. "We dined together." 
 
 " He invited you ? " 
 
 ''Yes; I had gone to my room, and he sent 
 for me. He wanted very much to see you also ; 
 and I wish you had been with us, for it was a 
 good dinner." 
 
 "Did he ask for me ?" faltered Pauline, half 
 turning her face away. 
 
 "He did, and I think he wants to speak to 
 you about something. He talked about seeing 
 you to-morrow; but, in fact, he spoke a good 
 deal about you while we were eating, and he 
 praised the cream-tart you had made. I told 
 him you had made it." 
 
 Jerome yawned over his book, and would 
 have said no more. So Pauline had to revive 
 the conversation. 
 
 " What had our cousin to say about me, 
 Jerome ? " 
 
 " Everything that was amiable. He gave me 
 his thanks for your devotion to the Marquise, 
 and said she looked upon you as her daughter. 
 But I say, Paulette, it cannot be true that our 
 cousin is going to marry a Protestant, for he
 
 168 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 wanted to know wlietlier he could do anything 
 for onr chapeL He sat after dinner in that arm- 
 chair near the fire, and made me relate to him 
 some of our Breton legends ; and when I told 
 him that some rats had been gnawing a hole in 
 my best chasuble, he said that he would buy me 
 a whole new set of vestments. He would not 
 have promised that if he had been going to bring 
 a heretic wife here — would he ? " 
 
 " No/' answered Pauline. 
 
 Her brother's glance was raised towards her, 
 and for the first time in his life, perhaps, he 
 noticed that she was a pretty girl. There was 
 a bloom of gladness on her face, a liquid bright- 
 ness in her eyes, and her lips, half parted, 
 breathed that word " No " as a soft murmur. 
 
 Jerome returned musing to his St. Labre ; 
 and Pauline, gliding towards the fire, seated her- 
 self on a chair opposite to that where Poland had 
 sat. A pile of pear-wood logs had been burned 
 on the hearth, and had left a mass of glowing 
 embers. Into these the French girl gazed and 
 saw faces in the fire — Roland's and her own 
 always close together.
 
 ( icy ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Pauline's deception. 
 
 EoLAND attacliecl so little importance to his 
 grandmother's scheme of marrying him to Pauline, 
 that he hardly gave it a thought after retiring to 
 his room. He only thought of Pauline in con- 
 nection with the assistance she could give him 
 in overcoming the Marquise's scruples to his 
 marriage with Gertrude. 
 
 He was rather vexed than dismayed by the 
 obstacles thrown in his way. He was annoyed 
 that his projected marriage should be called a 
 mesalliance, for he did not want his friends to 
 think he had misallied himself ; his position was 
 too high to allow of such a thing. Certainly lie 
 had not instituted searching inquiries as to who 
 the Corringtons were ; but from the General's 
 military rank, from the kind of people he knew,
 
 170 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 and from the style in which the Corringtons lived 
 at Ostend, he concluded that their position was 
 among the upper classes. 
 
 In this he had judged somewhat hastily, for 
 he fancied that the General owned an estate at 
 Lewbury, and not a mere house hired on lease. 
 But if the Corringtons had lived in a village, it 
 would have made no difference in his sentiments 
 towards Gertrude ; for he was in love. 
 
 He loved so well that he was sure his grand- 
 mother would approve his choice if once Gertrude 
 could be brought to Chateaufort ; and for his 
 future wife's own sake, therefore, there must be 
 no disagreeables about the marriage. To marry 
 without his grandmother's consent was repugnant 
 to Eoland, and he dismissed, as out of the ques- 
 tion, the idea of serving the Marquise with a 
 legal process. 
 
 After all, Gertrude's religion seemed to him 
 the principal bar, and this must be circumvented. 
 As a man of the world, confident in the as- 
 cendancy he should exercise over his wife, and 
 relying also on the social influences which would 
 operate upon Gertrude when she became a 
 Frenchwoman, he doubted little in his private 
 mind that the Duchesse d'Alma would some day
 
 PAULIXE S DECEPTION. 171 
 
 turn Catholic ; and this was the prospect which, 
 on reflection, he saw it would be politic to present 
 to the Marquise and to Pauline. Ignorant of 
 Pauline's feelings towards himself, he imagined 
 that her piety as a Catholic might easily he 
 touched by the idea of winning over a Protestant, 
 and perhaps a whole family of Protestants to the 
 true faith. 
 
 In this frame of mind Poland went to bed, 
 after writing Gertrude a letter which contained 
 more assurances of love than information as to 
 what he was doing at Chateaufort. 
 
 He did not rest long undisturbed, for shortly 
 after midnight he was roused by sounds of 
 tramping and excited voices in the courtyard 
 under his window. He raised himself and sat 
 up in bed. His room was dark, but flickers were 
 thrown into it by lanterns in the yard. The 
 chateau was usually so quiet at that time of 
 night that he fancied a fire must have broken 
 out. But after a few minutes the voices sub- 
 sided and the lights vanished, whereupon he lay 
 down again and was soon asleep. 
 
 In the morning, when Barney brought him 
 some chocolate and toast, an explanation was 
 offered of the night's noises. There was an air
 
 172 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 of mysterious amusement on the valet's face as 
 he set down the tray. 
 
 " The servants say there was a ghost walking 
 about the place last night, your Grace." 
 
 " A ghost I " echoed Eoland, without betray- 
 ing incredulity or wonder, for ap23aritions in 
 Brittany are no rarer than foreigners on the 
 Boulevard des Italiens. 
 
 " 1 can't make out exactly who saw it, sir, 
 but they're all talking about it as if it had given 
 'em a fright, aud Odette, the cow-girl, especially. 
 When there's any talking downstairs, that young 
 party does more than her share. She says the 
 ghost was the White Lady I " Barney's smug 
 face was quite demure as he said this, though 
 a smile hovered on the corner of his lips, ready to 
 break out if his master should smile. 
 
 But Eoland never jested upon religious things 
 in the presence of a servant. " These people 
 have their superstitions, which w^e must not 
 affront," he said. " Show yourself very con- 
 siderate in all their remarks upon their faith." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, I should be sure to do that. 
 When telling 'em yesterday of your Grace's en- 
 gagement, I made so bold as to say that the 
 young lady was very religious, though it might
 
 Pauline's deception, 173 
 
 not be after their fasMon ; but I told 'em all 
 fashions was good, so far as I could see." 
 
 " How did they receive your communication?" 
 
 " Well, your Grace, begging your pardon, they 
 
 didn't seem quite to take it as they ought to 
 
 'a' done. It was Miss Corrington's being a Pro- 
 
 o o 
 
 testant that made 'em grumble. They was rather 
 surly about it over their suppers, and two or 
 three of the old women sat rocking themselves in 
 chairs with their aprons over their heads, without 
 appearing to listen much when I said that Miss 
 Corrington was a Christian of the same sort as 
 me, who was brought up religious by my mother, 
 and alius went to Church twice o' Sundays." 
 
 ''You must say that the duchess will never 
 interfere with their religion," replied Roland. 
 
 '' So I did, sir, knowing as how your Grace's 
 English servants 'ave alius been allowed to do 
 as they pleased about going to this church or 
 that, or to no church at all, which, as I explained 
 to 'em, was true Christianly of the proper sort, 
 which keeps people from disputin' with each 
 other about matters that ain't worth it. But 
 they was rayther obstinate, your Grace, and 
 wouldn't understand." 
 
 This was quite true. Barney's communica-
 
 174 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 tion had made an untoward impression in the 
 kitchen. This Englishman was always received 
 there with friendly deference, being monsieur's 
 servant ; but as to his religion, these Bretons had 
 not been able to see that he had any at all. He 
 never made the sign of the cross ; he did not go 
 to mass or confession ; he had no such thing as 
 a rosary or amulet about him ; he owned no 
 patron saint ; and he never fasted. 
 
 What was this but paganism ? How could a 
 man possess a religion if he had no symbols to 
 show, and eschewed all observances ? As well 
 might a person wearing only a shirt boast that 
 he was clothed in the uniform of the French 
 army. The thing which Barney called a religion 
 was nothing but the light linen which a man is 
 obliged to put on for decency's sake, and if the 
 new Madame's soul were draped in no better 
 costume, then the saints help Monsieur ! Such 
 was the common opinion downstairs. 
 
 The Duke's beliefs concerning apparitions may 
 be guessed. He supposed that the servants had 
 seen a night mist and were reporting it as a 
 White Lady for his special behoof ; and though 
 not disposed to baulk them of any spiritual satis- 
 faction they might derive from such a proceeding
 
 Pauline's deception. 175 
 
 so long as they kept their satisfaction to them- 
 selves, he thought it desirable to forbid their 
 making any use of the apparition to weigh upon 
 his grandmother's mind. In consequence, he sent 
 Pauline a message by Barney, requesting that 
 nothing should be spoken to the Marquise about 
 the White Lady. Barney returned, saying that 
 mademoiselle sent her compliments and much 
 regretted that old Agathe had already spoken of 
 the matter to madame, who was anxious to see 
 monsieur at his earliest convenience. 
 
 This was tiresome ; but presently, when 
 Eoland had finished his toilet — an operation over 
 which he never hurried — he went downstairs to 
 see the Marquise. The conversation between 
 them was short, for the venerable lady was so 
 much fatigued by the excitements of the previous 
 day, which had robbed her of sleep, that her 
 words were incoherent. She was murmurin<T 
 
 o 
 
 broken sentences about the White Lady (to 
 which her grandson lent a respectful ear, beino- 
 unwilling to contradict her in anything) when 
 a Dr. De Tregalloan, her physician, arrived to 
 pay his daily visit, and upon this Eoland retired. 
 But in so doing he beckoned to the doctor to 
 join him in the next room, and there he asked
 
 176 THE duke's MAPvEIAGE. 
 
 Lim for a candid opinion about the Marquise's 
 state of health. Dr. De Tregalloan was a gaunt 
 man with a face like a death's-head, and a hard 
 hand which gave you a grip when you shook it. 
 He had a professional grin which he constantly 
 displayed to reassure his patients, and which was 
 the most terrifying thing imaginable ; for it was 
 a contortion of the mouth only, his eyes remain- 
 ing grim as a watch-dog's. 
 
 " Madame can scarcely be said to live now ; 
 slie is merely being kept from dying," he re- 
 marked in a wooden voice. " The least shock of 
 joy or sorrow might kill her." 
 
 This grieved Eoland, who would have been 
 inconsolable had he caused his grandmother's 
 death ; so he felt more than ever dependent on 
 Pauline. He had, indeed, his sister, the Countess 
 de Beaujeu, who ought to have been his natural 
 ally at this juncture ; but she was a lady of 
 fashion, a pretty creature with the brilliant 
 plumage and spirits of a mocking bird, and just 
 as much sense ; her advice could not be asked 
 in any business of moment. Accordingly the 
 Duke strolled out of the quadrangle, over the 
 drawbridge, and went in quest of Pauline, who 
 he learned was at the dairy.
 
 Pauline's deception. 177 
 
 Everybody on the plateau had been up and 
 stirring for hours, and there were men-servants 
 and maid -servants on all sides pretending to be 
 busy. They did little, for the good-natured 
 Marquise allowed too many dependents to swarm 
 about her, and as there was not enough work for 
 them all, what work there was either got spoilt 
 or was neglected as nobody's business. Eoland, 
 whose own estate of Beauregard was kept like an 
 English gentleman's, was always displeased when 
 he came to Chateaufort by the signs of dirt, un- 
 tidiness, and sloth discernible everywhere. All 
 this was not Pauline Juva's fault ; she had never 
 seen a well-kept estate, and allowed the Kergarecs 
 to do things in the old Breton way, imagining it 
 was the right way. Inside the house cleanliness 
 prevailed in the rooms that were inhabited, 
 because nature had taught Pauline that dust and 
 cobwebs were not seemly ; but nature had given 
 her only vague hints as to the impropriety of 
 allowing enormous dung-heapS to accumulate 
 outside the stable in the state quadrangle. Every 
 Breton manse had its dung-heap, and they were 
 considered emblems of wealth. A primitive 
 Cornouailler who had been to Paris and seen the 
 Tuilleries had returned home with the notion 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 TBE duke's marriage. 
 
 tliat the Emperor could not be a rich man ; " for," 
 said he, " je nai pas vu le moindre tas de fumier 
 dans sa cour." 
 
 Half a dozen strong men gave up their time 
 to the garden and orchard, but the gravel paths 
 were green with weeds ; the stables were filthy, 
 and the horses poorly groomed, but at whatever 
 time you passed you were sure to see a Kergarec 
 mending a rusty bit with a piece of twine, or 
 patching an old saddle, and imagining that he 
 was rendering his mistress a great service by this 
 economy. Eoland wished that his grandmother 
 would put the men-servants of the household into 
 proper liveries, make them cut their hair, and 
 wear leather instead of wooden shoes ; but the old 
 lady, while generous to a fault in some things, 
 was very parsimonious in others, and all who 
 lived round her took pattern by her notions. If 
 a milk -pail had served twenty years, it must 
 needs serve ten years more ; better tinker it, 
 cobble it, fix its handle with bits of wire, and 
 spill a quart of milk daily out of it, than buy a 
 new one. If there was a hole in a roof, Breton 
 wisdom counselled that it should be allowed to 
 get larger, and let in hogsheads of water before it 
 was repaired ; and on the same principle a Breton
 
 Pauline's deception. 179 
 
 who fell ill deemed it good policy to wait until 
 his malady had taken a serious turn before sending 
 for the doctor, as in this way fees were kept down. 
 All these were Breton ways, rendered venerable 
 by custom, and not to be argued against. 
 
 Eoland wandered for nearly an hour all over 
 the mismanaged property, to which he was heir, 
 till he perceived Pauline coming across the field 
 with a small basket on her arm. She had been 
 to the dairy, and was returning with some eggs. 
 No doubt she saw him before he caught sight of 
 her, and it was well that the distance gave her 
 time to compose herself. He could not observe 
 from afar how she changed colour, and how 
 suddenly her elastic step became timid when she 
 knew they were going to meet. 
 
 They met without awkwardness, for just as 
 they were shaking hands Odette the cow-girl 
 and another came out of a fir plantation, 
 trundling between them a wheelbarrow full of 
 firewood. Like most things on the estate, the 
 barrow was out of repair ; and as the girls brought 
 it to a standstill, in order to let the Duke and 
 Pauline pass, one of its legs gave way under the 
 weight of wood, and the concern toppled over. 
 Odette was a pretty girl, albeit her face was
 
 180 THE duke's maeeiage. 
 
 smudged and her kirtle full of holes and patches, 
 and it amused the Duke to hear her laugh aloud 
 at the accident. 
 
 " Can't they give you a better barrow than 
 that, my girl ? " he asked, with a kind look, and 
 without remembering at the moment that this 
 was the Odette whom Barney had often described 
 to him as an imp of mischief, a chatterbox, and 
 story-teller. At this question, Odette's com- 
 panion, a squat-faced hoyden, grinned and snuffled. 
 
 '' I dare say the Korrigans * will mend the 
 
 * These Korrigans are the familiar sprites who haunt 
 old castles. They are little people, a foot high, and of 
 two sorts — the good and bad. The good ones make them- 
 selves pleasant by doing the work of servants for them in 
 the night — they milk the cows, ply the darning needle, 
 scour the floors ; the bad Korrigans, on the contrary, 
 behave very ill. They throw pins into the butter, rend 
 clothes, cut off the tails of horses, and sometimes are 
 so wicked as to tweak the noses of poor servant-girls 
 slumbering by the hearth in the evening. The Korrigans 
 dance on the heath of Carnac at midnight; and there 
 also are to be seen the " Washerwomen of the Night " 
 (lavandieres de nuit), who come from the Bay of the Dead 
 (Bai des Trepasses) off the rock of Penmarck, and wash 
 their shrouds. Woe to any man who crosses the heath 
 while they are thus employed! He will be called upon 
 to help them, and if he succeeds in wringing their shrouds 
 exactly as they do, he may be allowed to depart in peace ; 
 but if he twists them in any other fashion, the dismal
 
 Pauline's deception. 181 
 
 barrow for me," replied Odette, with such a 
 bold, hard stare at Eoland that he felt almost 
 abashed. 
 
 " The Korrigans ? Are they abroad, then ? " 
 
 ** Oh yes, sir. They churned a lot of cream 
 in the dairy last night, and they did no mischief, 
 so they must have been the good elfs ; not the 
 bad ones, like those who set fire to the rick last 
 Martinmas. You have heard, too, that the White 
 Lady has shown herself ? " 
 
 " Yes, I heard that," answered Eoland, lifting 
 his head ^^and scrutinizing Odette narrowly, an 
 ordeal which she bore with much composure. 
 " Did you see the White Lady ? " 
 
 "Of course I did — large as life, down there 
 among the trees." 
 
 " Your tongue is too pert, Odette," interposed 
 Pauline, reprovingly. " You should speak more 
 respectfully to monsieur." 
 
 Odette looked comically into the Duke's 
 
 laundresses fall upon Mm and beat him with their wet 
 shrouds till he becomes senseless. Then they carry him 
 to his bed, and he awakes in the morning all black and 
 blue. It has been observed that many irreclaimable 
 drunkards and henpecked husbands have awaked to find 
 themselves black and blue, an indisputable proof of the 
 reality of these Korrigans.
 
 182 THE duke's mareiage. 
 
 eyes, and shrugged her shoulders with a half 
 titter. "You asked me what I saw, sir." 
 
 " Yes ; tell me what you saw, my girl. Don't 
 be afraid." 
 
 *'Well, then, she had a golden crown on and 
 a blue mantle. I was coming away from the 
 cowshed, just as the clock struck eleven, when 
 I first saw her, because one of the cows is ill, 
 you know ; that's why I was out so late. Then 
 I ran back to the dairy, and called up old Alain, 
 the boys, and all the women, who came and saw 
 her too, though she had got further away among 
 the trees by that time. I tell you she was large 
 as life, and where she passed there was a long 
 bright trail like thousands of glow-worms." 
 
 Such animation, such gesticulation as Odette 
 threw into her recital, no pen can describe. 
 The squab-faced cousin, profoundly impressed, 
 kept on snuffling, and often passed the back of 
 her hand across her nose. 
 
 Koland drew a napoleon from his pocket and 
 slipped it into Odette's hand. " Buy yourself 
 and your friends some sugar-plums at the next 
 fair of Auray," he said, amused but mystified. 
 " You are a sharp girl, as I dare say you know." 
 
 " Oh yes, sir," replied Odette, who had spoken
 
 Pauline's deception. 183 
 
 in French all the time, for the Duke did not 
 understand Breton. She had lost some of her 
 assurance, though, at the sight of the gold piece 
 in her palm, and added nothing more as he 
 walked away with Pauline. 
 
 "That is a strange girl," remarked Eoland. 
 " I suppose you, Pauline, don't believe in those 
 Korrigans, who ramble about to churn cream at 
 night ? One of the dairymaids must be a 
 somnambulist." 
 
 " Perhaps,'' said Pauline, doubtingly ; " but 
 that apparition of the White Lady was very 
 mysterious. Alain, the bailiff, saw her. She 
 had an aureola." 
 
 " Did she carry an umbrella in case of rain ? " 
 
 Pauline thought this very profane. " The 
 White Lady may have been the blessed St. 
 Anne," she said, signing herself. 
 
 " Such a visit would do us great honour," 
 rejoined Koland, smiling. " But why should a 
 saint disturb herself to come walking about in 
 the damp of a Breton wood at night ? " 
 
 " Oh, cousin, your family has always lived 
 under the protection of Heaven ! " exclaimed 
 Pauline, raising her small face towards him with 
 an expression of pain and excitement. After
 
 184 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 what the Marquise had said to her on the pre- 
 ceding night, she could not understand his manner, 
 and thought he was teasing her. 
 
 " I rather want the help of an earthly saint 
 at this moment," said Roland, with a gallant 
 little bow. "You know of my intended marriage, 
 Pauline, and I am reduced to solicit your help 
 in this affair. My poor grandmother, whose 
 mind is weak, has offered unexpected opposition 
 to my plans ; but, as you have considerable 
 influence over her, I hope " 
 
 " I, sir ? " ejaculated Pauline, starting back, 
 quite pale. What could he mean by this ? She 
 spoke her next words almost inarticulately, and 
 with no clear notion of what she was saying. 
 " Why, can it be that you still think of marrying 
 Miss Corrington ? " 
 
 '' Unquestionably. I am fully bent upon it." 
 
 " In spite of madame's wishes ? " 
 
 " My grandmother is hardly in a condition 
 of mind to have any wishes of her own ; that is 
 why I expected you would assist me in obtaining 
 the merely legal consent which I require for my 
 marriage." 
 
 " Never, sir ! " panted Pauline, as if an in- 
 sulting proposal had been made to her. *' How
 
 Pauline's deception. 185 
 
 can you suppose ? mon Dieu ! " And, 
 
 unable to utter another word, she turned and 
 walked away from him fast. He tried to recall 
 her, but she paid no heed, and almost ran till she 
 was out of his sight. 
 
 Koland was very angry, and for a minute 
 or two stood twirling his moustache and looking 
 as he must have looked on the field where he 
 won that little bit of red riband which graced 
 his button-hole. But at last he shrugged his 
 shoulders, and simply muttered — 
 
 " Diable I Check to my queen. What's my 
 next move ? "
 
 186 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A PHOTOGRAPH OF GERTRUDE. 
 
 Pauline's position was pitiable. She ran indoors 
 and took refuge in a small parlour, which was 
 her day workroom. Here she sank into a chair, 
 and tried to understand the sudden destruction 
 that had fallen upon her hopes — those hopes 
 which, like red lilies, had lived in blossom less 
 than one whole day. 
 
 In the unutterable humiliation that made her 
 cheeks flame, she felt as if she had been mocked 
 and outraged ; and yet she knew that Roland 
 had not mocked her. She had deluded herself 
 by believing without reflection in the Marquise's 
 hallucinations. She had been so eager to believe 
 that she had almost been betrayed into a dis- 
 closure of her love before Roland himself, and her 
 maiden modesty quivered under this most cruel
 
 A PHOTOGRAPH OF GEETRUDE. 187 
 
 thought. Let Mm marry whom he pleased ; his 
 marriage, his concerns, could be of no further 
 interest to her. She could never bear to meet 
 him again. Even to live at Chateaufort would 
 be a torment. The uppermost thought in her 
 mind was that she would take leave of the 
 Marquise that day, and fly into a convent. So 
 she thought till she heard footsteps approach, and 
 then for a last breathless moment she clutched at 
 her hope again. 
 
 She half expected to see Eoland walk in, 
 chastened in spirit, like the Prodigal Son, and 
 declaring that his brief madness was over. But 
 the footsteps were not the Duke's. It was Clovis 
 Kergarec, who stood before Pauline with a frown 
 between his shaggy eyebrows. This long-haired 
 boy had something to say, but the words were a 
 long time coming, and there was a tone of sullen 
 alarm in his speaking. 
 
 ''Mademoiselle, Monsieur Barney has been 
 saying downstairs that monsieur is going to marry 
 a heretic, who will take your place here. It isn't 
 true, is it ? " 
 
 He had got his answer before Pauline opened 
 her lips, for her glance was enough, and a dull 
 look of consternation overspread his sunburnt
 
 188 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 features. Clovis, the brother of Odette, was in 
 an especial way Pauline's servant. He did all her 
 errands, she being hardly aware herself of how 
 frequently she had recourse to his services, for he 
 was somehow always at hand when wanted, and 
 never let it be seen that the orders which he 
 executed took up any of his time. He had been 
 a boy when Pauline first came to Chateaufort, 
 and she had treated him like a boy ever since. 
 He was attached to her with a dumb fidelity ; 
 but perhaps there was something more in his 
 sentiments towards her than he suspected. 
 
 For some time past undefinable sensations 
 had been creeping over him when he stood alone 
 in her presence. If her dress touched him as she 
 passed, he thrilled ; if her eyes met his, he 
 reddened ; if he contemplated her fixedly for a 
 few moments when she was not noticing it, his 
 eyes filled with tears. Her praise was sweet to 
 him ; but to be scolded by her was pleasurable 
 also, if she were not angry. He sometimes 
 did little things amiss that she might tell him 
 he was a careless boy and show him how 
 they could be done better. To be noticed by 
 her in some way had become the delight of his 
 existence.
 
 A PHOTOGRAPH OF OERTEUDE. 189 
 
 " It's true, then, mademoiselle ? " he repeated 
 hoarsely before Pauline had replied. 
 
 " Barney knows more about his master's 
 affairs than I, Clovis," said Pauline, evasively, 
 and turning her face away that her emotion 
 might not be seen. 
 
 '' Monsieur Barney has been saying what I 
 have told you, and he has been showing the 
 picture of young madame that is to be. " 
 
 " That's nothing to me," murmured Pauline, 
 but with a sudden overwhelming desire to see 
 her rival's portrait. 
 
 " Nothing to you ! But / want to know if 
 it's true that you are going away ? They're all 
 in a pretty state about the news downstairs, old 
 ones and young ones. It would be a bad day for 
 al] if you went, mademoiselle, and you had better 
 go and tell them if it is to be. And as for that 
 Englishwoman without faith who has tried her 
 sorceries on monsieur, may God and Saint 
 Anne " 
 
 " Hush, boy I How dare you speak in that 
 way ? " 
 
 " What right has he to drive you from here ? " 
 exclaimed Clovis, with fury, his face looking 
 murderous. " We don't want him here ; he's no
 
 190 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 true Breton. If lie had a mind to marry some- 
 body, why didn't he take you ? You're good 
 enough for him, I should fancy. Hark to this ! 
 I'm going off to be a soldier. I'll not stop here to 
 see that Englishwoman come, and you turned out 
 of the chateau to be locked up in a convent, 
 where I should never see you again. I'd rather 
 get my head broken with a bullet. So good-bye 
 now, if you're going. I'll not wait on monsieur 
 again." 
 
 " Put another log on the fire," said Pauline, 
 quietly, as she moved to the door. She had 
 turned scarlet, but knew euough of Breton temper 
 not to check Clovis's outburst. He had never 
 had the audacity to speak to her io such a style 
 before, but in her own excited frame of mind his 
 agitation did not appear excessive. He stood 
 alone before her a minute, with his fists clenched, 
 and the veins in his neck swelling ; there was a 
 slight foam at the corners of his mouth, and angry 
 reproach in his eyes, as if he would upbraid her 
 for being so indifferent to his sufferings. 
 
 She brushed by him, throwing him just one 
 glance, which calmed him as a pat on the head 
 quiets a dog ; then she left the room. But 
 crossing the hall she met Odette coming stealthily
 
 A PHOTOGRAPH OF GERTRUDE. 191 
 
 down the grand staircase, holding something in 
 paper to her bosom. The cow-girl's hair was all 
 rumpled as usual, and she was in stockings ; her 
 pair of wooden shoes had been shuffled off on to 
 the hall mat. 
 
 A strange girl was this Odette, utterly incom- 
 prehensible as to character — untruthful, wayward, 
 overflowing with gossip, and yet sometimes so 
 cajoling as to be lovable. For days she would 
 be mad with animal spirits, and at other times so 
 morose that nothing could draw a word or a 
 smile from her. She would relate in the coolest 
 way, and with the minutest circumstantiality, 
 adventures which she alleged to have happened 
 to herself, and not a syllable of which was true ; 
 but the lies were so bold and curious, and the 
 motives which could have dictated them were so 
 inexplicable, that it was as difficult to doubt 
 them wholly as to beheve them. No secret was 
 safe from her. She had an intuition for guessing 
 things, and a marvellous ingenuity for drawiug 
 far-fetched conclusions from them, which she 
 published among her fellow-servants as fiicts. 
 She was pretty, and several young men had fallen 
 to loggerheads about her, but she had such a way 
 of treating her suitors that none could tell whether
 
 192 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 there was a single creature on earth whom she 
 really cared for besides her cows. She was at 
 once the wonder and the plague of Pauline's little 
 realm. 
 
 '^ What were you doing upstairs, Odette ? " 
 asked Pauline. " You know that you have no 
 business to be in this part of the house." 
 
 Odette laid her head on one side, evidently 
 dubious as to whether she ought not to tell a fib ; 
 but the superior advantages of truth in this 
 particular instance having presented themselves 
 to her mind, she thrust two photographs under 
 Pauline's eyes by way of answer, saying, " Hush, 
 mademoiselle, these are pictures of the new 
 madame." 
 
 " Where did you get them ? " 
 
 "Monsieur Barney was showing one down- 
 stairs, and he said there were two others in 
 monsieur's room ; so I ran upstairs to fetch them, 
 and let you see them." 
 
 " Take them back instantly ; it was exceed- 
 ingly wrong of you to do this." But as she said 
 this Pauline had glanced at the photographs, and 
 her heart was crushed by the great beauty of 
 Gertrude. She could hope no more when she 
 had seen that face.
 
 A PHOTOGRAPH OF GERTRUDE. 193 
 
 "Don't you be afraid, mademoiselle," whispered 
 Odette, who had been watching her with round 
 hazel eyes, penetrating as a cat's. " He won't 
 marry her. I had a dream about it, and it was 
 you whom I saiv ivedded to monsieur in the 
 chapel of the chateau. You will be our new 
 madame." 
 
 A tremor shot through Pauline's limbs ; but, 
 in the shame of seeing her secret read by this 
 saucy cow-girl, she answered her with blunt 
 reproof. "Do as I order you at once, and, 
 Odette, never speak to me again like this. You 
 have a mischievous, wicked tongue, and I am 
 very angry with you." 
 
 " Ah, I could tell you something, though," 
 replied Odette, not in the least put out, but with 
 lambent malice in her glance. " I know some- 
 thing that would prove that he will never marry 
 her. Shall I tell you?" 
 
 " No," was Pauline's only answer, as she 
 turned away. She knew how little reliance was 
 to be placed on Odette's dreams and statements, 
 yet she was bound to believe that Odette had 
 dreamed about her, or else to conclude that the 
 girl had discovered the secret by some disquieting 
 process of witchcraft. Odette was a very witch, 
 
 YOL. I. 13
 
 194 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 with her untamed eyes, bare arms, brown face, 
 and dishevelled hair ; and at this moment she 
 frightened Pauline. But one word more she said 
 as she ascended the stairs to restore the photo- 
 graphs to the Duke's room. 
 
 " He's gone, you know." 
 
 " Who is gone ? " 
 
 " Why, monsieur. He received some letters ; 
 then went to the stables, saddled the best horse, 
 and rode off to Auray as fast as he could. You 
 should have seen him gallop." 
 
 Pauline said nothing, but walked away to the 
 Marquise's room, and there the intelligence of the 
 Duke's departure was confirmed by old Agathe, 
 the maid. Monsieur, she said, had come in 
 hurriedly to his grandmamma's room, and had 
 kissed her while she slept. He had told Agathe 
 that he must return to Paris. Monsieur Barney 
 was packing his master's things, and had orders 
 to follow him to Paris by an evening train. 
 
 It was a great relief to Pauline to hear this. 
 In her disturbed condition of mind it did not occur 
 to her to wonder what could be the reason of the 
 Duke's sudden flight. She supposed he would 
 return, but for the present it was a comfort that 
 he had gone. During the remainder of the day
 
 A PHOTOGEAPH OF GERTRUDE. 195 
 
 Pauline went about her business as if in physical 
 pain. Whenever the recollection of the morning's 
 scene came back to her, she shook her head, as if 
 to banish it. But Gertrude's face she could not 
 banish ; that haunted her large as life, and all 
 day long.
 
 196 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A MIRACULOUS APPARITION. 
 
 Towards the close of this day, Clovis Kergarec, 
 on one of the slopes of the plateau, was chopping 
 the trunk of a felled cedar tree into loofs. He 
 had thrown off his jacket and waistcoat ; his 
 shirt was open at the throat ; and his hair, wet 
 with perspiration, streamed all over his face and 
 shoulders. 
 
 He was hewing with frenzy, doing in quarters 
 of an hour as much work as two or three of his 
 kinsmen together generally wrought in a morning. 
 The trunk had been sawn into lengths. With 
 massive blows on his iron wedge he clove these 
 into halves ; then, with his axe, split the halves 
 into quarters, and the quarters into logs. The 
 axe whirled round his head as if it were no 
 heavier than a whip, and the splinters flew about 
 in showers. Clovis was exerting his strength to
 
 A MIRACULOUS APPARITION. 197 
 
 quiet the rageful spirit in him, and he uttered 
 short savao^e exclamations as he worked. 
 
 In the twilight his sister Odette stole out of 
 the house, and came to lean against a neighbour- 
 ing tree, and to watch him. But he received her 
 with a growl. " Get thee to thy cows ; it's no 
 time for thee to be here." 
 
 She paid no heed to this. " Why hast thou 
 been working like a madman ? " she asked. 
 " Dost think she'll like thee any better with a 
 red face ? " 
 
 " Of whom art thou speaking ? " Clovis 
 grounded his axe, and his glance fell upon a 
 ring — a trumpery but brilliant thing — that 
 glittered on his sister's finger. " Who gave thee 
 that ? " he asked, glad of a pretext for being 
 angry with somebody, and seizing Odette by the 
 wrist. '' It's that pedlar Quiroule who has been 
 fooling with thee again. Let me catch him at 
 that game, and I'U cut his head open." 
 
 " Let go," cried Odette, wresting her hand 
 away. And with provoking composure she 
 hummed to herself and admired her ring ; while 
 Clovis vented some of his temper by swearing 
 energetically at Pierre Quiroule for a decoyer of 
 girls, a honey -tongued, false-hearted Parisian,
 
 198 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 etc. Odette only laughed. ^' Pierre Quiroule is 
 nothing to me. It is Monsieur Barney who gave 
 me this ring, and he wants me to go away from 
 here with him. He promised to marry me." 
 
 " He didn't." 
 
 " I tell thee he did ; and he has money in 
 plenty — a pretty man too.'' 
 
 " Let me look at that ring to see if it's 
 gold," grumbled Clovis, stricken with involuntary 
 respect at the name of the Duke's valet. 
 
 Odette, however, declined to remove the 
 trinket from her finger, and Clovis did not insist. 
 He resumed his chopping with a shrug which 
 indicated but little belief in his sister's story. 
 Odette retreated to a tree further off, where in 
 the gathering dusk she began to look like a mere 
 shadow ; and from this safe distance she bantered 
 her brother. Her voice had the mirthful shrill- 
 ness of a magpie's. 
 
 " What is the use of fretting about her f 
 She has been crying this afternoon, but not for 
 thee. She has given her heart to monsieur, who 
 loves that English girl." 
 
 Three fierce blows with his axe, making twice 
 as many logs jump here and there, were the only 
 replies which Clovis vouchsafed.
 
 A MIRACULOUS APPARITION. 199 
 
 " If monsieur marries the English girl, 
 mademoiselle will return to her convent at 
 Morlaix," continued Odette. " Ah, that stirs 
 thee ! Why try to conceal that thou art in love 
 with mademoiselle ? But thou art no man, 
 Clovis. Aha ! if I were thee, I would speak out 
 my fancy ; all girls are alike, and not to be 
 coaxed by moping. What is mademoiselle more 
 than thee ? She is a servant, like us. Ask the 
 White Lady to help on thy suit if she comes here 
 to-night." 
 
 Clovis was roused now. He dared not speak 
 against the Duke, but he burst into imprecations 
 against Barney, vociferating agaiust the latter all 
 that he would have liked to say in his paroxysm 
 of unconscious jealousy against his master. 
 '* Give back his ring to that accursed heretic ! 
 They are all accursed together ! As for thee, 
 thou art a witch ; the devil take thee ! Let me 
 catch thee callinor mademoiselle a servant ae^ain, 
 and I'll trounce thee. Mind thine own business, 
 too, and don't meddle with mine." 
 
 He threw away his axe with great violence, 
 and catching up his back hair in a handful, 
 twisted it into a knot. This is what Breton lads 
 do when they are going to fight. Odette grew
 
 200 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 frightened and ran away. Clovis, however, 
 simply picked up his jacket and waistcoat, flung 
 them over his arm, and strode back to the 
 chateau, not caring to look where his sister 
 went. 
 
 She tripped down the rugged declivity, run- 
 ning zigzag among the trees as lightly as a fawn. 
 She knew every inch of the ground, for there 
 were stumps, holes, and brambles which must 
 have been as traps to her feet if she had not 
 known it. Half-way down a whistle stopped 
 her. 
 
 " Monsieur Pierre ! " she answered, halting 
 behind a pine, and peering cautiously before she 
 advanced another step. 
 
 " Yes, it's I, my beauty. This way ; " and 
 Pierre Quiroule struck a vesuvian which, blazing 
 for an instant, revealed his whereabouts. It 
 showed, too, that on the spot where he stood 
 the earth had been freshly stirred, and he was 
 stamping with one foot, as if to fill up a hole. 
 
 " What a smell of incense, and what a strange 
 light that was ! " murmured Odette. Vesuvians 
 are not much used in France to this day, and the 
 Breton girl had never seen one. The musky 
 perfume was like incense to her.
 
 A MIRACULOUS APPARITION. 201 
 
 "It's magic light," replied Pierre. "You 
 know I'm a magiciaD." 
 
 " Why came you here to-night ? " responded 
 Odette, with an incredulous titter. 
 
 " I came to see you," said the pedlar, and 
 slipped an arm round her waist. 
 
 " Oh, that's easily said," laughed the girl ; 
 but there was a pleased tone in her voice, never- 
 theless, and she did not rebuff the pedlar's 
 caresses. He was a o^ood-lookinof fellow, and 
 there was a nice odour of jessamine pomade in 
 his hair. He called her a beauty, too, and kissed 
 her. 
 
 " Why hast thou been digging a hole ? " she 
 asked, abruptly using tiitoiement towards him. 
 
 " To grub up roots for my incantations. Dost 
 doubt that I am a wizard ? See, what is that on 
 thy forehead ? " 
 
 He struck another vesuvian, and Odette, 
 feeling something cold on her brow, put up her 
 hand and drew away a big brooch with a 
 sparkling cairngorm that was entangled in her 
 hair. 
 
 " Now, look at this," he continued, and forked 
 tongues of flame leaped of a sudden from his 
 mouth. Then he cried, " A rat ! " and to Odette's
 
 202 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 horror drew out from his mouth by the tail a 
 huge live rat, which he dangled for a moment 
 before her startled eyes, and which then seemed 
 to vanish. 
 
 The rapid execution of these common con- 
 juring tricks, which would have made any Parisian 
 girl scream with mingled terror and amusement, 
 caused Odette to tremble all over. But she was 
 more fascinated than frightened. She drew near 
 to the man whom she regarded as a superior 
 being ; and while her hand closed tightly over 
 the brooch from fear lest it should vanish like the 
 rat, she listened intently to something which he 
 told her in whispers. 
 
 ^'Wnt thou obey me faithfully?" he de- 
 manded, after a time. 
 
 " ril do everything thou sayest," she answered 
 submissively. " But tell me, this brooch won't 
 melt by daylight, will itj " 
 
 " No fear." 
 
 " I believe it will." 
 
 " No, it won't. See, I've touched it with a 
 rehc — a mesh of the net w^hich my patron St. 
 Peter used when he was a fisherman. If it melts, 
 never trust me again. But I say, now thou hast 
 sworn to hold thy tongue, and speak not a word
 
 A MIEACULOUS APPARITION. 203 
 
 of what thou hast seen and heard, if thou 
 betray est me 111 plague thee with rats and fire." 
 
 " I'll serve thee with my tongue as well as my 
 hands," answered Odette, with a slight shudder ; 
 " and thou'lt give me some more things, eh ? 
 Thou It take me to Paris and dress me in silk like 
 a madame ? Thou'lt always be good to me, eh ? " 
 
 " I'll be good to thee," said Pierre Quiroule, 
 taking her gallantly by the waist again, and 
 kissing her. "But now to work, my girl; we 
 must choose a spot and get everything ready 
 before I go off to sup." 
 
 " Ah, that reminds me I've something more 
 to ask of thee ! " exclaimed Odette. " They've 
 been saying to-day in the village that thou hast 
 bought a field at the foot of the plateau, and that 
 when thou camest here last thou didst lend a big 
 sum of money to Mathias Pulker, who keeps the 
 wine-shop with the sign of the Five Gulls. Is it 
 true ? " 
 
 " A plague on their chattering tongues," 
 answered the pedlar impatiently. " Yes, it's 
 true." 
 
 " Then why didst thou not tell me ? " 
 
 ''Well, I'll tell thee now," replied Pierre 
 Quiroule, after a moment of hesitation. " If
 
 2C4 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 what we are going to do to-night succeeds, the 
 value of land will rise down there. As for 
 Mathias, I have bought his house ; he is only my 
 servant. I want to be rich ; does that satisfy 
 thee ? "Wilt thou be glad to see pilgrims come 
 and bring money to the Five Gulls, which will 
 serve to buy fine things for thee ? Enough said 
 now ; let's get to work." 
 
 * - * * * * 
 
 That night there was another apparition of the 
 White Lady on the slopes ; it was plainly seen 
 by some twenty people, and no wonder, for Pierre 
 Quiroule, who had come down to Brittany to 
 speculate on the credulity of the natives, had 
 brought with him a fine magic la d tern, which, 
 with Odette's connivance, he worked with be- 
 witching efiect. A sheet hung between two 
 trees revealed to the stupefied gaze of the 
 peasantry a luminous lady, whose garments were 
 dazzling white, and whose hair was golden. It 
 remained motionless for a quarter of an hour — 
 enough to bring out every man and woman from 
 the chateau and farm, once Odette had raised 
 the cry of its appearance. Then, when every one 
 had seen it, it abruptly vanished. No one was 
 daring enough to walk down the slope and in-
 
 A MIRACULOUS APPARITION. 205 
 
 vestigate the mystery. Trembling like sheep, the 
 whole flock of Kergarecs huddled together, some 
 on their knees, some bareheaded and uttering 
 the ave. Jerome Juva set the example of adora- 
 tion by throwing himself prostrate with his face 
 to the earth. 
 
 Pauline alone did not see the apparition. 
 Odette had no doubt arranged that it should 
 come at an hour when mademoiselle was always 
 in the Marquise's room, reading the old lady to 
 sleep ; and the White Lady was gone by the time 
 some servants came rushing to the Marquise's 
 room, calling out mademoiselle to come and see 
 the sight. 
 
 But for the very reason that neither Pauline 
 nor the Marquise had beheld the wondrous vision 
 it produced a more profound impression on them 
 both. There had been miraculous apparitions in 
 recent times at Lourdes, La Salette, and Paray- 
 le-Monial. Why should not one occur at Auray ? 
 There was no doubting the testimony of Jerome 
 Juva, whose eyes were enlarged to twice their size 
 when he related what he had seen. To Pauline, 
 as to the Marquise, it seemed manifest that the 
 saints were interposing to prevent the marriage 
 of the heir of Chatcaufort to a heretic ; and then
 
 206 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 Pauline remembered Odette's prophecy, and her 
 heart, bruised as it was, and embittered against 
 Koland, throbbed with some yearnings, in which 
 many feelings, pious and worldly, were mingled. 
 For one thing her love was exalted and dignified 
 by the signal interposition in favour of the man 
 on whom she had bestowed it ; it might be a 
 religious duty to love such a man, and to join in 
 rescuing him from his infidel enslaver. 
 
 It so happened that every hour of this eventful 
 day was to remain ever memorable to Pauline. 
 It was the 26th of June, the festival of the Seven 
 Sleepers, and there is an old Breton superstition 
 to the efiect that those who stand near a church 
 on the last minute of that day will see walk into 
 the porch all the inhabitants of the parish who 
 are marked to die within the coming twelve- 
 month. This superstition was known to all the 
 Marquise's servants, and when, about an hour 
 after the apparition had vanished, Jerome Juva, 
 in a holy excitement, proposed to go into the 
 chapel and hold a service of praise, many of the 
 servants hung back. It was close upon midnight, 
 and they feared the omen of walking through the 
 porch. But Jerome disdained these terrors ; in 
 his ecstasy he possibly thought of the martyrs of
 
 A MIRACULOUS APPARITION. 207 
 
 whom he was always reading in his History of 
 the Saints, and reflected that if he were to die 
 soon, it might be in the same cause as these brave 
 and blessed ones. Therefore he took the keys of 
 the chapel and a lantern, and stood near the 
 porch, deliberately waiting till the clock of the 
 chateau should begin to strike midnight. 
 
 Pauline, seeing him go, threw a shawl over 
 her head and wished to follow, to set an example ; 
 but a number of women held her back, and all 
 the women together in a panic began to scream 
 to the men to come indoors. The clock struck, 
 and for a moment all the men stood irresolute 
 amidst these clamours of their mothers, wives, 
 and sisters ; but Jerome Juva walked into the 
 porch, unlocked the chapel door, and, holding his 
 lantern aloft, turned to see if any were going to 
 follow him. Then six of the sturdiest peasants, 
 with Clovis Kergarec at their head, went to join 
 him, signing themselves as they passed in. 
 
 Pauline was never to forget the sight, and 
 there was many another Breton woman who 
 was never to forget how those seven young men 
 walked into the chapel on that night of June, 
 1870, only a few days before the rumbling of 
 war-clouds beiran to be heard over France.
 
 208 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 
 
 Roland d'Alma had not been summoned to Paris 
 by letters, as was believed at Chateaufort, for he 
 had made up his mind to leave Brittany before 
 receiving his mail. One of his letters, however, 
 was of a very startling character, and troubled his 
 mind much during his journey to the capital. 
 
 It was from his sister, the Countess de Beaujeu, 
 and ran as follows : — 
 
 " Hotel de Beaujeu, Champs Elysees, 
 "June, 1870. 
 
 "My dear Brother, 
 
 " I have just heard some horrible 
 things. The news of your coming marriage 
 reached me at Dieppe the other day, and since 
 then intelligence about the Corringtons has been 
 pouring upon me from all quarters. It is a very 
 deluge, and, unhappily, a deluge of unclean water
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 209 
 
 — ' quite shokmgue/ as tliey say in England. It 
 seems your Miss Corrington is a young lady 
 whose reputation is far from spotless. She does 
 not marry you for your fine eyes, but for the dot 
 she expects of you. She has had scandalous 
 liaisons with all sorts of people, and amongst 
 others with a young doctor, tres-joU garcon, 
 whom she had promised to wed, and who it 
 appears, according to English law, can oblige her 
 to fulfil her promise, even after she has become 
 your wife. These are the dreadful tidings which 
 have been communicated confidentially to my 
 good confessor, the Abbe Doucerot, who has 
 friends in England ; but they also come to me 
 through the newspapers. At this moment, while 
 I am writing, my husband brings me a copy 
 of the Gazette des Cafes, a journal of the 
 Kepublican canaille, in which your Jiancee is 
 spoken of in mocking terms by a journalist who 
 lives in England, and writes as if the young lady 
 were a public character. Mon Dieu ! how funnily 
 those English mothers bring up their daughters. 
 Imagine a French oreneral about whose daufyhter 
 a journalist would dare to write such things as 
 those in the extract which I enclose ! I add no 
 more, but hope to hear from you that you have 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 THE duke's maepjage. 
 
 retired adroitly from a mauvcds p«5. You are 
 not of those who can marry young ladies having 
 handsome doctors in their cupboards. 
 
 " Your sister, who loves and kisses you, 
 
 " AlMEE DE BeAUJEU. 
 
 '' Postscriptum. — Do you think we shall 
 have war with Germany this summer ? It will 
 annoy me if we do, for I want to spend July at 
 Baden." 
 
 There was enough in this missive to make an 
 engaged man jump, but the newspaper extract 
 was far more cutting to the Duke's pride. The 
 Gazette des Cafes was one of those many 
 opposition papers which sprang up in France 
 during the last two years of the Empire, when 
 Napoleon III. had relaxed his curb on the press. 
 It was Eepublican, profane, and lively ; it dealt 
 in revolutionary j)™ciples, irreligious scoffing, 
 and society scandals. Its conductors ceased not 
 to deplore the corruptions of Court and society 
 under the Imperial regime, but they found it pay 
 to make their descriptions of these depravities as 
 minute as possible. M. Timon Grachard was 
 the English correspondent of this paper. He had 
 lately been contributing to the Gazette a series of
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 211 
 
 wonderful letters, entitled " Les Anglais dans 
 leurs ' Homes ' " — tlie information contained in 
 which articles was both funny and peculiar, A 
 man looking at things through turbid water in a 
 glass full of prisms would not have conveyed a 
 more fanciful idea of their shape and colour than 
 did M. Grachard of British institutions, as viewed 
 through his French ideas. But the style in 
 which he wrote his nonsense was fresh, fluent, 
 and sparkling as champagne ; and it had the 
 pungency of that same wine when very dry. 
 
 It was in the fifth of his essays which bore 
 the signature of " T. G." that Dr. Claverley's 
 friend, descanting on the social evils that abound 
 in a country " groaning under the weight of 
 Queen, lords, and clergymen," made a passing 
 reference to the Duke's marriage in these terms : — 
 
 '* I write this from a provincial town, which is 
 in a state of commotion because a young lady of 
 great beauty is going to marry one of the courtiers 
 of Napoleon III. You would laugh if you could 
 witness the enthusiasm which is excited by this 
 titled breeder of lean horses. Mademoiselle lias 
 allowed herself to be bliuded by the glitter of his 
 coronet, and, with that cool cynicism which is to 
 be found in the most sentimental-looking misses of
 
 212 THE duke's marpjage. 
 
 .this commercial country, has not scrupled to break 
 off an eno^ao^ement which bound her to a man of 
 talent and honour, in order that she may become 
 a duchess. I mention tliis because everybody is 
 talking about it ; not with any censure of the 
 girl, but, on the contrary, with some admiration 
 for her sharp good sense." 
 
 " The scoundrel 1 I will cut his ears off 1 " 
 muttered Eoland to himself when he first read 
 these lines. But by the time he had galloped to 
 Auray and got into the Paris train, he was 
 sufficiently composed to see that he could not 
 cut off the ears of a writer who had not desig- 
 nated him by name. It was even out of the 
 question that he should go to the office of the 
 Gazette to demand an apology, or to require that 
 the writer's name should be given up to him. 
 This would only make noise, the kind of noise 
 in which papers like the Gazette rejoice. 
 
 But the letter from the Countess was a 
 different matter, and Roland was bound to ask 
 his sister what she meant by " scandalous 
 liaisons.'' If nothing more was alleged against 
 Gertrude than that she had had some girlish love 
 affairs, and had broken off her engagement to 
 a young doctor, Eoland could make light of such
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 213 
 
 things. He would have expected that a French 
 fiancee should come to him without the least 
 rumour of a flirtation being associated with her 
 name, for this is French custom ; but he prided 
 himself upon his intimate knowledge of Englisli 
 ways, and was on that account disposed to be 
 more tolerant than an Englishman would have 
 been. In sum, he did not believe a word of 
 what w^as said against Gertrude. He had formed 
 his ideal of her with the usual ardour of lovers, 
 and he had only to call to mind her innocent, 
 fond, trustful glance to feel reassured and happy. 
 But he was furious against those who had been 
 slandering his future wife, and for this reason 
 amongst others, that such slanders seemed likely 
 to throw the most serious obstacles in the way of 
 his speedy marriage. 
 
 We left the Duke, after his interview with 
 Pauline, saying to himself, " Check to my queen. 
 What shall be my next move ? " 
 
 The next move of a headstrong man would 
 have been to call in two doctors and ask them to 
 declare that the Marquise de Chateaufort was 
 unfit to manage her own affairs, as a conse- 
 quence of which Eoland would have been relieved 
 from the necessity of asking her consent to his
 
 214 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 marriaofe ; and the next move after that would 
 have been to dismiss Pauline Juva from the 
 chateau. Eoland did think for a moment of 
 performing this domestic coiqj d'etat, but he 
 rejected the idea as soon as conceived ; in fact, 
 his dutiful affection towards his mother's mother 
 was so strong that his eyes filled with tears at 
 the mere thought of doing any violence to her. 
 On the other hand, however, it was quite clear 
 that he could not get married in the orthodox 
 French fashion unless he got her consent. As 
 an officer, he must apply to the War Office * for 
 leave to marry, and it was of no use to do this 
 until the family formalities, as they are called, 
 had been fulfilled. It was worse than useless to 
 beg leave to marry a foreigner who had been 
 written about in the newspapers. 
 
 Under all circumstances, therefore, it seemed 
 best to Roland that he should try and get 
 married in England, according to English rites 
 only ; and, before receiving his sister's letter, he 
 had determined that he would hasten to Paris 
 
 * Frencli officers cannot marry without the permission 
 of the War Office, and an applicant must provide evidence 
 that his intended wife has property of her own, or would 
 "be suitably provided for by settlements.
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 215 
 
 and consult his notary, M. Ragotin, as to whether 
 a marriage of this description would be valid in. 
 France. If he could get privately married in 
 England, without his grandmother hearing any- 
 thin 2^ of the matter, then he would brino^ his 
 bride to Chateaufort for her honeymoon, confident 
 that with her beauty and sweetness she would 
 soon, ingratiate herself with the aged lady. In 
 this way all would go well. 
 
 Roland's purpose remained unaltered, in spite 
 of the Countess's letter. He reached Paris to- 
 wards eiofht o'clock in the evenino- and as it was 
 then too late to find M. Ragotin at his office, he 
 drove straight to the Cercle Imperial, where that 
 worthy, who was one of the busiest lawyers in 
 Paris, generally spent his evenings. 
 
 The Cercle Imperial, on the Place de la 
 Concorde, was like a first-rate London club in its 
 comforts — unlike it in its enjoyment of State 
 patronage. It was the resort of all the highest/ 
 ofiicials and wealthiest unofficial supporters of the 
 Empire, and the Government allowed its walls to 
 be adorned with pictures which had been bought 
 with public moneys for public museums. Some 
 of the choicest master works from the Louvre 
 occasionally found their way there for a few
 
 21 G THE duke's marriage. 
 
 weeks. In the matter of hacarat, tlie Imperial 
 had not such a notoriety as other clubs in Paris, 
 which, with scarcely one exception, were all 
 gambling houses. The Imperial aimed at re- 
 spectability ; but its chef and its cellar were 
 more than respectable. 
 
 M. Eagotin was at the club, but before meet- 
 ing him Eoland had to shake hands with a score 
 of friends, who all asked him the same question : 
 " Well, shall we have war, do you think ? " 
 
 *'Why should we have war?" asked the 
 Duke. He had not read the papers for several 
 days, and was unaware that the announcement 
 of Prince Leopold of Hohenzollern's candidature 
 to the throne of Spain had suddenly fired the 
 heads of all Frenchmen. His friends did not 
 enlighten him, for they could not suppose him 
 to be so ignorant about the great question of the 
 day ; they concluded that, being a courtier, he 
 wanted to be diplomatically reticent of thino-s 
 which he might have heard at St. Cloud. Eoland 
 asked no questions, but, having shaken hands 
 with his friends, passed on to the dining-room. 
 There he found M. Eagotin, who had just finished 
 a long, copious, and solitary dinner, and was 
 sipping the last glass of a crusty bottle of 
 Chambertin.
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 217 
 
 M. Ragotin was a swarthy little man, sturdy 
 as an ox and hairy as Esau. He had jet whiskers, 
 bushy as those of a Spanish matador ; eyebrows 
 which formed two bristling tufts on either side 
 of his large flat nose ; and when he opened his 
 mouth, he disclosed two rows of frightfully strong 
 discoloured teeth, which looked as if they were 
 all grinders. His dress was a suit of baggy 
 black clothes, with a low waistcoat which showed 
 a broad expanse of shirt-front stained with slops 
 of gravy ; he had a white cravat, limp and untidy, 
 and starchless wristbands, which came down as 
 far as the knuckles of his fat brown hands, 
 covered with fur like those of a gorilla. M. 
 Ragotin was one of those hot, panting men wlio 
 can never bear anything stiff about them, and 
 are always gasping for more air ; but though he 
 was not a prepossessing person, nor a pleasant 
 one to hear, as he spoke in a rasping voice with 
 the horrible brogue of Marseilles, he was a good- 
 natured man and a very prudent lawyer, who 
 had a large clientele of aristocratic families. 
 
 " Monsieur le Due," he said, rising with 
 marked respect to greet Eoland. 
 
 The Duke sat down beside him, ordered some 
 dinner, and apologized for intruding upon the
 
 218 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 lawyer at sucli an hour and place to ask for 
 professional advice. " But it's rather friendly 
 advice I want," he said, " and I am anxious to 
 start for England by the express to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " I have been expecting to see you every day, 
 Monsieur le Due," replied the notary. " Do you 
 think we shall have war ? " 
 
 Thereupon Eoland had to inquire what all 
 this war-talk meant, and M. Eagotin told him 
 the whole story. It was a great piece of news. 
 To officers of the French army a war with 
 Germany had been, since Sadowa, the one thing 
 to be desired ; but they had been baulked of this 
 fancy year after year, and Eoland, when his eyes 
 had flashed for a moment with pugnacious ardour, 
 reflected that with M. OUivier's new-fangled 
 Liberal Ministry in office there was little chance 
 of war. " It's too good to be true," he said. 
 " I shan't sup in Eerlin yet awhile." 
 
 " For oue reason you must be glad," sug- 
 gested the lawyer. "A war would delay your 
 marriao;e." 
 
 " I came to talk about tbat," said Eoland. 
 " I have had some worries at Chateaufort." And 
 in the fraukest way he explained what these
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 219 
 
 worries were. M. Ragotin listened, breatliing 
 hard, as if he were in the hottest room of a 
 Turkish bath, but with all his mind intent on 
 what his client was saying. "Now, I want to 
 know," concluded Roland, "whether, if I got 
 married according to English forms simply, my 
 marriao^e would hold orood in France." 
 
 " The French marrias^e law," observed the 
 notary, as if he were quoting an article from the 
 code, " obliges you, even if you get married in 
 a foreio'n land, to 2:0 throuo^h all our national 
 forms. When you have obtained parental con- 
 sent, and, in your case, license from the War 
 Office, your banns must be published for a fort- 
 night in the French commune where you were 
 born, in that where you reside, and again at the 
 French embassy or consulate in the country 
 where your bride lives. Then you must be 
 married in the presence of a diplomatic or con- 
 sular agent, and after that your marriage must 
 be registered in France from a certificate de- 
 livered by the said agent. That is the law." 
 M. Ragotin finished his glass of wine, smacked 
 his lips, and snorted with an air of tranquil 
 satisfaction, as if no sucli good laws had ever 
 been framed as those whicli made it very difficult
 
 220 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 for young French people to get joined together. 
 " But/' added he, in a more matter-of-fact way, 
 "if you like to be married simply in a church 
 according to English manner, your marriage need 
 not necessarily be invalid. It could be declared 
 of non-effect if your grandmother moved the 
 courts to have it set aside, but she must do this 
 within a twelvemonth after the solemnization. 
 If she let a year elapse without taking action 
 against your marriage, it would become valid 
 de jure, and you could have it registered in 
 France as if it had been celebrated in due French 
 form." 
 
 This communication took a great load from 
 Koland's mind. " My grandmother would not 
 attack my marriage," he said. " When she sees 
 my wife, she Avill love her ; besides, as I shall be 
 a good deal at Chateaufort after my marriage, 
 she could take no action without my cognizaoce, 
 and she would only take it, if at all, through 
 you, her legal adviser. Now, if matters come to 
 this extremity through my poor grandmother 
 yielding to bad counsels, I should have to point 
 out to you that she is not in a fit state to 
 manage her own affairs. Any doctor would 
 uphold me in that opinion."
 
 ODDITIES OF MAIIRIAGE LAW. 221 
 
 '* Family differences are painful things, and 
 ought not to be published/' remarked the lawyer, 
 quietly. " If you are quite resolved upon your 
 marriage, you had better get married in the 
 Eugiish way, as you have suggested." 
 
 *' I am quite resolved on my marriage,'' 
 answered, Eoland. '' And now we come to the 
 question of settlements. I will ask you to pre- 
 pare a deed settling five hundred thousand francs 
 absolutely and entirely on my wife." 
 
 " The lady has no fortune, then ? " 
 
 " Her beauty, her goodness, and many other 
 gifts which endow her richly, and make me feel 
 it a high honour to have been accepted by her." 
 
 M. Ragotin bowed. He could not venture 
 to oppose his client's whim ; but experience had 
 taught him that mesalliances produce nothiug 
 but wretchedness, and he was convinced that the 
 Due d'Alma was <]^oing^ to make a Q'oose of him- 
 self. As family notary to the Kerouailles and 
 the Beauregards he was sorry for this, and in 
 recommending the Duke to get married in the 
 English fashion, he had given what he thouglit 
 was excellent advice ; for if Roland grew tired 
 of his Euglish bride — as was most likely, con- 
 sidering the incompatibilities of humour that
 
 222 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 might arise between a Frencliman and an English 
 girl — then it would be easy to have the marriage 
 annulled. 
 
 The Duke's dinner was brought, and whilst 
 he ate he talked again of what had happened at 
 Chateaufort. In his soldierly candour he could 
 never fence with the questions of people w^hom 
 he trusted, and a few inquiries from M. Eagotin 
 elicited from him all that the Marquise had said 
 — her proposal that he should marry Mademoiselle 
 de Rocarme, whom he had never seen ; next, her 
 wish that he should marry Pauline Juva ; and, 
 after that, Pauline's own little scene of hysterics 
 with him. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Penmarck is a very good 
 girl," he added, " but she has too much influence 
 over my grandmother. You notaries are all 
 matchmakers. Monsieur Ragotin, and if you hear 
 of anybody who wants to marry a young lady 
 of good family, I dare say we shall be able to 
 make up a suitable dov/er for Pauline/' 
 
 Now, M. Eagotin was very friendly to Pauline 
 Juva. He and she managed the Marquise's 
 affairs between them, and he had had many 
 opportunities of perceiving how high-minded and 
 disinterested she w^as, never seeking any ad-
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. 223 
 
 vantages for herself out of the position of great 
 trust in which circumstances had placed her. 
 Moreover, he pitied the girl for being, high-born 
 as she was, in a situation of dependence ; for 
 M. Kagotin had a veneration for rank. At the 
 outset of his career, a great Legitimist nobleman 
 had befriended him, and, though he was of low 
 extraction himself, he had, partly out of gratitude 
 towards his early patron and partly from long 
 professional connection with aristocratical families, 
 come to espouse all the opinions, prejudices, and 
 crotchets of the old nobility. He would have 
 been very glad to see the Duke marry Pauline, 
 and, after what Eoland had just said, it occurred 
 to him that the pair would very probably be 
 united in the end. Roland's infatuation for a 
 penniless foreigner with a pretty face was, no 
 doubt, a j)assing fancy that would cool. 
 
 *' I will prepare a deed of settlement. Monsieur 
 le Due," said M. Ragotin, when Roland had 
 finished dininor and rose to c^o : " but I think we 
 should insert a clause giving you a lien on this 
 dower, in case " 
 
 " In case of what ? " 
 
 " Well, we lawyers arc bound, in the interests 
 of our clients, to see all sorts of contingencies.
 
 224 THE DUKE S MARRIAGE. 
 
 I think the five hundred thousand francs ouo:ht 
 only to become Miss Corrington's conditionally." 
 
 *' There we differ. I want the money to be 
 hers unconditionally on the day she is married 
 to me, in no matter what form. Please give 
 effect to my wishes as I have stated them. Put 
 General Corrington's name in the deed as sole 
 trustee for his daughter, and forward the instru- 
 ment ready for my signature to Monsieur Little - 
 point of Lewbury. 
 
 This seemed to M. Kagotin like flinging 
 five hundred thousand francs out of the window. 
 However, all follies must be paid for ; and 
 perhaps Avhen the English girl became possessed 
 of £20,000, she might not much object to having 
 lier marriage quashed, so that she might be free 
 to wed again with an Englishman. 
 
 Such was the Parisian notary's reflection as 
 he accompanied his client into the vestibule and, 
 blowing like a Avhale on dry land, wished him 
 obsequiously " Grood-night." 
 
 Koland had some palatial chambers on the 
 Boulevard Malesherbes, close to the Club, and 
 thither he drove after leavino^ M. Kaojotin ; but 
 he merely left directions with the door-porter 
 that when Barney arrived from Brittany he was
 
 ODDITIES OF Mx^RRlAGE LAW. 225 
 
 to proceed to the Count de Beaujeii's mansion, 
 in the Champs Elysees^ where his master was 
 going to sleep. 
 
 Koland hardly expected to find his sister or 
 his brother-in-law at home at half-past ten in the 
 evening. The Senator was accustomed to spend 
 his evenings at the Cercle Imperial ; the Countess 
 was never in her own house after dinner, except 
 when she held a reception. June is not the 
 season for parties in Paris, but ladies who happen 
 to be in town during that month for a few days 
 between two visits to different watering-places 
 form parties for dinino- at restaurants and o'oino; 
 to the theatres afterwards. The Countess de 
 Beaujeu on this particular evening had gone to 
 see a farce at the Palais Eoyal ; so Poland, on 
 Ijeing told this by her major-domo, made his way 
 to her boudoir and there waited for her, reading 
 the newspapers and coaching himself on the 
 HohenzoUern quCvStion. 
 
 What a boudoir it was, and what a mansion 
 altogether ! Pich Frenchmen do not spend much 
 on their country estates, but they make their 
 town-houses magnificent. The Hotel de Beaujeu 
 stood in its own grounds at the broadest part of 
 the Champs Elysees. A bijou palace in the 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 2 lib THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 Italian Eeiiaissance style, it was approaclied 
 througli a pair of fine wrought-iron gates witli 
 richly gilt escutcheons. These opened on to a 
 lawn with marble statues by Barye, Carpeaux, 
 Pradier, and Clesinger at the four corners, and 
 a wide carriage sweep covered with stoneless 
 tawny gravel. Inside the house the art of the 
 painter, sculptor, and decorator had been em- 
 ployed to make every room and nook beautiful. 
 There was nothing common in any part of it ; 
 nothing had been left to the upholsterer's fancy. 
 In the Countess's boudoir four panelled portraits 
 of the lady of the house represented her with 
 the attributes of Spring, Summer, Autumn, and 
 Winter, and these had been painted by Cabanel, 
 Gerome, Winterh alter, and Carolus Duran. 
 Another portrait of the Countess by Ingres 
 showed her as Aphrodite receiving the golden 
 apple from Paris, and a very ravishing face it 
 was which the great artist had limned in grey 
 and pink tints on canvas. 
 
 Perhaps there was too much luxury in the 
 house. Certainly the coronets and other re- 
 minders of the Count's rank were too many to 
 please an Englishman's taste ; but then, it had 
 never occurred to the Count de Beaujeu that
 
 ODDITIES OF MARRIAGE LAW. iJliZ 
 
 English people are the arbiters of taste. Since 
 revolutions have stripped the nobility of their 
 privileges, it is the least they can do under a 
 system of universal suffrage and pretended 
 equality to show that they do not consider them- 
 selves the equals of other men. And this is what 
 the Count had done. His servants were electors 
 whose votes had the same value as his own ; but 
 their menial condition was conspicuously denoted 
 not only by dazzling liveries and hair-powder, but 
 by the perfect military precision of their deport- 
 ment, and of the obeisances which they had been 
 taught to perform. Even the major-domo was 
 not arrayed in the plain dress-suit of an English 
 butler ; he had a collarless black coat of the 
 Court fashion, with ruffles, knee-breeches, and 
 silk stockings, and round his neck a silver chain. 
 To hear this servant murmur " Monsieur le 
 Comte," or "Monsieur le Due," was like receiving 
 a priest's hencdicite.
 
 228 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A FRENCH LADY OF FASHION". 
 
 The little Sevres clock on the mantelpiece of tbe 
 boudoir tinkled midnight, and soon afterwards 
 the Countess returned from the theatre. Silk 
 rustled on the staircase, a Maltese lapdog yelped 
 a welcome to his mistress, the door of the room 
 was impetuously thrown open, and the most 
 charming of pretty French w^omen flung herself 
 into her brother's arms. 
 
 "My dear Roland, what a pleasure to see 
 you I You are going to stay the night ? Mon 
 Dieu, if I had known you were coming, I should 
 not have gone to the theatre. Did you get my 
 letter ? Down, Coco. What a dog it is ! " 
 
 The Countess, in talking like this, fairly danced 
 round her brother, hugged him, and laughed 
 gleefully in his face.
 
 A FRENCH LADY OF FASHION. 229 
 
 A little after his wife, the Count de Beaujeii, 
 who had toiled slowly up the stairs, entered the 
 room, and held out a trembling hand to his 
 brother-in-law. He was an elderly beau, witli 
 blear eyes, drooping under-lip, and a long chin 
 tuft. He looked like a profligate old goat. His 
 evening dress, diamond star on his coat, and the 
 red riband of the Legion of Honour that crossed 
 his vest, showed that he had not been to the 
 theatre with his wife ; in fact, he never took his 
 pleasures in her company, but he considered 
 it his duty to fetch her home from her evening's 
 amusements, and this with sundry other small 
 marital obligations he punctually discharged, 
 to absolve himself for neglecting the greater 
 ones. 
 
 He was a bad husband, this polished, immoral 
 old gentleman, and the Countess would have 
 been an unhappy woman if she had ever loved 
 him. Satire could not have conceived a more 
 ill-matched pair. Aimee de Beaujeu was the 
 most delicious of Parisiennes — lovely, full of 
 o-race, ever beautiful in her dress, fascinating' in 
 her manners, amusing in her prattle. Tlie Count, 
 nearly thirty years older than his wife, had seen 
 his best days before she was born, and by the
 
 230 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 time lie married lier his constitution was shattered 
 and his purse almost empty. He had taken 
 Aimee to wife in the most approved manner, 
 straight from the convent, before she had seen 
 anything of the world, and without any option 
 being given her between this man and another. 
 Her father, the Marshal Due d'Alma, who was 
 alive at the time, had consented to the match 
 because he was a widower, and did not under- 
 stand how girls should be disposed of. He had 
 left the whole matter to be managed by one of 
 his friends, an old countess, who looked only to 
 the fact that the Count de Beaujeu was a man 
 of splendid family, high connections, and brilliant 
 prospects. A Legitimist by education and ante- 
 cedents, he had promised to make his submission 
 to the Empire, and as Napoleon HI. always re- 
 Avarded Eoyalist deserters with high posts, his 
 rise in the world was certain. The Count also 
 promised privately that he would pay his 
 patroness a commission out of Aimee's dower, 
 and less privately to Aimee's father, her brother, 
 and all her other relations, that on being married 
 he would turn over a new leaf. 
 
 M. de Beaujeu kept two of these promises. 
 He condescended to accept from the Emperor the
 
 A FREXCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 231 
 
 title of Senator, au ambassadorsliip, and a decora- 
 tion ; lie further paid the stipulated fee to the 
 old countess who had procured him a wife. But 
 he did not turn over a new leaf. In one thins: 
 only did he alter, and this was that instead of 
 losing money he quintupled his wife's fortune by 
 seemingly audacious but always safe speculation 
 on the Bourse. He spent as much money as 
 ever on dissipation and cards, but could always 
 recoup himself by using secret official information 
 to guide him in buying securities when they w^ere 
 about to rise. Sometimes he helped to depress 
 securities with a view to buying them cheap ; for 
 he belono^ed to a rino- of influential statesmen 
 and placemen who, having a number of semi- 
 official newspapers at their back at a time when 
 few independent journals were tolerated, held the 
 power to create panics on the Bourse by false 
 rumours. The difference between this kind of 
 thing and gambling with loaded dice may not 
 be apparent to men of ordinary understanding, 
 but there is no reason why men of ordinarv 
 understanding should be asked to sit in judgment 
 on the cause. Nobody ever accused the C^ount 
 de Beaujeu of doing an underliand thing in the 
 card-room. The smiling good grace with which
 
 232 THE duke's MAKRIAGE. 
 
 lie paid his losings at baccarat was only equalled 
 by his serenity in pocketing the monthly differ- 
 ences remitted him by his stockbroker. 
 
 For the rest, the Count de Beaujeu was the 
 most dissolute of men. After two children had 
 been born of his marriage, his infidelities estranged 
 him completely from his wife. They led separate 
 lives ; her respect for him — love she had never 
 felt— was gone, and if they continued to live 
 together, it was because rich people in large 
 houses need not clash like poor people in small 
 ones. Add to this that the Count knew the uses 
 of studied politeness and 2iAi:j persifiage. Peevish 
 Avith his servants, short and haughty with persons 
 of low degree, of whom he had nothing to expect 
 or to fear, he turned only the varnished side of 
 his character towards men of consequence, and 
 especially towards ladies. He had early in life 
 earned a reputation of hel esprit, and this once 
 gained can never be lost. He was the reputed 
 author of a thousand witticisms which he had 
 never uttered, and gossip-fed newspapers like the 
 Figaro continued to put new smart sayings to 
 his account every day. Enfeebled in mind, his 
 utterances were either frivolous and flijDpant or 
 cynical ; but he still had the stuff of a party
 
 A FKEXCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 233 
 
 politician or second-rate diplomatist in Lim. Not 
 mucli brain is wanted for such stuff. 
 
 That evening the Count cle Beaujeu had been 
 dining with a cabal of statesmen out of office, 
 and he was full of the projects tbey had been 
 brewing against the Prime Minister of the day, 
 M. Emile Ollivier, and his Liberal Cabinet. That 
 cabinet, disliked by the Emperor, was loathed by 
 the Conservative Imperialists, and these were 
 going to make political capital out of the Hohen- 
 zollern incident in order to overthrow it. If the 
 ministers recoiled from war, the Imperialists 
 would denounce them for holding the honour of 
 France cheap ; but if a war took place, and 
 Prussia were beaten — as it certainly would be, 
 thought the caballers — the Emperor would re- 
 cover power enough to retract the Liberal con- 
 cessions made during the second decade of his 
 reign, and to revive the autocratic system as it 
 was established in 1852. In any ministry formed 
 after the overthrow of the Ollivier Cabinet, the 
 Count de Beaujeu was to have a portfolio. 
 
 " I am sorry I — I — cannot bring you tlie 
 n-news that would be welcome to a soldier, 
 Roland," he said in his usual tone of ironical 
 courtesy, and with the slight stutter of incipient
 
 234 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 paralysis. ^' M. Ollivier doesn't mean to give 
 you any s-sport on the Kliine." 
 
 ^'We can't expect an Ollivier (olive-tree) to 
 -be warlike," a.nswered Eoland, carelessly. " I 
 only heard about this Hohenzollern question this 
 evening. But is the matter settled already ? " 
 
 ''N-no, not settled ; tliey are going to tell 
 Prussia that Prince Leopold of HolienzoUern shall 
 not sit on the Spanish throne. They have spirit 
 enough for that much ; but Prussia and Spain 
 ouo^ht both to hi ch-chastised tosfether for havint^ 
 had the impertinent idea of seating a German on 
 the throne of the Bourbons." 
 
 '' If there were war," said Eoland, ^' I would 
 give up my staff appointment and ask to be 
 placed in command of a regiment ; but it is of 
 no use to send in my application at this stage 
 of matters." 
 
 *' Not much use, I think. I will let you 
 know when the p-proper time comes," said the 
 Count, blinking in the armchair, where he had 
 ensconced himself, and looking very sleepy. 
 " By-the-bye, you are going to be married ; and 
 I hear Miss Corrington is charming. My com- 
 pliments. What does our good ]\Iarquise say to 
 your choice ? "
 
 A FRENCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 235 
 
 ''I found the Marquise in weak health/' an- 
 swered Eoland, evasively. 
 
 *' That doesn't astonish me ; she is very aged, 
 poor lady." The Count de Beaujeu was too 
 ]ano:uid and selfish to care whom his brother-in- 
 law married ; but he was rather pleased than 
 otherwise that Roland contemplated a mesalliance, 
 for between him and the Duke there was no 
 love. Roland deeply resented the Count's conduct 
 towards Aimee, and though he was too sensible 
 to interfere unasked between husband and wife, 
 he had testified his feelings by treating his 
 brother-in-law with coldness. It was, therefore, 
 pleasant to the Senator to think that if Roland 
 contracted an injudicious marriage, he, the 
 Senator, might be able to say often to his wife, 
 " That precious brother of yours, who has made 
 a noodle of himself," etc. 
 
 Whilst her husband and her brother chatted, 
 Aimee, taking no part in the conversation, acted 
 as if she were by herself She removed her cloak 
 and bonnet, rang the bell for her maid, ordered 
 some chocolate, and, waiting for this refresh- 
 ment, she made her lapdog beg for bonbons. 
 AVhen the maid returned with a tray, the Count 
 rose, shook hands with Roland, and, giving bis
 
 236 THE duke's maepjage. 
 
 wife a ceremonious little bow, wished her good 
 night. 
 
 " He looks very unwell," remarked Eoland, 
 when the door had closed. 
 
 " Does he ? Much the same as usual, I 
 think," replied Aimee, with indifference. " But 
 now, come and sit down beside me at this small 
 table, and let us make ourselves cosy. It's such 
 a time since we've been alone together, Eoland, 
 and I've got enough to talk about till day- 
 break." 
 
 The Countess was dressed in close-fitting black 
 satin, with a cuirasse of beads and a little lace at 
 the collar and short sleeves. She had one bracelet 
 — a superb serpent of six coils, made of sapphires 
 — and in each of her little ears was a bis; diamond 
 dormeuse, like a raindrop. She looked so lovely 
 that her brother could not help telling her how 
 pretty she was, and he told it her with eyes as 
 well as lips. 
 
 " You -pay me compliments because you 
 know you are going to be scolded," laughed the 
 Countess, shaking a forefinger. " What do you 
 mean by thinking to afflict me with an English 
 sister-in-law ? You gave me a fine fright. But 
 you are cured of that folly, eh ? Grandmamma
 
 A FRENCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 237 
 
 must have been startled out of her bed, poor dear 
 thing, when she heard you meant to marry a 
 Protestant ! What did she say ? Tell me all 
 about it." 
 
 Roland had no time to reply, for his vivacious 
 sister poured him out a cup of chocolate, and 
 went babbling on^ — 
 
 " Oh, you needn't tell me what she said ; I 
 can guess it. I know she wanted you to marry 
 Mademoiselle de Eocarme, for that was the 
 burden of her song all the time of my last visit 
 to Chateaufort. But Mademoiselle de Rocarme 
 would make an extremely disagreeable sister-in- 
 law. The wife I had in viesv for you, Roland, 
 would be much nicer — Clotilde de Luciennes, the 
 sister of my best friend, the Countess de Joyeuse- 
 Enville. Clotilde is eighteen ; she will have a 
 dowry of a million francs, and another million 
 when her aunt, the Duchess d'Hautencourt, dies. 
 I grant, though, that Laure de Rocarme is of 
 older family than Clotilde, and I dare say she 
 will have several millions, for her father has 
 speculated very successfully in house j)roperty." 
 
 " What arguments to come from you, my 
 dear Aimee ! " exclaimed Roland, disgusted. 
 
 " Are they not the proper arguments in treat-
 
 238 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 ing of a marriage ? " asked the Countess, dipping 
 a sponge biscuit in her cup. 
 
 " You know they are not. Marriage is some- 
 thing more than a union between two escutcheons 
 and two money-bags." 
 
 " Ah, that's new to me I I was not told that 
 when you made me the wife of yonder gentle- 
 man." And Aimee nodded towards the empty 
 chair which the Count de Beaujeu had just 
 occupied. 
 
 There was a mocking sparkle in her hazel 
 eyes, which were very like her brother's, and a 
 cruel smile played for a moment over her pretty 
 lips. 
 
 " I have not ceased to deplore your marriage, 
 Aimee," said Eolancl, contritely. " We were all 
 of us mistaken in that man." 
 
 " You were a grown man when my marriage 
 was arranged," continued Aimee. " You knew 
 what sort of a creature the Count was. I, in my 
 convent, knew nothing. You let me be taken, 
 with all my youth, illusion, and hopes — a good 
 girl as I then was, wanting to do my duty, and 
 ready to be the slave of a man who should love 
 me — and you flung me into the arms of a man 
 ■who neither loved nor respected me, who sullied
 
 A FEEXCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 239 
 
 my mind, and wlio has brought me to perdi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Don't say you have been brought to per- 
 dition, Aimee. What shocking words ! " 
 
 " They are truer than you think. Perhaps I 
 am not so bad as people say ; perhaps I am worse. 
 My confessor and I alone know the truth on that 
 point ; but if you imagine that a woman can be 
 the wife of such a man and not become the worse 
 for it, you know our sex very ill." 
 
 ''But you have children, dear. You can be 
 good for their sakes, and happy in bringing 
 them up." 
 
 " Yes, I have my children, poor darlings ! and 
 
 I ouo^ht But what is the use of talkins; about 
 
 it ? Can a woman ever do for her children what 
 a good husband and father does ? In a few years 
 Louis and Annette will hemn to understand what 
 the Count and I think of each other ; and perhaps 
 a time will come when the Count will try to 
 make Louis vicious as he is himself, just to break 
 my heart. I hope I may die then." 
 
 " My poor little sister ! " exclaimed Eoland, 
 tenderly, and caressing Aimee's hand, ''I will 
 look after your son for you. I swear ho shall 
 have none but good examples from me. We will 
 make a man of him."
 
 240 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 ''Will you promise me that, Roland ? " asked 
 the Countess, her tears beginning to flow. " He 
 is such a good little boy ; and when I think he 
 may grow to be like his father, it makes me 
 wild. I can manage Annette, and I will take 
 care that she is never forced into such a loveless, 
 liorrid marriage as I was." 
 
 *' Forgive me for my share in that marriage 
 of yours ! " pleaded Roland, earnestly. ^' I am 
 more grieved about it than I can express." 
 
 But Aimee hid her face in her hands, and 
 sobbed outrig-ht. The wretchedness of an un- 
 
 o 
 
 natural marriage was never more painfully illus- 
 trated than in the inconsolable grief of this young 
 woman, haviug all that other women might envy 
 • — beauty, rank, wealth — and yet mourning over 
 the joyless days passed and the dreary future to 
 come, in the society of a husband whose heart 
 had never mated with hers. To Roland his 
 sister's sorrow brought both anxiety and remorse. 
 " Yes, I'll forgive you. What's done can't be 
 lielped," said Aimee, presently, as she dried her 
 eyes ; and she quickly recovered her spirits, for 
 hers was an April nature. '' Stoop your forehead 
 that I may kiss you. Je t'aime bien va. You 
 have a good heart, and we are brother and sister.
 
 A FREXCH LADY OF FASHION. 241 
 
 But you must not yourself make a marriage that 
 would store up unhappiness for you. All that 
 tattle about Miss Corrino;ton ouoht to be cleared 
 up." 
 
 "Tell me about it, and let me talk to you 
 about Gertrude," said Eolaud. '' You will soon 
 be convinced that she has been maligned.'' And 
 when he had ascertained how little Aimee had 
 really heard against Gertrude, he knew that his 
 cause was won. He had never much doubted 
 that his sister could be brought over to his side ; 
 and now he thought that he ought to prevail 
 upon her to write a sisterly note of congratulation 
 to Gertrude, and also to attend his wedding. If 
 she did that, it would be seen that he was uot 
 being married in opposition to the wishes of his 
 family ; and it would be gratifying to Gertrude, 
 as well as useful to himself, that he should be 
 attended at the altar by his sister. Little Annette 
 might be one of the bridesmaids, and perhaps 
 the Count de Beaujeu could be induced to come 
 too ; for he was not likely to refuse a request 
 made to him point-blank by his brother-in-law, 
 and his presence at the wedding would enhance 
 the dignity of the proceedings. 
 
 Eoland unfolded these plans, and Aimee 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 THE duke's mareiage. 
 
 hearkened to them with a desire to serve her 
 brother ; besides, the bait of any new pleasure or 
 business always tantalized her. It might be 
 amusing to take a short trip to England, and 
 judge of Gertrude for herself. If they were to 
 be sisters, the sooner they grew friendly the 
 better. 
 
 " Let me see her photograph," said iVimee. 
 " I am sure you must carry one about with 
 you." 
 
 And Eoland had, in fact, two photographs in 
 his pocket-book. He produced a vignette and a 
 carte. 
 
 The Countess wagged her head with a dubious 
 air as she scrutinized them. " H'm ! she is very 
 pretty ; but we must teach her how to dress. 
 That frock of hers is too — too English. And she 
 is certainly tres hotirgeoise. None but a bourgeoise 
 would assume a sentimental expression in sitting 
 for her photograph. She has nice hands — that's 
 something ; but she has taken care to hide her 
 feet in this full-length carte. I suppose she is 
 horribly ill-shod, like most of her countrywomen. 
 Does she walk like a dragoon, and say, * Aoh, yes, 
 hioutifoul,' and eat her cutlets raw ? There was 
 my poor old governess, Meess Cropper, who used
 
 A rp.EXCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 243 
 
 to dig in the garden at Beauregard for toadstools 
 to make an abominable sauce called katchouj), 
 which she poured over her food — • — " 
 
 "Do be serious, Aimee," remonstrated Eoland, 
 half amused, half vexed ; " you know I love Ger- 
 trude with all my heart." 
 
 " Ah ! and you see no defects in her. C'est 
 naturel ; but we women are never so much in 
 love with each other. Listen ! now you must 
 make me a promise. When you are married, I 
 will take Guer — Ger — how do you pronounce her 
 name ? '' 
 
 " Guertrude, in English ; but you may soften 
 the G in French." 
 
 " I shall soften it, then. How can those 
 English have such a taste for rough sounds ? " 
 
 " I don't call it a rough sound." 
 
 " Tu es done epris jusqu' aux oreilles ? Ah, 
 I am glad I could never learn English; as it 
 would have spoilt my ear for music. But I was 
 going to say, Roland, when you are married, you 
 must let me take Gertrude to Father Cocorique's 
 sermons. He will convert her, and we will bring 
 her to the Foreign Missions' Church to be bap- 
 tized. She shall wear a white dress, and I will 
 be her godmother, and give her a new name,
 
 244 THE duke's marhiage. 
 
 something sweet and Catholic. You must posi- 
 tively promise me that, else I shall never be able 
 to square my accounts with my confessor, Father 
 Doucerot, for consenting to the marriao:e." 
 
 "I dare say Gertrude will become a Catholic 
 in the end," answered Eoland ; " but Father 
 Doucerot will have the tact to understand that 
 her conversion must be a question of time.'^ 
 
 " Let me see ; what shall I wear at your 
 wedding ? " mused Aimee, who went from subject 
 to subject as a bird hops from twig to twig. 
 A\ hen she began to talk about dressing, there 
 was no checking her ; so Eoland had to wait some 
 minutes before re-urging his request that his sister 
 should write a letter to Gertrude at once before 
 going to bed, and, as soon as convenient, send 
 her a present. Thereupon Aimee declared that 
 she never wrote letters ; she only wrote notes, 
 inviting people to dinner. If a letter was wanted, 
 her brother must dictate it. Roland agreed to 
 dictate. " As to the present, I suppose you would 
 like me to send something very fine ? " said 
 Aimee, reflectively. " In that case, you must 
 give me some money, for I am quite destitute." 
 
 " Have you been losing at Hombourg, then ? " 
 
 ^•' No ; I won two hundred napoleons when I
 
 A FRENCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 245 
 
 was last there ; and I hope to win some more at 
 Baden. I don't knoAV how it is that money goes. 
 I have only had eighteen new dresses from Worth's 
 this year ; but I have not paid his bill for two 
 years. I hate asking the Count for money. He 
 has his fortune and I have mine. We pay the 
 household expenses between us ; but I would 
 never accept a sou of him for myself. If you 
 had not been about to get married, I should have 
 asked you to pay my debts for me. You must 
 have won enormously with your racehorses this 
 year, Eoland ? '' 
 
 " My stables cost me two hundred thousand 
 francs a year, even when I am in luck," replied 
 the Duke ; " and I think of putting them down 
 now. However, you shall have some money. 
 How much do you want ? " 
 
 " No, it wouldn't be fair to take money from 
 you now. You shall give me twenty thousand 
 francs to buy Gertrude a suite in diamonds and 
 sapphires, and I'll add the seven nuptial rings 
 out of my own jewel-case. As for my bills, I'll 
 tie them all up in a parcel, and lay them on the 
 Count's table some day when he is in a particularly 
 bad humour. They will help to cool him. By- 
 the-bye " — and she stopped short — " is your horse
 
 246 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Oriflamme going to win the English St. Leger ? 
 If so, I'll have a bet about him with that Russian 
 Prince Krusoff, who is so rich and depraved ; but 
 I must make sure of winning, for the Prince 
 would ask me to do something dreadful if I lost. 
 I lost a discretion to him at the last Chantilly 
 races, and I shan't forget it in a hurry. He 
 wanted to claim an indiscretion." * 
 
 " You ought not to bet, little sister," remarked 
 Roland, with a shake of the head ; but not very 
 severely, for it was impossible that he could scold 
 Aimee when she was behaving so nicely to him. 
 
 Late as it was, she went to her desk and wrote 
 Gertrude an exquisite little letter on a sheet of 
 primrose paper, with an enormous gilt cipher and 
 coronet in one of the corners. She did not 
 require her brother's dictation for this missive. 
 When Roland, after deep cogitation, had delivered 
 himself of a first sentence, she laughed^ mimick- 
 ing his tone, and said, " There, leave it to me." 
 
 When her rapidly written note had been 
 sealed, she took her brother's arm. " And now 
 come upstairs to the nursery, and see the children 
 
 * Parier une discretion is to make a bet by which the 
 winner may demand of the loser what he likes. Une 
 indiscretion is often the result.
 
 A FRENCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 247 
 
 while they are asleep," she whispered. " It's so 
 beautiful to see them, and they are such 
 darlings." 
 
 Eoland had purposed starting for Englaud by 
 the Calais express in the morning, but he found 
 this impracticable. To begin with, Barney had 
 got by mistake into a slow train, and did not 
 reach Paris till nearly seven ; and in the next 
 place, Aimee would not hear of her brother 
 leavins: before the evenins^. She wanted to have 
 him to herself for a whole and enjoyable day. 
 She would go and arrange with him about taking 
 a house near the Pare Monceau, which he much 
 fancied, and about getting it furnished for 
 Gertrude's reception ; and he should accompany 
 her, and help her select the costume which she 
 was to wear at his wedding. Then they would 
 take a drive in the Bois de Boulogne with the 
 two darlings, and be as happy as possible. 
 
 To all this Eoland agreed, thinking he would 
 utilize the day by calling on M. Kagotin, and 
 stimulating him to activity about the settlements. 
 This he did, and a draft of the settlement was 
 prepared, signed, and posted to England, all 
 within a few hours. Poland also gave orders to 
 his coachman to start for Lewbury that evening,
 
 248 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 with a groom, four horses, a brougham, and a 
 wagonette. 
 
 It so chanced that on this day Paris was 
 noisy with popular clamours for war. The 
 political party to which the Count de Beaujeu 
 belonged had hired a couple of hundred street- 
 loafers, who stamped about the Boulevards in 
 white blouses (that is, disguised as workmen of 
 the better sort), and bawling, " A Berlin ! " To 
 these all the tagrag and bobtail of the city, with 
 idle boys and worthless girls, were soon added, 
 and the uproar of this mob stirred the fires that 
 are always smouldering in Parisian breasts. 
 There was plenty of cheering from cafes where 
 quidnuncs sit, and from the knifeboards of 
 omnibuses. Poland himself caught the war fever, 
 and, returning from the Bois de Boulogne in his 
 sister's barouche, waved his hat, to the great glee 
 of his little nephew and niece, on meeting a herd 
 who were braying, ''A Berlin, a Berlin! " 
 
 But on arriving at his sister's house after this 
 drive, Poland got a piece of news that disconcerted 
 his plans. The evening journals published a 
 decree of the War Minister suspending the 
 furloughs of all officers and men, and calling 
 upon them to rejoin their regiments. This decree
 
 A FEEXCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 249 
 
 might not personally affect Eoland, who, as A.D.C. 
 to the Empress, held a Court appointment like 
 that of equerry, and was only required for duty 
 at regular periods in his turn. Still, it became 
 necessary that he should report himself to the 
 War Office, to ask for permission to absent himself 
 from France for a few days ; and this he could 
 only do on the following day. So he had to 
 spend another night in Paris. Feeling sure, 
 however, that he would obtain leave, unless war 
 was actually on the point of being declared, he 
 allowed his coachman and horses to start for 
 England, and sent Barney with them to take 
 rooms and stabling " in the best hotel of 
 Lewbury.'' 
 
 Roland got his leave without trouble. Dressed 
 in his staff uniform — a blue tail coat with gold 
 epaulets and aiglets, crimson trousers, and a 
 cocked hat with scarlet, white, and blue feathers — 
 he presented himself in the morning at the War 
 Office, and was admitted, after not more than an 
 hour's waiting, to see Marshal Leboeuf, the 
 Minister. That ill-starred officer, who was after- 
 wards to be made the scapegoat of so many 
 errors, but who at that time was in the plentitude 
 of his fame as an administrator and strategist,
 
 250 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 received the Due d'Alma in a friendly manner ; 
 but he was very busy, and detained him hardly 
 five minnteB. 
 
 Marshal Lelxeuf owed his rapid advancement 
 as much to his refined urbanity as to his talents. 
 Popxilar in court and camp, a man never hurried, 
 vexed, or disregardful of those little courtesies 
 which smooth the creases out of men's features, 
 his gracious bearing was dignified by a face of 
 masculine beauty, with large sparkling eyes, 
 alwaj's alight like crystals in the sun. Seated 
 in undress uniform at a table loaded with papers, 
 gmoking, giving signatures, having a score of 
 people to see, and a hundred things to do, he yet 
 found means to receive everybody as if he were 
 welcoming the friend whom of all others he had 
 most longed, to see. This was his way, and a 
 very pleasant way it was. 
 
 " We wiU not consider you absent on leave,'' 
 he said to Roland. " As you have no particular 
 duty to do at present, you may go where you 
 please, provided you can be summoned to Paris 
 at twenty-four hours' notice." 
 
 " If there were a war, I should beg to be sent 
 on active service, your Excellency," said Roland, 
 respectfully.
 
 A FREXCH LADY OF FASHIOX. 251 
 
 " That is a matter of course, D'AJma, and we 
 ^\ill take care of you," was the answer ; " but " — 
 and the Marshal lowered his voice, orlancino; at a 
 secretary who was writing letters at a side table 
 — "there will be no war. Our demonstration of 
 being ready to fight ^ill be enough." 
 
 This was the opinion of most well-informed 
 men at the moment. When Roland started for 
 England in the evening, he took with him, for 
 perusal in the train, half a dozen newspapers, 
 which declared that Prussia "dared not fight." 
 The crowing Gallic Cock was persuaded that he 
 had frightened the Black Two-headed Eagle.
 
 252 THE DUKES MAREIAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 
 
 The Corringtons had no idea that any difficulties 
 had arisen as to the Duke's marriage. They knew 
 little of the French marriage laws beyond this — 
 that a man was obliged to have the consent of 
 his parents before he married ; but Eoland was 
 an orphan, and it was not supposed that an aged 
 and infirm grandmother had any right to veto 
 his choice of a wife. 
 
 The Corringtons were more alarmed at the 
 prospects of a war between France and Germany 
 as being likely to delay Gertrude's wedding ; but 
 almost as soon as the fear of this had entered 
 their minds, it was dispelled by a reassuring 
 letter, in which Eoland announced his return to 
 Paris from Brittany, and his immediate departure 
 for Eugland. He alluded to the war rumours,
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBUKY. 253 
 
 but said, on the faith of what his brother- in -hi w 
 had told him, that there would be no soldiering 
 for him that year. 
 
 Eoland was detained in Paris, as we have 
 seen, two days longer than he had anticipated ; 
 but on the day before that which he fixed for his 
 return in his letter to Gertrude, Barney arrived 
 at Lewbury with the Duke's horses and men, and 
 they all installed themselves at the Star Hotel. 
 On that day also the Countess de Beaujeu's pretty, 
 sisterly letter reached Gertrude, and Hucks Little- 
 point received from M. Eagotin a large registered 
 envelope, containing the draft of the marriage 
 settlement. 
 
 Hucks Littlepoint was not learned in French, 
 and had to take the notary's communication to 
 his wife. Kate knew French pretty well, but 
 there were words of legal jargon which she could 
 not make out, and so the papers were referred to 
 Gertrude herself. Even Gertrude, however, found 
 the pointed calligraphy (those French lawyers' 
 clerks write with the hardest and sharpest of steel 
 nibs) and the legal phraseology too much for her. 
 All she could clearly understand was that five 
 hundred thousand francs were to be settled 
 absolutely on herself.
 
 254 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 ''That makes £20,000. It is a very hand- 
 some provision," remarked Hucks Littlepoint, 
 thinking surely tliere must be some restrictive 
 clauses. 
 
 General Corrington was also rather taken 
 aback by his future son-in-law's munificence. 
 " Do you say, Gertie, that I am appointed sole 
 trustee, and that the securities are to be lodged 
 at my banker's ? " 
 
 " That's what I understand, papa ; but the 
 same thing is repeated over and over again till it 
 becomes puzzling." 
 
 "We must be very particular about every 
 word, as I shall have to make out an English 
 copy," said Hucks Littlepoint, who was quite 
 nervous, and bit the nails of his lean fingers. It 
 was impossible that he could enter with Gertrude 
 into questions of pre-decease, remainders, and 
 reversionary interest ; so he fell to wondering 
 whether there was not a soul in this town of 
 Lewbury conversant with the technicalities of the 
 language spoken by a people living so near to the 
 English coasts. It rather shamed him to con- 
 clude there was none. At last he thougjht of M. 
 Grachard, and sent for that foreigner to come and 
 help him in his difficulty.
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. ^DD 
 
 The 230or refugee felt mortally oflfended at 
 being invited to mix himself up with the affairs 
 of a myrmidon of Napoleon III/s court ; but he 
 only evinced his resentment by a freezing coldness 
 as he did the work required of him. Hucks, 
 who had not the remotest idea that he had 
 inflicted pain, thanked M. Grachard cordially. 
 The Frenchman shruo-o-ed his shoulders, and later 
 in the day apprised Miss Polly Hopkins that next 
 to a priest he knew no creature so despicable as 
 an " imbecile " lawyer. 
 
 M. Grachard, however, had been a gainer in 
 pocket by the Duke's engagement. Since we 
 last saw him he had been invited to come daily 
 to Kingshouse and give lessons to Bertha, Mab, 
 and Dick Corrinoton. The General thoudit that 
 as his children were going to have a French 
 brother-in-law, they should perfect themselves in 
 the language of Gaul ; whereupon other young 
 ladies and gentlemen in Lewbury decided to 
 brush up their French too. The five Misses 
 Quang, possibly with an eye to matrimonial 
 entanglements with the French nobility, arranged 
 to take lessons twice a week, and Purkiss 
 Nethersole did the same, in order to be in the 
 fashion.
 
 256 THE duke's MAPvEIAGE. 
 
 M. Grachard had sorely objected to give 
 lessons at Kingshouse, but was coerced by Miss 
 Hopkins and her mother, and told not to be a 
 " silly." The wretched man, being under the 
 thraldom of these two women, had confessed his 
 dilemma to Laurence Claverley, and vowed his 
 readiness to throw himself into the nearest river ; 
 but Claverley did not want the Frenchman to 
 make open cause with him, and told him so ; 
 and that is how it came to pass that, a day or 
 two before his services were solicited by Hucks 
 Littlepoint, M. Grachard had presented himself 
 at Kingshouse, wearing somewhat the expression 
 of a wolf in a menagerie, who jumps through 
 hoops under protest. 
 
 To do him justice, he proceeded to give his 
 first lesson in the surliest manner possible. 
 When he saw Gertrude in her own home, he 
 fiiirly snarled at her. Her beauty had often 
 excited his admiration when he had beheld her 
 in the streets, but now he saw in her only a 
 traitress. Gertrude, loftily unconscious of these 
 sentiments, asked him innocently whether it was 
 not ** his Empress " who set the fashions in 
 Paris ? a question which made him explode. 
 " Non, mademoiselle/' he said, grinning with
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 257 
 
 rage. " To begin with, I have no Empress, and 
 I don't know who sets the fashions. Allow me 
 to add that Paris is not merely a city of fashions 
 and frivolities, but the cradle of great ideas and 
 — and. — often the scene of grand revolutions." 
 
 Gertrude merely arched her eyebrows, but 
 Dick Corrington laughed outright ; and he had 
 another laugh on hearing how Grachard had 
 been asked to translate the marriage settlement. 
 
 " That Frog is a rum \m," he observed to his 
 sister Bertha. " It seems he told the Quang 
 girls the other day that there will soon be a 
 revolution in France, and that the Emperor and 
 all his friends will be kicked out of the country. 
 That'll be rather a sell for Gertie, eh ? if the 
 Duke has to fly over here and change places with 
 Grachard." 
 
 *' You are the most disagreeable boy in the 
 world," answered Bertha. " I believe you lie 
 awake in the night thinking of what ill-natured 
 things you shall say to people." 
 
 " I read in some book or other that at the 
 time of the great Eevolution the noblemen of 
 France came over to England and mixed salads," 
 continued Dick. *' Some turned an honest 
 penny as dancing masters, and others as hair- 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 cutters. I wonder what line the Due d'Alma 
 would take up with ? I begin to understand 
 now why he has settled such a pot of tin on 
 Gertrude." 
 
 " You can do nothing but attribute ignoble 
 motives to people." 
 
 '* It's not ignoble to provide for to-morrow if 
 you live in a country v/here you are liable to 
 cut and run at any moment. I say, though, it 
 would be rather a lark if Gertie quarrelled with 
 the Duke and refused to give him any of his own 
 tin. Then he'd have to take a guitar, and go 
 singing tra-la-la about the streets of Brightport 
 for halfpence." 
 
 " That's more than you could do if you were 
 ruined." 
 
 " The English are not obliged to cultivate 
 those talents de societe/' observed Dick. " De- 
 pend upon it, when you see a frog able to do a 
 dozen things, the beggar has his reasons for being 
 so clever. The very poodles of France have 
 their wits sharpened by the instability of their 
 country's institutions, and are a precious sight 
 Wter at earning a living than other dogs." 
 
 Bertha could not appreciate such low plea- 
 santries. Gertrude's engagement had con-
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 259 
 
 siderablj raised the position of the Corringtons iu 
 the world. Every post brought letters from 
 friends of the Greneral, who offered their con- 
 gratulations, and many who had not been 
 friends till then were claiming the prerogatives of 
 friendship at this juncture. Lord Oldborn, the 
 greatest man in the county, with his daughters, 
 the Ladies Lucy and Clara Bright, had called 
 at Kingshouse, and several other of the county 
 families had followed suit ; for most of them, if 
 they did not know the Corringtons, were ac- 
 quainted with the Due d'Alma, owing to his 
 connection with the turf. 
 
 Latterly, too, wedding presents had begun to 
 arrive. The back drawino^-room was becominor 
 something like a show-room, with its display of 
 albums, inkstands, and tea-services. All this 
 could not but aoitate a youns^ ladv of Bertha's 
 thoughtful temperament. Her habits of intro- 
 spection made her examine whether her pride 
 was not inflated by the exaltation of her family, 
 and she confessed to herself that it was sweet to 
 her when the many glories that had burst upon 
 Kingshouse w^ere one day crowned by the General 
 hiring a carriage and pair by the month ; for 
 Gertrude and her mother were obliged to go so
 
 260 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 often into Brightport now, that the General 
 thought that it would be, on the whole, cheaper 
 and more convenient to have a carriage than to 
 be dependent on trains. But this fine equipage, 
 the first time it drew up at the door, naturally 
 produced a sensation in the parish of AYestover ; 
 and Bertha felt compelled to write down in her 
 private diary that she had been vainglorious. 
 
 Vaingloriousness was the word which Mrs. 
 Nethersole also used in stigmatizing both General 
 (Jorrington's hired trap and the Duke's showy 
 carriages and horses when they arrived from 
 Paris. Purkiss was moving about the streets 
 when these vehicles and animals wended their 
 way from the railway station, and he promptly 
 went to tell his mother what he had seen. 
 
 " Six horses and carriages, did you say, 
 Purkiss?" 
 
 "Not six carriages, mamma, but six horses, 
 and resfulars stunners ! There was quite a crowd 
 round the Star to see them led into the stables 
 by grooms in ' Mossoo's ' livery." 
 
 *' What kind of liveries, Purkiss ? " 
 
 *' Oh, I don't know — tip-top things, either 
 blue or green, I forget which ; with cockades on 
 tlie hats, and coronets on the buttons."
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 2(3 1 
 
 " How supremely ridiculous !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Nethersole, who, nevertheless, looked all alive 
 with admiring curiosity. 
 
 '* Claverley's face was a thing to see," grinned 
 Purkiss. '' He was passing the Star when the 
 Avhole lot were standing at the door, and I asked 
 him if he didn't think them Al." 
 
 "Dr. Claverley may he thankful that he is 
 well rid of his entanglement with Gertrude," 
 replied Mrs. Nethersole. '' The airs all those 
 Corringtons give themselves now are sinfully 
 preposterous, and show up their true characters 
 devoid of that humility which is the mark, not 
 only of Christianity, but of good breeding." 
 
 " Gertie looks precious sweet, though," said 
 Purkiss. " I shouldn't mind marrying her myself, 
 mother, if you found the coin." 
 
 Mrs. Nethersole's visage was hardened against 
 her son. " Purkiss, have I not told you again 
 and again not to say such highly improper things 
 in my presence ? After the shameful exposure of 
 your misconduct which was made at our party, I 
 should think you ought to be careful in your 
 expressions about girls." 
 
 Purkiss smothered a yawn. ** I'll pay out 
 Kate for that whenever I get a chance. But 1
 
 262 THE DUKES MARRIAGE. 
 
 say, mother, I don't suppose they'll invite you to 
 the wedding." 
 
 " I have not the slightest wish to go to the 
 wedding," answered Mrs. Nethersole, in a tone 
 which belied her words. 
 
 '' You'd go, though, if they asked you ? I'd 
 like to be invited to the breakfast, and I wish 
 you'd give me a couple of sovereigns to buy 
 Gertrude a present." 
 
 '' A couple of sovereigns ! what next ? A 
 copy of the ' Siege of Mansoul ' shall be my 
 present to the girl, and you need give nothing at 
 all. Two pounds to that chit, indeed ! " 
 
 *' Well, mother, if I do the right thing, perhaps 
 riirtie '11 invite me to go and stay at the Duke's 
 house in Paris, sometimes — or give me board and 
 lodging, if I run over on spec'. It wouldn't be 
 bad economy to stand well with that Mossoo. If 
 you'd seen his traps and horses, you'd guess what 
 a regular swell he is ; and I say, Dick Corrington 
 brags that the Duke has settled £20,000 on 
 Gertie ! " 
 
 " I don't judge a gentleman by his horses or 
 his money, Purkiss," was the severely sententious 
 axiom which Mrs. Nethersole emitted to avoid 
 meeting her son's worldly-wise proposal with a 
 direct negative or affirmative for the moment.
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 263 
 
 The Duke ^vas to arrive at Lewbiiry the next 
 day. The half-dozen best rooms on the first floor 
 of the hotel were retained for his reception, and 
 that of his suite, as the Leivhuri/ Chronicle ex- 
 pressed it, though in the way of suite Koland 
 had only his valet Barney. The coachman and 
 groom, however, who had come with the Duke's 
 brougham, wagonette, four carriage-horses, and 
 two for saddle, spread in the course of a few 
 hours such mag^nificent ideas about their master, 
 that Miss Corrington's lover was regarded by 
 many as in no way inferior to a prince of the 
 blood. 
 
 They were both English servants, and looked 
 uncommonly well in their speckless breeches and 
 new coats. Perhaps, having a gaping circle of 
 ostlers and servant-girls to listen to them, they 
 indulged in a little romancing, touchiug the 
 splendour of the Duke's foreign estate and general 
 style of living. Every Marquis of Carrabas has 
 his cat. 
 
 We have heard ]\lrs. Nethersole declare that 
 all this was "supremely ridiculous." Certainly 
 there was some appearance of ostentation in tlu^ 
 Duke's sending down so many horses and liveried 
 servants to Lewbury ; but, in the first })lace,
 
 264 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 French noblemen, as it lias been already remarked, 
 are not much given to hiding their coronets under 
 their hats in the English way ; and, in the second 
 place, the Duke was, as we know, under some 
 misapprehension as to the whereabouts of Kings- 
 house and the quality of that demesne. He 
 thought it was a large estate, situated at some 
 miles from Lewbury, and which, when he went 
 to pay his daily court to Gertrude, he should 
 have to reach driving or riding. Mrs. Nethersole 
 was quite justified in saying that she hated 
 people who made a fuss, but, in truth, the 
 estimable lady's spleen arose from this— that she 
 now saw Gertrude's marriage and social exaltation 
 were positively about to take place. She had 
 trusted that all sorts of things might turn up to 
 prevent it — that the supposed Duke, for instance, 
 should prove to be a circus-rider. Dear soul ! 
 she did not like to see underbred girls raised 
 above their station. She was sadly afraid that 
 this marriage would be the ruin of dear Gertrude. 
 It had been a very trying time to Gertrude, 
 waiting for her lover's arrival. Eoland had left 
 her at Ostend, saying that he hoped to be away 
 less than a week ; but from one cause and another 
 his return had been delayed for more than a
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 2G5 
 
 fortnioht. Durino; that time her love had o;ro^YU 
 apace, fed by his letters. He had been with her 
 at Ostend just long enough to leave a glamour on 
 her vision when they parted. She longed now to 
 behold him again, to hear him talk, to cling to 
 his arm, and to see those kindly eyes of his gazing 
 with confiding fondness into hers. No one could 
 ever be to her again what he had already become 
 to her. Hopes, anxieties, passing thoughts, which 
 formerly she would ha.ve communicated to her 
 parents or sisters, she now found herself treasuring 
 up for his ear alone. She dreaded mischances 
 which might keep him away longer. On the 
 night when he was to cross the Channel a summer 
 storm broke, and she stood at her window listening 
 to thunder and rain, which w-ere making an 
 atrocious noise. There was less than a " capful " 
 of wind, as sailors say, but Gertrude's alarms 
 magnified this breeze into a hurricane. 
 
 All traces of bad weather had disappeared 
 next morning, and there was a glorious sun 
 blazing over sea and land, when the Duke, feeling 
 none the worse for a rough passage, came to 
 Lewbury from Dover. His wagonette was at 
 the station to meet him, but owing to some doubt 
 as to the hour wdien he would arrive, none of the
 
 266 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 Corringtons were at the station. It was eight 
 o'clock, the hour at which, in all English towns, 
 housemaids are scouring the doorsteps. 
 
 '' How far is it from Kingshouse ? " was the 
 Duke's first question to his coachman, as he 
 issued from the station. 
 
 ''It is quite close, your Grace. Not five 
 minutes' drive." 
 
 "Ah ! " exclaimed the Duke, surprised. " Well, 
 to right or left ? " and, springing on to the box, 
 he caught up the reins. " Barney, you can go to 
 the hotel with the luggage, but hand me in those 
 two packages." 
 
 The Duke had changed clothes at Dover, so 
 that there was no disorder of travel in his attire. 
 He looked fresh, happy, and impatient — far too 
 impatient to notice whether Kingshouse was a 
 villa or a palace, as he pulled up his team sharp, 
 with a clatter at the door. 
 
 The housemaid of Kingshouse was doing like 
 the other housemaids at Lewbury, and swabbing 
 the doorstep down on all fours, with a dirty cap 
 and a dirtier face. Not a soul in the house was 
 down yet, and the baker, who arrived just behind 
 the Duke, delivered his tale of loaves and rolls 
 into the maid's apron as soon as she had risen
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 267 
 
 from her knees. In the background of the hall 
 the Duke descried another maid going upstairs 
 with an armful of boots and a can of water. 
 
 But instinct told Gertrude who it was that 
 had come. She had been up more than an hour, 
 and, on hearing the horses at the door, ran out of 
 her room without a moment's hesitation. 
 
 The Duke, as he entered the house, half con 
 cerned, half amused to see that he was takins^ 
 everybody by surprise, beheld her hastening 
 downstairs, and looking so radiant in her happy 
 blushes. 
 
 " My darling ! '* he cried ; and he had caught 
 her in his arms before she could speak. 
 
 The housemaid, in her amazement, let fall a 
 loaf into her pail, and all the rolls upon the door- 
 step ; the other maid, equally astonished, mixed 
 the boots and the contents of the water-can 
 together on the first landing. In another minute, 
 you might have heard bells ringing all over the 
 house. The entire Corrington family, haviug 
 been apprised of the Duke's arrival, were trying 
 to dress in a hurry. 
 
 ''Let's come into the garden," said Gertrude, 
 laughing a little, when she and Roland had put 
 their heads into three rooms and found them but
 
 268 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 lialf swept and garnished. There was not even a 
 sign of breakfast in the dining-room. 
 
 " My dear little one, this is like taking a city 
 by storm ! " exclaimed the Duke, in great good- 
 humour. He was pleased as a schoolboy at 
 the sudden commotion he had caused. He 
 liked the look of Kingshouse and everything 
 about it. 
 
 " What a picturesque place ! " he said, " and 
 what an enchanting garden ! " 
 
 '' Eoland, you must let me give you some 
 breakfast," was Gertrude's first anxious idea. " I 
 am sure you must be hungry." 
 
 "Yes, my darling, I was famished for a sight 
 of you, and now let me feast my eyes on you a 
 little — under those trees there, where we shall be 
 alone." 
 
 " How long you've been away ! " she remarked 
 presently, with tender reproach. 
 
 "Ah, yes, it was long. Did you find it long, 
 my little one ? To me the days seemed all to 
 have lost their wheels, and to be dragging 
 uphill." 
 
 " But you won't have to go away again, now, 
 shall you ? " 
 
 " No, no ; it is all over now. Tout est fini,
 
 THE DUKE AT LEWBURY. 2G9 
 
 arrange. When next I go, you go with me. 
 And when shall that be, dearest, tell me ? " 
 
 Gertrude made no direct answer ; but, scruti- 
 nizing his face timidly as he twined an arm round 
 her waist, said, " Let me look at you, Eoland. 
 You've not been unhappy, have you ? Some of 
 vour letters read to me as if you were having: 
 trouble." 
 
 " Yes, darling, I was unhappy at being away 
 from you ; everything that delayed my return 
 was a sore trouble." 
 
 " But there was nothing — except that ? " 
 
 '' No-o." At that moment, as Gertrude's 
 liead nestled on his shoulders, and as her soft 
 eyes looked into his, full of love and wistful 
 inquiry, Eoland was minded to tell her every- 
 thing that had happened. She had a right to 
 know ; but as he pressed a kiss on her lips, and 
 was still hesitating, Dick Corrington manifested 
 his presence at the end of the alley by a loud use 
 of his pocket-handkerchief The diplomatic youth 
 had witnessed the kiss, and had retired temporarily 
 under cover, so as not to spoil sport. When he 
 had trumpeted loud enough to startle the pair of 
 lovers, and set them walking demurely side by 
 side, he appeared in the alley, and wished the 
 Duke Q^ood mornimr.
 
 270 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 " I have beaten all the others by a neck, 
 Duke, but mother's a good second ; I left her 
 half-way down the staircase, and here she comes. 
 And, Gertrude, I've a message for you." (Here 
 a solemn whisper to his sister.) " Give me the 
 key of the tea-caddy ! "
 
 ( 271 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DAYS OF COURTING. 
 
 The next few days were the hap23iest Gertrude 
 liad ever known. Roland, eager and assiduous 
 as the youngest of lovers, spent almost all his 
 time with her. He used to come to Kingshouse 
 every morning soon after breakfast, and she 
 enjoyed his society till nearly midnight, with the 
 exception of an hour in the evening, when he 
 returned to his hotel to dress for dinner. 
 
 Every day he drove several of the family into 
 Brightport in that beautiful wagonette of his, 
 whose high-stepping horses trotted with a rhythm 
 that was like music. Shopping was the object 
 of these expeditions. Once the Duke took Mrs. 
 Corrington, Gertrude, Bertha, and Dick to London 
 for the same purpose, and the party made merry 
 by lunching at a restaurant.
 
 272 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 On this occasion the wecldinor rinof was bouo^ht, 
 and the wedding day fixed. There had been a 
 sudden lull in the war rumours. Prince Leopold 
 of HohenzoUern's candidature to the Spanish 
 throne had been withdrawn, and Aimee de 
 Beaujeu s letters to her brother assured him that 
 the peace party was in the ascendant at the 
 Tuileries. People at Lewbury were astonished to 
 see the Duke so cool about the war ; but as it 
 was obvious that he must have better information 
 than they as to what was going on, they formed 
 their own prognostications of peace from his 
 demeanour. The Corringtons naturally did so, 
 and the General avoided raising the question as 
 to whether the marriage ought to be put off if 
 war were declared. He only broached the matter 
 to his son-in-law, Hucks. 
 
 "Well, that's the Duke's affair, I think," 
 submitted Mr. Littlepoint. " As Gertrude is so 
 well provided for by settlement, her husband's 
 death, if it occurred " 
 
 *' Yes, yes, of course ; that's what my wife 
 says," answered the General. 
 
 " But even if there is a war, it does not follow 
 that he would be killed," continued Hucks. 
 
 " I have been in half a dozen wars," said the
 
 DAYS OF COURTING. 273 
 
 General. " War is our business ; and soldiers 
 could never marry at all if the chance of being 
 killed were enough to stop them." 
 
 The truth is, that when a father sees his 
 daughter on the point of making a splendid 
 match, he does not care to raise obstacles ; and 
 in a soldier's eyes war is not an impediment 
 to marriage. Did not Tom Eushforth, of the 
 Carabineers, the General's best friend, get married 
 on the very morning of the day when he had to 
 sail for India during the Mutiny ? 
 
 So the wedding was appointed to take place 
 in three weeks. Roland was for having it earlier, 
 but he was informed that this w^as utterly im- 
 possible, in view of the preparations necessary 
 according to feminine notions, for so great an 
 event. Then he had to consider whether, and 
 when, he should explain why he was going to l)e 
 married in an English Church only. 
 
 His perplexities on this point were most 
 harassing. At one moment he resolved that he 
 would tell Gertrude of his grandmother's opposi- 
 tion ; at another, he shrank from giving her need- 
 less pain. As an English ceremony would hit 
 valid, why afflict Gertrude by apprising her tliat 
 she was obnoxious to his family ? and why put 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 himself in the humiliating position of confessing 
 that the laws of his country made him subject to 
 a grandmother in her dotage ? 
 
 There was this further point to be faced, that 
 if he told the whole truth, General Corrington 
 would certainly insist that his, Eoland's, first 
 duty was to Gertrude, and not to the Marquise. 
 An Englishman was not likely to understand the 
 scruples that withheld a Frenchman from urgiug 
 his legal rights against an unreasonable old lady. 
 The General would be sure to say that a sommation 
 respectueiise ought to be served on the Marquise ; 
 he would postpone the wedding, and all the 
 scandal which Eoland was so anxious to avoid 
 would become unavoidable. He deemed it best, 
 then (not without misgivings), to let the Corring- 
 tons imagine that by getting his marriage regis- 
 tered in France he would do all that the law 
 required. However, he had almost promised his 
 sister that he would be married in a Catholic as 
 well as in a Protestant Church, and so he talked 
 of having a private ceremony before some Eoman 
 Catholic priest at Brightport on the day previous 
 to the public solemnization in the parish church 
 of Westover. 
 
 What with trying on dresses, marking the
 
 DAYS OF COURTING. 275 
 
 articles of a trousseau, inviting friends to the 
 wedding, and conferring with bridesmaids, the 
 days which precede a marriage are always well 
 employed. Gertrude was to have six bridesmaids 
 — her two sisters ; Roland's little niece (who was 
 expected with her mother at Kingshouse two 
 days before the wedding ; that is, in ample time 
 to recover from the horrible mal de mer) ; Miss 
 Jentleigh, the rector's daughter ; and two cousins. 
 The ^ve Misses Quang were disaj)pointed that 
 not one of them should have been chosen as a 
 bridesmaid. Having never in their lives said a 
 pleasant thing of Gertrude, they felt they were 
 being treated ungratefully. Their father, how- 
 ever, exhorted them to philosophy, because he 
 had succeeded in worming out an invitation for 
 himself to the wedding breakfast. 
 
 Presents continued to pour in, and every 
 evening Gertrude had to write letters of thanks 
 to the friends who sent them. She used to take 
 her desk into a corner of the drawing-room, and 
 Eoland would sit beside her to watch her write, 
 and sometimes to help her. At least, he called it 
 helping ; but there was so much whispering and 
 quiet laughter between them that the corre- 
 spondence did not always get on very fast, and
 
 27 G THE duke's marriage. 
 
 the matter often ended in Gertrude liavino: to 
 finish her letters alone, when Roland had gone. 
 
 These were the nice evenings when no 
 strangers were present, and when everything was 
 cosy and familiar. When they had had enough of 
 letter- writing, Roland and Gertrude could stroll 
 into the garden, and wander about the alleys 
 together ; while the sounds of Kate Littlepoint's 
 piano-playing reached them through the open 
 windows of the drawing-room. 
 
 Kate Littlepoint came in every evening, for 
 she and the Duke had struck up a fast friendship 
 at first sicrht. Her frank nature delisrhted him, 
 whilst his gentleness and polished manners made 
 her think him the most charming of men. '' You 
 are a very lucky girl, Gertrude," she said, so 
 soon as she had become fully acquainted with 
 her future brother-in-law. " Your husband is 
 one among a thousand." 
 
 " I know he is," answered Gertrude, whom 
 love was making quite languorous and senti- 
 mental. She was now a very different maiden 
 from the young lady who had earned the 
 sobriquet of '' Flirtie." 
 
 " Well, but you needn't say it so seriously as 
 that," laughed Kate. "He is a lucky fellow
 
 DAYS OF COURTING. 277 
 
 too ; don't let liim forget that. You were never 
 made to be a doctor's wife, my pretty ducliess." 
 
 " Katie, don't talk to me of that man ! ' 
 entreated Gertrude, with a piteous look. " I 
 have been so afraid that Eoland would find out 
 something about him, and — and it would kill me 
 if he thought I had behaved badly." 
 
 "Tut, tut!" said Kate. "He would not 
 think you had behaved badly in preferring him 
 to another man." 
 
 " But he might not look at it in that light." 
 
 " He would look upon it in the light most 
 favourable to you, dear, you may be sure." 
 
 " I don't know. He is so chivalrous in all his 
 sentiments ; he would be shocked at anything 
 like a broken promise." 
 
 " But he would not be chivalrous if he be- 
 lieved anybody's word against tliat of the girl 
 he loved. Why don't you try him, and tell him 
 the truth straight out ? " 
 
 " Katie dear, I am afraid. I wanted to tell 
 him, but felt as if I had nothing to say for 
 myself." 
 
 " Say the worst you please for yourself, and 
 rely upon him to think tlie best. You ha\e 
 nothing to fear if you are truthful."
 
 278 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Gertrude pondered over that, and the next 
 evening told Eoland everything that had passed 
 between herself and Dr. Claverley. She little 
 thought that he knew the story, for nothing in 
 his manner betrayed that he did. He was 
 touched and pleased by her confidence. He 
 answered her half in jest, half seriously, but 
 finally kissed her hands in a transport, exclaim- 
 ing, " My sweet angel, can I wonder that you 
 have been loved ? It is enough for me that you 
 are going to be mine, and that I have your heart, 
 which others could not win. What more could I 
 ask?" 
 
 That was really what Eoland felt on the 
 subject. All curiosity to investigate the truth as 
 to what he had heard about Gertrude had died 
 out of his mind since he had come back to her 
 and had the living testimony of her love in her 
 constant gladness when she was by his side. He 
 had even put out of memory the scurrilous para- 
 graph in the Gazette des Cafes. He had so com- 
 pletely forgotten the signature to this libel, '^T. G.," 
 that when Gertrude spoke to him about M. Timon 
 Grachard, it never struck him that this must be 
 the man whose ears he had vowed to cut off. 
 
 Gertrude spoke about M. Grachard in conse-
 
 DAYS OF COURTING. 279 
 
 quence of the promise she had made to Polly 
 Hopkins that she would endeavour, through the 
 Duke, to obtain that rabid little man's pardon, 
 though, certainly, M. Grachard did not behave as 
 if he wanted anybody's pardon. When he came 
 to give his lesson to Bertha, Mab, and Dick, he 
 marched through the hall to the schoolroom, 
 never lookino; to rio^ht or left, lest he should meet 
 the Duke and be obliged to bow to him. He 
 Avas saying now that the Emperor Napoleon 
 Avanted to get up a war in order to enslave the 
 French nation once more with his victorious 
 armies, and he swore that he would never enter 
 Kingshouse again if he were asked to exchange a 
 single syllable with the Bonapartist Duke. As 
 M. Grachard was the only French master in 
 Lewbury, his exigencies had to be endured. But 
 Gertrude could not feel very kindly towards him, 
 and she marvelled that any English girl could be 
 ambitious of marrying such a creature. 
 
 " The Emperor is very good, is he not, 
 Roland ? " she asked, introducing Miss Hopkins' 
 troubles in a roundabout way. 
 
 " Yes, very good, my darling — too good, I 
 think ; for he is growing weak, and allows his 
 enemies overmuch licence.'*
 
 280 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 "But there is no chance of his being over- 
 thrown by Eevolutionists, is there ? " 
 
 " That is a question which we are all asking. 
 But what put the idea into your little head ? " 
 
 " There is a French master here," said Ger- 
 trude, " a Monsieur Timon Grachard, such an 
 odd little man, Roland ; he seems to be always 
 in a passion, and his fingers are all brown with 
 (•igarette juice. He talks sometimes about revo- 
 lutions, and I feel a great deal of pity for him, 
 l>ecause he is going to marry an English girl, 
 and she would like to go to France with him ; 
 ])ut I believe he has been banished from France 
 on account of his opinions." 
 
 "Yes, I have heard M. Grachard's name. He 
 joined in a plot to assassinate the Emperor." 
 
 " Assassinate ? Oh, Eoland, he surely never 
 did that ! " exclaimed Gertrude, horror-stricken. 
 
 " Eeassure yourself, it is a venial offence. 
 In my country a man who plots to murder the 
 Emperor has more sympathizers than one who 
 conspires to kill his neighbour's rabbit." 
 
 " If papa knew that M. Grachard had done 
 such an atrocious thing as that, he would never 
 allow him to enter the house again," protested 
 Gertrude, thinking it was very wicked of Miss
 
 DAYS OF COURTIXG. 281 
 
 Hopkins not to have told her what manner of 
 man her betrothed was. 
 
 " Mon Dieu I then I have said too much," 
 laug^hed the Duke. " You must know that there 
 -are two kinds of murderers, my darling. There 
 is the man w^ho instigates to murder by his pen, 
 his speeches, his money. He shows how the 
 crime may be done ; he chooses a hireling to 
 j^erpetrate it ; and, if the thing succeeds, he 
 derives all the profit from it. If, on the con- 
 trary, it fails, he retires to a land of refuge, and 
 describes himself as a persecuted person. The 
 other kind of murderer is the one who strikes the 
 blow, generally a poor man, ignorant, fanatical, 
 sometimes honest, always brave. This man, 
 whether his crime succeeds or fails, is invariably 
 doomed to public execration, and perishes on the 
 scaffold ; but the other man, call him Mazzini, 
 Ledru-EoUin, Grachard, or by what name 3^ou 
 please, drapes himself in some fancy title, 
 * Patriot,' ' Liberator,' ' Avenger,' and claims the 
 applause of the philanthropicaL Your M. 
 Grachard has possibly a glorious future before 
 him. If France should ever become a Kej)ublic, 
 he will be a senator or minister, and drive others 
 into exile, not merely for plotting, but for think-
 
 282 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 ing against himself. Possibly my want of 
 enthusiasm for Eepublican ideas will cause me to 
 be one of his victims." 
 
 '' How can you laugh at such things, Roland ? " 
 said Gertrude, gently chiding her lovers out- 
 burst of careless merriment. " It all seems so 
 dreadful to me ! And to think that I was 
 going to ask you to intercede for M. Grachard's 
 pardon ! " 
 
 " Well, and why not, my little one ? My 
 brother-in-law, the Senator, will see what can l3e 
 done, if you like." 
 
 " But supposing this miserable man, after his 
 return to France, were to try again to murder 
 the Emperor ? " 
 
 " No ; as he is a plotter, not a striker, he 
 could conspire more safely in England than in 
 France, if he had a mind to it. But I dare say 
 he considers that he has advertised his name 
 enough by his first escapade ; and as a second plot 
 could not make him more eminent than he 
 already is in that red-revolutionary firmament 
 where he plays the part of shooting star, it is 
 probable that he will keep quiet. Besides, if he 
 sues for pardon " 
 
 " Ah ! but that is just it ; he refuses to make
 
 DAYS OF COURTING. 283 
 
 any application at all," said Gertrude. " He 
 declares it would be beneath his dignity." 
 
 " I suppose he thinks the Emperor should 
 apologize first. Well, the man is a character, 
 and he interests me. With whom is he going to 
 marry himself ? " 
 
 ''You should say, * Whom is he going to 
 marry ? ' " said Gertrude, who had promised to 
 correct her lover's mistakes in English. 
 
 " With whom is he going to marry ? " repeated 
 the Duke, with docility. 
 
 " No, not ' with whom ; ' say simply, ' Whom 
 is he ofoino^ 
 
 The Duke ended by uttering the sentence 
 correctly ; and Gertrude informed him that Miss 
 Mary Hopkins was a needlewoman who worked 
 in the house. 
 
 " Then let us help the poor girl," said Koland. 
 " M. Grachard will get no pardon unless he asks 
 for it in writing ; but perhaps I might draw up a 
 forn^ of letter which Miss Hopkins could copy, 
 and which he would then siorn. This mic^ht 
 torture his Republican bosom less than composing 
 the letter himself." 
 
 "Oh, Roland, you are too good ! And I 
 don't feel that Mary deserves this kindness."
 
 284 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 The future duchess was minded to read the 
 future wife of the revolutionist a lecture, and she 
 did so by-and-by. But Polly hearkened only to 
 the promise of intercession which closed the 
 homily. With heightened colour and glittering 
 eyes, she poured out her unaffected thanks. 
 
 '' Oh, miss, it's so kind of you ! You can't 
 tell how glad I am I You see, Tim — that's M. 
 Gratchard — says that if we were in France he 
 could earn twice or three times as much money 
 as he does now, and become a member of Parlia- 
 ment or something of the kind that would make 
 a gentleman of him." 
 
 *' But, Mary, M. Grachard has done some 
 very wrong things. I hope, for your sake, he will 
 not mix himself up any more in sedition." 
 
 " He would be quite silly enough to do it, 
 miss, if I let him," replied Polly Hopkins, with a 
 wasf of the head. " He's the obstinatest, most 
 aggravating sort of man you ever saw. He'll 
 talk about shooting people down and cutting their 
 heads off till you feel fit to scream and send for a 
 policeman ; but there isn't any more meaning in 
 what he says than in a parrot's talk ; and as for 
 hurting anybody, why, lor, miss, he' s always 
 giving sixpences to beggars — just as if halfpence
 
 . DAYS OF COURTIXG. 285 
 
 •wouldn't do — and coaxing home dirty stray dogs 
 that he picks up in the streets, which mother and 
 I have quite a job to kick them out of the house 
 as fast as he brings them in, telling him it ain't 
 res23ectable. But it isn't a bit of use, and only 
 shows that he ain't bad-hearted, which is a 
 comfort in a kind of way." 
 
 " Don't you think you could prevail upon M 
 Grachard to write a letter to the Emperor, and 
 say he is sorry for what he has done ? " asked 
 Gertrude. 
 
 " Sorry ? Lor, no, miss, he ain't sorry for 
 anything," answered Polly Hopkins. " You 
 wouldn't believe how he sticks to a thing when 
 he's said or done it. I don't even know how it 
 is I manao^e to ffet the last word with him some- 
 times ; but I can tell you I feel then as if I'd 
 •been fighting for something with an awful squall- 
 ing tom-cat, barring that Tim doesn't scratch, 
 which he'd better not, knowing that two might 
 play at that game." 
 
 " M. Grachard will have at least to sign the 
 letter which the Duke drafts," explained Gertrude ; 
 and before evening a copy of this letter was 
 handed to ]Miss Hopkins. It was characteristic 
 of Roland that he had couched the letter in such
 
 286 THE duke's maeriage. 
 
 terms that no humiliation whatever would be 
 involved in the signing of it. It was a much 
 more dignified letter than M. Grachard himself 
 could have composed. The Republican was not 
 made to say that he repented of his misdeeds, 
 but simply that he promised to become a peaceable 
 subject if he received a pardon. 
 
 This letter Miss Hopkins folded like a bank- 
 note and put into her purse. She was silent 
 and preoccupied all the rest of that day, taking 
 out the note now and then from its receptacle, 
 and spelling through its French words with a 
 knitted brow, whilst her thimbled finger slowly 
 traced the lines. Her knowledge of French was 
 something like a shepherd's knowledge of astro- 
 nomy, derived from the close observation of certain 
 signs, and completed by guess-work. Like the 
 shepherd, too, she fancied that she knew a great 
 deal more than she did.
 
 ( 287 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 M. GRACHARD SUES FOR A PARDON. 
 
 The end of all this was that early next morning, 
 Miss Hopkins went to the Star Hotel to see the 
 Duke in private. 
 
 The Star Hotel was not accustomed to receive 
 visitors of rank, except at the time of assizes 
 and elections. Most of the people who crossed 
 its threshold all the year round made either 
 for the bar on the left of the hall, or for the 
 billiard-room, which was down a passage to the 
 rio^ht. It was a cheerful hall, laroe and lio'ht, 
 which served as a forum to farmers on market 
 days, and on other days was used as a favourite 
 lounge by the gentry of the town. Here Mr. 
 Quang was often to be seen wiping the moisture 
 of sherry and bitters from his lips ; \\'hile iNIr. 
 Purkiss Nethersole, whose habits were frugal, and
 
 288 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 who never indulged in wine except at somebody 
 else's expense, contented himself with the less 
 extravao;ant refreshment of suckino' the knob of 
 his umbrella. The walls of the hall were decorated 
 with some hunting pictures, some stuffed foxes in 
 cases, and the customary collection of highly 
 coloured advertisements, framed and glazed. 
 Harmonizing finely with these ornaments was a 
 marble sideboard, protected by a bow sash, 
 behind which were always displayed the delicacies 
 of the season — in summer, joints of lamb, crested 
 with little sprigs of parsley, large bowls of fresh- 
 shelled green peas, or bundles of fat asparagus ; 
 and in winter, big barons of beef, flanked by 
 plump hares and appetizing pheasants. But the 
 hall had also a noble staircase of black-stained 
 oak, which had found its way there from some 
 palace which had once existed in the neighbour- 
 hood. Antiquaries often came to see this relic, 
 and the landlord was justly proud of it. 
 
 Now, since the Due d' Alma's arrival, the land- 
 lord had covered the staircase with a scarlet 
 carpet, which, extending across the hall, formed a 
 broad walk from the street door. With tlie same 
 reckless magnificence he had placed pots of 
 flowers and evergreens on diflerent coigns of
 
 M. GRACHARD SUES FOR A PARDOX. 289 
 
 vantage, and kept a waiter permanently on duty 
 at the entrance, with a clean shirt-front and a 
 well-starched cravat, to make a fuss whenever 
 the Duke came in or went out. It was quite 
 inspiriting to behold this waiter, whenever he 
 descried the Duke from afar, whisking his napkin 
 to make imaginary intruders stand aside, rushing 
 headlong into the hall, then out again for no 
 object whatever, and finally shouting to any 
 person of low degree who might be entering the 
 hotel on business, " Now, ivill you stand aside 
 there ? " 
 
 The natural effect of this was that Eoland 
 never entered the hotel without having to pass 
 through a lane of people, who all endeavoured to 
 look as if they had come there by the merest 
 accident. Some, staring at the advertisements on 
 the walls, with their hands very deep in their 
 trousers' pockets, tried to get a sight of him over 
 their shoulders without shifting the position of 
 their bodies ; others peered at him over the edges 
 of " Bradshaw," which they pretended to ])e 
 studying, or through flame and smoke as they lit 
 their pipes. Those who were not too shy to take 
 a good look at the Duke would £jet on to the 
 roadway of red carpet, so as to exhibit their good 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 290 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 manners by ostentatiously stepping off it to make 
 way for him. All, without exception, would talk 
 about the Duke for half an hour after he had 
 gone by, for the public curiosity about him was 
 not to be sated. 
 
 The starched waiter was at his usual post 
 when Polly entered the hotel, but as she told 
 him that she came from Kiugshouse, he made no 
 difficulty about sending up her request for an 
 interview to the Duke, who was at breakfast. In 
 a few moments Miss Hopkins was invited to step 
 upstairs. 
 
 "I beg pardon for the liberty, sir," she said 
 rather shyly, as she curtseyed to Roland, " but I 
 was afraid I might not see you at Kingshouse 
 this morning, and I wanted you to have this 
 letter as soon as possible." 
 
 "Quite right, my girl," answered Roland. 
 " Sit down whilst I read it." 
 
 Then Polly Hopkins plumped into a seat, and 
 wondered whether all dukes wore grey cashmere 
 jackets lined with red-quilted satin to breakfast 
 in. She noticed that the Duke dipped sippets of 
 buttered toast into his tea — a habit which she 
 had imagined was peculiar to her Tim, and for 
 which she had oft reproved him as being " pig-
 
 M. GRACHARD SUES FOR A PARDOX. 291 
 
 gish." " I suppose they all do it," thougtit slie. 
 " I suppose, too, it's a way with 'em to tuck their 
 napkins under their chins like bibs, just as if they 
 were babies." 
 
 "That will do very well," said Roland, 
 glancing up from the letter. " You have copied 
 it nicely, and I see M. Grachard has signed it." 
 
 ''Yes, sir, Mossoo Gratchard signed it." 
 
 " He did not too much make the difficult, I 
 hope ? " 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir ? " 
 
 " He did not — well, he signed it readily ? " 
 
 " Comm' 9a M'sso," answered Polly, airing 
 one of her little bits of French, with a blush and 
 a slight laugh. " It's signed, anyhow. Please, 
 your Grace, when shall I have the answer back ? " 
 
 " Ah, when ? You have no experience of 
 Government offices. Miss Mary, that you ask 
 that ? However, M. Grachard is an important 
 person, and they will be glad to see him ask 
 pardon, so that I dare say they will not make you 
 wait long." 
 
 Miss Hopkins rose from her seat as if to say 
 good-bye ; but, advancing towards the table, 
 she stood for a moment irresolute, then hoped 
 the Duke would not take it unkindly if she asked
 
 292 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 him whether it was iDrudent in her to believe all 
 that M'soo Gratchard said about himself ? She 
 was a poor girl who did not want to be deceived. 
 Nor did her mother. She was fond of M'soo 
 Gratchard, and all that ; but she'd be sold like a 
 cheap joint, you see, if, going to France with a 
 foreigner, she found he hadn't any respectable 
 livelihood. Was it true that in France people 
 made fortunes by writing lots of things in the 
 papers against clergymen and policemen ? 
 
 " Yes, truly, very rapid fortunes can be made 
 in that way," laughed Eoland. " Does M. 
 Grachard write much now in that style ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, a great deal, and he lays by all the 
 money he gets, saying he'll start a newspaper of 
 ]]is own ; which, as mother says, ain't to her 
 thinking such safe kind of speculation as buying 
 a good house and letting out the upper storeys to 
 lodgers. But then, being an editor, and having 
 free orders for the play and all that, is, of course, 
 more genteel." 
 
 "Yes," replied Eoland, absently, for all at 
 once he remembered the Gazette des Cafes, and 
 the initials ' T. G.' "Do you know for what 
 papers M. Grachard writes, Miss Hopkins ? Have 
 you ever heard of the Gazette des Cafes 1 "
 
 M. GEACHAED SUES FOE A PAEDOK 293 
 
 " That's one for whicli lie does write, sir. A 
 bit of a paper not half so big as the Daily Tele- 
 graph, but costs three-halfpence, he says, and 
 comes over to him with a yellow band round it 
 regular every morning." 
 
 " So, so," muttered Eoland, and for a moment 
 he frowned ; but then an expression of ineffable 
 disgust passed over his face. He was thinking 
 that this Timon Grachard who had slandered 
 Gertrude, and was not ashamed afterwards to 
 seek her good offices for obtaining his pardon, 
 must be the most abject of crawling insects. He 
 glanced again at the man's signature, then pushed 
 the letter from him with loathing ; and he would 
 have dismissed Polly without another word, but 
 a reflection suddenly arrested him. M. Grachard 
 was, like himself, a Frenchman about to marry an 
 English girl. How had he surmounted all the 
 legal difficulties which beset Frenchmen in such 
 cases ? 
 
 " How are you goiug to be married ? " he 
 asked Polly, speaking much more dryly than 
 before. 
 
 "Ah, that's just it, sir. You see, my Tim 
 (that's Mossoo Gratchard) can't abide the sight of 
 a church or parson. You'd think that man was
 
 294 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 a heathen to hear the way he goes on. Mother, 
 who always brought me up as a church-goer, 
 though she isn't one of the psalm -singing sort, 
 but regular at evening service, summer and 
 winter, at seven o'clock, no matter who the 
 curate is, she spoke to Miss Jeutleigh about our 
 wedding, and miss said it wouldn't be respectable 
 if we weren't married at church. That's why 
 mother and I have been pressing Tim so to have 
 the banns put up ; but he won't, and I know I 
 shall have an awful to-do to make him give in at 
 the end." 
 
 " Miss Jentleigh was wrong to give you such 
 advice," remarked Roland, with a lively recollec- 
 tion of his own troubles. 
 
 "But Miss Corrington says the same thing, 
 sir." 
 
 *' Ah ! that is another matter. Two ladies are 
 against me, so I must be mute. All I wanted to 
 know was whether you were going to have any 
 other wedding besides that in the church ? " 
 
 " No, sir, Mossoo Gratchard wants us to be 
 married before the registrar." 
 
 " Well, if he's to get pardoned you had better 
 make haste about your wedding. Miss Hopkins. 
 M. Grachard misfht run over to France and find
 
 M. GEACHARl) SUES FOR A PARDOX. 295 
 
 some other young lady who would not tease him 
 about his religion." 
 
 The Duke spoke in jest, but Polly started and 
 reddened. The possibility of her Tim suddenly 
 decamping, with the free pardon which she had 
 obtained for him, had never occurred to her. She 
 comforted herself by remembering that Tim would 
 not be likely to levant without his beloved books, 
 and that he could not remove these from his 
 lodgings unseen by herself or her mother. How- 
 ever, she thanked the Duke seriously for his hint. 
 " I'll pack off M'soo to get a licence, and there 
 shan't be any more delay," she said with 
 decision. 
 
 It must be added that before day closed, 
 M. Timon Grachard was made relatively happy 
 by Miss Hopkins' abandonment of her religious 
 " crotchets." Mrs. Hopkins likewise surrendered, 
 OTumblino^. Mother and dauo-hter had had a 
 conference, from which it ensued that the little 
 Frenchman was requested to purchase a licence 
 without further delay. 
 
 *' C'est bien," he answered ; not, indeed, in the 
 thrilling accents which a bridegroom is expected 
 to use at such a crisis in his life affairs, but with 
 a grim sort of satisfaction that the ceremony of
 
 296 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 uniting him to Miss Hopkins was not going to be 
 rendered additionally grievous through being per- 
 formed by a priest. 
 
 The clerk of Westover church — a credible 
 witness — has always declared that one night 
 when it rained and thundered he saw a small 
 man pause opposite the church tower, brandish 
 his umbrella, and yell several times, " Aha ! 
 Aha ! " and it is supposed that this demonstrative 
 personage was M. Grachard rejoicing in the 
 triumph he had obtained over clericalism by 
 persuading Miss Hopkins to get married before a 
 registrar.
 
 ( 297 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE CORKINGTONS' BALL. 
 
 The war-clouds were gathering very darkly now. 
 Aimee de Beanjeu wrote to her brother that the 
 Count and his political friends hoped by the 
 Empress's support to carry their point against 
 their vacillating Emperor, who was inclined 
 towards peace. Marshal Leboeuf had plainly 
 told their Majesties that the army was not ready 
 for a long campaign, to which the Empress had 
 answered, that a Marshal of France ought to be 
 ashamed of using such pusillanimous language. 
 
 " The Marshal wanted to resign," wrote 
 Aimee ; " but the Emperor, in that winning way 
 he has, laid a hand on his shoulder and beo^Q-ed 
 him as a personal favour not to mind luhat a ladij 
 said. So it seems we shall have war unless those 
 Prussians go down on their knees to beg our
 
 298 THE duke's marpjage. 
 
 pardons ; but I hear it will be a very short 
 campaign, something like that against Austria — 
 just two or three rapid victories, then we shall 
 offer peace ; and the Emperor coming back 
 victorious will chain up and muzzle all those 
 noisy mongrels — as my husband calls them — the 
 Gambettas, Eocheforts, Ferrys and others. The 
 end of this will be, I suppose, that 1 shall have 
 to give up my visit to Baden." 
 
 Koland had no doubt whatever that France 
 could beat Prussia in very quick time ; and the 
 prospect of the campaign being a short one 
 enabled him to speak comfortingly to Gertrude, 
 whenever this dismal subject forced itself upon 
 their conversations. It naturally did so every 
 morning when the newspapers had been read and 
 discussed, and Gertrude was made sad and angry 
 to see that public opinion in England was against 
 the French. There were newspapers which she 
 asked her father not to read any more, because 
 they were "so unreasonable and wicked in siding 
 with Bismarck." 
 
 What pangs and terrors the sweethearts of 
 soldiers feel cannot be understood by ordinary 
 girls ; but Gertrude, as the daughter of a soldier 
 and the sister of two brothers who wore uniform,
 
 THE CORKIXGTOXS' BALL. 299 
 
 had to sliow spirit. Dick was very good to her 
 in repeating that the Prussians were going to be 
 " licked into smithereens." All the fellows at 
 AVoolwich were saying so. The French had got 
 a jolly new mitrailleuse, which could be worked 
 with no more trouble than a coffee-mill, and 
 so on. 
 
 This was very pleasing to hear after what 
 Roland himself said, and Gertrude tried with all 
 her might to believe that there would only be a 
 short campaign, at the end of which her husband 
 would be a general. Meanwhile it was arrano^ed 
 that the wedding day might be advanced if 
 occasion required it. Aimee de Beaujeu under- 
 took to get her brother's transfer from the staff 
 to a cavalry regiment managed for him, and to 
 warn him by telegraph at least three clear days 
 before the order to join his corps was going to be 
 sent him. But it mioiit be that this summons 
 would come at any moment, and it was quite a 
 settled matter between Gertrude and Roland that 
 the marriage should not be put off because of 
 the war. During the short campaign, Gertrude 
 should go and stay with the Countess de Beaujeu, 
 who would take her to Chateaufort. Perhaps 
 Roland might just have the time to run down to
 
 300 THE DUKES MAKPJAGE. 
 
 Ciiateaufort himself with his bride ; but in any 
 case, Aimee, during his absence, would take 
 charge of her grandmother and the Chateau, and 
 see that neither Pauline Juva nor anybody else 
 kindled the Marquise's mind against Gertrude. 
 And one of Gertrude's sisters should accompany 
 her to France, so that she might not feel too 
 lonely among strangers while her husband was 
 away. 
 
 All this was concerted by Koland with minute 
 forethought, and Bertha was, of course, the sister 
 chosen to go with Gertrude. That highly con- 
 scientious young lady, who had once propounded, 
 at her Mutual Improvement Society, the question 
 as to w^hether ]3eople had any moral right to kill 
 beetles and mice, now found herself musing that 
 it would be very nice if the armies of two nations 
 began to slaughter each other, l)ecause otherwise 
 she would not go on the pleasurable visit to the 
 French Chateau. 
 
 Nevertheless, the last chance of peace was 
 not absolutely gone ; there remained just one 
 chance. One fine morning the newspapers all 
 opined that the King of Prussia was going to 
 give satisfaction to the demands of France, ex- 
 aggerated as these were ; and it was on this day
 
 THE CORRINGTOXS' BALL. 301 
 
 — a most glad one to Gertrude — that a grand 
 ball was given at Kingsliouse. 
 
 The invitations to this feast had been sent 
 out a day or two after the Duke's arrival in 
 Lewbury, for Mrs. Corrington had felt that she 
 really must give a party. Old friends could be 
 invited to meet the Duke at dinner ] but the 
 Blacks, the Browns, the Wliites, the Greens, who 
 had been sending cards and presents to Gertrude, 
 could not all be asked to dinner, and it was 
 obviously politic to acknowledge their civilities 
 by setting them to dance with one another. 
 Gertrude had been very eager about this ball. 
 How nice it would be to valse with Eoland, and 
 see him organize a cotillon ! His fame as a 
 dancer was great, and everybody had heard that 
 for two or three seasons past he had been leading 
 the cotillons at the Tuileries balls. He promised 
 now to invent some new figures for the dance at 
 Kingsliouse. Bertha and Mab circulated these 
 joyful tidings, and Lewbury was on the tiptoe of 
 expectation. 
 
 The General gave carte blanche as to expense. 
 The house would not have been larcre enouo-h to 
 hold all that were bidden, and a tent was set in 
 the garden for supper — weather favouring. Fi\c
 
 302 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 greengrocers, in swallowtails, arrived early to 
 officiate as waiters. Part of the supper was made 
 in the house, part was ordered from the local 
 confectioner, and another part had to be sent in 
 from Brightport ; so that up to the last moment 
 there was a stimulating uncertainty as to whether 
 the three parts would be brought together at the 
 right minute. Pastrycooks who lent plates and 
 glasses, nurserymen who hired out fiower-pots 
 for the evening, musicians, car]3enters, and uphol- 
 sterers — all gave trouble, caused alarms by doing 
 the wrong thing or not doing the right one, and 
 had to be scolded after their respective kinds. 
 
 All the flys in Lewbury had been requisitioned 
 to fetch each at least half a dozen families residing 
 in different places, punctually at the same hour 
 of half-past ten ; whence it arose that five out of 
 every six families drove to the ball in a state 
 of shrill irritation with the flymen for being 
 unpunctual. 
 
 The officers of the Brightport garrison had 
 been invited, and drove over on their drag, all in 
 uniform. Being a crack regiment, the splendour 
 of their habiliments and their self-complacent 
 looks caused a flutter among the young ladies, 
 and quite eclipsed the local gallants. Mr.
 
 THE CORRIXGTONS' BALL. 303 
 
 Purkiss Nethersole only couutecl as a poodle 
 amons: these lions. However, as there were 
 jDartners for everybody, and as everybody had 
 to dance and dance again owing to the activity 
 with which the Duke bestirred himself to keep 
 the fun in perpetual flow, it was pronounced a 
 wonderfully successful ball. 
 
 Eoland appeared in the magnificent uniform 
 of the Imperial Guides — his old regiment — green 
 jacket profusely laced with gold, and a flying 
 dolman lined with scarlet. Thus accoutred, he 
 cut a figure to make any bride proud and enviable 
 in the sight of her maiden friends. But though 
 the Duke captivated general admiration by his 
 appearance, he consolidated his popularity by the 
 irresistible dash and geniality of his behaviour. 
 A Frenchman has no notion of a slow ball. 
 Eoland would tolerate no wall-flowers ; he con- 
 trived that the plainest and dumpiest girls in 
 the room should find partners, and to set a good 
 example he began by dancing with them him- 
 self. He gave each of the five Misses Quang 
 a turn ; he asked Mrs. Nethersole if she would 
 foot a measure, and actually dragged her un- 
 resisting through one of the figures of the 
 cotillon. All through that long dance he kept
 
 304 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 scattering pleasant words about him like bon- 
 bons ; he made everybody laugh ; even the 
 youngest subs of the crack regiment forgot to be 
 stilted and to " haw-haw." 
 
 "Keally, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Nether- 
 sole, panting, to a crony, " you'd take the man 
 for a comic actor. I shouldn't Avonder if it 
 turned out that he was a changeling, the son of 
 one of those acrobats who go about fairs with 
 dancing dogs. Poor dear Gertrude ! what a life 
 she'll lead with him. Such a man never cares 
 for home, my dear. He'll be gallivanting about 
 with other women till he breaks his wife's heart. 
 Oh ! if I had a daughter she should never marry 
 a Frenchman, though he might call himself by 
 what titles he pleased ; and in France, you know, 
 people may sport what titles they like, for there 
 is no peerage to regulate such things." 
 
 " I thought he was very nice," rejoined the 
 crony, meekly. She often went to Mrs. Nether- 
 sole's for afternoon tea, without ever returning 
 the hospitality, and so did not like to be dis- 
 putatious. 
 
 " Oh nice, my dear : they're all nice. Lord 
 Byron writes in one of his books that the most 
 polite man he ever met picked his pocket. O
 
 THE CORPtlNGTONS' BALL. 305 
 
 certimong, Duke " This was said abruptly, 
 
 in res]3onse to an affable wave of the hand which 
 the Duke made as, he was passing by. 
 
 Choosing to misinterpret this salute as an 
 offer to escort her to supper, Mrs. Nethersole 
 promptly darted from her seat and took the 
 Duke's arm. Supper had just been announced, 
 and Eoland was going to take down Gertrude ; 
 but Gertrude had to smother her disappointment 
 under a pleasant smile, while Mrs. Nethersole 
 flowed by her, nodding in a patronizing maternal 
 way, and saying, " Dear girl, you are looking 
 a little pale to-night ; all this dancing must have 
 tired you. You should rest a while, and have 
 a cup of tea." 
 
 Mrs. Nethersole naturally divined that when 
 the Duke had catered for her wants, he would 
 try and get back to the ball-room to fetch Ger- 
 trude ; but she frustrated this move as long as 
 she could by compelling him to dance attendance 
 on herself When he had filled her plate with 
 lobster salad, and her glass with champagne, she 
 prayed for a little iced water in a tumbler ; then 
 for a piece of l)read, if there was such a thing 
 in the house, for she mistrusted the rolls supplied 
 by confectioners for evening parties, liaving 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 »^Ub THE DUKES MARHIAGE. 
 
 heard that they were generally made of flour 
 ground from old mutton-bones. By the time 
 the bread was forthcoming the salad had gone, 
 and Mrs. Nethersole thought she should like just 
 the merest cut from the breast of a chicken, 
 with a slice of ham ofi" the upper end. She 
 would take just a half-glass more champagne, 
 too, if you please. 
 
 " Dear me ! it's very kind of you to be so 
 attentive to an old woman like me, Duke," she 
 simpered at last, with her eye on some jelly. 
 " But I o^uessed at first sio^ht that we should like 
 each other. You must come and dine quietly 
 with my son and me one of these evenings ; you 
 really must." 
 
 " I should have been most happy, but " 
 
 " Oh ! I can take no refusal ; I positively 
 cannot. Thank you, a little of that iced pud- 
 ding, please. We live at Priory Crescent, and 
 I know you will tell me that your time is fully 
 occupied, but you will contrive to spare one 
 evening." 
 
 " I have been obliged to refuse so many kind 
 invitations already," said the Duke, and at that 
 moment he was opportunely relieved of Mrs. 
 Nethersole by Dick Corrington's intervention ;
 
 THE CORRINGTONS' BALL. 307 
 
 but he fell from Scylla into Charybdis, for as 
 he turned away he was pounced upon by Mr. 
 Quang. 
 
 That rosy little gentleman, agreeably to his 
 passion for getting up entertainments, had been 
 going about among the male guests to propose 
 that a public banquet should be given to the 
 Due d'Alma in the Corn Exchange of Lewbury, 
 not only as a compliment to the Duke himself, 
 but to express the sympathies of the British 
 nation for the Emperor of the French. What 
 title Mr. Quang had to speak for the British 
 nation was not manifest, but he belonged to that 
 political race who are always taking the echoes of 
 their own tongues for the voice of the multitudes. 
 And as a goose going through a gap leads 
 other geese, he had found plenty of gentlemen to 
 concur in his proposal ; some because they liked 
 to dine in public, others because they did not 
 like to refuse subscribing for a guinea ticket, 
 and others because the sherry and champagne 
 they had imbibed had temporarily convinced 
 them of the propriety of giving a proof of good- 
 will to the French sovereign and people. So 
 Mr. Quang's pocket-book was getting to be full 
 of names, and the little man already saw him-
 
 308 THE duke's MAEKIAGE. 
 
 self taking the chair at the banquet, sending 
 a telegram to the Emperor to say that his 
 Majesty's health had been drunk, and receiving 
 a message in return which he would keep framed 
 in his study for evermore. But first the Duke 
 must be sounded as to his willingness to 
 accept a public banquet at the Corn Exchange, 
 and it was a grievous disappointment to Mr. 
 Quang when Eoland gaily declined the proffered 
 honour. 
 
 " You would end by killing me with your 
 hospitalities, you are all so kind, Mr. Quang ; 
 I have received at least half a dozen invitations 
 this evenino'." 
 
 "But this, your Grace, is a public banquet ; 
 half jDolitical, I may say." 
 
 " Ah ! but I never mix myself in politics ! " 
 
 " I mean international exchange of courtesies. 
 AVe should be both happy and proud to give a 
 proof of our friendship to your country." And 
 Mr. Quang, drawing himself up, looked almost 
 ambassadorial : but at this the Duke only made 
 a grave bow ; and as he had more experience 
 than Mr. Quang in the official ways of putting 
 off bores, he got out of the invitation by de- 
 claring he should like to accejot it at some
 
 BALL. 309 
 
 future time, when his engagements were less 
 pressing. 
 
 Men in love are never disposed to be critical 
 about the relatives or friends of their intended 
 wives ; but the Duke had begun to perceive that 
 Gertrude's family did not exactly occupy the 
 rank he had imao^ined. Most of his own Enoiish 
 friends were men of high station and wealth, and 
 it certainly would have pleased him to discover 
 that some of them were General Corrington's 
 friends too. 
 
 The odd gentility of the Quangs and Nether- 
 soles, the airs of the Blacks, Browns, and 
 Whites — ^whose dausjhters, during^ the breathless 
 
 O ^ CD 
 
 pauses of a dance, all trumped up titled relatives 
 like court cards at beggar-my-neighbour — grated 
 upon him a little because he was anxious that 
 the family at Kingshouse, and their acquaint- 
 ances, should produce a good impression on 
 his sister when she came to Lewbury for the 
 wedding. 
 
 The Countess de Beaujeu was truly a g ramie 
 dame, and anything that smacked of bourgeoisie 
 excited her unmerciful raillery. Like tliat 
 Duchess, who, during the Terror, was told that 
 she must dis2:uise herself as a tradesman's wife
 
 310 THE duke's mareiage. 
 
 or as a peasant girl, she would pertly liave 
 said, '' Paysanne tant qiion voiidra, hourgeoise 
 jamais.'' 
 
 Eoland could only hope that the Countess 
 and Gertrude would like each other by instinct 
 at first sight, and that as the Countess would 
 remain in Lewbury for no more than a couple of 
 days, she would not have time to notice anything 
 ludicrous in the Corringtons or their surroundings. 
 
 Gertrude at the ball had been seeking an 
 op]3ortunity of presenting the Eector's daughter, 
 Susan Jentleigh, who was a great friend of hers, 
 to Eoland. While the Duke was in the toils of 
 Mrs. Nethersole, the two girls had withdrawn 
 to a conservatory to rest and chat a little. 
 Presently the Duke, having emancipated himself 
 from Mrs. Nethersole and Mr. Quang, appeared, 
 looking for Gertrude. 
 
 " Here is Eoland, Susie : let us come out 
 from the shelter of these orange trees, or he 
 won't see us." 
 
 " How well he wears that splendid uniform, 
 dear ! " said the Eector's daughter, playfully. 
 " Doesn't it make you feel strange to own 
 absolute proprietorship in such a hero, and to 
 call him Eoland ? "
 
 THE CORRINGTONS' BALL. 311 
 
 " Yes, it does," laughed Gertrude ; " but 
 what am I to call him ? " 
 
 *' I was only joking, dear : call him Eoland 
 by all means, till you make it Eoley — which 
 will be soon, I dare say." 
 
 " Mab already calls him Eoley," said Gertrude. 
 '' T am thankful she hasn't come to Poley yet, 
 but she will in time." 
 
 Somebody drew the Duke away just as he 
 was entering the conservatory, so the girls were 
 left alone for a little while longer. Then Susan 
 thought that she ought to speak a word in season 
 to her friend. People had been saying in the 
 town that Gertrude, after her marriage, would 
 certainly become a Eoman Catholic, and this was 
 most afflicting to the Eector's daughter. Susan 
 was too earnest in church matters to consider 
 proprieties of time and place ; or if she did con- 
 sider them it was only to reject scruples which 
 her innate refinement might have prompted l)v 
 upbraiding herself as a moral coward. Therefore 
 she told Gertrude outright what people were 
 saying. 
 
 '' This is an odious town," protested Gertrude, 
 turning scarlet. " I believe every one in it, 
 except yourself, Susan, is jealous of my happiness.
 
 312 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Eoland would never think of asking me to 
 become a Catholic." 
 
 **I thought not," replied Susan Jentleigh, 
 evidently relieved. " But don't be offended, 
 Gertie ; marriages between persons of different 
 religions inevitably give rise to conjectures like 
 this, and it is natural that people who know you 
 should hope that you will not be converted." 
 
 " I don't see what business it is of people's 
 whether I am converted or not, Susan." 
 
 " Oh, it would grieve me terribly, dear, if 
 such a thing happened. I should be so glad to 
 think of your carrying our religion to a foreign 
 land. One in your high station could do so 
 much by example." Thereupon Miss Jentleigh 
 developed her views as to what a Protestant 
 Duchess might do, and the sinful way in which 
 the French spent their Sundays was pointed out 
 as the first thing calling for immediate reform. 
 
 Now, on this question of Sunday observance, 
 Gertrude resolved to take a stand at once : she 
 was not going to make herself miserable by 
 setting up any principles of her own against 
 those of her husband. She foresaw that Eoland 
 would never expect her to give up any particle 
 of her religion ; but if, in his good-natured way.
 
 THE COEEIXGTOXS' BALL. 313 
 
 he allowed her to spend Sunday according to her 
 own tastes whilst he himself went to horse- 
 races, theatres, and parties, that would not do 
 at all. 
 
 " Catholics do not think about Sunday as we 
 do," she said. " I shall have no peace, Susan, if 
 I take to preaching." 
 
 " But would you go to theatres and balls on 
 Sundays ^ " 
 
 " Yes, if he went." 
 
 " If he really loves you, Gertrude, he would 
 not think of asking you to go, and he would not 
 o'o himself. Would it not be straiditforward of 
 you to tell him what the rules of our church are 
 before you marry, so that he may never tempt 
 you into evil through ignorance ? " 
 
 " But it would not be evil if he saw no sin 
 in it." 
 
 " Gertie, Gertie, it would. Don't, dear, trifle 
 with your faith at such a period of }'our life as 
 this. If you act courageously now, there need 
 never be any dissensions between you and your 
 husband on a matter settled once and for all." 
 
 " What a girl you are ! " ejaculated Gertrud(\ 
 But the dispute was cut short here by the Duke's 
 reappearing. Gertrude would have been so
 
 314 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 happy to link her arm in his and get away out 
 of sight and sound of everybody ; but she had 
 to introduce her friend. 
 
 " Roland, this is Miss Jentleigh, who is going 
 to be one of my bridesmaids." 
 
 *' Must I ask her to dance ? " was the query 
 which Roland conveyed by a glance, and a dole- 
 ful little nod was Gertrude's reply. 
 
 Accordingly the Duke led out Susan for a 
 quadrille. 
 
 Miss Jentleigh only danced square dances, 
 and she deemed it decorous in a Rector's daughter, 
 kee23ing house for her father, always to wear 
 black dresses. However, she did not object to 
 crimson roses or carnations, and some bunches of 
 these flowers set in her skirt and in her hair 
 became her very well. 
 
 "So it is your father who will officiate at my 
 wedding. Miss Jentleigh ? " said Roland, after 
 the first figure. " Your name will remain dear 
 to me because of that." 
 
 " There will be another ceremony beside that 
 at our church, I suppose ? " answered Susan. 
 
 " Yes, probably ; though, to my mind, the 
 blessing pronounced by your excellent father 
 would be enougfh."
 
 THE COERINGTOXS BALL. 315 
 
 "I, of course, think so, but ..." And here, 
 surely, was an opening for another word in 
 season. At the next rest Susan asked her 
 partner if he had ever attended a service of the 
 Church of England. 
 
 '' No, I think not ; but it is never too late to 
 begin. I will go next Sunday." 
 
 " Will you ? Gertrude will be so pleased." 
 
 " Indeed ? Then I thank you for having in- 
 formed me of the way to give her pleasure." 
 
 Nevertheless Koland made no allusion to this 
 matter of going to church when, a few minutes 
 later, he at last got a valse with Gertrude. He 
 did not think a ball-room was the place for 
 religious topics. To the dreamy strains of Oliver 
 Metra's Valse des Roses, which was a novelty in 
 that year, he went round and round the room 
 with Gertrude, exciting general admiration by 
 his graceful step and easy skill in " reversing ; " 
 for, consummate dancer as he was, he never 
 stopped till the music ceased, and yet he never 
 tired his partners. After this valse he danced 
 no more with anybody, except Gertrude, and so 
 the l)all ended happily to her. 
 
 Altogether it had been a most enjoyable 
 entertainment — everybody said so, everybody
 
 316 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 thought it ; and by the time the company had 
 separated in the full sunshine of morning, the 
 French Duke had established himself as a 
 universal favourite, and it was the general opinion 
 that Gertrude was a fortunate girl.
 
 ( 317 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 But this was to be un heau jour sans lendemain — 
 one of those that set in rosy sunlight and herald 
 in a morning of grey mist and rain. Towards 
 noon Roland was breakfasting at his hotel. His 
 sitting-room was a large place, with greenish 
 paper, and furniture of folded red damask. The 
 (carpet was growing string-bare, though it must 
 have been a fine one in its day, for this was the 
 room where county ladies lunched at election- 
 time, while county gentlemen addressed the 
 populace out of the bow- window, ducking their 
 aristocratical heads good-humouredly at the 
 tokens of popular affection thrown at them from 
 the street. On the walls hung print portraits 
 of several of these county gentlemen, all with 
 whiskers, double-breasted hunting coats, hats 
 on their hips, and whips under their arms.
 
 318 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 Roland, as lie sat at a broad table spread 
 with some of the old-fashioned silver of the 
 hotel, and sipped his tea out of a big cup, dark 
 blue inside and out, glanced at missives which 
 the morning's post had brought. A kind soul, 
 anonymous, had sent him a parcel of tracts 
 directed against Papists, and the Secretary of 
 some Association for Removing Motes out of 
 Neighbours' Eyes had written to ask if he would 
 receive a deputation anxious for the suppression 
 of divers evils in his country — in particular the 
 sale of spirituous liquors in cafes. Turning from 
 these displays of a philanthropy peculiarly British 
 — for what English traveller has ever been asked 
 to receive a deputation of Frenchmen anxious to 
 purify Seven Dials, or to amend our licensing 
 laws ? — Roland took up the Times, which con- 
 tained important news. War was going to be 
 declared, and the news was in good earnest this 
 time. He was so interested that he left his 
 breakfast unfinished, and walked to the bow- 
 window, where he read, standing. 
 
 It was a market day — a slushy, sloppy 
 market day. The High Street was full of cattle, 
 sheep with soaken fleeces, and squealing pigs ; 
 but the farmers, as they trudged in the mud and
 
 *'the dog's bite." 319 
 
 put their coat-collars up to ward off the drizzle 
 of rain, were not so intent as usual upon buyin^gr 
 and selling. They kept pulling crumpled news- 
 papers out of their pockets and pointing out 
 passages thereof to one another, nor was it 
 difficult to see that they were discussing the 
 outbreak of the fire which was perhaps about to 
 set all Europe in a flame. The French soldier 
 noted all this, and wdiilst he looked out of the 
 window, beginning to wonder why he himself had 
 received no tidino-s from his sister, the teleofram 
 which he expected was brought to him by 
 Barney. The Countess de Beaujeu wired : — • 
 
 " War going to be declared. You are ap- 
 " pointed to command 12th Cuirassiers, with 
 " promotion to colonelcy. You must be in Paris 
 " within four days at the latest. Telegraph im- 
 " mediately to acknowledge receipt of this. Your 
 " marriage will be postponed, I suppose, so I shall 
 " not 2:0 to Eno;land." 
 
 " Barney, it is war ! " exclaimed the Duke, 
 turning with a glow on his face, and wavino- the 
 paper in his excitement. 
 
 " Indeed, sir ? . . . The Prussians are oroing 
 to catch it, then ? " 
 
 " They are ; and ... I marry myself to-
 
 320 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 morrow. To-day I buy a licence — our wedding 
 will be quite private. It wdll be a short notice ; 
 ]}ut needs must when Monsieur de Bismarck 
 drives." 
 
 " The Duchess won't go with your Grace to 
 France ? " asked Barney, who w^as a little more 
 moved than he cared to show at the prospect 
 of being separated from his master, for, as a 
 civilian, he could not attend the latter clurino; 
 a campaign. 
 
 " Yes," said Eoland. " The Duchess will go 
 to Chateaufort. Her sister, Miss Bertha, will 
 accompany her, and you shall escort them. I 
 wish I could take you with me, my good Barney, 
 but I shall be obliged to have a regimental 
 servant." 
 
 " I was in 'opes, sir, they'd let me go with 
 you," said Barney. "For the matter of that, 
 I wouldn't mind taking service in your Grace's 
 reoiment durinor the Avar." 
 
 " And the drills, and the riding-school ? You 
 forget you would have to be sent to a depot for 
 six months and longer ; before six months the 
 war will be over." . , 
 
 Barney had it on the tip of his tongue to say 
 that he could ride against any French trooper
 
 <f ^TTn T\/-vn'ci TiTmT-< " 
 
 THE DOGS BITE. 321 
 
 wlio ever bestrode a pigskin ; but this would 
 hardly have been complimentary. His master 
 asked him for a sheet of paper, and drafted a 
 telegram to Paris, which Barney presently carried 
 downstairs to the hotel porter. 
 
 As Barney elbowed his way through the hall, 
 receiving nods from several farmers with whom 
 he had scraped an acquaintance, the barmaid of 
 the " Star," espying him through an open door, 
 beckoned him to her counter. Barney was 
 always very sweet with barmaids when they 
 were stylish and cheerful like this one, who had 
 dimples and saucy eyes, and a cherry ribbon in 
 her glossy black hair. 
 
 " Well, the Duke is going, I suppose ? " 
 whispered the damsel. " But what about the 
 wedding ? I'm dying to know." 
 
 " There'll be a wedding, Miss Carry, but 
 quiet-like." 
 
 " What, no bells or bridesmaids ? " 
 
 " Little of that — but keep it dark." 
 
 "Trust me." 
 
 " Trust you for telling." 
 
 " Well, there isn't any use knowing a thing 
 if you can't tell it," said the barmaid ; " but 
 what's come over you this morning, that you 
 
 VOL. I. "2]
 
 322 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 look so down ? Men generally make-believe to 
 be glad when they're going to war." 
 
 " I ain't going ; that's why I'm down." 
 
 " Ah ! would you like a glass of that cura- 
 coa ? " Whether there was implied scepticism in 
 this proposal, or whether the barmaid was simply 
 " cornered " by the display of valet's valour, 
 there is no saying. Barney certainly did not 
 regard the offer of curacoa as an allusion to 
 Dutch courage. 
 
 " I was going to ask it, Miss Carry. It isn't 
 very pleasant to part with a good master, and to 
 think that one of those German roughs may send 
 a bullet through him." 
 
 " I wish you'd tell me what the war's about," 
 said the pretty barmaid, as she poured out the 
 beverage. 
 
 " Oh, it comes of some quarrel between Boney 
 and Biss — that's the Emperor and Bismarck." 
 
 " Why don't they fight it out between 'em, 
 then, I say, like the old song '] — 
 
 " ' Let those who make the quarrels 
 Be the only ones to fight.' " 
 
 " Here's my respects and I'm off," replied 
 Barney with a wry smile, and he swallowed the
 
 THE dog's bite; 
 
 liqueur. " I was forgetting this telegram ; and 
 I've got a busy day before me, too, if the wed- 
 ding's for to-morrow." 
 
 He was off; despatched the telegram, and 
 returned to his master, who had been dressino-. 
 and was ready to start for Kingshouse. 
 
 " Barney," said the Duke, " there is an 
 official who delivers licences of marriao^e — vou 
 will have to find out his address — the Protono- 
 taire or Surrogat, I think they call him." 
 
 "' Brovght-a- note-here,' 'Sorry-cat,'" echoed 
 Barney. " Those must be nicknames, your 
 Grace." 
 
 " No ; ask downstairs, and they will tell 
 you." 
 
 " I'll ask, sir ; but I've always heard it's a Dr. 
 Commons that sells marriage licences, and I'm 
 sure he lives in London. I've seen his servants 
 standing at a gate near St. Paul's with white 
 aprons on." 
 
 "You are takino; the Piraeus for a man," 
 laughed the Duke. 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir ? " 
 
 " Never mind ; do as I tell you, and learn at 
 what hours licences mav be bouirht." 
 
 Roland had be«m residing just a fortnight in
 
 524 THE duke's markiage. 
 
 England, so that he was qualified to apply for 
 a marriage licence ; and he knew that Gertrude 
 was fully prepared for a marriage at short notice 
 if the emergency required it. Of course he had 
 no idea of delaying his marriage, as his sister 
 proposed. 
 
 He was an object of more than usual curiosity 
 to bystanders as he walked out of the hotel, for 
 the news imparted to the barmaid had quickly 
 circulated ; and a man who is going to be mar- 
 ried in a hurry is almost as interesting as one who 
 is going to be hanged. He reached Kingshouse, 
 and had hardly rung when the door opened, and 
 Mrs. Nethersole flounced out, literally turning up 
 her nose at him as she went by : — " Bong djoor, 
 Mossoo, oh wee, tray bo tong, bong djoor." In 
 these words the good lady seemed to give him 
 the cut direct. 
 
 " Curious old dame ! what flea can have bitten 
 her ? " thought Eoland, and, walking in, he asked 
 to see Gertrude. 
 
 But he was shown into the study, and there 
 he found the General, Mrs. Corrington, and 
 Hucks Littlepoint, all looking as if they had 
 just received a piece of news which had upset 
 them. Attributing their emotion to the war
 
 325 
 
 intelligence in the morning's papers, Eoland 
 communicated his sister's telegram, and without 
 delay urged that his immediate marriage was 
 necessary. 
 
 Then the General checked him in a nervous 
 manner, by putting a written paper before his 
 eyes and saying — 
 
 " Are you sure, Duke, that you have not 
 made some mistake about the marriao^e laws of 
 }'our country ? I am told that Gertrude would 
 not become lawfully your wife unless you went 
 through all the formalities specified on that 
 paper." 
 
 " Who wrote this ? " asked Eoland in an 
 altered voice ; and glancing at the paper he per- 
 ceived that it contained a minute statement as 
 to the French marriage laws. All the French 
 terms used were correctly spelt, and the writer 
 had evidently been consulting the Code Civil ; but 
 he said nothing about marriages conditionally 
 valid, such as that which the Duke wished to 
 contract. 
 
 " I think we ought to say who gave us that," 
 remarked Mrs. Corrington, who, seeing the 
 Duke's emotion, was full of S3^mpathy for him, 
 and put little faith in the paper. But the
 
 326 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 General hesitated, muttering something about 
 a promise, and Hucks Littlepoint coughed as if 
 he thought the revelation ought not to be made. 
 
 " We can't have any mysteries about such 
 a thing as this," continued Mrs. Corrington, dis- 
 regarding these hints. " Eoland (she had never 
 called him by his Christian name before), it was 
 Mrs. Nethersole who brought us this paper. She 
 came early this morning before any of us were 
 up, left the paper, and returned about an hour 
 ago to have a talk about it. I suspected that 
 she must have got her information from a doctor 
 in this town who is a great friend of M. Grachard, 
 the French master. So we have been question- 
 ing M. Grachard, and he made no secret of 
 having dictated this paper to " 
 
 " Grachard ? Ah ! a doom's bite is below the 
 knee ! " exclaimed the Duke. "Is M. Grachard 
 still in the house ? " 
 
 " No, he went away before Mrs. Nethersole 
 came ; but he admitted having dictated the 
 paper to Dr. Claverley." 
 
 " Dr. Claverley ! " Eoland looked up and 
 Mrs. Corrington reddened, for the name had 
 slipped from he]' unawares. Upon this Hucks 
 Ijittlepoint became very fidgety, having noticed
 
 327 
 
 the Duke's tone in pronouncing Claverley's 
 name. 
 
 " Well, of course, Alma, we have every 
 confidence in you," cried the General in his loud 
 voice ; " but as we are both soldiers and don't 
 know much about law, we must take care that no 
 mistakes are made. That's Hucks' opinion." 
 
 " Mossiou Grachard was very explicit," ob- 
 served Mr. Littlepoint. 
 
 " He said the most shocking things," broke 
 out Mrs. Corrington indignantly ; for, in her fear 
 that Eoland should be offended, she lost all 
 patience with Mrs. Nethersole, Dr. Claverley, and 
 M. Grachard. 
 
 " Well, my dear, let's hear what Alma has to 
 say," interrupted the General. 
 
 Roland, exasperated as he was, could only 
 tell the truth ; but the interference of Claverley 
 and Grachard in his affairs caused him such deep 
 annoyance that he spoke in a rather proud and 
 peremptory tone, and not at all like a man on his 
 defence. 
 
 This did him good with Mi's. Corrington. 
 Before he had finished his mortifying account of 
 family worries, the good lady saw that he had 
 acted for the best, and was persuaded that a
 
 328 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 purely English marriage would be perfectly valid. 
 But this was not the view taken by the Lewbury 
 lawyer. 
 
 " Supposing you — you were to be killed in 
 war, Duke ? " said this gentleman, blinking 
 through his spectacles at Koland. " I understand 
 that if all goes well you would have power to 
 prevent your grandmother from getting your 
 marriage cancelled ; but you would not have 
 that power if you got killed within the coming- 
 twelvemonth. " 
 
 As one blow striking the pedestal of a column 
 may lay the whole in ruins, so the structure of 
 Eoland's plans and hopes fell under this argument 
 of Hucks\ It was an unanswerable argument. 
 
 The Duke stared and bit his lips. In provid- 
 ing for his marriage he had calculated every 
 possibility except that of his own death. Quite 
 a minute elapsed — and this was a long time — ■ 
 before it occurred to him that his sister would 
 stand by Gertrude if he were killed in battle. 
 Inwardly he was persuaded that his whole 
 country would stand by his widow, and that 
 neither the Emperor nor any French judge 
 would suffer a marriage to be broken which had 
 been solemnized in articulo mortis, as it were, by
 
 <i ^_^^ T^/^/^'o T^Trr.T- ^' 
 
 THE DOGS BITE. 329 
 
 an officer bearing the name of Alma. And 
 in so thinking he was right ; but his romantic 
 faith in sister, Sovereign, and country sounded 
 only as unbusinesslike equivocation to the 
 Enoiish solicitor. 
 
 " If we could be quite sure of the Countess 
 de Beaujeu's intentions," remarked Hucks Little- 
 point with a shake of the head. 
 
 It was unfortunate that Hucks said lue instead 
 of yoii, for now the Duke felt affronted. " Will 
 you please put the dots on the i's ? " he said 
 with dignity. 
 
 " Do what ? " asked Hucks. 
 
 '^ Make your meaning clearer, sir." 
 
 " Oh, well, we ought to have some written 
 guarantee from the Count and Countess de 
 Beaujeu," said the impervious lawyer ; *' and I 
 think you should telegraph for the certificate of 
 two medical men to the effect that your grand- 
 mother is of unsound mind. Even then, con- 
 sidering that great settlements are at stake, I 
 hardly feel that we should be safe." 
 
 " Who will not be safe, Mr. Littlepoint ? " 
 inquired the Duke with suppressed anger that 
 flashed out of his eyes. " Is there anybody here 
 who has a more vital interest in the validitv
 
 330 THE duke's maeeiage. 
 
 of my marriage than I have myself? What 
 guarantee would you have in written promises 
 or certificates that you do not possess already 
 in my word of honour ? If you do not believe 
 that, you are the first man who will have had 
 the audacity to say so to my face." 
 
 The General was too deaf to seize more than 
 half of this ; l3ut if the Duke had boxed Hucks' 
 ears the effect could not have been more alarm- 
 ing to Mrs. Corrington. The Duke had turned 
 towards the door ; another step and he might l)e 
 gone — gone back to his own country and to war, 
 with the bitter recollection of this parting scene 
 to prevent him from ever returning. And then 
 Gertrude's brilliant match — nay, her love-match 
 — would have crumbled away, and the poor child 
 be left heart-broken. And how the Blacks and 
 Browns, the Greys and Greens would tattle ! 
 
 " Koland, dear Eoland," cried the good lady, 
 springing from her seat and laying a hand on the 
 Duke's arm, " don't pay any attention to what 
 they say. It's all that wretched Dr. Claverley. 
 Gertrude has told you about him, and Mossiou 
 Grachard, who shall never set foot in this house 
 aojain. The horrible little man ; he said the most 
 atrocious things, and I can't think how tlic
 
 331 
 
 General can have had the patience to listen to 
 him. But don't you be angry about it." 
 
 '' I am not angry, my dear Madame Corring- 
 ton," said Eoland, raising the hand of Gertrude's 
 mother to his lips and kissing it with filial 
 respect ; " but as to M. Grachard, I do not see 
 how he can impugn English marriages, since he 
 is Pfoinof to be married himself as if he were an 
 Englishman." 
 
 " His case is different," interposed Hucks 
 Littlepoint ; "it seems he is an exile under 
 sentence of death — that is, the law accounts him 
 as dead — and he cannot go through any legal 
 formalities in his own country." 
 
 ' ' Do, please, be quiet, Hucks ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Corrington, quite beside herself at seeing 
 the Duke move again towards the door. But 
 Eoland took his leave with words that were as 
 balm to her. 
 
 " I will not see Gertrude now, but I will 
 return presently ; I pray you to tell her all that 
 has passed. She is of age, and can judge for 
 herself. When I come back I sliall ask her if 
 she will trust me and become my wife before 
 I go away to war." 
 
 His anger seemed to have left him ; he
 
 332 THE duke's marriage. 
 
 .spoke with a tranquil solemnity, and gave a 
 kindly nod to the General and Mrs. Corrington 
 as he retired. He did not say that he was goiiig. 
 straight off to find Dr. Claverly and M. Tiinon 
 Grachard, and have a few words with them. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 i'RJNTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 LONDON AND BECCLES. C., C. &> Co.
 
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