L I b RAFtY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U NIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS

 
 THE 
 
 LADY OF THE BEDCHAMBER, 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY MES. A. CRAWFORD, 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 Corapell'd to wed, because she was my ward, 
 Her soul was absent when she gave her hand." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 E.Mockler 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 T. C. NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE 
 
 1850.
 
 V.' 
 
 THE LADY OF THE BED-CHAMBER. 
 
 c^ 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 .^^ Here, take her hand, 
 
 r Proud, scornful boy, unworthy this good gift ; 
 """* That does in vile misprision shackle up 
 
 My love and her desert ; that canst not dream, 
 i, ' We poizing us in her defective scale, 
 ^ Shall weigh thee to the beam ; that wilt not know 
 i ^ It is in us to plant thine honour where 
 We please to have it grow. 
 
 Si; Skakspeare, 
 
 •^ It was in the year 1668 that Louis the Four- 
 
 !*^ teenth, after having attacked in person and 
 
 taken Tourney, Oudenard, Alost, &c, found 
 
 ^.^^,^^ himself before the city of Lille, the most 
 
 TOL. I. B 
 
 <S
 
 2 THE LADY OF 
 
 flourishing and best fortified of all the towns in 
 Flanders. The Spanish General had assembled 
 about eight- thousand men with the intention, 
 if possible, of throwing succours into Lille, 
 and the King detached the Marquis de Crequi 
 and the Marquis de Bellefonds to attack them, 
 whilst he himself carried on the siege with 
 redoubled vigour. 
 
 Brave and reckless of danger he exposed 
 his person to all the risks of war, undergoing 
 the same perils as the meanest of his soldiers, 
 and would have inevitably been killed in a sally 
 made by the besieged, grown desperate from 
 their danger, had not the Chevalier de Valeour, 
 who happened to be near him at the time, 
 thrown himself before the sword raised by one 
 of the officers of the besieged party against his 
 beloved sovereign, and received in his own 
 breast the deadly wound intended for that of 
 Louis. His Sovereign was saved, and Lille 
 was taken, but the brave De Yalcour only 
 lingered till the following day, having be-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 3 
 
 queatlied to his grateful Sovereign, who stood 
 beside his dying bed, the care of an only child, 
 a daughter, who, as her father, though descended 
 from a long line of ancestors had received from 
 them scarcely any inheritance but his good 
 sword, and a noble and unblemished name, 
 would now be left, on his demise, a portionless 
 orphan. 
 
 After many other victories, so easily achieved 
 that this campaign seemed almost an excursion 
 of pleasure, Louis returned triumphantly to 
 Paris. His first care was now to make in- 
 quiries about the daughter of the Chevalier de 
 Valcour, and finding that she was in the Con- 
 vent of St. Agnes, situated in one of the 
 valleys at the foot of Pyrenees, he determined 
 to place her immediately among the maids of 
 honour attendant on the Queen, and despatched 
 forthwith a gouvernante, and an armed troop to 
 escort her to Paris. 
 
 Isabelle Agnes de Yalcour was at this period 
 
 in her nineteenth year, rather above the middle 
 B 2
 
 4 THE LADY OP 
 
 height and finely formed, her deportment was 
 graceful and dignified though withal simple 
 and naive. Her beauty was of that kind which 
 might be strictly termed classical, a regular 
 Grecian outline of feature with a skin dazzlingly 
 fair, soft dark brown eyes with long black 
 lashes, and pencilled eye- brows, and a colour 
 ever varying on the slightest emotion, like the 
 rosy tint that flits and fades in the summer 
 evening sky. For the last three or four years 
 of her life she had considered herself as destined 
 eventually for the cloister, and this new change 
 was to her as surprising as unwished for. 
 
 The Convent of St. Agnes was placed amidst 
 the most magnificent scenery of nature in a 
 small valley on the banks of a clear stream not 
 many miles distant from the town of Argeles. 
 An immense barrier of mountains opening now 
 and then into similarly verdant vales, seemed 
 to surround this valley on every side, while 
 furious torrents dashed from tremendous heights 
 into the abysses beneath these precipices, flow-
 
 THE BED- CHAMBER. 5 
 
 ing, some in clear rivulets over a pebbly bed, 
 others rushing impetuously through the deep 
 glens. In this Convent the days of Isabelle 
 had, previous to the death of her beloved 
 father, glided away in peaceful tranquillity and 
 happy usefulness amidst the good nuns who 
 resided within its walls, and the simple and 
 grateful peasantry, who surrounded them ; and 
 now, at this period, with her cheeks still wet 
 with tears for her recent loss, and a mind more 
 than ever weaned from every worldly care, the 
 startled maiden heard with a sensation border- 
 ing on terror, that she must prepare im- 
 mediately to leave these, her dearly beloved 
 friends and instructors, the wild grandeur of 
 nature, and the solitude so consonant to hex 
 feelings, in order to mingle with the gay and 
 noble of the land. She looked upon the lofty 
 mountains which enclosed this valley where 
 most part of her life had been spent, and she 
 wept and wished they had formed a more 
 eecure barrier around the Convent.
 
 b THE LADY OF 
 
 Among these scenes had she received her 
 earliest impressions, for her father, whose only 
 inheritance was a dilapidated chateau and a 
 small tract of mountainous land in the neigh- 
 bourhood, had placed her, on the death of his 
 beloved wife, which occurred a few years after 
 the birth of Isabelle, in the care of the good 
 Abbess of the Convent, and devoting himself 
 entirely to the profession of arms, paid a hurried 
 visit to his child whenever the toils of duty 
 permitted him to do so. Once he had a vision 
 of wealth and splendour for Isabelle ; but in 
 this, as in many other of his hopes, he was 
 doomed to be disappointed. His only sister 
 who had been a great beauty and was, early 
 in life, married to a Venetian nobleman, on 
 the death of her husband, having no 
 children of her own, professed her intention of 
 adopting her niece, who was therefore, at the 
 age of twelve years old, conducted to Venice 
 by her father. 
 
 The Marchesa Loredan affectionately em-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 7 
 
 braced her brother and her beautiful niece, pro- 
 mising ever to regard the latter as her own 
 child, and lavishing on her the tenderest marks 
 of a mother's love. 
 
 After remaining a few weeks with his sister 
 the Chevalier de Valcour left Venice happy in 
 having found in her a second mother for his 
 beloved child. 
 
 Isabelle passed her hours in nearly as great 
 retirement in the Palazzo of the Loredan as she 
 had done in the Convent of St. Agnes. Her 
 aunt wished her for a time to devote herself 
 entirely to the acquirement of those accom- 
 plishments which the good Abbess of St. Agnes 
 had not thought of bestowing on her young charge. 
 
 With a natural appreciation of every- 
 thing beautiful in Nature or Art, a quick ap- 
 prehension, and a taste for music and painting, 
 Isabelle made a rapid progress in every study to 
 which she applied herself, and her delighted 
 aunt anticipated the pleasure of introducing her 
 into the first society in Venice, whea she should
 
 8 THE, LADY OF 
 
 have completed her sixteenth year ; but unfor- 
 seen events intervened which totally changed 
 the destiny of Isabelle. 
 
 The Marchesa, though no longer young, was 
 still a line-looking woman, and passionately 
 fond of admiration. Gay, and a lover of plea- 
 sure, she spent her days in a perpetual whirl 
 of amusement, while Isabelle was closely im- 
 mured in the palazzo, under the charge of an 
 old domestic called Nina, and surrounded by 
 teachers of all descriptions. A woman so full 
 of vanity and so fond of admiration as was 
 the Marchesa, could not fail at last of becom- 
 ing the prey of some needy adventurer; and 
 before Isabelle had been a year and a half with 
 her, she had formed a matrimonial connection 
 with a soldier of fortune, young enough to be 
 her son. 
 
 This youthful and imperious husband made 
 her understand in a few months that her adop- 
 tion of Isabelle was not at all to his taste, and 
 he very soon proposed that they should escort
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 9 
 
 her back to her old friends in the Convent of 
 St. Agnes, at the foot of the Pyrenees, and to 
 this the indignant Marchesa was obliged to 
 consent, as he was equally unmoved by tears, 
 entreaties, and reproaches. 
 
 Whatever might have been the Chevalier 
 de Valcour's mortification at these proceedings, 
 the young Isabelle saw again with rapture the 
 beloved scenes around the Convent, and em- 
 braced her ancient friends with the warmest 
 demonstrations of joy. 
 
 It is true that for the last few weeks of her 
 abode at Venice, her aunt, without assigning 
 any reason, had relaxed in her usual discipline, 
 and had taken her to one or two gay fetes ; but 
 if some events had occurred in this short 
 period calculated to leave indelible impressions 
 upon her mind, they were memories, not pain- 
 ful in the retrospection, but soft, dim, dream- 
 like as the recollections of a beautiful tale to 
 which we have listened with unwearied interest, 
 or some sweet song that haunts us, even in 
 B 5
 
 10 THE LADY OF 
 
 our dreams — they were too fairy-like, too un- 
 real, to fill her with regret. 
 
 Perchance had she been older, at the time 
 they occurred, it might have been otherwise, 
 but as it was, they interfered not with her wild 
 delight at again beholding the home of her 
 youth. 
 
 And now, more than ever attached to those 
 scenes, she must again leave everything that 
 she loved the most. 
 
 The child of solitude and seclusion was 
 going at once to be placed in the midst of all 
 the maddening gaiety and turmoil of the most 
 polished and dissipated capital in Europe. 
 
 Her reception by the King was gracious and 
 condescending — by his Queen it was kind and 
 fascinating. In deep mourning for her father, 
 the young orphan pleaded for permission to 
 live for a few months in retirement ; and this 
 being granted, she never made her appearance, 
 except when it came to her turn to wait upon 
 the Queen. At all other times she confined
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 11 
 
 herself entirely to her own apartments, only 
 leaving them to perform her devotions in the 
 chapel, or to take an early and solitary ramble 
 in the gardens of the Palace, when she was 
 always as closely veiled as if she had been 
 still an inmate in the Convent of St. Agnes. 
 
 Soon, however, the King became impatient 
 of her total seclusion, and signified his wishes 
 upon that point to the Queen, mentioning his 
 desire that at the approaching f^tes which he 
 was about to give in the gardens of Versailles, 
 Isabelle should appear with the other ladies of 
 her train ; and as he had resolved to give his 
 young ward a noble marriage portion,he already 
 began to look around for a suitable match for 
 her amongst the young lordlings of his court. 
 
 The one who after some deliberation in his 
 own mind, the King at length fixed upon, was 
 the young Baron de Montfort, a handsome and 
 accomplished cavalier, only son of the Count de 
 Beaumont, who had been for several years a 
 favorite of Louis, and although the family was
 
 12 THE LADY OF 
 
 ancient and distinguished, as their possessions 
 were by no means extensiYe,the King shrewdly- 
 thought that the magnificent dowry he was 
 going to bestow upon his ward would be con- 
 sidered by the Count as a welcome addition to 
 their diminished heritage. 
 
 Louis judged rightly in this respect. The 
 Count eagerly accepted the intended alliance, 
 and expressed his conviction of his son's grate- 
 ful obedience to the commands of his sovereign. 
 But in this supposition he was entirely mis- 
 taken. 
 
 De Mont ford with a thousand good qualities 
 had all the faults of an only and spoiled child. 
 If he was ingenuous, high-spirited, and gener- 
 ous, he was likewise impetuous, self-willed, 
 and reckless of consequences; and on the 
 Count opening to him the intentions of the 
 King in his favour, he, to his father's great sur- 
 prise and dismay, expressed his positive deter- 
 mination never to accept the lady's hand. 
 
 For so peremptory and decided a resistance
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 13 
 
 to the commaDds of his sovereign and the 
 wishes of his father, there must have been some 
 strong and secret motive, pa rticularly as he had 
 not, as yet, even seen Isabelle— and there was 
 one^ 
 
 The young Baron de Montfort was passion- 
 ately attached to the witty, beautiful, and in- 
 triguing Marchioness de Varville. Although 
 several years older than the Baron, she exer- 
 cised an unlimited influence over him. 
 
 Her bewitching manners and seductive arts, 
 combined with talent of no ordinary class, had 
 enlisted him for the last year among the most 
 devoted, as he certainly was the most favoured, 
 of her admirers ; and public report alleged^ with 
 more truth than is generally found in such sur- 
 mises, that on the death of the old Marquis, 
 who was now almost in his dotage, the infatu- 
 ated De Montfort would lead the beautiful but 
 unprincipled Clementine to the altar. 
 
 Of this entanglement, his father, as is fre- 
 quently the case, knew less than any one else ;
 
 14 THE LADY OF 
 
 or if he gave it a thought, considered it only as 
 the fleeting fancy of a young man. His son's 
 opposition therefore to the marriage which the 
 King had determined on for him, seemed as 
 extraordinary as it was rash and unlocked 
 for. 
 
 It was in vain, iiowever, that the Count re- 
 presented to De Montfort the total impossibi- 
 lity of his opposing the will of the King— the 
 madness in short of such a proceeding, and 
 that the probable consequences would be, with 
 so absolute a monarch as Louis, the certain 
 destruction of all his prospects in life, most 
 likely a lettre de cachet and perpetual imprison- 
 ment in the Bastile. 
 
 To these arguments and many more, urged 
 with all the energy and anxiety of a father, the 
 young Baron continued inexorable ; but when 
 the Count spoke of himself, of his own banish- 
 ment from court, of the pain it would give him 
 to fall under the displeasure of a sovereign 
 whom he loved — of the pecuniary embarrass-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 15 
 
 ments which he laboured under, consequent on 
 the sacrifices he had made in order to give his 
 son that education, and make him that allow- 
 ance which enabled him to vie with the most 
 distinguished of the young nobility at court, 
 and which, though his birth might demand, his 
 narrow income forbade — the young man, un- 
 moved by any considerations on his own ac- 
 count, could not be insensible to what related 
 personally to his father whom he tenderly 
 loved— and after a severe struggle between 
 love and duty, gave a reluctant promise to ac- 
 quiesce in all that his monarch required — a con- 
 sent made afterwards still more bitter by the 
 passionate tears and reproaches of the indig- 
 nant Marchioness de Yarville.
 
 16 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTER ir. 
 
 La plupart de ces solennites brillantes ne sont 
 souvent que pour les yeux et les oreilles ; ce qui 
 n'est que pompe et magnificence passe en un jour : 
 mais quand des chefs d'oeuvre de I'art, corame le 
 TartufFe, font Tornement de ces fetes, elles laissent 
 apr6s elles une eternelle memoire. 
 
 Voltaire. 
 
 IsABELLE heard of her approaching marriage 
 with consternation, but without a thought of 
 resisting the wishes of the Queen who im- 
 parted it to her. 
 
 " You must now, my gentle Isabelle/' con-
 
 THE BED'CHAMBEE. 17 
 
 tinued she kindly, *'give up this love of 
 retirement and appear at some of the gay 
 festivities which are soon to take place — and 
 this chain," she added with sweet condescension, 
 taking a gold one of exquisite workmanship 
 from her own neck, ^'must replace this black 
 ribbon which ill becomes your swan-like 
 throat." 
 
 As Marie Therese uttered these words she 
 took the black ribbon from the neck of 
 Isabelle, and found that to it was suspended a 
 locket of curious and beautiful device. The 
 Queen looked at it with much admiration, and 
 taking it from the ribbon, hung it on the chain 
 of gold, while the embarrassed Isabelle did not 
 dare to raise her eyes from the ground, and 
 clasping it round the neck of her young 
 favourite, said archly, 
 
 " Gage dH amitie ou d* amour, Isabelle ?" 
 Isabelle did not dare reply to this question, 
 and the Queen pitying her confusion changed
 
 18 THE LADY OF 
 
 the conversation to some indifferent subject, 
 and after awhile said with great affability, 
 ' " I have ordered my marchande de modes to 
 bring you all sorts of pretty dresses, that you 
 may choose a becoming robe for to-morrow, 
 when the King purposes to introduce to you 
 the young Baron de Montfort." 
 
 Isabelle's thanks were almost inarticulate, 
 and the Queen with a gracious smile dismissed 
 her. 
 
 On the following day the King and all his 
 court went to Versailles, where the proposed 
 fete was to take place. 
 
 It was the month of July and an entertain- 
 ment in the delicious gardens of Versailles 
 amidst cool grottos and shady arbours, re- 
 freshed by innumerable jets d'eaux, and sur- 
 rounded by thickets of odoriferous shrubs held 
 out attractions not to be resisted by any who 
 could possibly gain access to it. 
 
 Isabelle felt as if she had arrived in the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEK, 19 
 
 region of fairy land, so new and dream- like 
 did everything appear to her eye. Art vied 
 with nature in the enchanting disposition of 
 the grounds, in the midst of which rose a 
 palace that seemed to be erected by the pre- 
 siding genii of the place, where gold and 
 marble, exquisite paintings and rich hangings 
 met the eye in every direction. 
 
 Here the officers who had been sent forward 
 by the King to prepare every thing for their 
 reception, were in waiting to receive them* 
 After a slight collation, the ladies retired to re- 
 pose themselves during the sultry heats of the 
 day, and to prepare for their afternoon's 
 amusement, and about six o'clock in the even- 
 ing their Majesties, accompanied by all the 
 nobles and ladies of the court, sought the 
 shade of the beautiful pleasure grounds which 
 surrounded the palace. 
 
 Could Isabelle alone and unseen have pene- 
 trated into the deep recesses of those delicious 
 gardens and have strayed at will through the
 
 20 THE LADY OF 
 
 long galleries and suites of apartments in the 
 palace she would have enjoyed all this fairy 
 scene unalloyed. But soon she shrunk with 
 dismay from the remarks which she could not 
 help perceiving were made upon her, on this 
 her first appearance in public, and the intro- 
 duction of her intended bridegroom by the 
 King himself did not tend to increase her self- 
 possession. 
 
 The Baron de Montfort bowed with a 
 haughty coldness, and after uttering, with ill- 
 dissembled [politeness, a few common-place 
 observations, to which her extreme confusion 
 scarcely permitted her to reply, turned abruptly 
 away, to lavish all his attentions upon a spark- 
 ling brunette, whom Isabelle afterwards under- 
 stood to be Madame de Varville. 
 
 Timid and distressed, Isabelle now fol- 
 lowed the Queen and the other ladies of her 
 train, through several shady alleys, into a 
 thick grove, which formed a species of laby- 
 rinth, through whose intricacies the rays of
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 21 
 
 the sun could scarcely penetrate, and in the 
 midst of which was an open space, bordered 
 with a smooth green turf. 
 
 Here a splendid collation was prepared, and 
 each table which held the comestibles, pre- 
 sented a novel and ingenious spectacle. 
 
 On one side deep recesses, scooped out of a 
 lofty mound, were filled with the choicest cold 
 viands, while opposite, the eye wandered to a 
 palace, built entirely of comfitures. In another 
 part, orange trees hung over a fountain, and 
 the most delicious fruits were suspended from 
 their branches, while at a little distance, water, 
 thrown hjajet d^eau, more than fifty feet high, 
 fell with a refreshing sound upon the ear, and 
 mingled with the soft melody, produced by 
 unseen musicians. 
 
 Isabelle stole unobserved from the green 
 turf, where all the Court were assembled, and 
 seated herself in a bower hard by, which was 
 nearly concealed from view, by a thicket of 
 flowering shrubs.
 
 22 THE LADY OF 
 
 Here she could see all that was going on, 
 unperceived by others, and she now found that 
 she could breathe more freely, and collect her 
 scattered thoughts. The Baron de Montfort 
 with his haughty bearing, was still before her 
 eyes ; the accents of his voice still rung dis- 
 tressingly in her ears, and she felt that, short 
 as had been their interview, she had conceived 
 towards him an invincible dislike. 
 
 What recked it to her, that he was amons: 
 the handsomest and most accomplished nobles 
 of the Court I Had she not seen at a glance, 
 with a woman's keen perception, that he was 
 devoted to another, and how could she, simple 
 and retiring as she was, dare hope to win him 
 from the sparkling beauty, who seemed to hang 
 upon his words ! 
 
 And yet, such was the man she was to 
 marry; it must be so; the King had willed it, 
 and there was no escape. 
 
 She could have wept, but her proud heart 
 would not stoop to tears. Ah! would she
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER, 23 
 
 were now in her beloved Convent, making 
 garments for the poor peasantry! — there she 
 was happy and contented. And now she 
 imaged to herself her native valley, with its 
 rushing streams and headlong precipices, and 
 she could almost fancy she heard the hum of 
 the wild bees, as they extracted a delicious 
 honey from the perfumed heath, and the 
 tinkling of the sheep-bells, as the shepherd's 
 voice recalled them from the edge of some 
 precipitous rock. 
 
 Thus she mused, when, involuntarily and 
 unwillingly, she heard the following dialogue. 
 
 *' Do not congratulate me, De Cressy," said 
 a voice, which Isabelle recognized as that of 
 De Montfort. " Do not congratulate me, I 
 conjure you, upon this hateful marriage. I 
 have seen her to-day for the first time 
 
 and -" 
 
 " She is certainly graceful and elegant look- 
 ing," interrupted De Cressy, *' and as well as 
 I could glimpse her features through her thick
 
 24 THE LADY OF 
 
 veil, young and interesting, and a few more 
 months' sojourn at Court will remove that 
 timid, nun-like air, which she now wears." 
 
 '* Graceful —interesting !" exclaimed De 
 Montfort, contemptuously. " 1 tell you, De 
 Cressy, she is a mere, uneducated, country 
 maiden — besides, you know [ passionately 
 love another — ten thousand times would I 
 prefer banishment from Court — aye ! death 
 itself, to this detested union — and were it not 
 for my father — but it is madness to talk of it 
 — and Clementine ! — Oh ! how different is she 
 from Clementine 1" 
 
 " True,'* replied De Cressy, " she does not 
 in the least resemble the brilliant, witty 
 Madame de Varville, but, consider, she is 
 much younger, and so inexperienced — " 
 
 Here Isabelle was prevented from hearing 
 any more, by the arrival of two ladies, who 
 had been sent by the Queen in search of her, 
 as the collation being over, they were all going
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 25 
 
 to see a play performed, in another part of the 
 grounds. 
 
 The young Marquis de Cressy handed Isa- 
 belle into the carriage, which was to convey 
 her and some of the other maids of honour to 
 the appointed spot, while De Montfort, pale 
 and agitated, brushed quickly by, in search of 
 Mndame de Varville, who was a little in 
 advance. 
 
 Following the carriage of the King and 
 Queen through a long avenue of linden trees, 
 and round the celebrated Fountain of the 
 Swans, in the midst of which a brazen dragon, 
 pierced with an arrow in the throat, seemed 
 to vomit forth blood, while dolphins refreshed 
 the air with continued jets d'eau, they arrived 
 at a patch of green sward, where Sieur Yiga- 
 rini had erected a temporary theatre. Without 
 it had the appearance of a green bower, and 
 within, of a magnificent salon, from the centre 
 of which, hung numerous chandeliers of crys- 
 tal, each bearing six waxen lights, and display- 
 VOL, I. c
 
 26 THE LADY OF 
 
 ing the rich tapestries and gorgeous mirrors, 
 with which it was hung; while around were 
 disposed, in an amphitheatre, seats and benches 
 for several hundred persons. 
 
 In front was the theatre, over which the 
 curtain still hung. On each side, raised on 
 pedestals of marble, were two columns of 
 bronze and lapis lazuli, with golden branches, 
 and leaves of the vine. Upon the cornices, 
 were engraved the arms of the King, sur- 
 rounded by trophies ; and between each 
 column appeared figures, representing Peace 
 and Victory. 
 
 Louis and his Queen enjoyed the surprise 
 of all around, at those charming decora- 
 tions. 
 
 And now the curtain rose, displaying what 
 appeared a fair and lovely garden, where 
 shepherds and shepherdesses, peasants, satyrs 
 and wood-gods, were scattered about in every 
 direction. 
 
 Soon, arraying themselves in order, they
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 27 
 
 approacKed, and performed a comedy and 
 interlude, composed for the occasion, by Mo- 
 liere, who acted the principal character him- 
 self. 
 
 Isabelle had nev^r before seen a representa- 
 tion of this sort, and it took entire possession 
 of her faculties. Absorbed in the contempla- 
 tion of the scene before her, and in listening 
 to the songs of the shepherds and shep- 
 herdesses, she forgot everything — time, place, 
 her approaching marriage, and all the world. 
 It was on]y at the end of the first interlude, 
 that she awoke to reality. 
 
 Then she started as from a dream — she recol- 
 lected all, and sighed deeply. Ah ! would she 
 were now a peasant girl to tend the sheep and 
 milk the cows — How willingly would she have 
 exchanged her condition with one — only bar- 
 gaining for a free and unfettered life. 
 
 Soon, however, George Dandin appeared 
 upon the stage. The inimitable Moliere played 
 the part himself — The melancholy of Isabella 
 c 2
 
 28 THE LADY OF 
 
 was dissipated — she was enchained, astonished 
 — she, too, joined in the merriment of the 
 audience — she, too, laughed at the rich but 
 silly peasant, who dared to make so dispropor- 
 tioned an alliance, and even while she con- 
 demned Angelique enjoyed her stratagems. 
 Then again the shepherds and shepherdesses 
 appeared in the interludes, and the entertain- 
 ment concluded with their songs and dances. 
 
 v 
 
 Leaving the theatre the numerous assembly 
 that filled it, now poured forth through a portico 
 in a different direction from the one by which 
 they had entered. 
 
 The moon had risen, and her brilliant 
 rays seemed almost to eclipse the lights that 
 sparkled in every direction through the thick 
 foliage. 
 
 The gay cavaliers, attached to the party to 
 which Isabelle belonged, crowded around her, 
 anxious to proffer their services. She had that 
 night been pronounced beautiful by the majority 
 of those who deemed themselves connoisseurs in
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 29 
 
 beauty — some had praised the expression and 
 nobility of her features, and the witchery of 
 her dark eyes — others her graceful tournure and 
 symmetry of figure, while all blamed and 
 pitied De Montfort for his blindness to her 
 charms. 
 
 Following the King, who led the way 
 through a cross alley, they beheld, at some 
 little distance, a lofty temple covered with ver- 
 dure, and streaming with lights. Cunning 
 artificers had wrought so well, that brilliant 
 illuminations were seen in every part of it, 
 sparkling as if by magic, through the waters of 
 fountains which fell with a gentle murmur from 
 the large vases that crowned the pilasters, which 
 stood at the angles of the edifice, while thick 
 masses of trees surrounding it on every side, 
 and through which a moon-beam did not pene- 
 trate, rendered it, by contrast, still more 
 dazzling. 
 
 Isabelle looked at it with wonder, and felt as 
 if it were a fairy palace, into which some elfin
 
 30 THE LADY OF 
 
 knight conducted his beloved. Within its 
 walls, in the midst of an extensive area, rose 
 an immense rock. On the summit of it, 
 Pegasus with extended wings seemed to spring 
 forward into the air, while from beneath his 
 foot gushed forth a stream of water, that 
 dashed and foamed impetuously over the sharp 
 projections which impeded its course, and then 
 murmuring softly through little ravines, over 
 variegated pebbles and shells, mingled its 
 bubblings with the musical instruments 
 which Apollo and the Muses, who formed a 
 group near the base of the rock, seemed to 
 strike. 
 
 Amongst the shells, moss, and green herbage, 
 at the foot of the rook, were laid a number of 
 covers for the King and those of his court whom 
 he should honour by selecting, while under 
 bowers, grottos, and tents, in the neigh- 
 bouring alleys, the rest of the feast was set 
 forth. 
 
 Fauns and hamadryades, wood-gods and
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 31 
 
 nymphs of the fountains, who still haunt the 
 beautiful gardens of Versailles, weep over its 
 departed glories, for never again will you be- 
 hold fetes so unique, so magnificent ! weep, for 
 those days will never come again ! 
 
 The pleasures of this day were not however 
 ended yet. After supper the King retired, 
 and turning his steps in the direction of the 
 palace, introduced his guests into another 
 enchanted hall, beautiful as the temple they 
 had left, but in a different taste, as it was all 
 gorgeous with porphyry and marbles, and 
 adornments of every kind. 
 
 Isabelle though delighted with all she saw, 
 had no mind to participate in the entertainment 
 of the ball, but amused herself by gazing upon 
 the various sets of dancers who moved grace- 
 fully to the sound of musicians so skilfully 
 concealed from view, that it was Arion riding 
 upon a dolphin emerging from the crystal 
 waters which washed the sides of a grotto of 
 shells that touched the lyre, while Orpheus on
 
 32 THE LADY OF 
 
 a rock hard by, seemed to vie with two sea- 
 nymphs seated at the foot of it In bringiog forth 
 the most melodious sounds. 
 
 Isabelle at length retired into a deep recess 
 from whence she could look into the gardens, 
 and gazed into the depths of the soft lights and 
 shadows without. There was a delicious fresh- 
 ness in the look of the groves, and she fancied 
 how exquisite must be the song of the nightin- 
 gale in the silence of night — bow, if she did 
 sing, the dashing of torrents of water mingling 
 with the instruments of music drowned her 
 plaintive notes. 
 
 But Isabelle was left only a short time to 
 her meditations. Soon every one crowded to 
 the balconies to behold the brilliant illumina- 
 tions which the sieur Gissey had prepared. The 
 palace of Versailles itself nppeared to be on 
 fire. Fire seemed to issue from the rocks, from 
 the earth, from the mouths of dragons and of 
 every form of animal that imagination could 
 invent, while floods of water seemed to pursue
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. S3 
 
 them in every direction, as if in a vain attempt 
 to extinguish the flames. The cypher of Louis 
 appeared traced in characters of fire in every 
 direction, and the whole concluded with a deaf- 
 ening explosion which not only extinguished 
 the illuminations but seemed to put the stars to 
 flight, for the dawn of morning was now seen 
 to put forth. 
 
 At length the fatigued Isabelle found her- 
 self on the way to St. Germain, and soon 
 seeking her pillow fell into a deep sleep, but 
 memory and imagination, ever watching, pur- 
 sued her with a thousand wild and fitful 
 vagaries — now she fancied herself enveloped by 
 real flames and nameless horrors, and a hand 
 was stretched forth to save her, but that hand 
 was not the hand of De Montfort. Then she 
 dreamed that she was alone in some cool dark 
 grotto — there was no sound of music, but the 
 plaintive song of the nightingale — no illumi- 
 nations but those of the brio^ht stars twinklincr 
 in the dark blue heavens, and the moonbeams 
 C 5
 
 34 THE LADY OF 
 
 streaming in a soft light upon the tesselated 
 pavement that bordered the fountain close by ; 
 and now the river-god who hung over it, filling 
 his urn from the crystal wave, suddenly ap- 
 peared to start into life — he approached her, 
 and knelt before her — she tried to shriek and 
 covered her face w ith her hands. Anon, a soft 
 voice which she once knew, called her Agnes I 
 dear Agnes ! and seizing her hand pressed it 
 to his lips. She looked again but the river- 
 god had disappeared, and she r^xognized the 
 figure of one whom she had seen last by the 
 light of that same moon, but the face was in- 
 distinct and shadowy. 
 
 "Have you indeed forgotten me, Agnes?" 
 he said ; and in her effort to answer him 
 Isabelle awoke. 
 
 At length came the eve of her wedding-day, 
 and Isabelle, agitated, bewildered, and weary, 
 found herself, towards midnight, alone in her 
 own apartment. 
 
 Ever since the fete at Vervsailles all had been
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 35 
 
 for her distracting bustle and confusion. She 
 had been hurried from one scene of gaiety to 
 another — masked balls, fetes, theatricals — a 
 perfect whirl of dissipation. 
 
 The Queen herself had graciously presented 
 her with a magnificent trousseau —the King had 
 given her a splendid suit of diamonds. The 
 ladies of the Court vied with each other who 
 should show her most attention and kindness, in 
 order to ingratiate themselves with the Queen. 
 The young nobles pursued her with compli- 
 ments, envying the insensible De Montfort 
 so fair and so richly dowried a bride. 
 
 Everything combined to bewilder, to soothe, 
 to flatter the young novice, but in vain. Wil- 
 lingly would she have escaped from all this 
 turmoil— willingly, oh, how willingly would she 
 huve released De Montfort from his hated 
 engagement; who, cold, pre-occupied, dejected 
 and spiritless, but too plainly showed how 
 heavy he considered the chain, that was to bind 
 them together.
 
 36 THE LADY OF 
 
 The eve of her wedding-day however was 
 arrived ; and pale and spiritless as De Mont- 
 fort himself, Isabelle stood before her mirror. 
 
 With a heavy sigh she took the little gold 
 locket, which we have mentioned before, from 
 her bosom, and wistfully gazed upon it. 
 
 " It was but a dream," said she, with a still 
 deeper sigh, as she pressed it to her lips. " It 
 was only a dream, but how sweet in its me- 
 mory — would it had never been I" 
 
 Then slowly taking the locket oiF the chain 
 to which the Queen had appended it, she looked 
 at it again. 
 
 " I cannot part with it," said she, replacing 
 it ; " and why should I ? Is he not as the 
 dead to me ? I know not even his name. Why 
 do I think of him now ? I thought not of hina 
 — I dreamt not of him, in the Convent of St. 
 Agnes. — yet now he is ever before me in my 
 dreams, in my waking thoughts.. But I will 
 forget him again ; and this can be to me but as 
 a token of friendship, a remembrance of one
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 37 
 
 who saved my life. No, I cannot part with 
 it. Ah ! would that to-morrow could gee me 
 the bride of Heaven, and not of De Montfort ! 
 then I would not even think of him. Yet I 
 pity De Montfort too — yes, he is as unhappy 
 as I am, and like me he has no escape.'^ 
 
 What were the remembrances attached to 
 this locket that made Isabelle thus soliloquise? 
 To explain them we must refer to the last 
 fortnight she passed with her aunt at Venice, 
 five years before the commencement of this 
 narrative.
 
 38 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 Over the monntains, 
 
 And under the waves, 
 Over the fountains, 
 
 And under the graves ; 
 Under floods that are deepest, 
 
 Which Neptune obey ; 
 Over rocks that are steepest, 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 OLD SONG. 
 From Percys Reliques. 
 
 It was the season of the carnival at Venice— 
 every one knows what a carnival at Venice is 
 «-The lagunes, or canals, were filled with
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 39. 
 
 gondolas crowd with masquerading personages 
 in gay and fantastic dresses, while music floated 
 on the air in every direction. 
 
 On this particular evening there was amongst 
 many others^ a masqued ball at the house of 
 the Signer Pesaro, one of the wealthiest and 
 most magnificent of the Venetian nobles ; and 
 thither the Marchesa Loredan took her beauti- 
 ful niece Isabelle, arrayed in the costume of a 
 gipsy girl with a gittern, while she herself was 
 splendidly dressed as a Roman matron of the 
 days of the Cagsars. It was the first time that 
 Isabelle had been at any amusement of the 
 kind, and she looked round with girlish delight.^ 
 Sheltered under her mask from all recognition, 
 she sung, with a soft, clear voice, snatches of 
 the songs she had learned, in order to support 
 her part ; but when a graceful young cavalier 
 approached, and begged her to tell him his for- 
 tune, she felt her couragefailand she clung closer 
 to her aunt, who, however, did not perceive 
 her embarrassment, being herself engaged in
 
 40 THE LADY OF 
 
 an animated conversation with an old Roman 
 senator. 
 
 " Lovely Bohemienne," said the youth, who 
 was dressed as a Spanish cavalier, and whose 
 accent pronounced him to be no Italian, *' how 
 can I tempt you to tell me my fortune ? — will 
 a ruby heart, or a golden one bribe you to 
 answer me ?" 
 
 ** Sir Knight," said the young maiden, 
 timidly, " it is my first masquerade, and to 
 own the truth, I am but a sad adept as yet in 
 my new character." 
 
 " Charming innocence !" exclaimed the youth 
 in French. 
 
 "Dear Agnes!" said the Marchesa, at this 
 moment addrei^sing Isabelle, and calling her by 
 her second name, which she always used in 
 preference to that of Isabelle, Agnes being her 
 own baptismal appellation ; and speaking to 
 her at the same time in Italian, which was now 
 more habitual to her from her long residence in 
 Italy than French, *' Dear Agnes, it is so hot.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEE. 41 
 
 and I am so thirsty — I must try and get some 
 lemonade." 
 
 The young cavalier scarcely gave her time to 
 finish the sentence, before he was at her side 
 with the desired beverage. The Marchesa 
 politely thanked him, and bceing a group of 
 masks that she thought she recognised, moved 
 on to join them, while the youth still hovered 
 close to Isabelle. 
 
 " Ah !'' said he, *' I have discovered your 
 name — it is Agnes- sweet Agnes ! — I will give 
 you a lesson in telling fortunes, if you will give 
 me your hand. There now," said he, taking 
 it and pressing it to his lips gallantly, " 1 will 
 read the lines of your destiny." 
 
 Isabelle drew back her hand half frightened. 
 
 " Forgive me," continued he, earnestly, "I 
 did not intend to offend you — it was the tones 
 of your charming voice that first attracted me, 
 and now I would give worlds to see you without 
 your mask." 
 
 By this time the Marchesa, who found her-
 
 42 THE LADY OF 
 
 self quite separated from the party with whom 
 she had entered the room, turned her steps 
 towards the vestibule, and called for her 
 gondola. The crowd was so excessive, that 
 Isabelle with great difficulty clung to the arm 
 of her aunt— yet, notwithstanding all her exer- 
 tions to keep close ti her, she was forcibly 
 jostled apart by a group of Pulcinellas and 
 Arlecchinos, and to her dismay, found herself 
 alone in the midst of a masked crowd entirely 
 unknown to her. For an instant she stood 
 motionless with terror; but almost immediately 
 the young Spaniard was at her side, and seizing 
 her hand drew her on rapidly whispering : 
 
 " We shall reach your chaperon in a moment, 
 but first tell me, T conjure you, are you to be 
 at the entertainment given at the ducal palazzo 
 to-morrow evening?'' 
 
 Isabelle, who knew her aunt would be tl ere, 
 and that she was to accompany her, answered 
 in the affirmative. 
 
 "And your dress?— do not deny me the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEE. 43 
 
 happiness of recognising you again — What is to 
 be your dress?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," replied Isabelle, with much 
 confusion, " my aunt has not yet decided what 
 character I am to appear in." 
 
 The youth made a gesture of disappointment, 
 and exclaimed : 
 
 " ^Nevertheless it is impossible, that I shall 
 not recognise you." 
 
 He now led Isabelle to the top of the steps^ 
 where they found Marchesa anxiously looking 
 around in search of her. 
 
 With a hasty reprimand to Isabelle for her 
 giddiness in thus allowing herself to be separated 
 from her, and a cold bow to the masked stranger, 
 the Marchesa desired Isabelle to descend into 
 the gondola before her. The young cavalier 
 however, nothing daunted by the distant air 
 of the Marchesa, assisted Isabelle down the 
 steps, and then, beckoning to a gondolier to 
 approach, sprang into another gondola, and 
 desired the boatmen to follow the one into which
 
 44 THE LADY OF 
 
 the two ladies had just entered ; and to mark 
 where they landed. But in the confusion oc- 
 casioned by the number of gondolas, which 
 pressed forward to receive the departing guests, 
 he had the mortification to loose sight of it, 
 almost immediately. 
 
 On the following evening the stranger sought 
 in vain for the young maiden, amidst the 
 crowd of masks who filled the extensive suite 
 of apartments in the ducal palazzo. 
 
 At length, in the timid air of a young nun 
 of the order of St. Francesca, he thought he 
 recognised her towards the latter end of the 
 evening. She was seated alone in a little 
 bower of lemon trees, which had been so well 
 arranged on one of the balconies, as to look as 
 if they had taken root there, and on his ap- 
 proaching her, dressed in the same Spanish 
 garb as that he wore on the preceding evening, 
 he saw by a slight involuntary start that she 
 had recognised him. 
 
 He now eagerly accosted her, and tried to
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 45 
 
 prevail on her to unmask, but in vain, she 
 seemed terrified by his entreaties, and hastily- 
 joined her aunt who was on the other side of 
 the bower, and was now preparing to depart. 
 
 The young Cavalier much mortified, fol- 
 lowed them closely and leaning over the balus- 
 trade beheld the Marchesa enter the gondola, 
 but the young maiden who had just caught a 
 glimpse of his figure, and who had already re- 
 pented of the cold reception she had given 
 him, turning her head to be certain that it was 
 indeed he who was observing them, made a 
 fa^se step and was immediately precipitated into 
 the canal. Quick as lightning the stranger 
 flung himself from the balcony into the water, 
 and endeavoured to grasp her robe, but in vain, 
 the stroke of a gondolier anxious to reach the 
 place where the guests were taking their de- 
 parture brought his gondola over the very spot 
 where her mantiglia had been seen, and the 
 disappointed youth dived impetuously beneath 
 the boat in search of her.
 
 416 THE LABT OF 
 
 It was however only the work of a moment. 
 Before any of the gondoliers had time to offer 
 their assistance, and while the piercing shrieks 
 of the Marchesa still echoed on the ear, the 
 Spanish mask appeared again upon the surface 
 of the water, and though stunned himself by 
 an accidental stroke from one of the oars, bore 
 in his arms the fainting form of Isabelle, who 
 though apparently unconscious, heard, as in a 
 dream, his whispered ejaculation of " Lovely 
 Agnes ! it is I — be not afraid — you are safe." 
 
 The gondola now moved on, the Marchesa 
 almost forgetting in her transport at recover- 
 ing her niece, to thank her deliverer, but the 
 youth had now no difficulty in discovering to 
 whom the gondola belonged, as this accident 
 had attracted many eyes towards it and he soon 
 found its destination was towards the palazzo 
 of the Loredan. 
 
 For several days the young stranger lingered 
 about that quarter of Venice in which the 
 palazzo of Loredan was situated — sometimes he
 
 THE BED CHAMBERa 47 
 
 watcKed the great gate of the court, in hopes 
 he should see the maiden issue from its portal — 
 at other times from a gondola he observed the 
 marble steps which led to the edge of the canal' 
 and cast many a wistful look towards the 
 balconies projecting over the water, but all his 
 watchings and vigils appeared doomed to be 
 fruitless — dames and cavaliers, domestics and 
 gondoliers, went and came, but amongst them 
 he recognised not the slender form he had 
 snatched from the Lagune. 
 
 The carnival was past. It was now the 
 season of fasting and prayer, and every evening 
 saw the young Isabelle closely veiled, with her 
 gouvernante, sometimes also accompanied by 
 the Marchesa, pass through a private egress 
 from the palazzo, and enter the neighbouring 
 church of the Salute. As yet however she 
 had escaped the vigilant eye of her lover, whose 
 disappointment at not beholding her, made him 
 only more anxious in the pursuit.
 
 48 THE LADY OF 
 
 One evening the youth, weary of thus vainly 
 watching th-e balconies and windows of the 
 palazzo from his gondola, af rayed into this 
 church. It was dimly lighted — so dimly that 
 the figures which moved through its long aisles, 
 seemed to flit about like so many spectres. At 
 the conclusion of the service, Isabelle rose from 
 her devotions. She had been kneeling close 
 beside a pillar, and was quite ia the shade. 
 Suddenly she heard a voice near her, which 
 she immediately recognized as that of the young 
 cavalier who had so adventurously plunged into 
 the Lagune after her, on the night of the 
 masquerade. 
 
 He exclaimed in a low whisper as he bent 
 his he id near hers, " Agnes I lovely Agnes — 
 have I found you again — I knew your voice 
 when you joined in the Vesper hymn just now. 
 How fortunate that I should accidentally seat 
 myself on a bench close beside you ! Speak — 
 tell me that I am not mistaken— that it is in-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEK. 49 
 
 deed you whom I have found. Ah ! if you 
 knew how unweariedly I have sought for 
 you r 
 
 Isabelle started and trembled, but she did 
 not now draw back the hand which he had 
 taken. 
 
 " I am very glad Signer," replied she in a 
 faltering voice, "to be able to return you thanks 
 in person, for the great service you have ren- 
 dered me. Believe me I am truly grateful." 
 
 " Will you prove it," said the young stranger 
 in soft persuasive accents. 
 
 " How. can I?" replied Isabelle, and as she 
 uttered these words, Nina approached, (the 
 Marchesa had not accompanied them that 
 evening) and whispered to her, that it was time 
 to depart. 
 
 *' Good nurse," said the stranger, slipping a 
 heavy purse in^o her hand, "you will not re- 
 fuse me a few moments' conversation with you 
 young mistress?" 
 
 Then turning to Isabelle whose hand he still 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 THE LADY OF 
 
 held within his, he added in a tone of passionate 
 entreaty. 
 
 ** Sweet one I you will not refuse to listen to 
 me for five minutes ?" 
 
 The considerate Nina removed to a little 
 distance, and the agitated Isabelle felt that she 
 could not deny this request made by one to 
 whom she was so deeply indebted. The church 
 was now nearly empty, only a solitary step 
 was heard, here and there, echoing through the 
 distant aisles. Many of the lamps had gone 
 out, but the rays of the moon just risen, had 
 found their way through the painted glass of a 
 gothic window at some distance, and threw a 
 transient light upon the figures of the youth 
 and maiden as they stood behind the pillar — 
 he, pouring forth the most passionate protesta- 
 tions of love, and recounting his hopes, his 
 fears, his disappointments in the search he had 
 after her — she, listening to his vows with an 
 inexplicable mixture of timid bewilderment 
 and unacknowledged pleasure, but soon the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 51 
 
 prudent Nina approached, fearful that their 
 delay might be remarked, and hurried her 
 young mistress away, not however before the 
 youth had obtained from Isabelle a reluctant 
 promise that she would not mention this acci- 
 dental meeting to the Marchesa, lest it might 
 induce her to forbid their attendance at vespers 
 on the following evening. 
 
 Too young to understand aright those vague 
 and delicious sensations just awakened in her 
 little heart, or to know if indeed she had a 
 heart to bestow, Isabelle deemed this new and 
 sweet emotion, the chord of passionate feeling 
 for the first time touched in her existence, but 
 as the ebullition of a gratitude due to this 
 young stranger. Nevertheless, a secret con- 
 sciousness that it was wrong to listen to such 
 language without the knowledge of her aunt, 
 would in all probability have prevented her 
 from throwing herself in the way of another 
 interview had not Nina, won by his gold, per- 
 suaded her that she could not, without base 
 D 2 
 
 OBRAW
 
 52 THE LADY OF 
 
 ingratitude, fly from her preserver, that while 
 she was with her, there could not be the 
 slightest impropriety in meeting him in the 
 church, and that as to telling her aunt, it 
 would be the word for her own immediate dis- 
 missal. 
 
 This last argument settled the question, for 
 since the marriage of the Marchesa, her temper 
 had become so variable and irritable that 
 Isabelle trembled at the idea of losing Nina. 
 
 Thus, the next evening at the hour of ves- 
 pers, when the presence of the Marchasa pre- 
 vented the youth from addressing Isabelle, she 
 did not breathe a hint of his vicinity, although 
 conscious that he was hovering near her ; nor 
 did she on the following one, when the absence 
 of her aunt gave him an opportunity, reject the 
 locket which he fastened round her neck, or 
 refuse to bestow on him the little gold cross 
 attached to her rosary, for A\hich he so passion- 
 ately entreated ; neither did she listen with 
 indifference when he told her, that he must
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 53 
 
 leave Venice on the following day, for a week, 
 but that on his return, he would disclose his 
 name and rank to her relatives, and demand 
 her hand in marriage. 
 
 His name and rank ! Silly girl ! she had 
 never even asked him his name — she knew not 
 his country — his profession — they were at this 
 instant, almost as beings of another sphere to 
 each other. 
 
 They had met at the masquerade — they had 
 met beneath the star-lit heavens — by the flit- 
 ting moonbeams, and in the shadowy and dimly 
 lighted aisles of the church of the Salute ; but 
 could she tell if it might not be the uncertainty 
 of those meetings, and the undefinable charm 
 which the concealment of a masquerade dress 
 and the transient glimpses caught of her veiled 
 form through the dimness and obscurity of 
 evening, that awakened this passionate love in 
 the breast of the stranger. Whether her dark 
 eyes would have looked as fascinating, and her 
 smile as angelic when seen in the garish eye of
 
 54 THE LADY OF 
 
 day, cannot now be told, for within that week, 
 during the absence of her lover, Isabelle was 
 hurried away from Yenice, with the indignant 
 Marchesa, by the imperious husband the latter 
 had so madly chosen. 
 
 It might be about ten days after this last 
 meeting cf Isabelle and the young stranger in 
 the church of the Salute that, towards the 
 close of a fine spring evening, two cavaliers, 
 apparently foreigners, coming from opposite 
 sides of the square of St. Mark, met beneath 
 the massive fa9ide of the cathedral church 
 which forms one end of that far-famed square. 
 
 The deepening twilight threw its indistinct 
 shadows upon the groups who still lingered 
 around, while their different costumes and the 
 confused hum of many languages, proclaimed 
 them to be the denizens of different countries. 
 The shops were already beginning to be de- 
 serted, and the coffee-houses and places of en- 
 tertainment were filling fast. Here and there 
 you might see some stranger preparing to re-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 55 
 
 turn to his borne, pause to gaze upon the beau- 
 tiful harbour, with its gondolas in the distance, 
 or glance with a look of wonder through the 
 hollow court of the palace of the Doge upon 
 the Giant's Steps. 
 
 ** Have you discovered your beautiful incog- 
 nita, Adhemar?" demanded the elder of the 
 cavaliers, as he approached the other; who, 
 with his dark eyes fixed upon the ground, was 
 walking slowly,and apparently in deep thought, 
 beneath the facade of the church. 
 
 " JSTo, Kaoul J" exclaimed the other, starting 
 at the sound of his friend's voice, and exhibit- 
 ing the handsome but dejected countenance of 
 a youth of nineteen. ** Agnes is gone, and 
 I can find no trace of her — The palazzo of the 
 Loredan is deserted— All the family left Venice 
 last week, no one knows whither — I found that 
 Agnes is the niece, not the daughter of the 
 Marchesa, from the stupid old porter, who is 
 the only soul remaining in the palazzo — and he 
 knows not even her name, only la Signora
 
 66 THE LADY OF 
 
 Agnesef—l have lost her for ever — so artless — 
 so timid— so ingenuous!" 
 
 *' My dear Adhemar !" rejoined his friend, 
 " this is a most romantic affair ; but, perhaps, 
 it is better it has ended thus. What would 
 your father have said to it?" . 
 
 " 1 care not," said Adhemar, impetuously, 
 
 " could I but find Agnes— my father might be 
 
 angry but he would forgive — I was to have 
 
 met her at the church of the Salute a few nights 
 
 since — we had arranged it the evening before I 
 
 left Venice — her nurse, whom I had gained 
 
 over to my interest, was to accompany her — I 
 
 watched, 1 lingered till night in the church ; 
 
 but they came not— next day I watched the 
 
 gates, the windows, the balconies of the 
 
 palazzo, but no one appeared — they seemed all 
 
 deserted — grown desperate I at last ventured 
 
 to knock at the gate, this brought out the old 
 
 porter, who told me that he was now the only 
 
 inmate within the walls*" 
 
 *' Believe me I sympathise in your disap-
 
 THE BEB-CHAMBER. 57 
 
 pointraent, my dear friend !" replied his com- 
 panion, suppressing something very like a smile 
 at those bitter regrets of Adhemar. " But I 
 suspect that, after all, you would most likely 
 have suffered a more severe disappointment by 
 and by. It is not impossible but that your 
 Agnes may resemble the rose 
 
 " Quanto si mostra men, tanto e piu hella,''' 
 
 " You have only seen her in the moonlight, and 
 the starlight, half hidden beneath the folds of 
 her black veil. Perhaps you would have smiled 
 at your romantic love, could you have com- 
 pared her with other beauties in the open 
 day." 
 
 " It may be so," said Adhemar, with a deep 
 sigh, " but I shall ever regret her loss." 
 
 " And you told her that you loved her," said 
 Raoul, enquiringly, " and what said she !" 
 
 " She started, and trembled," replied Adhe- 
 mar, " and looked around for her nurse ; then 
 D 5
 
 58 THE LABY OF 
 
 he weptj and told me ehe could never forget 
 how I had saved her life." 
 
 " Yes !" said his companion, '' if you had 
 not thrown yourself so rashly from that high 
 gallery, and dived for her under the gondola, 
 she was gone — I was looking on, and perceived 
 that the gondoliers near at hand, were quite 
 intoxicated and unable to assist her — I suppose 
 they had been carousing, and keeping the 
 carnival amongst themselves." 
 
 ** I think I shall leave Yenice to-morrow,*' 
 said Adhemar, gloomily, " it is detestable to 
 me now." 
 
 " After all, it is but a iriste place, except 
 perhaps during the carnival," said Eaoul. 
 " Those gondolas covered with black cloth, 
 and those grave patricians masked and dressed 
 in black with their mute gondoliers, and those 
 old, dark, gothic looking houses, often chill my 
 blood — this silent city makes me shudder — 
 Nothing ever looks animated except in St. 
 Mark's Square, and even here, when 1 happeis
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 59 
 
 to enter it early in the morning I cast a wistful 
 glance to see if there may not be half a dozen 
 gibbets planted during the night with a dead 
 body swinging from each of them." 
 
 *' Then suppose we arrange to leave Venice 
 in company to-morrow ?" enquired Adhemar. 
 ** I shall certainly not remain here a day longer." 
 
 "Be it so," replied his campanion, gaily — 
 " then to-morrow we bid adieu to thee " Island 
 Queen of the Adriatic !*' and thus saying, they 
 parted.
 
 60 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 " All'odiose nozze, 
 Come, vittima io vengo all' ara avanti." 
 
 Metastasio. 
 
 " Care selve beate, 
 
 E voi solinghi, e taciturni orrori 
 
 Di riposo, e di pace alberghi veri 
 
 quanto yolontieri 
 
 A rivedervi i' torno !" 
 
 GUAHINI. 
 
 The morning of her marriage day arrived, 
 Isabdl©; though weary and sick at heart, had
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 61 
 
 not gone to rest all the night. Part of it had 
 been spent in the chapel, and the remainder at 
 prayers, in her own little oratory. She was 
 still kneeling at her devotions, when a slight 
 noise in the adjoining apartment aroused her 
 attention. She knew that her attendant was 
 there, arranging her dress for the approaching 
 ceremony. She had seen the spotless white 
 robe and veil, and the wreath of orange flowers 
 in which she was to consummate, what she 
 felt was truly a sacrifice, laid out in the 
 dressing-room, before she had dismissed Vic- 
 toire on the preceding evening, and she at first 
 thought, it might be only some message from 
 her marchand de modes, who, she knew, consi- 
 dered the minutia of her dress, as a matter of 
 very great importance, when she was startled, 
 by distinguishing the suppressed accents of a 
 male voice. 
 
 Presently Victoire knocked at the door, and 
 on being desired to enter, said : — 
 
 " That the Baron De Montfort entreated, to
 
 62 THE LADY OF 
 
 be permitted to have a few minutes' conver 
 sation wi|h Mademoiselle De Valcour !" 
 
 Isabelle had scarcely time to make a motion 
 of assent — speak she could not, so great was 
 her {astonishment — when the Baron himself, 
 hastily entering, and closing the door on her 
 attendant, stood before her.^ 
 
 If Isabelle was pale and dejected from her 
 long vigil, stiil paler^ and more haggard looked 
 the young Baron, while, unheeding her almost 
 inarticulate request, that he would be seated, 
 he thus addressed her: — 
 
 " Mademoiselle De Valcour, if 1 do not 
 much mistake, your dislike to this ill-starred 
 union, is as deeply rooted as my own — speak — 
 tell me, is it so? Yet, need I ask you! — 
 you, too, have spent a wakeful and a tearful 
 night I" 
 
 His voice was calm, and he seemed by a 
 violent effort, to suppress all emotion, as 
 leaning on the back of a chair, he paused to 
 await her answer. It was impossible for Isa-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 6S 
 
 belle to restrain her tears, while he uttered 
 those words, so careworn was his aspect, and 
 for a moment she could not speak ; then with 
 trepidation, she replied : — 
 
 ** Monsieur, you have read my feelings 
 aright — devoted to a conventual life, I would 
 willingly be the bride of God alone! Is it 
 possible ? — can we — " 
 
 " It is impossible," replied the Baron, hur- 
 riedly interrupting her. *' I came not for that 
 — at eleven o'clock we must meet in the 
 chapel, in the presence of the King and Queen 
 — but I am offered a high post, in the embassy 
 at Constantinople, by my uncle, who is ap- 
 pointed ambassador there. It is for both our 
 happiness to separate— I purpose leaving Paris 
 this very day — you shall reside where you 
 like, either in Paris, or at the Chateau De 
 Beaumont, in Normandy, with an income 
 suitable to your rank. Speak! Mademoiselle 
 De Valcour — does this meet your approba- 
 tion?"
 
 64 THE LADY OF 
 
 But he need not have asked her — no reply 
 •was necessary — he saw her approval written in 
 her eyes — in the beautiful colour, that flashed 
 across her pale cheek — in the pleased expres- 
 sion that played around her lip — and he well 
 remembered these indications of her sentiments 
 afterwards. 
 
 Isabelle felt as if a mountain had been taken 
 off her heart, and after expressing her entire 
 concurrence in his plans, said that a residence 
 at the Chateau de Beaumont would, at present, 
 be most consonant to her wishes. In fact the 
 very idea of going to be her own mistress in 
 the country, made her entirely forget, for the 
 moment, that she was about to be married, and 
 after the Baron's departure, she remained in a 
 pleasing reverie until Victoire announced, that 
 it was quite time for her young mistress to 
 dress. 
 
 The marriage was celebrated in the presence 
 of the King and Queen, the Count de Beau- 
 mont and several of the lords and ladies of the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 65 
 
 court. The King himself gave away the bride 
 and the Bishop of Meaux performed the cere- 
 mony. Isabelle felt all the time she knelt be- 
 side the altar, as if she were in a dream, 
 nothing around her appeared to have a palpable 
 shape or form — it was to her, but as the fleeting 
 vision of a magic mirror, till she felt the cold 
 hand of De Montfort place the ring upon her 
 finger, the touch seemed to strike an ice bolt 
 to her heart — and now it was over and the 
 King handed her into her carriage, and Isabelle 
 bowed and tried to smile in reply to the various 
 words he uttered, but they all fell upon an un- 
 conscious ear, for she heard nothing. 
 
 In an hour or two all was arranged for their 
 departure from Paris, and Isabelle found her- 
 self, with an inexpressible sensation of pleasure 
 leaving the capital behind her, as the horses 
 galloped on at a rapid race. This feeling was 
 much increased by hearing from Victoire, who 
 was her travelling companion, that the. Baron 
 and his train had parted company from them at
 
 66 THE LADY OF 
 
 about ten leagues from Paris, and had pro- 
 ceeded in a different direction from the one they 
 were travelling. 
 
 They did not however reach the Chateau de 
 Beaumont, situated in a remote part of Nor- 
 mandy, till the latter end of the third day. 
 Isabelle's heart absolutely bounded with a 
 rapturous sense of freedom, when she beheld 
 the beautiful hills and valleys, through which 
 the road wound for several leagues before they 
 reached the Chateau. If the face of the 
 country wanted the bold magnificence of her 
 native mountain scenery, she saw, in its fruitful 
 orchards and smiling valleys — its narrow bowery 
 lanes and little rivulets, the picture of a sweet 
 retirement. 
 
 The Chateau stood in a secluded valley about 
 a mile distant from the sea shore, and was an 
 ancient building of considerable extent. In 
 former times it had been the constant residence 
 of the. family of De Beaumont, but the present 
 Count, losing his wife a few years after his
 
 THE BED CHAMBER. 67 
 
 marriage, had since resided principally in Paris, 
 only visiting the Chateau occasionally. It had 
 however been put into some sort of order in 
 expectation of the arrival of the young bride 
 9nd bridegroom, as the Count, who had given 
 it up to his son on his marriage, was quite igno- 
 rant of the arrangements De Montfort was 
 about to make. 
 
 The Baroness d'Anglures only sister of the 
 Count de Beaumont, a widow lady who resided 
 in the neighbourhood with her two daughters, 
 had arrived at the chateau that morning to 
 receive the young bride ; a letter received 
 from her nephew the preceding day having 
 notified to her his extraordinary resolution of 
 departing forthwith for Constantinople. 
 
 Madame d' Anglures, much startled by this 
 announcement, and feeling deeply interested for 
 her new relative, as did Josephine and Eulalie 
 her daughters, had hastened to be on the spot 
 when the young Baroness should arrive, in or- 
 der ,by her sympathy and kiudnesSjto endeavour
 
 68 THE LADY OF 
 
 to soften the situation in which De Montfort 
 had so cruelly placed her. 
 
 Isabelle was touched and flattered by this 
 kind attention of Madame d* Anglures, who, 
 though astonished that her nephew could ne- 
 glect so much loveliness, soon perceived that 
 Isabelle was indifferent to, if not satisfied 
 with his proceedings, and that not even a 
 spark of mortified vanity could be discerned 
 in her artless deportment. In f\ict, for the 
 first time since the death of her father, Isabelle 
 had felt a buoyancy of spirits on entering 
 the avenue which led to the old Chateau, that 
 made her see everything in couleur de rose. 
 All around her spoke of peace and liberty ; 
 and when she beheld the engaging counten- 
 ance of Madame d' Anglures, and was em- 
 braced by Josephine and Eulalie as a cousin, 
 it seemed to her, as if in leaving the flatteries 
 and illusions of a court, she hud been at once 
 transported into the bosjm of truth and friend- 
 ship.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 69 
 
 Madame d' Anglures did the honours of the 
 Chateau that evening, and introduced all the 
 aged domestics to Isabelle, while Josephine 
 and Eulalie, who knew every corner of it from 
 infancy, led her through the long galleries and 
 innumerable tapestried apartments, now cal- 
 ling her attention to one window, to look at a 
 distant view of the sea, then to another, to 
 admire what a lovely deep dell it hung over, 
 and how from a third,a flight of steps descended 
 into the extensive hanging gardens, once so 
 beautifully kept that strangers often came 
 from a distance to see them, though now from 
 want of the eye of a mistress, they looked in 
 rather a forlorn condition, 
 
 Isabelle had not seen more than half the 
 Chateau when supper-time arrived, and soon 
 after she retired to the apartments prepared 
 for her. They were those formerly occupied 
 by the late Countess de Beaumont, and looked 
 out into a delicious little moon-lit glade.
 
 70 THE LADY OF 
 
 Victorie was waiting to receive her lady, and 
 Isabelle, fatigued from all the novelty and ex- 
 citement of the evening, scarcely had laid her 
 head upon the pillow, when she fell into a deep 
 and refreshing sleep ; and the first object she 
 beheld in the morning, was the smiling face of 
 the pretjy Eulalie peeping between her cur- 
 tains. 
 
 The Baroness d' Anglures remained some 
 weeks at the Chateau, w^ith Isabelle, assisting 
 her to receive and return all the visits of the 
 neighbouring gentry, and on her departure, at 
 Isabelle's request, left Eulalie to bear her 
 company. 
 
 Eulalie was a charming, lively little brunette 
 about seventeen years of nge,revelling in health 
 and spirits, and delighting in all country 
 amusements and employments. 
 
 Disliking much stud}^, or anything that de- 
 manded a great deal of attention, Eulalie was 
 always gay, always bright, always occupied
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 71 
 
 with a thousand innocent little schemes, some 
 of them almost childish, but bringing joy with 
 her wherever she appeared — flitting about like 
 a butterfly, and living almost in the open air 
 — enjoying the breeze, the sun, the flowers, and 
 loving and watching over every young thing 
 that was alivc.nowit was a nest of unfledged 
 birds, which she had purchased from some mis- 
 chevious urchins. Then a pet dove^ — a kitten 
 " — a little dog, that engrossed all her cares : yet 
 notwithstanding their great dissimilarity of 
 character, never were two young friends more 
 suited to each other than Isabelle and 
 Eulalie. 
 
 Isabelle's more grave turn of mind was a 
 counterpoise to the wild animation of Eulalie, 
 while Eulalie on her side prevented Isabelle 
 from applying herself too much to sedentary 
 pursuits. Thus, when Eulalie read or drew in 
 the morning to please Isabelle, the latter was 
 obliged to lay aside her books and pencils in the 
 afternoon, and stray with her gay little com-
 
 72 THE LADY OF 
 
 panion through every tangled path in the neigh- 
 bouring woods — now up that steep track to the 
 summit of the hill to gaze upon the sea — then 
 through the meadows to watch the young lambs, 
 and very often into the farm yard, to have a 
 peep at all the live creatures there. Then they 
 visited together all the farm houses, and poor 
 cottages around — Isabella sketched out a plan 
 for a school hou-e, and then there was to look 
 out for a school mistress ; and to watch the 
 progress of the building, while the Baroness 
 d'Anglures frequently brouglit Josephine to 
 spend the day with them, and to join in their 
 pursuits — Sometimes too, though not very 
 often, Isabelle invited a few of the neighbour- 
 ing gentry in the evening, and then they had 
 music and dancing, Madame d'Anglures being 
 always of the party, and although Isabelle did 
 not permit the remembrance of her strange 
 marriage to trouble her repose, yet she never 
 forgot that she was a Baroness and lady of her 
 castle, and did the honours of her chateau with
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 73 
 
 graceful dignity. And indeed there was nothing 
 to recal the memory of her marriage to Tsabelle 
 except as a painful dream that was past. She 
 scarcely ever heard the name 'of the Baron de 
 Montfort pronounced by any one — his relations 
 studiously avoiding any allusion to him, and 
 the old followers and tenantry, seeing there 
 was something strange and mysterious in the 
 Baron thus living away from his beautiful wife, 
 whatever they might say amongst themselves 
 on the subject, never made mention of him in 
 h^r presence. 
 
 Isabelle divided her time between reading, 
 perfecting herself in the many accomplishments 
 she already possessed — paying charitable visits 
 to all her poor tenantry, who looked up to her 
 as to something angelic, and in the primitive 
 society and innocent recreations of her few 
 near neighbours. Friendship for Eulalie and 
 Josephine seemed to have supplanted all idea of 
 love in her bosom, and her life passed away in a 
 peaceful, calm, and sunshine. She could now 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 t1 THE LADY OF 
 
 laugh as merrily as Eulalie, and climb the 
 steepest hill with as light and elastic a step — 
 * the nun like air ' had entirely vanished from 
 her graceful figure, and a delicate and beautiful 
 rose-colour tinted her before pale cheek, and it 
 was universally allowed in the neighbourhood, 
 that there was no one, half so good or half so 
 lovely, as the young Baronesa de Montfort. 
 
 *' He is coming — he is coming I" said Eulalie 
 one morning, as she darted into the room where 
 Isabelle was drawing, and throwing her arms 
 playfully round the neck of the young Baroness 
 made her give a sad splash to the picture on 
 which she was employed. *' He is coming !" 
 she exclaimed agnin, altnodt out of her wits 
 with joy, and then she danced and waltzed in 
 an ecstasy of delight about the room. 
 
 *^ Who is coming, dear Eulalie?" said Isabelle 
 laughing, " do pray come and sit down near 
 me, and tell me all about it, while I try and 
 wash out this sad spot in my picture." 
 
 " Dear Isabelle forgive me," replied Eulalie
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. V5 
 
 kissing her — " it is all my fault but it is our 
 old playmate and cousin, Pierre Delamare who 
 has been absent for two years at the college in 
 Paris, and is to be at our Chateau to-morrow 
 on his way to the house of his guardian where 
 he is to spend a few months before he come^ of 
 age — here is a note from Josephine, and we are 
 to go over and stay a week with mamma — that 
 is, dear Isabelle," added she coaxingly, "if it 
 will be agreeable to you." 
 
 ** Oh yes— it will be quite delightful, I long 
 already to see your old playmate Eulalie," said 
 Isabelle still laughing, " but how comes it that 
 you never mentioned hitn to me before?" 
 
 " I cannot tell how it was," replied Eulalie, 
 and here she blushed deeply, ** just before he 
 went to Paris, he was at his studies and we 
 did not see a great deal of him — no — yes, I 
 did see him certainly sometimes whilo he was at 
 his guardian's house, which is only a league 
 from this, but when we were very young we 
 were always together and he used to climb the 
 E 2
 
 76 THE LADY OF 
 
 trees, and pull nuts for us, and bring me such 
 beautiful bouquets of flowers — to Josephine as 
 well as to me," added Eulalie, and again she 
 blushed, "and then we had such games at 
 Colin Maillard and Proverbs." 
 
 " Then he will be a great acquisition indeed,' 
 said Isabelle, glancing at Eulalie, but appearing 
 to be very industriously employed in repairing 
 the injury done to the drawling, *' for I sup- 
 pose, if he be so good a hand at Colin Maillard^ 
 he is likewise fond of dancing, and w^ould like 
 to dance all the evening long as you do?" 
 
 " Pierre was grown more grave when I saw 
 him last," said Eulalie, "but he could dance 
 and waltz without ever being tired ; but he is 
 not too grave however, and he is so very 
 clever that his godfather, the Archbishop of 
 
 i said if he wou]^ go into the church he 
 
 would certainly become a cardinal but ; I know 
 Pierre will never take holy orders and he will 
 soon be his ow^n master."
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 11 
 
 " And then I suppose he will marry," said 
 Isabelle, and settle down here very quietly." 
 
 " I know not how that will be," replied 
 Eulalie in some confusion, " but — oh ! there is 
 my little pet fawn looking for me, I must fly 
 to feed her — Good bye Isabelle," and Eulalie 
 all smiles and blushes darted out of the room.
 
 t8 THE LADY OT 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 There, as in glist'ring glory she did sit, 
 She held a great gold chaine ylinked well, 
 
 Whose upper end to highest heaven was knit. 
 And lower part did reach to lowest hell ; 
 
 And all that prease did round about her swell. 
 To catehen hold of that long chaine, thereby 
 
 To climb aloft and others to excell ; 
 . That was Ambition, rash desire to stie ; 
 
 And ev'ry link thereof a step of dignitie. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 Early the next day Isabelle, accompanied by 
 the happy Eulalie, went to the Chateau d' 
 Anglures^
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 79 
 
 It was an old-fashioned, gloomy- looking 
 building occupying three sides of a court, 
 which was shut in by a massy gate. The prin- 
 cipal apartments, however looked into a hang- 
 ing garden at one side of the Chateau, con- 
 sisting of several terraces, and commanding a 
 beautiful view of the hills and valleys around ; 
 and on fete days, like the present, this suite of 
 apartments being thrown open, Isabelle was 
 conducted into the grand salon, where she 
 found Madame d' Anglures with Josephine and 
 several of their country neighbours whom they 
 had invited, in order to have a merry party to 
 welcome Pierre Delamare, who had been a 
 great favourite in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Isabelle looked behind for Eulalie, but she 
 was flown to the garden, having recognised 
 through a window in the gallery the figure of 
 her cousin at. a distance. Yet although she 
 had darted forward like a young fawn to meet 
 him, an involuntary feeling of timidity made
 
 80 THE LADY OF 
 
 her pause, and she would have flown back 
 again had not the young man suddenly turned 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 "Eulaliel" 
 
 Why did her heart beat so violently when 
 he took her hand, and why did its pulsation as 
 quickly cease for an instant when their eyes 
 met ! Was he not the same Pierre Delamare 
 as of yore ? What was it that thus chilled her 
 young heart — was it a presentiment that a 
 change had come over him ? The feeling, how- 
 ever, vanished almost instantaneously. Tlie 
 colour rose to Pierre's temples as he gazed 
 upon Eulalie ; then he told her how well she 
 looked, and how very glad he was to see her 
 again ; and a softer expression took possession 
 of his features, while a bright joy shone in his 
 eyes. Soon, however, starting and checking 
 himself, as if a sudden thought had flashed 
 across his mind, he propos^ed, rather hurriedly, 
 that they should join the company in the 
 salon.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 81 
 
 Isabelle was much surprised whea she first 
 beheld Pierre Delamare. From Eulalie's evi- 
 dent partiality and the artless account she had 
 given of him, she had represented to herself a 
 gay, handsome, ingenuous-looking youth, not 
 unlike the other young men in the province — 
 perhaps a little more polished in manners and 
 exterior, but she was not prepared for the 
 thoughtful brow, the studious air, and the 
 cold, dignified composure of the young man 
 who now followed Eulalie into the salon. 
 
 Handsome he decidedly was, but he wanted 
 the frank, open expression of youth, and there 
 was a reserve in his manners looks and speech, 
 a sort of calculating caution, that seemed to 
 throw a veil over his own thoughts and feelings, 
 while he keenly analyzed those of others. 
 Such was the impression he made upon Isabelle 
 at first sight, and which a further acquaintance 
 only served to confirm. That Eulalie liked him, 
 although so very dissimilar to herself in every 
 way, Isabelle saw at a glance, and yet sha felt 
 E 5
 
 82 THE LADY or 
 
 satisfied that Madame d' Anglures and Josephine 
 were perfectly blind to this preference. But 
 that Pierre Delamare had any attachment for 
 Eulalie, was what she could not at all fathom, 
 although her love and anxiety for her little 
 friend mabe her study him narrowly. 
 
 Notwithstanding, however, these nice ob- 
 servations of Isabelle, the general opinion was, 
 that two years' absence from the province had 
 wonderfully improved Delamare. His polished 
 manners and agreeable conversation, shewed 
 that he had mixed in the best society, while it 
 could easily be perceived, by the learning and 
 erudition he displayed, when the conversation 
 was turned upon scientific or learned points, 
 by two or three old Abbes, who joined their 
 eveninjj circle, that his studies had been severe 
 and classical, and to all these advantages, he 
 united an eloquent delivery, and a fine fiow of 
 language, when he chose, that was sure to cap- 
 tivate his hearers. 
 
 He did not, however, captivate Isabelle, wha,
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEE. 83 
 
 occupied in watching Eulalie, saw, with some 
 pain, that her little favourite hung upon the 
 words of Delamare, as if they had been so many 
 oracles. It is certainly true, that he was the lion 
 of the party, and that Madame d'Anglures, Jose- 
 phine, Jiud all their guests, listened to him 
 with unwearied attention; but Isabelie read, 
 in the glowing cheek and speaking countenance 
 of Eulalie, the gratified pride that one feels, 
 in the triumph of a belove i object. 
 
 '' Eulalie thinks of nothing but Delamare," 
 said Isabelie, with a sigh, as she laid her head 
 upon her pillow, " and it grieves me to the 
 heart ; for if he ever did feel affection for her, 
 worldly pursuits and pleasures have stifled the 
 sentiment in his bosom, yet he must have 
 made her believe so, one time or other.'' 
 
 And Eulalie? Eulalie seated herself on 
 the side of her couch, in her own little apart- 
 ment, and as she slowly unbound the braids 
 of her beiutiful hair, she thus soliloquized , — 
 
 " Pierre has had no opportunity to speak
 
 84 THE LADY UF 
 
 much to me to-day, but I am certain he loves 
 me. Have not his eyes, his manner, told me 
 so a thousand and a thousand times ! Yes, I 
 know I may rely upon his faith and truth 
 entirely. Tliat last sad evening, before he 
 went to Paris — it was the close of a fete day, 
 and we walked to the top of the Cote de 
 Grace, to see what was going on — Ah ; 1 re- 
 member it as if it were but yesterday — I 
 stole away, as I thought unperceived, from 
 mama and Josephine, into the little chapel, 
 to hang up a votive offering for him, and to 
 say a prayer, when I heard a step behind me, 
 and was startled at beholding Pierre— did he 
 not take my hand — did he not say to me : — 
 
 " * Eulalie, when I am far away, hundreds of 
 the youth of the province will sue for this dear 
 hand, and thou wilt forget me, Eulalie — but, 
 Eulalie, dear Eulalie— ' Ah! what would he 
 not have said then, had not Josephine come 
 running in, to tell us that the fireworks were 
 just begun, and seizing my arm, drew me
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEB. 86 
 
 away — ves, I know his heart is mine, and 
 once he looked at me so tenderly to-day. 
 How often has he said to me : — * Eulalie, 
 when thou art absent, nothing is fair or beau- 
 tiful in mine eyes !' — It is true, he is changed 
 and become grave, but he is now a student, 
 and can puzzle the good Abbot himself. Yes, 
 I am sure he loves me !" 
 
 Thus did Eulalie try to silence the vague 
 fears of her little heart, and as she spoke, a 
 large tear drop rolled down her cheek, but she 
 soon fell asleep, and dreamed of Pierre, and 
 how he walked with them through the forest 
 glades, as in former times, and in the morning, 
 when she awoke, she was gay and light-hearted 
 as the lark. 
 
 Pierre Delamare was an orphan and cousin 
 to Madame d'Anglures three degrees removed. 
 His mother had been her dearest friend and 
 the young Delamare had always been a wel- 
 come guest at her house. His small patri- 
 mony in the neighbourhood, husbanded by a
 
 S6 TaE LADY OF 
 
 careful guardian, and of which he would 
 shortly come into possession, rendered him a 
 suitable match for any young maiden in the 
 province who had a small dowry of her own. 
 A more worldly minded mother than Madame 
 d'Anglures would have taken all these circum- 
 stances into account and have built upon them 
 accordingly ; but Madame d'Anglures, happy in 
 the society of her daughters who were still 
 very young, always tried to banish fro n her 
 mind any idea of the possibility of her being 
 separated from either of them, and having been 
 always accustomed to feel for young Ddamare 
 the interest of a mother, forgot that a warmer 
 sentiment than that of a brother might attach 
 him to Josephine or Enlalie. 
 
 Josephine was not pretty but she was good 
 and gentle, and having been always used to 
 see the charming lively little Eulalie who was 
 two years younger than herself, the caressed 
 and petted of every one, it did not occur to 
 her as anything remarkable that Pierre should
 
 THE BED- CHAMBER. 87 
 
 always present the handsomest bouquets and 
 finest fruits to her pretty sister, or carry 
 Eulalie in his arms across the streams, v\ hen as 
 children they rambled together, while he per- 
 mitted her to pick her way over the stepping 
 stones as well as she could. 
 
 Yet unconscious as Madame d'Anglures and 
 Josephine were of it, Pierre Delamare did love 
 Eulalie d'Anglures better than anything in the 
 world before he went to Paris — but two years 
 had made a great alteration in the thoughts 
 and day dreams of Pierre — another and a 
 powerful passion was beginning, nay indeed 
 had already made agieat progress in his bosom, 
 and ambition had, during the last year in par- 
 ticular, nearly erased the image of Eulalie from 
 his heart. A new impulse had been given to 
 all the powers and energies of his mind. Until 
 the last year or two, he was ignorant of his 
 own capabilities, now he knew that he had 
 eloquence to enchain the attention of the 
 multitude, whether he became a public speaker
 
 88 THE LADY OP 
 
 at the bar or in the pulpit, with genius to 
 master the most abstruse studies, and he deter- 
 mined to win for himself both wealth and fame. 
 
 His godfather who was Archbishop of , 
 
 and whom lie had lately seen, had again urged 
 him strenuously to enter into the church, pro- 
 mising him assistance and patronage, and 
 though Delamare had formerly rejected this 
 advice, he now listened to it with far different 
 feelings, and already a vision of unbounded in- 
 fluence and high distinction, as a celebrated 
 preacher, with an admiring audience in the 
 foreground, and a dim perspective of a cardinal's 
 hat in the distance, floated before the mind's 
 eye of the ambitious youth. From the picture 
 of an obscure gentleman, residing in a distant 
 province, surrounded by an humble peasantry 
 and a few country neighbours, unable to appre- 
 ciate what he considered the high powers of 
 his mind, he turned away with disgust, and he 
 had now come to the Chateau d'Anglures with 
 the intention of shewing the innocent Enlalie
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 89 
 
 by the easy indifference and coldness of his 
 deportment towards her, that the passionate 
 love of the boy, was entirely obliterated from 
 the heart of the man. 
 
 Nevertheless, he had reckoned too much 
 upon his own self-possession, and upon the 
 power which the new view of life he had taken 
 would have in controlling his feelings — and too 
 little upon the increasing loveliness and fascina- 
 tion of the artless Eulalie. The undissembled 
 joy that sparkled in her eyes... the unwearied 
 attention with which she hung upon his accents, 
 while they flattered his vanity gave a sharp 
 pang to his heart, and before the close of the 
 first day of his visit to the Chateau d'Anglures, 
 he sincerely repented that he had dared to ven- 
 ture there. On the morning after his arrival 
 he rose before the dawn, and wandered to the 
 top of the Cote de Grace — there everything 
 recalled to him the image of Eulalie, and the 
 last few moments he spent alone with her in
 
 90 THE LADY OF 
 
 the Chapel, on the evening before he went to 
 Paris. 
 
 ** How fortunate," thought he, " that Jose- 
 phine came running in at that instant, when I 
 was on the point of swearing an eternal love to 
 Eulalie — No, 1 am not bound to her by any 
 vows — I am free — yet she is beautiful, and she 
 loves me — Plow dangerous ! — but why should 
 it be dangerous ? — Have I not made up my 
 mind — Yes, T must forget Eulalie — Ah ! once 
 I often said to myself, one day she will be mine 
 — but to give up everything — power, honour, 
 rank, wealth — No, I can never do it — What is 
 love when placed in the scale with those bright 
 hopes ! — but Eulalie — no I cannot leave her yet 
 — 1 may see her, converse with her, walk with 
 her as of yore — remembrance 1 — why cannot I 
 tear thee from my heart ? — but I know my own 
 strength, and I will not commit myself." 
 
 Thus reasoned Pierre Delaniare. 
 
 Isabelle remained a week at the Chateau
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 91 
 
 d'Anglures, where Delamare still continued a 
 guest, and all the time narrowly watched his 
 behaviour to Eulalie, and thought that he even 
 paid her less attention than he did to Josephine. 
 Nevertheless, Eulalie looked bright and happy, 
 and Tsabelle, convinced more than ever of her 
 decided partiality for him, felt that she herself, 
 had she been in her place, could not have been 
 satisfied with so cold a lover. And yet at last 
 she began to fancy, that he must love Eulalie, 
 for two or three times she caught his eyes, when 
 he appeared to tliink he was quite unobserved, 
 gazing on her with evident admiration, and one 
 particular morning she had seen in the maiden's 
 hand a white rose, which Eulalie hastily pressed 
 to her lips, and then hid within her bosom. 
 
 '* He must have given it to her," thought 
 Isabelle, "yet I like him not— he is neither 
 candid or honest — why not, if he loves her, 
 ask her hand in marriage of Madame d'Anglures 
 — He will be his own master in a few months." 
 
 Two days before Isabelle left the Chateau
 
 92 THE LADY OP 
 
 she accompanied Madame d'Anglures, Jose- 
 phine, Eulalie, and Delamare to a ball given 
 by the Provost of the neighbouring town. It 
 was very crowded, for all the gentry had been 
 asked for ten leagues round. Among them all 
 there was not one so lovely and gay as Eulalie 
 d'Anglures, nor any, who at first enjoyed the 
 dance with more vivid delight ; but before the 
 end of the evening Isabelle observed, that a 
 cloud had overcast her happy face. Pierre Dela- 
 mare had danced once with her, and then, with 
 his usual caution, had refrained from asking her 
 again ; yet, although he did not choose to pay 
 her any particular attention himself, he was in- 
 wardly mortified and enraged at seeing the 
 eldest eon of the Provost — a young man, who, 
 without being handsome, had a good figure 
 and an open and ingenuous countenance — 
 dance with her several times, and apparently 
 entertain her very agreeably with his animated 
 conversation. 
 
 This secret chagrin had given a moroseness
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 93 
 
 to the manner of Pierre which he could not 
 at all conceal, and on her making some lively 
 remark to him in passing by the spot where he 
 etood, his answer was so ungracious as to bring 
 tears into her eyes. 
 
 Poor Eulalie was pale and spiritless, and 
 complained of head- ache the next morning. 
 Whatever point they might have disagreed 
 upon however, it seemed to be all made up 
 in the course of that day and Eulalie 
 looked as bright and beautiful as ever in the 
 evening. A soft word, a look, a flower was 
 all that her young and trusting spirit demanded, 
 and with the sophistry of woman's passionate, 
 disinterested love, he had been excused by her 
 confiding heart in the wakeful reverie of the 
 night, and the fault entirely attributed to some 
 inadvertent word or action of her own. 
 Could Pierre Delamare love her less than she 
 loved him — or could he ever be in the wrone: — 
 her heart responded — never. 
 
 Yet all the time that Eulalie felt this de- 
 voted love for Delamare, she was certain that
 
 94 THE LADY OP 
 
 no eye, not even his, could read her secret 
 sentiments and sometimes she thought within 
 herself, 
 
 *' Ah, it is Pierre*s uncertainty as to the 
 state of my affections now, that prevents his 
 being more explicit to me, and he does not 
 like to ask my mother's consent, until he is 
 entirely a free agent. 
 
 The following day was a fair day at Honfleur 
 and groups were collected in every direction 
 upon the acclivities and summit of the beauti- 
 ful Cote de Grace which commanded a view of 
 Havre, with its forest of masts on the opposite 
 side of the bay, and of the embouchure of the 
 Seine, while on the other side it looked into a 
 deep romantic valley. No one who has ever 
 been on the top of the Cote de Grace can for- 
 get the exquisite combination of marine and 
 inland scenery which may be seen from every 
 I ' vie V . 
 
 It was towards the evening of this day that 
 the party assembled at the Chateau d'Anglures,
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 95 
 
 "Vvich two or three visitors who had been spend- 
 ing the day there, might have been seen as- 
 cending with loitering steps, the road which 
 tortuously wound up one side of the Cote and 
 pausing every now and then, to gaze upon the 
 calm mirror-like bay, and to enjoy the gay 
 spectacle around them. 
 
 Here, peasants dressed in their holiday garb 
 —that charming picturesque attire which rivets 
 the eye of the stranger who comes from a land 
 where all ape the costume of the higher ranks 
 of society, were singing and dancing as if they 
 had not a care upon earth, to the sound of a 
 cornemuse w^iich an old man, elevated upon an 
 empty barrel played with untiring energy. 
 There, theatricals were performing in the open 
 air, while close by, in a natural alcove of the 
 rock, refreshments were preparing, and on 
 every side wares of various kinds were dis- 
 played in the most tempting disorder— some 
 beneath tents, others spread out upon tlie
 
 96 THE LADY OP 
 
 In short it seemed as if every one, even 
 the poor lace makers, had laid aside their work 
 and bid adieu to thought, determined upon 
 having at least one day of uninterrupted enjoy- 
 ment in their lives. 
 
 Among the group, who formed the gny 
 pedestrian party, thus ascending the Cote, 
 and enjoying the delicious sea-breeze and 
 perfumed air, together with the sight of 
 so much merriment and hilarity, was the 
 son of the Provost of Honfleur, Henri Des- 
 guey by name, and the same who had ex- 
 cited the secret jealousy of Pierre Delamare 
 the night of the ball, by dancing so much 
 with Eulalie. Tsabelle observed, that this 
 youth would willingly have engrossed the con- 
 versation of Eulalie, that his eyes wandered 
 after her incessantly, and that he was visibly 
 mortified, at the pertinacity with which she 
 avoided walking beside him. Josephine, on 
 the contrary, evinced, by her heightened 
 colour whenever he addressed her, that what-
 
 THE BED-GHAMBER. 9f 
 
 ever his attentions might be to Eulalie, they 
 were not at all indifferent to her, and weary 
 at last, of trying to amuse or interest, the 
 apparently volatile Eulalie, the young man 
 joined himself to the group, of which Jose- 
 phine made oncj and being really very agreea- 
 ble, kept them in unceasing merriment by his 
 droll remarks. 
 
 Delamare attached himself entirely to Ma- 
 dame d'Anglures, and an elderly lady who 
 accompanied her, while Eulalie kept close to 
 Isabelle, chatting, laughing, amused with, 
 and admiring everything, but what attracted 
 her more than all besides, was a little female 
 ballad singer — a Bretonne, whose crimson 
 handkerchief, surmounted by a snow white 
 chemisette, dark green jacket, short petticoat, 
 and little apron, of pale violet colour, set off 
 wonderfully, her small and delicate figure, 
 while her gold earrings and picturesque head- 
 dress, with the gold chain and cross suspended 
 round her neck, and her tiny shoes, orna-- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE LADY OF 
 
 mented with large silver buckles, gave an air 
 of elegance to her whole appearance. 
 
 Eulalie sprang forward to arrest her steps 
 and to purchase some of her wares, and suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining two or three ballads, but 
 so pretty was the little Bretonne, that her 
 whole stock was nearly exhausted, no one 
 having allowed her to pass, without purchasing 
 somethi/]-g. 
 
 " Where are your parents, or are you all 
 alone in the fair, my little maiden?" said 
 Eulalie to the young girl, who did not appear 
 more than twelve years of age. 
 
 " I am an orphan, Mademoiselle,*' replied 
 the girl, '' and I and my little brother live 
 T\ith our grandfather, and accompany him 
 from fair to fair. There he is yonder, an old, 
 blind man, playing the cnrnemvse.''^ 
 
 And the child pointed to the performer, 
 who was seated on the top of the empty bar- 
 rel. «
 
 THE BSD-CHAMBER. 99 
 
 " And that is my little brother, standing 
 beside him, with the dog." 
 
 " And what is your name ?" demanded 
 Eulalie. 
 
 " Angelique," replied the girl. " I sell 
 ballads, and Jean and the dog take care of my 
 grandfather." 
 
 " Your grandfather is not very poor, I hope 1" 
 said Eulalie. 
 
 '* Oh, no!" replied the child, **he gets a 
 great deal of money at the fairs, and often we 
 spend a week together in some farmhouse, and 
 we go to all the weddings... but Jean beckons 
 me, and I must get my grandfather his sup- 
 per." 
 
 So saying, the pretty Bretonne dropped a 
 curtsey, and hastened away. 
 
 At length the deepening twilight warned 
 them that it was time to depart, and Henri 
 Desguey, volunteeriDg to shew the party a 
 short way back to the Chateau, led them 
 towards the steepest side of the Cote, which 
 P 2
 
 100 THE LADY OF 
 
 presented a rugged and almost perpendicular 
 descent, by a narrow path through a thick 
 cover of copse-wood, downthe declivity. The 
 moon and the stars shone brightly, through 
 the tangled branches above their heads, and 
 the glowworms, emulatiDg the stars in bright- 
 ness, sparkled among the dewy grass and the 
 wild flowers, whose sweetness, drawn forth 
 by the night air, shed a delicious perfume at 
 their feet. 
 
 The gay little party, however, found their 
 way without much difficulty. The old Pro- 
 vost escorted Isabelle ; and Eulalie, who was 
 the last that entered the path, found, with a 
 throbbing heart, that Pierre Belamare, who 
 had stood aloof all the evening was at her 
 side. 
 
 With what words he more than ever bound 
 her trusting young heart to his, we will not 
 seek to discover. Perchance we might find it 
 was but a sigh^ a pressure of the hand, a half- 
 littered sentence. It is sufficient to know that
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 101 
 
 he did not ask permission to demand her hand 
 of her mother— he did not say Eulalie, I lov,e 
 thee 1 No — Pierre Delamare had never made 
 an open avowal of his love ; and yet Eulalie 
 laid her head upon her pillow that night, con- 
 vinced that his whole heart was hers alone. 
 
 Nevertheless Pierre Delamare spent a watch- 
 ful night himself. He felt that with his pre- 
 sent intention of entering the church, he was 
 acting madly in thus delaying at the Chateau d' 
 Anglures^ The sharp fit of jealousy which had 
 seized him at the ball, on perceiving the gay 
 and lively deportment of Eulalie towards young 
 Desguey, had shewed him that he was not so 
 much the master of his own heart as he had 
 imagined, and he now could not help acknow- 
 ledging to himself that had their walk down 
 that fairy- lit pathway been of much longer 
 duration, he would have been tempted to forget 
 his ambitious hopes, and all the world, and have 
 bound himself to his lovely little companion by 
 spoken vows; and he congratulated himself that
 
 102 THE LADY OP 
 
 he had escaped this dangerous temptation But 
 he never thought what might be the effect of 
 his vacillating behaviour upon the happiness 
 and peace of mind of Eulalie. 
 
 " If I had a hundred thousand francs a- 
 year, instead of twenty thousand," he mentally 
 exclaimed, " I would, without a doubt, marry 
 Eulalie, and think no more of the Archbishop's 
 promises, but in the present state of things it is 
 impossible." 
 
 Early on the following morning Delamare 
 left the Chateau d' Anglures, and in the course 
 of the same day the Baroness de Montfort, 
 accompanied by Eulalie, returned to her own 
 home.
 
 THE BED' CHAMBER; 103 
 
 CHAPTER ¥L 
 
 Let me confess tliat we two must be twain 
 
 Although our undivided loves are one : 
 So shall those blots that do with me remain, 
 
 Without thy help, by me be borne alone. 
 In our two loves there is but one respect, 
 
 Though in our lives a seperable spite ; 
 Which though it alter not love's sole effect, 
 
 Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. 
 
 ShaTcspeare^ 
 
 It is now time that we should return to the 
 Baron de Moutfort, and see what became of 
 bim after his ill-stared raarrlaore with Isabelle-
 
 104 * THE LADY OF 
 
 Our readers will remember, that we \eh 
 him, with a small party of attendants, at a few 
 leagues distance from Paris, taking a different 
 road from the one that Isabelle was travellings 
 His intention was to proceed with all speed to 
 Yienna, and from thence to take the route to 
 Constantinople, there to join his uncle, who was 
 Ambassador at that Court. 
 
 His separation from Clementine on the pre« 
 ceeding day had been passionate and absorbing. 
 A thousand times he vowed never to feel at- 
 tachment for another, and a thousand times, 
 cold and calculating as she was, did she ap- 
 parently respond to his affection... We say 
 apparently; for while his love was true and 
 undisguised, she, volatile and incapable of a 
 real attachment, began to be terrified at his 
 despair, and, while she promised eternal friend- 
 ship and a constant correspondence by letter, 
 felt that whatever preference she might have 
 had for him was already nearly vanished, and 
 that she must now look around, as the old
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 105 
 
 Marquis, her husband, was declining very fast, 
 and try to attract some other nobleman, a mar- 
 riage with whom, would still give her a place 
 at Court ; as otherwise, on the death of the 
 Marquis, her very insignificant jointure would 
 oblige her to retire immediately into the countryo 
 Such were the thoughts that flashed across her 
 mind while the young Baron poured forth his 
 unfeigned regrets. 
 
 The Marchioness de Varville was one of those 
 women who, with a large share of vanity and 
 a cold, intriguing temperament, delight in being 
 the object of a serious passion, while hedged 
 round themselves, not by principle, but by an 
 incapability, from a profound selfishness of 
 character, of feeling any real attachment, can 
 stand on the brink of the precipice without the 
 least danger of fallinoj. 
 
 Travelling and change of scene mitigated in 
 
 some degree, the distraction of the Baron^ 
 
 nevertheless the image of Clementine was ever 
 
 uppermost in his mind. He arrived at Vienna. 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THE LADY OF 
 
 without meeting with anything worthy of nar- 
 ration, and from thence travelled through Hun- 
 gary to Temeswar, a strong fortress on the 
 frontier, being accompanied only by his valet, 
 FranQois la Porte, the other attendants pro- 
 ceeding more slowly with his baggage. At 
 Hermanstadt, finding that his luggage train was 
 far behind, he left the valet to await its arrival, 
 appointing Rothentliurm, or the Eed Tower, as 
 the place of rendezvous, proposing to remain 
 there till they should join him, and took him- 
 self his solitary way towards the above men- 
 tioned place, which was not far distant from 
 the passage into Wallachia over the Car- 
 pathian mountains. 
 
 Transylvania was at this period divided into 
 different Palatinates, each one governed by its 
 own prince or chief. It is surrounded on all 
 sides by bigh mountains, which seem to shut it 
 out from the rest of the world. Following the 
 windings of a rapid river, the Baron rode on 
 for some time without interruption. He had
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 107 
 
 been informed on entering Transylvania, that 
 it was at this time a prey to intestine divisions 
 in consequence of the recent death of one of 
 the native Princes or Palatines ; that the acces- 
 sion belonged of right to Una his only child 
 and heiress, but that it was contested with her 
 by two pretenders — One, the nephew of the 
 deceased Palatine, was willing to wave what 
 he considered his claim, and jom his interests 
 with hers by a marriage ; and it was said, that 
 the dying Palatine, foreseeing what evils were 
 likely to accrue on his death, had betrothed 
 her to him — the other, a Wallachian Chieftain, 
 determined to get possession of her territory, 
 put forth no other claim than what a large 
 armed force of his own, assisted by a troop of 
 mercenaries, might give him — Indeed Herman- 
 stadt, where he, the Baron, had past the nighty 
 gave evidence to the truth of this account, as 
 there seemed to be sentinels placed upon its 
 ramparts, and proofs in the bustle and hurry of 
 the good citizens of the town before the dawB*
 
 108 THE LADT OF 
 
 ing of the day, that they did not feel themselves 
 quite at their ease. 
 
 De Montfort, however, saw and heard all 
 these testimonies of the insecure state of the 
 country without giving any heed to them, being 
 naturally of a fearless disposition, and from the 
 mood he was in, coveting a solitary ride through 
 the wild and magnificent scenery, which now 
 opened on his viewas he turned his horse's head 
 in the direction of the celebrated pass of the 
 Kothenthurm, and beheld, far over topping the 
 pine forests, the Carpathian mountains whose 
 lofty glaciers were tinted by the rising sun with 
 a thousand colours as bright as they were 
 fleeting. 
 
 The Baron, throwing the bridle upon the 
 neck of his steed, pursued a horse track along 
 the bank of the river, which he understood 
 would bring him, towards the close of day, to 
 the Red tower. He had proceeded at a slow 
 pace for several leagues, occupied by a thou- 
 sand melancholy ideas, yet with more calmness,
 
 .'THE ^'BED-CHAMBEE. 109 
 
 and less weight upon his spirits than he had 
 felt since leaving Paris; the songs of birds, the 
 rustling of the, leaves, the soft murmuring of 
 wind and water, and above all, the perfect 
 loneliness that surrounded himjsoothing, soften- 
 ing, and allaying the regrets in which he in- 
 dulged. 
 
 The valleys, hills, and surrounding country 
 had disappeared from his eyes, the river now 
 winding through a thick covert of pine trees, 
 and underwood, whose branches sometimes 
 crossing the path, obliged him to alight and 
 lead his horse. 
 
 As De Montfort was thus leisurely pro- 
 ceeding on foot, his reveries were suddenly 
 interrupted by the sound of voices, which 
 seemed not to be far off, and on turning an 
 angle made by a projecting rock, he perceived 
 five ruffianly looking poldiers in a thicket 
 hard by, partaking of some coarse refreshment. 
 On observing him they immediately sprung 
 up, and seizing their swords, which lay on the
 
 110 THE LADY OF 
 
 grass beside them, desired him, in barbarous 
 German, to stand and deliver up his pur.«e and 
 arms. 
 
 De Montfort who was brave even to rash- 
 ness, seeing that he must either surrender or 
 defend himself, answered their demand by 
 placing his back against the rock, and drawing 
 a loaded pistol from bis breast, declared, in 
 German, which he spoke very fluently, that he 
 w^ould fire at the first who approachedc A loud 
 shout ofderision was their reply, as they simul- 
 taneously hastened forward. The report of a 
 pistol was immediately heard, and the foremost 
 ruffian fell upon the ground, while De Mont- 
 fort, throwing away the pistol, and being a 
 capital swordsman, defended himself with 
 great skill against the other four. 
 
 Nevertheless, the combat being so unequal, 
 he must inevitably, in the end, have fallen a 
 sacrifice to their fury, had not a young man in 
 the Greek military costume, and apparently, 
 from his habiliments, of a rank above the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. Ill 
 
 soldiers, at this moment approached, and seeing 
 a young stranger set upon by four men, loudly 
 called upon them to desist. 
 
 The infuriated soldiers, however, paid no 
 regard to his orders and menaces, one of them 
 turning round and declaring that they were 
 not under his command, and that they were all 
 resolved to avenge the death of their comrade. 
 
 The Greek, who was rapidly advancing, came* 
 up as the soldier had finished his reply, and 
 making use of his sword with vigour and dex- 
 terity, so ably assisted De Montfort that the 
 ruffians were soon put to flight, but not without 
 their having received some severe wounds. 
 De Montfort was but slightly injured, notwith- 
 standing the unequal number he had had to 
 contend with ; and warmly thanking his deli- 
 verer, told him his name and rank, and how it 
 happened that he was alone and without at- 
 tendants in that solitary spot. 
 
 The Greek, in return, informed him that he 
 himself was called Ivan, and that he was captain
 
 112 THE LADY OF 
 
 of a troop of mercenaries, who had taken ser- 
 vice with Count Herman. He likewise added 
 that parties of soldiers were straying about in 
 various directions, waiting until a hasty mar- 
 riage should be solemnized between the Lady 
 Una and her cousin Count Maurice, and that 
 the latter on receiving the hand of the maiden 
 from her guardian. Count Herman, was topro- 
 *ceed immediately at the head of his and her 
 vassals, assisted by Count Herman, against a 
 neighbouring Wallachian chieftain, who was on 
 his way with the intention of besieging her 
 castle. 
 
 " Thp. Lady Una doth not affect this mar- 
 riage," continued the Greek, *' and hath de- 
 layed the celebration of it from day to day, to 
 the great displeasure of Count Maurice, who is 
 of an imperious and selfish disposition. He is 
 a dark-browed and revengeful-looking chief- 
 tain, and beshrew me if he is worthy so fair a 
 bride. Her father, wounded to the death in a 
 skirmish on the frontier, died about three
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 113 
 
 months ago in his Castle, which is but a 
 league distant from the entrance of this 
 forest. Finding his last moments approaching 
 fast, he sent express to Hermanstadt, for his 
 friend Count Herman, and appointing him 
 guardian of the Lady Una, made him swear 
 upon th« cross and his good sword, to see lier 
 united to Count Maurice, her cousin, hoping, 
 by this means, to secure her the peaceable 
 possession of the territory he bequeathed her, 
 and which Count Maurice claimed, though 
 without any legal right to it, as male heir." 
 
 ** And Count Herman — has he fulfilled the 
 oath he took to the dying Palatine ?" inquired 
 De Montfort 
 
 ** Count Herman is the soul of honour," 
 replied Ivan, *' and though enchanted with 
 the beauty of the Lady Una, who he now 
 beheld for the first time since her childhood, 
 as he had been several years in the service of 
 a foreign Prince, has done all in his power to 
 expedite this marriage, but the Lady Una^
 
 114 THE LADY OF 
 
 who had always disliked Count Maurice, struck 
 by the contrast between him and Count Her- 
 man, who in person, is as handsome and noble- 
 looking, as he is generous and chivalric in 
 disposition, now, more than ever, hated her 
 cousin, answering all his haughty demands for 
 their immediate union, with tears and sighs, 
 and would in truth, never have consented to 
 it, had she not at last been wrought upon, by 
 the earnest entreaties of her guardian, to 
 whose heart, it is suspected, the marriage will 
 give as keen a pang, as to that of the unfortu- 
 nate maiden.*' 
 
 As Ivan finished this recital, they emerged 
 from the forest, and beheld before them, on 
 the acclivity of an opposite hill, a church, 
 apparently much dilapidated, round which 
 were loitering several small parties of soldiers, 
 while in the distance, might be seen the towers 
 of the Lady Una's Castle. 
 
 *' It must be about the time the ceremony
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 115 
 
 should commence," said Ivan. *' Suppose we 
 climb the hill, and enter the church." 
 
 To this proposition, De Montfort willingly 
 consented, and the Greek, beckoning to one 
 of his own troop, who happened to be at a 
 short distance, and desiring him to hold the 
 Baron's horse, they ascended the hill by a 
 rugged path, and entering the church by a 
 side door, placed themselces behind one of the 
 pillars, at no great distance from the altar, 
 from whence, secure themselves from ob- 
 servation, they could see all that was going 
 on. 
 
 The aisle of the church was filled v/ith 
 armed knights and soldiers, and through a 
 narrow gothic window, close by to where he 
 stood, De Montfort could perceive, in a valley, 
 towards which he looked, a glittering of arms 
 and waving of colours, as if a large body 
 of soldiers were encamped there. 
 
 A priest, arrayed in his sacred vestments, stood
 
 116 THE LADY OF 
 
 beside the altar, while before him knelt a youth 
 of about four or five-and-twenty years of age, 
 whose coarse features, flushed face, and angry 
 brow, gave him more the air of a captain of 
 banditti than that of a Transylvanian noble- 
 man, and near the youth knelt a maiden of ex- 
 quisite loveliness, but with a cheek and lip as 
 colourless as monumental marble, resembling 
 some beautiful statue of despair fresh from the 
 chisel of an ancient sculptor, so still, so hope- 
 less was the expression of her countenance 
 She had apparently but just attained the verge 
 of womanhood, and like an early snow-drop, 
 which some careless hand has plucked and 
 thrown away, seemed blighted before her 
 charms were half unfolded. Standing behind 
 her, and bending as it were over her, was the 
 form of a knight in complete armour — His 
 etately figure, and powerfully though symmetri- 
 cal proportions, proclaimed him to have attained 
 the most perfect a^e of manhood, but his bent
 
 "HUB BED-CHAMBER. 117 
 
 Head was shaded by his cap and plume, and 
 only the profile of his noble countenance could 
 be seen, 
 
 " How pale the Lady Una looks !" whispered 
 Ivan. ** I wot she would far rather have Death 
 for her bridegroom than Count Maurice — I like 
 him not — he is of a fiery and revengeful spirit, 
 and will lock her up in a dungeon if she shows 
 any coldness towards him after marriage. 
 That noble knight, who stands behind her 
 with his plumed cap pulled over his brow, and 
 his eyes fixed upon the ground, is Count Her-^ 
 man, he it is who, as her guardian, must give 
 away her hand. I would plunge a dagger in 
 the heart of my Anastasia sooner than thus 
 bestow her on another.'^ 
 
 ^* "JVhat! and break your oath,'' replied De 
 Montfort, in the same low tone. 
 
 *' Death should cancel my oath,^' returned 
 Ivan, " I would kill her first, and then my- 
 self." 
 
 During this short colloquy the ceremony had-
 
 I ' 8 THE LADY OF 
 
 begun, and soon the moment arrived when 
 Count Herman was to give away the bride. 
 
 As the Knight raised his head De Montfort 
 caught a glimpse of his f^ice. He was deadly 
 pale, and cold drops of perspiration stood upon 
 his brow— the veins of his forehead seemed 
 swelled with intense agony, and his lip quivered 
 with suppressed emotion — Ye^ ! he loved her 
 himself — he knew that he W'S beloved, yet 
 honour compelled him to give her hand to Count 
 Maurice. 
 
 Once only had she raised her eyes to his 
 since they had entered the church — one despair- 
 ing, hopeless, entreating look — De Montfort 
 perceived that look — he saw that Count Her- 
 man hr,d averted his head, and that she had 
 not dared to look at him again — Alas ! poor 
 Una knew not that >his anguish was as deep, if 
 not deeper than her own ; but she felt that his 
 fingers were as cold as the marble on which she 
 knelt, when, taking her small hand in his, he 
 gave away what he most prized upon earth.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 119 
 
 The ceremony is over — Count Maurice takes 
 a cold and hurried farewell of his almost inani- 
 mate bride, who surrounded immediately by 
 her female attendants is conveyed to the castle, 
 while knights and soldiers hastily leaving the 
 church prepare at once to march towards the 
 pass of the Kothenthurm, hoping, by a sudden 
 surprise, to intercept the Wallachian Chieftain 
 on his entrance into Transylvania, and by one 
 decisive conflict to put an end to the frequent 
 invasions and skirmishes which had taken place 
 of late. 
 
 On alighting from the litter in which she 
 had been cai'ried to her castle, the Lady Una 
 retired into her own apartment in the deepest 
 despondency, not even her nurse, ^vho had long 
 been in the pay of Count Maurice, was ad- 
 mitted; and here she remained alone all that 
 day and night, a thousand vague and fearful 
 thoughts crossing her imagination. She knew 
 that Count Maurice would not,in all probability, 
 return to the castle until the latter end of the
 
 120 THE LADY OF 
 
 following day, and she was determined to have 
 the intermediate time to herself to give free 
 vent to the anguish of her soul. 
 
 The spirits of the air and of the waters that 
 wandered in the pine forests around, pitied her 
 despair; and paused to listen to her lamenta- 
 tions, as, out watching the stars, she sat in her 
 turret window, and looked out upon the wild 
 forests, and the distant hills, and into the dark 
 waters of the Aluta which flowed beneath the 
 castle walls. 
 
 Hear the lament of the lady Una, as her 
 sighs were borne on the night wind. 
 
 *' Fain would I hide from thee for ever ! 
 
 A love so crost j 
 I would not that thou should'st discover, 
 
 How I am lost. 
 Lost I — yes, for I have madly given 
 
 My heart, unsought — 
 My maiden pride — my hopes are riven, 
 
 And low are brought. 
 What recks it in whose eyes I fair shone., 
 
 Since not in thine ?
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 121 
 
 Hio' true and faithful hearts I have won, 
 
 I gave not mine. 
 And many deem'd that earthly passion. 
 
 Could ne'er move me, 
 So €old I heard each fond confession — 
 
 'T was not from thee. 
 A melancholy tint is shading, 
 
 My once calm brow — 
 To ashy hue my cheek is fading 4 
 
 Must I live now ! 
 When twilight heav'n and earth is veiling. 
 
 Pensive I stray : 
 WJiat thoughts are in my bosom ste-aling, 
 
 I dare not say." 
 
 VOL. I. <i^
 
 122 THE LADT OF 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 Well mote ye wonder how that noble knight 
 After he had so often wounded been, 
 
 Could stand on foot now to renew the fight : 
 But, had ye then him forth advancing seen, 
 Some new-born wight ye would him surely ween ; 
 
 So fresh he seemed and so fierce in sight ; 
 Like as a snake, whom winter's teen 
 
 Hath worn to nought, now feeling summer's might, 
 
 Casts off his ragged skin and freshly doth him dight. 
 
 Spenser* 
 
 De Montfort felt very melancholy on leav- 
 ing the church. The ceremony he had just 
 witnessed, brought forcibly before him his own
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 123 
 
 IS n wished -for marriage with Isabelle, and to 
 dissipate those disagreeable retrospections, he 
 determined to join the party he had fallen in 
 with, and proceed with them against the Wal- 
 lachians. 
 
 The young Greek heard his resolution with 
 much pleasure ; and telling him that it was 
 agreed that all the different companies should 
 meet at a spot about the distance of three 
 leagues from the churchj proposed that they 
 should ride thither in company, and that there 
 he w^ould introduce him to Count Herman, 
 who, he had no doubt, would be proud of his 
 friendship and assistance 
 
 This being arranged, and Ivan getting his 
 troop together, they proceeded, at a pretty quick 
 pace, towards the place of rendezvous, convers- 
 ing all the way as they rode side by side. 
 
 There was a frank, open expression, in the 
 
 young Greek's countenance, and a freedom 
 
 and spirit in his demeanour, which, independent 
 
 of the obligation he was under to him, made 
 
 G 2
 
 124 THE LADY OF 
 
 De Montfort feel a lively interest in all that 
 concerned him, and he did not therefore lose 
 this opportunity, of eliciting from him some 
 account of his past life, and asking a question 
 or two about the young girl, for whom Ivan 
 had avowed so strong an attachment. 
 
 His history was very simple. He was born 
 in a little valley, close to the village of Umar 
 Fakill, in the province of Roumelia. His 
 father, who had been a Greek merchant, was 
 still alive, and had purchased the spot of 
 ground v»hich he now employed himself in 
 cultivating ; but as he had several children, 
 among whom he intended to divide his small 
 inheritance, Ivan, who was the youngest of 
 them, early embraced the profession of arms, 
 and becoming a soldier of fortune, endeavoured 
 to make his own way in the world, and to 
 enrich himself, sufficiently, so as to enable 
 him, one day or other, to wed his Anas- 
 tasia. 
 
 " We have loved since childhood," said the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 125 
 
 young Greek, " but as yet we are too poor to 
 marry; nevertheless, in a few years, I hupe 
 to return to her — then I will change my sword 
 into a plough- share, and settling among my 
 old friends and neighbours, and purchasing a 
 field or two in the valley, will build a little 
 cottage there, and live in peace and tranquillity 
 with my Anastasia. Should we find ourselves 
 very poor, I shall always have my sword as a 
 resource, and then, during my absence, Aaas- 
 tasia will employ herself at her spinning and 
 embroidery, and will watch and pray for my 
 speedy return." 
 
 " And is your Anastasia very beautiful," 
 enquired De Montfort. 
 
 *' Yes," replied the Greek, *' lovely as is 
 the Lady Una, my Anastasia is still lovelier. 
 Could you have seen her, when she represented 
 Flora in the May dances last year, her long 
 black ringlets ornamented with the flowers I 
 plucked for her, and her dark eyes radiant 
 with joy and animation, you would have pro-
 
 126 THE LADY OF 
 
 nounced her bewitching. There is no maiden 
 in Eoumelia, who can, in the least degree, 
 compare with her» and aU the youths have 
 long enyied me the possession of her heart." 
 
 Conversing in this manner, our travellers 
 beguiled the way, until they reached the spot 
 where the troops were asseinbied, of which 
 Count Maurice commanded his own vassals 
 and those of the Lady Una, while Count 
 Herman led on his followers, and the Greek Sj, 
 of which Ivan was Captain. The latter imme- 
 diately introduced the young Baron to Count 
 Herman, mentioning who he was, his adven- 
 ture with the soldiers, and why he had been 
 travelling without attendants. The Count 
 received De Montfort with great urbanity, and 
 hearing his intention was to accompany them^ 
 gladly accepted his assistance, saying that a 
 single arm like his, was worth a troop of 
 soldiers. De Montfort was much pleased with 
 the air and manner of Count Herman, which 
 bespoke at once the brave soldier and the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 127 
 
 accomplished nobleman. His handsome coun 
 tenance though grave, was calm and collected, 
 and he looked like one, who, born to command 
 the multitude, is perfect master over himself. 
 De Montfort could scarcely think, it was across 
 that serene and dignified brow, that he had 
 seen the storm of passion fiercely sweep, with 
 such devastating violence, a few hours before. 
 So the blue ocean, after the whirlwind has 
 passed away, conceals the abysses beneath its 
 waves, and retains no traces of the tempest, 
 that has perchance shipwrecked many a poor 
 mariner. 
 
 The scouts, who had been sent forward 
 through the pass of the Carpathian Mountains, 
 were by this time returned, and reported that 
 the Wallachians were encamped at the other 
 side of the mountain, purposing to cross the 
 river Olta Alp before the break of day. Count 
 Maurice on being apprised of the enemy's 
 position, determined to push on directly, and 
 endeavour to surprise the camp in the early
 
 128 THE LADY OF 
 
 part of the night. To this plan Count Herman 
 was opposed, seeing that, after passing the 
 river, the way was partly througli a bog, and 
 partly over deep ravines crosf-ed by means of 
 trunks of trees laid over them, and often along 
 the edge of a precipice, and that by awaiting 
 the arrival of their opponents on the banks of 
 the Olta Alp, they would have them at a 
 much greater advantage. To this advice, how- 
 ever, Count Maurice, who was hot-headed and 
 self-opinionatedy turned a deaf ear, and as much 
 the largest proportion of the soldiers were under 
 his command, proceeded immediately to put his 
 own suggestions into practice by crossing the 
 river, leaving Connt Herman, who foresaw the 
 probable result of his enterprise, with his own 
 followers, and the Greek soldiers, to act as he 
 thought fit. 
 
 The Wallachian force, which was large, 
 having amongst them a great number of Turks, 
 all accustomed to sudden skirmishes and sur- 
 prises, were 0!i the alert, and Count Maurice
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEK. 129 
 
 paid the price of his rashness, by falling in the 
 first melee ^ having had a Turkish sabre run 
 through his body. His men retreated in great 
 disorder, several of them being cut to pieces, 
 while the Wallachians, thinking the entire 
 body had come on, made sure of an easy victory, 
 and of being speedily in possession of the Lady 
 Una's castle. But in this expectation they 
 found themselves egregiously disappointed ; for 
 although Count Herman had much difficulty in 
 arresting any of the vassals of the Lady Una 
 in their flight, yet as he vras an officer of great 
 skill himself, and being likewise well seconded 
 by the dauntless bravery of De Montfort, and 
 the courage of Ivan and his troop, he had 
 managed to place his small body of men in so 
 advantageous a position, commanding a ravine 
 through which' the Wallachians were obliged to 
 pass in order to reach the Olta Alp, that, not- 
 withstanding their numbers, they found it im- 
 possible to proceed, and were at last obliged to 
 G 5
 
 130 THE LADY OF 
 
 retreat in great confusion beyond the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 The body of Count Maurice, w hlcli bad been 
 brought away by his vassals, was now placed 
 upon a bier hastily made of branches of trees 
 for the purpose, and his scattered followers, now 
 that all was over, being willing enough to obey 
 Count Herman, were gathered together, and 
 they all proceeded at a slow puce back in the 
 direction of the Lady Una's castle, Count 
 Herman having first besought De Montfort to 
 turn his steps thither likewise, and partake of 
 the hospitality of the Lady Una lor a few days, 
 until the funeral of Count Maurice should take 
 place, when, as he himself should then return 
 to his own cat^tle near Hermanstadt, he would 
 entreat him to become his guest, promising that 
 he would show him some good sport in boar 
 bunting. 
 
 To all these kind solicitations however De 
 Montfort returned a negative for the present.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 131 
 
 promising that at some future period he would 
 not fail to recollect his invitation, and would 
 come and spend a month with him, when he 
 should greatly enjoy the promised amusement 
 of boar hunting. 
 
 After many regrets at thus parting so soon, 
 Count Herman bade them adieu, first insisting 
 that the young Greek, with a portion of his men 
 should remain withDe Montfort at Rothenthurm 
 until his attendants arrived, and should then 
 escort them through the province of Walla- 
 chia, and as he would take no denial to this pro- 
 position, in which Ivan joyfully concurred, the 
 Baron consented, and did so the more readily 
 as it would give him a further opportunity of 
 improving his acquaintance with Ivan, to 
 whom, avS we said before, he had taken a great 
 liking. 
 
 They spent the intermediate time before the 
 Baron's attendants arrived, in conversing of 
 Count Herman and the Lady Una, and the 
 probability of their being happily united when
 
 132 THE LADY OF 
 
 the customary period of her mourning should 
 have expired. 
 
 "The Lady Una will bring him a rich 
 doury," said Ivan, " for the inheritance of 
 Count Maurice will now be added to her own ; 
 and Count Herman, though brave and high 
 minded, is poor. Truly it would rejoice my 
 soul to see that lovely maiden kneel with him 
 before the altar. — I felt their distress to my 
 heart's core, yesterday morning, when the noble 
 Herman gave her away. Ah ! I would wager 
 anything, the rose will now soon re-visit her 
 beautiful cheek and lip agffin." 
 
 " Thou art poetical, good Ivan," replied the 
 Baron, scarcely suppressing a smile at his 
 young friend's enthusiasm, although he too 
 was warmly interested in the future prospects 
 of the lovers. 
 
 " Can anything be more dreadful,'' inquired 
 Ivan, with much energy, *' than to marry one 
 person and love another ?" 
 
 The Baron started and changed colour at
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 133 
 
 this observation, which Ivan perceivinf]^, ex- 
 pressed his fear that he was fatigued and un- 
 well from the unceasing exertion of so many 
 hours of travelling and fighting without any 
 rest. 
 
 *' It is a sudden spasm/' said the Baron, *' but 
 it will pass quickly. I think a little rest will 
 be of service to me, and I will therefore lie 
 down for half an hour beneath the shade of 
 this tree." 
 
 So saying, the Baron, wrapping his cloak 
 around him, threw himself upon a green bank 
 beside the stream by which they had been walk- 
 ing, and Ivan left him to his thoughts, but not 
 to rest. 
 
 Nevertheless those meditations were of use 
 to him. He reflected upon the power Count 
 Herman had exercised over hiuiself — upon his 
 serene and dignified manner after having had 
 passions so ovew helming to contend vvith,and he 
 determined that it was much nobler for a man 
 to stifle his regrets and hide them from the
 
 134 THE LADY OF 
 
 world, than thus to allow himself to be the 
 prey of unavailing melancholy. Wherefore 
 when the young Greek appreared again, he 
 received him with a cheerful, unconstrained 
 manner, which led him to suppose that in 
 reality he had been only fatigued. 
 
 In the course of half an hour more Fran- 
 9ois and the rest of the Baron's attendants 
 arrived. It was now mid-day, and they had 
 time to travel several leagues before evening, 
 BO, after partaking of some refreshment, they 
 left Ruthen-thurm, and De Mont fort with 
 Ivan, who had taken the precaution of sending 
 on a small party of his men before them to see 
 that the way was clear of any stragglers, pro- 
 ceeded leisurely side by side through the steep 
 mountain tracks which led into the neighbour- 
 ing province of Wallachia. 
 
 They were in hopes of being able to reach a 
 small village at the foot of the mountain on the 
 Wallachian side before the close of day, but in 
 this they were disappointed as the passage over
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 135 
 
 the mountains proved much more rugged and 
 intricate than they had reckoned upon, besides 
 which, in order to avwid some of the deep 
 ravines where they knew the rude bridges, 
 made by trunks of trees thrown across, had 
 been destroyed during the late skirmish, they 
 had made a detour which added to the length of 
 the way, so that twilight found them on a wild' 
 acclivity skirting the edge of a precipitous 
 glen or rather clift in the mountain, at the 
 bottom of which the roaring of a torrent was 
 beard as it leaped from crag to crag 
 
 The sides of this ravine were clothed with a 
 thick wood, from whence immense masses of 
 bare rock protruded, but the shelter of even 
 a bush was denied to our travellers, as the spot 
 on which they stood, was a stony waste appear- 
 ing to stretch out interminably around them, 
 and showing only a scanty covering of moss 
 and coarse grass. The horses being quite 
 fatigued and unable to proceed any further, it 
 became necessary to consider how they were to
 
 136 THE LADY OF 
 
 pass the night. De Montfort and Ivan, who 
 had led their horses for several miles, as the 
 paths were too rugged, and the footing too un- 
 certain to permit of their riding, were in deep 
 consultation as to what they had best do, while 
 a thick wetting rain rendered their situation 
 anything but agreeable, when they perceived a 
 child of abuut four years old suddenly make his 
 appearance on the edge of tlie ravine carrying 
 in his arins a bundle of sticks much larger than 
 himself, and tlien as suddenly disappear again. 
 
 Hastening towards the spot where they Lad 
 seen the child, De Montfort and Ivan looked 
 narrowly around for some track or pathway, 
 and it was not until afier a lung search that 
 they at length discovered a narrow cleft at the 
 edge of the ravine between t.vo rocks, from 
 whence a naturid fl ght of uneven steps seemed 
 to wind down amongst the underwood for a con- 
 siderable way. 
 
 Descending this precipitous path for some 
 hundred feet, they at length heard the sound of
 
 THE BED- CHAMBER. 137 
 
 human voices mingling with the noise of the 
 rushing stream beneath, and soon arrived at a 
 species of platform or open space midway down 
 the side of the precipice partly overhung with 
 recks, partly shaded by large beech trees w^hich 
 had pushed forth their roots in every direction 
 where a fissure in the rock offered them the 
 slightest nourishment. 
 
 This space, which was about one hundred 
 feet in diameter, presented to their view a 
 small encampment of gipseys, who looked with 
 as much amazement upon our travellers, as if 
 they had been beings of another world. 
 
 Ivan, who could speak the dialect of the 
 country intelligibly, explained to them how 
 they were benighted on the mountain, nnd 
 where they had left their horses and attendants, 
 upon which an old man, who seemed to be the 
 head of the party, immediately offered them 
 what poor accommodation they could afford, 
 proposing to give up one of the tents for their 
 use, and to send some of his pe >ple to assist in
 
 138 THE LADY OF 
 
 fioding some more sheltered spot for the horses 
 and attendants to remain in, than where they 
 were at present. Our travellers received this 
 proffered hospitality with many thanks, and the 
 old man then informed them that they were a 
 small party belonging to a large body of 
 gipseys encamped at some leagues' distance, 
 who had located themselves for the present in 
 this solitary spot, in order to search for gold 
 dust in the mountain torrents. 
 
 The women and children had run to hide 
 themselves on the first appearance of the 
 strangers leaving only the old man, and two 
 or three swarthy looking youths io receive them. 
 Their host now dispatched one of the youths to 
 the moor to make arrangements for the men 
 and horses, and pressed De Montfort and Ivan 
 to partake with him of some supper which was 
 nearly ready. To this they willingly consented, 
 and the old man led the way into a recess of 
 the rock beyond the tents, where the light of a 
 blazing fire was increased by torches of pine
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 139 
 
 wood, placed upon a rude table formed of 
 planks supported by fragments of stone. Two 
 or three savoury dishes made of the wild boar's 
 flesh were presently served up by a dark-eyed 
 gipsey girl, who eyed the strangers with much 
 curiosity, particularly Ivan upon w^hom she 
 threw many a bewitching glance, but he had his 
 head too much filled with thoughts of his Anas- 
 tasia, as he had got leave from Count Herman 
 to pay a flying visit to his parents before he 
 should return into Transylvania, to see beauty 
 in any black eyes but hers. When the repast 
 was laid upon the table they were joined by a 
 remarkably, striking looking female of about 
 six or eight and twenty years of age, leading 
 by the hand the little boy who had first at- 
 tracted the travellers to the edge of the preci- 
 pice. Her complexion, dark almost as an 
 Ethiopian's, was agreeably relieved by a ciira- 
 son silk hood thrown over her jttty hair, while 
 a dark cloth jacket, open at the neck and bosom, 
 and embroidered at the seams, with a petticoat
 
 140 THE LADY OF 
 
 striped in various colours, set off her figure to 
 the best advantage. Her air was almost 
 majestic, and De Montfort observed that the 
 old man gazed on her with equal pride and 
 pleasure. This latter soon informed his guests, 
 that she was his daughter, and that her late 
 husband, now dead about two years, had been 
 King of their tribe. He likewise expressed a 
 hope, that his little grandson might one day 
 arrive at the same high honour. 
 
 When the repast was over, De Montfort and 
 Ivan were glad to retire and repose themselves 
 upon the benches prepared for them in one of 
 the tents, and after sleeping profoundly for 
 some hours, rose at the break of day, and find- 
 ing their kind host already up, hastened to take 
 their leave offering him their thanks, and pre- 
 senting him with some pieces of gold as a re- 
 compense for his hospitality. This gratuity, 
 however, the old man proudly declined accept- 
 ing, upon wliich, De Montfort seeing the little 
 boy peeping out of one of the tents called him
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEK. 141 
 
 towards him, and taking off a gold chain which 
 fastened the hilt of his sword, put it on the 
 child, bidding him wear it when he should be 
 King of the gipseys. The old gipsey's eyes 
 sparkled with delight, and the boy's mother 
 approaching took De Montfort's hand and 
 pressed it to her lips, then still retaining it she 
 scanned the lines in it attentively, and after 
 perusing them for some moments, murmured in 
 a low voice in good German : 
 
 '' Forsaken by the loved one — loved by the 
 forsaken !" 
 
 De Montfort started — then a look of incre- 
 dulity passed over his brow while Zanina, for 
 such was her name, casting a reproachful look 
 at him, as if to reprove his want of faith, 
 turned to Ivan, who very reluctantly allowed 
 her to take his hand. After tracing the lines 
 for an instant, she said to him encouragingly : 
 
 *' Sorrow comes when on the brink of happi* 
 ness, but the spirit must not sink." 
 
 Then making them an oriental obeisance she
 
 142 THEL ADY OP 
 
 retired within the tent leading her child by the 
 hand, who proud of the gift bestowed on him, 
 continued to examine it with every mark of 
 admiration. 
 
 The morning was bright and unclouded, the 
 attendants, who conducted thither by the 
 young gipsey, had passed the night in a cave 
 not far off, were all in readiness to start, and 
 the party proceeded for five or six days with- 
 out any further interruption. Being come to 
 the confines of Koumelia Ivan bade De Mont- 
 fort adieu, with many regrets at parting, and 
 hopes of meeting at some future period, while 
 the latter pursued his way towards Constanti- 
 nople, whose oriental battlements, domes and 
 minarets appearing through long lines of cypress 
 trees, at last burst upon his sight, lighted up 
 by the gorgeous splendour of a setting sun.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. H3 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Such is the weakness of all mortal hope ; 
 So fickle is the state of earthly thicgs, 
 
 That ere they come into their aimed scope. 
 They fall so short of their frail reckonings, 
 And bring us bale and bitter sorrowings, 
 
 Instead of comfort which we should embrace. 
 This is the state of Csesars and of kings. 
 Let therefore none that is in meaner place. 
 Too greatly grieve at any his unlucky case. 
 
 Spenser, 
 
 Arrived at Constantinople, De Montfort was 
 received with open arms by his uncle the am- 
 bassador who, nevertheless, looked very grave 
 when he beard of his nephew's reasons for so
 
 144 THE LADY OP 
 
 speedily accepting his invitation and leaving all 
 the gaieties of Paris, as until he heard it now 
 from his own lips, he had had no intimation of 
 De Montfort's marringe. However as it was 
 of no avail, under the present circumstances, 
 to read him a lecture on the madness of thus 
 giving way to the impulse of the moment and 
 neglecting so richly dowried and so fair a bride 
 as the King had bestowed upon him, the am- 
 bassador who was a man of great penetration 
 and sound judgment, began immediately to 
 consider how he could turn those unfortunate 
 incidents to the advantage of his nephew, and 
 being aware that the faults in his character 
 were engendered by the indulgence of every 
 wish to which he had been habituated from 
 infancy and by the idle life he had led in a dis- 
 sipated court, and knowing that he had 
 naturally good inclinations and abilities of no 
 common stamp, he determined if possible, to 
 lure him to the study of politics and to such 
 researches as might make him exert the powers
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 145 
 
 ©f his mind, and thus by providing him with 
 ample employment, give him no time for the in- 
 dulgence of wild fancies and futile regrets. 
 He therefore made De Montfort his own 
 private secretary determined that he should not 
 find it a sinecure place. 
 
 Behold De Montfort now all at once im- 
 mersed in the ocean of politics. The ambassador 
 in the blandest and most affectionate manner in 
 the world, had him perpetually at his elbow 
 consulting him upon every point of difficulty 
 and making him give due consideration to the 
 most intricate affairs. Thus the Baron found 
 himself, as if by enchantment, placed in a differ- 
 ent situation to any he had ever yet been in, 
 and what seemed more strange to himself wa8, 
 that he felt somehow or other as if it was the 
 sphere for which nature had originally intended 
 him and that in short he had been all his life, 
 while at court, living in a false position. 
 
 It was not that the image of Clementine 
 was erased from his heart, or that he felt lesa 
 
 TOL. I. H
 
 146 THE LADY OF 
 
 repugnance to his late marriage whenever the 
 thought of it crossed his mind ; nevertheless, 
 those memories were not now evermore present 
 before him, but overpowered by new scenes, 
 new pursuits, and the perpetual claims which 
 his uncle made upon Lis time and thoughts, 
 had gradually and imperceptibly receded from 
 the conspicuous place, which they had at first 
 possessed in Lis imagination. Still De Mont« 
 fort was much chagrined, as time passed on 
 and no letter arrived from Madame de Var- 
 ville, in answer to the passionate epistles, he 
 had sent her by every opportunity. Soon, 
 however, tLis neglect seemed to be in some 
 measure explained, by his hearing of the death 
 of the old Marquis, her husband, which took 
 place above a month after his own departure 
 from Paris, and he laid her silence to the 
 account of the agony she must feel, when she 
 reflected, that but for his hated marriage with 
 Isabelle, she was now free to bestow on him 
 her hand.
 
 THfi BED-CHAMBER. 147 
 
 ^* Yes, when this first anguish is a little 
 mitigated, Clementine will write to me," 
 tliought he ; bnt month succeeded to month, 
 still no letter came, and at length De Mont- 
 fort began to be seriously uneasy, about the 
 health of Madame de Varville. His rage and 
 horror may, therefore, be more easily ima- 
 gined than described, when one diy, in looking 
 over some public journals, just arrived from 
 Paris, he read an account of the marriage of 
 Clementine, Marchioness de Varville, with 
 Philippe, Marquis de Varville, the heir and 
 cousin of her late husband. To fully under- 
 stand the feelings of the young Baron, it is 
 necessary to state, that the present Marquia 
 had always been considered as a most despic- 
 able character. Deformed in his person as in 
 his mind, and a slave to every vice, none had 
 ever disliked or appeared to contemn him, 
 more than Clementine. 
 
 A marriage with so contemptible an indi- 
 vidual, which could have been only formed 
 H 2
 
 148 THE LADY OP 
 
 from the most Interested motives, unmasked 
 his, until now, dearly beloved mistress, and 
 rudely tore away the bandage she had placed 
 over the eyes of the Baron. 
 
 Perhaps there is no deception so galling to 
 the proud heart of man, as the one De Mont- 
 fbrt found he had been so long under— nor 
 any sting more acute, than the thought of 
 having squandered a world of affection upon 
 an unworthy object. 
 
 The witty, the beautiful, the fascinating 
 Clementine, to mate herself, for gold and rank, 
 with a being he had heard her speak of a 
 thousand times, in terms of opprobrium and 
 ridicule ! — but so it was, and De Montfort felt 
 as if truth and love had vanished for ever from 
 the world, leaving nothing but base counter- 
 feits in their stead. 
 
 But those ruminations, though frequent 
 and bitter at first, vanished by degrees, and 
 De Montfort gave himself entirely to his new 
 pursuits.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 14& 
 
 The country too, in which he was, rife with 
 so many magical associations of eastern mag- 
 nificence and antiquity, together with visions 
 of imprisoned beauties and tyrant sultans, genii, 
 and enchanted lakes and palaces, recalling the 
 tales so greedily devoured in his boyhood, 
 exercised a distracting power over his thoughts, 
 and when the graver pursuits of politics, and 
 studying languages were laid aside, and he 
 had made the tour of all the palaces, bazaars, 
 and mosques, and the beautiful cemetery of 
 Pera, they were always at hand, to lure him 
 into ever varying excursions, sometimes through 
 the woods and valleys of Belgrade, at other 
 times to float in a light caique, on the blue 
 waters of the Bosphorus, or to visit the islands 
 of the Propontis. 
 
 In this manner, time passed rapidly and 
 agreeably on, an^ De Montfort could scarcely 
 credit the possibility, of his having been 
 nearly two years at Constantinople, when a 
 letter arrived from his father, expressing much
 
 150 THE LADY OF 
 
 regret at his long absence and telling him, 
 that as he now felt himself growing old and 
 infirm, it would be a great comfort to him to 
 see his dear son, and entreating that he would 
 not much longer delay his return to Paris. 
 
 De Montfort was too dutiful, not to acqui- 
 esce immediately in his father's wishes, never- 
 theless, he did so with some freluctance, par- 
 ticularly when he heard from a young official, 
 just arrived, that he never saw the Count De 
 Beaumont looking in better health and spirits, 
 than he did, when on the evening preceding 
 his departure from Paris, he met him in the 
 Queen's drawing-room. 
 
 De Montfort was happy to hear of his father's 
 good health, and wished that he could have 
 spared him to remain with his uncle the Am- 
 bassador a little longer. Nevertheless it was 
 very natural that an old man should desire to 
 have his only child near him> so with a sigh De 
 Montfort determined to leave Constantinople 
 in the course of the following month, and pro-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEB. 151 
 
 ceedlng by the same route through Transyl- 
 vania, as that by which he had travelled before, 
 manage to spend a few weeks at the castle of 
 his friend Count Herman. 
 
 And now as the Baron meditated upon his 
 return to Paris, the unwished-for image of the 
 pale and weeping Isabelle came with with no 
 softened feeling to his mind, and this marriage 
 into which he had been urged by duty and 
 obedience to his father, and to which of late 
 he had scarcely given a thought, seemed to en- 
 trammel him with a more galling and irremedi- 
 able chain than ever. 
 
 ^' It is not very probable we shall meet in 
 Paris, however," thought he. " Brought up in 
 a remote convent with mediocre talents and 
 education, the atmosphere of the court will 
 never suit Isabelle ; it is most likely she will 
 continue in the country, and at all events 
 wherever she resides, we shall still be as in- 
 different as we are now, to each other, for it 
 was very evident that her repugnance to our
 
 152 THE LADT OF 
 
 unhappy union was quite equal to my own ; — 
 but after all, what signifies this marriage novv» 
 — I can never love again." 
 
 With such reflections as these De Montfort 
 tried to qualify the bitter potion he had been 
 compelled to drink, and then he began imme- 
 diately to lay out plans for his future life, de» 
 termining to adhere to the pursuits which his 
 uncle had chalked out for him. 
 
 The Ambassador was much chagrined at 
 being about to lose the society of his nephew, 
 in whom'he had found talents and capabiiities 
 that hnd astonished him, and the development 
 of which he very justly took the credit of to 
 himself. He therefore encouraged him in his 
 aspirations after political honors and as De 
 Montfort had a natural and easy eloquence, he 
 made no doubt but he would make a conspicu- 
 ous figure in public life. 
 
 As the time approached for his departure, 
 De Montfort felt still greater reluctance to bid 
 adieu to those beautiful scenes where his spirits
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 153 
 
 had been so renovated and the powers of his 
 mind so much awakened, and he spent as many 
 hours every day as he could steal from his all- 
 engrossing uncle, in visiting each favourit e spot, 
 and lingering wherever history or tradition had 
 been busy with her records. He explored 
 every ruin again and again to which ancient 
 story or popular superstition had given a my- 
 sterious charm, and extended his excursions far 
 into the surrounding country. The waters of 
 the Bosphorus often sparkled brightly as his 
 light boat flew over them, while the blue hills 
 of Asia Minor looked enchanting in the dis- 
 tance, and on the near shore, as the caique pro- 
 ceeded, every stroke of the oar unfolded some 
 new object — some fair pavilion, surrounded 
 with its rose gardens and tall cypress trees, or 
 a crumbling fortress perched upon some high 
 cliff. In this manner the hours seemed to fly 
 — but nothing in particular marked their pro- 
 gress. 
 
 It now wanted but a week of the time that 
 H 5
 
 154 THE LADT OT 
 
 c Baron had fixed upon for leaving Constan- 
 tinople, when fate, as if determined that he 
 8 hould not depart from this region of romance 
 without meeting with an adventure, led him, 
 o ne evening after sunset, to the cemetery of 
 Perac 
 
 The shadows of twilight were just beginning 
 to deepen as he entered the cemetery, light 
 breezes played refreshingly amidst the tall 
 cypress trees, and here and there, in this their 
 favourite walk among the marble tombs and 
 scented shrubs, groups of Turks and Armenians 
 might be seen, arrayed in their splendid oriental 
 costume — some chattering— some smoking — all 
 enjoying the delicious coolness of the evening 
 air, De Montfort soon sought the more retired 
 part of the cemetery, and ascending a rising 
 ground gazed upon the view of Constantinople 
 spread out before him, with its kiosks and 
 minarets, gardens, fountains, and groves of 
 cypress trees in the fore-ground, while the Sea 
 of Marmora, Scutari, and the lofty j\lount
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 155 
 
 Olympus might be discerned in the distance. 
 As he descended from this elevation, and turned 
 into a retired alley, he perceived a female in 
 the Armenian garb approaching through a cross 
 walk evidently with the intention of accosting 
 him. 
 
 When near enough, after first glancing 
 hastily around in order to see that they were 
 unobserved, she threw herself at his feet, and 
 addressing him in tolerable Italian, said in the 
 most piteous accents : 
 
 " It is in your power, most noble Frank, to 
 save the life of an unfortunate Greek maiden, 
 who, should you refuse, and there be none other 
 to help her — as I fear me there is not — must 
 • inevitably perish by a lingering and cruel death, 
 as the Sultana, Zobeide, has vowed her 
 destruction." 
 
 De Montfort, much surprised at this strange 
 
 rencontre, bade the petitioner arise, and he 
 
 v/ould listen to what she had to say to him. He 
 
 . perceived that the person addressing him was
 
 165 THE LADY OF 
 
 an elderly woman, wrinkled and shrivelledj but 
 with a prepossessing and benevolent expression 
 of countenance, while the tears that rolled 
 down her sallow cheeks left no doubt upon his 
 mind of the truth of her statement. Sitting 
 down upon one of the tombs, which was shaded 
 by a thick laurel hedge, he motioned to her to 
 place herself beside him. To this, however, 
 his interlocutor would not consent, humbly 
 seating herself on the grass at his feet. 
 
 " And now, good mother," said the young 
 Baron, whose curiosity was fully aroused, " tell 
 me who this maiden is — in what manner she 
 came to be placed in so perilous a situation — 
 how it happens that you take so great an in- 
 terest in her welfare, and what it is you wish 
 me to do ?" 
 
 " That is easily done,'' replied the old woman, 
 who after wiping her eyes, and again looking 
 carefully around, began her narration in tlie 
 following terms : 
 
 "I am an Armenian by birth, and some
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 157 
 
 seventeen years ago was in the service of Ypsi- 
 lanti, a Greek residing at Constantinople — I 
 had the care of his only child from her birth — a 
 lovely, engaging little girl of whom I became 
 passionately fond — When she was about six 
 years old her father, who was a merchant, suf- 
 fered a reverse of fortune by being security for 
 a friend to a large amount, and to avoid being 
 taken by the creditors was obliged to fly from 
 Constantinople — I unfortunately could not ac- 
 company my nursling, having been suddenly 
 taken with a violent access of fever— On my 
 recovery I found they were gone, no one knew 
 whither, and I lost sight of them entirely, and 
 after various vicissitudes came at last to be en- 
 rolled amongst the attendant slaves of the 
 Harem. A few days since a Greek maiden, 
 who had been torn from her family and friends 
 by some Turkish marauders, and sold to one of 
 our Emirs, was, on account of her extreme 
 beauty, sent by him as a present to the Sultan. 
 The Sultan, who is just now absent at one of
 
 158 THE LADY OF 
 
 his country houses, has not yet beheld her, 
 and Zobiede, his favourite mistress, dreading 
 the influence which this maiden, who is much 
 younger and handsomer than herself, may ob- 
 tain over the susceptible heart of the Sultan, 
 has vowed to destroy her before he arrives. 
 
 It so happened that I, being well skilled in 
 herbs and simples, was so fortunate as to be of 
 use to Zobeide during a dangerous illness, when 
 the prescriptions of her physician had failed to 
 bring her any relief, and was therefore placed 
 by her among her own particular attendants, 
 and have ever since enjoyed a large share of 
 her confidence. For this reason, on seeing this 
 fair young creature, a few days since, filled 
 with rage and jealousy, Zobeide persuaded the 
 Kislar Aga that as I was clever as a leech, 
 and very trustworthy, 1 was the fittest person 
 to be placed about this young girl, who had 
 given herself up to the deepest despair, and 
 scarcely taken any nourishment since her cap- 
 tivity.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER, 159 
 
 ** The eunuch, whofenredhis charge would 
 die of grief before the returii of the Sultan, 
 willingly consented. 
 
 ** After making me a most unwilling confi- 
 dant of her designs upon the unhappy maiden, 
 Zobeide dismsssed me to look after her, bidding 
 me consider well what means had best be em- 
 ployed to get rid of her without exciting sus- 
 picion, suggesting herself poison, administered 
 in small doses. 
 
 " Struck with horror at the service required 
 of me by Zobeide, I repaired to the apartment 
 where the unfortunate victim was shut up. I 
 found her bitting upon the floor, her face 
 covered by her hands, and apparently in such 
 despair that death itself would have been wel- 
 come to her. 
 
 " On hearing the door open she raised her 
 head and looked wildly at me — as I approached 
 she started up — looked again, and exclaimed — 
 
 ^' * No, it is impossible — it cannot be— but 
 — yesj it is, my dear, good, kind Glaphyra V
 
 160 THE LADY OP 
 
 " and throwing herself into my arms, she 
 hid her face in my bosom, and wept bitterly. 
 
 " I was struck with amazement — 1 could 
 hardly believe my senses — yet the tones of her 
 voice seemed to awaken memories within me. 
 
 " ' Glaphyra,' said she, ' have you entirely 
 forgotten your little Anastasia?' 
 
 '* What do you say. Is her name Anasta- 
 tir ?'' exclaimed the young Baron, interrupting 
 her. " Where do her parents reside ?" 
 
 *' In Roumelia, my lord," replied the old 
 woman. 
 
 " Proceed with your story — I am much in- 
 terested in it," returned De Montfort, eagerly. 
 
 The old woman then continued — 
 
 " ' My poor child,' exclaimed I, kissing her, 
 * is it indeed you. Ah ! what a fate is reserved 
 for you. The favourite mistress of the Sultan, 
 the proud Zobeide, has determined you shall 
 die.' 
 
 " ' Dear nurse,' said she, weeping, * death 
 is better than to be for ever separated from my
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. l6l 
 
 betrothed lover, Ivan Michaelis. I will — ah ! 
 how cheerfully — embrace death sooner than 
 remain immured in this dreadful palace.' " 
 
 At the name of Ivan Michaelis, De Mont- 
 fort started up with much agitation, but he 
 resumed his seat immediately, and the old 
 woman continued — 
 
 " I said all I could to comfort the dear child 
 — I told her I would die myself, rather than 
 any evil should happen to her, and that it w^as 
 to me Zobeide had given her in charge. I then 
 persuaded her to take a little refreshment, for 
 my poor Anastasia had eaten nothing for two 
 days, and making her then lie down to rest, 
 bade her trust in God, and soon saw her fall 
 into a sweet sleep. 
 
 " I then sought Zobeide, and dissembling 
 my grief, informed her that I had already in- 
 fused a small dose of poison into the nourishment 
 I had persuaded the young maiden to swallow, 
 and that she was now asleep from the effects 
 of the potion, promising to repeat it on the
 
 162 THE LADY OF 
 
 morning, and assuring her that, in three days, 
 her victim should be no more. 
 
 ** Zobeide lauded my fidelity, and I returned 
 to weep, and sit by the couch of Anastasia. 
 
 All that night I spent, in considering how I 
 could save the life of my beloved foster child. 
 Every plan seemed so difficult to execute, 
 that J was almost diiven to despair. lam 
 only a poor slave, without any friends, and 
 should I even contrive to get her out of the 
 Palace, where am I to secrete her? How 
 convey her out of Constantinople? In this 
 dilemma, I have determined to apply to you, 
 my Lord, as I happened to be in the bazaar 
 yesterday, making some purchases for Zobeide, 
 when you w ere choosing those rich stuffs from 
 the merchant, and mentioned to hira, that he 
 must make despatch with your commissions, as 
 you were on the point of leaving Constanti- 
 nople. 
 
 " It appeared to me, as if God had brought 
 you to my assistance. I returned to the
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 163 
 
 bazaar to-day, and procured your address from 
 the merchant. 
 
 " This afternoon 1 crossed over to Pera, and 
 have watched beside your gateway. I saw 
 you go forth, but you were not alone, and I 
 dared not speak to you in the crowd ; and I 
 have anxiously followed your steps, ever since 
 you came into the cemetery." 
 
 Here the old woman paused, and De Mont- 
 fort, filled with pity for the fair Anastasia, 
 and doubly interested for her, on account of 
 Ivan Michselis, determined to run all risks 
 and defy all danger, in endeavouring to liberate 
 her, and restore her to her friends. 
 
 Glaphyra heard his resolution with tears of 
 joy, already her beloved one seemed to her to 
 be saved. , 
 
 After a short consultation, it was arranged , 
 that, on the following night, the old woman 
 should leave unlocked, one of the small wickets 
 opening towards the sea, through which, for 
 ages, the unfortunate objects of the jealousy
 
 164 THE LADY OF 
 
 of the Sultans, were wont to be hurried to 
 their watery graves, and thus admit De Mont- 
 ford into the gardens of the harem. This she 
 could contrive by means of a private key, 
 which she knew Zobeide had in her possession, 
 and which she thought she could, without 
 much difficulty, secrete. 
 
 Glaphyra then described, accurately, to the 
 young Baron, the path he was to follow, in 
 order to reach the turret in the east angle of 
 the harem, where the unfortunate Anastasia 
 was confined, and which, fortunately for their 
 scheme, was concealed from the view of the 
 other apartments, by a projecting buttress. 
 
 Arrived beneath the window, which he would 
 not fail to recognise, by a small lamp being 
 placed in it, while a marble fountain, repre- 
 senting a winged dragon, threw up a column 
 of water hard by, he was to clap his hands 
 three times, when Glaphyra, by throwing 
 down a silken ladder, which they must make 
 fast beneath, would give him an opportunity of
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 165 
 
 reaching the casement, and assisting the maiden 
 to descend. 
 
 This plan, though attended with imminent 
 peril, perhaps death, should he be discovered 
 in the gardens of the Seraglio, seemed to De 
 Montfort to be feasible. He then inquired of 
 the old woman, what method she would take 
 to secure her own safety, and save herself 
 from the vengeance of Zobeide, and from the 
 punishment, which the Kislar Aga would 
 no doubt inflict upon her, for so daring an 
 offence, as that of assisting a female to escape 
 from the harem. 
 
 To this, Glaphyra well versed in all kinds of 
 stratagem, and having already pondered over 
 it, replied that she would substitute a figure/ 
 stuffed with goat's hair, the face covered with 
 a livid mask, which she had already procured, 
 in the place of Anastasia, and enveloping it in 
 her garments, would inform the Kislar Aga, 
 who was prepared, hy the excessive grief of 
 the maiden, for such a consummation, that she
 
 166 THE LADY OF 
 
 had died raging mad of an infectious fever. 
 The Kislar Aga, having no grounds for 
 suspicion, and always dreading, above all things, 
 a contagious disorder in the harem, would have 
 the supposed body immediately nailed up in a 
 coffin, and interred. 
 
 " Zobeide, she could easily make believe, 
 that the poison administered by her orders had 
 taken effect, and in this manner be enabled to 
 deceive both her mistress and the black eunuch. 
 
 How her beloved Anastasia was to be con- 
 veyed in safety from Constantinople Glaphyra 
 said, she must leave entirely to the care of her 
 preserver, but she depended upon the honour 
 of the noble Frank, that he would restore her 
 to her parents. 
 
 De Montfort reiterated his promises of as- 
 sistance and protection for the young girl, 
 assuring Glaphyra that should he find the 
 wicket open leading into the seraglio gardens, 
 he would not fail to be beneath her window on 
 the following midnight.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 167 
 
 Tmlight was by this time fast fading away, 
 and the stars came ou-t brightly in the dark 
 blue heavens. The old woman saw she had 
 better hasten home lest Zobeide might make 
 inquiries for her, therefore bidding De Mont- 
 fort adieu, with many thanks and blessings, 
 she hurried to the quay to seek the caique in 
 which she had crossed over from the serao:lio 
 point, while De Montfort, turning his steps 
 towards the French quarter in Pera, meditated 
 upon the dangerous and romantic enterprise in 
 which he found himself so suddenly engaged.
 
 168 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It is old and plain. 
 The spinsters and the knitters in the sun 
 And the free maids that weave their thread with 
 
 bones 
 Do use to chant it ; it is silly sooth, 
 And dallies with the innocence of love 
 Like the old age. 
 
 Shahspeare, 
 
 Although Delamare had cruelly allowed hia 
 eyes to speak volumes on the morning of his 
 departure, and had even talked of their meet- 
 ing again ere long, as he was going to spend 
 some weeks at his guardian's house, Isabelle
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 169 
 
 perceived that Eulalie wa« not in her usual 
 spirits that day — she frequently started as if 
 from a reverie, when spoken to, and then an- 
 swered as if she had not heard a word that 
 was said. Isabelle therefore thought a walk 
 would enliven her^ and as the day was very 
 beautiful, proposed they should take a short 
 cut through the fields and lanes to the Chateau 
 de Beaumont, which was not more than two 
 leagues distant. 
 
 To this proposal Eulalie joyfully consented ; 
 and after passing through several narrow, shady 
 lanes, scrambling over stiles and crossing a lit- 
 tle streamlet on stepping stones, they perceived 
 at the extremity of an orchard, before the door 
 of a farm house, the old blind man with his 
 two grandchildren, whom they had seen at the 
 fair the preceding evening, seated upon a stone 
 bench, aod playing the cornemitse, while a merry 
 troop of peasants danced around him. 
 
 Isabelle approached, and after speaking 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 SHE LADY OF 
 
 kindly to the blind man, bade him come and 
 rest at the Chateau that night. 
 
 It was evening when the old man entered 
 the court yard of the Chateau de Beaumont, 
 and the steward, who had been previously 
 directed by his mistress, after giving him some 
 refreshment in the hall, led the little party to 
 the terrace into which the windows of the 
 salon opened, where Isabelle and Eulalie 
 generally spent their evenings. 
 
 They were now there, with some friends who 
 had walked over unexpectedly to pass an hour 
 or two with them. Isabelle motioned to the 
 steward to lead the old man to a rustic seat just 
 opposite the windows, over which a large 
 chestnut tree formed an umbrageous covering 
 from the heats of the summer day, and the dews 
 of evening. Seated on the bench, the old man 
 played some national airs on the cornemuse while 
 the children sat at his feet, and the little dog 
 Mador stretched himself out to sleep on the 
 green sod.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 171 
 
 At length, when the old man paused, the 
 young baroness, wishing to vary the entertain- 
 ment, asked him to recite one of those old 
 Breton ballads — so simple yet so touching. The 
 blind man iiiimediately complied with her re- 
 quest, and in a plaintive but rather monoton- 
 ous tone repeated the following stanzas: 
 
 * THE HEIRESS OF KEROULAS. 
 
 " The lovely heiress of Keroulas 
 
 Must gay and gladsome be. 
 To dance in her robe of blue satin 
 
 With lords of high degree." 
 
 Thus said the ancient servitors 
 
 Who waited in the hall, 
 When the Marquis de Mesle and his lady mother 
 
 Appeared to grace the ball. 
 
 * Translated from an ancient Breton Ballad given in " Les 
 Derniers Bretons " by E. Souvestre. 
 
 I 2
 
 172 THE LADY OF 
 
 " would I were a blue pigeon 1" 
 
 Said the heiress with a sigh, 
 " Like those that perch upon the towers, 
 
 Of Keroulas so high ; 
 
 To hear what plot against my peace, 
 
 His mother lays with mine, 
 Alas ! I tremble whilst I look, 
 
 To think what they design. 
 
 They come not here from "•" Cornouaille, 
 Without some secret spring. 
 
 They come not where an heiress dwells 
 For naught but revelling. 
 
 The Marquis may have titles grand. 
 He may have gold in store — 
 
 But I have loved Kerthomas long, 
 And will love him ever more." 
 
 With anxious eye Kerthomas looked, 
 On those who came that day, 
 
 For dearly he loved that fair ladye, 
 And sighing, thus would say : 
 
 "he estate of the Marquis de Mesle.
 
 THE BEDCHAMBER. 173 
 
 " if I were tlie little * sarcelle 
 
 That yonder streamlet bears, 
 Whose crystal waters lave the robe, 
 
 My lovely mistress wears. 
 
 How would I sport upon that brook 
 
 And with what deep delight. 
 Mine eyes and plumage would I plunge 
 
 Within its waters bright ! 
 
 For the t hecassine who mid the ice 
 
 Of the marshes makes her nest, 
 Has less of coolness there — than I 
 
 Have love within my breast." 
 
 " madam — my lady mother dear — 
 
 Give not my hand away 
 To Lord de Mesle — but to Pennaurun, 
 
 Or to Lord Salaun I pray. 
 
 " But rather give me, to Kerthomas, 
 
 The gentlest knight is he ; 
 And you frowned not on his suit, my mother. 
 
 When he spake of love to me. 
 
 * Teal. t Snipe.
 
 174 THE LADY OP 
 
 "01 have been at Chateaugal,* 
 Dim looked its courts so wide, 
 
 The moaning wind through smoky halls 
 And shattered windows sighed. 
 
 "And I have been at Kerthomas — 
 
 would that it were mine ! 
 As silver are the portals bright — 
 Like gold the windows shine," 
 
 " My child, your happiness I seek — 
 
 Those foolish fancies hide ; 
 My word is pledged, and you must be 
 
 The Lord de Mesle's bride.'' 
 
 " With smiles of joy did I receive 
 
 The ring Kerthomas wore ; 
 And now alas ! with bitter tears, 
 
 This ring I must restore. 
 
 " Take back thy ring of gold, Kerthomas- 
 
 Thy signet with its chain ; 
 These gifts — since I must wed another — 
 
 1 dare not now retain." 
 
 * The chateau of the Marquis de Mesle.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 175 
 
 The hardest heart at Keronlas 
 
 Could not but grieve that day, 
 When they saw the weeping heiress kiss 
 The gates ere she went away. 
 
 " Adieu, great house of Keroulas, 
 
 Me never more you'll view j 
 Adieu, ye faithful servitors — ' 
 
 A long — a last adieu !" 
 
 But when she saw the parish poor 
 
 How fist their tears did fall — 
 " O weep not thus, ray pensioners, 
 
 But come to Chateaugal. 
 
 " And I will give you alms each day, 
 
 And three times in the week, 
 Eighteen quarters of wheat with oats, 
 
 And barley you may seek." 
 
 Then bespake him the Lord de Mesle, 
 
 And to his bride did say — 
 " Madam, my wealth will not suffice 
 
 To give such alms away. 
 
 " Marquis de Mesle," she replied, 
 " Your goods I will not take,
 
 176 THE LADY OF 
 
 But of my own 1 11 give to win 
 Their prayers for my soul's sake." 
 
 And when she came to Chateaugal- 
 
 '•' tell me is there one 
 With a message to Keroulas, 
 
 For me will ride or run ?" 
 
 A youthful page replied to this — 
 *' Madam if you will write 
 
 I'll find a messenger with speed 
 To take your scroll to-night." 
 
 She wrote a letter hastily : 
 And to the page did say — 
 
 " Give it unto my lady mother^ 
 Without a stop or stay.-' 
 
 " saddle me my grey palfrey,"' 
 
 Her lady mother cried, 
 " For I must haste to Chateaugal 
 
 To see what doth betide." 
 
 " O how are they at Chateaugal ? 
 
 Why do ye sad appear ? 
 And why are all the portals hung 
 
 With trappings dark and drear T
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 3 77 
 
 " The youthful heiress died last night 
 
 The bride so lately wed !'' 
 " luckless day ! — woe is me !" 
 
 The sorrowing lady said. 
 
 " woe is me !...for if my child 
 
 Has yielded up her breath, 
 Alas ! 'tis I... who am her mother 
 
 'Tis I have caused her death." 
 
 " give me not to Lord de Mesle," 
 
 She often said with sighs, 
 " But give me rather to Kerthomas, 
 
 Who is dearer to mine eyes — " 
 
 The woful lady of Keroulas 
 
 To a nunnery is gone, 
 And Kerthomas in a cloister 
 
 Gives his vows to God alone. 
 
 When the old man had finished his recitation 
 all the company applauded his performance, 
 and Mador, as if conscious that his beloved 
 master had met v^ith approval, sprang upon his 
 breast and licked his face. The Baroness gave 
 I 5
 
 178 THE LADY OF 
 
 him a cup of wine with her own fair hand, and 
 then, ordering the steward to see that the little 
 party were well lodged and cared for, dismissed 
 them, first telling the old minstrel that he and 
 his grand children should spend a few days at 
 the Chateau. This invitation the old man re- 
 ceived with much gratitude, saying, however, 
 that he could not remain beyond the third day 
 as he should then take the road to Caen, where 
 there was to be a great fair held. This little 
 rencontre served much to enliven the spirits of 
 Eulalie, who made the old man play the corne- 
 miise and recite ballads for her, or else listened 
 to Angelique's plaintive ditties, the greater 
 part of the two following days, whilst in the 
 evenings, the Abbe de Say e, who resided in 
 the neighbourhood, and was a frequent visitor 
 at the Chateau, a venerable man about seventy 
 years of age, gave them learned dissertations 
 upon the ancient ballad poetry of Brittany and 
 Normandy, and ^ne songs of the Trouveres, 
 accompanied by a minute account of the origin
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 179 
 
 and progress of La Cour d'Amour, once so 
 celebrated in Provence, with all of which sub- 
 jects he was quite as well acquainted as he was 
 with his breviary, having in early life been both 
 a poet and a warrior himself. 
 
 The old minstrel on leaving the Chateau 
 bestowed many a blessing upon its gentle in- 
 mates, and Eulalie felt a lively regret in part- 
 ing with the pretty Angelique, who on her 
 part shed many tears. Jean and Mador, how- 
 ever, seemed to resume their erratic life with 
 much alacrity, and a long time passed away 
 before the inhabitants of the Chateau heard 
 tidings of the old man and his grandchildren.
 
 180 THE LADY 01* 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Ladye, throw back thy raven hair, 
 Lay thy white brow in the moonlight bare, 
 I will look on the stars, and look on thee, 
 And read the page of thy destiny. 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
 1 talk of dreams ; 
 Which are the children of an idle brain 
 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy. 
 
 Shakspeahe. 
 
 The obsei'vations which Madame d'Anglurcs 
 could not help making upon the pointed atten- 
 tions of Henri Desguey to Eulalie forced her,
 
 THE BEB-CHAMBEK, 181 
 
 though not without some reluctance to think 
 upon the probability of this dear child's being 
 soon settled in life. She would much rather 
 have kept her with herself for two or three 
 years longer, but the match would be an 
 advantageous one in every point of view — the 
 young man being amiable, his family wealthy 
 and respectable ; and that the Provost had no 
 intention of crossing his son's wishes, his 
 manner towards the whole family sufficiently 
 testified, although she knew he must be aware 
 that Eulalie's dowry would be but very small. 
 
 All these considerations made her imagine 
 that she could not better secure the future 
 happiness of Eulalie than by forwarding a 
 union so well assorted in every respect. Never- 
 theless she was in no hurry to bring it to a con- 
 clusion, and thought that it might be as well 
 for the young people to see a little more of each 
 other before matters proceeded further. 
 
 That Eulalie could have the slightest objec- 
 tion to this marriage never once entered into
 
 182 THE LADY OP 
 
 her calculations and having arranged the affair 
 completely to her own satisfaction, she now 
 turned her thoughts for the first time, to what 
 might be Josephine's future destiny. 
 
 Fondly attached to her daughters and always 
 living with them in the greatest harmony, 
 Madame d'Anglures had, until now, shut her 
 eyes to the probability of their being soon 
 taken from beneath her maternal wing ; and she 
 would still have gladly remained in the same 
 pleasing forgetfulness as to what might be 
 their future prospects, had not the frequent 
 visits of Henri Desguey called her serious 
 attention to the subject. 
 
 " It is not likely that Josephine will ever 
 marry well," soliloquised Madame d'Anglures 
 *' for she is not in the least pretty although so 
 good and gentle, and her portion like that of 
 Eulalie will be very small — my jointure, though 
 handsome, and sufficient to keep up a respect- 
 able appearance in the world, expires with me, 
 and after my death the poor child will have to
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 183 
 
 submit to many privations should she remain 
 single — I cannot part with her just yet, but in 
 all things she seems so perfectly suited for a 
 conventual life that a kind providence must 
 have inspired me with the idea — yes — Josephine 
 must be a nun — I will gradually try to assist 
 in bringing about her vocation, and will speak 
 to our goo(J Abbe upon the subject — I have no 
 doubt but he will entirely coincide in my 
 opinion. It will be hard for me to part with 
 so sweet a companion as Josephine; but alas! 
 the time must arrive wlien I shall be called upon 
 to bid a final adieu to this world and to both my 
 dear children and it is best for me to see them 
 settled before I die." 
 
 Thus reasoned the good but not very clear 
 sighted Madame d'Anglures, and she accord- 
 ingly took the very first opportunity, of 
 speaking to her confessor and friend, the 
 Abbe de Saye, upon the subject. 
 
 The old man heard her very attentively ; he
 
 184 THE LADY OF 
 
 chimed in with all her views for Eulalie, but 
 her plan for Josephine, he did not seem to 
 embrace so eagerly as she expected. He had 
 not always been a priest himself, and though 
 a very good man, had not quite outlived the 
 memory of his young days. 
 
 *' Mademoiselle Josephine is too young," 
 said he, taking a pinch of snuff. "It is 
 quite time enough to think about a convent 
 for her by and by — let the poor child look 
 after her bees and flowers, and ramble in the 
 woods a little longer." 
 
 The Baroness was not well pleased, that the 
 old Abbe did not enter into her scheme for 
 Josephine, with greater warmth. The more 
 thought she gave to it herself, the more admi- 
 rably suited for this dear daughter did she con- 
 sider it to be. 
 
 " And after all, 1 might then see her a 
 Lady Abbess before I die, and no one can be 
 better suited for such dignity, than my dear, 
 good Josephine."
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 185 
 
 Thus did this tender mother muse, and from 
 want of a little penetration, chalk out paths 
 iu life for two beloved daughters, diametrically 
 opposite to their inclinations ; and thus it fre- 
 quently is in this world, that we are blind to 
 the various feelings, hopes, and disappoint- 
 ments, of those who are dearest to us, and 
 with whom we the most constantly asso- 
 ciate. 
 
 The good Abbe de Saye, who had been for 
 years a constant visitant at the Chateau, had a 
 much keener insight into the feelings and cha- 
 racter of his favourite Josephine, than had 
 her mother ; and when the Baroness urged him 
 to mark out for Josephine, a course of study 
 and devotional attendance, most fit to prepare 
 her fur her future vocation, the worthy man, 
 without assigning his motives, decidedly said' 
 that he hid every reason to be satisfied with 
 Mademoiselle Josephine at present, and begged 
 that her mother would, on no account, mention
 
 186 THE LADV OF 
 
 anything about a vocation to her, for a year at 
 least. 
 
 The Baroness, satisfied with his approbation 
 of Josephine, promised compliance with his 
 wishes ; nevertheless, she could not help fur- 
 tively throwing in her child's way, any books 
 that she thought might conduce to seriousness 
 of mind, and without directly prohibiting 
 their perusal, putting aside all the effusions of 
 the old Trouveres and romance writers, that 
 she could lay her hands upon. Nevertheless, 
 to her great mortification, the good Abbe him- 
 self, was sometimes the means of bringing one 
 or other of those hidden volumes to light. 
 Accustomed to spend three or four evenings in 
 the week at the Chateau, and delighting in 
 music, particularly in the old national ballads, 
 he frequently demanded a song of some old 
 Trouvere from Josephine, instead of the 
 sacred chants the Baroness placed before her, 
 and which he said with truth, her voice could 
 not do justice to.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 187 
 
 This was the more provoking to the Ba- 
 roness, as Josephine looked up to him, and 
 reverenced him as a father, and one word 
 from the Abbe de Saye, in token of disappro- 
 bation, would have made her burn her ballads 
 immediately. However, the good Baroness 
 had nothing to do, but to submit good hu- 
 mouredly to her old friend and confessor. 
 
 " If Josephine should, of her own accord, 
 wish to enter a convent hereafter, I shall not 
 oppose the dear child's wish ; on the contrary, 
 I will, by instruction and precept, do all in 
 my power, to prepare her for so solemn a 
 change— but look at Josephine now, and say, 
 do you think it probable, that she is yet tired 
 of the world?" 
 
 So said the old Abbe one evening to Madame 
 d'Anglures, when having put his hat and stick 
 in the corner as usual, he called her attention 
 from her knitting to the group of young people 
 who were dancing on the green plot outside 
 the window of the salon. At that moment
 
 188 THE LADY OF 
 
 Josephine seemed to have changed characters 
 with her sister, so bright was her colour, and so 
 sparkling her eye. 
 
 She was dancing with Henri Desguey, while 
 Eulalie, who had hoped Delamare would have 
 joined their little party, and had refused to 
 dance with Henri, under pretext of having a 
 headache, sat by, looking very grave. 
 
 Isabelle, seated at the harp close to the other 
 window of the salon, which was open, played 
 with a light and brilliant finger the airs to 
 which the young people were so merrily danc- 
 ing. 
 
 Henri Desguey in his pursuit of the beau- 
 tiful little Eulalie, had likewise tried to ingra- 
 tiate himself into the good graces and friend- 
 ship of Josephine, whom he considered as a 
 most amiable and sensible girl, and likely to 
 influence her volatile little sister. If Eulalie 
 neglected to wear the flowers with which he 
 presented her, or disdainfully threw them aside, 
 as she often did,he always turned to Josephine
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 189 
 
 for consolatipn, and to enjoy at least the plea- 
 sure of talking of his beloved. Did Eulalie 
 fly off from him in their walks, or manoeuvre 
 to be engaged when he asked her to dance, the 
 gentler Josephine was always near, to listen 
 sympathisingly to his complaints, which, how- 
 ever, did not last long, as he was of a gay, 
 lively temperament, or to join him with an un- 
 tiring step in the mazes of the dance. Thus, 
 though passionately attached to one sister, he 
 more frequently conversed and danced wi^h 
 the other ; and in this manner Josephine, with- 
 out indulging an idea of attracting him, or 
 supposing she could be attracted by him, was 
 thrown into, and took, without being aware of 
 it, a dangerous pleasure in his society, and while 
 she considered herself his friend and confidant, 
 was on the brink of feeling for him a much 
 warmer sentiment. 
 
 His visits were now of daily occurrence at 
 the chateau d'Anglures, and although, latterly, 
 Isabelle spent the greater part of her time
 
 190 THE LADY OF 
 
 there with Eulalie, if it so happened ihat the 
 latter was at the Chateau de Beaumont, Des- 
 guey always persuaded Josephine to lay aside her 
 embroidery frame or her book, and accompany 
 him thither, the short way across the fields; 
 and sometimes he brought his sisters to join in 
 their walk. 
 
 They were very fond of Josephine, and much 
 preferred her to her sister. The soft, easy 
 temper of the former pleased them, and she 
 had no beauty to compete w^ith theirs, while 
 besides being chafed at the admiration which 
 Eulalie generally excited, they were displeased 
 at the coldness she evinced towards their bro- 
 ther, of whom they where both fond and 
 proud. 
 
 Isabelle always received them with pleasure, 
 and was ready to discard her books and paint- 
 ing, and join them in their rambles towards the 
 sea coast, which was generally their favourite 
 point of attraction. Frequently she made 
 them spend the rest of the day, until the cool
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 191 
 
 of the evening, at her chateau, and in the in- 
 termediate time would send to some of her near 
 neighbours, and assembling all the young peo- 
 ple would play on the harp for them, while 
 they danced merrily until the stars told them it 
 was time to return home. 
 
 Eulalie's gay vivacity constantly made her 
 forget her dread of young Desguey's attentions, 
 and a bright smile and kind word were always 
 kindling his hopes anew ; while unacquainted 
 with her sister's mind, in respect to Delamare, 
 Josephine thought it impossible but that she 
 must at last like Henri Desguey, imputing her 
 present reserve towards him, to the indifference 
 of an unoccupied heart, or to a playful caprice, 
 never once imagining that Delamare, whom 
 she considered grown both proud and sullen, 
 could be preferred, by her gay little sister, to 
 the entertaining and always good tempered 
 Henr* Desguey. 
 
 Thus did the days of the young Baroness de 
 Montfort fly rapidly and agreeably away, al-
 
 192 THE LADY OF 
 
 ways occupied in useful pursuits, or in giving 
 pleasure to others, she was the idol of the little 
 circle among whom she dwelt, entering into 
 their amusements, sympathising in their 
 troubles, and promoting their happiness in 
 every way she could. Her own former life 
 seemed but a dream, while her present existence 
 was a delightful reality, and so much did she 
 enjoy the pleasures of friendship, her indepen- 
 dent state, and the companionship of the young 
 and lively, that love, though playing pranks 
 with so many hearts around her, found not the 
 smallest aperture to creep into hers — not even 
 the remembrance of the time when he had 
 hovered around her at Venice, ever came to 
 disturb her repose, and her marriage had become 
 so dream-like an occurrence to her imagination, 
 that a thought of it scarcely ever crossed her 
 mind. 
 
 Such was the state of things, when one day 
 it was arranged that they should have a pique- 
 nique up the river Seine.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 193 
 
 The boat contained Madame d'Anglures, 
 Isabelle, Josephine, and Eulalie — the Provost 
 with his two daughters, Leonore and Adele, 
 while the Abbe de Saye, Delamare, and Henri 
 Desguey, with the boatmen, constituted the 
 rest of the party. It was a delicious afternoon 
 when they set out, and after rowing up the 
 river for a couple of hours, they looked about 
 for a suitable spot on one of the banks for their 
 cold collation, 
 
 A grassy plot shaded with large trees, and 
 partly surrounded by high locks, seemed pur- 
 posely intended by nature, from its shade and 
 retirement, and the arched canopy, which the 
 interlacing boughs formed over it, for a sylvan 
 banquetting hall. Here they disembarked, and 
 scattering about in various groups while the re- 
 past was laying out on a grassy knoll, they 
 peered into every leafy nook and thicket, 
 watching the agile squirrel springing from 
 bough to bough and startling the timid hare 
 trom his form. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 \9\ THE LADY OF 
 
 Presently tbey discovered, on the edge of a 
 green slope at a little distance, a group of 
 gipseys seated under a large chesnut tree. A 
 youDg girl, dark as night, came forward to 
 greet them, and addreseicg them in broken 
 I'rench with a strong foreign pronunciation, 
 offered to tell their fortunes. 
 
 Fearful that the old Abbe, who was vehe- 
 mently opposed to all fortune-tellers and astrolo- 
 gers, horoscopes, magical secrets, and hazel- 
 tree wands, so much relied upon at this period, 
 by even the most learned men, might approach, 
 they at first hesitated, but seeing that he did 
 not make his appearance, Adele, who had been 
 conversing with Delamare in a lively strain, 
 presented her palm to the fortune-teller. "What 
 she told her nobody knew, but the young 
 girl looked well satisfied with the promised 
 fortune. 
 
 Pit-T sister followed her example, as did 
 Henri, but the latter did not appear as pleased,
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 195 
 
 as were bis sisters, with his future des- 
 tiny. 
 
 The rest of the party declined her eager im- 
 portunities, and were turning away, when an 
 elder and more dignified female approached. 
 
 She had been minutely examining the young 
 people from beneath the chesnut tree, and 
 after curiously scanning them all, came for- 
 ward, bringing in her hand some small bunches 
 of flowers, one of which she presented to each 
 individual; informing them that they were 
 symbolical. Her French was better than 
 that of her companion, the younger gypsey, 
 though likewise marked with a foreign accent. 
 Being offered money in return for her presents, 
 she coldly repulsed it, saying that so insigni- 
 ficant an offering did not require any recom- 
 pense, and the party, amused with their ren- 
 contre, now relriiced their steps back, and 
 proceeded to examine the nosegays, not, how- 
 ever, without a little anxiety mingled with 
 
 K 2 
 
 M.
 
 196 THE LADY OF 
 
 their curiosity, as to what might be the meaning 
 attached to the flowers. 
 
 " Bosemary!" exelaimud Isabelie, looking 
 with much surprise at the large bunch of ^ rose- 
 mary she had got, and then she paused to 
 consider. 
 
 '' It is for remembrance," thought she^ 
 and a deep blush crossed her cheek, while the 
 Church of the Salute, and all the memories 
 attached to it — so long buried, and to all 
 appearance, extinguished in her bosom, rose 
 vividly, like a panoramic picture before her 
 eyes, as if conjured up by the wand of an 
 enchanter, 
 
 *' And violets mingled with it," exclaimed 
 she again, as she picked up the small bunch 
 of violets, which, unperceived until now, 
 had dropped from the midst cf the ros^ r»ary. 
 " Kemembrance and consinncy — how ttraTige ! 
 — but it must be purely accidental." 
 "What have you got, Josephine?"
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 19^ 
 
 And Josphine smiling, held out the bunch 
 tof gilliflowerS) which the gipsey had placed in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Ah, yes — yours is very appropriate," con- 
 tinued Isabelle — " giUiflower is for gentleness 
 — -but there is lavender in it too— lavender 
 signifies true love — what have you to do yet, 
 with true love, Josephine? — take care of your 
 little heart." 
 
 But Josephine only smiled complacently, 
 for she thought that h^r heart was safe in her 
 own keeping, 
 
 Eulalie hid the large bunch of violets she 
 bad received, with a secret consciousness of 
 their truth, in her bosom, not perceiving the 
 sprigs of rue that were interwoven with them ; 
 while Delamare disdainfully threw away the 
 fennel, which the gipsey had bestowed upon 
 him, not liking the allusion to insincerity, which 
 it conveyed. 
 
 Afraid of being reprehended by the good 
 Abbe, for daring to listen to any one, who pro*
 
 198 THE LADY OF 
 
 fessed a knowledge of the occult sciences, tbey 
 were silent on the subject of their meeting with 
 the gipseys. 
 
 It was moonlight, when they re-entered the 
 boat. Eulalie was all sparkling vivacity, as, 
 seated near the thoughtful Delamare, she sang 
 duets with Josephine, to which no one listened 
 with more pleasure, than did the good Abb€j 
 while the young Baroness, unable to give 
 much attention to the music, was glad thjvt it 
 gave a suitable pretext for silence* 
 
 The little incident of the flowers, so trifling 
 in itself, opened the floodgates of memory in 
 the soul of Isabelle. It was in vain she tried 
 to persuade herself, that if those symbolical 
 flowers had any occult meaning, they must 
 refer to her subsequent to her marriage, and en- 
 deavouring to banish all former recollections from 
 her mind, she recurred, with a feverish anxiety, ^o 
 every minute circumstance attending it. 
 
 No sooner did sleep close her eyes, than 
 visions, vague and fitful, haunted her pillow.
 
 THE BED-CflAMBEE. 199 
 
 Again in bey dreams she beheld the gipsey 
 apparently in'^ested with a supernatural power • 
 she felt her dark eyes looking into the depths 
 of her heart, and evermore her portentous 
 voice whispered in her ear — * Memory and un- 
 dying love will yet take possession of thy 
 heart. Yes, when least expected, thou shalt 
 see him again,' 
 
 ** It is imjH)«8ible- — ^it is impossible we shall 
 ever see eaeh other again," said Isabeile 
 starting up from a troubled slumber, ** and if 
 we did meet, I should not be able to recog- 
 nise him— besides, I cannot — dare not, love 
 him now, for am I not the wife of another ? 
 It is witchcraft — a bunch of rosemary and a 
 few violets never could have conjured up such 
 reminiscences and mysterious shadows of the 
 future. I will destroy the unhallowed gift." 
 
 So saying, she hastily rose, and taking the 
 flowers, which lay on a marble console, pro- 
 ceeded to the dressing-room, where she knew, 
 had been left a chafincr dish of coals.
 
 200 THE LADY OF 
 
 The grey dawn was beginning to spread over 
 the heavens, and throwing an indiatinct light 
 into the apartment, half revealed, and half 
 hid the objects it contained, when Isabelie» 
 passing by a mirror, started with an indescri- 
 bable feeling of terror, for an accidental glance 
 towards its shadowy surface, revealed to her 
 the dark aisles of a church. It was but a 
 momentary glimpse. Hurrying on without 
 daring to look again, and throwing the bunch 
 of flowers which she now perceived were curi- 
 ously interlaced with a mystic silver thread, 
 upon the chafing dish, she watched, with a 
 beating heart the crisping leaves curl up and 
 slowly consume. 
 
 The breath of morning, blowing refreshingly 
 through an open lattice, cooled her fevered 
 temples, and retreating to her sleeping room 
 she again passed the mirror, before which she 
 now paused ; but her own image, pale and 
 weary looking^ as if she had spent a night of 
 vigils, was alone reflected therein.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 201 
 
 For some time after this incident, Isabelle 
 was unable, as before^ entirely to stifle all re- 
 collection of past scenes, which successfully as 
 she might banish them in her waking hours^ 
 came, unbidden, and unwelcome, to mingle in 
 her dreams, with all those wild extravagancies 
 and impossibilities with which sleep ever in- 
 vests her phantasmagoria. Again he, to whose 
 passionate vows she had listened in the church 
 of the Salute, knelt before her, but she saw not 
 his face — either a mask, or the dim twilight, or 
 his plumed cap, concealed it from her view. 
 Nina was not there — the gipsey alone watched 
 beside them. 
 
 Once only she dreamed that she saw the 
 face of her lover. They were on a wild, 
 solitary heath — it was night ; the storm raged, 
 and the lightning flashed. He held her hand 
 fast in his, and bade her fear nothing. She 
 turned to look at him, and a flash of lightning 
 revealed the features of De Montfort, and with 
 a shriek of surprise she awoke.
 
 202 THE LADY OF 
 
 Again she slept, and the clash of arms was 
 heard. She thought she threw herself between 
 two knights engaged in deadly combat, and 
 tried to separate them — but her efforts were in 
 Tain. A sword, and it was that of De Mont- 
 fort, pierced the heart of the other knight, who 
 wore the well remembered Spanish dress and 
 mask in which she had seen him at her first 
 masquerade.
 
 THE BKD-CHAMBEE, 203 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Wondrous it is to see in diverse mindes. 
 How diversely Love doth his pageants play. 
 
 Spe7isei\ 
 
 Elle €toit logee dans un magnifique apartement du 
 Palais, qui n'avoit au lieu de tapisseries que de grandes 
 glaces de miroir de toute la hauteur des chambres et 
 des cabinets. 
 
 Fbnelon. 
 
 Notwithstanding the secret decision of 
 Pierre Delamare with respect to the church, he 
 still continued to see Eulalie occasionally, and 
 to bestow on her, when he deemed himself un- 
 observed, those thousand little nameless tokenJi
 
 204 THE LADY OF 
 
 of love and devotion which give security to the 
 too confiding female heart. 
 
 Delamare could not endure the idea of Eula- 
 lie belonging to another — the possibility of her 
 ever giving her hand to Henri Desguey was 
 insupportable. Yet at the same time that he 
 found he could never reconcile his love and am- 
 bition together, being conscious that the latter 
 passion was so interwoven with his existence as 
 to have become the master spring of all his 
 actions, and the all-powerful ruler of his soul, 
 he determined that, as Eulalie never could be 
 his, she should never, if it was in his power to 
 prevent it, marry any one else, and by thus 
 confirming and strengthening the influence, he 
 knew he had over her, he hoped, when he bade 
 adieu to the world, so to mystify her poor heart 
 and blind her judgment, that, while acknow- 
 ledging to herself that he was bound to her by 
 no promise or avowal of love, she might, in the 
 hopelessness of disappointed affection, immure 
 herself in a convent.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 205 
 
 Such were the secret springs that moved the 
 unworthy Delamare, although perhaps not so 
 clearly developed to himself as we have shown 
 thera to our reader. The innocent Eulalie 
 always hailed his approach wdth undisguised 
 pleasure, while Isabelle watched him with an 
 anxious eye, and a distrusting mind. 
 
 The young Baroness had now passed more 
 than a year at her Chateau in Normandy, when 
 just at this period her father-in-law, the Count 
 de BeaumoDt, procured for her the appoint- 
 ment of lady in waiting to the Queen, He had 
 been much chagrined at the behaviour of his 
 son, and hoped by bringing Isabelie into the 
 sunshine of royal favour, and habituating her 
 to the air and mannersof a court, that she might, 
 on De ]\Iontfort's return, make a different im- 
 pression on him to that which she had formerly 
 done. Isabelie would have immediately de- 
 clined this honour, had she not been wrought 
 upon by arguments and entreaties of Madame 
 d'Anglures, who, although it would deprive
 
 206 THE LADY OF 
 
 her of the society of one whom she looked upon 
 as a beloved daughter, saw of what infinite ad- 
 vantage the countenance of the Queen would 
 be to Isabelle, in the position in which De 
 Montfort's cruel neglect had placed her. 
 
 Isabelle would willingly have taken Eulalie 
 to Paris, but, to her great mortification, the 
 youn^ girl declined her invitation, beseeching 
 her with tears in her eyes, not to mention the 
 subject to her mother leat she might urge her 
 acceptance of it* 
 
 Isabelle conjectured that the prolonged re- 
 sidence of Pierre Delamare in the neighbour- 
 hood, together with the continuance of his 
 disingenuous conduct, was the cause of this 
 refusaL 
 
 Sometimes Isabelle fancied that Delamare 
 had given up all idea of her little friend, from 
 the long intervals between his visits, and the 
 consequent dejection of Eulalie ; but when be 
 did come he always managed, without, appar- 
 ently, paying Eulalie any particular attention,
 
 ~ THE BEI>-CHAMBEa* 207 
 
 to re-animate her spirits, and call back her 
 former gaiety* 
 
 laabelle too, suspected that Eulalie consi- 
 dered the undiguised dislike which Delnmare 
 evinced for Henri Desgney as an undeniable 
 proof of the passion he entertained for her 
 
 Desguey, whose admiration for Eulalie could 
 not be misunderstood, was evidently anxious 
 to win the good opinion of Madame d' Anglures 
 and public report whispered^ that the provost 
 had already made her acquainted with the 
 wishes of his son, but as yet, however, she had 
 not spoken to Eulalie on the subject. 
 
 Isabelle signified to her father-in-law her ac- 
 ceptance of the place of lady in waiting to the 
 Queen, and it was arranged that she ahould 
 leave Normandy for Paris in a hw weeks. 
 
 The intermediate time was spent principally 
 at the Chateau d'Anglures, and there Isabelle 
 had an opportunity of remarking the different
 
 208 THE LADY OP 
 
 sentiments which occupied the minds of the 
 young people. 
 
 Desguey was constantly at the Chateau, and 
 his suit was evidently favoured by Madame d' 
 Anglures. He had not however yet openly 
 declared himself to Eulalie, who, notwithstand- 
 ing, could hardly be ignorant of the purport 
 of his visits, and she, who would have liked his 
 frank, agreeable manners, had Josephine been 
 the object of his preference instead of herself, 
 felt constrained and uncomfortable in his so- 
 ciety, particularly if Pierre Delamare happened 
 to be present, while the gentle Josephine, 
 silent and pre-occupied, scarcely ever spoke or 
 raised her eyes from her embroidery frame, it 
 being evident that she too was ill at ease. 
 
 About a week before her departure from 
 Normandy, Isabelle, accompanied by Eulalie. 
 took the short way through the lanes and or- 
 chards from the Chateau de Beaumont, where 
 they had been for a few days, to the Chateau 
 d'Anglures.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEK. 209 
 
 They had almost arrived at the little stream 
 with stepping stones across it, when they were 
 joined by Henri Desguey, who had been taking 
 a ramble in that direction. A few paces more 
 brought them to the stream, where they found 
 a little girl about six years of age, sitting on 
 the bank, and crying bitterly. 
 
 On being questioned, she said that she was 
 going with her brother to see her grandmother 
 who lived in a cottage, on the opposite side of 
 the hill, but that her brother, seeing she was 
 unable to step across the stones, refused to 
 carry her over, and had bade her stay there un- 
 til his return. 
 
 Young Desguey, than whom no one could 
 have had a better or kinder disposition, directly 
 took the child in his arms and carried her 
 across, and then leading her to a stile at a 
 short distance, which he likewise assisted htr 
 to surmount, did not leave her until he had 
 seen her take the right paih up the hill towards 
 her grandmother's cottage.
 
 210 THE Lady ot 
 
 This little act of kindness in young Desguey 
 was rewarded by the pretty Eulalie with a thou- 
 sand smiles, and forgetful for tlie time that he 
 wished for any other interest in her heart than 
 that of friendship and neighbourly intimacy, 
 she laughed and chatted with him, enjoying 
 his witty conversation and lively remarks, for 
 heLadafund of humour and harmless sarcasm 
 in his composition. 
 
 rie had always been a favourite vrith the 
 youiig Baroness, and Isabelle, rejoiced to see her 
 dear little friend once more like her former self, 
 gladly joined in their merriment They had 
 nearly arrived at the Chateau d'Anglures in 
 this lively mood, when Pierre Delamare ap- 
 proached. The sight of Eulalie in the com- 
 pany of Henri Desguey and in high spirits, was 
 a dagger to his jealous, selfish heart, and after 
 the first salutations were over, and they had 
 entered the salon, poor Eulalie saw, by the 
 moody air, which he vainly tried to conceal, that 
 he was offended at something or other.
 
 THE B£d-chambi:r. 211 
 
 They found Josephine in a distant window 
 of the salon, with her embroidery frame before 
 her, intently reading the romance of La Prin- 
 cess de Cleves^ which in some confusion she 
 slipped under her pattern, while the Abb^ de 
 Saye entertained Madame d'Anglures, who in 
 another part of the apartment was busily em- 
 ployed in knitting. Josephine received them 
 with great pleasure, and told them, that in the 
 evening an addition was to be made to their 
 party, and that they were to have a dance ; and 
 in. the meantime Isabelle, seeing a sort of con- 
 straint spreading over them all, in consequence 
 of Eulalie's sudden reserve, and Delamare's 
 silence, proposed music 
 
 Young Desguey eagerly asked Eulalie to 
 allow him to join her in a duet ; but she com- 
 plained of some sensation in her throat oc- 
 casioned by a cold, and could not sing— the 
 truth was, that if she had made the attempt, 
 she knew she vv^ould inevitably have burst into 
 tears, Isabelle then bade him apply to Jose-
 
 212 THE LADY OF 
 
 phine, who Immediately complied with his re 
 quest, and as Desguey led her to the harp and 
 offered to sing with her, so bright a joy beamed 
 in her countenance, that Isabelle for the first 
 time, thought she looked nearly as pretty as 
 Eulalie. 
 
 Notwithstanding the songs and music, the 
 old Abbe seized on Isabelle, and tried to en- 
 gage her attention, by some learned disquisitions 
 upon the ancient music of Normandy, but 
 Isabelle's thoughts were too distracted to per- 
 mit her to hear one word he said. She had, 
 from the spot where she was seated, a view of 
 a small conservatory communicating with the 
 salon by glass doors, and perceiving that De la- 
 mare had followed Eulalie thither, caught a 
 glimpse of him when in the act of taking a 
 flower from her bouquet, pressing it to his lips 
 and placing it in his bosom. Soon the rest of 
 their friends arrived, and dancing commenced 
 — Eulalie, although rather more grave than was 
 her wont, danced all the evening ; and peace
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 213 
 
 seemed to have smiled again upon the inmates 
 of the Chateau. 
 
 Jsabelle left Normandy with a heavy heart 
 on account of her young favourite, for whom 
 she saw nothing but a perspective of disappoint- 
 ment and blighted love. The more she had 
 studied the character of Delamare, the less was 
 she able to understand him ; she could only 
 come to the conclusion, that with all the talents 
 and knowledge, which he certainly possessed, 
 he was unamiable, selfish, and insincere — 
 neither in the present state of affairs could she 
 wish, the more amiable,, though not so highly 
 gifted Desguey, to supplant him in the affec- 
 tions of Eulalie, could such an event be possi- 
 ble, as she more than suspected that the gentle 
 Josephine was warmly prepossessed in favour 
 of the Provost's son. 
 
 Madame d' Anglures, Josephine, and Eulalie, 
 shed many tears at parting, and embraced the 
 young Baroness tenderly, expressing a hope 
 that she would frequently write to them, and
 
 214 THE hAT>r OF 
 
 as they stood at the window, watching the 
 carriage winding its way through the valley, 
 until they lost sight of it in the distance, 
 Madame d'Ang^ures thought within herself: — 
 
 '* It is impossible that De Mont fort, on his 
 return froDi abroad, should not be struck with 
 the dazzling charms of Isabelle, heightened as 
 they are, by the fascinations of her ingenuous 
 and noble manner; nevertheless, should be 
 still neglect his beautiful wife, her mind is Itx) 
 high-toned and pure, for me to fear that she 
 will ever forget what is due to herself, even 
 amidst fill the allurements and attractions of a 
 Cmirt," 
 
 The lime that Isabelle had spent in Nor- 
 matidy since her marriage, had given strength 
 to her mind and decisiop to her character. 
 The strange position in which she stood, bad 
 matured and developed her fine intellect ; she 
 had no stronger niind to look up to for guid- 
 ance, or rely on for support; she had been 
 oblii^ed to think and act for herself; and as
 
 TBE BEI>-CHAMBER. 215 
 
 De Montfort had placed the entire revenue of 
 the estate in Normandy, which his father had 
 settled on him at his marriage, at her dis^wsal, 
 with absolute power over the domestics and 
 tenantry, she had had much to regulate and 
 arrange, many abuses to rectify, which bad 
 crept in unperceived, owing to the absence of 
 the proprietor; cottages to erect, or put in 
 repair, for the poor tenantry ; and instruction 
 to provide for the children. Thus, when she 
 left the Chateau de Beaumont, it was amidst 
 the tears and blessings of a happy and grateful 
 peasiintry. 
 
 On her arrival in Paris, she was received by 
 the Count de Beaumont, and immediately in- 
 atalled in her office, of one of les dam^s du 
 Palais to the Queen, and put in possession of 
 a ha.ndsome suite of apartmenta. 
 
 Isabelle now found herself, at once in the 
 midst of all that was gay, witty, and volup- 
 tuous. Looked upon with a gracious eye by 
 the King and Queen, ^admired by the men,
 
 216 THE LADY OF 
 
 and envied by the women, yet was she not 
 now, as before, dazzled and bewildered by the 
 change, but rather beheld it all with an easy 
 indifference, and was totally unconscious of 
 the feelings she excited. This ignorance, and 
 the graceful self-possession of her manners, 
 was, in a measure, the result of her freedom 
 from vanity, and her pure spirit seemed to 
 glide through the intricate mazes of a Court, 
 as the moon, in all her chastened splendour, 
 moves through the dark clouds of night. The 
 fetes and amusements at Court were still as 
 numerous and dazzling as ever, although 
 Louis himself had given up dancing in the 
 balletp. 
 
 It was some lines in the tragedy of Britan- 
 nicus, acted before him at St. Germain, which, 
 making a deep impression on the monarch, 
 prevented his dancing thus in public for the 
 future. 
 
 They run thus:—
 
 THE BED-CKAMBER. 217 
 
 " Pour toute ambition, pour vertu singuli^re, 
 II excelle a conduire un char dans la carri^re, 
 A disputer des prix indignes de ses mains, 
 A se donner lui meme en spectacle aux Romains." 
 
 Of a majestic height, with noble features, 
 and the air of an absolute monarch, Louis was 
 designed by nature to succeed in everything he 
 undertook ; yet, while he was a perfect master 
 of, and excelled in every feat of arms that 
 took place at the tilts and tournaments of 
 those days, exhibiting in the public dance, 
 was certainly a degradation to so great a 
 King. 
 
 Soon after the arrival of Isabelle at Paris 
 the king prepared, with the principal officers 
 and ladies of his court, to make a tour and visit 
 all the conquered cities in Flanders. Isabelle, 
 with the other dames du palais, accompanied 
 the Queen in splendid equipages. The 
 Dauphin followed them with his retinue, as did 
 Mademoiselle with her suite. Masqued balls 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE LADY OF 
 
 and fire works awaited them in every town, 
 and they travelled from place to place, sur- 
 rounded by as much splendour as if they had 
 been still in the palace at Versailles, for they 
 brought with them the most magnificent 
 jewels and furniture of the crown. 
 
 The ladies of the highest rank in Brussels 
 and Ghent were eager to behold all this pomp 
 and grandeur, and the King everywhere feted 
 them with much gallantry, making them the 
 most costly presents. 
 
 The gentle and amiable Marie Therese, 
 although no longer beloved by Louis, was 
 always treated by him with marked attention, 
 and shared in all the honours paid to him, 
 while the fair dames in her train formed the 
 brightest ornaments at every festivity. 
 
 The Court of Louis the Fourteenth was at 
 this time the most brilliant spectacle in Europe. 
 There, all that can be imagined of splendour, 
 beauty, and talent were united together, and 
 although Isabelle had left the country with
 
 , THE BED-CHAMBEE. 219 
 
 regret, she did not therefore despise the plea- 
 sures and amusements which an abode at Paris 
 offered to her. 
 
 An amateur in painting, and a passionate 
 lover of music, alive to all the fascinations of 
 the theatre, then adorned with the comic 
 genius of Moliere and the lofty inspirations of 
 CorneiJle and Racine, the young Baroness, on 
 her return from Flanders, fully participated 
 in the enjoyment of those gratifications which 
 genius and taste spread before her, and having 
 been introduced, by the Count de Beaumont, 
 to Madame de Sevigne, with whom he was 
 distantly connected, soon found herself sur- 
 rounded by all the wits and learned men of 
 the day.
 
 220 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 After long storms and tempests overblown 
 The sun at length his joyous face doth clear : 
 So when as fortune all her spite hath shown, 
 Some blissful hours at last must needs appear. 
 Else should afflicted wights ofttimes despair. 
 
 Spensek. 
 
 On arriviDg at his apartments in the ambas- 
 sador's palace, De Montfort found that his 
 uncle had sent several times in search of him, 
 as having some sudden business to transact
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 221 
 
 himself he wanted his nephew to do the 
 honours to a large party of convives, who were 
 that evening assembled at his house. 
 
 Fain would De Montfort have excused him- 
 self, but that was impossible. He wanted to 
 be alone — to lay out some plan, to arrange his 
 ideas. How was he, should he indeed be so 
 f ortunte as to liberate Anastasia from her 
 imprisonment in the seraglio, and to get her 
 out of the gardens unobserved — how was he 
 to conceal ber, even for the short time he was 
 to remain in C onstantinople, and then convey 
 her out of the city ? What would his uncle 
 say if so daring an undertaking should come 
 to his knowledge ? 
 
 All these reflections and many more which 
 had not occurred to him during his conversa- 
 tion with the old woman, passed with rapidity 
 through his mind, and filled him with the ut- 
 most perplexity; nevertheless he was obliged 
 immediately to dress and hasten to his uncle's 
 salon, and it was not until a late hour, wearied
 
 liZZ THE LADY OF 
 
 and fatigued with the exertion of trying to be 
 agreeable, and to reply intelligibly to trifling 
 observations and vapid conversation, a word of 
 which he did not hear, that he at last found 
 himself alone in his own apartment, and able 
 to reflect calmly upon all that had past. 
 
 De Montfort did not repent of his promise to 
 Glaphyra— far from it, he was more than ever 
 determined to risk his life for the betrothed of 
 the friend, who had so gallantly saved that life ; 
 as, indeed, but for Ivan Michaelis, his bloody 
 and unknown grave would have been long since 
 in the Transylvanian forest, or the waters of 
 the Olta Alp would have hidden his unburied 
 corpse. But the difficulties which environed 
 his undertaking seemed to multiply upon a 
 nearer inspection, and it was not until the morn 
 had well nigh broke, that, after having thought 
 upon and rejected a thousand expedients, he at 
 ength decided upon the course to be pursued. 
 
 He saw that to linger even an hour in Con- 
 stantinople, after he had released Anast;isia»
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 223 
 
 would be to run the risk of having her speedily 
 re-captured, and himself exposed to serious in- 
 convenience. He therefore determined to 
 arrange for his immediate departure from the 
 city, and instead of going by land and taking 
 the same route as that by which he had arrived, 
 to hire a vessel to carry him and his attendants 
 as far as Anada a sea-port town on the Black 
 Sea about a day's sail from Constantinople, from 
 whence he could easily conduct Anastasia to 
 the village where her parents resided, as he re- 
 collected having heard from Ivan that it was not 
 more than two day's easy journey from that part 
 of the coast. 
 
 Having made up his mind upon this point, 
 De Montfort lay down for an hour or two to 
 rest. He however rose early, and then, without 
 mentioning his intention to his valet, went to 
 Tophana and hired a small vessel to take him 
 with his luggage and servants to Anada on the 
 following day, with the understanding that she
 
 224 THE LADY OF 
 
 was to sail at dawn, in order to arrive at Anada 
 before the close of evening. 
 
 He then waited upon his uncle, the Am- 
 bassador, and informed him, that he had 
 changed his plans relative to his departure, and, 
 instead of going direct by land, would coast for 
 a short way along the Black Sea, and so enjoy 
 once more the enchanting scenery of the Bos- 
 phorus ; and, as the wind was now fair, and 
 might change if he delayed sailing, he hoped 
 his uncle would forgive him for bidding him 
 adieu a day or two sooner than he had at first 
 intended, telling him that he had arranged 
 everything for his departure by sea on the 
 morrow. 
 
 The Ambassador was grieved to find that 
 this was the last day he was to enjoy the society 
 of his nephew, but he was not surprised at De 
 Montfort's thus wishing to have a last excursion 
 on the Bosphorus, and his intention of coasting 
 as far as Anada, seemed very rational, not with-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 225 
 
 standing it would take him some way out of 
 the direct route, the heat of the weather ren- 
 dering a voyage much more agreeable than land 
 travelling. He therefore, after expressing his 
 regrets, only stipulated, that Lis nephew should 
 give him as much of his time as now remained, 
 and told him that he expected he would spend 
 the rest of the day with him. This De Mont- 
 fort promised to do, although, under present 
 circumstances, it would render his undertaking 
 the more difficult as he foresaw he could not 
 possibly get away from his uncle's palace until 
 very near midnight. 
 
 He now sought his valet, Francois, and 
 telling him that he proposed leaving Constanti- 
 nople in ^a sailing vessel, at break of day on 
 the following morning, bade him get all the 
 luggage and servants, on board the craft which 
 he had hired, and which was now lying at 
 anchor, a short distance from the shore, ready 
 to weigh, with the exception of two of the
 
 226 THE LADY OF 
 
 stoutest and most trustworthy of his attendants, 
 who were good rowers. 
 
 These, with the valet, were to remain on 
 shore, and as he himself should not be able to 
 leave the Ambassador's, until towards mid- 
 night, they were to wait at the quay of 
 Tophana, with a small light boat belonging ta 
 the vessel, until he should join them, and as 
 the hour would be late, they had better be well 
 rmed. 
 He likewise desired Francois to purchase for 
 nim, one of the large market baskets, full of 
 fruit and vegetables, which the peasantry were 
 accustomed to bring in from the country, 
 during the cool of the evening, in order to 
 have them fresh for the morning's sale, and 
 filling it with the choicest fruits, vegetables, 
 aud flowers, to have it in the boat, ready to 
 take on board. 
 
 Francois promised to obey his master's 
 orders implicitly, and was immediately in all
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 227 
 
 the bustle of preparation for a speedy depar- 
 ture, while De Montfort, with a mind more at 
 ease, now that all his arrangements were made, 
 returned to his uncle, to pass the intervening 
 hours as well as he could, till the arrival of the 
 time appointed for his hazardous undertaking. 
 The Ambassador, finding that his nephew was 
 so soon to leave him, had that day invited a 
 larger party than usual to dinner. 
 
 De Montfort, determined to banish thought 
 from his mind for the present, met his friends 
 and acquaintances with more gaiety than was 
 his wont, answering with playful good-humour, 
 the railleries of some, on his fickleness of pur- 
 pose, and parrying with skill the offers of 
 others, to accompany him as far as Anada. 
 
 All were sorry to lose him, for though many, 
 who had known him in Paris as a gay trifler 
 like themselves, considered him strangely 
 changed in his manners and pursuits, yet even 
 those most uncongenial to him in his altered 
 mood, had been won to like him, by his cour-
 
 228 THE LADY OF 
 
 teous and frank bearing, whilst all allowed, 
 that he possessed abilities and depth of infor- 
 mation, which they had never dreamed of 
 discovering in him formerly. And De Mont- 
 fort was changed, for if the late chagrins and 
 untoward circumstances, in which he had 
 found himself so suddenly plunged, had made 
 him thoughtful, reserved, and fond of solitude, 
 they had likewise awakened dormant energies, 
 tastes, and powers, in his soul, which had 
 been stifled and almost quenched, by the mere- 
 tricious pleasures and enervating atmosphere 
 of a Court. 
 
 As De Montfort feared it would be, midnight 
 was fast approaching, before his uncle would 
 allow him to depart. Not knowing his inten- 
 tion of going on board that night, many of his 
 friends proposed making their last adieus to 
 him in the morning, and on this point, De 
 Montfort thought it best not to undeceive 
 them. lie now hastened to the Quay of 
 Tophana, and found the boat ready with his
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEE. 229 
 
 three servants, as he had directed. Leaping 
 into it, instead of desiring them to make for 
 the ship, he, to their great surprise, ordered 
 them to pull as hard as they could for Seraglio 
 Point, and, when pretty close to it, bade them 
 muffle their oars, and get as near the Seraglio 
 Gardens as possible. The young moon was 
 not yet risen, which rather favoured their 
 enterprise, as, lovely as she is, her rays would 
 only have rendered them more liable to detec- 
 tion, and the stars gave them sufficient light 
 to direct their course. 
 
 Arrived at the other side, they ran the 
 boat beneath the shade of a projecting rock. 
 
 De Montfort, with Francois and one of the 
 rowers, landed, leaving the other to take care 
 of the boat, and after an anxious search for 
 several minutes, at length perceived the little 
 gate or wicket, which Glaphyra had described. 
 The young Baron dreaded the possibility that 
 Glaphyra might not have been able to procure 
 the key, and tried the lock with an unsteady
 
 230 THE LADY OF 
 
 hand, but the wicket yielded to his touch, and 
 he and his followers immediately found them- 
 selves within those delicious gardens, forbidden 
 to every eye but those of their inmates, and 
 which have so often been the theme of the poet 
 and the romance writer. 
 
 And De Montfort inly prayed that this 
 gate, which had so often seen the murdered 
 remains of beauty dragged through it, and 
 thrown into the Bosphorus, might now afford 
 a safe mode of escape to the fair Anas- 
 tasia. 
 
 Pausing for a few seconds after he had closed 
 the wicket, De Montfort looked around him, 
 but all was dark and silent. Perfumes from a 
 thousand odoriferous shrubs and flowers, floated 
 on the air, and the hush of night was only 
 broken by the song of the nightiDgale, and 
 the dash of falling waters. 
 
 By the light of the stars, he perceived the 
 pathway which Glaphyra had mentioned, and 
 noiselessly following with his two attendants,
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEK. 231 
 
 the route which she had so accurately pointed 
 out, that it was impossible he could lose his 
 way, soon saw glistering in the star-light, the 
 white marble fountain, decorated with the 
 figure of a dragon, from whose mouth poured 
 forth the rush of waters he had heard, while 
 the flickering of a lamp from a high lattice, in 
 a dark mass of building, not far from the foun- 
 tain, shewed him that he had reached the 
 appointed spot. 
 
 Moving stealthily through the thick shrubs 
 with Francois, and bidding his other servant 
 remain beside the fountain, De Montfort 
 reached the building, and softly clapped his 
 hands three times. 
 
 Presently he was aware of the descent of a 
 silken ladder from the open lattice, and making 
 Francois secure the ropes firmly at the bottom, 
 De Montfort mounted the ladder, and rapidly 
 ascending to the top, paused and looked into 
 the apartment. The room was gorgeous with 
 eastern magnificence. Kich carpets and cus-
 
 232 THE LADT OP 
 
 sions of the choicest embroidery, were spread 
 on the marble floor, and gold, porphyry, and 
 jacinth, met the eye in every direction. But 
 De Montfort beheld nothing of all this; he 
 only saw the slight female figure, closely veiled, 
 who was kneeling, apparently in prayer, while 
 Glaphyra was bending over her, as if joining 
 in her supplications. 
 
 On hearing a rustling at the window, the 
 latter started, hastily raised the young girl 
 from her kneeling position, and embracing her 
 fondly, drew her towards the window, then 
 murmuring thanks, and invoking blessings on 
 De Montfort, she placed the trembling, half- 
 fainting Anastaeia in his arms, and extinguish- 
 ing the lamp, watched them until they reached 
 the ground in safety, and then saw them quickly 
 disappear, amidst the thick foiiage. 
 
 Noiselessly, almost breathlessly, they now 
 retraced, with speed, the path by which they had 
 entered, and finding the wicket open, as they 
 had left it, emerged from the gardens, and
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEE. 233 
 
 sought the sea-shore. Here they found the 
 boat, so well concealed beneath the shadow of 
 the rock, that they could not perceive it them- 
 selves, until they came quite close to it. 
 
 De Montfort now endeavoured with a few 
 kind, encouraging words, which he knew not if 
 she understood, to cheer the spirits of his timid 
 companion, who trembled violently as she hung 
 upon his arm, then ordering the market basket 
 to be cleared of the heavy vegetables and fruit, 
 he gently laid her at the bottom of it, covering 
 her over with the lighter portion of its contents. 
 This being arranged he ordered his men to pull 
 direct for the vessel, informing them, that if 
 they breathed a word of the enterprise in which 
 they had been engaged, or gave their com- 
 panions on board the slightest bint of his pro- 
 ceedings, he w^ould immediately dismiss them 
 from his service, and allow them to find their 
 way back to France as well as they could. 
 Franc^ois, and the two other servants, heartily 
 glad to be clearof the seraglio gardens, imagin-
 
 234 THE LADY OF 
 
 ing it to be a very hazardous love affair in wTiich 
 their master had been engaged, and not con- 
 sidering the danger even yet to be past, swore 
 inviolable secresy ; and, on reaching the vessel, 
 conveyed with great care their perilous cargo 
 on board, which appeared, in the eyes of the 
 Turkish master of the vessel and his seamen, 
 to be a very appropriate provision for the 
 voyage. 
 
 Francois was ordered to keep a strict watch 
 beside the basket, which being deposited under 
 an awning was shaded from the heat of the sun, 
 and De Montfort took his station not far off. 
 The daw^n of day by this time streaking the 
 heavens with a faint light, and the wind being 
 fiivourable, the little vessel weighed anchor, 
 and they were soon out of the harbour making 
 their way up the Bosphorus. 
 
 Refreshingly did the morning breeze play 
 through the sails and rigging of the little craft 
 as she lightly skimmed over the blue waters ; 
 the rising sun dispelling the soft mists that
 
 THE BED-CHAMBEE. 235 
 
 hung in curling wreaths around, revealed every 
 wooded promontory and indenture of the ro- 
 mantic coast, showing here and there the im- 
 mense oriental plane trees raisins; their heads 
 from amidst the surrounding foliage, while as 
 the day advanced, the lovely palace and gardens 
 of Bu}'uk Dere — fit residence for some eastern 
 Peri — burst upon the eye. 
 
 Soon the Giant's Mountain came in sight, 
 and passing the castles on either side, at the 
 extremity of the Bosphorus, they found them- 
 selves coasting along the margin of the shore, 
 and towards the end of the day were landed at 
 Anada. 
 
 Fearful that any discovery of what his basket 
 contained might take place at Anada and com- 
 ing to the knowledge of the master of the 
 vessel, might be repeated by him at Constanti- 
 nople, and 80 reach the ear of his uncle, De 
 Moutfort hired mules immediately, and, with 
 his servants and luo^ora<Te, althouo:h it was now 
 late, took the road to a small village about a
 
 236 THE LADY OF 
 
 mile and a half distant, thinking he should be 
 much more secure there from detection than at 
 Anada. On entering a wood midway, under 
 favour of the dusk of evening, and seeing that 
 they were quite unobserved, he released the 
 fair fugitive from her concealment, whom he 
 found to be, to all appearance, more dead than 
 alive. Some cordial being administered to her, 
 however, she soon revived, and De Montfort, 
 wrapping her in a large cloak, placed her on one 
 of the mules, and walking beside her, sup- 
 ported her until she was perfectly recovered. 
 As soon as she had strength to speak she poured 
 forth her thanks in broken Italian, and after a 
 passionate burst of tears, which seemed to re- 
 lieve her full heart, was able to listen to the kind 
 words and congratulations of De Montfort on 
 her escape. He now spoke to her of her 
 betrothed lover, Ivan Michaelis, and informed 
 her how much he himself had been indebted to 
 him, relating to her the adventure in the woods 
 of Transylvania, and their subsequent jour-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 237 
 
 neyings together. This conversation re-ani- 
 mated the spirits of the poor Anastasia, and 
 she soon felt no sentiment but that of joy at 
 her liberation, and gratitude to her deliverer, 
 while her eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a 
 bright flush crossed her pale cheek, as De 
 Montfort spoke of her lover, but all this, the 
 darkness concealed from his observation. 
 They soon arrived at the village, and put up at 
 the little inn, where De Montfort passed her 
 for his sister, and hired a female attendant to 
 wait upon her, and accompany her as far as 
 Umar Fakih, where, he informed the good 
 people of the inn, they were going to spend 
 some time. 
 
 The following day they reached Kirk Ik- 
 lyssee, where they [remained that night, and 
 towards the evening of the next day, De 
 Montfort had the happiness of placing the 
 young girl in the arms of her disconsolate 
 parents. And now, when the fair Anastasia 
 presented him to the good old people, as her
 
 238 THE LADY OF 
 
 deliverer, and recounted the dangers he had 
 exposed himself to, in order to compass her 
 escape from the Harem, De Montfort felt that 
 in spite of the coldness which had crept round 
 his heart, and made him forswear all woman- 
 kind, had it not been for the friendship which 
 he had conceived for Ivan, and the obligation 
 he was under to him, the fair Greek might 
 have proved as dangerous an enslaver, as ever 
 was bewitching damsel in old romance, to the 
 fortunate knight who had released her from 
 " durance vile." 
 
 But as it was, though he could not help 
 acknowledging to himself, that she was truly 
 a prize, worthy of being sent to a Sultan, and 
 that Zobeide might well dread the power of 
 her beauty, still he experienced no sentiment, 
 but that of joy at being the means of restoring 
 her to her lover, and at parting, he pressed 
 her hand to his lips, and listening to her inno- 
 cent regrets at his departure, while tears and 
 smiles seemed to mingle in her bright black
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 239 
 
 eyes, he bade her adieu with a light heart, and 
 prayed her sometimes to speak of him, to his 
 good friend, Ivan Michaelis. 
 
 All this time Ivan was absent, ignorant of 
 the perils his beloved Anastasia had endured. 
 
 Some time after this, Glaphyra found means 
 to escape from Constantinople, and to make 
 her way to Umar Fakih, never again to be 
 separated from her attached foster child.
 
 240 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTER XTII. 
 
 Ite voi, che chiudeste 
 
 L'orribil fera, a dar I'usato segno 
 
 Delia futura caccia : ite svegliando 
 
 Gli occhi col corno, e con la voce i cori. 
 
 GUARINI. 
 
 Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy 
 
 The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; 
 
 And, breathing wholesome air, and wandVing much, 
 
 Need other physic none to heal th' effects 
 
 Of loathsome diet, penury and cold. 
 
 CoWPER. 
 
 Db Montfort had written a few lines from 
 Umar Fakih in order to apprise Count Her- 
 man of his approaching visit ; he was not
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 241 
 
 therefore surprised,although very much grati- 
 fied on reaching Rothenthurm, to meet his 
 friend there, who had come with a party of 
 his vassals, to assure him in person of the joy 
 he felt at again seeing him, and the honour and 
 pleasure that he should have in entertaining 
 him at his poor castle. 
 
 There was an air of proud satisfaction, of 
 calm content in the noble countenance of the 
 Count — a looking forth of joy in the dark eye, 
 that was a stranger to it when De Montfort had 
 met him before, which whispered to the young 
 Baron, that the dearest wish of his noble 
 friend's heart had been fulfilled, and this anti- 
 cipation was confirmed when, after a slight 
 pause, the Count added — 
 
 " The Lady Una, my beloved wife, will feel 
 equal pleasure with myself in having you as 
 her guest, and 1 hope our united efforts will 
 induce you to remain with us much longer 
 than the very short time you have specified.^' 
 
 VOL. i. M
 
 242 TSE LADY OJ^ 
 
 De Montfort was truly rejoiced, and his 
 manner shewed it, as he inquired with much 
 interest for the Lady Una. The Count 
 thanked him, arid pressed his hand warmly, but 
 he made no reference to former scenes, and De 
 Montfort saw that a tear was trembling in his 
 eye — it was a tear of pleasure, the overflowing 
 of a happy heart too full to speak. 
 C The Count now led his young friend along 
 the same route which he had formerly travelled 
 with Ivan, and leaving the old church where 
 the unhappy marriage of the Lady Una had 
 taken place on the left, De Montfort found 
 that they were on their way towards her castle 
 on the banks of the Aluta. 
 
 During their ride De Montfort learned that 
 Ivan had taken service with one of the German 
 princes, and was fast rising both in rank and 
 consideration, being esteemed a very good offi- 
 cer. 
 
 As they approached the castle the Count
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER, 243 
 
 observed, that he and his family now lived al- 
 ternately here and at his ancestral residence 
 in the neighbourhood of Hermanstadt, and as 
 they drew near to it, De Montfort perceived 
 that it was a strongly fortified building, with 
 moat and keep, well calculated as a secure 
 abode on the borders of a set of turbulent 
 neighbours. Indeed, when well garrisoned it 
 had frequently set ac defiance the attacks of the 
 Turks, who had formerly often been in the 
 habit of making incursions into Transylvania. 
 
 The Lady Una received her guest with 
 ingenuous demonstrations of pleasure. She 
 had heard him spoken of by her lord with fre- 
 quent commendation, and this was quite suffi- 
 cient to ensure him a warai reception from a 
 heart that knew no greater happiness than 
 that of anticipating, if possible, the wishes of 
 her husband. 
 
 Lovely as was the Lady Una, when, pale as 
 marble, De Montfort had seen her kneeling be- 
 side Count Maurice before the altar, in the old
 
 244 THE LADY OF 
 
 church which he had recently passed by, her 
 beauty was now a thousand times enhanced by 
 the bright bloom, and the air of innocent joy 
 that overspread her youthful face ; for although 
 two years had nearly elapsed since De Mont- 
 fort had first beheld her, she still seemed as if 
 but just emerging from girlhood. 
 
 Her fair hair, glistering with that shade of 
 gold, as if the sun had thrown one of his bright 
 beams upon it, hung in waving ringlets upon 
 her alabaster shoulders, her small features were 
 perfectly regular, and her skin and complexion 
 possessed that transparency of hue and colour 
 which belongs almost exclusively to infant 
 years ; — one glance of her deep blue eye, how- 
 ever, revealed, that all the passionate feelings 
 of the woman were rife in the depths of her 
 heart. 
 
 That soft eye seemed ever to watch every 
 change and turn in the countenance of Her- 
 man, as if she would have read his inmost 
 thoughts, and her ears appeared to drink in
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 245 
 
 ^very word that fell from his lips. Graceful as 
 a young fawn but timid and silent before a 
 stranger, she did the honours of her castle with 
 blushing earnestness, leaving Count Herman to 
 support all the conversation; yet it was not the 
 silence of ignorance, or inability to converse, 
 but proceeded, partly from the bashfulness in- 
 cident to her very retired life, and partly from 
 that admiration, as well as love, which she bore 
 to her husband. 
 
 If in his lofty bearing, and more matured 
 3^ears, Count Herman resembled the oak, the 
 Lady Una might truly be compared to the 
 sweet wild honey suckle that twined around its 
 branches for support. 
 
 Numerous were the menials and retainers 
 who filled the hall of Count Herman, and with 
 the old feudal hospitality every beggar was 
 relieved at his gate, while his serfs with their 
 wives and children were continually thronging 
 his kitchen, so that his family appeared of 
 countless extent, and the cook and butler needed
 
 246 THE LADY OF 
 
 to have always a good supply of provisions in 
 the buttery. 
 
 His estates were now, however, very large, 
 as the inheritance of Lady Una, and of Count 
 Maurice, which had fallen to her, added to 
 what he derived from his own ancestors, had 
 made him one of the most powerful nobles in 
 Transylvania. 
 
 High as was the opinion De Montfort had 
 entertained of Count Herman, it was raised 
 Btill higher by his abode at the castle. 
 
 There he saw his noble host shine in all the 
 virtues of domestic life, ameliorating and im- 
 proving the condition of his vassals, and culti- 
 vating those tastes and pursuits which the early 
 devotion of his youth to arms had not formerly 
 given him leisure to follow. 
 
 The manly and passionate tenderness, which 
 he evinced for his young countess, met by her 
 with a blushing timidity and a proud conscious- 
 ness, but ill-concealed, that she was entire 
 mistress of his heart, while it showed De Mont-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 247 
 
 fort the fair picture of two beings wliose happi- 
 iiesa was coneemtrated in that of each other, 
 made him free[uently start, while a bitter pang 
 ^hort through his breast — a pang not of envy 
 but of regret, to think that his own unhappy 
 marriage — the adamantine ^hain which bound 
 his destiny in this world — would prevent him 
 from ever hoping that his domestic hearth might 
 he cheered by a being as fond and fair. 
 
 No soft eye would ever watch for Mm — no 
 bright smile would ever wekome him when he 
 returned weary from thechaee, or fatigued with 
 the mental toil to which he had of late habituated 
 himself. 
 
 The imperious will of a monarch ha<i united 
 Is'ibelle to him, and mutual disinclination had 
 dissevered them for ever. 
 
 These thoughts De Montfort strove to banish, 
 as often as they crossed his mind. Of what 
 use were they, but to throw a dark cloud over 
 his existence. Love was not for him, but ho- 
 nour, fame, distinction, might be attained —
 
 248 THE LADY OF 
 
 yes, fame should be his mistress — he would 
 seek her in the service of his country, and 
 win her amidst the toils of political life. 
 
 Thus he often mused, and springing upon 
 his noble steed, would plunge into the in- 
 tricacies of the forests, forgetting, in the 
 engrossing interest of the boar hunt, all his 
 disappointments and retrospections. 
 
 One of the most favourite amusements 
 among the higher classes of society, at this 
 period, was boar hunting, and De IMontfort 
 fully enjoyed this pastime with the Count, in 
 the midst of the wild forests, which extended 
 round the Castle on every side. 
 
 Nevertheless, one day De Montfort was 
 more than usually tormented with harassing 
 reflections, which he could not dissipate, and 
 which, even in the midst of the chase, came 
 to disturb his mind, clinging the more pertina- 
 ciously to him, as the time now approached 
 when he purposed to terminate his visit to the 
 Count. He therefore endeavoured, by putting
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 249 
 
 his horse at his full speed, to fly, as it were 
 from himself, and to forget them, and all the 
 world beside. 
 
 Leaving the Count and his train far behind 
 he at length found himself alone, and entan- 
 gled in a savage wilderness. The distant bay 
 of the dogs had died upon his ear, and no 
 sound of human life broke the solitude around 
 him. 
 
 He dismounted from his tired steed, and 
 looked upon the craggy rocks, stunted trees, 
 and marshy ground, into which he had wan- 
 dered, and as the spot was perfectly unknown 
 to him, although he had so frequently hunted 
 in those forests, he knew not how he should 
 retrace his steps, or extricate himself from it. 
 He stood for some minutes looking up and 
 down, and listening if he could catch the bay 
 of the dogs in the distance, but nothing was 
 heard in this profound solitude, save the wind 
 that swept through the branches of the 
 
 trees. 
 
 M 2
 
 250 THE LADY OF 
 
 Presently he saw a shepherd's dog emerge 
 from a thicket hard by. The animal gave a 
 slight bark, as if to attract his attention, 
 and then seemed to look wistfully in his 
 face. 
 
 De Montfort, who was very fond of dogs, 
 Immediately approached him, caressing him 
 and patting him on the head — he was glad to 
 see the dog, as he imagined his master could 
 not be far distant, and that from him, he 
 might learn in what direction to turn his 
 steps. 
 
 The dog was pleased with his notice, and 
 wagged his tail ; presently he licked his hand, 
 and in a few moments, seizing the skirt of his 
 hunting cloak between his teeth, gave him a 
 gentle pull. De Montfort disengaged his cloak, 
 and patting the dog's head, spake kindly to 
 him. 
 
 This seemed only to embolden the animal, 
 who, seizing him by the cloak again, looked
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 251 
 
 up piteously in his face with an imploring 
 whine, and gave him a stouter pull. 
 
 De Montfort was much surprised at the 
 dog's pertinacity, and could not help calling to 
 mind, the various stories he had heard related 
 in the Castle hall, of the spirits who haunted 
 those forests. Laughing at himself for such 
 thoughts, and being curious to see why the 
 animal wished to lead him on, he took his 
 horse by the bridle, and made a movement to 
 follow, which the dog seemed perfectly to un- 
 derstand and running on before, turning his 
 head every now and then, as if to see that De 
 Montfort was after him, paused at length on 
 the brink of a deep ravine, into which he 
 plunged. 
 
 De Montfort followed to the edge of the 
 cliff and looked down its perpendicular side. 
 At first he saw nothing but the sheer rock 
 covered here and there with brambles; however 
 upon a more narrow inspection, he perceived the 
 dog vsitting at the entrance of what appeared
 
 252 THE LADY OP 
 
 to be a hollow in the rock, nearly half way 
 down the side of the clifF, and soon he saw a 
 little hand put forth to pat him and heard 
 some words in a strange tongue addressed to 
 him, as if caressingly, by the feeble voice of a 
 child. The dog now looked up and seeing De 
 Montfort gazing down into the ravine, ran up 
 the side of the rock, and again pulled him by 
 the cloak. De Montfort immediately compre- 
 hended that the poor animal wanted his aid for 
 some human being, and tying his horse to a 
 tree proceeded to attempt the descent. It was 
 with difficulty that he effected it, as the bushes, 
 full of whortleberries which edged the abyss, 
 gave him but little assistance when he managed 
 to lay hold of them. At last after much 
 scrambling, find tearing his-hands and his clothes, 
 De iVIontfort contrived to arrive at the spot 
 where the dog sat wagging his tail, and per- 
 ceived that the drift of the faithful animal had 
 been to bring him to this place, where lay, pale 
 and bruised, a boy of about six years old. A
 
 THE BfiD-CHAMBER. 253 
 
 broken bush full of whortleberries lay beside 
 him, and the fragments of a little rush basket, 
 intercepted in its descent by a twig just below, 
 on which it hung, shewed at a glance that in 
 seeking for the fruit, the child had fallen into 
 the cleft. Some rock or branch had probably 
 arrested his fall and he had managed to creep 
 into this hole. The boy, exhausted as he was, 
 eyed De Montfort with a searching, almost a 
 startled glance — then pointed to his ankle which 
 was much swelled and covered with congealed 
 blood, making signs, that he could not move it 
 and by his accents appearing to solicit help. 
 
 Securing a steady footing for himself as well 
 as he could, on this dizzy resting place, De 
 Montfort now took a hunting flask and some 
 biscuit from his pocket and making the child 
 first drink a small portion of brandy in order 
 to revive him, gave him the biscuit which he 
 devoured ravenously — the poor little fellow 
 however not forgetting to throw as many
 
 254 THE Lady op 
 
 morsels to his faithful dog as he swallowed him- 
 self. De Montfort then lifted the child from 
 the ground who all this time had continued to 
 gaze on him with his keen black eyes and at 
 last, in spite of the pain he was in and his in- 
 ability' to stand, the boy clapped his little hands 
 with exclamations of joy and surprise as if he 
 had suddenly recognized a friend, and De 
 Montfort on looking at him attentively, dis- 
 covered all at once that this must be indeed 
 his old acquaintance, the gipsy boy on 
 whom he had formerly bestowed the chain, at 
 the time, when benighted on the Carpathian 
 mountains, the old gipsy grandsire had enter- 
 tained him and his friend Ivan, so hospitably. 
 
 The difficulty now, was how to get him up 
 the cliff, but the boy soon settled this point, 
 by making signs to De Montfort that he would 
 go upon his back, which being done and the 
 gipsy holding on with the grip of a cat, De 
 Montfort soon had him out of his perilous posi-
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 255 
 
 tlon and placing him before him on his horse, 
 was now only puzzled to discover in what di- 
 rection he was to proceed. This perplexity 
 however the child removed by pointing across 
 the northern part of the wild marsh, and then 
 to his dog who trotting before them, seemed 
 perfectly to understand that he was to show 
 the way home, while De Montfort sure that this 
 avant courier would lead them to the boy's habi- 
 tation wherever that might be, followed in his 
 wake. 
 
 After keeping the dog in sight for above two 
 miles, the forest, broken by pieces of marshy 
 ground, appearing still wilder and more lonely, 
 they at length emerged from it, and De Mont- 
 fort perceived that they approached an encamp- 
 ment of gipsies. Before they had quite reached 
 it, they had been discovered by some scouts 
 loitering outside, and the child and dog recog- 
 nised, so that when they entered the encamp- 
 ment there seemed to be a general commotion, 
 and an appearance of great joy at the return of
 
 256 THE LADY OF 
 
 the lost one, and soon the old grandsire came 
 forth to welcome his grandchild, and to bless 
 and thank his deliverer. 
 
 From the account of the old man it appeared, 
 that the child had been missing for two days. 
 He had sent on every side to look for him, but 
 in consequence of the boy's rambles having been 
 always before in a different direction from the 
 course he must have taken that day, he con- 
 cluded his people must have neglected searching 
 the marshy ground. He added that Zanina had 
 left the boy in his charge while she went with a 
 party of her friends to try her fortune in some 
 of the large cities, and that should anything 
 have happened to the boy during her absence 
 it would have broken his heart. 
 
 One of the gipsy women, who had im- 
 mediately taken charge of the boy on his being 
 lifted off the horse, now came to report, that 
 although much bruised, and his left ankle badly 
 sprained, the little urchin was otherwise un- 
 injured — no bone being broken.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 257 
 
 He was then taken to his grandfather, and 
 being placed at his feet, employed himself in 
 alternately caressing his dog, who took up his 
 station beside him, and in gazing with a look 
 of great admiration on De Montfort, while the 
 latter was conversing with the old man. 
 
 De Montfort rejoiced that his thus losing his 
 way in the forest had been productive of such 
 beneficial results, and after telling the old man 
 how happy he was to have been of service to 
 his grandchild, requested a guide to the castle 
 of the Lady Una. The old gipsy immediately 
 selected a stout youth from the tribe, who knew 
 the country well, to accompany him ; and De 
 Montfort, after first partaking of a mess made 
 of boar's flesh, as the old man would not hear 
 of his leaving their abode without taking some 
 refreshment, proceeded on his way home, much 
 surprised to learn from his conductor what an 
 extent of country he had crossed since the 
 morning. .
 
 258 THE LADY OF 
 
 Having informed the old man, in the course 
 of conversation, that he was shortly about to 
 leave that part of the country, and to return to 
 Paris, De Montfort, a few days before his de- 
 parture, received a missive from the old gipsy 
 enclosing a letter, which he begged De Mont- 
 fort to be the bearer of to his daughter whom 
 he said, he had good reason to believe was by 
 this time in Paris. 
 
 De Montfort smiled at the idea of his being 
 able to discover a poor gipsy woman in the in- 
 tricacies of Paris, as the direction was so vague 
 as to give him no clue to what might be the 
 place of her abode. He, however, bade the 
 messenger inform the old man, that he would 
 take charge of his letter, and endeavour to 
 discover his daughter. 
 
 With many regrets, De Montfort bade adieu 
 to Count Herman and [the Lady Una — regrets 
 which on their part, were sincerely recipro- 
 cated, and after a journey of some weeks.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 259 
 
 without any interruption, except the time 
 devoted to rest, at the different towns and 
 villages through which he passed, he once 
 more found himself within the precincts of Paris, 
 and was soon clasped in the arms of his anxi- 
 ously expecting father.
 
 260 THE LADY OP 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 " Where the impression of mine eye infixing, 
 Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, 
 Which warp'd the line of every other favour j 
 Scorned a fair colour, or expressed it stolen ; 
 Extended or contracted all proportions, 
 To a most hideous object. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 Notwithstanding the prudence of Isabelle, 
 and her freedom from all coquetry, it was 
 impossible that her beauty and wit should not
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 261 
 
 attract universal admiration, and frequently 
 inspire a warmer sentiment, in a Court so 
 renowned for gallantry, as was that of Louis 
 the Fourteenth, and among all those who fol- 
 lowed her footsteps, and haunted her wherever 
 she went, none excelled in amiability and per- 
 sonal endowments, the gay ^and lively Marquis 
 de Cressy. 
 
 He had early left a favourable impression 
 upon the mind of Isabelle, in consequence of 
 the warmth with which he had taken her part, 
 in that conversation, so painful to her feelings, 
 which he had held with De Montfort on the 
 subject of his approaching marriage, and which 
 she had so unfortunately overheard, from the 
 bower where she was seated, in the gardens of 
 Versailles— unfortunately, for it had made an 
 impression on her mind at the time, too vivid 
 to be easily eradicated — the never to be for- 
 gotten aversion of De Montfort to the match, 
 and the strong expressions he made use of to
 
 262 THE BEr-CHAMBER. 
 
 that effect, being indissolubly | connected with 
 every recollection of her marriage. 
 
 The Marquis, gay, thoughtless, and good- 
 natured, well skilled in all the accomplishuients 
 of the day, without any irreat depth of charac- 
 ter, but possessing a lively wit, an inexhaustible 
 share of good-humour and vivacity, with an 
 endless variety and easy flow of conversation, 
 was the idol of all the women, and the most 
 esteemed and sought after by them, of all the 
 fashionable young men at the Court. If he 
 had admired Isabelle when he first saw her at 
 Paris, despite all the disadvantages with which 
 she was then surrounded — her grief for the re- 
 cent loss of her father — her disinclination to 
 participate in those gaieties, into which she 
 was nevertheless obliged, by the wishes of the 
 King, to enter, added to the constant mortifi- 
 cation she felt at the prospect of the constrained 
 marriage, to which she was necessitated to sub- 
 mit at that period, dimming the lustre of her
 
 263 THE LADY 01^ 
 
 personal attractions, and enveloping her in s 
 melancholy silence and reserve, which some, 
 and De Montfort amongst them, considered to 
 arise from an awkward bashfulness, and the 
 want of a cultivated understanding— how much 
 lovelier did he find her now, when he beheld 
 her embellished by all the charms, which sere- 
 nity of mind and an enchanting wit, could give 
 to her natural beauty, heightened as it was by 
 that courtly air of fashion, which, as a beauti- 
 fully designed frame, sets off a fine picture to 
 the best advantage, placed her loveliness in the 
 most attractive point of view. How often did 
 he wish, that the King had bestowed her hand 
 upon him, who would have prized and valued 
 the fair gift, instead of uniting her to the care- 
 less De Montfort. 
 
 All the conquests which De Cressy had ever 
 made, appeared to him now to be perfectly 
 valueless in comparison to that which he would 
 achieve, should he be able to win the heart of 
 Isabelle. He had discernment enough to per-
 
 264 THE LADY OF 
 
 ceive, and sense enough to esteem her the 
 more for the discovery, that hers was a heart 
 very different from that of most of the beau- 
 ties moving within the circle of the French 
 court, and laying out his plans accordingly, 
 carefully concealed his furtive hopes in the 
 depths of his soul, and only professing friend- 
 ship and an admiration for her various talents 
 payed her the most delicate attention, veiled 
 with an insidious respect, being ever on the 
 watch to come to her aid,as it were accidentally, 
 to shield her from the more open and often 
 irksome attentions of other gallants, and so 
 well did the dangerous De Cressy manoeuvre, 
 that Isabelle looked upon him with an e}e of 
 friendship, and considered him as by far the 
 most agreeable of all the young noblemen at 
 Court, 
 
 As the ready wit and polished conversation 
 of De Cressy made him a welcome guest at 
 every re-union, he easil}^ insinuated himself in- 
 to the society of Madtime de Sevigne, and of
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 265 
 
 all the other friends where Isabelle was most 
 frequently to be met with, and though it was a 
 circle he had not formerly much affected, yet 
 he managed with such admirable skill, and so 
 effectively that there was scarcely a house to 
 which Isabelle was in the practice of resort- 
 ing, that without appearing in the least degree 
 to seek it, he had not soon an access pressed 
 upon him. 
 
 Thus Isabelle was in the habit of meeting 
 De Cressy everywhere, and receiving from 
 him a thousand little unobtrusive acts of 
 kindness, grateful to one who was startled and 
 terrified at more open assiduities. 
 
 Since her abode at court she had become 
 more alive to the difficulties and danorers of the 
 situation in which the indifference of De Mont- 
 fort had placed her, and to which in her cha- 
 teau in NoriTiandy she had scarcely given a 
 thou£;ht — mor? conscious of the galling n;iture 
 of the chain by which she was bound, and sur- 
 rounded as she was by admiration and flattery, 
 
 VOL. 1. JS
 
 26^ THE LADY OF 
 
 is it a wonder if, without being aware of it 
 herself, a strong sentiment of pique, with a dis- 
 taste to hearing his name mentioned, and a more 
 than ever eagerness to banish him from her 
 memory took root in her bosom ? while as it 
 was supposed that De Montfort's uncle, the 
 ambassador, w^ould remain a considerable time 
 in Constantinople, and as she was satisfied De 
 Montfort would continue with him as long as 
 he could, she was not tormented with any 
 anticipations of speedily seeing him again, 
 particularly as the Count de Beaumont thinking 
 that a sudden surprise might act favourably 
 upon both parties, was careful not to make any 
 allusion to the mandate he had sent his son. 
 
 Isabelle'f^ success at Court had far outstripped 
 her father-in-law's most sanguine expectations, 
 and while her beauty and talents flattered his 
 pride, the retenue of her deportment ond her 
 indifference to the homage and devotion that 
 assailed her on every side, inspired him with 
 the hope that when De Montfort returned he
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 287 
 
 would be so struck by her charms, and so 
 anxious to atone for the past, that both for- 
 getting their former disinclination, might be 
 united toi^ether at Inst in the bonds of love. 
 
 Ever since Isabelle had obtained a place 
 at Court the old Count had meditated so often 
 and so deeply upon the ultimate liealing of the 
 disunion between her and De Montfort, that it 
 was with much difficulty he had restrained 
 himself from entreating his son, at an 
 earlier peri- )d, to shorten his stay at Constanti- 
 nople. Notwithstanding, he wore his years 
 so well, as De Montfort had heard from the 
 young official, this absence gave him a constant 
 uneasiness, and since De Montfort hid written 
 to assure him of his spiedy compliance with 
 his wi-hes, he had anxiously counted the weeks 
 now amounting to months, which had inter 
 vened between that announcement and his 
 son's appearance in i aris. 
 
 De Montfort came, and the heart of the old 
 Count bounded with joy as he held him in his
 
 i 
 
 2^8 THE LADT Of* 
 
 arms — a joy in which De Montfort participated ; 
 and when he saw the tears that stood in his 
 father's eyes and received his fond benediction, 
 his heart smote him for having so long ab- 
 sented himself from his parent. 
 
 The Count looked at his son with proud 
 stttisfaction — he could not but observe how 
 much he had gained in health and spirits during 
 their sepp ration, while De Montfort on his 
 side, was rejoiced to see, that his father's eye 
 was as bright and his step as firm as when they 
 had last parted. 
 
 It was not long before De Montfort 
 opened his projects to his father and dilated 
 upon the advantages he had derived from his 
 sojourn with his uncle at Constantinople. He 
 talked of the satisfaction and pleasure he had 
 found in his new pursuits and of his intention 
 of pursuing, at home, those objects of a laudable 
 ambition, and all this he expressed with a tire 
 and eloquence so new to his delighted father.
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 269 
 
 that he could hardly recognise in him th« gay- 
 butterfly of former days. 
 
 Everything was thought of and freely dis- 
 cussed between them but Isabelle — her name 
 was never alluded to, and though burning with 
 a desire to recall her to his son's remembrance, 
 the Count de Beaumont as yet, hesitated to 
 touch upon what he feared would be an un- 
 welcome theme. Now that his son was 
 arrived the airy fabric of his hopes began to be 
 shaken and that, which looked upon in per- 
 spective, seemed the most probable thing in the 
 world to occur, at the moment that he thought 
 it was within the grasp of certainty, appeared 
 to recede to an immeasurable distance. 
 
 It was not until the following day that the 
 Count found couraoce to mention the name of 
 Isabelle to De Montfort and to inform him of 
 the high situation she now held as one of the 
 Dames du Pahis to the Queen. De Montfort 
 heard this announcement with as much surprise
 
 270 The lady of 
 
 as vexa ion. He had never contemplated the 
 possibility of her residin<j at Court. A meet- 
 ing with Isabelle was what he would, under 
 any circumstances, most eagerly have avoided. 
 But now it seemed perfectly inevitable. 
 
 The Count saw with much perplexity and 
 dismay the chagrin expressed in his son's coun- 
 tenance — the gloom that overspread it at the 
 mention of Isabella's name boded but ill for the 
 hopes of the reconcilement between them, which 
 he had cherished. He has not seen her yet 
 thought he, " it is impossible but he must 
 think differently of her then." 
 
 It was however with the greatest difficulty? 
 and not until he had been a week in Paris, that 
 the Count was able to persuade De Montfort 
 to accompany him in a visit of ceremony to 
 Isabelle, who had a suite of apartments in the 
 Palace. 
 
 De Montfort knew it was absolutely neces- 
 sary he should make this visit ; yet he shrunk 
 from it as sensitively as he would have done
 
 ^HJE BED-CHAMBER. 27l 
 
 from the thumb screw or any other instrument 
 of torture, and his father could only induce 
 him to pay it at once, by promisinoj never to 
 put any constraint upon his actions in this 
 respect for the future, and never to interfere 
 in the least between him and Isabelle. 
 
 The old Count built much upon this first 
 interview, but he was sadly disappointed. 
 
 Isabelle was really not well, and very much, 
 flurried, from the announcement of their [)ur- 
 posed call, of which her father-in-law had 
 thought it best to give her but a short notice, 
 before they arrived. 
 
 She looked pale and distressed, and received 
 De Montfort with a cold and somewhat haughty 
 reserve. 
 
 He saw nothing in her, but the inanimate, 
 dejected, weeping bride, he had formerly eo re- 
 luctantly wedded, and with this remembrance, 
 came the flash of joy that lighted up her coun- 
 tenance, when he told her that he was going 
 to Constantinople.
 
 272 THE LADY OF 
 
 The Count was grieved to see Isabelle looking 
 so ill and unhappy, and after making many kind 
 inquiries after her health, endeaTOured to pro- 
 mote a general conversation, by alluding to 
 some recent incidents at Court, and asking her 
 if she had yet seen La Berenice^ which had just 
 been performed at the theatre of the Palais 
 Koyal. But he could scarcely elicit a reply — 
 Isabelle had lost her usual self-possession, and 
 De Montfort, on the tenter hooks of anxiety 
 to escape, soon put his father in mind of an en- 
 gagement, which called them elsewhere. Their 
 departure was a relief to Isabelle — she remained 
 in deep thought for some time, leaning upon 
 the table, near which she had been sitting, her 
 face covered with both her hands. At length 
 the clock struck, and she started from her re- 
 verie — in half an hour, she was to attend the 
 Queen. 
 
 " It is impossible lean go to-day," said she, 
 gazing at herself in an opposite mirror. " I
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 273 
 
 must send an excuse, oii the plea of indisposi- 
 tion." ^ 
 
 And wrestling with her emotion, she sat down 
 to write a note, but her hand was so unsteady 
 that she was obliged to lay down the pen. 
 
 '• The Count was wrong,"" exclaimed she^ "in 
 concealing from me, until this morning, the 
 arrival of the Baron— had 1 known it sooner, I 
 could have better nerved myself to support it 
 —ah! I hfive been so happy during his absence, 
 and now — but we are equally indifferent — why 
 should we torment each- other ? — why sliould we 
 interfere ?" 
 
 Thus saying, she resumed her })en, and after 
 blotting two or three sheets of paper, dis- 
 patched a tolerably legible note, to excuse her 
 non-appearance. 
 
 This visit, so distasteful and irritating to De 
 Montfort, made him resolve to leave Paris di- 
 rectly, and go into the country, which resolu- 
 tion he would no doubt have put into execution 
 in the course of a few days, notwithstandings 
 
 N ^
 
 274 THE LADf OF 
 
 it would militate against all his pre»Oonceived 
 projects, had not the Count, who feaijed such 
 might be his deterniination, procured from the 
 King, without his son's knowledge, an appoint" 
 ment at Court, which he knew he dared not 
 refuse ; and Be Montfort, very reluctantly, 
 found hsmseU obliged to remain in Paris. 
 However, he soon found that Isabelle's sejour 
 there, need not, at least as y^X^ give him any 
 uneasiness. Isabelle was not to be seen on the 
 Boulevards or in the Champs Elysees — no glimpse 
 of her caught Mr eye at the theatre, where, 
 every night, the brilliant genius of Corneille 
 drew tears from many a fair dame, neither was 
 she at any of the Court assemblies, and from 
 dreading to meet her everywhere, he soon 
 began to wonder what had become of her, and 
 to hope, particularly as his father never men- 
 tioned her name since the day of their visit, 
 that she must have left Paris. 
 
 The presence of Clementine — his once adored 
 Clementine— on the contrary, greeted him
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 275 
 
 wherever he went ; but he turned away 
 from her in disgust— it was in vain, that she 
 tried to regain her old ascendancy- over him. 
 De Montfort no a- saw her in her true colours, 
 and w^as astonished, how he conld ever have 
 been fascinated by so heartless a co(|uette; w^hile 
 she, eager as formerly, to enlist him in a train 
 of admirers^ who had of late very much dimi- 
 nished, was so enraored at his neglect, that she 
 secretly vowed, he should some time or other 
 feel the full wrath of a despised woman. 
 
 Meantime, De Montfort' s curiosity began to 
 be excited, in some degree, about Isabelle. 
 He had accidentally, and with much surprise 
 heard her beauty, wit, and enchanting grace, 
 descanted on by a knot of young courtiers — 
 many thought she far outshone Madame de 
 Montespan — all lamented her absence from the 
 Court festivities. For the first time he heard 
 ' — and heard it with a sort of pang, at his neglect 
 in not inquiring after her, that she had been 
 much indisposed, but was so far recovered.
 
 276 THE LADY OP 
 
 that it was expected, she would be able to re- 
 sume her usual brilliant position in society. 
 
 ** De Cressy is in despair," said one of the 
 group. 
 
 *' And De Valey has been to Lully, to set 
 to music some verses he has written on her/^ 
 replied another. 
 
 ** Their homage seems to make no impres- 
 sion upon the lovely Baroness/' added a third. 
 ** Some people think that Madame de Monte- 
 span begins to be a little afraid of her," 
 
 '* She is truly charming, but cold as ice," said 
 another. 
 
 De Montfort now caught the sound of his 
 own name, and feeling his vicinity to the party 
 begin to be very embarrassing, hastily with- 
 drew. 
 
 Isabelle wittj^ talented, beautiful as Madame 
 de Montespan I Impossible !— and he smiled 
 incredulously. 
 
 That night De Montfort' s eye scanned every 
 fair face in the Queen's train at the thea-
 
 THE Bed-chamber. 277 
 
 trej and unconsciously turned away disap- 
 pointed, for Isabeile was not there. For 
 several succeeding nights he watched for her 
 —still Isabelle did not appear; and so much 
 w^as his curiosity excited at last, that incon- 
 gruous as it may see n, he became, at the end 
 of three weeks, as desirous to see her and 
 examine what was the enchantment she pus- 
 Scssed, which appeared to incline every one in 
 her favour, and made the great Corneiile him- 
 self lament her absence from a recitation of a 
 new tragedy he was about to bring forthj as he 
 had been at first to fly from, every chance of 
 meeting her.
 
 278 THE LADY OF 
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 tTna Kinfa si bella e si gentile : 
 
 Ma che dissi una Ninfa 1 Anzi una dea. 
 
 Di matutina rosa, 
 
 Piu fresca e piu vezzosa 
 
 E piu molle, e piu Candida del cigno > 
 
 Per cu'i non e si degno 
 
 Pastor' oggi tra noi, che non sospiri, 
 
 E non sospiri in vano. 
 
 Guarini. 
 
 De MoNTi'OKT had already begun his politi- 
 cal career, and was plunging deeply into the 
 ocean of politics | but while his days and often
 
 THE fiED-CSAMSKK. 279 
 
 part of" his nights were devoted to this engros- 
 sing pursuit, his evenings were spent at the 
 theatre, or some g.iy re-unions and not unfre- 
 quentiy at the Court balls, where all the fair 
 and noble in the Court circle were used to 
 assemble. 
 
 Already his depth of information and origin - 
 ality of thinking had marked him out a§ one of 
 the most rising statesmen of the day, and his 
 fond and proud father was deeply gratified 
 whilst he listened to the flattering congratula- 
 tions that met him wherever he appeared, on 
 his son's success* 
 
 It was about this time that De Montfort ac- 
 companied his father to a ball given by the 
 Queen, who was just returned, with the ladies 
 of her train, from a short seclusion at the 
 Pal ice of Versailles. 
 
 Despite the bitter chagrin Isabella had felt 
 at the unexpected return of De Montfort to 
 Paris, she had, during her slight indisposition, 
 and afterwards in the very opportune retire-
 
 280 THE LADY OlB^ 
 
 ment of the Queen at Versailles, schoole 1 her- 
 self so well, examined her position in so many 
 flifferent points of view and called up .^o much 
 good sense to aid her pride; that she was ena- 
 bled to make her appearance at this ball looking 
 more lovely and attractive than ever. 
 
 The idea of De Montfort^s abode in Paris 
 had been at first so insupportable to her, that 
 the impulse of the moment had prompted her 
 to throw up the office she held in the palace, 
 and retire to the old chateau in Normandy ; but 
 a little reflection had shown her the indiscretion 
 of such a proceedings as in relinquishing the 
 patronage of the Queen, she would only have 
 exposed herself the more to the importunate 
 assiduities of the Duke de Coaslin, who had 
 plainly shown her that no seclusion could hide 
 her from his passionate addresses. 
 
 On this night Be Montfort made sure that 
 he should behold Isabelle, and after he had 
 forced his way through the crowded suite of 
 rooms, and made his obeisance to the Queen,
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 281 
 
 on looking around, she was the first person that 
 caught his eye; but so different was the brilliant 
 and fascinating Tsabelle of the evening, from 
 her to whom he had paid the hurried and re- 
 luctant visit on his first arrival, that prepared 
 as he was by the eulogies he had heard of her 
 charms to doubt the evidence of his own senses, 
 he could scarcely iuiagitie it was indeed Isabclle 
 that he now gazed upon. - 
 
 Isabelle did n. t observe the entrance of De 
 Montfort and his vicinity to her — she was con- 
 versing in a lively strain with the King, who, 
 notwithstanding the presence of Madame de 
 Montespan, was paying her the most flattering 
 attentions. The gallanteries of Louis were 
 well known, and De Montfort experienced a 
 feeling of anxiety as he looked at his beautiful 
 and unprotected wife, and recollected to what 
 dangers his neglect exposed her. In a few 
 minutes the King, spying De Montfort, ap- 
 proached, and graciously accosted him, while
 
 282 THE LADY OF 
 
 De Cressy, ever on the watch, eagerly supplied 
 his place near Isabelle, and a circle of the 
 young and old hovering around, anxious to seize 
 upon the envied position, still shut out De 
 Montfort from her view. De Montfort saw 
 this incense lavished upon Isabelle. whose easy 
 indifference and gay unconsciousness, as she 
 received it, did but add a new charm to her 
 beauty, and he perceived that her sparkling 
 wit and powers of conversation, drew many 
 into her circle whom beauty alone might not 
 perhaps have attracted thither. He would 
 willingly have turned away, but a species of 
 fascination seemed to root him to the spot, and 
 an unaccountable jealousy took possession of 
 his mind, which was not lessened when Isabelle, 
 who had not perceived him before, now recog- 
 nised, and slightly saluted him with a polite 
 and disengaged, but chilling demeanour, im- 
 perceptible most likely to those around, but 
 which the unreasonable De Montfort inwardly
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 283 
 
 chafed at, particularly when he heard no 
 diminution of wit and gaiety in her conversation 
 with her surrounding admirers. 
 
 Whatever Isabelle might have felt she, like 
 a true woman, dissembled, and her cheek did 
 not grow pale, or her eye less bright for the 
 presence of De Montfort, who, in spite of her 
 cold disdain, could not but confess to himself, 
 that he had never seen any one half so 
 beautifuL 
 
 Her dress, too, was in perfect taste, and set 
 off her symmetrical figure to the best advan- 
 tage. Her robe of the finest point de France, 
 a present from the Queen, swept the ground in 
 graceful folds — she wore no coiffure but three 
 or four small golden bodkins fastened up the 
 loops and tresses oF her hair, v/hich a good deal 
 parted on the forehead, shaded her dimpled 
 cheek, and descended in a thousand soft glossy- 
 curls upon her neck. Magnificent pearls were 
 interwoven among her curls, and ear-rings 
 formed of diamonds of the first water, gave a
 
 284 THE LADY OF 
 
 finish to this really splendid though chaste and 
 simple looking dress. 
 
 Her beauty and appearance were further en- 
 hanced in the eyes of De Montfort by her 
 vicinity to the Marchioness de Varville, who, 
 detesting Isabelle for her youth and loveliness 
 and now more than ever anxious to eclipse her 
 in the presence of De Montfort, endeavoured 
 by a thousand little arts to attract his attention 
 and to form a circle round herself at a little 
 distance. 
 
 De Montfort could not but observe that 
 Clementine had lost as much in the two years 
 he had been absent, as Isabelle had gained, and 
 that as if conscious of the flight of youth she 
 endeavoured by cosmetics and surreptitious aids 
 and by the most magnificent and shewy attire 
 to make up for the encroachments of time. 
 
 Her dress was therefore in a most extrava- 
 gant taste being a petticoat of black velvet 
 dazzling with costly embroideries of gold and 
 silver, and a scarf couleur de feu with massive
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 285 
 
 embroideries similar to her petticoat, while 
 jewels sparkled on her person in every direc- 
 tion. 
 
 This dress which made her look like an 
 actress, cost an immense sum of money and in- 
 deed people said she was ruining her husband 
 as fast as she could by her unbounded extra- 
 vagance. 
 
 Isabelle, had in reality studied her attire for 
 this evening with more care than she was wont 
 to do — never had she been more admired, more 
 flattered, more followed than at this ball and 
 never before, notwithstanding her apparent 
 disregard of it, had this admiration, this assid- 
 uous attention been so grateful, so secretly 
 prized by her, as on this night. That which 
 was valueless and commonplace before, had all 
 of a sudden, from some hidden cause which 
 she did not attempt to investigate, become of 
 worth and price in her estimation. What was 
 it that thus enhanced the value of the homage she 
 had always so slighted ? It was a secret though
 
 286 THE L\DY OF 
 
 unacknowledged consciousness, that De Mont- 
 fort was present, and that he must now be 
 aware, how eagerly, were she free, others would 
 seek the hand which he had so reluctantly re- 
 ceived. 
 
 Nevertheless, despite all this triumph — this 
 incense, isabelle was dissatisfied with herself 
 as she laid her head upon her pillow — she was 
 vexed that whatever she thought of,, wherever 
 she tried to fix her ideas, the image of De 
 Montfort appeared before her as she had seen 
 him at the ball. Ft ^vas with no pleasurable 
 sensation that his idea recurrtd to htr, but she 
 was unable to banish ir. It was true that among 
 the flower of tne court assembled there that 
 evening, no one outshone, few rivalled De 
 Montfort in personal appearance — but it was 
 not of that Isabelle thought — it uas not upon 
 that she dweir, although in her secret soul she 
 would not hav^e been able to controvert it. It 
 vras of the bitter chagrin he must fee!, which 
 his grave and haughty air shewed iier he did
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 287 
 
 feel at the recollection of the bonds which 
 bound him to her. 
 
 *' It is of no use to think of it,'* said she 
 with a heavy sigh, " would we were both free." 
 
 Then she fell asleep but her dreams were 
 strange and wild. De Montfort mingled with 
 them all, but one whom she had long taught 
 herself to forget likewise vaguely and indis- 
 tinctly crossed her path — again seemed to swear 
 an eternal love to her and to claim her early 
 vows. Then she thought, as once before in her 
 dre;ims, that he wore the aspect of De Mont- 
 fort and clasped her to his heart. 
 
 She awoke from her fevered sleep with a 
 start, and looked around. The rays of a bright 
 moon fell upon the parquetted floor of her 
 room, and threw a stream of light upon her 
 couch, but the more remote corners of the spa- 
 cious apartment, remaining in deep obscurity, 
 seemed, to her still dreamlike senses, to be 
 peopled w^ith a thousand vague and fantastic 
 fi-rms. Still she saw De Montfort^ and now
 
 288 THE LADY OF 
 
 his countenance wore a look of stern reproach. 
 At last she composed herself to sleep again, 
 but her rest was uneasy— masquerading fipfures, 
 in every variety of costume, flitted around her 
 pillow — strange faces appeared to mow, and 
 mock at her — now she found herself involved 
 in the most incongruous adventures, depicted 
 with all the vivid minuteness of reality — then 
 hurrying through, and unable to extricate her- 
 self from the interminable passages and galleries 
 of nn old castle, she endeavoured to escape 
 from tl e pursuing steps of the dreaded De Mont- 
 fort. 
 
 Again she awoke, and weary of her fruitless 
 efforts at composure, rose, and throwing on a 
 morning robe, opened a olass door, and entered 
 a balcony belonging to her apartments, which 
 overlooked the gardens. 
 
 All nafure was in the calm of a delicious 
 repose. The dawn of morning, though very 
 near, had not yet dimmed the brightness of the 
 sparkling starSj among which, the planet Venus 
 
 a
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 289 
 
 shone conspicuous, with a soft and steady lus- 
 tre. Isabelle leaned over the iron rails of the 
 balcony, and enjoyed the stillness of the per- 
 fumed air, and the feverishness, incident upon 
 her troubled slumbers, was dissipated by de- 
 grees. 
 
 " From whence can^arise those broken and 
 fantastic images, we behold in dreams," thought 
 she. ^^ Memory and imagination may riot in 
 the fragments of past scenes, and arrange 
 them in wild confusion ; but from whence 
 comes it, that events beyond the range of all 
 possibility, thoughts that the mind has never 
 contemplated, in her wildest day-dreams, thus 
 come before us in the visions of the nit^ht, 
 with all the force and garb of reality? 
 
 '* is it to reveal to us the picture of insanity? 
 —is it to shew us what germs of madness lurk 
 in every mind, and what are the wild vagaries 
 that haunt us, when the noble structure of rea- 
 son is overthrown ?" 
 
 The Count de* Beaumont, who was at the 
 
 TOL. I. O
 
 290 THE LADY OF 
 
 ball, saw with rapture, the sensation which his 
 beautiful daughter-in-law's appearance in so- 
 ciety, after her late indisposition, occasioned. 
 He had entirely ceased to speak of her to De 
 Montfort, since the visit in which he had ac- 
 companied him, and if his chagrin was then 
 excessive, at seeing Isabelle look so ill, his joy 
 now far out-balanced it, and he watched with 
 secret pleasure, the impression, which he 
 judged she had made this evening on De Mont- 
 fort, by the constancy with which his eyes 
 appeared to follow all her movements. 
 
 He was disappointed, however, when, on the 
 following morning, De Montfort, though con- 
 versing of vnrious persons, he had met the 
 preceding night at the Palace, never made the 
 slightest allusion to her, and the Count did not 
 deem it prudent, to venture any remark him- 
 self 
 
 A fortnight stole away, and few evenings 
 past, in which De Montfort and Isabelle did 
 not meet in the Court circle, and indeed, if
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 291 
 
 Isabelle had wished ever so much to avoid the 
 Ijresence of the Baron, she could not now 
 compass it, as she had no plea of indisposition, 
 <iad the gentle Queen, who was prodigal to- 
 wards her of the warmest marks of affection, 
 was never happy, unless she was in her train ; 
 while the King, a passionate admirer of beauty 
 and of talent, always remarked the absence of 
 •one, so well suited to adorn every fete — still 
 the same excessive reserve existed between 
 them — a cold salutation on the part of Isabelle, 
 and one as chilling, if not more so, on that of 
 De Montfort, 
 
 Yet, with all this apparent indifference, he 
 watched her with a jealous eye, and vainly 
 tried to hide from himself, what daggers to his 
 heart were the sweet smiles and enchanting 
 grace, with which he fancied she met every one 
 but himself. This fascination, which she exer- 
 cised over him, from the night he had been so 
 struck with her appearance at the Queen's ball, 
 was entirely independent of his will. He was 
 o 2
 
 292 THE LADY OF 
 
 Startled at a passion so suddenly awakened in 
 his bosom, for an object, from whom he had 
 formerly fled with such earnestness of purpose, 
 and he often tried to turn away, when be found 
 his spell-bound steps arrested in that part of 
 the room, where he could, unobserved, best 
 look at and listen to her. The circumstance 
 that she was his wife — that she could never 
 belong to another — seemed but to widen the 
 abyss that separated them, by impressing on 
 him the idea, that he could never dare hope to 
 win a heart, that must have long since learned 
 to detest him. 
 
 He tried, by ' engaging in public affairs, to 
 fly from those tormenting thoughts, but while 
 applause greeted his brilliant career, and the 
 politicians of the day saw in him a new star 
 arisen amongst them, the amusements of the 
 evening brought no relaxation to his mind, for 
 there he saw Isabelle, beautiful, gay, and 
 indifferent. 
 
 " It is my own fault, said he, one night as
 
 t-HE BED-CHAMBER. 293 
 
 he returned to his hotel, more enchanted by her 
 beauty — more stung by her disdain than he had 
 yet been. '* I ought to entreat an interview 
 with Isabelle-^I ought to throw myself at her 
 feet — ask pardon for the past, and sue for 
 her forgiveness. But alas ! what can be the 
 result ? We have parted by mutual consent. 
 Can I forget her joy on the morning of our 
 bridal day when I spoke of my departure for 
 Constantinople? — Can I doubt her dislike? — 
 may I not read it in her manner — and even 
 should I wring from her an unwilling consent 
 to be indeed mine — could I, by the interven- 
 tion of my good father, prevail on her proud 
 spirit to forget my past neglect, of what avail 
 would it be to my happiness if her heart, as 
 now, rejects me? [f 1 was again to see the 
 pallid cheek and tearful eye with which she 
 greeted me on my late arrival in Paris, they 
 would be daggers in my bosom. No, unless Isa- 
 belle can love me as I feel I could love her — as
 
 S;94 THE LADY OF 
 
 I do love her, 1 never should be happy. No, I 
 must wait— I must try to win her affection — 
 to efface in some degree past remembrances. 
 But has she* a heart to win? — Lively and 
 brilliant as she looks, may she not secretly 
 weep over the unhappy bond that unites us ? — 
 Unhappy I — yes, unhappy, for were we both 
 free and unconstrained, I too, like others, 
 might seek, by devotion and passionate love, to 
 win a heart that I now fear is lost to me for 
 ever." 
 
 Thus did the too sensitive De Montfort 
 reason — thus did he torment himself, and thus 
 was the claim he possessed over Isnbelle, not 
 only valueless in his eyes, but converted, by his 
 morbid imagination, into a source of torture, 
 ten thousand times worse than that it had 
 formerly, but from how different a cause, in- 
 flicted upon him. And such has, and ever will 
 be, the waywardness of the human heart — 
 rejecting that which is most valuable from
 
 THE BED-CHAMBER. 295 
 
 caprice — then prizing the lost treasure most, 
 when it is found to be irretrievably gone. 
 
 De Montfort though young in years, was 
 from his early residence at Court, and his 
 passionate attachment to Clementine, well 
 Tersed in all the arts of coquetry which the 
 Court beauties were wont to practice, and 
 could at a glance discover the unaffected sim- 
 plicity and freedom from vanity, which in the 
 midst of her attractions were pre-eminent in 
 Isabelle. 
 
 He did not however see that her cold reserve 
 towards himself, which in his eyes wore the 
 semblance of disdain, was in fact but the 
 natural reflection of his own deportment. 
 Perhaps had his manner been different, hers 
 might have relaxed. Conscious that Isabelle 
 must be aware that in his opposition to their 
 marriage, he had been actuated by a passion for 
 an unworthy object. as well as by dislike to have 
 his affections constrained,and certainthat his pre-
 
 296 THE LADY OP 
 
 sence much be insupportable to her, for hinit 
 there always seemed a magic circle drawn 
 around her, as if by the wand of some enchan- 
 ter, within which he did not not dare to 
 venture* 
 
 Yet when apparently most neglectful, he was 
 in reality more occupied by her. Sometimes 
 the tones of her voice, whether in singing or 
 speaking, had an unaccountable effect upon 
 him, particularly if he was not tortured by 
 beholding the attentions that were paid to her 
 by others. 
 
 They came over him like the breath of the 
 early dawn of morning, reviving as it were in 
 his soul, the first sensations of youth and love. 
 — Not like the tumultuous passion he had felt 
 for Clementine — but sweet as the melody of 
 distant music — as the song of birds — as the 
 fragrance of spring flowers — connected in an 
 indefinable manner in his imagination with 
 everything that was soft and pure, and genuine
 
 THE BFJD-CH AMBER. 297 
 
 in his early life— As if some spell had re- 
 awakened all the beautiful, first, fresh, vivify- 
 ing sentiments that were fostered in his mind 
 before his affections had been entangled and 
 sported with, by the wiles of a finished 
 coquette. 
 
 END OF VOL
 
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