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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Class 
 
 Book 
 
 Volume 
 
 My 08-1 5M
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/rochebrancheorhu01port
 
 ROCHE-BLANCHE; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 HUNTERS OF THE PYRENEES, 
 
 a Romance* 
 
 By miss anna MARIA PORTER, 
 
 AVTHoa or "the tillage of mariendorpt," &c. 
 
 O 'tis a gallant vessel ! but the wind 
 
 Strives fiercely in her sails ; each sleety blast 
 
 Rifles her shrouds; while the froth'd brine o'ertops 
 
 Her topmast's head. — Hark to that pealing gust ! 
 
 It roU'd along the mountainous waves, as 'twere 
 
 Thunder 'niong Alps ; or the dread voice of doom. — 
 
 Brother spirit ! think you this bark will 'scape, 
 
 Or all her freight of goodly virtues, be 
 
 Wreck'd by yon treach'rous rock ? Woe's me, there's ont 
 
 Upon the lofty shore, straining each sense; 
 
 With cries and clasped hands asking to save. 
 
 Who if voice answer'd him, or instinct taught 
 
 Which wave might bear him right, would instant plunge 
 
 Into the yawning gulph ; so to attain 
 
 And share, like fate with this lone bark! MS. Poetn. 
 
 AY THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED EOR 
 
 LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 PATERNOSTER-BOM'. 
 3 822.
 
 Vi'^ \ 
 
 VA 
 
 London. 
 
 Printed bv A. & R. Spottiswocde, 
 New-Street-Square.
 
 TO 
 
 HIS EXCELLENCY 
 
 DOCTOR LEIGHTON, 
 
 ACTUAL STATE COUNSELLOR OF 
 
 HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE EMPEROR OF 
 
 A^L THE RUSSIAS, 
 
 PHYSICIAN TO THE IMPERIAL COURT, 
 
 MEMBER OF 
 
 THE INTERIOR MEDICAL ADMINISTRATION ANB 
 
 NATIONAL CIVILIZATION, 
 
 KNIGHT OF THE OBncns ST, WLADIMIR AND 
 
 ST. ANN OF THE SECOND CLASS, 
 
 &C. &C. 5:c. 
 
 Though personally unknown to you, 
 dear Sir, I venture to inscribe even 
 such a Work as this, with your res- 
 pected name, because I have no other 
 way of expressing my gratitude, or of 
 publicly acknowledging, that to your 
 skill and benevolence, under God, I
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 am indebted for the life of a distant 
 and most dear brother. 
 
 The details of his long and alarm- 
 ing illness have only just reached Sir 
 Robert Porter's family : I must not 
 enlarge upon the feelings with which 
 thev have read those details: indeed 
 it would be impossible to express 
 adequately, their grateful and vene- 
 rating sentiments for that kind 
 friend and physician, who though 
 suddenly bereaved himself, while 
 watching the object of another's 
 anxiety, allowed himself no interval 
 for mourning his own loss. — I will, 
 however, believe that such a heart 
 has already had its recompence in 
 Russia ; and that it will again be sus- 
 ceptible of the same generous plea- 
 sure, when thus assured of the 
 happiness it has caused in England.
 
 DEDICATION. V 
 
 That consolation and comfort of 
 a higher character, from the only 
 Power that can amply bestow both, 
 may be dispensed to you, with many 
 other blessings, is, dear Sir, the sin- 
 cerest wish 
 
 Of your grateful humble Servant, 
 
 ANNA MARIA PORTER. 
 
 LoNe-DlTTON, 
 
 June, 1822.
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 If the Reader of the following Work 
 happen to have read its predecessor, 
 ** The Village of Mariendorpt," it may 
 be necessary to apprize him that the re- 
 semblance he may possibly detect between 
 some features of the two stories, is not ac- 
 cidental. It once struck me, that it might 
 be curious and entertaining, to mark the 
 different effect produceable by placing 
 dissimilar characters in similar situations : 
 whether the execution of such an idea 
 has marred or mended the present pro- 
 duction, it is not for me to determine. 
 Every person that has ever attempted a 
 work of fiction, knows by experience,
 
 VIU ADDRESS 
 
 that in the writing of books, as in the 
 conduct of life, 
 
 " There is a Providence that shapes our course, 
 Rough hew it as we may 1" 
 
 Let us do what we will, the stubborn 
 materials often take a direction com- 
 pletely opposite to what we had intended; 
 incidents necessarily following the bent 
 of the characters from which they are 
 supposed to originate : and these latter, 
 as frequently, develope contrary to our 
 original conceptions. 
 
 If the alleged resemblance between 
 my two stories is found imperfect, this 
 observation may be allowed to explain 
 that imperfection. I must at the same 
 time urge the same remark, as an apo- 
 logy to a very liberal and enlightened 
 critic, for apparent obstinacy in a fault 
 he condemns.* I will not plead in 
 
 * The writer of an article in the New Monthly 
 Magazine of last year, upon the Village of Marien- 
 dorpt.
 
 TO THE READEU. IX 
 
 extenuation of such offence, the sanction 
 of the greatest master of our day, — for 
 he has conquered ** the debateable land" 
 — but confess, that although I laid down 
 that acute, yet kindly review, with a 
 sincere determination to make my next 
 work purely imaginary, 1 found it im- 
 possible to rekindle imagination, until I 
 should have warmed my heart by con- 
 templating either past or present excel- 
 lence. I betook me, therefore, to the 
 huge picture gallery of history : there, 
 two or three portraits interested me, as 
 the faces of living beings have sometimes 
 done 5 and, furnished with these, I was 
 soon able to imagine others; and so 
 arrange the whole, in the group now 
 presented before my Reader. 
 
 I trust every candid mind will believe, 
 that I did not willingly prefer a foreign 
 history of the l6th century, to that of 
 our own country at the same period. 
 Who does not know that in the scenes 
 of " Kenilworth" some of our mightiest 
 dead have re-appeared in actual exist-
 
 X ADDRESS 
 
 ence ? It must be a bolder spirit than 
 I dare boast, that calls them again from 
 " the vasty deep :" in these humbler 
 pages, they are required only to pass 
 like the race of Banquo — as shadows ! 
 
 I am not aware of having to apologize 
 for any material alteration in historical 
 facts and dates : having allowed myself 
 but the latitude of a month or two, in 
 the conspiracies of Amboise, and of the 
 De la Poles. In the pedigree of the last 
 illustrious family, prefixed to the Memoirs 
 of the Cardinal, not one of the brothers 
 are shown to have left male posterity: 
 Hume, however, and Camden, make 
 Arthur de la Pole the nephew of the 
 Cardinal : I felt privileged, therefore, to 
 avail myself of their mistake, and have 
 introduced this nephew into my story ; 
 only giving him a different christian 
 name, to prevent confusion of persons. 
 
 P. S. — Since writing the above, a 
 friend has shown me an article in a 
 weekly Review, wherein a sentence or
 
 TO THE READER. XI 
 
 two is quoted from the introduction to a 
 work by the author of Waverley. It is 
 so fully illustrative of an observation 
 hazarded at the beginning of this Address, 
 that I ought, perhaps, to efface the latter : 
 but I confess my inability to conceal the 
 gratification occasioned me, by discover- 
 ing any coincidence of thought, between 
 myself and such a writer. 
 
 Long-DittoHj June \2th, 1822.
 
 The Reader is requested to substitute the name 
 of ROCHE-BLANCHE, for ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 throughout this uorl\
 
 ROCHE BLANC; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HUNTERS OF THE PYRENEES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In one of those beautiful vallies which 
 are to be found at the entrance of the 
 Pyrenees, where the lovelier features of 
 sylvan landscape invite the eye and the 
 spirit to rest, ere they scale the stupen- 
 dous steeps themselves ; a few scattered 
 cottages, with each its orchard, surround- 
 ing a chateau, bore the name of a village, 
 and gave the title of Baron de Roche 
 Blanc to its proprietor. 
 
 Eustache de la Marot de Roche Blanc 
 was long past the meridian of life, but he 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 preserved the air of one who either was 
 handsome, or had fancied himself so ; 
 and recalling with complacency, that his 
 imposing manner, aided by a tolerable 
 figure, and great curiosity in the science 
 of dress, had made him irresistible to 
 some women, he still threw such a dash 
 of the coxcomb into his intercourse with 
 every one of the sex, as rendered him 
 ridiculous to many. 
 
 With men, he was a coxcomb after a 
 different fashion. An ingenious talent 
 of imitating trifling productions — of the 
 pen and pencil ; and a knack of com- 
 bining the passages of different masters in 
 music, so as to make them pass for his 
 own production, invested him with the 
 title and privileges of genius : restlessness 
 under domestic restraint, added to the 
 cravings of vanity, he mistook for the 
 prompting of a spirit destined to atchieve 
 wonders ; while that childish unwilling- 
 ness to calculate probabilities, which self- 
 love denominates heroism, appeared to
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 3 
 
 him an unerring testimony that he was 
 born for great things. 
 
 With this opinion of himself", ever float- 
 ing on the surface of his shallow mind, 
 La Marot would have been the most in- 
 sufferable of companions, except for a 
 certain gaiete de cceur, which imparted 
 something of the agreeable to his manner, 
 and preserved his temper in uniform 
 sweetness. No one, whose interest it was 
 not to probe him too closely, chose to find 
 the secret of this, in self-complacency, 
 and total want of delicate feeling. 
 
 During a life of fifty-two years, so light 
 and vain a character had made the Baron 
 alternately the dupe of his own folly, and 
 of other men's wickedness : it had turned 
 him successively into a courtier, a soldier, 
 a speculator in commercial schemes and 
 gambling chances, a chemist, a political 
 enthusiast, a student in polemics, and a 
 director of public diversions : it had dis- 
 sipated, in truth, nearly the whole of a 
 fortune, never large ; involved hira in 
 B *2
 
 4 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 debts and law-suits ; but was now, luckily, 
 taking the bent of agricultural improve- 
 ment. 
 
 The property round chateau Roche 
 Blanc, afforded its Baron room for the 
 practice of some new-fangled theories, 
 about the growth of saffron, and vine- 
 dressing : the simple labourers, amongst 
 whom he busied himself, listened to his 
 babbling rhapsodies with outward awe 
 and inward obstinacy j never carrying 
 the lessons they were thus taught on their 
 lord's ground, into their own patch of 
 vineyard, but successfully substituting 
 wonder and admiration in the place of 
 obedience. 
 
 La Marot's religion had as little prin- 
 ciple in it as his other opinions : he was, 
 however, a member of the Reformed 
 Church ; perhaps, because the Refown- 
 ation was itself a novelty, and the disputes 
 of its professors with the doctors of the 
 Romish schools, furnished a talker with 
 perpetual themes of declamation. His
 
 ROCHE BLANC. O 
 
 paternal inheritance placed him, most for- 
 tunately for his family, under the govern- 
 ment of a prince known to favour the 
 new doctrines. Anthony Bourbon, titu- 
 lar King of Navarre, and actual Lord of 
 Beam, in consequence of his marriage 
 with the heiress of both principalities, was 
 the sovereign in question ; and protected 
 by him, in common with Protestant refu- 
 gees from less tolerant countries, La 
 Marot pursued his visionary fancies at 
 home, or followed the Ignis Fatuus of 
 them abroad ; satisfied that he might 
 abide with, or return to his family, at will, 
 in perfect security. 
 
 Madame his wife, though past forty, 
 and retaining neither the vivacity nor 
 vanity of a beauty, was still singularly 
 handsome. Of an unhappy, rather than 
 a yiolent temper, and selfishly inatten- 
 tive to the comfort of those around her, 
 she gradually lost their affections, with- 
 out comprehending the cause, or making 
 a single effort to retain them. Still, how- 
 B 3
 
 6 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 ever, she expected, and exacted from her 
 family, all those sacrifices and observances 
 which love only can render easy; and 
 absorbed in one object, her youngest 
 child by the Baron, she seemed to con- 
 sider the offspring of a first marriage, 
 merely as a creature more peculiarly her 
 own, to devote to this child's service. 
 
 Aigline de Venzeles, the unhappy 
 being thus devoted, had no recollection 
 of her own father : he fell in battle when 
 she was just born. All she knew of him 
 was, that he belonged to an ancient 
 Catholic family in Normandy, whom he 
 had offended by marrying, while on ser- 
 vice, her mcJther, the daughter of a Ge- 
 nevese minister. After her father's 
 death, she was told, that none of his 
 relations had ever inquired the fate of 
 his widow and child : but she was not 
 told that he had left his widow and child 
 a respectable competence, in the shape 
 of certain lands, which had long since 
 vanished in one of her stepfather's many
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 7 
 
 abortive schemes of making money, and 
 getting himself talked of. 
 
 Aigline was therefore dependent upon 
 that stepfather for the support, his un- 
 thinking selfishness, and her mother's 
 criminal indifference, had deprived her 
 of: and too young to have enquired the 
 particulars of the transaction, or to have 
 comprehended its unfairness had she been 
 informed of it at the time, she was ac- 
 customed to hear the Baron de Roche 
 Blanc's kindness to her, lauded by ser- 
 vants and sycophants, until she believed 
 herself bound to him by the strongest ties 
 of obligation. So easy is it to plant and 
 ripen gratitude in a generous soil ! 
 
 To her mother, Aigline was submis- 
 sive, respectful, and anxious of pleasing: 
 she would have been caressing ; but never 
 had that cold and self-centered mother 
 called forth, by a single endearment, any 
 of those shows of fondness which are 
 natural to early youth. All that Aigline 
 did, which was well, was passed by as a 
 B 4
 
 8 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 matter of course ; whatever she neglected, 
 or performed imperfectly, was noticed 
 with quick displeasure. 
 
 The Baroness's family, by her present 
 husband, consisted of one daughter three 
 years younger than Aigline, a son, and 
 another girl little beyond infancy. 
 
 Lolotte, the eldest of this family, was 
 living at a distance with a relation ; Ce- 
 cile, the youngest, was a pretty, spoiled, 
 fractious creature 5 and the boy — neither 
 better nor worse than other ordinary 
 boys — was placed with a sort of tutor at 
 Pau, who was educating him to be what 
 this chimerical father intended him to 
 turn out, a shining light either in church 
 or state. 
 
 Aigline, consequently, only saw her 
 brother occasionally, when he came for 
 a few days' holiday to his home: and 
 though the Baroness went every year into 
 Languedoc to visit her second daughter, 
 as her eldest was never allowed to be of 
 the party, the little memory Aigline had
 
 ROCHE BLANC. V 
 
 of her sister, died away : companions of 
 her own sex and age, except amongst 
 the peasantry, there were none at Roche 
 Blanc ; so that Aigline's affections might 
 be considered as nipped at the very root. 
 Still, however, childhood, health, a happy 
 temper, and yet happier ignorance of 
 more endearing characters, gave her 
 spirits to disregard her mother's repul- 
 siveness, and her little sister's tyranny ; 
 so that her tears of a moment, were 
 quickly dispersed by the smiles of consti- 
 tutional hilarity. , 
 
 In the cottages of the peasants, listen- 
 ing to their legends, or on the margin of 
 the Gave, plaiting rushes and flowers into 
 coronets for their children, she forgot the 
 disagreeables of her home ; and it was in 
 consequence of this blessed oblivion, that 
 she was for ever playing truant without 
 doors, and for ever incurring fresh re- 
 proaches from her hard task-mistress 
 within. 
 
 As Aigline grew up, new sources of 
 B 5
 
 10 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 enjoyment opened upon her. The glories 
 of* the heavens, and the beauties of" tlie 
 earth, awakened her faculties, engaged 
 her attention, stimulated her curiosity, 
 and supplied her with subjects of delight- 
 ful reverie through many an hour of 
 monotonous plain work. 
 
 Books, she had none : for the Baron, 
 like most sovereigns of a limited terri- 
 tory, was ready to dispute every inch of 
 intellectual ground with a rival ; and 
 Aigline, early forbidden to meddle with 
 his flimsy collection, -learned to think 
 from the great book of Nature, — to feel, 
 alas, from the dark volume of life. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Aigline 
 grew from infancy to the age of ten j 
 when an English gentleman of the name 
 of Willoughby, took up his abode at 
 Roche Blanc. He was one of those un- 
 fortunate persons who, at the time Henry 
 of England sought the life of Anne Bo- 
 leyn, had been injuriously suspected of 
 an improper intercourse with that ill-fated
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 11 
 
 Queen. Conscious that there were cir- 
 cumstances in his private history which 
 might give a colour to this accusation, 
 and some enemies ready to take advan- 
 tage of those circumstances, he converted 
 his land into money, and fled with a 
 young bride to the continent. There he 
 travelled, unknown and unmolested, dur- 
 ing the remaining years of the domestic 
 tyrant's life, and the short reign of his 
 successor; sojourning, as convenience 
 tempted him, in different parts, until the 
 accession of Mary, and her marriage with 
 Philip of Spain, extinguished those hopes 
 which were fed by the expectation of 
 seeing Elizabeth preferred before her. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby had early embraced 
 the principles of the Reformed Church, a 
 circumstance which of itself was sufficient 
 to bar his return to England, while a Ca- 
 thoHc sovereign held the sceptre : in ad- 
 dition to which, he was known to have 
 been either the lover or friend of Ehza- 
 beth's mother ; and was not likely, there- 
 B 6
 
 12 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 fore, to find safety in a codntiy, over 
 which the successful rival of Elizabeth 
 now reigned. He deemed it most pru- 
 dent, consequently, to forget alike dis- 
 appointments and hopes ; educate the 
 only child his deceased wife had left him, 
 in safe obscurity ; and so take thankfully 
 the large portion of good, allotted him 
 by Providence. 
 
 With these views Mr. Willoughby 
 entered Beam ; and, attracted by the 
 romantic beauty and retiredness of Roche 
 Blanc, as much as by the conviction of 
 protection in the exercise of his religion, 
 became the purchaser of a stately, though 
 somewhat dilapidated mansion, belonging 
 to a dissipated courtier. 
 
 L'etoile, the residence thus chosen, 
 stood on a broad stage of the mountain, 
 just above Roche Blanc. The house 
 took its name from the striking appear- 
 ance of a torrent in its vicinity. This 
 impetuous stream, after bathing many a 
 winding pasture and sombre dell of higher
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 13 
 
 vallies, gradually descended towards tliose 
 of a less elevated region : there, lost for a 
 time among the deep umbrage of woods, 
 and swelled by other streams, it flowed in 
 darkness and silence over a sloping bed ; 
 till having reached the abrupt face of the 
 cliff, it issued suddenly from a vault of 
 verdure, pouring its accumulated waters 
 down a succession of wooded steeps, w ith 
 equal beauty and magnificence. These 
 numerous falls, sparkhog in the light, 
 among the overhanging trees of the 
 chateau, suggested to the fancies of the 
 country-people, the idea of a star ; and 
 the name of L'etoile thus given to it, 
 insensibly became its general designation. 
 
 The property round L'etoile was pro- 
 ductive and well-tenanted ; so that its 
 purchaser was entitled to that respectful 
 consideration which an easy fortune is 
 thought to merit. 
 
 Besides this claim on the notice of his 
 neighbours, Mr. Willoughby's appearance 
 was prepossessing, his manners were gen-
 
 14 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 tie, and his habits inoffensive ; his fading 
 countenance and peculiarly- toned voice, 
 had just as much melancholy in their 
 expression, as creates interest without 
 spreading gloom : though he seldom 
 caused others to smile, he was easily made 
 to smile himself; and rarely suffered a re- 
 mark to escape him in the company of 
 the young, calculated to damp their mirth, 
 or to cast an appalling shadow over the 
 bright path they expected life would 
 prove to them, — thus he was generally 
 liked, even though he appeared seldom in 
 society, and said little when he was there. 
 
 Not that Mr. Willoughby was destitute 
 of subjects and powers for conversation: 
 he was in truth an indefatigable reader; 
 but pursuing that occupation solely as a 
 blameless way of filling up time, he did 
 not leave sufficient intervals between the 
 perusal of distinct works, for any clear 
 arrangement of their subjects, or much 
 exercise of his own original capacity. 
 
 Mr. Willonghby, consequently, was not 
 11
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 15 
 
 distinguished by depth of thought: his 
 intellect, in truth, rather sought repose 
 than action; and the easiness of a temper 
 which considered the every-day occur- 
 rences of life not worth a contest, being 
 coupled with this passiveness of mind, 
 made him appear to less advantage in the 
 company of more energetic or argumen- 
 tative talkers, than he really merited. 
 
 This, perhaps, might be one reason 
 why he showed no regret of that highly- 
 intellectual society which is rarely to be 
 enjoyed beyond the limits of great cities. 
 
 Greatly, however, as learning and ta- 
 lent exalt their possessor in our estim- 
 ation, it is the kindly heart which awakens 
 affection ; and Mr. Willoughby's charity 
 to the poor, and forbearance to the faults 
 and impertinences of their superiors, 
 made him justly dear to his neighbours, 
 his servants, and his son. 
 
 However shy Mr. Wi I lough by was of 
 society, from the hour of his settlement at 
 Roche Blanc, he saw that an intimacy
 
 16 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 with its proprietor was unavoidable. Tlie 
 Chateau and L'etoile, were the only re- 
 spectably-inhabited houses within familiar 
 i^ach of each other ; so that common be- 
 nevolence on one side, and ordinary 
 thankfulness on the other, producing 
 offers of service from the native resident, 
 and grateful returns from the new-comer, 
 made daily messages or visits almost a 
 necessity. Mr. Willoughby \vas a heaven- 
 send to the small stock of La Marot's en- 
 joyments; for to him, a new auditor was 
 every thing ; happy vanity converting the 
 listener instantly into an admirer. But to 
 the quiet Englishman, La Marot became 
 soon only a trial of patience ; and he sub- 
 mitted to the frequent infliction of his 
 company, solely out of gratitude, that cu- 
 riosity was not usually the concomitant 
 of restless self-conceit. 
 •^ The Baron's dove-tailed compositions 
 for the violin, his attempts at oil-painting, 
 his flippant poetics, and bombastic reci- 
 tations, were severally paraded before
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 17 
 
 his new acquaintance, during their even- 
 ing meetings ; while of morning's, more 
 serious subjects took the lead ; and Mr. 
 Willoughby was hurried through endless 
 labyrinths of metaphysics and divinity, 
 law, politics and husbandry, till his every 
 faculty was out of breath. He soon, how- 
 ever, found out an easy expedient for 
 saving them this useless fatigue: he suf- 
 fered his companion to talk, without 
 deeming it necessary to take greater no- 
 tice of his voluble discourse, than an oc- 
 casional " Indeed, " ** Yes, I beheve 
 you ', *' and if the delight was therefore 
 all on the side of the latter, who lived 
 upon the supposed effects he produced, 
 the other calmly amused that better half 
 of his attention which he thought it no 
 sin to withhold from nonsense, by admi- 
 ring the beautiful country over which 
 they were walking. 
 
 In this manner five years passed away ; 
 during which, the frequent absences of 
 the Baronj and the constant residence of
 
 18 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Mr. Willoiighby, unavoidably rendered 
 the latter, in some degree, a sort of guar- 
 dian to the unprotected family at the 
 Chateau. 
 
 La Marot had always some new me- 
 teor to follow far from his home, either 
 in the shape of a suit at court, or one at 
 law ; or some plan of impossible improve- 
 ment with which to-torment men in office; 
 or old imaginary services to rake up and 
 claim reward for; or the hope of getting a 
 grant to re-open certain mines that had 
 once belonged to his grandfather, and so 
 completely ruin himself:" — or something, 
 in short, which ever carried him off, on 
 the broad plumes of lavish expenditure 
 and preposterous expectation, to return, 
 stripped of every feather, and robbed of 
 every mark. 
 
 While he was away, Mr. Willoughby 
 considerately watched over the concerns 
 of the Baroness and her children ; not 
 unfrequently affording them that pecu- 
 niary assistance, which the thoughtless
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 19 
 
 parent and husband seemed to forget was 
 necessary; and when the latter came 
 back, he now and then conquered his na- 
 tural aversion to interference with others, 
 so far as to remonstrate with him upon 
 the vanity of such pursuits, and to direct 
 his views towards safer ones. 
 
 To such remonstrances, La Marot gave 
 smiling attention while they lasted, an- 
 swered with seeming candour, launching 
 at once into such an ocean of talk, that 
 Mr. Willoughby drew back in affright ; 
 while blowing opposite arguments from 
 every point of tiie moral compass, the ad- 
 venturous Baron quietly saw himself left 
 to navigate his own vessel his own way, 
 through this storm of his own raising. 
 
 Thus no actual disagreement ever oc- 
 curred between the elders of the families 
 at Roche Blanc and L'etoile: meanwhile, 
 sympathy and similarity united two of 
 the younger in truer friendship. Aigline 
 de Venzeles and Clarence Willoughby 
 were become like brother and sister.
 
 W ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 There was not above two years differ- 
 ence in the ages of these young persons : 
 — as children of ten and tw^elve, they had 
 felt the same desire of exploring the path- 
 less parts of the surrounding woods, and 
 the gorges of the mountains, to discover 
 new haunts for themselves ; they had 
 watched the growth of favorite wild-flow^- 
 ers in the same clefts of the rocks ; found 
 the same pleasure in climbing up to their 
 fearful gardens, through difficulty and 
 danger; and thrilled over the same stories 
 of ghost and goblin. 
 
 As they advanced towards youth, equal 
 sympathy of tastes and pursuits continued 
 to blend their lives together ; or rather, 
 the ductile nature of Aigline, invariably 
 following the lead of what she loved, 
 taught her to find delight in all that plea- 
 sed Clarence. He courted novelties and 
 perils for their own sake; she encountered 
 them for his : and, as when they were 
 children, his laughing reproach or en- 
 couraging invitation, would bring her
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^1 
 
 shuddering over the slender tree that 
 bridged a torrent, so, at a later period, 
 his ardent sensibility to all that stimulates 
 men to become candidates for distinction, 
 was able to fire her tender heart with en- 
 thusiasm for subjects otherwise foreign to 
 a woman's thoughts. 
 
 There was, indeed, a most extraordi- 
 nary mixture of fervor and softness in 
 Agiline's character and conversation, 
 which seemed as though nature had crea- 
 ted her expressly to fill the void places in 
 Clarence Willoughby's heart: — he had 
 neither brother nor sister; and he loved 
 Aigline, therefore, as if she were both 
 those tender relations; — loved her with 
 an energy which colored his expressive 
 complexion with its liveliest vermillions, 
 whenever they conversed together. She, 
 in return, saw every thing through Cla- 
 rence's eyes ; felt every thing as he felt 
 it; enjoyed no pleasure witliout him; 
 hoarded up for him every little event or 
 saying that had amused her when he was
 
 22 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 not by; and imagined for him, through 
 the long life before them, such a series of 
 adventures, illustrious deeds, and asto- 
 nishing honors, as never yet fell to the 
 share of one mortal. 
 
 Clarence was the first person that 
 taught Aigline the precious secret of 
 finding happiness in reading. Seated in 
 some green nook of the mountains, they 
 read together the books which he took 
 at will out of his father's library ; these 
 were invariably of one description ; 
 — tales of chivalry. Insensibly the 
 stronger character impelled the softer; 
 and Aigline, poring over histories where 
 valour was taken for all the virtues, by 
 the side of the ardent boy whose face 
 burnt with the emulation they excited, 
 learnt to prize deeds of arms, to covet 
 fame for those she loved, and to imagine 
 that life spent in humble usefulness, was 
 life wasted. 
 
 As Mr. Willoughby had an obvious 
 distaste of such subjects, and as Baron
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 23 
 
 de Roche Blanc treated chivalric memo- 
 rials with contempt, neither Aigline nor 
 Clarence ventured to discuss their favo- 
 rite themes in their presence ; much less 
 in that of Madame la Baronne. But 
 when wandering through their leaf-strewn 
 haunts by themselves, these young enthu- 
 siasts would talk over the wondrous world 
 of castles and camps, and the feats of the 
 heroes who graced them ; stimulating 
 each other's admiration into a perfect 
 passion ; often did Clarence's longing 
 after the perils and rewards of glory, rise 
 to such impatience, that the blood, beating 
 through his temples with alarming quick- 
 ness, would sometimes frighten Aigline 
 into tears, at others provoke her to laugh- 
 ter. But Aigline partook his enthusiasm 
 too sincerely, to laugh at it in her heart ; 
 and Clarence, assured of her thorough 
 sympathy, indulged in his favorite study, 
 and built fairy edifices of his own future 
 achievements, without dread of ridicule, 
 or fear of wearying his companion.
 
 24 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 The kindly boy repaid Aigline's tender 
 interest in what was most interesting to 
 him, by the warmest interest in her gen- 
 tler pursuits ; he would also have cheer- 
 fully sacrificed his minor tastes and most 
 agitating habits at her desire, had she 
 shown an inclination for him to do so. 
 But Aigline's exceeding affection, made 
 her ever unwilling to deprive him of a 
 single pleasure, let his enjoyment of it 
 cost her what pain it might. His passion 
 for dangerous sports, and his habit of 
 w^andering away in quest of more savage 
 game than was to be found near Roche 
 Blanc, often caused her pangs of sudden 
 apprehension; but these were forgotten 
 the instant she heard the happy tone of 
 his voice; and while she listened to his 
 animated narrations of adventure or pur- 
 suit, and looked upon his countenance, 
 full of all that promises protection to 
 itself and others, every trace of uneasi- 
 ness vanished from hers. Clarence, there- 
 fore, never dreamed that, not a moment
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 25 
 
 before, the very eyes that now brightly 
 smiled at the relation of his hair-breadth 
 'scapes, had been shedding tears over the 
 mere supposition of them. 
 
 Thus Aigline's ahnost faulty tender- 
 ness, prevented her from making judicious 
 use of her power over generous but 
 thoughtless affection ; and by uniformly 
 bending her wishes before his, she unwa- 
 rily increased the difficulty of self-con- 
 quest to him, in the years of trial which 
 awaited them both. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 m 
 
 CHAP. 11. 
 
 Clarence Willoughby's was, indeed, a 
 character to fear and to hope much from ; 
 it was full of danger and delightfulness. 
 
 Ardent, impetuous, nice in the objects 
 of his affection, and boundless in that 
 affection when once bestowed, — he 
 needed a guide, and in Aigline he had 
 only a companion. Even now, at a boyish 
 age, his character was too much for his 
 father's grasp; and as such, was left 
 nearly to its own moulding. 
 
 All Mr. Willoughby's inclinations 
 being rather mild than vehement, he 
 found little trouble in resigning them to 
 please others ; so that Clarence, without 
 being conscious of it, was every day more 
 and more in danger of being rendered 
 selfish, by his father's unceasing sacrifices
 
 ROCHE BLANC. S7 
 
 of trifles, to his headlong humour of the 
 moment. 
 
 If such selfishness be engrafted on a 
 vivid character, by mistaken indulgence, 
 experience of the mischief their self- 
 gratification does to others, gradually 
 overcomes it; and the kindest anxiety 
 not to pain or injure, quickly succeeds to 
 former thoughtlessness. But if selfishness 
 be the native offspring of such a cha- 
 racter, the increase of the evil passion is 
 frightful; and its gigantic growth, soon 
 dislodges every valuable quality from the 
 breast of its possessor. 
 
 What early indulgence and late disci- 
 pline might make of Clarence at thirty, 
 remained to be seen; at sixteen or seven- 
 teen, he was delightful enough to be 
 pardoned many more faults than fell to 
 bis share. 
 
 Among his self-taught habits, as ha^ 
 
 been observed, was that of penetrating 
 
 into the heart of the mountains; roving 
 
 there for days together with his dogs, his 
 
 c 2
 
 ^8 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 hunting spear, or his bow, professedly in 
 search of game, but oftener in pursuit of 
 new subjects for mirth or speculation, 
 when he returned home. The danger of 
 a possible encounter with banditti, was 
 comparatively small to one, whose boyish 
 age and simple attire held out no tempt- 
 ation to plunder. He was too expert in 
 the use of the bow, to render even the 
 savage animals of those wild regions, a 
 subject of apprehension to his friends; 
 and when his agile figure was seen 
 springing from cliff to cliff, like a young- 
 eagle on the wing, it was not possible tor 
 them to imagine him in peril, even upon 
 the dizziest precipice. 
 
 That agile figure and inviting aspect, 
 were his best protectors amongst a hardy 
 race like the inhabitants of the Pyrenees, 
 to whom activity of body, and joyousnesss 
 of spirit, were peculiarly dear. His 
 bright countenance and sportive humour, 
 ensured him food and shelter at the 
 poorest cabin ; and the fearlessness with
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 29 
 
 which he trod their dangerous steeps, or 
 joined the secret desperado, unwittingly, 
 in liis gloomiest haunts, made him equally 
 free from personal insult. Thus Mr. 
 Willoughby had no rational dread of his 
 son falling a prey to robbers, or being 
 left unhoused and unfed ; and he there- 
 fore quietly gave way to the boy's va- 
 grant inclination. 
 
 Clarence was in fact the darling of the 
 mountaineers, bad and good ; for at his 
 <ige, and with his character, we do not 
 readily give ourselves to the rigid task of 
 weighing the merits of those we can serve. 
 In summer^ he frequently turned out of 
 his way, and suspended his sylvan sports, 
 to assist the honest herdsman in his search 
 afiter a lost goat or a strayed heifer ; and 
 in winter, when the families of the 
 Pyrenean shepherd came down into the 
 vallies, to shelter them during the season 
 of frost and snow, leaving the humbler 
 guardian of their flocks to endure the 
 rigours of the season by himself^ Clarence 
 c 3
 
 30 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 would often volunteer a visit to this deso- 
 late person, braving many a snow-tempest, 
 merely for the good-natured purpose of 
 cheering him with news of his wife and 
 children, or of gladdening him with the 
 sight of a human face. 
 
 With equal kindliness, but less merito- 
 riously, did he sometimes lend his aid to 
 conceal the contraband wines and wool of 
 Spain, when indiscreetly purchased by 
 his tempted hosts, and threatened with 
 seizure; even the lawless Spaniards them- 
 selves, who brought these commodities 
 at the risk of their lives, never hesitated 
 applying to the young Englishman, when 
 his presence of mind, or fertility of expe- 
 dient, might save either themselves or 
 their cargo. Clarence, thus appealed to, 
 lectured them tolerably well upon their 
 mode of life ; but helped them, notwith- 
 standing. Perhaps he would have deemed 
 it a baseness, not to have sold his life in 
 defence of one of these bold, bad men, after 
 having once engaged to stand his friend.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 31 
 
 When he returned home from such 
 excursions, their various incidents, never 
 failed to become either agitating, 
 or entertaining, as he related them. 
 What he saw, and what he felt, he nar- 
 rated with a truth and vivacity, which 
 borrowed additional charms from the 
 carelessness with which he spoke. 
 
 The primitive habits of the shepherds, 
 and the desperate ones of the Arragonese 
 smuggler; the crests of the mountainous 
 chain he scaled ; the sublime prospects 
 he beheld from those awful heights; — 
 nay, even the forms of the clouds above 
 his head, and the soaring of the solitary 
 eagle, whose flight he watched amongst 
 their dazzling masses, — all these things 
 became, in Clarence's hands, picturesque 
 and inviting. 
 
 His power of exciting laughter and 
 gaiety too, was exhaustless ; not a trait 
 of what is called character^ ever escaped 
 him. In his casual intercourse with 
 foreigners and peasants, he was sure to 
 c 4
 
 3S ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 catch any amusing peculiarity of their 
 manner or mode of thinking, and repeat 
 them with a charm of look and action, 
 far beyond mimicry, because it kept all 
 the spirit of the original, without retain- 
 ing its coarser flavor. 
 
 The speaking countenance of the boy 
 heightened the effect of his conversation; 
 for his clear, though rather ardent com- 
 plexion, coloured so expressively while 
 he conversed, that a succession of varying 
 tints were seen chasing each other across 
 his cheek, as swiftly as shade and sun- 
 shine do over the grass of the field j ren- 
 dering that cheek nearly as expressive 
 as his eyes. 
 
 The soul of Clarence, indeed, gave 
 such peculiar life to his looks, words, and 
 actions, that it seemed breathed into him 
 to stir into wholesome and delightful 
 exercise, the slower natures by which it 
 rhight be surrounded ; and then to join 
 in the same rapid stream, with those of a 
 brighter and swifter course.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. SS 
 
 Enthusiastic as Clarence was in the 
 admiration of inanimate nature, and pas- 
 sionately as he loved such sylvan amuse- 
 ments as are ennobled by personal danger, 
 he appeared best adapted for society. 
 Even when a child, what he had to learn 
 he preferred learning by conversation 
 rather than from books; observation of 
 the human countenance at that early age, 
 and of human character when he grew 
 older, was to him an inexhaustible source 
 of entertainment. Clarence's feelings, 
 too, were all social; for though he cer- 
 tainly preferred roaming alone through 
 the whispering aisles of the woods, to the 
 busy nothingness of Baron Roche Blanc*s 
 conversation as to the continued limit- 
 ation of his father's regulated walks, he 
 never caught a glorious burst of country, 
 without wishing for his father; nor ever 
 returned from anv of his wild excursions, 
 without having picked up some traveller, 
 from whom his own charm of humour 
 had elicited something of correspondent 
 c 5
 
 3* ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 agreeableness. What their rank might 
 be, he cared not ; rest and hospitality 
 being never denied by Mr. Wiiloughby 
 to any of his son's chance acquaintance. 
 
 Such lawless habits of mind and body 
 in so young a person, perhaps contributed 
 to render bath vigorous; but they also 
 made restraint of every kind disgustful 
 to him. Tlius lie was not easily got to 
 give up exercise for study. The fertility 
 of his own fancy, and the amusement he 
 derived from observing the peculiarities 
 of those about him, made him incredulous 
 of the greater pleasure which he was told 
 resulted from science. He enjoyed the 
 mere movement of his own faculties too 
 much, not to turn with something of 
 impatience from the passive state to 
 which he said they were reduced, when- 
 ever he sat down to a scientific work. 
 The perusal of some brave knight's 
 adventures, or the events of some favorite 
 period of history, were not liable to this 
 objection ; so that to such reading alonC;,
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 35 
 
 did he voluntarily devote his hoiu-s. 
 Escaped from drier study, in this, his 
 heart, his soul, his whole being, became 
 absorbed; and the noblest energies, as 
 well as the liveliest passions of his nature, 
 were then called into action. 
 
 Thus accustoming himself to find plea- 
 sure solely when he was strongly moved, 
 Clarence was unconsciously feeding the 
 tires of a disposition, already too ardent 
 for its own peace ; and acquiring a dis- 
 taste for such purely intellectual pursuits, 
 as form our most valuable resource, when 
 age or disappointments have wearied us 
 w^ith life and its passions. 
 
 The brightness of his son's native 
 powers, and the buoyant animation of the 
 spirits which accompanied them, blinded 
 Mr. Willoughby to the hazard of leaving 
 him almost entirely master of his own 
 occupations; he thought Clarence capable 
 of being every thing, whenever he chose 
 to be any thing ; forgetting, that habits 
 of application and self-denial are worth 
 c 6
 
 Sd ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 all the talent in the world without them ; 
 and are not to be acquired at will. 
 
 Satisfied with instilling the broad 
 principles of piety, truth and justice, he 
 unwisely trusted to his son's voluntary 
 act hereafter, for attention to the pecu- 
 liar line of study which his destiny might 
 then demand ; and for the moderating of 
 those rash and excessive sensibilities, 
 which now courted danger and sought 
 indulgence, without fear or reservation. 
 
 What Mr. Willoughby destined his son 
 for, or whether he destined him for any 
 thing beyond the lifeofpassiveexile which 
 he himself was calmly supporting, no one 
 knew, — perhaps no one cared to enquire, 
 — except the son in question; and he was 
 checked by habitual respect. 
 
 Sometimes, however, Clarence ven- 
 tured to souml his father's intentions 
 respecting him, by repeating the public 
 news he gathered in his occasional 
 rides to the towns of Loues and 
 Tarbes, expressing a hope that he was
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 37 
 
 not always to remain in useless retire- 
 ment. 
 
 In Beam, at this period, the great names 
 of the day, were naturally those of their 
 sovereign, Anthony, Duke de Vendome, 
 and of his youngest brothers, the Count 
 d'Enghien, and the Prince de Condc^. 
 
 At the moment of which we speak, the 
 year 1557, a truce of five years had al- 
 ready commenced between the hostile 
 monarchs of France and Spain ; leaving 
 the chiefs who espoused their quarrel, to 
 wear, amid bright eyes and blushing 
 cheeks, the laurels they had gathered 
 amongst the dying and the dead! 
 
 But the martial exploits of both rival 
 powers, were too recent, not to form fre- 
 quent subjects of discourse, long after 
 they liad occurred, amongst the inha- 
 bitants of the Pyrenean tov/ns; and 
 Clarence, therefore, lieard successively, 
 all the details of this celebrated war. 
 
 At Loues, he possessed a living chro- 
 nicle of past and j)assing events, in the
 
 SS ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 person of an old pensioner, called Gode- 
 f'roi, who had served in the army of 
 Vendome, when young; and who retained 
 so lively an admiration of what is really 
 admirable in the heroic character, that 
 although he gave his military details with 
 rude simplicity, he never omitted any 
 trait of that generosity, which ennobles 
 valour. 
 
 To this old soldier, Clarence often 
 repaired, attracted by the subjects of his 
 conversation, and pleased so to lighten 
 the dark hours of declining age. 
 
 Godefroi's forefathers had for several 
 generations served humbly, either in the 
 household, or in the troops of the Bour- 
 bons ; it was natural, therefore, that he 
 should be familiar with all the public, 
 and most of the private anecdotes, of that 
 illustrious race. He spoke of them with 
 the attachment of a devoted follower, 
 but without prejudice; contrasting in 
 awful picture, the disastrous vengeance 
 of the famous Connetable, in the last age,
 
 ROCHE BLANC. S9 
 
 witli the impregnable fidelity of his con- 
 temporary cousins, Vendome and St. Pol. 
 Then reverting to their common ancestor, 
 the good and magnificent Duke de Bour- 
 bon, the friend of Du Guesclin, Godefroi 
 fascinated his eager hearer's attention, by 
 that view of obsolete and venerable man- 
 ners, which he was enabled to afford. 
 
 The old soldier's great uncle had been 
 one of the inferior priests in the chapel 
 of this excellent Prince j and he had left 
 a precious morsel of private memoir, in 
 the shape of a little volume, written by 
 himself, in bad antiquated Latin, but 
 understood through dint of intense study 
 by our youthful hero. 
 
 In this MS., Clarence not only read 
 that catalogue of Duke Louis's great 
 deeds in arms, which history records and 
 honors ; but a description of the life he 
 led at Moulines, after he had retired 
 thither from Paris; when the court of the 
 unhappy Charles VL was become a prey 
 to such poverty and disorder, that the
 
 40 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Duke's revenues were found inadequate 
 to the demands made upon them, by his 
 own pity, and his royal kinsman's 
 retainers. 
 
 With what delirium of delight and 
 emulation, did our enthusiast pore over 
 pages quaintly illuminated by the labo- 
 rious monk, with gaudy coats of arms, 
 fantastic devices, and uncouth portraits 
 of the various worthies his text described! 
 A view of the grand Banquetting Hall, 
 with Bourbon seated there, surrounded 
 by his brave compeers, and listening with 
 them, to a Provencal tale, read aloud 
 while they ate, — was so agreeable to 
 Clarence's thirst for every memorial of 
 the chivalric ages, and became so blended 
 with his notions of heroes, that long after 
 his educated taste rejected similar daubs, 
 it could contemplate this, with the trans- 
 port of early association. 
 
 How ardently, while gazing on it, did 
 he sigh for those days to return, when 
 each great prince lived surrounded by •
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 41 
 
 warlike adventurers, attracted from differ- 
 ent countries ; whose previous renown, 
 added to their lord's glory ; and who, 
 bearing the honorable title of Chevaliers 
 de VHoteU shared his dangers in war, and 
 his delights in peace ! 
 
 Venerable, indeed, was the period, 
 during which the chateaux of the great 
 seigniors of France were made schools 
 for honor, courtesy, and accomplished 
 exercises; when the diflrerent owners of 
 these chateaux sought distinction from 
 the number of their noble retainers, and 
 the splendour with which they supported 
 them ! For though, in truth, all their 
 ideas of greatness centered in military 
 prowess, leaving little leisure or inclin- 
 ation for the cultivation of letters, they 
 ennobled the profession of arms, by 
 making its members the servants of the 
 helpless and oppressed ; and by rigidly 
 exacting from every warrior of gentle 
 blood, the lofty virtues of disinterested- 
 ness, purity, and immaculate honor.
 
 48 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 These exalted virtues, supposed inse- 
 parable from personal bravery, and 
 depicted happily enough in Godefroi's 
 MS., formed a dazzling mirror, in which 
 a cooler mind than that of Clarence's 
 might have longed solely to dress itself. 
 Such virtues are, indeed, those with which 
 generous youth has most sympathy. At 
 a very early age, we are capable of 
 admiring the marked qualities of intre- 
 pidity, devotedness, and contempt of 
 personal indulgence ; but to be struck 
 with the magnanimity of conquering our 
 passions, and denying ourselves even 
 blameless enjoyments for a good purpose, 
 we must have felt such passions, and 
 refused such pleasures, ourselves. 
 
 Clarence's young spirit could therefore 
 follow without difficulty, the simple yet 
 sublime track of these antique worthies ; 
 while in the mazes of the more compli- 
 cated virtues, and closer-sifted characters 
 of their variously-tempted descendants, 
 he was lost.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 48 
 
 Less skilled in romantic legends than 
 his boyish auditor, and naturally inclined 
 to speak of scenes in which he had been 
 himself an actor, Godefroi would sud- 
 denly turn from these annals of past 
 centuries, to the period of his own ser- 
 vice, the early part of the sixteenth. 
 
 He had served then under a Bourbon, 
 that famous Count de St. Pol, known as 
 the dear friend of Francis I. and the 
 companion of Bayard. Godefroi was 
 proud to avow himself one of that for- 
 midable band known by the name of 
 Les sicV milles diables, and distinguished 
 in French military history by their being 
 the first body of infantry headed by a 
 Prince of the Blood. These brave men 
 achieved the work which St. Pol destined 
 for them — that of removing the odium 
 then thrown upon infantry, and render- 
 ing it equally honorable for a great 
 seignior to lead either species of troops 
 to combat. 
 
 In mentioning this circumstance, the
 
 44* ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 sensible old man failed not to dwell upon 
 the true magnanimity it evinced in St. 
 Pol, then young, and jealous of honor. 
 To brave scorn, was the only species of 
 courage of which a French chevalier was 
 deemed incapable : this young com- 
 mander risked it, created a band of 
 heroes, and vanquished a prejudice. 
 
 By Clarence, to whom the darts of 
 undeserved ridicule were unknown, this 
 merit was faintly perceived ; neither did 
 he feel that fearful interest his zealous 
 instructor expected, in the love and law^- 
 suit, which drove the great Connetable de 
 Bourbon into exile and rebellion. A 
 stainless heart could not understand, 
 how the woman who adored a hero at 
 one time, could pursue him with relent- 
 less fury at another ; still less could he 
 understand the phrenzy of a noble mind 
 like Bourbon's, on the spoliation of mere 
 wealth. 
 
 The inexperienced Clarence dreamt 
 not that in this mercenary world, power
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 45 
 
 and consideration vanish with the re- 
 sources of princes ! The whole history 
 of that too-celebrated warrior, like a day 
 of storm, was awful, and sometimes 
 splendid, yet dismal to dwell on, since it 
 set in blood, and went out in darkness : 
 it was not wonderful, then, that Clarence 
 should prefer to it the praises of contem- 
 porary merit. Anthony, Duke de Ven- 
 dome, now King of Navarre ; Fran9ois 
 de Bourbon, the conqueror at Cerisolles, 
 whom a cruel accident ravished from life 
 and glory ; the Count d'Enghien, and 
 the Prince de Conde ; these brothers 
 were the personages he took pleasure in 
 hearing described. 
 
 But the last, and to him most interest- 
 ing, was one nearer his own age ; 
 Adhemar de Bourbon, Viscomte de 
 Limoges. 
 
 This young man was the illegitimate 
 son of the hero of Cerisolles, by a lady 
 too closely allied to the Duke de Guise, 
 not to add another argument to the many
 
 46 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 which kept up the animosity of the two 
 rival houses — Bourbon and Lorraine. 
 
 The honorable suit of Francois de 
 Bourbon, then under age, had been 
 haughtily repelled by the lady's kindred : 
 love, possibly resentment, urged him to 
 continue their intercourse ; they met in 
 private. The consequence of these im- 
 prudent meetings, under such circum- 
 stances, in that age of disorder, when 
 every irregularity was permitted to a 
 Prince of the Blood, may be imagined ; 
 and while the repentant lover was seeking 
 death on the Italian frontier, then 
 menaced by the Emperor, the unfor- 
 tunate Mademoiselle de Briquemart paid 
 the forfeit of life for her criminal weak- 
 ness. 
 
 The child to which she gave untimely 
 birth, was immediately conveyed away 
 by a confidential servant, and afterwards 
 consigned to the arms of its father. No 
 efforts of the Guises, who shuddered at 
 leaving such a memorial of family dis-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 4? 
 
 grace in the possession of their enemy, 
 could force him to part with it. Equally 
 awed by Fran9ois de Bourbon's relation- 
 ship to the throne, and by the fear of 
 giving publicity to a circumstance now 
 only suspected, the proud House of 
 Lorraine smothered their indignation ; 
 ever afterwards affecting to treat the boy 
 in question, as the base-born offspring of 
 a Prince and a peasant. 
 
 Nine years afterwards, ere he had 
 attained the age of thirty, Fran9ois de 
 Bourbon perished by a mysterious acci- 
 dent, at La Roche-Guyon ; leaving his 
 orphan son to the protection of his 
 brothers. The anxious parent had pre- 
 viously secured to his boy the title and 
 estate of Limoges, and this bequest not 
 only gave Adhemar a decided place in 
 society, but enabled him to support a 
 train better suited to the quality of his 
 parents, than to the peculiarity of his 
 own birth. His first years were spent at 
 Vendome, with his uncle Anthony, ere
 
 48 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 the marriage of the latter with the heiress 
 of Navarre, and the subsequent death of 
 her parents, carried him thence to his 
 Rew kingdom : after that, Adhemar 
 became the especial care of his youngest 
 uncle, Conde. At the chateaux of both 
 Princes, Adhemar had been treated by 
 their numerous party with that sub- 
 missive respect paid to scions from a 
 royal stock. In France, at this era, 
 when thus educated and presented, they 
 were understood to be in the path of 
 such legitimacy, as, in those arbitrary 
 days, could be granted by letters patent 
 from the King, — such legitimacy as had, 
 indeed, been frequently obtained by the 
 spurious branches of the House of Bour- 
 bon, under the reign of the Valois' ; and 
 which, when granted, opened every family 
 succession, even that of the crown itselfi 
 to their ambition. 
 
 The Viscomte de Limoges was now 
 one-and-twenty : at sixteen he had made 
 his first campaign under his uncles
 
 Kr>CHE BLANC. 49 
 
 il*Enghien and Conde, then young men 
 of only four or five-and-twenty, as greedy 
 of glory for themselves as for then- 
 nephew. At the siege of Metz, it 
 was Adhemar's audacious ardor which 
 prompted and compassed the theft of 
 the keys of the city, when the Duke de 
 Guise, who commanded there, had for- 
 bidden a continuance of those frequent 
 sorties which were made, at fearful risk, 
 by a few boiling spirits. 
 
 Escaping with his uncle Conde, in spite 
 of every precaution and threat, the 
 dreadless Adhemar, disguised like him 
 in tlie habit of a common volunteer, 
 would mix with other desperate adven- 
 turers, fall upon the enemy's outposts or 
 convoys, and snatch admiration in defi- 
 ance of reproof. At the termination of 
 a siege so glorious for the arms of France, 
 aud so humiliating to those of the Empire 
 and Spain, the young Adhemar received 
 the honor of knighthood from the hands 
 of Guise himself. Although the Houses 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 of Lorraine and Bourbon were political 
 rivals, and religious enemies, — although 
 the stripling hero was a living memento 
 of the severest humiliation their family 
 had ever incurred, the Duke de Guise 
 was too noble-minded not to recognize 
 the extraordinary valour of a boy, in 
 scenes which might have quailed the 
 stoutest heart of man ; and as such, he 
 placed the first honorary stamp upan his 
 breast. 
 
 In many actions succeeding this, the 
 new chevalier kept up the promise of his 
 first essay : but on the proclamation of 
 a five years' truce, at the close of the 
 year 1556, he retired with his uncle 
 Conde to his chateau near Meaux, where 
 he resumed an early habit of study ; 
 proving himself as passionate for learn* 
 ins:, as he had shown himself for fame. 
 
 Great were the expectations raised by 
 such conduct, in the friends of his 
 House ; and they who remembered his 
 accomplisiied father's youth, loved to
 
 ROCHa BLANC. 51 
 
 predict equal renown, with a happier 
 fate, for the son. 
 
 This young man's military fame having 
 commenced at the age which Clarence 
 had now passed, rendered him an object 
 of generous envy to one equally smit 
 with the love of arms. When he repeated 
 at Roche Blanc what he heard of older 
 warriors, he could speak with subdued 
 vivacity ; but whenever the subject of 
 the Viscomte de Limoges presented itself, 
 his impetuous feelings hurried him away: 
 and one day, having heard it rumoured 
 at Tarbes that war was talked of again, 
 he could no longer restrain the desire 
 that news awakened, but at once asto- 
 nished his father by a passionate request 
 for permission, in such a case, to become 
 a soldier. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby was for a moment 
 or two, unable to speak from mere 
 surprise : recovering himself, with a smile, 
 he reminded his son, that the same time 
 of life does not always bring with it the 
 D 2
 
 Si HOCHE BLANC. 
 
 same knowledge ; that he had lived 
 entirely remote from military instruction; 
 while the Chevalier Adhemar had been 
 cradled, as it were, on a shield, nursed 
 by heroes, and taught the elements of 
 their fearful profession along with his 
 native tongue. 
 
 Upon this remark, the secret of Cla* 
 rence's favourite studies blazed forth. 
 With the vivacity, nay, almost beautiful 
 presumption of youth conscious of latent 
 powers, he declared himself ready, at any 
 time, to encounter the odds of entering 
 the lists with older competitors in the 
 same race, without their previous edu- 
 cation : assured that determination is 
 omnipotence ; and that with a heart 
 fearing nothing, — a heart burning only 
 for glory, and a capacity to learn what- 
 ever he loved to learn, he might confi- 
 dently aspire, to what others so inspired, 
 had reached before him. 
 
 Clarence was too young for the 
 weighing of interest against interest j
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 03 
 
 probability agakist certainty: he never 
 enquired what patron was to draw him 
 from the crowd of volunteers, as daunt* 
 less and ambitious as himself: as yet, he 
 saw only the glory of " scorning delights, 
 and living laborious days ;" he thirsted 
 only for the strong excitement of dangers 
 and difficulties ; and he felt only, that the 
 consciousness of being something more 
 than all around him were, or seemed to 
 dream of, was necessary to his exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Startled by this confession of his son's 
 unsuspected familiarity with the subject 
 in question, and embarrassed how to 
 answer his impetuous questionings as to 
 what his view in life ought to be, the 
 timid Mr. Willoughby knew not how to 
 do so clearly, without laying open griefs 
 and injuries, and awakening hopes, which 
 he himself deemed it wisest to forget. 
 He, therefore, took a middle course ; 
 reminding his son, that his services 
 belonged to England, since his fatlier 
 D 3
 
 $4 
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 was a native of that country ; and that 
 it would be the height of folly, if no 
 worse, to wed himself to the interests 
 of a country in which he had no place, 
 and where he had not one powerful 
 friend. By entering the service of 
 France, he would confound himself with 
 mercenaries and Catholics; and at a 
 time, too, when certain events might 
 occur in England to render their return 
 to it safe and expedient, opening the 
 lawful gate to honourable ambition. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby confessed, that he 
 disrelished all those professions which 
 carried youth out of that sequestered 
 path, which he had found, too late, was 
 the only peaceful one. He asked him, 
 if the unostentatious competence they 
 lived in, was too narrow for his wishes? 
 and if he could not remain contented, at 
 least, till the 'situation of the Queen of 
 England was ascertained, which must 
 either sign the sentence of their perpetual 
 exile, or give promise of speedy recall ?
 
 ROCHE BLANC. o5 
 
 By this situation, Mr. Willoughby said 
 he meant that appearance and mdisposi- 
 tion of Mary, which the CathoHcs flat- 
 tered themselves were to end in giving 
 an heir to the throne, and the Protestants 
 secretly hoped would prove the tokens of 
 some mortal disease. 
 
 From the Princess Elizabeth (did she 
 succeed Mary), both as a favourer of 
 the new doctrines, and as the daughter 
 of her in whose disgrace Mr. Willoughby's 
 fortunes had been implicated, the latter 
 reasonably expected protection ; andth'"^ 
 much he represented to his son. ir«^, 
 when Clarence, upon this encourage- 
 ment, would have pressed for a more 
 detailed account of their family history 
 than he had gathered during childhood, 
 his father's countenance assumed that air 
 of dejection, and his manner that em- 
 barrassment, which evidently showed the 
 subject was distressing to him. Similar 
 appearances had often shielded him from 
 Clarence's natural eagerness, when the 
 D <t
 
 56 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 latter would otherwise have pursued 
 his enquiries until perfectly informed. 
 Silenced now, as formerly, by bis own 
 respectful consideration, the disappointed 
 boy was obliged to remain content with 
 believing, that he was not entitled to 
 expect more from his probable destiny, 
 than what the son of a common indi- 
 vidual, self-banished by a tender con- 
 science, might be supposed to regain, if 
 ever a change of political relations should 
 enable them to retake their place among 
 the gentry of the land. 
 ■^f^it was not possible for Clarence to 
 decide otherwise ; since there was no 
 mystery in any of his father's habits, to 
 warrant romantic fancies about his exile 
 and loneliness. He had no correspond- 
 ents, except ordinary ones, on the con- 
 tinent ; and a cousin in England, from 
 whom he now and then heard by some 
 lucky chance. Clarence never heard of 
 any other near relative, either on his 
 father's or mother's side 5 and he was»
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 5^ 
 
 therefore, less disposed to wonder at his 
 only parent's resignation to a destiny, 
 which had fixed him far from his native 
 land, in the midst of strangers. 
 
 Silenced, not convinced, by his father's 
 mild disapproval of his fondest desire, 
 Clarence sought the relief of pouring out 
 his disappointment to Aigline. The only 
 consolation her artless heart could devise, 
 was grieving with him ; and as her con- 
 cern at the check given to his wishes, 
 proved that she believed him capable of 
 justifying their passionateness by answer- 
 able actions, perhaps such sort of consol- 
 ation was the very best that could have 
 been offered. 
 
 Clarence talked himself almost into 
 tears of vexation ; rushed away to hide 
 them ; returned to laugh at his foolisn 
 phrenzyj and, finally, resumed his wonted 
 cheerfulness, after making the inward 
 resolution, of one day, however late, 
 realizing Aigline's partial opinion. 
 D 5
 
 58 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Almost immediately after this convers- 
 ation with his father, Clarence tried to 
 banish the mortification it caused him, 
 by joining a party of young men from 
 different villages, who had associated 
 themselves for the purpose of a Week's 
 hunting among the mountains round 
 Barege. 
 
 A troop of remarkably ferocious 
 wolves had for some time infested these 
 mountains ; continuing their ravages long 
 after the period during which they are 
 watched for. Kids, lambs, domestic 
 animals, cattle, — nay, it was rumoured, 
 even children, — had fallen victims to 
 their fierce hunger. Herdsmen, shep- 
 herds, mothers, all were equally panic 
 struck J so that it became an act of
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^9 
 
 humanity to effect the extirpation of this 
 formidahle enemy. 
 
 Permitted by his father to join in such 
 an attempt, and receiving Aighne's 
 fervent benediction on his laudable 
 purpose, Clarence set out in the direc- 
 tion of Spain. 
 
 The scented air of spring, freshening 
 and sweetening as the party ascended 
 towards the region of innumerable wild 
 flowers, blew in their faces, and exhilir- 
 ated their spirits. New accounts of later 
 ravages made by the fierce creatures they 
 sought, stimulated Clarence's courage, 
 while they increased his natural delight 
 in giving protection ; and by the time 
 they had reached the point where they 
 expected to obtain certain information 
 of the wolves' haunts, he had forgotten 
 courts, camps, and armies. 
 
 In consequence of what was told them 
 
 bv the inhabitants of Luchon, the reso- 
 
 lute band separated, going different ways 
 
 in pursuit of different victims. One was 
 
 D 6
 
 (iO ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 said to have been seen that morning 
 taking a southerly direction. Well armed, 
 and fearless as active, Clarence broke 
 away from the person who told him this, 
 and took the shortest road to the place 
 the peasant described as leading to the 
 creature's den. 
 
 Leaping from point to point of the 
 steep rocks, among which he was soon 
 involved ; descending some by the aid of 
 the long branches of climbing plants> 
 and ascending others by placing his light 
 foot where it seemed as tlK)ugh the addi- 
 tional weight of a feather must loosen 
 the frail support, and hurl him headlong 
 down ; springing over hideous chasms, 
 and forcing his way through the actual 
 wall formed by thorns of formidable 
 growth and thickness, he came breathless 
 out upon an open shelf of rock, just 
 above a ravine, along which two moun- 
 tain streams were pouring their united 
 waters. 
 
 At this instant he caught sight of a
 
 ROCHE BLANC. Gl 
 
 wolf, running straight towards a she}> 
 herd's hut, at a distance : to Clarence's 
 agitated eyes, an object in front of this 
 hut, appeared to be a sleeping child. It 
 was the action of a moment after that 
 to leap down into the ravine, to reach 
 his object sooner. For a single instant, 
 he believed that be should never rise 
 again : the height from which he had 
 cast himself, and the unusual body of 
 water in this narrow cliannel, swoln, as 
 it was, by melted snows, made it doubt- 
 ful whether he should be able to recover 
 from the stunning velocity with which 
 he sunk. 
 
 But he did rise to the surface ; and 
 catching at the pendant branch of a 
 cedar, which started out from the steep 
 bank, and threw its giant boughs nearly 
 over the stream, he swung himself to 
 shore. At that instant the flash and 
 report of fire-arms startled him, and he 
 saw the wolf drop. 
 
 Half rejoiced, half disappointed, he
 
 6i ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 directed a glance towards a more ele- 
 vated point, whence the shot had been 
 fired: he saw there a young man, just 
 recovering from the kneeling position in 
 which he had taken aim. Another 
 second, brought this person to his 
 side. 
 
 The stranger was accompanied by five. 
 or six others, all dressed in the graceful 
 hunting suits of that day ; and young, 
 like himself. But in the air and manner 
 of the first, was tliat which rendered 
 distinction of dress unnecessary. Friends 
 would have called it a noble air ; 
 enemies might have given it a different 
 appellation. 
 
 Whatever this air was, it was suffi- 
 ciently striking to fix the attention of a 
 novice like Clarence, whose eye and 
 imagination w'ere ever on the wing for 
 new and agreeable impressions. He 
 stood, momentarily admiring the per- 
 fect figure and speaking physiognomy of 
 the stranger: the one was tall and
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 63 
 
 commanding ; the other, dark and pene- 
 trating. 
 
 But the person he admired, took no 
 further notice of him than by a glance, 
 as he went onward ; saying something, 
 at the same time, to one of the gentle- 
 men in his train. 
 
 The latter immediately came up to 
 Clarence, courteously enquiring whether 
 he had hurt himself in his bold attempt 
 to cross the stream. 
 
 " Not in the least. Sir,'' was the 
 prompt and cheerful answer ; ** a wetting 
 is nothing. Thank you for asking." — 
 Then going up to the first of the party, 
 (who was now contemplating the fallen 
 wolf,) he added, with the frank confi- 
 dence of youth, ** You have robbed me 
 of my prey, Sir ; however, I am heartily 
 glad the pernicious animal is killed." 
 
 A cold reserve instantly took possession 
 of the stranger's features : he moved 
 several steps away ; but quickly recover- 
 ing his usual expression of countenance.
 
 64 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 he said carelessly, ** Young man, you 
 are welcome to the creature's remains.'* 
 He spoke with a smile, which, though it 
 illuminated his dark complexion, and far 
 darker eyes, into exceeding beauty, had 
 an expression of condescendingness in it, 
 which the quick-feeling Clarence could 
 not brook : the blood rushed to his face ; 
 while drawing back, less precipitately 
 and more imperiously than was usual 
 with him, he said, ** I never wear honors 
 that I do not win/* and disappeared. 
 
 As Clarence leaped down from steep 
 to steep, startling the izard and the 
 eagle, he thought he heard the voices of 
 the party he had left, calling repeatedly 
 after him; and once or twice he paused: 
 but it might be only fancy, or the con- 
 tinuous roaring of the waters and woods 
 in the wind; or the confusion of all 
 these sounds by the mountain echoes. 
 If it were so, it were better for him 
 not to tempt mortification, by returning 
 to ask what he was called for. For the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 65 
 
 first time in his life, Clarence refused 
 himself the indulgence of that kindly 
 feeling, which ever prompted him to 
 offer assistance where it might be re- 
 quired. If these hunters were new to 
 the Pyrenees, they might really be in 
 want of a guide ; yet their guide he was 
 determined not to become. 
 
 Piqued by the few words the most 
 distinguished of the hunters had uttered, 
 because they implied contumely of his 
 supposed spirit, (Clarence guessed not 
 that they sprung from a mistake of his 
 rank,) and vexed at himself for the 
 consciousness of a w^ish to make ac- 
 quaintance with the stranger, our young 
 hero ran himself out of breath, with 
 mere anxiety to get as far away as pos- 
 sible. He stopped not till he found 
 himself at that part of tlie elevated 
 valley of Gavarnie, where the ascending 
 path conducts the traveller to yet steeper 
 levels; whence he beholds the solitary 
 fortification, the embowered village, and
 
 66 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 the foaming cataract, sunk successively 
 below his feet. 
 
 At the point where Clarence paused, 
 he looked down upon that sylvan bridge 
 which crosses the Gave far below the 
 pretty hamlet of Sia; its long ivies 
 resting on the now tranquillized waters 
 of the river, undulated slowly with their 
 motion, and harmonized in colour with 
 the deep shadows of the trees which 
 overhang its course. Further on, his eye 
 scaled the embattled rock of Escalette ; 
 and above that again, the towering pin- 
 nacles of the primordial mountains. 
 
 The fort itself, nov/ but a picturesque 
 ruin, then stood firm and entire : frown- 
 ing from the beetling rock, which here 
 overhangs the defile, it seemed sternly 
 to regard, or calmly to disdain, the 
 roaring of those numerous torrents, 
 which, bursting out on every side from 
 the mouths of caverns, from dark ravines, 
 and impenetrable woods, as if impatient 
 of all that barred their course to the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 6? 
 
 flowery Gave, dashed their waters over 
 every obstacle with furious rapidity. 
 
 The sight of the fort, of its flinty 
 rampart, and floating banner, gave a 
 turn to Clarence's thoughts ; and kindling 
 with many a tale of French and Spanish 
 chivalry, connected with its solitary 
 tower, he stood for some time contem- 
 plating it : then wandered away, uncon- 
 scious whither ; thinking over all that 
 had passed so lately, between his father 
 and himself. 
 
 By what imperceptible strokes, some* 
 times, are our inclinations for a particular 
 object urged forward, and by circum- 
 stances apparently foreign to that object ! 
 Unknown to himself at this moment, 
 Clarence's impatience to enter the arena 
 of the world, and struggle there for dis- 
 tinction, was heightened by the trifling 
 slight he had just incurred. The young 
 hunter, in making him the contemptuous 
 surrender of his game, had treated him 
 like a rustic, to whom the jealous deli-
 
 68 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 cacy of the gentleman is unknown ; and 
 with this stinging thought rankhng within 
 him, Clarence felt more eager than ever 
 to become something beyond the inglo- 
 rious idler he deemed himself, and the 
 ignoble one he seemed to be considered 
 by another. 
 
 A thousand wild schemes for effecting 
 this, as many for influencing his father 
 to yield him the permission he sought, 
 were occupying his heated brain, when 
 the voice of tumult and altercation, in 
 the Bearnese and Spanish tongues, issu- 
 ing from a lower part of the mountain, 
 hurried him to the scene whence it pro- 
 ceeded. 
 
 The noise was caused by two bands of 
 French and Arragonese shepherds, who 
 were fiercely engaged in one of those 
 pitched battles so frequent in the Pyre- 
 nees ; where the right of pasturage, on 
 certain equivocal tracts of the range, is 
 often disputed with the obstinacy and 
 inethod of regular warfare.
 
 ftOCHE BLANC. 60 
 
 These men had chosen for their the- 
 atre of strife an obscure glen, shaded by 
 wild fruit trees, which had nearly covered 
 with their aromatic blossoms the little 
 rivulet that watered it : the delicious 
 verdure of this spot, kept perpetually 
 green by the moisture and the shade, was 
 already sprinkled with blood. Two of 
 the combatants were engaged at close 
 quarters with their knives; while most 
 of the others waged warier war from 
 their slings. 
 
 The caverned hollows around rever- 
 berated the shouts of the men, the 
 barking of their dogs, and the crashing 
 of the stones, as they forced their way 
 through the boughs of trees. Similar 
 scenes were not new to Clarence; but 
 such were not the fields his generous 
 spirit thirsted for ; and he ran, more 
 rashly than wisely forward, to endeavour 
 at parting the two deadliest combatants. 
 His vehement expostulation was unat- 
 tended to : the Spaniard, meanwhile.
 
 70 ROCHE BLANC* 
 
 disarmed, and threw down his adversary; 
 and uttering an insulting menace, was 
 brutally going to trample upon his body, 
 when Clarence almost instinctively sprang 
 at him, and dragged him from the fallen 
 foe. 
 
 Insult and injury were now transferred 
 to himself. With a scornful laugh, the 
 Spaniard thought to have shaken off 
 such a youth at once ; but Clarence 
 hung on him, like a dog of gallant breed 
 on some lordly bull. His young strength 
 was, however, no match for that of his 
 opponent ; yet so powerful did a daunt- 
 less spirit render him, for the short space 
 of time necessary to the escape of the 
 conquered Bearnese, that the Spaniard, 
 in a transport of impatience, was just 
 about to dart his knife into him, when 
 some one rushing forward from behind, 
 seized the ruffian's arm with one hand, 
 while with the other they held a pistol to 
 his breast. 
 
 The rescue was complete: the Spaniard
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 71 
 
 shrunk back ; and Clarence, recovering 
 with staggering recoil from his loosened 
 gripe, saw that he owed his life to the 
 stranger he had parted from so proudly, 
 not three hours before. 
 
 Hurrying out a few words of animated 
 thanks, he stood irresolute whether to go 
 or stay : but his preserver decided the 
 question, by laying his hand on his arm ; 
 at the same time addressing something, 
 in a tone of authority, to one of the 
 persons in his party. He spoke in Pa- 
 risian French, and that so volubly, that 
 Clarence lost the sense of what he said : 
 but it was evident that the speech was a 
 command ; for the person spoken to, 
 respectfully bowed at its conclusion, and 
 went up to the Bearnese shepherds. His 
 superior led Clarence away at once from 
 the party. 
 
 There w^as a sparkle of pleasurable 
 enquiry in his black eyes, as he bent 
 them on Clarence ; and an expression in 
 his dark countenance, which effectually
 
 7^ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 banished the recollection of that super* 
 cilious air by which the latter had so 
 lately been offended. 
 
 " We cannot escape acquaintance !** 
 he said, familiarly* «* Do you live here- 
 abouts ?" 
 
 Clarence named his place of residence 
 with a second burst of grateful acknow- 
 ledgment, and a frank-hearted confession 
 of his past vexation. The hunter smiled, 
 seemed struck with the ingenuousness 
 of this confession, and pleased with its 
 artlessnessj but left it without remark. 
 He mused an instant; then said abruptly, 
 " You are not French, nor Spanish ?" 
 
 The bright blue eyes of Clarence, 
 which had probably prompted this ques- 
 tion, brightened as he avowed his coun- 
 try and his name. 
 
 " Of English parents !" repeated his 
 companion : ** no marvel, then, that you 
 knew the creed of honor! — ^ I never 
 wear honors that I do not win /' — Was 
 not that the phrase? It was no mere
 
 UOCHE BLANC. 7^ 
 
 mountaineer's — SO we must be better 
 acquainted. You shall oblige me with 
 your company to supper this evening/' 
 
 There was still a tone of command in 
 the stranger's voice, flattering as was the 
 manner that accomptmied it. 
 
 Clarence stopped, eyed his companion, 
 — then, half-smiling, — half-colouring, 
 from the mixture of hardihood natural to 
 his character, and of bashfulness incident 
 to his youth, said hesitatingly, " I should 
 like to know who I am talking with, — I 
 should rather say, who I owe my life to?" 
 The young hunter smiled again. — 
 " Pshaw ! what is there in a name ? With- 
 out knowing your's, the moment 1 heard 
 the sentiment 1 liked so much, and saw 
 your desperate support of that poor rogue 
 below, I was determined to know you. 
 If I can read looks, methinks you have 
 taken a fancy to mine. Well, then, sup 
 with me, and let us try each other's metal 
 further. Would you fear me exceedingly 
 if I were to treat you to venison of my 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 own killing, in a robber's cave? '* "I fear 
 I should like the adventure, though cer- 
 tainly not the companion," Clarence 
 answered with simple honesty ; but he 
 looked incredulous while he said it. He 
 then expressed his anxiety to learn how 
 the affray had terminated between the 
 rival shepherds, and his curiosity to know 
 what magic had been employed to quell 
 their fury so suddenly. 
 
 " The magic of authority ;'* answered 
 his new acquaintance. " Don't you think 
 a chief of banditti may be as good at 
 compelling obedience as Valois himself? 
 One word is enough for the Bearnese ; 
 and the boors of Spain must leave oft* 
 fio-htins: for want of adversaries. But 
 here comes de Molleville 5 he will tell us 
 what mischief has been done." 
 
 De Molleville, the only man of ripe 
 age in the party of hunters, now ap- 
 proached ; and, checked in his mode of 
 address by a sign from Clarence's com- 
 panion, briefly stated that he had found 
 11
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 7^ 
 
 the wounded mountaineer ; that he was 
 not dangerously hurt, though much cut 
 about the body; and that the different 
 disputants w^ere dispersed: the Arra- 
 gonese having been intimidated by the 
 arms of de Molleville's company. 
 
 *< On, then, to Escalette!'* cried the 
 first stranger. Clarence eagerly echoed 
 that word. 
 
 ** Have you the same objection to the 
 stone walls of a barrack-room, as you 
 showed to the suspicious inside of a 
 cave ?" asked his new friend. *« Oh ! I 
 see it now !*' interrupted the impetuous 
 Clarence, ** there is to be a war then! 
 you are one of our brave king's officers, 
 — perhaps you belong to his gallant 
 nephew ?" " I do belong to the Che- 
 valier Adhemar," was the answer. 
 
 " Then do 1 envy you !" exclaimed 
 Clarence, a passionate sigh bursting out 
 with the words ; " I would rather be that 
 noble Adhemar's horse-boy, than first 
 page to the king of France ! " 
 E 2
 
 76 ROCHE BLAKC* 
 
 " Indeed !" replied his companion, 
 with an embarrassed glance at de Molle- 
 ville, and an attempt at indifference. 
 
 " And why would you prefer it ?'' 
 asked de Molleville, advancing a step or 
 two, in spite of the faint stroke wdth 
 which the younger hunter would have 
 kept him back. * 
 
 ** Why!'* echoed Clarence, more im- 
 petuously than before, " because he 
 immortalized himself at sixteen, by the 
 
 courage of a hero ; while I and 
 
 because he was the son — '* 
 
 De Molleville, apprehensive of w^iat 
 might follow, and ably interpreting the 
 change of his master's cheek, hastily 
 w^hispered something in their young com- 
 panion's ear. 
 
 All Clarence's blood rushed to his 
 face ; the blaze of his ri vetted eyes, and 
 his instant silence, told the secret of that 
 whisper. A brighter sufiusion on the 
 Chevalier's cheek deepened, while he half- 
 btretched out his hand towards his young
 
 HOCHE BLANC. 77 
 
 admirer; but checking himself again, 
 -with something of reserve, which did not 
 now seem arrogance, he drew back, 
 murmuring a few inaudible words. 
 
 The inexperienced, and ardent Cla- 
 rence, whona the Chevalier*s first mrove- 
 ment had hurried forward to meet it, now 
 retreated also ; entreating pardon for his 
 ignorance of his preserver's rank ; yet 
 protesting, that he was too likely to 
 forget it, in the enthusiasm with which 
 he thought of him, as the young hero 
 of Metz. 
 
 Only four years Clarence Willoughby's 
 senior, Adhemar de Bourbon, though 
 disciplined by the habits of polished 
 <!ourts to conceal his own strong feelings, 
 was acutely alive to such feelings in 
 others ; especially w^hen they admini- 
 stered to his ruling passion. He there- 
 fore fielt, almost to transport, this 
 unsuspicious homage, even w^hile he com- 
 manded his looks sufficiently, not to 
 discover his pleasure. He contented 
 E 3
 
 78 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 himself with one eloquent glance at his 
 new acquaintance, repeating the invit- 
 ation to supper ; and telling him that he 
 had come to Escalette, to inspect the 
 state of its w^orks, which the king — he 
 meant the king of Navarre, — purposed 
 having extended. 
 
 Clarence's happy blush and bow, were 
 received with another speaking eye-flash, 
 — the eye that gave it, immediately 
 withdrawing under the shade of its long, 
 dark lashes, and the whole countenance 
 of the Chevalier settling in dignified 
 composure. As he led the way along the 
 steep ascent that wound up to the gate- 
 way of the fortress, Clarence followed j 
 at first in silence, — dizzy silence; — 
 scarcely beHeving that he could be awake, 
 and actually in company with that 
 Adhemar de Bourbon, whose name had 
 so often made every pulse in his body 
 throb with noble envy. He marvelled 
 how one so young could look and speak 
 with such an air of sedate majesty; he
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 79 
 
 marvelled more, that even the hero of 
 Metz, circumstanced as he was, could 
 appear so lordly. Adhemar Vicomte de 
 Limoges was, indeed, an acknowledged 
 son of the House of Bourbon ; he had 
 been educated in palaces, and served by 
 nobles ; — he was permitted to bear one 
 of his father's titles ; allowed to reward 
 the services of his friends and followers, 
 with his uncle's favor ; he was admired 
 in peace, and distinguished in war ; — he 
 was also in the very bud of life, with the 
 character and advantages of full matu- 
 rity; — but, he was illegitimate! 
 
 To Clarence, such a stain seemed most 
 foul indeed ; because it affixed disgrace 
 upon the parents of the unfortunate off- 
 spring : but the French world considered 
 it singly as it had reference to a man's 
 future fortune. Many were the princes 
 beyond the Alps, who, born like Adhe- 
 mar, now sat in their father's chair ; not 
 a few of the most powerful families also, 
 in France, were sprung from a similar 
 E 4
 
 80 ROCHE BLAXC. 
 
 Stock: so that since his father's illustrious 
 kindred chose to acknowledge him, if the 
 young Limoges himself could be insen- 
 sible to the frailty of his parents, the 
 courtiers of Pan and Paris, thought it no 
 degradation to themselves, to treat him 
 as his uncles intimated, — like the legi- 
 timate son of Francois de Bourbon, 
 
 Clarence might have shrunk with hasty 
 prejudice, from so administering to the 
 pride of this wild shoot of royal race, had 
 the latter been merely the Chevalier de 
 -Bourbon, Vicomte de Limoges ; but dis- 
 tinguished as he was by personal merit, 
 and made known to Clarence by the 
 assistance which saved his life, the mis- 
 fortune of his birth became sacred in his 
 eyes ; and he felt more inclined to lavish 
 respect and service, perhaps, because 
 their source, in this case, could not be 
 mistaken. 
 
 When the broadening of their rocky 
 stair-case — for so it might be called, — 
 allowed two persons to walk abreast, the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 81 
 
 Chevalier motioned Clarence to his side, 
 and went on conversing with him,' while 
 de Molle\dlle, and the other nobk hunters 
 who had now joined him, followed in 
 tumultuous spirits, though at a most re- 
 spectful distance. 
 
 Clarence's remarks upon the past 
 events of the slumbering war, and the 
 questions he hazarded respecting the for- 
 tification of Escalette, made the Chevalier 
 -express surprise that one so remote from 
 the scenes of martial action, should have 
 become such an enthusiast in them, and 
 have made himself so acquainted with the 
 terms and objects of military science. 
 Clarence answered this remark, by an 
 avowal of the avidity with which he had 
 long been in the habit of reading the 
 chronicles of chivalry, and enquiring the 
 great events of his own time : he men- 
 tioned the frequent lessons he had 
 received from the old soldier at Lourdes, 
 in the tactics of the last age ; and he fol- 
 lowed that up, by a hasty summary of his 
 E 5
 
 8^ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 last conversation with his father. He 
 blushed at his own indiscretion the instant 
 it was committed ; but it was not to be 
 recalled. His illustrious companion 
 mused for a moment or two, scanned his 
 proportions while doing this, then abruptly 
 asked his age ; repeating, " Just seven- 
 teen 1" with a tone of surprise ; as sud- 
 denly adding, ** we must know each other 
 better, Willoughby. You must stay at Es- 
 calette till I rejoin my uncles in Gascony j 
 — it will be only for a day or two." 
 
 Clarence glowed, and hesitated j yet 
 why he hesitated, he knew not ; for at 
 Roche Blanc, no one expected his return 
 till the week's hunting should be over. 
 It rested, therefore, solely with himselfi 
 how he chose to dispose of that week. 
 A presentiment that two days with the 
 party chance had introduced him to, 
 would spoil his relish for home, was per- 
 haps at the bottom of this hesitation; but 
 the temptation v/as too powerful to be 
 resisted : he consented.
 
 aOCHE BLANC. 83 
 
 Having gained their lofty resting-place, 
 the whole party were too tired with a day 
 of climbing precipices and chasing wild 
 deer, for any thing beyond relaxation 
 afterwards. Clarence's survey of the for- 
 tifications, and the lecture on them, which 
 his new friend promised, were neces- 
 sarily deferred till the morrow. 
 
 Supper was served in a large stone hall, 
 black with the smoke of wood fires ; 
 darkened still more by piles of rusty 
 armour; and deprived of light from 
 without, by the boughs of some ancient 
 cedars, which shot their giant arms 
 athwart the casements. 
 
 The casements themselves were much 
 broken, and filled up here and there with 
 fragments of old military attire, to keep 
 out the eager air of the mountains. The 
 huge and numerous doors opening from 
 the hall, were some without fastenings, 
 others without hinges ; so that they 
 swung to and fro upon every blast that 
 entered, with monotonous mournfulness, 
 E 6
 
 Si ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 or suddenly clapped to, with a shock like 
 thunder. 
 
 The place itself was dismal enough ; 
 and soon, the pealing of the rising wind 
 among the trees and the battlements, the 
 distant howling of wolves, and the nearer 
 hooting of owls, increased its seeming 
 dismalness. But, in fact, these circum- 
 stances only gave poignancy to the en- 
 joyment of the joyous party withir. 
 Their table smoked with the game the 
 morning's chase had procured; and their 
 chimney blazed with a glorious fire of 
 pine, w'ood and rosemary, which, as it 
 crackled and roared in the huge chimney, 
 scented and lighted the whole apartment. 
 Their very dogs, lying stretched before 
 tliis genial blaze, added something to the 
 teeling of social pleasure it created. 
 Wines, as sparkling as the wit they 
 heightened, danced in the beechen cups 
 of the hunters; the jest, the song, the 
 laugh went round. Adhemar de Bourbon 
 chose to take off all restraint from his
 
 IIOCHE BLANC. 85 
 
 companions, except that only which his 
 just taste always preserved : that taste 
 known, not a breath was uttered that 
 could sully or shock the pure mind of 
 their inexperienced associate ; and he 
 believed himself, therefore, in the very 
 world he had longed for, — the w^orld of 
 joyous spirits, sans peur et sans reprocJie, 
 There was an unexpected fascination in 
 the careless way these young soldiers, 
 (for they had all made campaigns) talked 
 of dangers and deeds which Clarence had 
 previously heard related with amazement 
 and admiration. The pompous terms in 
 which such incidents were narrated in 
 his favorite histories, and the wondering 
 awe which Godefroi naturally sought to 
 impress upon him, had prepared him for 
 any thing but this gay recklessness of 
 life and commendation. These young 
 men jested at each other's achievements 
 when a military novice would have 
 stumbled over a compliment : every 
 thing was mirthful to them, — every
 
 86 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 thing couleur de rose. Nothing could be 
 more seducing than this charnfi of gaiety 
 and good humour. Their varied convers- 
 ation, alternately taking wing from scenes 
 of frolic to scenes of danger ; hovering 
 over each, with all the grace of Parisian 
 refinement, or stooping to seize their 
 subject powerfully, for a moment, only 
 to fly off again on the same volatile 
 pinions of whim and fancy, — took all 
 Clarence captive. His own nature was 
 too joyous, not to be enchanted with the 
 discovery thus made to him, that he 
 might at once be very great and very 
 gay ; that even a hero need not look the 
 grimmer for wearing laurels round his 
 brow 5 that, in short, he might preserve 
 the laughter-loving spirit of youth, amid 
 scenes which would task the manhood of 
 that spirit to its utmost. Many, indeed, 
 were the combined spells which fascinated 
 our youthful hero: — the place itself, the 
 party within it, the novel incidents which 
 had conducted him there, the recollec-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 87 
 
 tlon of the Chevalier de Bourbon's 
 demeanour on their first meeting, and 
 the gratifying consciousness of its differ- 
 ence now. 
 
 That air of proud or noble reserve, 
 which had displeased him in the Cheva- 
 lier, together with the grave dignity and 
 measured distancing of his address, were 
 changed into fire and freedom. He spoke 
 much, and admirably ; taking a wider 
 range of subjects than his companions, 
 and diving deeper than they ; displaying 
 a mind as richly imbued, as studiously 
 cultivated ; directing his discourse, prin- 
 cipally to his new acquaintance ; enhanc- 
 ing the attention he paid him, not in 
 truth by slighting others, but by such a 
 seeming oblivion of their presence, as 
 society tolerates only in princes and 
 lovers. 
 
 In the clear mirror of Clarence 
 Willoughby's eyes, de Bourbon saw 
 the admiration he was inspiring, and 
 excited still further by their kindling
 
 88 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 fixture, became every moment more 
 enchanting. 
 
 Although Clarence, in spite of his 
 youth and artlessness, could not help 
 suspecting that his ilhistrious companion 
 must be roused into this display of him- 
 self to a boy like him, more from the 
 wish to be admired, than from the 
 expectation of such sympathy as offers 
 future friendship, he was unable to 
 resist the witchcraft of its effect. He was 
 not the first person that has been bribed 
 out of their discernment, by similar 
 flattery. One better skilled in the world's 
 lore, might have taken alarm at the very 
 circumstance which most subtly effected 
 the conquest of Clarence's heart and 
 head. That air of the master, preserved 
 by de Bourbon even in his freest ad- 
 dresses to his habitual associates, yet 
 waived for him, the intimate of an hour, 
 might have excited apprehensions either 
 of caprice, or ungratefulness, or vanity; — 
 nay, even some suspicion of being played
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 89 
 
 upon for the purpose of affording amuse- 
 ment hereafter, might have crossed a 
 timid person's imagination, and assisted 
 them in tempering their enthusiasm. 
 
 But Clarence was too delicately 
 flattered, for the first ideas to strike him ; 
 and too open and generous in his nature 
 to have any conception of the last. He 
 thought he read in Adhemar de Bourbon's 
 occasional looks, — for his language was 
 of a much colder character, — an answer- 
 ing spirit to his own ; one, quickly fired 
 by an appearance of adventure, and 
 prompt to like what it had benefited. 
 
 So judging, in some degree he was 
 right. The Chevalier de Bourbon was 
 neither cold nor haughty by nature, 
 although the circumstances of his situ- 
 ation made him so often assume the sem- 
 blance of both, that he was in reality 
 become something like what he seemed. 
 A spurious branch of that House which 
 was considered the head of one party in 
 the state, and the enemy of another,
 
 90 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Adhemar de Bourbon was early exposed 
 to the vicissitude of adulation and mor- 
 tification. To the contempt of the 
 Catholic faction, his character led him to 
 oppose haughtiness instead of humility : 
 he affected to despise their superstitions, 
 as profoundly as they did his birth : and 
 even when amongst those of the opposite 
 sect and party, whose enthusiasm for the 
 cause Conde and Navarre supported, led 
 them to make a court around their 
 nephew, he preserved a stateliness of 
 manner, which provoked their secret 
 notion of superiority, or checked the 
 freedom of their wills, by an arbitrary 
 tone, only allowable in a legitimate 
 Bourbon. 
 
 Adhemar had at first tried to believe, 
 that he considered the accident of his 
 birth as no disgrace ; but by degrees it 
 galled him incessantly, and made him 
 alike anxious to receive testimonies of 
 respect and regard from those about him, 
 and as doubtful of such testimonies when
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 91 
 
 offered. Conscious that he himself — 
 had their situations been exchanged — 
 would have refused such profound respect 
 to them, as they now rendered outwardly 
 to him, he eyed their looks of deference 
 with distrust ; and received their profes- 
 sions of personal attachment, with that 
 studied calmness which chills real en- 
 thusiasm, while it is intended only to 
 show affected feeling that it does not 
 deceive. 
 
 De Bourbon wished to be admired and 
 respected ; and never till he heard his 
 own eulogy so rapturously uttered to 
 himself, by a youth who could not know 
 his person, did he believe that he might 
 be studiously sought, without reference 
 to his present or future power of pro- 
 moting a man's fortune ; — nay, idohzed 
 for his own merits' sake. This young 
 enthusiast, too, had so lately displayed 
 that intrepidity of spirit which he prized, 
 that it might well be supposed he should 
 like to foster and reward it. There might
 
 9t ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 be great disproportion in the ripeness of 
 their minds, but there was little in their 
 actual ages ; and it required much less 
 discernment than the Chevalier was 
 gifted with, to be certain that in all that 
 dignifies the character of manhood, 
 Clarence Willoughby, were he placed in 
 a situation to expand and exercise it, 
 would soon rank with the noblest. The 
 vividness of all Clarence's impressions, 
 and the frankness with which he avowed 
 them, had nothing of rustic simplicity ; 
 they were distinctly the impressions and 
 the ingenuousness of a spirit, too noble 
 and discriminating, to have any false 
 shame about his ignorance on certain 
 subjects, where he could not be informed, 
 unless he had mixed in scenes in which 
 neither his age nor his destiny made it 
 possible for him to have been an actor. 
 It was evident, therefore, that if he lived 
 familiarly with but few persons, those 
 must be of that class which habituates 
 youth to the thoughts and manners of
 
 IIOCKE BLANC. 93 
 
 ** gentle blood," and as such, Adhenaar 
 de Bourbon felt no apprehension of in- 
 tanghng himself either with an unworthy 
 or an ignoble follower. 
 
 Clarence, indeed, displayed himself 
 fully to his new acquaintances. Never 
 till now, had he been in the society of 
 persons of his ow^n sex and age, at all his 
 equals in that genius for awakening con- 
 versation, which made him the delight of 
 Koche Blanc : he was therefore hurried 
 on, to keep pace with his present com- 
 pany 5 and that, solely from eagerness to 
 enjoy. He asked a thousand amusing 
 questions about the camp and the court ; 
 about jousts and tournaments; war steeds 
 and armour : listened with insatiable 
 pleasure, to his companion's description 
 of their first feelings, in their first battles; 
 and mixed so much generous remark 
 with the naivete of inexperience, that de 
 Bourbon enjoyed in anticipation, the 
 pride and gratification he promised him- 
 self, in accomplishing a mind which
 
 94 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 rushed more than half way, to meet the 
 lessons he taught. 
 
 A delicate compliment from the 
 Chevalier, upon his manly appearance — 
 (at Clarence's age, and with Clarence's 
 aspirations, such a compliment was ines- 
 timable,) — finished his intoxication. Sur- 
 prised, flattered, delighted with the 
 favorable impression he had evidently 
 made upon the absolute god of his 
 idolatry, was it wonderful that the whole 
 head of an impassioned, inexperienced 
 boy, should be turned ; and that by the 
 time he and his party had supped toge- 
 ther, and drank rather more Burgundy 
 together than Clarence had ever cared to 
 drink before, he should believe it impos- 
 sible for him ever, to resume the colour- 
 less life he thought himself destined to 
 pass at L'etoile ?
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 95 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 The next day and the day succeeding 
 that, were spent after the same fashion. 
 Clarence had communicated his own 
 anxiety for the destruction of the shep- 
 herd's four-footed enemies, to the Che- 
 valier and his companions ; they were 
 therefore up with the day-star ; ranging 
 over the suspected haunts of the wolves, 
 and sustaining sundry discomfitures 
 among the slippery or perilous steeps, 
 which Clarence trod with ease and safety. 
 The unfailing good humour of happy 
 youth, turned these accidents into fresh 
 causes for mirth : they jested on each 
 other's awkwardness ; contrasting the 
 cautious step of one, and the wary look 
 of another, after essaying a fall, with the 
 same sprightly gallant's air, when dancing
 
 96 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 a measure at court, or when mounting a 
 breach in face of the enemy. 
 
 Not one of these young Frenchmen 
 had ever visited the mountainous parts 
 of their country before; and this too was 
 Adhemar de Bourbon's first sight of the 
 lately-acquired Principality of his uncle : 
 he v/as, therefore, not qualified to acquit 
 himself much better than any of his 
 train ; and a mischievous spirit or two 
 amongst them, highly enjoyed his mid- 
 way plunge into a shallow brook, which 
 the agile Clarence had previously vaulted 
 over, like ** feathered Mercury." 
 
 Both mornings, however, proved fruit- 
 ful in spoil as well as merriment : their 
 fowling-pieces ensured the destruction 
 of several wolves, which the ordinary 
 hunting spear could not have reached ; 
 and the hunters returned to Escalette, 
 with good-natured pleasure in their 
 hearts, and the mountain air upon their 
 cheeks. 
 
 After a morning's fatigue like what has
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 97 
 
 been described, the young lords, either 
 were, or adroitly feigned to be, in the 
 mood for lounging about the hall, leaving 
 their leader to pursue his own inclin- 
 ations without dread of observation. 
 They amused themselves within the fort, 
 by feeding the hall-fire into a furnace, or 
 with expedients for keeping the ponde- 
 rous doors in their places, while Cla- 
 rence kept his station without, by the 
 side of the Chevalier, who inspected the 
 fortifications, explaining the nature and 
 uses of different works of the same de- 
 scription, to his attentive auditor. 
 
 Insensibly the conversation would 
 change its course, quit the mere " thews 
 and sinews" of war, as its deadly instru- 
 ments may be termed, and dwell upon 
 its spirit. At such times, Clarence found 
 himself more upon an equality with his 
 accomplished companion (for the cha- 
 racter of a noble soul is not the work 
 of this world ; it is stamped in heaven) ; 
 and as he talked of honour and glory, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 9B ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 be gave, unawares, some astonishing 
 lessons to the hero of Metz. Alive to 
 the beauty of great sentiments, when 
 spoken from the heart, Adhemar de 
 Bourbon found his own ennobled by col- 
 lision with those of Clarence , and skilled 
 in appropriating to the uses of the 
 moment, what he studiously collected 
 from the books or conversation of abler 
 minds, he astonished and interested him 
 even more than he had done at first, by 
 a happy choice and management of sub- 
 jects, which he obviously appeared to 
 think above the flight of his usual asso- 
 ciates. 
 
 Clarence, perhaps, suspected as much 
 also, in spite of his exceeding relish for 
 the lighter graces of amusing discourse : 
 on every topic, except mirthful ones, his 
 better judgment acknowledged the Che- 
 valier's superiority over the party with 
 him ; for he never introduced subjects of 
 gallantry into their occasional tete-a-tete, 
 as some of them had done. Clarence 
 
 I
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 99 
 
 was yet a stranger to the passions con- 
 nected with beauty ; he neither knew 
 love nor vanity, from his own expe- 
 rience : had he talked of Aigline de 
 Venzeles to these gallants, he would 
 have talked of her only with the open 
 fondness of a brother. Indeed, so full 
 were both his head and heart of the 
 stirring images and purposes de Bour- 
 bon's society had crowded into them, 
 that any other idea encumbered him, 
 
 Clarence's unpractised heart, over- 
 flowing with the generous emulation 
 excited by his noble friend, and warm 
 with the recollection that he owed his 
 life to him, poured itself out, uncon- 
 sciously and artlessly, in a thousand 
 different ways, equally eloquent of admir- 
 ation and gratitude. 
 
 The Chevaher turned not away from 
 such homage. His young worshipper's 
 sincerity he could not doubt; and to 
 him who lived amongst courtiers from 
 the cradle, and whose peculiar character 
 F 2
 
 100 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 and situation rendered him as solicitous 
 for personal regard as suspicious of it 
 when professed — to him, this homage 
 was as gratifying as unexpected. 
 
 It seemed a pledge to him of wider 
 estimation : it awakened the flattering 
 thought, that multitudes of nameless 
 bosoms might be beating like Clarence*s 
 for their unknown hero, and that such 
 might be destined to rally round his 
 standard in a season of political danger, 
 or of ambitious enterprize. 
 
 Such a season might not unreasonably 
 be anticipated by a Bourbon : for at this 
 period of their widest splendour in the 
 field, and greatest elevation to power, in 
 the person of their head, they w^re 
 threatened with total eclipse by the rival 
 House of Lorraine. The Duke de Ven- 
 dome's love of ease and pleasure, had 
 early unfitted him for playing the courtier 
 to his cousin and companion Henry 
 Valois, the present sovereign of France. 
 Vendome's thoughtless neglect of the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 101 
 
 young king's favor, had nearly extin- 
 guished the affection from which that 
 favor flowed; when his envied acquisi- 
 tion of the principalities of Beam and 
 Navarre, and his subsequent refusal to 
 exchange them for equal seigniories in 
 France, set the seal to Henry's disgust, 
 and opened a door to the machinations 
 of Vendome's enemies. 
 
 The plea of religion was then pressed 
 into the service of ambition ; and the 
 family of Lorraine, increasing in zeal for 
 the Popish doctrines in proportion as 
 that of Bourbon w^anned towards those 
 of Calvin, represented them as heretics 
 and malcontents, to whom a Catholic 
 monarch must be an object of secret 
 aversion. 
 
 Thus, although the Bourbon princes, 
 as princes of the blood, still appeared 
 at court with the splendour and respect 
 due to their birth, and still kept that dis- 
 tinguished rank in the field which their 
 valour and warhke genius had won, they 
 F a
 
 102 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 were sensible to a variety of private pro- 
 vocations and public slights, originating 
 in the Duke de Guise, and his brother 
 of Lorraine. But, supported by a power- 
 ful and increasing party, formed of all 
 in Paris and in the provinces inclined 
 to the new religion, the Bourbons still 
 made successful head against the Duke 
 de Guise's faction ; resolute to maintain 
 the post allotted them by honor and 
 conscience, or to perish in the light of 
 their own cloudless reputation. 
 
 Such was the situation of his illustrious 
 kindred, when Adhemar de Bourbon 
 made the gratifying discovery of his own 
 estimation in the minds of his contem- 
 poraries : it was not surprising, therefore, 
 that he should contemplate its possible 
 advantage to him hereafter with com- 
 placency ; or that he should feel more 
 kindly inclined than ever to the enthu- 
 siastic youth who had first shown him 
 the wide diffusion of his individual fame. 
 
 Two enchanting days fled past, and
 
 KOCHE BLANC. 103 
 
 Clarence was trying to enjoy the third, 
 by forgetting that it was to be the last 
 he should spend in such society, when 
 a circumstance occurred which carried 
 confusion into all his thoughts. 
 
 After the supper of this third evening, 
 the Chevalier, tempted by a beautiful 
 moon, and the particular stillness of the 
 air, invited Clarence to walk out with him 
 in front of the fort, that they might observe 
 together the majestic course of the stars, 
 and taste the freshness of early night. 
 Leaving the rest of the party over their 
 wine, they went out upon the rampart. 
 
 The night was, indeed, magnificent : 
 mountains, woods, vallies, rivers, v/ere 
 all covered with the same dazzling sheet 
 of silver. Not a leaf stirred in the 
 woods ; not a sound ascended from the 
 vallies : every thing was still, except the 
 torrents, thundering with awful and con- 
 tinuous roar, in the deeps below; and 
 above, the planets, whirling on their 
 golden axles through the vast serene : 
 F 4
 
 lOl nOCHE BLANC. 
 
 heard in that still hour, and on that 
 solemn night, by the ear of tranced 
 imagination. 
 
 The chevalier advanced to the edge of 
 the precipitous rock, and stood there for 
 some moments in thoughtful silence ; 
 then turning to his companion, whose 
 rapt look was fixed upon the glorious 
 heavens, he said to him in a subdued 
 voice, as if afraid of being overheard — 
 
 "Among scenes like these, Willoughby, 
 you may easily dispense with a com- 
 panion ; but I, who am going back into 
 scenes of frivolity, artifice, deceit, and 
 malignity, shall miss the unsophisticated 
 mind that I have seen here without dis- 
 guise, and the candid eye that has never 
 yet shrunk from the close reading of 
 mine.'* 
 
 De Bourbon had begun with a serious 
 tone, nearly amounting to sadness : but 
 he changed it suddenly, as if recollecting 
 himselfi into one of more sportiveness. 
 
 For the first time since their meeting.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 105 
 
 the eyes Adhemar de Bourbon spoke of^ 
 looked down, and turned away — but it 
 was to conceal the tears, w^hich, in spite 
 of all Clarence's efforts to the contrary, 
 swelled to their very brim. He could 
 not speak — and the agitation which 
 caused his silence, was not possible to 
 be overlooked. 
 
 Encouraged by this visible emotion, 
 the chevalier at once asked him, whether, 
 if war broke out again, he should like 
 to serve; as, in that case, he might 
 promote his mihtary views essentially, 
 and have the additional gratification of 
 his society? The answer of Clarence 
 may be imagined ; for his sensibility w-as 
 roused almost to agony, and he caught 
 with eagerness at the first mode of giving 
 it way, without indulging in expressing 
 regret and sorrow. 
 
 De Bourbon smilingly bade him be 
 
 wary ere he promised, unless he really 
 
 felt as impatient as he professed, for the 
 
 adventures of a campaign. He then 
 
 F 5
 
 106 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 proceeded to make several minuter en- 
 quiries than he had hitherto felt privi- 
 leged to do, about the English connections 
 of Mr. Willoughby. To these, Clarence 
 could give only imperfect answers, ac- 
 knowledging that his father's habitual 
 taciturnity, and his own former heedless- 
 ness, left him very slightly acquainted 
 with their family history. 
 
 At this critical part of their discourse, 
 a person much disordered in dress, like 
 one th^t had previously ridden hard, 
 appeared, hastily scaling one of the paths 
 leading up the mountain. As he took 
 off his leathern cap to wipe his forehead, 
 the chevalier knew him to be a courier 
 from his uncle j and, challenging him by 
 name, hurried to meet him at the portal. 
 
 While de Bourbon stood reading by 
 the light of the moon the dispatch 
 brought by this man, Clarence walked 
 slowly away, his eye now and then 
 caught by the picturesque appearance of 
 the fort — by the broad lights, and deep
 
 nOCHE BLANC. 107 
 
 shadows of its lofty front; and his atten- 
 tion as often arrested by snatches of the 
 gay catch from within, which was inter- 
 rupted as often by the bursting laughter 
 of it imperfect singers. The mirthful 
 moods of these young Frenchmen were 
 as agreeable to the lighter part of Cla- 
 rence's character, as their nobler com- 
 panion's grave humour was interesting 
 to his better feelings: — to have the 
 power of enjoying both at will, seemed 
 to him the acme of human happiness ; 
 and he was meditating on the possibility 
 of doing this, by inducing his father to 
 take him to Paris, provided the continu- 
 ance of peace should destroy his hope 
 of seeing the Chevalier de Bourbon on 
 a nobler theatre, when the latter came 
 up, and broke off his reverie. 
 
 The letter Adhemar held in his hand 
 was from the Prince de Conde : it told 
 him that the truce of Vauxelles was 
 tottering to its overthrow — that the 
 Pope was loudly demanding assistance 
 F 6
 
 108 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 from the monarch of France — that a 
 camp was already forming near Avignon, 
 under the Duke de Guise — and that the 
 army of Coh'gny was silently collecting 
 again in Picardy. To the camp at Avig- 
 non Conde proposed going, previous to 
 the marriage of his brother, the Comte 
 d'Enghien ; and he called upon his 
 nephew, therefore, to rejoin him imme- 
 diately at Nerac, that they might make 
 that interesting visit together, ere they 
 went for Moulins to be present at 
 d'Enghien's nuptials. 
 
 Adhemar de Bourbon repeated this 
 with the calmness of a man either fami- 
 liarized with such stirring news, or pre- 
 pared for them ; and, with the careless 
 freedom of one secure of acquiescence, 
 he invited Clarence to accompany him 
 into Gascony, and thence to Avignon, 
 and thence to Moulins. 
 
 The unusual fire with which he anti- 
 cipated a campaign beyond the Alps ; 
 the pleasure he bespoke for himselfi in
 
 Roche blanc. 109 
 
 seeing his new friend's admiration of a 
 camp, and of what he called the first 
 troops in the world ; the prospect he held 
 out of jousts and tourneys, in honour of 
 his uncle's marriage with the young and 
 beautiful Duchess d'Estouteville : — the 
 names of Nemours, Roche-sur-yon, Co- 
 ligny, Andelot, as among the personages 
 likely to grace these nuptials, formed 
 altogether a spell, impossible to resist. 
 Each of these great names were so many 
 war-calls to a spirit emulous of glory : 
 that of Clarence, kindled and blazed. 
 By the time their rapid steps had brought 
 them to the entrance of the fort, he had 
 given his consent to the sudden propo- 
 sition of the chevalier. There was no 
 lime for sending to ask his father's con- 
 sent : de Bourbon, therefore, agreed to 
 dispatch a messenger to Roche Blanc on 
 tlie morrow, ere they set out, to say 
 whither Clarence was gone, and with 
 whom. Their next step took them into 
 the hall.
 
 110 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 The manner all this intelligence was 
 received by the party there, completed 
 Clarence's delirium. The sparkling wine 
 cup, and the festive song, were alike 
 forgotten ; they crowded round the che- 
 valier, to enquire where the campaign 
 was to be made, and by whom con- 
 ducted : the next moment they set them- 
 selves about speculating on the particular 
 objects of enterprize — upon the honors 
 they hoped to win and to wear, with 
 such animated gaiety, as might have 
 induced a calm auditor to believe that 
 each was secretly assured of some pre- 
 ternatural power in his body, to resist 
 wounds and baffle death. 
 
 Exhilirated even beyond their usual 
 pitch, the party reseated themselves at 
 table, and drank to the honor of the 
 French arms. Anecdotes of different 
 campaigns were poured in on every side 
 — hair-breadth *scapes, gallant enter- 
 prizes, instances of individual intrepiuity 
 or suffering, that alternately thrilled and
 
 ROCHE BLANC. Ill 
 
 froze the blood. These again gave place 
 to traits of heroism, coupled with levity, 
 or with circumstances so ludicrous, that 
 peals of laughter shook the walls of Es- 
 calette; forcing Clarence, in spite of 
 some inward perturbation and awe, to 
 consider the threatening preparations 
 they were going to visit, but as the more 
 gorgeous lists of a courtly tournament. 
 
 Catching the tone of his company, 
 Clarence reseated himself with them, 
 enjoying their varied discourse, and 
 amusing them with his own ; till the 
 midnight watch was set, and the voice 
 of the departing sentinel, wishing his 
 comrades good night, reminded them of 
 the hour. De Bourbon then rose, named 
 the time of morning when they should 
 leave Escalette, and courteously bowing 
 to all, and expressively smiling upon one, 
 quitted the hall. 
 
 As the remainder of tlie company 
 were about to separate, one of them, 
 named Beaurevoir, bent to the ear of
 
 112 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Clarence : " Remember me, in Para- 
 dise !" he said. Clarence started at the 
 profane allusion. 
 
 Without noticing the sudden change 
 in his countenance, Beaurevoir went on, 
 in the same tone of covert mockery* 
 " The game is in your hand, and 
 you have played admirably as yet ; at 
 hap-hazard, though, I guess. Let me 
 tell you, if I held your cards, I should 
 have the charge I want, in less than a 
 week. The Viscomte is very gracious 
 when he pleases ; and the person he 
 favors so desperately, may help a poor 
 spendthrift like me, without marring his 
 own fortune ; so 1 say once more, remem- 
 ber me in Paradise,** 
 
 Clarence now smiled too frankly ; 
 thinking, as he did, of friendship, not 
 fortune ; and he said something in reply 
 which made too artless a display of his 
 reliance on appearances : yet was it 
 coupled with such generous inclination 
 to do a good-natured action, as might
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 113 
 
 have disarmed any thing but a hardened 
 scofler. He shook Beaurevoir cordially 
 by the hand as he did so ; then withdrew 
 for the night. 
 
 Little did he think that the loud burst 
 of laughter which immediately resounded 
 from the hall as he closed the door, pro- 
 ceeded from this very young man, making 
 merry with his companions over the cre- 
 dulity and simplicity of their new ac- 
 quaintance ! 
 
 Though all thought him delightfully 
 agreeable, and some considered him with 
 amiable kindliness, not one of them was 
 able to resist the infectious treacherv of 
 their every day companion, but yielded 
 to the temptation of enjoying — at the 
 expence of after self-blame — a few 
 moments convulsive merriment now ; 
 while Beaurevoir alternately caricatured 
 the stately chevalier, and the impetuous 
 Clarence, swearing that flattered vanity 
 had hooked the simpleton, as completely 
 as the hero, and offering to take any
 
 114 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 bet, that the conceited mountaineer 
 would do or say something, before tliey 
 got half way to Nerac, which would send 
 him back without his errand. 
 
 A second mad-brained, but not cold- 
 hearted jester like himself j took Beau- 
 revoir's bet : the relenting others started 
 from their seats, refusing to laugh any 
 longer at the charming boy who showed 
 himself so sincerely pleased with them 
 all ; and the Marquis de MoUeville, 
 calling for lights, drily recommended 
 Beau re voir not to make himself too sure 
 either of young Willoughby's supposed 
 favor or folly. 
 
 Meanwhile, intoxicated with what had 
 just been said to him, and with the result 
 of his own previous observations, the 
 unconscious object of this mockery 
 mounted the steep stairs of the fort, 
 and shut himself into his sleeping room 
 in a state of spirits totally unlike all he 
 had ever felt before. It was transport 
 while it lasted j for to his heated imagin-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 115 
 
 ation, some commissioned angel seemed 
 visibly opening the gates of glory and 
 felicity before him. 
 
 To Clarence, at seventeen, these two 
 distinct ideas were one ; he saw nothing 
 hut glory on the road of life : others 
 might stoop there for the golden apples 
 of profit, or the painted ones of pleasure, 
 he sought only to attain the immortal 
 laurel at its goal. 
 
 Quite certain, in his present mood, 
 that Mr. Willoughby could not fail to 
 rejoice at the extraordinary fortune which 
 had at once given his son a preserver, a 
 patron, and a friend ; — as sure that he 
 must acknowledge, in such a coincidence, 
 the absolute hand of Providence, Cla- 
 rence sunk to sleep, after several hours of 
 dizzy anticipations, too delicious and deli- 
 rious to deserve the name of reflection. 
 
 He dreamt, and dreamt of a deceased 
 person, whose remembrance had certainly 
 not once occurred to him during his 
 short sojourn at Escalette : it was the
 
 116 ROCHE BLAx\C* 
 
 late Hugonot teacher of Roche Blanc, 
 whose pious ministry he had always 
 attended with his father. By one of 
 those ordinary, yet most inscrutable 
 eilects of dreaming, which is famihar to 
 us all, the spirit which, waking, had not 
 prompted a single objection to its own 
 wishes, nor ever imagined they could be 
 censurable, now took the character of 
 another's mind 5 and precisely in such 
 powerful language as the rigid Calvinist 
 would have uttered, pointed out a parent's 
 absolute authority over a son so young 
 as Clarence, It suggested the various 
 accidents which might combine to aggra- 
 vate his fault of self-will, by making it 
 the origin of some signal mischief. The 
 carelessness of de Bourbon's messenger 
 might leave his father and friends in 
 ignorance of his safety ; once at the 
 camp, if the enemy attacked it, he might 
 find it impossible to resist a second 
 temptation — that of mixing in a battle. 
 Some disaster might thus befal him ; he
 
 ftOCHfi BLANC. 117 
 
 might perish in disobedience, and so bring 
 his father with sorrow to the grave ! 
 
 With the last words thriUing in his ear, 
 Clarence started out of his dream. In 
 the disorder of his senses, he almost 
 expected to see the buried minister 
 himself standing by his bed-side; but 
 there was nothing visible in the glooming 
 of dawn, except the dusky walls, and 
 high oaken bench of his rude chamber. 
 Every pulse in his body throbbed with 
 the perturbation of one familiar wath 
 superstitious stories, and not incredulous 
 of them : the agitation, however, passed 
 oif by degrees ; and the counsel given 
 to him in his sleep then possessed 
 him wholly. 
 
 That delirium of rash confidence with 
 which he had closed his eyes at night, 
 at once vanished ; happy would it have 
 been, he thought, could his wishes have 
 subsided with it ; but they were as keenly 
 importunate as ever. He repeated to 
 himself the vision's arguments against
 
 118 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 his accompanying even the nephew of 
 the King of Navarre on so short an 
 acquaintance, without having previously 
 consulted his father, and received his 
 permission. He added to them seve- 
 ral minor ones, suggested by his own 
 awakened feelings of filial affection and 
 gratitude ; then clinging to his para- 
 mount desire, he opposed to these argu- 
 ments all that the sophistry of a passion 
 not conscious of evil aim might urge 
 in favor of his seizing the present 
 moment for its gratification.' 
 
 Never was young heart more sorely 
 assaulted. The fear of losing an oppor- 
 tunity which never might occur again, 
 and the dread of securing it by a culpable 
 neglect of duty, alarmed his virtuous, 
 yet self-indulging nature. Inclination 
 urged that Mr. Willoughby could have 
 no rational objection to a military life 
 for a son whose character could not long 
 brook existence without an object of 
 honorable pursuit 5 that he must pe»i 
 11
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 119 
 
 ceive the amazing advantages of that 
 son's commencing a martial career under 
 the auspices of Oonde, the hero of the 
 French Protestants, and the friend of 
 those in England ; and that, conse- 
 quently, if Clarence would only take 
 courage to proceed in his late purposes, 
 once at the camp his father might easily 
 be induced to let him remain there, both 
 from complaisance to his son's preserver, 
 and from his own habitual sacrifices to 
 the inclinations of that darling boy. 
 
 Some good angel must have conducted 
 Clarence's reasonings to this point, for 
 here he stopped, his heart swelling with 
 honest shame at his own selfishness. It 
 was impossible for him not to spurn the 
 temptation, when once seen, of thus 
 ensnaring an indulgent parent's consent : 
 and after wrestling a little longer with 
 the natural rebellion of a young heart, 
 which, unconvinced of wrong in its 
 wishes, feels it hard to submit them to 
 the mere command of duty, he deter-
 
 V20 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 mined to give up Nerac and the camp, 
 and the jousting at Mouiins, and return 
 to L'etoile. 
 
 If maturity may be said to commence 
 whenever youth makes its first sacrifice 
 of passion to principle, Clarence Wil- 
 loughby must no longer be considered 
 as a boy: he had just surrendered his 
 strongest wish and dearest hopes on the 
 altar of filial obedience. 
 
 As if afraid of his own resolution, the 
 moment it was made Clarence became 
 impatient to communicate it; longing 
 wdth distempered eagerness for the sound 
 of the first bugle, which was to be the 
 signal for the party assembling in the 
 hall below. 
 
 When the heavy spring mists broke 
 aw^ay from the stupendous pile of moun- 
 tains which Clarence had seen the night 
 before in such sublime repose, and con- 
 templated with such intense admiration 
 by the side of Adhemar — as their ma- 
 jestic forms rose successively upon his
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 121 
 
 sight, he started and sighed, for the 
 bugle sounded. He looked from the 
 loop-hole of his sleeping room, and saw 
 the inferior retinue of the Chevalier 
 already prepared for their journey, walk- 
 ing to and fro in the court of guard. 
 The Chevalier himself was standing on 
 one of the bastions, conversing with 
 the subaltern officer who was to be left 
 behind in charge of the works. 
 
 Scarcely conscious how he got there/ 
 Clarence was at his side in a few mo- 
 ments. After the usual morning's salut- 
 ation, he hurried out the change which 
 had taken place in his purpose during 
 the night; and painfully desirous of tes- 
 tifying his gratitude for life preserved^ 
 and friendship offered, yet unwisely 
 ashamed of showing the extent of his 
 regrets, he confessed that a dream had 
 influenced him, not caprice ; and did not 
 add to this confession as frank an avowal 
 of the struggle it had caused him. 
 
 He spoke with such agitated preci- 
 
 VOL, t. G
 
 122 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 pitancy, that Adhemar de Bourbon was 
 at some loss to understand what he meant 
 to say ; but on his mentioning a dream, 
 he deemed it a frivolous attempt to ex- 
 cuse either a whimsical or impertinent 
 repentance of a rash engagement ; or 
 else the effect of tutoring by some one of 
 his party, to play upon their noble com- 
 panion's evident liking, and gain some 
 purpose. Easily stung by such thoughts, 
 and easily made to doubt ; indignant, 
 too, at such slighting of his inclination 
 for him, which the Chevalier had un- 
 guardedly shown to Clarence on the 
 preceding night, he looked steadfastly 
 at him for a moment or two, then said 
 with composure, " I have been told that 
 tlie hottest blood soonest cools j" and 
 walking gravely away, resumed his dis- 
 course with the engineer. 
 
 Clarence's inflammable blood blazed 
 up at this contemptuous coldness: the 
 next instant it sunk. It was the pre- 
 se^vqr oi' his life, that spoke. 5, the hero
 
 ROCHE BLANC. iQ3 
 
 to whom he had, indeed, poured forth 
 almost a lover's adoration during the last 
 two days! Experience would have 
 added, it was one of royal race, who 
 had offered kindness and favor to an 
 unknown inferior, by whom they were 
 both slighted. 
 
 Clarence hastily foil owed the Chevalier, 
 with the intention of explaining himself 
 better ; but the slighting glance which 
 the other just directed to him, and then 
 averted on his approach, checked the 
 impulse. He drew back, pride and 
 resentment swelling in his heart. Some 
 of the party from within now joined 
 them J and, by the instant deference of 
 their manner when addressing the Che- 
 valier, reminded Clarence more forcibly 
 than before of the rank and privileges 
 of the person he was treating with appa- 
 rent caprice. 
 
 Adhemar de Bourbon was rarely the 
 equal of his greatest intimates, except 
 ini the social hall and manly chase : in 
 G 2
 
 124 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 the camp, he was the commander — at 
 the court, the prince. Piqued, and 
 somewhat disgusted, with his favorite of 
 the last few days, he now resumed that 
 demeanor which at first characterised 
 him. His air was chilling and haughty; 
 his words, few and reserved : and when- 
 ever he vouchsafed to turn his face 
 towards Clarence, it was full of proudly 
 distancing expression. 
 
 Upon de Molleville's enquiring whe- 
 ther his lordship chose breakfast to be 
 served, the Chevalier declined the meal ; 
 ordering his people to prepare for imme- 
 diate departure: then, as if suddenly 
 recollecting a trifle he had before for- 
 gotten, he mentioned Mr. Willoughby's 
 change of plan •, desiring that such of 
 his people as were left behind, should 
 be at the young gentleman's orders for 
 escort or service. 
 
 Happily for Clarence, the mischief- 
 loving Beaurevoir was not present, or 
 his pointed glance might have stung him
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 125 
 
 into phrenzy : as it was, the aghast look 
 of de Molleville, and the immediate 
 gravity of the others, gave him mortifi- 
 cation enough. 
 
 While he marked the cold and haughty 
 air with which the Chevalier walked for- 
 wards, and as he met the enquiring 
 glances of those around, his looks grew 
 cold and haughty too ; but his coldness 
 and haughtiness were but the assumption 
 of inexperienced youth, distrusting its 
 best impulses, and condescending to 
 copy what it falsely imagined wiser and 
 better than itself. 
 
 Believing his insulted feeling braced 
 into iron strength by a sense of injustice, 
 he stood fixed where the Chevalier had 
 left him, until the last of the train 
 reached the hall entrance, and its door 
 closed. Then Clarence felt all that he 
 had forfeited he knew not how ; all that 
 he might have retained, could he so far 
 have mastered his quick sensibility as to 
 have disregarded the Chevalier's first 
 G 3
 
 1^6 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 show of displeasure, and have repeated 
 his regrets, his wishes — at least his 
 gratitude — in fuller terms than his em- 
 barrassed thoughts permitted at the in- 
 stant. 
 
 Strange to say, Clarence, who would 
 have thought himself disgraced Irad he 
 not endeavoured to think of death with 
 indifference, now thought of his life saved, 
 with an enthusiasm which made him 
 believe no injury ought to catncel the 
 vast debt. 
 
 The recollection of many a long past 
 reverie about this veiy Adhemar de 
 Bourbon, when the idea of the latter 
 was like a pageant in the clouds ; the 
 touching remembrance of their last 
 Avalk together, swelled in his heart with 
 the force of a yet stronger passion than 
 admiration ; and maddened to think they 
 sliould part in misunderstanding — that 
 the splendid vision he had been gazing 
 on with such transport should thus 
 pass away suddenly, and for ever, he
 
 » ROCHE BLANC. 1^7 
 
 actually walked to weep, unobserved, on 
 another quarter of the terraced rock. 
 
 As he struggled there between choak- 
 ing tears and proud self-contempt, his 
 better feehngs gained the ascendancy, 
 and he began to see that Adhemar de 
 Bourbon, be his rank what it might, had 
 a claim on him for perfect candour. 
 After the favor he had shown him before 
 his usual associates, and the more touch- 
 ins: interest he had condescended to 
 avow in private, the Chevalier had an 
 obvious right to a distinct explanation of 
 the laudable motive which influenced 
 Clarence to appear changeable ; and if 
 the latter, in consequence of hurried 
 feelings, had explained himself imper- 
 fectly, or if de Bourbon, from an over 
 nice sensibility, had taken offence too 
 quickly, still it was incumbent on Cla- 
 rence to endure a little mortification, for 
 the sake of making his rectitude of inten- 
 tion, and grateful affection, apparent. It 
 was quite possible, he saw, to yield 
 G 4
 
 128 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 obedience to filial duty, without either 
 outraging kindness, or compromising his 
 own independent spirit. 
 
 While these thoughts were passing 
 through his mind, the lucky re-appear- 
 ance of the person in question, alone and 
 evidently come out again merely to make 
 some forgotten observation upon the 
 rock, decided his fluctuating purpose* 
 With habitual eagerness, Clarence sprang 
 over several heaps of materials for the 
 new works, which lay between him and 
 the Chevalier, and reached him ere the 
 latter was aware of his approach. 
 
 Clarence was half on his knee, with 
 the Chevalier's hand at his lip, before he 
 was conscious of the action. His face 
 was crimson with emotion ; and the hot 
 tears that were ready to start afresh from 
 his eyes, contributed to choke the only 
 word, that of farewell, which he could 
 attempt to utter. 
 
 « Is this to the Bourbon? or to the 
 friend that wished to be ? '' asked Adhe-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 129 
 
 mar, a ray of returning confidence 
 enlightening his darkened aspect. 
 
 *< To the preserver of my useless life 1'* 
 Clarence answered impetuously j <* to 
 that gallant soldier whom I would have 
 followed gladly through the world, even 
 if he had not preserved my life, — if he 
 would have let me, and I been my own 
 master to do so.'* 
 
 " And is a dream, your master ?'* 
 asked de Bourbon, disdainfully. 
 
 Every feature in Clarence's face 
 seemed to flash at this question ; but re- 
 recovering himself with admirable quick- 
 ness, he went on to explain his feelings, 
 and motives, and intentions. 
 
 Falsehood may succeed in imposing 
 upon us for truth; but truth when it 
 chooses to vindicate itself, never can be 
 mistaken for falsehood. Adhemar de 
 Bourbon saw in Clarence Willoughby's 
 anxiously-fixed and speaking eyes, a cor- 
 roboration of all he said with his lips. 
 He became convinced that even a head- 
 G 5
 
 130 ROCHE BLAN€. 
 
 Strong boj may be self- withheld from his 
 strongest desires, by an early principle of 
 duty 5 that no designing person had been 
 prompting him to insolence; that, in short, 
 he might still believe Wiiloughby's en- 
 thusiasm for him, compatible with his 
 altered conduct. 
 
 He then yielded his hand to Clarence's 
 ardent pressure, saying, " Well ! follow 
 me to Nerac, if you are permitted. I 
 will wait two days for you : — on the 
 third I am gone. Be sure of my pleasure 
 at seeing you again, whenever you 
 present yourself; yet do not hastily 
 think it strange, if I appear among 
 sycophants and scoffers without hearts, 
 as if I had none myself. Farewell ! Fare- 
 well. I hear some one.^* He motioned 
 for Clarence to kave him, evidently afraid 
 of being discovered in this unguarded 
 moment ; and Clarence, aware of what he 
 meant, though invulnerable to the ridi- 
 cule the Chevalier stood in awe of, 
 started on bis feet, and disappeared.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 131 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 WhEx^^ Clarence reached L'etoile, he 
 found his father alone, taking his fore- 
 noon walk under the shade of its beauti- 
 i\\\ trees 5 stopping at intervals to admire 
 the wild flowers which sprung up in 
 profusion among their roots ; then resum- 
 ing those thoughts of other days which 
 his son's appearance broke off completely. 
 After an exchange of affectionate 
 greeting, Mr. Willoughby, as usual, en- 
 quired the success of the latter's excur- 
 sion. Clarence poured out in reply, 
 the whole st^ory of his adventure with 
 Adhemar de Bourbon ; frankly confessing 
 not only the inconsiderate promise he 
 had made and retracted, but the hope he 
 cherished that his father would yet allow 
 him to fulfil it. With his customary 
 G 6
 
 182 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 eagerness, an eagerness at variance with 
 good policy, jie added to this, the expres- 
 sion of a bolder hope, — that of being 
 allowed finally to accept the Chevalier's 
 offers of favor and assistance in his own 
 distinguished profession. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby had listened while 
 Clarence spoke, with more than his ordi- 
 nary show of attention and interest j 
 merely ejaculating, however, a thanks- 
 giving at the account of his son's escape 
 from the knife of the Spanish shepherd ; 
 but at the conclusion of his history, he 
 put his hand once or twice to his fore- 
 head, confessing himself at a loss to 
 decide how he ought to answer the 
 request coupled with it. 
 
 " I foresee what it will lead to, 
 Clarence j" he said, with an air of per- 
 plexity, " and if I knew what would be 
 the best for you, believe me no selfish 
 desires of mine should stand in the way 
 a moment. God knows, — if we are 
 ever to return to our country, — if a
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 133 
 
 child of Philip and Mary's is to reign ; — 
 these de Bourbons are indeed the sheet- 
 anchor of the exiled Protestants here ; — 
 in truth I know not what to say ! Leave 
 me a while, to think it all over by 
 myself.'* 
 
 Mr. Willoughby motioned his son 
 away, as he spoke ; and Clarence, disre- 
 garding the flight of smooth steps which 
 conducted from the terraced grove where 
 his father was walking, leaped down at 
 once into the wilder part of those natural 
 gardens, where he continued standing, 
 too anxious for movement of any sort, 
 until the voice of his father recalled him. 
 
 The result of Mr. Willoughby's reflec- 
 tions was acquiescence 5 and aware of the 
 necessity as well as propriety of making 
 acquaintance with Clarence's noble pre* 
 server, and of so estimating the serious- 
 ness of his intentions, he declared his 
 purpose of accompanying his son to 
 Nerac. 
 
 Clarence was nearly overcome with
 
 IM ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 glad surprise and gratitude; he kissed 
 his father's hand again and again, but 
 most miraculously checked himself just 
 as he was going to ask whether consent 
 to make a campaign under the Bourbon 
 princes, provided war were declared, was 
 coupled with this permission to visit the 
 camp. Little inclined, however, to dally 
 with good of any kind, the enraptured 
 youth seized the granted boon, venturing 
 to suggest that if his father meant to 
 .show the extent of his gratitude to the 
 preserver of his son's life, they would 
 lose as little time as possible in setting 
 forward for Gascony. 
 
 The suggestion was too just not to 
 operate upon Mr. Willoughby. Having 
 in view, merely the duty of personally 
 acknowledging his great obligation to 
 the Chevalier, and accepting his further 
 kindness of taking Clarence to the camp 
 and adding him to the noble company 
 assembling at Moulins, he required few 
 preparations for his own journey, and
 
 ROCHE BLASrC. 1S5 
 
 not a great many for the longer one des- 
 tined for his son. A tolerably well-filled 
 purse, given to that son, would, Mr. 
 Willoughby knew, supply every defi- 
 ciency. 
 
 While he returned into the house, 
 therefore, to arrange certain matters with 
 his domestics, Clarence sprang over 
 bushes and hanging banks, to get by a 
 shorter road to Roche Blanc. The hap- 
 piness of his young heart was incomplete 
 till he had shared it with Aigline de 
 Venzeles. By the most agreeable chance, 
 he found her alone, and at her needle. 
 With Aigline, Clarence gave uncontrolled 
 way to all those feelings of extravagant 
 expectation, enthusiastic gratitude, and 
 violent prepossession, w hich had Adhemar 
 de Bourbon for their object ; he enjoyed 
 her astonishment, her delight, her sym- 
 patby* Aigline did indeed participate 
 in every one of his hopes ; even in that, 
 which was grounded upon the probable 
 termination of peace. Like bim, as yet
 
 136 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 she knew only " the pomp and circum- 
 stance of war,** in the descriptions of 
 their favorite histories; as yet, she 
 thought only of the exalted virtues which 
 the writers of those histories reported as 
 belonging invariably to the character of a 
 true chevalier, whether friend or enemy. 
 The difference between glory and ob- 
 scurity was, therefore, infinite in her eye ; 
 and of death she dreamt not. 
 
 Does the young heart, indeed, ever 
 think of death as likely to strike the dear 
 object it beholds in strength, beauty, and 
 activity? Does it believe such misery 
 possible, while all its pulses are throbbing 
 with hope and joy? No: — we learn 
 fear, only after we have learned to suffer^ 
 
 Aigline, consequently as gay and glad 
 as Clarence himself, rather stimulated 
 than damped his sanguine spirits. She 
 never looked forward to any thing for 
 herself, beyond the life of Roche Blanc^ 
 and she was satisfied to abide it, so long^ 
 as she .had another heart to feel with, in
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 137 
 
 the breast of her dear Clarence, with 
 which she might go forth into the world 
 of wonders and of enterprize. Enjoying 
 his present rapture, anticipating her own 
 future delight when he should come back 
 and tell her all that he had seen and had 
 felt, — after a long and animated con- 
 versation, she returned his affectionate 
 leave-taking, with the same pure ardour 
 as his own ; and coupling a smile with 
 her parting benediction, saw his volant 
 figure disappear among the trees of 
 L'etoile, without marring her sympathy 
 with his happiness, by a single tear. 
 
 Early the ensuing morning, Mr. Wil- 
 loughby and his son, attended by a 
 couple of servants nearly as well mounted 
 as themselves, set off for Nerac. 
 
 As they rode along, they naturally 
 conversed more upon the object of their 
 journey, than upon the beautiful country 
 over which they were passing. The 
 climate softened into a balminess like 
 the breath of an infant j the mountains
 
 138 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 of Beam sunk, and the plains of Gascony 
 opened before them under a golden sky, 
 almost unnoticed. The father was ab- 
 sorbed in thought and anxiety ; the son 
 was throbbing with liope and expectation. 
 The former was just rousing from a 
 peaceful trance of years, and beginning 
 to look upon the probable period of 
 mental exertion, — perhaps of mental 
 suffering, which was now commencing. 
 Hitherto Mr, Willoughby had contented 
 himself with thinking the stream of 
 events, if he waited patiently for it, 
 would drift him towards certain objects 
 without any peculiar effort of his own I 
 He forgot that every year was hurrying 
 his son on to manhood, and that it would 
 soon become a father's duty, therefore, 
 to rise from the couch of oblivious 
 comfort, and bestir himself for that son's 
 honor and fortune. 
 
 With many a serious consideration of 
 those vital objects, was mixed something 
 of sadness at the prospect of separation
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 139 
 
 from his son. Short as he hoped it would 
 prove, still it was a separation, and it was 
 for the first time ; and, in all probability, 
 it would lead to a much longer. Full of 
 such reflections, he was pensive and ab- 
 stracted 5 while Clarence, who had begun 
 his journey in high spirits, insensibly 
 became silent and thoughtful also ; 
 voluntarily resigning this tempting op- 
 portunity for promoting his other wishes, 
 out of tenderness for his father's evident 
 trouble of spirit. Little did he guess all 
 that .saddened and perplexed that too- 
 timid, too-passive parent ! 
 
 On reaching their place of destination, 
 the travellers had the satisfaction of 
 finding that the Prince de Conde and his 
 nephew were still there. 
 
 Nerac was one of the many delicious 
 residences enjoyed by Anthony of Na- 
 varre in right of his wife, that Jeanne 
 d*Albret, afterwards so illustrious as his 
 widow, and the mother of Henri Quatre. 
 The court being then at Pau, it was at
 
 140 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 this moment appropriated to the use af 
 the Prince de Conde, who was come 
 thither to concert measures with his 
 royal brother in case of a new war with 
 Spain, for the defence of such of his 
 dominions lying between the Garonne 
 and the Pyrenees, as the rapacity of 
 Philip yet left to him. 
 
 In this princely chateau, not only the 
 court of Anthony, but the train of both 
 his brothers might have been accommo- 
 dated with equal splendour and conve- 
 niency ; so that Mr. Willoughby and his 
 son, upon enquiring at the great gates 
 for the Vicomte de Limoges, were not 
 surprised at being directed round to 
 another entrance, to ask there for the 
 apartment of Monsieur le Vicomte. 
 Upon enquiring at this quarter of the 
 palace, they were immediately admitted 
 into a succession of open courts, embel- 
 lished like gardens with stately trees, 
 shrubs, statues, and fountains. These 
 again led to a superb side -entrance,
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 141 
 
 sufficiently noble for the absolute front 
 of a less splendid edifice ; thence into a 
 hall lined with the marbles of Italy, from 
 which ascended a lofty staircase, lost, 
 after its first stage, in a labyrinth of 
 gilded corridors and painted saloons. 
 Every thing within and without pro- 
 claimed the residence of the graceful, 
 but voluptuous Anthony. 
 
 Into one of the smaller saloons, our 
 travellers were conducted by a feathered 
 page, and left to breathe, while their 
 conductor went to announce them to 
 his lord. 
 
 Upon this person'^s departure, Mr. 
 Willoughby walked up to a window, and 
 mechanically fixed his eyes upon the far 
 stretching gardens below ; beautiful in- 
 deed they were, as the fabled ones of 
 Armida. Clarence, meanwhile, gazed 
 round him in unadmiring astonishment ; 
 impressed, nevertheless, with an uneasy 
 sentiment of inequality with the person 
 to whom all this splendor was now ap-
 
 14^ KOCHE BLANC. 
 
 appropriated, atid conscious of a manly 
 preference for the stone, walls and ruder 
 benches of Escalette. 
 
 In these gorgeous chambers, the 
 Chevalier suffered them to wait much 
 longer than either he or they secretly 
 relished^ simply, because the information 
 of their arrival was given bim in presence 
 of some who had been of his hunting 
 party in Beam. 
 
 Conscious to the infirmity of his 
 nature, and jealous of that infirmity 
 being discovered, the Chevalier was so 
 continually upon his guard against this 
 dreaded evil, that he often betrayed him- 
 self by the very excess of afiected indif- 
 ference. As often, did he stifle really 
 good impulses, from the fear that he 
 might be supposed so to court popularity, 
 and silence contemptible derision. 
 
 Such weakness, or rather cowardliness 
 of mind, suited ill with the intrepidity 
 of nerve with which be affronted every 
 species of personal danger. It was the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 143 
 
 very reverse of Clarence Willoughby's 
 characteristic frankness and fearlessness ; 
 and could the latter have discerned it 
 through that mixture of coldness and 
 fire which struck and puzzled and inte- 
 rested him in the Chevalier, he would 
 perhaps have turned back with disdain 
 even on the very threshold of their ac- 
 quaintance. As it was, without giving 
 any particular meaning to the Chevalier's 
 delay, he waited with kindly impatience 
 for his appearance. When the latter did 
 enter, the sun-break look with which Cla- 
 rence hastened to meet him, brought 
 their most interesting expression into the 
 eyes his sought with such intelligible 
 pleasure. 
 
 Adhemar de Bourbon extended his 
 hand to the son, though he merely in- 
 clined his head to the father ^ but as his 
 rapid glance took in the figure and ob- 
 served the returned obiesance of Mr. 
 Willoughby, he saw in a moment that 
 the latter had been used to the ceremo-
 
 144' ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 nials of a court ; as such, his own manner 
 became more princely, and he checked 
 that show of extreme gladness with which 
 he would otherwise have greeted a sim- 
 ple mountain-acquaintance. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby's gratitude for the 
 timely succour of his son in an hour of 
 danger, was more touching than diffuse ; 
 he then acknowledged his sense of the 
 great benefits which must result to that 
 son, from the privilege, which he cour- 
 teously accepted, of visiting the camp and 
 the Chateau de Moulins, in the train of 
 the Bourbon princes. 
 
 Adhemar de Bourbon received this 
 address with a graciousness duly tem- 
 pered with dignity ; avowing the pre- 
 possession he had conceived for his 
 young companion at sight of such gene- 
 rous rashness in one so young ; not daring 
 tc give even its allowable share to that 
 enthusiastic admiration of himself, which 
 bore its full proportion in fixing his 
 fleeting fancy for a stranger.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 145 
 
 Thus, while his animated looks promised 
 and courted future friendship with the 
 son, the Chevalier's lips only echoed the 
 terms o^ favor, prokction, encouragement, 
 ^s they were uttered by the father. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby was not a piercing 
 observer, nor, as has been remarked, a 
 very deep thinker ; but parental anxiety 
 had roused his faculties to their utmost 
 upon this occasion, and helped him to 
 notice the great difference between the 
 language of the Chevalier's countenance 
 and that of his lips. It was a disagree- 
 ment rarely seen in persons of illustrious 
 birth ; by whom peculiar ardour or inte- 
 rest in their mode of address to inferiors, 
 is rather affected when their looks do not 
 express either, than cold reserve when 
 their feelings are really touched. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby having no key to this 
 peculiarity in the Chevalier, hailed it as 
 a certain token of his son's security with 
 him ; as a pledge that de Bourbon meant 
 his actions to outrun his professions. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Having asked a few necessary ques- 
 tions about the distance of the camp, the 
 period fixed on for the marriage of the 
 Comte d'Enghien, Mr. Willoiighby re- 
 spectfully enquired whether he might 
 solicit the honor of a short interview with 
 the Prince de Conde himself^ adding, 
 with a con^.plimentary smile, that he could 
 not trust an only son solely in the hands 
 of a vouno; hero Vfho was known to love 
 glory so passionately as to have stolen it. 
 
 Adliemar de Bourbon's dark com- 
 plexion glovv'ed at this well-timed 
 allusion, and, smiling too, he said with 
 the embarrassment of extreme grati- 
 fication, " But you will be pleased to 
 remember who profited by that mad boy's 
 temerity." 
 
 Remembering, indeed, that both the 
 elder princes had taken advantage of 
 their nephew's theft at Metz, Mr. Wil- 
 loughby bowed, acknowledging that the 
 Bourbon blood did not grow cooler fbr 
 flowing longer in the veins of its iu-
 
 ROGHE BLANC. 147 
 
 hei'itors ; yet still requesting leave to 
 bespeak the Prince d^ Conde*s indul- 
 gence to his feelings as a parent and a 
 man of peace. 
 
 The Chevalier then confessed that he 
 had niade his uncles acquainted both 
 with the circumstances which introduced 
 him. to Clarence, and with his further 
 invitations to him; that as Conde had 
 desired to see this new acquaintance, 
 should he present himself at Nerac, de 
 Bourboii could have no hesitation in 
 sending to ask him to receive Mr. Wil- 
 loughby. 
 
 The favor solicited, was promptly 
 granted. Conde, open as day, and equally 
 conscious of high birth as of high con- 
 sideration, made not a moment's difficulty 
 of admitting a respectable individual; 
 and Mr, Willoughby was quickly con- 
 ducted into his presence. 
 
 No sooner were the Chevalier and 
 Clarence left to themselves, than botii 
 gave way to those feelings peculiar to 
 H 2
 
 148 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 €ach, which a third person's presence had 
 restrained. Clarence was all eagerness 
 to repeat what he had suffered at Esca- 
 lette, when he believed himself misunder- 
 stood by his noble entertainer 5 and the 
 Chevalier was as willing to hear again 
 and again, in the ardent language of truth 
 and inexperience, the enthusiastic admir- 
 ation of his new acquaintance. 
 
 Like the proud beauty who indemnifies 
 by her smiles in private the lover whom 
 in public she outrages by her scorn, 
 Adhemar, flattered and touched by the 
 promptitude with which Clarence had 
 followed him, at once laid aside that air 
 of dignified restraint which he had 
 deemed it proper to wear before Mr. 
 Willoughby, and became all that he was 
 in their confidential rambles among the 
 Pyrenees. 
 
 This seeming, nay indeed actual aban- 
 donment of the heart, eflaced the little 
 that remained of the uneasy impression 
 left by Adhemar's haughty irritability on
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 14.9 
 
 the last morning of their meeting there, 
 and quickened Clarence's longing for 
 permission to attach himself more inti- 
 mately to his fortunes. 
 
 After a short interval, the page who 
 had led Mr. Willoughby into the Prince 
 de Conde's presence, returned to say 
 that the prince requested the Chevalier 
 would meet him in the tennis-court, 
 while the young Englishman went to 
 rejoin his father. Both orders were in- 
 stantly obeyed. The two young men. 
 walked together through a long range of 
 apartments, and a magnificent picture- 
 gallery, when they separated ; " the Che- 
 valier turning down a flight of steps that 
 terminated in an open portico leading 
 into one of the courts, and Clarence fol- 
 lowing his conductor through seemingly- 
 endless saloons and corridors, to the 
 opposite wing of this noble residence. 
 
 As he passed along, under canopies of 
 velvet, among gilded pillars and hangings 
 of silk, (for he was traversing the state 
 H 3
 
 150 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 apartments) he felt with some surprise, 
 liow little such things appeared to strike 
 him. Indeed, could he have had his 
 choice, he would have preferred the 
 warrior-hall of Escalette with its fire of 
 mountain fuel, its homely board, and the 
 joyous party around it, to the very same 
 party in this treasure-house of splendour 
 with all the delicacies of the world before 
 them. 
 
 There was a manly hardihood in Cla* 
 retice's nature, which rejected the gaudy 
 trappings of life: comfort and cleanliness 
 were the only luxuries he asked ; and 
 both were always at the command of 
 him who could find a bath in every run. 
 ning stream., a bed under every leafy tree. 
 
 Upon entering the first room of this 
 wing, Clarence saw his father, walking 
 up and down alone j he was surprised to 
 remark the traces of recent tears upon 
 his cheeks ; and afiectionately grasping 
 his hand, he enquired what had dis- 
 tressed him.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 151 
 
 Mr. Willoughby cleared his counte- 
 nance as he replied, *' Nothing extraor- 
 dinary, my dear boy. I have only been 
 hearing a great many kind and sensible 
 arguments from this really-great prince, 
 in favor of a military life for you ; and I 
 have seen their good sense ; and I have 
 yielded to them." 
 
 " And is this all that has changed 
 your looks, my dear father ?" exclaimed 
 Clarence, his own looks kindhng with 
 inconsiderate joy. 
 
 " A soldier's life has its dangers,'* 
 mildly observed Mr. Willoughby 5 " and 
 do you think your father could well spare 
 you, Clarence, if " 
 
 " Then I give it up !" exclaimed his 
 son, drawing back, yet looking as though 
 he longed to throw^ himself on his father's 
 neck, as much in disappointment as con- 
 trition. Mr. YV'illoughby rallied himself 
 again, saying, with a smile, *« The prince 
 told me, that fond fathers make not 
 heroes 5 and that their sons may be saints, 
 II 4
 
 152 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 but never martyrs: so I am willing to 
 disprove this assertion if I can. I will 
 allow you to be a soldier, Clarence, and 
 you must make yourself a hero.*' 
 
 Clarence's resistance to this indulgent 
 goodness, was at first as strong as vehe^ 
 ment ; for he loved his father, and he 
 began to comprehend the extent of the 
 sacrifice he was demanding of him : but 
 Mr. Willoughby's mind was now made up- 
 to what he believed would prove unavoid- 
 able at last, from his son's character, and 
 the character of the times approaching ; 
 and he therefore quietly overruled the 
 other's hasty resignation of what he 
 most wished : declaring, that he now^ 
 thought the best step he could take would 
 be this, of securing for him the friendly 
 patronage of the Bourbon princes. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby then proceeded more 
 distinctly to state, that the Prince de 
 Conde had engaged to receive Clarence 
 into his own regiment, should war have 
 actually commenced ere their return
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 153 
 
 from Provence, and the young man 
 himself be still desirous of entering the 
 service : and that, in such a case, the 
 prince would himself take care that his 
 nephew's eleve should not be indiscreetly 
 placed in situations of more than ordi- 
 nary risk, before he had learned the duty 
 and the mode of protecting his own, 
 safety. 
 
 •< And now, God bless you, my dear 
 boyl" said Mr. Willoughby, striving at 
 a tone merely affectionate. " You know 
 that your father is not given to lectures ;. 
 so the good principles you have learned 
 already must take care of you in the 
 camp, and at the court : however, I will 
 pray for you now and then at L'etoile^ 
 aud think of you as seldom as possible." 
 This last attempt at a smile v/as on the 
 point of being disgraced by tears ; but 
 not allowing them time to flow% he 
 pressed his son strongly against his hearty 
 and precipitately retired. 
 
 Clarence was astonished at his own 
 H 5
 
 154« ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 passion of grief, the instant the door had 
 closed upon his father. Wliolly van-^ 
 quished by that father's kindness, good- 
 ness, and simplicity of expression, he 
 would have run after hira to express 
 this, to pray him to cherish health and 
 cheerfulness for his son's sake, and to 
 charge him with a message to Aigline, 
 intreating her to supply his place at 
 L'etoile whenever her parents would 
 spare her; but overpowered by the 
 excess and suddenness of his emotion, 
 (so little did Clarence study his own 
 sensibility,) and fearful of being met in 
 such a disordered state by any other 
 person, he gave up the intention, re- 
 maining where he was till his extreme 
 agitation subsided, and the re-appear- 
 ance of the Chevalier called upon him 
 for exertion. 
 
 The Chevalier, who had ordered his 
 people to apprize him when Mr. WiU 
 loughby departed, came for his protoge, 
 whom he now wished to piesent to his
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 155 
 
 uncles. Without appearing to notice 
 Clarence's disorder of feelings, otherwise 
 than by a greater expression of sensibility 
 in liis own fine eyes, Adhemar de Bour- 
 bon led him at once to the tennis court. 
 There, amongst several others just 
 released from the same manly diversion, 
 were the Princes d'Enghlen and Conde, 
 ]]alf' undressed; their heads and throats 
 bare, their whole persons heated with 
 violent exercise, and somewhat soiled by 
 the dust of the court. In the ardor of 
 their game, neither of them attended to 
 their nephew's voice, otherwise than by 
 a hasty nod, till they had played their 
 first set ; after which the youngest of the 
 princes, (that Conde so illustrious then, 
 so much greater afterwards,) came up to 
 the young Englishman in the Dedans, 
 shook him by the hand, said a few ami- 
 able words about his country, his father, 
 and the favor his countenance bespoke 
 for him ; then, without waiting reply, 
 ran back with all the eagerness of a 
 H 6
 
 156 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 schoolboy to resume the spirit of his 
 play. 
 
 While the Chevalier stood looking on 
 with Clarence, explaining to him the 
 nature of the game, and the chances of 
 the players, the latter was considering, 
 with pleased surprise, the youthful 
 manners and appearance of both the 
 princes. Till now, he had falsely doubled 
 the number of their years, by those of 
 their renown ; and he had to learn, 
 therefore, that neither of them were 
 thirty. Conde's vivacious fire of counte* 
 nance, joined to the smallness and 
 remarkable activity of his figure, made 
 him appear full as young as his nephew ; 
 and the Comte d'Enghien, though taller 
 than his brother, was so much slenderer^ 
 and of so smiling an aspect, that he, too,, 
 appeared nearly as young as Adhemar* 
 The trio might, indeed, have passed for 
 brothers: but to Clarence's partial and 
 unpractised eye, it seemed that if Conde 
 had more the look of a Warrior, and
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 157 
 
 d'Enghien that of W7Z homme distingu^, his 
 preserver had the air of the Prince in 
 greater perfection. 
 
 Amongst the groupes in the tennis 
 court, Clarence soon distinguished his 
 different acquaintances of Escalette. At 
 first he was surprised that none of them 
 came forward to notice him ; but a little 
 longer observation of all around, taught 
 him his first lesson in court etiquette. 
 During an instant of solitariness, Beau- 
 revoir came up to express his surprise 
 and pleasure at sight of him, but 
 quenched a mocking smile, und respect- 
 fully fell back, on the return of the 
 Chevalier to his former station. Cla- 
 rence's quick mind perceived immedi- 
 ately what was the usage on such 
 occasions ; and in his turn he profited 
 by it. 
 
 When the princes were thoroughly 
 tired, a racket was put into Clarence's 
 hand, and he was invited, by twenty 
 different voices at once, to take a lesson
 
 15S ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 in the game he professed himself so 
 pleased with. He did not shrink from 
 the challenge ; but no one flattered him 
 except Beaurevoir, who prophesied he 
 would prove a miracle. Clarence's 
 thoughts, in spite of himself, were 
 perpetually following his father, uneasy 
 about his own conduct, suspecting it 
 had been selfish ; and, therefore, though 
 he struck the tennis ball with force, 
 he certainly never did it with precision. 
 Beaurevoir, however, continued lauding 
 his performance to the skies in an under 
 tone; halfichoaking himself and those 
 he muttered to with excessive laughter, 
 while he directed their attention to those 
 coups de 7nditre, as he termed blows 
 which never sent the ball they struck 
 where it ought to have gone to. 
 
 Emboldened by his own successful 
 impertinence, the jester went on so 
 much less cautiously than at first, that 
 he was overheard by Clarence himself. 
 The latter, restrained by the presence
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 159 
 
 they were both in, heard him for some 
 time only with a heightening colour 
 till at length, unable to master his 
 indignation, he turned suddenly round, 
 sa^^ing, ** Monsieur Beaurevoir, I will 
 save you the trouble of trying your 
 experiment further, by telling you, that 
 I can stand mockery exactly as long 
 as you have been trying it on me : — 
 not one instant longer J* 
 
 The stern and steadfast look he gave 
 Beaurevoir as he concluded, might not, 
 perhaps, have had its right effect, had 
 not the Prince de Conde himself, who 
 bad been watching the mettle of the 
 young Englishman with curious interest, 
 called out, in a mixed tone of jocularity 
 and command, •* That ball hit, however ! 
 And now, Beaurevoir, I think you must 
 aicknowledge this gallant boy has made 
 himself free for life of your mischievous 
 wit/* 
 
 Beaurevoir bov>ed ; laughed out a 
 complimeat to Clarence, by way of sub-^
 
 160 ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 stitute for serious apology ; and, com- 
 pletely mortified by the animated bravos 
 of his companions, crowding round the 
 object of his jests, left the court. 
 
 To tennis succeeded fencing, and other 
 playful exercises of the sword and the 
 manege 5 to these, supper in Adhemar 
 de Bourbon's apartments 5 but not to 
 supper, rest. Conde himself, after lightly 
 rallying his brother upon his impatience 
 to be with his affianced bride, suddenly 
 proposed shortening his time of penance^ 
 by setting off for the camp at Avignon 
 that night, instead of going to bed. 
 
 The proposal was rapturously received ; 
 and before Clarence had half recovered 
 from the agreeable hurry of spirits into 
 which the proposal, and its hasty prepar- 
 ation, in consequence, had caused him, 
 he found himself in the company of the 
 princes, on the road to Provence. 
 
 The whole party rode as hard and as 
 desperately through the night, as though 
 their object were to save the state at the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. l6l 
 
 cost of their necks : yet they rode in 
 such tumultuous spirits, that every tra- 
 veller they encountered must have set 
 them down for a set of gallants on their 
 way to a carnival. 
 
 The mad spirits of Conde created an 
 infinity of incidental adventures, as the 
 troop gallopped over ordinary obstacles 
 without heed or precaution ; yet never 
 did he do or say any thing that mis- 
 became his quality, nor ever drew his 
 entertainment from mischief done to 
 others. 
 
 No one was half so frank and gay as 
 this amiable prince ; and not even Beau- 
 revoir himself could excel the piquant 
 railleries of the more elegant d'Enghien. 
 Adhemar de Bourbon evidently enjoyed 
 the vivacity of his uncles, and encouraged 
 the occasional flashes hazarded by Cla- 
 rence : but his spirit was more sedately 
 tempered than theirs 5 and reserving to 
 himself the certain pleasure of predo- 
 minating, in a calmer hour, over their
 
 162 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 ascendant in this, he suffered his young 
 idolator to forget, in giddy merriment, 
 the loftier objects of honour and danger, 
 which occupied him exclusively. 
 
 It must be owned that, during this 
 festive journey, the animated Clarence, 
 to whom every thing was new — every 
 thing delightful, and to whose young 
 spirits air and exercise were at any time 
 sufficient fuel, forgot to grieve about 
 his father : he thought only of what he 
 should have to entertain him with when 
 they should meet again ; and for himself, 
 he believed that after-life could never 
 offer him such another period of enjoy- 
 ment as the present. 
 
 Perhaps Clarence was right. After-life, 
 if it might bestow dehghts of a higher 
 nature, was never likely to give them so 
 unalloyed by regret and apprehension. 
 
 The scenes immediately following this 
 expedition, were still to Clarence like 
 those of some wondrous vision ; such as 
 his heated ima.orination had often fancied.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. l63 
 
 while he lay stretched along the sunny 
 brink of the Gave, resting himself in 
 seeming idleness, after a day's excessiv^e 
 exercise, or a morning of stubborn study. 
 From the sweet groves of dear 
 L'etoile, and the beautiful meadows of 
 Roche Blanc, he was first transported 
 into a princely chateau, stretching its 
 suits of pillared entrances, painted cham- 
 bers, gardens and parks, over such an 
 extent of ground as might have formed 
 tte site of many a village. He was then 
 removed to a camp where war- carriages, 
 war-steeds, and mailed multitudes thron- 
 ged streets of tents, and groves of 
 " serried spears j" where the din of trum- 
 pets, the trampling of horses, the rude 
 revelry or coarser discord of a numerous 
 soldiery, were mixed with the clang of 
 armourers " closing rivets up/* He was 
 thus taken suddenly from the sight of a 
 few dear familiar faces, into a crowd of 
 unknown princes and peers, whose names 
 he had been wont to hear like those of
 
 164» ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 another and a higher world. The stir, 
 the business, the careless good fellowship 
 of all these different individuals, the 
 rousing speculation upon their future 
 movements and future fate which formed 
 their frequent themes of discourse, were 
 too attractive to such a character as that 
 of Clarence, not to fascinate him com- 
 pletely ; \.e came away, after a visit of 
 two days, more passionate in his admir- 
 ation of a soldier's life than ever : he 
 had not staid long enough to see that 
 enchanted mask drop, with which man 
 has contrived to cover the hideous 
 features of war.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. l65 
 
 CHAP. VL 
 
 From Provence a shorter road than that 
 through Beam, led direct to the Bour- 
 bonois. Thither the Prince de Conde 
 repaired for the purpose of superintending 
 preparations for the reception of his 
 brother after his nuptials; while d'En- 
 ghien himself, winged by love and joy, 
 flew to Estonteville to claim his bride, 
 and lead her in triumph from her home 
 to that of his father, the Chateau de 
 Moulins. 
 
 This venerable mansion, long associ- 
 ated in Clarence's mind with memorials 
 of the chivalric ages, was consequently 
 an object of great interest to him. He 
 ran through its tapestried chambers, tra- 
 versed its twilight passages, contemplated 
 its bannered hall, and mused by the side
 
 166 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 of its deep moat, with a feeling nearly 
 amounting to awe. The great and the 
 good, of many a century, seemed then to 
 rise before him ; not only such as had 
 borne the princely name of Bourbon, but 
 all who, in those romantic ages, had, like 
 them, courted danger and achieved gkiiy. 
 
 With the MS. of Godefroi's aaeestor 
 in his memory, Clarence compared its 
 rude paintings with better portraits of 
 the august personages they were intended 
 to represent ; and with the features of tli« 
 Gothic hall itself. It w^as transport to 
 him, to seat himself in the very chair 
 which the good Duke Louis was known 
 to have occupied at the banquet ; — and 
 greater transport, to find that, after some 
 edSbrts, he could warm with his own fire, 
 many of the thoughtless ones wh^o 
 ridiculed such enthusiasm, merely from 
 ignorance of the remote events and chau 
 racters by which it was- excited. 
 
 Tliis^ knowledge of th^ BouiiiG» his- 
 tory, and the vivacity with which' he
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 167 
 
 repeated its most striking passages, to 
 these young men, were additional merits 
 in the eyesof Adhemar; he took pleasure 
 in making him completely master of it : 
 and soon discovering that Clarence was 
 but indifferently acquainted with more 
 important histories, and totally ignoraat 
 of the sciences necessary for perfection 
 in the profession of arms, he made it one 
 of his own amusements to awaken him 
 to the ambition of knowing more. 
 
 Thus, in their sauntering moments, he 
 frequently made allusions to circumstan- 
 ces which his companion was obliged to 
 enquire further about, ere he could enter 
 into the deep sense of the other's dis- 
 course. At first, Clarence put these 
 questions fi'ahkly and frequently ; but he 
 soon grew ashamed of ignorance, coa- 
 scious that it was the consequence of 
 past refractoriness. By degrees then, his 
 questions became fewer ; till at length he 
 listened in total silence. A painful sense 
 of inferiority to the person he was emu»*
 
 168 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 loiis of equalling, caused this sad ab- 
 straction ; and for one whole morning, 
 the sensitive boy shunned every body ; 
 pondering over his own deficiencies; 
 looking till his ''mind's eye" ached, upon 
 the shining acquirements of Adhemar; 
 and thinking whether it were not better 
 to tell that friend at once, what he felt 
 and what he purposed. 
 
 The natural ingenuousness of Cla- 
 rence's character, eventually carried it 
 over pride. He made the full confession 
 of former negligence ; owned his repug- 
 nance to study of every kind; but avowed 
 that he now felt there was a stronger 
 principle in his soul after all, that of 
 determining to be like the person he 
 most admired in the world. After this 
 honest adulation, it is needless to say 
 what were the pains the gratified Che- 
 valier took to smooth the paths of know- 
 ledge to so true an admirer, and by 
 accomplishing him more, to render his 
 mind's homage more distinguishing.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 169 
 
 The visit of the Prince de Conde to 
 the camp at Avignon had been solely to 
 discover the Duke de Guise's plan for 
 the opening war in Italy, and to learn 
 whether there were more laurels likely 
 to be reaped beyond the Alps, than be- 
 yond the Somme. Conde*s military 
 judgment fixed upon the Milanese as 
 the best theatre for successful action ; 
 and Guise had determined upon marching 
 direct to the invasion of Naples. The 
 former, therefore, quickly decided be- 
 tween the army of Picardy and that of 
 Italy ; and, having made his brother and 
 nephew of the same opinion, they were 
 all withdrawn to enjoy themselves at 
 Moulins, until the first blow should be 
 struck on the northern frontier. 
 
 During his first three or four weeks so- 
 journ at this celebrated chateau, previous 
 to the appearance of the bridal train from 
 Estonteville, Clarence had a long period 
 and ample leisure for perfecting his ac- 
 quaintance with the mind and heart of the 
 
 VOL. r. 1
 
 170 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Chevalier. He did not always understand 
 the latter it is true ; but he was rarely 
 displeased wath its incomprehensibility. 
 What was open in Adhemar, seemed 
 admirable in his grateful eyes ; what was 
 shrouded, interesting. The Chevalier, 
 meanwhile, who piqued himself upon 
 managing his own conduct, so as to pre- 
 vent their ordinary associates from 
 thinking that he considered Clarence 
 Willoughby in any other light than that of 
 an amiable elevcy was hourly more gra- 
 tified by the ardor, and sincerity, and 
 freshness of his favourite's feelings. 
 
 With the tact of experienced courtiers, 
 even those gay chevaliers whom Clarence 
 believed as artless and reckless of all, save 
 honor, as himself; even they knew how to 
 bend to his opinion, and to dress them- 
 selves in the glass of their loftier com- 
 panion's humour. Like him, at times 
 they affected to treat the young English- 
 man merely as an amusing creature, 
 jpiqua7it from his ignorance of the world,
 
 ROCHE BLANC. I?! 
 
 and delightful from the amiable absur- 
 dities such ignorance betrayed him into : 
 but, like the Chevalier himself, they saw 
 and felt that Clarence was far more than 
 this; and that, under those wild shoots of 
 uncultured fertility, lay a soil ricli in 
 precious ore, and capable of the noblest 
 harvest. 
 
 Some of these ambitious or covetous 
 courtiers, took aim at the Chevalier's 
 known foible, by seeming to consider his 
 new favorite, merely as a plaything, or a 
 thing protected. Others, less subtle and 
 more anxious to gain their object, con- 
 tinued their court to Bourbon, by paying 
 such attentions to Clarence as marked 
 their belief in his ascendance. Some 
 treated him with impatient jealousy ; 
 others with cold disdain : but the majority 
 let him make his way with them and the 
 princes, as accident or his own merits 
 determined. 
 
 Amongst this unprejudiced, kindly set, 
 Clarence found spirits in a great degree 
 I 2
 
 17^ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 congenial with his own ; and too happy in 
 their society, and that of the Chevalier, to 
 seek out causes for disquiet, only amused 
 himself v.ith the splenetic moods andchil- 
 ling demeanour of the lesser number. His 
 sallies, in return for their bitternesses, were 
 so gay, so unexpected, so entirely free 
 from the slightest particle of ill-humour, 
 that he rarely left his enemies as malig- 
 nant as he found them. The charm of 
 his countenance and voice, had power 
 to lull even envy asleep for awhile; and the 
 remembrance of his first check to wilful 
 impertinence, in the person of Beaurevoir, 
 effectually prevented all who wished to 
 preserve themselves, and the Bourbon 
 fav^our, from risking similar insolence. 
 
 Certainly, there is a compelling power 
 in true dignity of soul, which awes, we 
 know^ not why, bolder spirits differently 
 tempered. The ignoble bravo, who would 
 stand undaunted before the mouth of a 
 cannon, is often seen to quail under the 
 eye of honorable indignation.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 173 
 
 Perhaps at so early an age as his, 
 Clarence owed this moral sceptre, less 
 to the belief in his personal courage, than 
 to the general conviction of his generosity, 
 truth, and forbearance. It was observed 
 that he always discriminated between tlie 
 ebullitions of temper in his companions, 
 and the premeditation of insult ; that he 
 frankly told his intimates whenever he 
 thought them wrong or foolish 5 but that 
 he was never known to discuss their in- 
 discretions, with others. It was granted 
 too, that if he made merry with any one's 
 peculiarities, he never did so unless the 
 persons he rallied were present to join in 
 the laugh. 
 
 It is true, that Clarence could not deny 
 himself the amusement of painting the 
 Baron de Roche Blanc's character one 
 day, when the Prince de Conde asked 
 about him. Yet the ridicule was so ob- 
 viously deserved, and the manner of exer- 
 cising it so purely playful, that not one 
 of the joyous party, whom a description 
 I 3
 
 174 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 of that elderly gentleman's absurdities 
 convulsed with laughter, ever appre- 
 hended a similar exhibition of themselves. 
 In fact, it was only necessary to hear 
 Clarence speak for a few minutes, to be 
 convinced that nothing, except genuine 
 folly and pretension, were the subjects of 
 his sportive archery ; and, consequently, 
 that his spirit of ridicule was widely dif- 
 ferent from that more abundant sort, which 
 mocks the excellence it either cannot com- 
 prehend, or will not imitate. 
 
 By the aid of couriers occasionally 
 going between Moulins and Nerac, 
 Clarence was enabled to hear from, and 
 to write to his father. But, like most 
 animated persons, his letters were little 
 more than vivid sketches of the events 
 passing around him, calculated rather to 
 awaken, than to satisfy, the curiosity of 
 those he wrote to. 
 
 It was sufficient, however, for Mr. Wil- 
 loughby that his son was well, and de- 
 lighted and delighting others, and that as
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 17^ 
 
 yet no chill had happened to his enthu- 
 siasm for the Viconite de Limoges. As for 
 Clarence, every time lie received an affec- 
 tionate packet from L'etoile, he felt so 
 grateful for his father's unreproaching sur- 
 render of his society, tliat he wondered 
 how he himself could continue to accept 
 the sacrifice, ^ut still some new pleasure, 
 or new object of more serious interest, 
 would start up and efface the impression. 
 
 Clarence was, however, conscious of 
 not wasting his time at Moulins : conse- 
 quently, he did not deem himself culpable 
 in wishing to remain there. He was daily 
 taking lessons in all the exercises neces- 
 sary for an accomplished gentleman ; he 
 was acquiring the language, as it may be 
 termed, of that new country, a court; 
 w^here it might some day, perhaps, be his 
 destiny to act a part; and he had already 
 learned to be ambitious of loftier things, 
 which he was trying to compass with the 
 assistance of Adhemar de Bourbon. 
 
 Thus, his days were neither running to 
 I 4
 
 176 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 waste, nor his enjoyment referable to 
 mere pleasure only : a manly sense of 
 there being more to do in the world 
 than to pass through it in hunting mere 
 amusement, was beginning to establish 
 itself in his mind, and to mix with all 
 his musings. He discerned that even under 
 the mirthful madness of the Prince de 
 Conde, such a sense was stationary and 
 evident. Although that patriotic prince 
 went laughing and singing, like him, along 
 the road of youth, he was never seen to 
 withdraw his eye from tlie loadstar of 
 public duty. The news of the Comte 
 d'Enghein's nuptials having taken place, 
 was brought by some avant courier of 
 the king and queen of Navarre, who had 
 graced the ceremony itself, and had to 
 accompany the bridal train to Moulins. 
 The Princess de Conde had arrived only a 
 few hours before, to be in readiness for 
 their reception j and to give the lastgrace- 
 ful touches, a woman's hand only can give, 
 to the embellishments of the chateau.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 177 
 
 Her taste, happily, was of a noble 
 kind : and no scentless wreaths, mock- 
 ing nature' sgarlands, were therefore hung 
 round the short thick pillars of solid stone 
 which supported the hall ; no fantastic 
 devices of Venetian mirrors, bordered 
 with true-lovers knots in goldsmith's work, 
 masked the painted glass of the ancient 
 windows, where saints, heroes, and mon- 
 sters unknown to all but heralds, were 
 seen flaming in deep and gem-like colours. 
 
 The venerable tapestries, banners, and 
 effigies, remained exactly where they 
 had been standing or accumulating for 
 above five hundred years. The Princess of 
 Conde's care was only to see that every 
 thing was in order ; and that an ampler 
 display of family magnificence than or- 
 dinary, was made without blunder by 
 the long retinue of chamberlains and 
 sewers. 
 
 As night drew on, the whole edifice 
 was illuminated ; forming almost an 
 awful object, as it seemed burning on 
 I 5
 
 178 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 the dark blue sky, amid woods of solemn 
 stillness and extent. When the bridal 
 party appeared, escorted by a long reti- 
 nue of gentlemen on horseback, splendid 
 fireworks shot up from the pointed towers 
 and the battlements, to fall down again 
 in showers of light ; cannon were fired, 
 and banners waved. The sides of the 
 moat, and of the draw-bridge, were lined 
 with military in the Bourbon colours, 
 who lowered their arms as the state car- 
 riages passed, and discharged them the 
 moment afterwards. Every part of the 
 ceremonial was in harmony with the 
 antique mansion itself, and with the 
 warlike characters to whom it belonged. 
 In consonance with the fashion of those 
 times, a ball, followed by a banquet, 
 was to take place soon after the arrival of 
 the bride and bridegroom. The family 
 party met first by themselves ; remaining 
 some time together to exchange assu- 
 rances of affection and joy, and to wel- 
 come the new member just added to their
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 179 
 
 house. This heart-felt ceremony over, 
 the doors of the great saloon opened, 
 and two distinct parties entered by sepa- 
 rate entrances at the same moment. 
 
 Taking their course up the room, by 
 different ways j to the right, went the 
 Queen of Navarre, led by her graceful 
 liusband, and followed by their court: 
 to the left, came the interesting Marie 
 d'Estonteville, her brow wreathed with 
 white roses, (herself a white rose,) pro- 
 ceeding with timid step, on the arm 
 of her happy husband, whose bending 
 looks expressed the tender chiding with 
 which he was begging her to raise her 
 beautiful eyes, and efface all but them- 
 selves. 
 
 Clarence had never before seen such a 
 picture as they formed : he looked at 
 them till he saw but those two persons in 
 the whole assembly ; he looked on them 
 till his heart beat with an emotioa he 
 knew not how to understand or to express: 
 it was sympathy with love and happiness ; 
 I 6
 
 180 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 with a happiness he had hitherto never 
 imagined, and a passion he had never felt. 
 By degrees, this disturbance of soul sub- 
 sided ; and he was then able to gaze 
 round, see and admire the brilliant coup 
 d'ml of the company. 
 
 The Princess de Conde, with a train of 
 ladies, equal in splendour and charms to 
 those of the majestic queen, followed the 
 duchess d'Enghien. So many elegantly 
 attired women, Clarence had never seen 
 before ; so many beautiful ones he had 
 never fancied. The lights they were be- 
 held under ; the jewels, the cloths of 
 gold and silver, the transparent tissues 
 they were dressed in, dazzled away criti- 
 cism : all of them were young, sprightly, 
 blooming ; all, therefore, seemed beauti- 
 ful. The harmony of their soft voices 
 too, was absolute music. But soon the 
 louder strains of harp and viol awakened 
 music of another sort, and gave signal 
 for dancing. Then followed the agreea- 
 ble confusion of seeking partners, suing
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 181 
 
 acceptance, conquering basbfulness, sug- 
 gesting new dances, and instructing 
 novices in old ones. 
 
 In this melee of princes, princesses, 
 knights, and beauties, Clarence mingled 
 not. He stood smilingly by, afraid to 
 trust his inexperienced feet among the 
 mazes of so complicated a contrivance as 
 a court dance : contenting himself, there- 
 fore, with admiring its ingenious in- 
 volvements; and delighting his eye with 
 the contrast of delicate and manly grace, 
 as the chevaliers and their fair partners 
 bounded lightly by him. 
 
 A thousand and a thousand times he 
 wished for Aigline, that she might par- 
 ticipate in this softer and more enchant- 
 ing species of pleasure than any he had 
 hitherto tasted. He felt that she would 
 eminently enjoy the refined grace of the 
 dance, and the more touching gratifica- 
 tion of noting the interchange of looks 
 between d'Enghien and his bride, as 
 they lingered near each other while
 
 182 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 continuing the figure with their part- 
 ners. 
 
 In the absence of Aigline, Clarence 
 then sought about for his friend de 
 Bourbon, who had disappeared some time 
 before, and now re-entered. — The spark- 
 ling of his countenance, spoke internal 
 emotion of some pleasurable sort ; but as 
 yet, Clarence had never presumed so 
 far upon his kindness as to question 
 him on his feelings with the intimacy of 
 equal rank and age. He now only ex- 
 pressed his admiration of the beauty and 
 splendour before him, with his usual 
 animation ; avowing his surprise at the 
 varied paradise of the world. 
 
 ** It is prodigal in bright flowers, cer- 
 tainly," returned the Chevalier, glancing 
 for a moment at the lovely faces passing 
 before them ; " but, my dear Willoughby, 
 must I teach you, that the poisonous 
 night-shade bears as beautiful a blossom 
 as the refreshing orange? Do you re- 
 mark that fairy vision yonder, with a
 
 ROCHE BLANC, 183 
 
 complexion of varying and celestial 
 tints like the rainbow-pearl, and with 
 those modestly dropping eye-lids? — she, 
 that is so softly caressing my new aunt? 
 — Would you not take her for innocence 
 and fondness itself? — She has been 
 my uncle Anthony's mistress; and she 
 would willingly supplant, [in my other 
 uncle's heart, the unconscious young 
 creature who has just made him a pre- 
 sent of the noblest inheritance in France. 
 Do not yield to appearances : let the sen- 
 tinel be always on his post here ;" he 
 pointed, smiling, to Clarence's heart. 
 
 Clarence was consternated ; it was 
 impossible for him to doubt a syllable of 
 what Adhemar de Bourbon told him 5 yet 
 how to believe that all the angelic crea- 
 tures he beheld, were only fallen angels! 
 He whispered this contradiction of feel- 
 ings to his friend, who then laughed. 
 
 " I really know no harm of any other 
 woman in this assembly," the Chevalier 
 replied ; " but I can tell you I would
 
 184 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 take none of them on trust ; so I merely 
 warn you to be upon your guard by times; 
 for there have been more men undone by 
 fair faces than either Paris or Rinaldo." 
 
 " But I care nothing for fair faces, 
 except as pretty ornaments in a scene 
 like this/' returned Clarence, withdraw- 
 ing his eyes from the dancers, and redden- 
 ing a little. " Perhaps I ought to be 
 ashamed to own that I would prefer the 
 lines of a gallant army, at this very mo- 
 ment, to all that I see here." 
 
 " Say you so!" exclaimed Adhemar, 
 his eyes lighting up with inexpressi- 
 ble fire ; " then take your choice : here, 
 we are to have novelty for a month, a 
 company of comedians from Paris, an 
 orchestra of musicians from Milan, a 
 set of mummers* from England; a chal- 
 lenged match of all the manly games 
 you have been learning here ; balls, ban- 
 quets, masques, hunting parties, without 
 number;— and, finally, a day of noble 
 * The burlesque Christmas strollers then famous*
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 185 
 
 jousting. Does not such a prospect stir 
 your blood?" 
 
 " It stirs my foolish spirits most as- 
 suredly," returned Clarence smiling. ** 1 
 confess myself a boy still; and so, without 
 caring particularly for any single pair 
 of the bright eyes round us, I will con- 
 fess that I admire them enough, col- 
 lectively, to feel that their gracious 
 looks might inspire me a little, if they 
 were by, and I were qualified to enter 
 the lists with such approved knights as 
 yourself. As it is, I must content myself 
 at this jousting, with being a looker-on 
 
 — like a lady 1" He smiled deridingly 
 at himself, then added with franker fire, 
 ''But by this arm, noble Adhemar, some 
 day or other, I determine to break a lance 
 with the best of you ! " 
 
 "First win your spurs!" exclaimed 
 Adhemar, in a tone, ' which, though 
 smothered, had something strangely rous- 
 ing in it. — " A word in your ear 
 
 — there are some, you know, wha
 
 186 ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 will not sleep in the Bourbonois this 
 night/' 
 
 Clarence's eye-flash gave warning of 
 the question just following, when the Che- 
 valier pressed his arm strongly, in sign 
 of silence, and drew him away. 
 
 Removed to a quarter of the long 
 saloon, most remote from observation, 
 they retired into the recess of a window, 
 and conversed together unnoticed. There 
 Adhemar, after engaging his eager com- 
 panion to secrecy, unfolded to him, that 
 he had received certain intelligence of 
 what the war-council at the Louvre had 
 determined upon : it was to declare war 
 again, by the surprize of one of the frontier 
 towns in the Netherlands j that Coligny, 
 the governor of Picardy, was charged 
 with this enterprize; and that the Con- 
 netable de Montmorenci was appointed 
 to the command of the army, which was 
 immediately to march into Picardy, for 
 the purpose of supporting the governor, 
 and checking the advance of the Spanish
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 187 
 
 forces. The Chevalier added, that he 
 was resolved, therefore, to steal from 
 Moulins that very night, in the expecta- 
 tion of gathering some of the very first 
 laurels of the campaign. 
 
 New tides of blood seemed pouring 
 into Clarence^s veins as he listened : his 
 bright colour went and came, and his 
 respiration shortened. ** Now, then, I 
 claim your early offers !" he exclaimed in 
 a voice that trembled with eagerness,-— 
 <« take me with you!" "What! and 
 leave the masquings, and the love- 
 makings, and the jousting, and the 
 ladies ! " asked the Chevalier with an air 
 magnaminously disdainful of them all, as 
 Clarence thought it at that moment. 
 
 *'A11! all!" reiterated his impatient 
 companion, << only tell me what I am to 
 do — who lam to bid respectful farewell 
 to — and I am ready the next instant." 
 
 " Not a creature," whispered the 
 Chevalier, " we must steal away. — Your 
 servant, and one only of mine — no others.
 
 188 ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 — Is your fellow to be trusted, if he pro- 
 mises discretion for the next half hour ? 
 if he is, I will give him his lesson." 
 
 Clarence pledged himself for the faith- 
 ful Bearnese, who had come with him 
 from lioche Blanc, and the Chevalier re- 
 tired. 
 
 " You must part then now — pass into 
 the garden presently — be near St. Louis's 
 yew-tree, and I will join you in due time. 
 You shall have leisure to take counsel 
 of soberer thoughts ; so 1 commend 
 you to them.'* Adhemar de Bourbon 
 then mingled with the lighter crowd in 
 the saloon, and shortly afterwards ap- 
 peared entirely occupied in making a 
 species of sentimental court to one of the 
 ladies in the train of his new sister. 
 
 From the instant of their separating, 
 Clarence wandered about that dazzling 
 apartment as if he walked in a dream 5 his 
 heart was full of nameless, stirring expec- 
 tation ; his face was bright with them : and 
 if so extraordinary an illumination,without
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 189 
 
 any visible cause, incited the curious or 
 admiring remarks of the fair creatures 
 around, their murmured remarks were 
 lost upon his occupied senses. 
 
 Once or twice he asked mechanically 
 of those who joined him, whether there 
 were any of the illustrious generals pre- 
 sent, whom he longed most especially to 
 see. They were then pointed out to him; 
 but as he wistfully perused their faces, he 
 did so, less from curiosity to know their 
 lineaments, then to read in their coun- 
 tenances the secret of the Chevalier. 
 
 After tedious continuance, the dance 
 ended. The dancers then broke into 
 parties, or sat aloof in couples, evidently 
 willing to prolong the pleasure of belong- 
 ing to each other. Clarence glided from 
 amongst them, into an armory, which 
 formed a sort of closet to the state 
 saloon. 
 
 The single window of this lesser cham- 
 ber was open to admit the air : it looked 
 upon the upper terrace of the garden.
 
 190 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Here the moonlight was sleeping, as we 
 might suppose it slept the first night it 
 shone in Paradise. 
 
 The solemn shades of the high and 
 stately trees at a distance 5 the lighter 
 forms of the nearer shrubs, clustered at 
 intervals, as if to let in the rays of this 
 beautiful moon on the lawny spaces be- 
 tween their groupes ; the sullen murmur 
 either of the water in the moat, or of the 
 sedges growing beside it ; all these ob- 
 jects were calculated to awaken feelings 
 of a very different nature from those in- 
 spired by the ball-room. Even the ar- 
 mory itself, witli its window-frame of 
 carved stone- work, heavy, but of majestic 
 simplicity ; even this silent chamber, 
 crowded with the suits of many a valiant 
 knight, long since pillowed on earth, was 
 pregnant with serious thought. 
 
 As Clarence gazed on the armour of 
 different centuries, glistening in the same 
 silveiy light which trembled over the gar- 
 den, that light which had so often shone on
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 191 
 
 the wearers of this armour in their ladies 
 bower, and on their fields of fame ; his 
 feelings assumed a different character, 
 and giddy eagerness gave way to sober 
 consideration. 
 
 It was impossible to look on those casques 
 and cuirasses, dinted deep with many a 
 heavystroke, some of them showing where 
 the fatal blow had dislodged a soul, and 
 not think of wounds and death. Clarence 
 then sighed at the idea of his father, to 
 whom he was every thing ; but conscious 
 that he had Mr. Willoughby's consent to 
 dare the dangers he was now invited 
 to, he compromised with himself, deter- 
 mining to make up to his father, for the 
 anxiety he might cause him on the score 
 of personal safety, by scurpulously endea- 
 vouring to spare him the sharper pangs of 
 grief and shame at a son's misconduct. 
 
 With this generous resolution Clarence 
 resumed his cheerfulness, and vaulted at 
 once out of the window, down upon the 
 terrace.
 
 192 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 As he passed under the high cypresses 
 which bordered it, he turned his eyes 
 mechanically towards the house. The 
 whole of the side visible to him was 
 brilliantly illuminated : tTie ball-room 
 formed part of this ; and its long range 
 of shrine-like windows being open, gave 
 him a full view of the company within. 
 His own figure was confused with the 
 shadows of the trees. 
 
 Upon a flight of steps leading down from 
 the centre of this room to the terrace, he 
 saw the happy d'Enghien and his bride 
 standing as if to breathe the outward air of 
 that beautiful night, and steal a few mo- 
 ments from wearying pageantry. While she 
 leaned against the ponderous balustrade, 
 d'Enghien was solicitously drawing a 
 silken veil round the slender form of his 
 beloved, to shelter her from the night 
 dew, all balmy as it was ; and she was 
 tenderly regarding him with those dove- 
 like eyes, which had not once been raised 
 in the crowded ball-room.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 193 
 
 How long afterwards did Clarence 
 remember this sight of them ! 
 
 A quarter of an hour did not elapse 
 after he reached the yew-tree, before 
 the Chevalier joined him : his step was 
 hasty — his look animated: "You have 
 not slept and dreamt, I hope, since we 
 parted !'* he said in a tone of gracious 
 raillery. Clarence's glance and blush 
 answered him. The Chevalier went on : 
 — " There is no getting the drawbridge 
 raised again at this time of night without 
 frightening the ladies into fits, and the 
 gallants out of their fool's suits into 
 better harness ; and I want no sharer in 
 my adventure, except yourself." He 
 added hastily, <« Will you swim the moat 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Swim every flood between this and 
 the Netherlands, if you like it 5" Cla- 
 rence answered promptly. 
 
 ** I thought I was sure of you," 
 resumed de Bourbon. " One of my 
 people is over it ere this, to get horses 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 19^ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 for US ; and your rogue must follow his 
 example, if you will really hazard a 
 plunge into that mass of foul water for 
 my sake. The ladies here are to he 
 treated to-morrow with some dainty sport 
 of hunting, or dew-gathering, to medi- 
 cine their fine complexions ; and the 
 gentlemen who have been swearing them- 
 selves their slaves to-night, must keep 
 to their words to-morrow : so you and I, 
 Willoughby, who scorn such gawds, will 
 be on the borders of Picardy before one 
 of them has remembered to ask what 
 has become of us/' 
 
 '** And does no one else know this 
 news ? '' asked our hero. 
 
 <« Not a creature here," repHed Ad- 
 hemar. ** I had a trusty agent in Valois's 
 council on the watch for this moment, so 
 I am sure of my game : for once I will 
 ffet the start of my uncle Gonde, and 
 mar his monopoly of glory.^' 
 
 The Chevalier's eyes sparkled as te 
 spoke, ^ut it was not with such generous
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 195 
 
 fire as -CkrenGe WiJloughby could have 
 wished. He did not understand the 
 desire of keeping even glory to himself — 
 he rather longed to have communicated 
 to aJl the brave spirits within the chateau 
 the intelligence which inflamed him with 
 such ardor, and thus to have ;given each 
 of them a chance of sharing it : but 
 inclined rather to think himself foolish, 
 tii/an tiie person he admired unamiable, 
 he did not utter this vague thought. 
 
 De Bourbon proceeded to state the 
 few arrangements he had made for their 
 provision of horses on the road, and for 
 the more leisurely arrival of their bag- 
 gage afterwards. 
 
 Clarence professed himself satisfied 
 with every thing, and ready to depart on 
 the instant. They then passed swiftly 
 down the sloping garden, through one 
 of those long alleys of tall evergreens 
 wfcich completely screens whatever passes 
 between their leafy wdls: tt^ence de- 
 soettding -several green stages, they 
 K 2
 
 39t> ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 reached the extremity of the house gar- 
 den, (for the principal one extended to 
 a distance on the opposite side of the 
 moat,) and letting themselves out at a 
 private door, they came within call of 
 Clarence's servant. 
 
 Sheltered by the lower wall, which then 
 girdled the castle, the young men silently 
 stripped off their clothes, gave them to 
 the servant to conceal amongst the ivy 
 of the buttresses, and dashed into the 
 water. 
 
 Three or four strokes of such active 
 arms as theirs, were sufficient to carry 
 them across. On the opposite bank, and 
 screened by a clump of dwarf oak, the 
 Chevalier's confidential equerry was wait- 
 ing with the riding suits of each. While 
 they were putting them on, Adhemar de 
 Bourbon said in a low, deliberate voice, 
 *« Had you no fear of a shot being fired 
 after us, while we were swimming that 
 filthy Hellespont ?" 
 
 *< I certainly did expect such a thing,"
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 197 
 
 replied Clarence gaily ; ** and if their 
 muskets had been charged with civet 
 into the bargain, I think we might have 
 pardoned them for sending a shot or two 
 after us. It will cost us a fortune in per- 
 fumery to sweeten our villainous-smelling 
 bodies.*' 
 
 " You really thought we were likely to 
 be fired upon, and yet you never said 
 so !" exclaimed the Chevalier earnestly, 
 disregarding the lighter part of his com- 
 panion's answer. 
 
 " Lf I am to care for the chance of 
 shots, while in your company, noble Ad- 
 hemar," cried Clarence more gaily than 
 before, " I suspect my life will be 
 remarkably pleasant pastime." 
 
 With a vivacity unusual to him, the 
 Chevalier suddenly squeezed Clarence's 
 hand, whispering, <* By heaven, you are 
 of proof steel 1" Then releasing it as 
 suddenly, motioned the way to their 
 horses. 
 
 The guards on the heights of the 
 K 3
 
 19S ROCHE' BliANC. 
 
 chateau liad either drank too many 
 healths at their rejoicing board of that 
 evening, or were so used to conniv e at 
 the escape of their comrades when off 
 duty, and inclined for revelry beyond the 
 moat, that they saw three persons swim 
 across, dress, mount, and gallop off^ 
 without heed or comment. Adhemar 
 vowed that Clarence's foolish squii'e, as 
 he called the honest Bearnese following 
 them, must have made up for his own 
 forgetfulness, and bribed the soldiers into 
 such quiescence ; but upon questioning 
 the man, he became convinced that the 
 latter had been faithful to his promise 
 of acting promptly, and keeping silent. 
 As Clarence vaulted upon the fleet 
 animal provided for him, his head was 
 turning round with the conviction' of 
 being preferred by Adhemar de Bourbon 
 before all the great, and good, and titled, 
 in the mansion behind them. One more 
 experienced might have started at" so 
 fantastic a preference : a coxcomb would
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 199 
 
 have been inflated by it. But Clarence's 
 young, unadulterated, unsuspecting heart, 
 felt only an excess of grateful enthu- 
 siasm for the person who thus distin- 
 guished him; and, determining to deserve 
 his preference, if possible — to devote 
 himself to him even to death, if necessary 
 — he extended his hand without speak- 
 ing. The Chevalier saw his soul in his 
 face ; and, accepting the offered pledge, 
 pressed his hand, saying, as he did so, 
 ** Yes,Willoughby,now we 2ive friends T* 
 At the last emphasized word, Clarence 
 bowed his suffused face, still too gratified, 
 too agitated for speech ; and the Che- 
 valier, setting his horse at full speed, 
 showed him that there was to be no 
 more time given to sentiment. In an- 
 other half hour they were out of sight 
 of the chateau. 
 
 K 4
 
 ^00 ROCHE BLANC* 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 The events of a campaign have little 
 interest for any readers, except such as 
 have borne arms themselves, or are con- 
 nected with those that have. Thus it is 
 not necessary to trace methodically the 
 steps of Clarence Willoughby through 
 the sieges, sorties, and pitched battles, in 
 which it was his fortune to share, and his 
 merit to win commendation. 
 
 By the side of the dauntless and 
 scientific Adhemar, he tried his own 
 metal. The surprise of Douay was the 
 first enterprise undertaken by Coligny. 
 The brilliant success of that enterprise, 
 and the noble conduct of its conqueror 
 to prisoners of every rank — to the 
 wounded, the helpless, the bereaved — 
 happily mingled so much pleasurable
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 201 
 
 admiration with the horror otherwise 
 experienced at sight of extended sufier- 
 ing, that Clarence, after the first painful 
 shock, recovered to consider the career 
 of danger still worthy the election he had 
 made of it. 
 
 This opinion was, perhaps, adopted by 
 him from a motive absolutely the reverse 
 of that high expectation which had ori- 
 ginally conducted him to such a choice^ 
 The campaign was not likely to prove a 
 fortunate one, auspiciously as it had 
 begun. The flower of the French army 
 were in Italy, under the Duke de Guise y 
 and so ably had that haughty minion's 
 party in the cabinet manoeuvred for his 
 glory and the disgrace of the brave and 
 virtuous Coligny, that, after having com- 
 manded the latter to commence the war,, 
 by seizing a key-town of the Netherlands, 
 they delayed from day to day those rein- 
 forcements of men and ammunition, ab- 
 solutely necessary for the continuance of 
 the planned operations. 
 K 5
 
 ^OS ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Thus Philip's general, the Dukier erf" 
 Savoy, had time to assemble a force of 
 sixty thousand experienced soldiers 5 and 
 after insulting every fortified, place he 
 passed on his march, and so attracting 
 Coligny's handful of troops to these 
 menaced points, he suddenly appeared 
 before the walls of St. Quentin. This 
 town, considered the principal gate of 
 Picai'dy, was scandalously destitute of 
 military stores, and deficient in the 
 strength of its garrison : every bold 
 heart and fresh arm was, therefore, of 
 consequence among its small catalogue 
 of defenders. Clai'ence felt, that, by 
 volunteering his services there, he would 
 be preparing to encoimter disappoint- 
 ment and loss, in aid of a man venerated 
 by the virtuous of all opinions for his 
 many virtues, and cruelly betrayed now 
 by base party spirit. That consideration 
 renewed the ardor with which Clarence 
 had come to Picardy, while it ennobled 
 the principle of his ardor.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 203 
 
 Meanwhile, the zeal, and activity, and 
 scientific combinations displayed by the 
 Chevalier de Bourbon, exalted Clarence's 
 enthusiasm for the character of this illus- 
 trious friend, as much as for his military 
 genius. When he saw him day and night 
 on horseback, rejecting rest, neglecting 
 food, disdaining fatigue and danger, and 
 all evidently and avowedly for the sake 
 of promoting the plans of their ill-used 
 chief, and so baffling the designs of 
 Coligny's enemies, Clarence suspected 
 not that Adhemar de Bourbon had the 
 mortification of the Guises more in view 
 than justice done to Coligny. 
 
 But de Bourbon, who had now learned 
 Clarence perfectly, and knew himself still 
 better, was aware of what he must hide 
 if he meant to preserve that devoted 
 attachment unimpaired, which the belief 
 of perfiection in himself had inspired. 
 The Chevalier had one dark cavern 
 in his heart which no one had 
 ever fathomed : yet were there many 
 K 6
 
 204* ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 noble and beauteous chambers in that 
 heart. 
 
 If his manner was reserved, his acts 
 were gracious : he never urged the value 
 of his own services, but when he was 
 soliciting something for another. His 
 personal attention to the comfort and ease 
 of his sick or wounded soldiers, was only 
 equalled by his impenetrable disregard of 
 their murmurs when perfect health ren- 
 dered them competent to their duties. 
 During a siege, he was so strict in the 
 performance of its most revolting duties, 
 that no motive, no appeal to his softer 
 sensibilities, induced him to relax in 
 them ; but the moment the place was 
 surrendered, his sole business seemed to 
 be that of defending it from the outrages 
 of his own troops. In the distribution 
 of plunder, Adhemar de Bourbon never 
 shared : he did not even appropriate it to 
 himself by the popular act of making it 
 over to others. ** My revenue shall 
 never be swelled by such an ignoble
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 205 
 
 source," he one day said to a person 
 who ventured to question him on the 
 reason of his refusal; yet the revenue 
 he had, large as it was, seemed too small 
 for the greatness of his spirit. Instead 
 of such a crowd of gaudy pages and use- 
 less lacqueys as attended the other princes 
 to the army, his train consisted only 
 of soldiers completely armed and well 
 mounted. He maintained two regiments 
 at his own expence ; one of infantry, 
 and another of cavalry ; and with such 
 claims upon his purse, it may be supposed 
 how little he left himself for vanities. 
 
 Clarence saw all this — felt all this ; 
 wondered no longer that the Chevalier 
 de Bourbon's high reputation had raised 
 him nearly to a level with the legitimate 
 princes of that royal house ; and every 
 letter he wrote to L'etoile, was therefore 
 full of his just praises. 
 
 Upon the investment of St. Quentin, 
 (into which Coligny threw himself, rather 
 determining to perish under its ruins.
 
 S06 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 than in the vain hope of maintaining it,) 
 an army, not exceeding in number one 
 third of that of Spain, was collected 
 under the Gonne table de Montmorenci. 
 In this army came the brothers Conde 
 and d'Enghien, whom some disgusts given 
 by the court of Paris, had hitherto kept 
 inactive. The critical situation of Co- 
 Hgny, however, carried it over the pride 
 of blood, and the resentment of slighted 
 services ; and tearing themselves from the 
 tender delights of their separate homes, 
 they flew to the standard of Montmo- 
 renci. ' 
 
 The dreadful battle before St. Quentin, 
 in which the best and bravest of France 
 either perished or fell into the hands of 
 the victors, is w^ell known to history ; 
 the Connetable himself was a prisoner j 
 the Gomte d'Enghien killed. Prodigies 
 of valour were performed in vain by 
 men, whom no foresight, or no honesty 
 in those entrusted with the power, had 
 supplied with proper arms or information.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 207 
 
 Ciarence, therefore, in beholding the face 
 of war for the first time, beheld it frown- 
 ing; and saw only barren laurels attempt- 
 ing to cover its snaky locks. How different 
 was such an object from the charming 
 image pictured by his blinded fancy, and 
 painted by the laughing pencils of his 
 acquaintance at Escalettel It must be 
 confessed that such a sight of his idol 
 stripped it of all its illusions, and that 
 henceforth he began to think less of glory 
 and more of duty. Yet, Clarence, per- 
 sonally as dauntless and enterprizing as 
 the boldest there, gave way to none in 
 promptitude and activity. Too young 
 and inexperienced to hazard modes of 
 distinguishing himself by exploits of un>- 
 certain utility, he attracted, occasionally, 
 tbe notice and px'aise of Coligny himself, 
 by that mixture of frank humility and 
 generous hardihood, with which heavowed 
 himself ignorant of all that related to 
 military action, except determination, 
 willingness, and obedience. The Gheva*.
 
 ^08 KOCHE BLANC. 
 
 lier, in truth, often planned, what, but 
 for Clarence's resolute courage, impene- 
 trable secrecy, and quickness of com- 
 prehension, must have failed in the 
 execution ; yet, Clarence never dreamt 
 that he deserved more praise than the 
 school-boy does, when he repeats faith- 
 fully the lesson set him by his master : 
 and, rather inclined to make himself 
 acquainted with his new profession by 
 practical observation than by studying it 
 in dry treatises, as he thought them, he 
 courted every opportunity of novel and 
 bold action. 
 
 Previous to the battle of St. Quentin, 
 Adhemar de Bourbon and Clarence suc- 
 ceeded in reaching Montmorenci's army, 
 in which Conde was appointed general 
 of cavalry. The regiment of Limoges 
 claimed its colonel, and Clarence Wil- 
 loughby was eager to seek his promised 
 guidon in that of Conde. Their bold 
 truantry from Moulins was soon forgiven 
 by the brother princes j though there
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 209 
 
 were some jealous spirits in their train, 
 who were ready to quarrel with the 
 young adventurer, as they now and then 
 called Willoughby, who had so strangely 
 monopolized the favour of the Chevalier 
 Adhemar. 
 
 In the fatal day of St. Quentin, it was 
 Clarence's fortune to be close to the 
 amiable d'Enghien, when his horse was 
 killed under him. The prince was lead- 
 ing his regiment to the charge, when 
 the creature fell : Clarence instantly re- 
 mounted him, regardless of his own safety: 
 d'Enghien smiled with greater sweet- 
 ness than usual, and galloped forwards 
 Clarence saw him no more in life. Twelve 
 hours after the battle, he beheld those 
 smiUng features fixed in the stillness of 
 death ; as his body was courteously sent 
 in from the camp of the enemy, whither 
 hehad been conveyed, dying, from the field. 
 
 What a sickening recollection of the 
 bridal evening at Moulins, then came 
 over our hero! He saw, again, the
 
 SIQ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 beautiful heiress of Estonteville, regard- 
 ing witli eyes of tender happiness this 
 altered countenance, then animated by 
 life and love ! The picture changed, and 
 he fancied he beheld her over his bien 
 " These are the horrid moments of warl'* 
 exclaimed Clarence, in a low voice, to 
 the Chevalier, as they both turned away 
 from sad contemplation of the fallen 
 warrior. *« One's own fall has nothing 
 so frightful in it ; but that of a friend — 
 a companion — one so great, and so 
 happy lately '* — a heavy sigh finished 
 the imperfect sentence. Adhemar de 
 Bourbon echoed it more heavily — his 
 eyes had been gloomy, though tearless, 
 all the time he stood over the body upon 
 which the affectionate Conde was weep- 
 ing with the violence and sincerity of 
 childhood. They nowjnoistened visibly ; 
 while he said, in a softened tone, *' Yes; 
 my poor uncle was happy ! and yet," 
 be added, after a pause of sterner reflec- 
 tion, "you will hear of his widow marry-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 211 
 
 ing again, doubtless 5 and that right soon. 
 Why should you start, Willoughby? 
 Women are easily persuaded ; and the 
 House of Lorraine will find it good policy 
 to strengthen themselves with her dutchies 
 and baronies/' 
 
 *' Do yoH not think, dear my lord," 
 asked Clarence, anxiously, " that your 
 hereditary hatred of that house, makes 
 you sometimes too hasty in imputing 
 basenesses to them, they perhaps never 
 meditate?" i 
 
 *«^My hatred is not all hereditary," 
 returned de Bourbon, after a long pause: 
 "1 do hate them ; but it is because they 
 have uniformly opposed the one hoarded 
 wish ii>f my soul." 
 
 Clarence would have enquired what 
 that wish was, but the Chevalier abruptly 
 changed the conversation, and talked of 
 S€>me military movement. 
 
 What had passed on this occasion was 
 not, however^ readily forgotten by Cla- 
 rence. He recollected som« hints dropt
 
 ^12 KOCHE BLANC. 
 
 at Moulins by one of the party there, 
 purporting that the Count d'Enghien, in 
 marrying the heiress of Estonteviile, had 
 carried off the object of his nephew's 
 secret wishes. 
 
 Adhemar de Bourbon's manner now 
 seemed to give colour to such a tale. 
 His abrupt departure from Moulins^ 
 almost immediately upon the arrival of 
 the bridal party 5 that mixture in him of 
 morbid remark, with noble action, which 
 was a mystery to the confiding Cla- 
 rence, appeared to justify the idea. Such 
 a secret removed at once every suspicion 
 of natural infirmity in the character, 
 which its admirer would fain have ex- 
 alted into absolute perfection ; and, by 
 making Adhemar's occasional gloom of 
 discourse the consequence of deceived 
 or disappointed affection, rendered that 
 interesting which must otherwise have 
 become displeasing. 
 
 The same circumstance made apology 
 also for that determined reserve upon
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 213 
 
 the closest interests of his heart, which 
 Clarence could not but see the Chevalier 
 still preserved, even to him whom he 
 dignified with the title of friend! Hitherto 
 this reserve had stung him, in despite of 
 himselfj but contented, henceforth, to 
 endure such mortification from one so 
 loved, and now so tenderly compassion- 
 ated, the enthusiastic Clarence determined 
 to win confidence at last by studiously 
 deserving it. And though, perhaps, in- 
 wardly flattered with the idea of conquer- 
 ing that proud grief, which refused itself 
 to every other's seeking, a more generous 
 feeling prompted him ; and the hope of 
 giving to such a nature, the grateful 
 conviction of security in its affection, and 
 sympathy with its wrongs, soon possessed 
 him wholly. 
 
 The capture of St. Quentin itself, with 
 Coligny and his remnant of famished 
 soldiers, followed quickly upon the battle. 
 All Picardy was exposed ; its governor 
 a prisoner ; the shattered army of Mont-
 
 214 ROCHE BliANG. 
 
 morenci withoiut a chief. ThePrineejde 
 Conde, his nephew, and such of the 
 higher noblesse as that disastrous battle 
 had spared, continued vainly disputing 
 every inch of gi'ound with the advanciiag 
 €nemy ; hut it was Hke opposing a ram- 
 part of few, and disjointed materials, to 
 the full flood of ocean. 
 
 Every town between St, Quentin and 
 Paris, had ojiened its gates to tlie con- 
 queror ; and the capital itself must have 
 fallen into his hands, had not the Bourbon 
 Princes displayed talents and energies 
 worthy their illustrious name. Their de- 
 votedness saved the monarchy, butGui«e, 
 summoned from Ituly, hastened to gather 
 the harvest of renown they had sown^ 
 —'he came with an army, swelled by 
 auxiliary troops collected in the different 
 states he marched through ; and with 
 all the power and wealth of the state at 
 his disposal. Under such -circumstances, 
 with his own eourage and skill in addi- 
 tion, assisted by those of Conde, this
 
 ROCHE BlrAKC. S15 
 
 fortunate general, by the bold attack and 
 lucky seizure of Calais, turned the tide 
 of success and opinion. 
 
 Calais was taken in the seveiity of 
 winter ; and, allowing neither himself nor 
 the enemy the usual respite given in that 
 season, he carried the campaign into tlifi 
 following year : adding to his [conquests 
 those of other places in a different quar- 
 ter ; and so opening a direct road to 
 the Flemish possessions of the Spanish 
 monarch. 
 
 Never soared human glory on loftier 
 wing, than did that of Guise, at this 
 period ! The recapture of Calais from 
 tbe Enghsh, after it had been in their 
 hands above two centuries, caused such 
 an intoxication of joy, that, estimating 
 the merit of the exploit xather by their 
 passions tlian their reason, the whole 
 nation united in extolHng its conqueror 
 heyond all the heroes of ancient or 
 modern times. 
 
 The galknt d'Enghien's death, the
 
 £16 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 captivity of the virtuous Coligny, and of 
 the veteran Montmorenci, the matchless 
 services and sacrifices of the princes, 
 were all forgotten in the popular clamour 
 raised in favour of Guise. The insolence 
 of the house of Lorraine increased, in 
 proportion to the exaltation of its chief; 
 and Conde, after having lavished his 
 fortune, and spilt his best blood in sup- 
 port of the great charge bestowed on 
 him by the Connetable, was now refused 
 a confirmation of it by Montmorenci's 
 powerful successor, and proffered one 
 of inferior rank. Even our impetuous 
 hero admired the magnanimity with 
 which this hot-blooded prince triumphed 
 over his indignation, and preferred serv- 
 ing his king and country in a subordinate 
 station, to remaining inactive. 
 
 Mindful of his engagement with Mr. 
 Willoughby, the prince kept his eye 
 upon the conduct of Clarence; though 
 unable, from his situation and duties, to 
 extend his notice much beyond that :
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 217 
 
 and satisfied with the broad outline of 
 generous and intrepid character which 
 he could thus distinctly see there, he left 
 to his nephew the task of perfecting him 
 in the duties of a soldier ; contenting 
 himself with occasionally asking him a 
 kindly question as they encountered on 
 their rounds of duty, or singling him out, 
 when occasion presented, for some act 
 of daring service. 
 
 vStill fighting, and now always victori- 
 ously, the French army were surprised 
 by the arrival of their king. From the 
 moment of his appearance, the command 
 of the Duke de Guise ceased. Alarmed 
 at the growing insolence of the Lorraine 
 faction, Henry suddenly resolved to give 
 it a timely check, by terminating Guise's 
 martial exploits. Overtures of peace had 
 been covertly made to the court of Paris 
 by the emissaries of Philip, whose agents 
 there, knew when to seize the favourable 
 moment for pnshmg their master's inte- 
 rests. This moment had presented itselfl 
 
 VOL, I, L
 
 218 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Guise's brother, the Cardinal de Lorraine, 
 had just offended the king's mistress ; 
 and some indiscreet countenance given 
 by the King and Queen of Navarre to 
 the rehgious meetings of the Hugonots 
 in the capital, had contributed to render 
 Henry eager for the termination of a 
 war, which must prevent him from lower- 
 ing the pride of the one, and chastising 
 what he termed the criminal apostacy of 
 the others. 
 
 With this view, he repaired to the 
 camp of his general, while his rival 
 monarch sought that of the Duke of 
 Savoy. 
 
 Although autumn had scarcely com- 
 menced, orders were issued for the troops 
 to enter into winter cantonments. The 
 result of such an order was easily fore- 
 seen. 
 
 Preliminaries of peace were then ar- 
 ranged at Cambray, and various difficul- 
 ties endeavouring to be smoothed, when 
 the news of the Queen of England's
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 219 
 
 death, authorized France to demand 
 better terms, and obliged the royal 
 widower to grant them. Yet, those terms 
 either were disgraceful to the patriotic 
 and family-feeling of the French monarch, 
 or proved that the Guises continued to 
 dominate over his will, in despite of him- 
 self. Henry consented to restore all his 
 former conquests in Piedmont to the 
 Duke of Savoy ; but made no stipulation 
 for the restitution of Upper Navarre, 
 and those important places in the Low 
 Countries which belonged to his kins- 
 man, Anthony Bourbon, as husband of 
 Jeanne d'Albret, and as Duke de Ven- 
 dome. 
 
 Peace, however, was ardently desired 
 by the French king, and convenient to 
 the Spanish monarch, whom the death 
 of his consort had deprived of Enghsh 
 assistance. A preliminary treaty was 
 signed before the yeai' concluded — the 
 troops disbanded — the officers were re- 
 leased from duty — every one betook 
 L 2
 
 ^20 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 themselves to their own homes, or their 
 own wanderings, as inclination led. The 
 Prince de Conde, and the Vicomte de 
 Liiroges, then hastened to Paris ; while 
 Clarence, willingly promising to return 
 and join his illustrious friend there, 
 whenever Mr. Willoughby would spare 
 him ; and if not there, at Limoges — set ofi 
 with a mixture of eagerness and regret 
 for the peaceful home he had left 
 eighteen months before.
 
 ROCHE BLANC* 221 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 And what had happened at Roche Blanc 
 during these eighteen months ? 
 
 Mr. Willoughby had been supplying 
 the want of his son's society by the fre- 
 quent perusal of that dear son's letters ; 
 and trying to get over the long period of 
 his absence by breaking it into separate 
 parcels. 
 
 Thus, upon the arrival of one courier 
 from the army, he calculated how long 
 it would be ere another could arrive j 
 never permitting himself to imagine that 
 the expected messenger of joy, might 
 prove the messenger of evil. Clarence 
 almost unconsciously made this repose of 
 spirit easy to his naturally placid parent^ 
 never detailing any of the alarming or 
 distressful passages of a soldier's life. He 
 L 3
 
 ^^2 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 wrote of success, or failure, in the gross; 
 always described himself well, and in 
 high spirits ; and repeatedly alluded to 
 the period of his return, as to a certain 
 festival, for which his father and friends 
 must prepare. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby received the flattering 
 picture thus presented to him ; and be- 
 cause Clarence never wrote of being 
 wounded, blessedly believed that neither 
 scar nor bruise had yet blemished the 
 face he loved, or the form he admired. 
 
 In the absence of her early playmate, 
 Aigline de Venzeles religiously obeyed 
 his parting injunction of attending to his 
 father. A sentiment of obligation at first 
 carried her to L'etoile, instead of to her 
 ordinary haunts, whenever she had an 
 hour at her own disposal ; but soon in- 
 clination alone became motive sufficient. 
 As the excessive spirits of girlish years 
 softened, and those ruder pleasures lost 
 their charm, which had only tempted 
 because they ensured her the society of
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 223 
 
 her adventurous companion, the tastes 
 and feeh'ngs natural to her sex and cha- 
 racter developed rapidly. She then felt 
 an attraction to L'etoile, purely attribut- 
 able to Mr. Willoughby himself: and 
 fatigued, as she constantly was, with her 
 step-father's declamations about nothing, 
 and chilled hy her mother's coldness, she 
 sought shelter from both, by the side of 
 unpretending goodness. 
 
 Mr. V/ilioiighby, indeed, was one of those 
 characters, which the Scotch alone knew 
 how to paint by a single phrase — "He was 
 aye kind to beast and body; " and though 
 Aigline, as she frequented his society, 
 did not come away conscious of having 
 acquired much information from his dis- 
 course, nor been thrilled with very acute 
 sympathy; she was always aware of a 
 warmer glow at her heart. Mr. Willoughby 
 never had a habit of giving himself outy 
 as it may be called, to any one ; much 
 less to very young people : — so, in Aig- 
 line's company he spoke one minute, and 
 L 4^
 
 S24 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 mused away the next twenty ; and when 
 he spoke again, would talk of something 
 he fancied agreeable to her, not of the 
 subject nearest his own soul. Yet, with 
 all this, the impression he made was 
 amiable and endearing ; to renew such 
 impressions, was pleasing to Aigline her- 
 self : to visit Mr. Willoughby, was an act 
 of charity to him, and of faithfulness to 
 her absent friend j she therefore dedi- 
 cated nearly all the evenings of the first 
 summer Clarence went, in slowly pacing 
 with him up and down the long avenues 
 of L'etoile. 
 
 As winter approached, and the days 
 shortened, her companionship was neces- 
 sarily transferred to the fire-side': there 
 she used to read to him, or recite the 
 metrical romances taught her by Cla- 
 rence ; or sit at work, amusing him with 
 her innocent and fanciful conversation. 
 Whenever the Baron and Baronne were 
 added to their quiet parties, then Aigline 
 fell back into comparative and contented
 
 ROCHE BLANC, f225 
 
 insignificance ; limiting her employments 
 to making their coffee, replenishing Mr. 
 Willoughby's snuff-box, or singing ballad 
 after ballad at his request, accompanied 
 only by the sighing winds without. 
 
 Among the primitive inhabitants of a 
 village like Roche Blanc, the daily visits 
 of a lovely young creature, growing into 
 won^anhood, to a solitary widower of fifty, 
 appeared the mere act of common kindli- 
 ness. The motives of both were too appa- 
 rent to be mistaken by such as mixed in 
 their society upon equal terms ; and, for 
 the inferior orders, they were so habituated 
 to apply the axiom of *< Kings can do no 
 wrong," to all above them, that had 
 there been any thing really censurable in 
 the familiar intercourse of " the good 
 Seigneur at L'etoile and pretty Ma'mselle 
 at the Chateau," they would have been 
 slow in making the discovery. 
 
 Madame la Baronne, also, had so long 
 accustomed herself to consider this ami- 
 able girl as a child, that she was back- 
 L 5
 
 ^'26 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 ward in finding out that others ceased to 
 think her so. Aigline was yet longer of 
 making the discovery herself. Her mother 
 never encouraged young society at her 
 house, nor by her own conversation ever 
 awakened her daughter to a vague sus- 
 picion that she was either formed to feel, 
 or to inspire, a tenderer sentiment than 
 common good-will. If the Baron, among 
 his random flights of eloquence, some- 
 times talked of la belle passion and his 
 former conquests, she was able, with very 
 little difficulty, to throw all the contempt 
 she wished upon the passion, as he 
 described it : and, whenever assuming 
 his faded suit of past gallantry, he 
 suddenly took the fancy of telling his 
 step-daughter that she was absolutely 
 becoming dangerous to the peace of in- 
 offensive people, and evidently aware of 
 the power bestowed by a pair of fine 
 eyes, his lady frowned him into silence, 
 and awed even Aigline's thoughts into 
 silence, by calling her a child, and
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 2^7 
 
 lavishing the epithets of boldness, impu- 
 dence, indelicacy, upon some blameless 
 remark made by one of Aigline's age, 
 on the forbidden subject of honourable 
 attachment. But aware, at last, that this 
 mode of interdiction must shortly lose its 
 power, in consequence of her daughter's 
 rapitl advance towards perfect youth, she 
 changed her battery ; and assuming an 
 air of yet greater severity, asserted, that 
 elder daughters, when so much older 
 than their brothers and sisters, were born 
 for them ; and that Aigline, she was 
 sure, knew her duty too well, ever to 
 heed such nonsense, or lend an ear to 
 silly love-making; when she must be 
 conscious that it was her duty to remain 
 single, and supply her mother's place to 
 her kind step - father and affectionate 
 brothers and sisters, w^henever it should 
 please Heaven to remove her from the 
 world. 
 
 How often do we see those who insist 
 the most upon the duties of others, the 
 L 6
 
 2S8 HOCHE BLANC* 
 
 least punctual in the discharge of their 
 own! Madame de Roche Blanc for<rot 
 that Aigline had a right to ask, at her 
 hands, a mother's tenderness, a mother's 
 fond anxiety for her individual happiness* 
 She even forgot that Aigline had the 
 further right of enquiring, why she, who 
 was left the inheritress of a sufficient 
 fortune, was not only made to depend 
 upon another for the means of life, but 
 taught to bless the very hand that had 
 reduced her to such dependance. This 
 pitiless mother, who could condemn the 
 Catholic parents that sacrificed their 
 children to the sterile gloom of a cloister 
 for the sake of aggrandizing others, 
 calmly calculated upon tutoring her first- 
 born into the same joyless existence, with 
 the world's cares added to her portion j 
 and that, solely for the sake of a peevish, 
 languishing child. It was Madame la 
 Baronne's secret determination, that 
 Aigline never should marry ; because 
 Aighne w^as essential to her personal
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 22& 
 
 ease and comfort ; and, were her mother 
 to die, would most likely prevent the 
 Baron from marrying again, and placing, 
 perhaps, some hard step-mother over her 
 darling Cecile. To make love ridiculous, 
 therefore, and marriage terrific, was 
 Madame Roche Blanc's unfailing en-^ 
 deavour. 
 
 Those once-venerated names, (now pro- 
 faned by more than this selfish mother,) 
 thus associated with the frippery senti- 
 mentality of the Baron, and the bitter 
 sarcasms of his lady, were rendered 
 almost hateful to Aigliae ; therefore, 
 were never likely to enter her thoughts, 
 whenever any new or familiar object 
 excited a livelier emotion than ordinary. 
 Under all her disgusts, she went to 
 L'etoile, to refresh her heart with Mr. 
 Willoughby'sunceasingkindliness, to talk 
 with him of Clarence ; to laugh with him, 
 or rather for him, over the little amusing 
 anecdotes she gathered to entertain him 
 with through the day j and to snatch an
 
 Q30 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 hour's reading by his fire-side in winter ; 
 or in summer, under his flowering limes. 
 Insensibly, Aigline acquired many new 
 and valuable ideas from these desultory 
 studies 5 and the leisure left her for re- 
 flection by the unsocial habits of her 
 mother, and the vagrant ones of her 
 step-father, expanded her mind rapidly. 
 She began to think much, though vaguely 
 as yet ; for hitherto her sorrow had only 
 been the absence of joy ; not actual 
 spirit-searching affliction. Nature had 
 endowed her with elastic spirits ; so that 
 permission to carry flowers, or fruit, of 
 her own rearing, to Mr. Willoughby's 
 breakfast-table, would at any time make 
 all the remainder of the day a holiday to 
 her : and if, by chance, she was permitted 
 to mingle, as she passed, with the evening- 
 dance of the villagers, or to arrange their 
 feast of the vintage, her innocent mind 
 asked no costlier pleasure. She knew 
 neither the pains nor pleasures of rivalry; 
 nor the flutter of vanity 5 nor the glow of
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 2Sl 
 
 conscious beauty. There were no young 
 people of her own condition to admire, 
 or to envy her ; and all the old, loved 
 her too dearly to think whether she were 
 handsome, or otherwise. Aigline, there- 
 fore, did not know she was handsome ; 
 yet she wanted only to be seen in a wider 
 circle, to be both admired and loved. 
 
 There was a wald and singular grace 
 in her appearance, perhaps more enchant- 
 ing than absolute beauty. Such a youth- 
 fulness of figure and countenance — such 
 a mixture of brightness and bashfulness 
 in her eyes, — that whether they were 
 seen laughing through their sparkling 
 fringes, like dew-drops in the light of 
 morning, — or piercing, like tremulous 
 moon-beams, the deep dark shades those 
 beautiful lashes threw over them, they 
 recalled, alternately, the softness and the 
 vivacity of the gazelle's. The air of her 
 slight figure, too, had something of a 
 deer-like character; and it was impossible 
 to watch her half-eager, half-hesitating
 
 23^ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 step, or see her bright black hair blowing 
 on the winds, as carelessly and abundantly 
 as the foliage of the trees above her head j 
 and not imagine her some sylvan crea- 
 ture, wild as lovely, ready to bound away 
 with the timid animals she resembled, at 
 once their play-fellow and their queen. 
 
 Although Mr. Willoughby, now his 
 son was away, felt that solitude might be 
 an evil, he was little inclined to obtain 
 society, by seeking it, as he was impor- 
 tuned by the Baron to do, daily at Roche 
 Blanc J and yet he was soon unable to 
 do without the frequent sight of Aigline. 
 He liked to see her, because the expres- 
 sions of her face, at times, reminded him 
 of the more vivid countenance from 
 which she had unconsciously caught them: 
 he liked to hear her speak, not only be- 
 cause she talked of Clarence, but because 
 she talked like him. There had always 
 been a striking similarity in the voices of 
 these young people, which, in spite of 
 their very different complexions, often
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 233 
 
 caused them to be mistaken for brother 
 and sister. The voices of each were 
 equally sweet and clear ; but Aigline's 
 softer, lower, and lingering longer on the 
 ear, might not unaptly be compared to 
 a mellowed echo of his. It was not 
 wonderful, therefore, that a fond father 
 should make the sacrifice of indolent 
 habits, to obtain for himself the pleasure 
 of hearing a young creature, that re- 
 minded him in so many ways of his son* 
 To gratify both his home - keeping 
 habits, and his inclination for Aigline's 
 society, Mr. Willoughby had recourse to 
 innocent stratagems : for he never pre- 
 sumed upon the pecuniary obligations of 
 the Baron to him, as a reason for exacting 
 complaisance in return ; and he feared 
 to weary out Aigline's amiable charity, by 
 suffering her to entertain him alone. He 
 therefore invented a variety of little rural 
 festivities, by way of attracting the inhabit- 
 ants of the adjacent chateaux, especially 
 those of RocheBlanc tohis sohtary mansion-
 
 S34 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Thus, after Clarence's absence, I/etoile 
 became what it had never been during 
 his abode in it. There were regu- 
 lar feasts given to the tenantry and 
 neighbours at the hay- making, the 
 sheep -shearing, and the vintage; little 
 dances were made up on the instant, 
 whenever good news came from the 
 army ; and the donor of the entertain- 
 ment always appeared at it for awhile, 
 with the few friends he could assemble 
 round him. 
 
 In the woods of L'etoile it was known 
 that the earliest strawberries, and the 
 latest nuts, were ever to be found ; that 
 the peaches on the south- wall of the old 
 house were always the ruddiest and 
 the richest in the province ; and that 
 Mr. Willoughby's housekeeper made the 
 daintiest compounds of confectionary, 
 and pastry, tasted beyond the buttery of 
 Navarre himself. Thus, there were 
 always such temptations held out to 
 Madame la Baronne for her younger
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 235 
 
 children's enjoyments, and so many hooks 
 of vanity to draw the Baron, who dis- 
 dained not to make the capable even at 
 a rustic fete, that Mr. Willonghby 
 was rarely disappointed in his plan of 
 enticing the family from the chateau in 
 the valley, to that upon the hill : and 
 when he had not such brilliant tempt- 
 ations as these to oflfer them, he could 
 find other companions for Aigline, in the 
 Protestant minister and his wife, whose 
 church they all frequented. The first, 
 was an excellent well-read man ; the 
 latter, an inoffensive little woman, whose 
 sole functions at L'etoile seemed limited 
 to those of sitting at her knitting, 
 looking up, and smiling, when she was 
 spoken to, and answering in monosyl- 
 lables. 
 
 Now and then some stranger, to whom 
 accident introduced Mr. Willoughby, 
 was added to his narrow circle ; but 
 this was an event of rare occurrence ; 
 and, when it did happen, the chances
 
 S36 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 were, that the persons so introduced 
 were only birds of passage, on their way 
 to some other place. 
 
 OldGodefroi, Clarence's early tutor in 
 the fearful art of war, now and then walked 
 from Lourdes, to enquire about his fa- 
 vourite; or to show with affectionate 
 pride, a letter, containing good soldier- 
 like accounts of the campaign 5 or some 
 present from Clarence, in the shape of a 
 trophy won from the enemy, or a hand- 
 some tabatiere purchased out of the spoiL 
 
 Upon these occasions, the old man 
 was always detained for a week; and 
 though he lived in the apartments of the 
 steward, Mr. Willoughby often joined 
 him, when he saw him sunning himself 
 in the cheeriest part of the garden, ta 
 enquire how he was pleased with his 
 entertainment, and to hear him speak of 
 his son. 
 
 Aigline, too, made acquaintance with 
 Godefroi ; and, as she listened to his 
 recapitulation of her friend's boyish ad*
 
 ROCHE BLANC. QSJ 
 
 ventures with real delight, and with 
 smiling attention to those of his own 
 warhke youth, she soon made, what he 
 called, a lodgement in his heart ; and, 
 if she were not at L'etoile when he 
 arrived there, he would be sure to seek her 
 at Roche Blanc with some little offering; 
 such as a straw-hat, or a pair of straw- 
 slippers, of his own manufacture. 
 
 Aigline was now fast approaching the 
 age of seventeen, when the prevailing 
 character of the heart in after-life is so 
 often determined by the first powerful 
 events of that unheeded period. Her 
 heart, deprived of the charming com- 
 panion she had loved as a brother, began 
 to yearn towards her banished sister, 
 and to think of her with uneasy interest. 
 She observed, that her mother made 
 more than her annual visit to Lolotte ; 
 and that, after her return, her looks were- 
 for some ti^ie tinctured with a species 
 of sadness, which gave linusual interest to 
 those looks j tempting Aigline to throw
 
 238 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 herself at her mother's feet, (into her 
 arms she durst not venture,) and enquire 
 her cause of sorrow. But, whenever 
 she was on the point of doing this, the 
 raising of her mother's eyes, and the 
 expression of severe reserve which they 
 assumed upon seeing the tears standing 
 in those of her daughter, w^ould frighten 
 back her sympathy. 
 
 One day, as Aighne sat at work in a 
 window, concealed by the accidental 
 folding of a curtain, the Baron entered ; 
 and not observing her, exclaimed, in his 
 ordinary tone of self - gratulation, *< I 
 have just struck out the happiest thought 
 about our miserable girl i Til send her 
 a voyage. I'll stake my head, — and it 
 is not a bad one, inside oi' outside, I 
 flatter myself — that a sound fright does 
 the business. Once put her in danger 
 of being drowned — " 
 
 " Mercy, Sir ! who are you talking 
 of?" exclaimed Aigline, rising trembling 
 from her seat.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 239 
 
 The Baron was scarlet to his well- 
 paired nails ; and for once was dumb, 
 
 '* Not of you, impertinent ! " inter- 
 rupted his lady, angrily ; " of your sister 
 Lolotte, she is ill : — she grows too 
 fast." 
 
 Madame deKocheBlanc turned away her 
 head. Aigline wistfully regarded her; she 
 thought her mother appeared distressed, 
 and taking alarm at it on her sister's 
 account, she suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! 
 dearest mother, why then is she kept 
 away ? If she were here, I would do every- 
 thing in my power to make her well ; 
 but do not send her upon the fearful sea 
 by herself." 
 
 " The Baron and I surely know what 
 is best for our children," returned 
 Madame de Roche Blane, having re- 
 covered presence of mind; *« and I mest 
 insist that you neither mention this con- 
 versation to other persons, nor allude to 
 it again to ourselves : the subject is 
 unpleasant'*
 
 ^40 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 " And may I not know when my 
 sister gets better?" Aigline tearfully 
 enquired. 
 
 '* I will tell you, when I hear next of 
 her," drily answereU la Baronne. " She 
 is in no danger ; her complaint is only 
 vexatious." Something like a sigh burst 
 out with the last phrase, ungracious as 
 it sounded, and kindless as was the look 
 of Madame de Roche Blanc's otherwise 
 beautiful eyes. Aigline court'sied submis- 
 sively, and went out with a full heart. 
 
 Some weeks afterwards, she was told 
 by her mother that Lolotte was not at 
 all worse ; and, with this scanty inform- 
 ation, Aigline was obliged to be satisfied. 
 For awhile, she thought constantly of 
 this poor neglected sister, who seemed 
 even less considered than herself; and 
 the idea depressed her spirits : but by 
 degrees the poignancy of her pity abated, 
 or rather the image of Lolotte was oftener 
 driven from her mind by objects of im- 
 mediate interest j and she became then
 
 HOCHE BLANC. 241 
 
 then capable of her usual avocations, 
 and competent to visit L'etoile, without 
 carrying to it a darkened countenance 
 which she was forbidden to account for» 
 
 Thus passed the revolving seasons of 
 Clarence Willoughby's absence, till the 
 second winter set in with such severity 
 of cold and storminess of weather, that 
 Mr. Willoughby was threatened with the 
 loss of all society. The Pine forest on 
 the upper stage of the mountain where 
 L'etoile stood, and the crests of the whole 
 chain, were already laden with their 
 heaviest weight of snows : the woods 
 below, long stripped of their autumnal 
 foliage, stood naked and dreary, shiver- 
 ing in the mournful blast ; or vexed and 
 tossed by fiercer ones into actual ruin. 
 
 The steep paths were strewn with the 
 limbs of these majestic trees ; and slippery 
 with the crashing of plashy places but 
 thinly iced over, became as unsafe as 
 unpleasant ; yet, Aigline dared them 
 still : often surprising Mr. Willoughby 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 in the midst of a pensive reverie over 
 his solitary hearth ; and rousing him into 
 pleasure, though her youthful cheeks, 
 stiffened into marble by the cold, refused 
 to dimple with her attempts at salut- 
 ation. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby as often tried to chide 
 her for these cruel proofs of affection : 
 but the moment she recovered the move- 
 ment of her lips, her playful answer, and 
 brightening eyes, would convince him 
 that a toilsome walk was as she said, 
 health and pleasure to her. 
 
 Early in December, Mr. Willoughby 
 was meditating a removal into the com- 
 fortable house of the Hugonot minister 
 in the valley, until the bitter season, so 
 severely felt on the heights, should be 
 past ; when the sound of a well-known 
 voice without, made him hurry into the 
 hall, and advance to the opening door. 
 It was, as he suspected, AigHne, just 
 relinquishing her hold of the servant's 
 arm, who had been her support and pro- 
 18
 
 nOCHE BLANC. 24S 
 
 tection up the steep and lonely paths of 
 the mountain. 
 
 **Aigline, at this hour ! " he exclaimed, 
 with somethingof affectionate displeasure. 
 
 ** Yes, Aigline, in very deed/* she 
 answered, throwing off the heavy cloak 
 which had covered her nymph - like 
 tigure, and discovering a face bright with 
 animation. "O, my dear Sir!" and with- 
 out attempting to finish this address, she 
 caught and kissed Mr. Willoughby's hand. 
 
 ** What have you to tell me, my dear 
 girl ? " asked Mr. Willoughby, recover- 
 ing from his surprise; ** something pleas- 
 ant of my boy, I guess. Come in, and 
 tell me." 
 
 ** I must not stay a moment after I 
 have told you," replied Aigline, gently 
 resisting the hand which would have 
 drawn her through the entrance - hall. 
 **The war is over — you will have Clarence 
 back ; for the Prince de Conde is ex- 
 pected at Nerac almost directly ; and the 
 Queen of England is dead." 
 
 M 2
 
 244f ROCHE ELANCr 
 
 " And who succeeds ? " exclaimed Miv 
 Willoughby, eagerly, seeming to lose 
 every other idea in this. 
 
 ** I am ashamed to say, I thought of 
 nothing but Clarence," returned Aigline, 
 innocently ; and still refusing to go 
 further than the hall, because she had 
 slipped away unknown to any one, she 
 hurried on, imagining when Clarence 
 would arrive, and what he would have 
 to tell them, and w hether he w^ould bring 
 any one with him. 
 
 Mr. Willou'ghby continued holding 
 her hand in his, perfectly unconscious 
 that he did so ; till her attempt to with- 
 draw it, as she said good night, recalled 
 him to recollection. He recovered him- 
 self with a sort of sigh, followed by a 
 smile ; asking her, w^ith more of his usual 
 manner, if she were sure the news w^as 
 true ? 
 
 Her answer put this beyond a doubt. 
 
 Their pastor had just returned from 
 Nerac, whither he had gone to confer
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 245 
 
 with the almoner of the Queen of 
 Navarre, on a subject of common inte- 
 rest to the Protestant inhabitants of 
 .Beam, when an avant-courier of the 
 king's arrived, with information that his 
 royal master was not many leagues be- 
 hind ; and with the public news which 
 Aigline had already related. 
 
 " The good minister," she added, '* had 
 stopped, in his way home, at Chateau 
 Roche Blanc to refresh himself, and en- 
 quire whether the Baron could, con- 
 veniently, send this intelligence up to 
 L'etoile;" but the Baron had set off that 
 morning for Bourdeaux, after the scent 
 of some new speculation, and Madame 
 la Baronne seemed to think that the 
 news of peace might be sent quite as 
 well to Mr. Willoughby in the morning. 
 Aigline, meanwhile, not venturing to 
 urge her suit, lest it should be for- 
 bidden, had stolen out of the room ; 
 sought a hale old man belonging to 
 the garden, who required no entreaty 
 :m 3
 
 246 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 to take care of her through the woods to 
 L'etoile. 
 
 To give pleasure to others, was giving 
 joy to herself; she tlierefore saw nothing 
 wonderful or praiseworthy in putting on 
 her snow sabots, wrapping herself in her 
 cloak of stout Barege, and climbing up 
 the mountain to cheer a father with the 
 prospect of seeing his son. She staid 
 only while her good-natured attendant 
 drank the comfortable cup of spiced wine 
 presented to her ; and immediately after- 
 wards, kissing Mr. Willoughby's hand, 
 fled away, like the bright exhalation 
 which at the same moment, shot from 
 the sky, and disappeared in the Larch 
 w-oods. 
 
 The ensuing morning, the rumour of 
 a peace became universal. Mr. Wil- 
 loughby received the information from 
 twenty diilerent sources at once ; so 
 that Aigline's indiscretion might have 
 remained a secret, had she chosen it. 
 But Aigline could dare the avowal, after
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 24*7 
 
 it was done, of what, undone, she had 
 feared to tell, lest prohibition might have 
 followed. She therefore went at once to 
 her mother, on returning from L'etoile^ 
 and received the ordinary recompense of 
 self-slighting benevolence, in a rebuke 
 of such harshness for officiousness, va- 
 grant inclination, &c. kc. as sent her, 
 drowned in tears, to her bed. 
 
 Tlie next morning, however, brought 
 for Aigline some equivalent for this suf- 
 fering. Mr. Wilioughby summoned all 
 his humble neighbours to a rejoicing- 
 party, in honour of the peace; and hav- 
 ing secured the society of one or two 
 families of a higher order, from a dis^ 
 tance, sent to invite the family at Roche 
 Blanc to give them the meeting, and 
 accept beds at L'etoile. He took care 
 to add, that a set of itinerant Italians, 
 with dancing-dogs, and a Punchinello, 
 had luckily been seen in the road from 
 Bayonne, and were secured for part of 
 the evening's entertainment. 
 31 4<
 
 248 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 This fortunate achievement ensurecl 
 the vote of that important little per- 
 sonage, Cecite, and from the moment- 
 she clamoured to go, Madame de Roche 
 Blanc's consent was certain. 
 
 With such an object as entertainment 
 in view, not one of the dwellers in the 
 retired valley of Roche Blanc, found any 
 difficulty in forcing their way up to the 
 mansion, where it was provided ; though, 
 in truth, the way was not without danger, 
 and every sweeping gust shook snow- 
 showers from the loaded trees : no 
 disaster, however, occurred. Mr. Wil- 
 loughby had contrived to illuminate the 
 most part of his road by huge lanterns, 
 suspended on poles, and by branches of 
 flaming pine well ensconced in the rocky 
 hollows of the cliffs. When his various 
 guests arrived, laid aside their furred 
 coverings, and entered his thoroughly, 
 warmed abode, they forgot fear and 
 fretfulness, in mirth and good humour. 
 
 In the hall, piles of cheerful wood
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^49 
 
 were blazing on the hearth ; whole boughs 
 of glossy evergreens glistening round 
 the walls ; while spiced cups, and bowls 
 of foaming posset, were mixed on the 
 burnished table with refreshments of a 
 more substantial kind. 
 
 Music, dancing, puppets, and games 
 of artless glee, were the amusements 
 provided for Mr. Willoughby's inferior 
 guests ; his superior ones were supposed 
 capable of amusing themselves, or at 
 least of receiving entertainment from 
 seeing so many honest people happy. 
 After witnessing the sports in the hall 
 for awhile, they withdrew to a different 
 quarter of the large old mansion, leaving 
 Aigline, whose office it was to watch the 
 lucky moment of drowsiness in her little 
 sister, and then carry her to bed. 
 
 A delighted child is not so easily tired 
 as the grown person who watches them 
 with the wish of being released, at first 
 imagines likely. Aigline, however, whose 
 tender nature loved every thing it pitied, 
 M 5
 
 QdO ROCME BLANC. 
 
 and who really felt a sisterly affection 
 for her petted and sickly charge, found 
 no tedium in assisting her to reward the 
 poor little dancing-dogs with nice food, 
 or in prompting her in the execution of 
 games above her childish capacity ; but 
 at length, afraid of the bad effect of 
 amusement, protracted so much beyond 
 Cecile's usual hour of rest, she saw, with 
 some satisfaction, that the little girl's 
 eyes were gradually closing. 
 
 As she sat watching her, during a sus- 
 pension of noisy merriment, waiting till 
 the heavy lid should actually seal in sleep, 
 a slight noise at the entrance of the hall 
 made Aigline look up. She saw a person 
 standing, steadily regarding her; his 
 figure wrapt in a large cloak, and his 
 face concealed by the drooping feathers 
 of the Fran9ois cap he wore : he lifted 
 this cap, and raised his smiling face. 
 That hair, and those eyes, were not to 
 be mistaken — it was Clarence ! 
 
 With the joy, the freedom, the fond-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 251 
 
 ness of brother and sister, at the same 
 moment they sprang forward, and met 
 in each other's embrace! More than 
 the usual expressions of delight at meet- 
 ing again, at seeing each other so much 
 grown, yet not altered — not in the least 
 altered (so both asserted), — poured from 
 their lips at once. They did not forget, 
 certainly, that they had an audience ; 
 but neither of them were conscious of a 
 feeling they could have wished con- 
 cealed. Aigline, therefore, resting on 
 Clarence's shoulder, after rising from his 
 breast, continued looking at him with 
 sparkHng and humid eyes, while answer- 
 ing his rapid questions about his father. 
 She then discovered that he had not yet 
 seen Mr. Willoughby, but was come into 
 the hall to give her the pleasure of being 
 his herald. At this intimation, she broke 
 from his clasping hand, and merely allow- 
 ing herself time to catch the words ** Send 
 him to the west room — I will go there," 
 flew out of the hall. 
 
 M 6
 
 Q52, ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 The return of their dear young master 
 was too joyful an event to be kept secret, 
 even for the short space of time which 
 Clarence had the extraordinary precau- 
 tion to think might be necessary. Aigline 
 met Mr. Willoughby hurrying from his 
 company to seek his son : Clarence was, 
 at the same moment, opening the hall- 
 door, to gain the room he had appointed 
 his father to meet him in. Aigline heard 
 his joyful exclamation, and Mr. Wil- 
 loughby's more fluttered one; then ran 
 back to resume her almost forgotten 
 office near the little Cecile. 
 
 Happily for Aigline's conscience, the 
 child was still sound asleep ; and she was 
 removed, therefore, without difficulty, to 
 the distant chamber, where she was to 
 be with her mother. After this duty, 
 her elder sister's task was over. 
 
 Aigline had just got through the 
 
 minute catechizing of Madame de Roche 
 
 Blanc, about what her darling had ate, 
 
 and what abstained from, and whether 
 
 14
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^5S 
 
 she was really asleep, or left to scream 
 herself into fits from fear of being alone, 
 when Mr. Willoughby and his son re- 
 appeared. 
 
 A short interval to themselves had been 
 sufficient for a father and son, who 
 had always lived together in peace and 
 competence, parted in kindness, and met 
 in joy : every one who had shaken 
 liands with the young soldier in the hall, 
 and all who crowded round him now, 
 protested he was not in the least changed. 
 Aigline echoed the remark ; for although 
 Clarence, almost nineteen, was very dif- 
 ferent in stature and manliness of pro- 
 portions, from Clarence at seventeen, his 
 tigure preserved the same character of 
 agile grace which distinguished it in his 
 boyish days, and his countenance was 
 unchanged. 
 
 The campaign certainly had not been 
 fortunate, nor the peace a glorious one ; 
 but his individual career had been ad- 
 mired through it, and his private feelings
 
 Q5h ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 happy: Nothing, therefore, had yet 
 tarnished the lustre of his heart's youth : 
 how, then, could his face have lost even 
 one of its bright beams? 
 
 Diffusing joy, and feeling joy, Clarence 
 gave loose to the delight of seeing him- 
 self at home again. His spirits were 
 heightened by the sight of so many old 
 friends, neighbours, and servants, col- 
 lected together ; by the tenderer plea- 
 sure of finding his father well ; by secret 
 thankfulness that he himself had been 
 spared to give and share such happiness; 
 by the thought of all the interesting 
 things he had to relate; and by the 
 consciousness of being no longer a use- 
 less member of society. Never, in his 
 boyish years, did his spirits rise to such 
 a height of blissful extravagance as now. 
 He refused to separate from the humbler 
 party in the hall, to whom he had first 
 shown himself, and from whom he had 
 first tasted the deliciousness of animated 
 welcome. Several of them had been his
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^05 
 
 companions in many a dangerous moun- 
 tain exploit ; others, had exchanged dry 
 garments for his wet ones, wlien he 
 sheltered with them, during a storm — 
 some had shared their dinner witli him 
 — some had given him up their bed — 
 in short, so many had claims on Clarence's 
 grateful recollection, that he wished to 
 give them the most gratifying proof cf 
 it, by sitting down to supper with them ; 
 and having succeeded in obtaining the 
 sanction of the spiritual teacher himself, 
 he transferred the gentry from the saloon, 
 to the circle of honest rustics and re- 
 spectful serving-men in the hall. 
 
 There, not exactly hke a father amongsrt 
 his children, but with the graciousuess 
 of a kind master, Mr. Willoughby pre- 
 sided at the head of his hospitable board; 
 tempering rude mirth by his presence, 
 and encouraging painful embarrassment 
 by his kindness. 
 
 Clarence, seated beside the dearly- 
 remembered companions of many a
 
 256 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 childish sport or danger, laughed and 
 talked incessantly : seemed to forget 
 battles, marches, honours, defeats; palaces 
 and courts, princes and queens ; in short, 
 every place, except Roche Blanc, and 
 every incident, except such as had hap- 
 pened to him when there. In vain, some 
 of the most inquisitive and ill-judging, 
 would have learned the particulars of a 
 siege, or the ceremonial of a courtly 
 pageant ; Clarence, in the glow of youth's 
 best feelings, would talk only of v>^hat 
 reminded himself and them, that they 
 were the neighbours and friends of ear- 
 liest life. He left the history of his 
 military exploits, and of such scenes as 
 necessarily marked the distinction of his 
 new character, to his grave Bearnese, 
 at the lower end of the table, who was 
 detailing, in humming under-tones, many 
 a wonderful enterprize and august spec- 
 tacle, to his immediate neighbours. 
 
 Only once, during this evening, did 
 Clarence revert to danger past j it was
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 25? 
 
 upon a remark of Aigline's, while de- 
 lightedly re-perusing his face and figure, 
 and whispering her joy that he had never 
 been wounded. 
 
 " Never wounded, Aigline ! " he ex- 
 claimed, turning his face towards her, 
 suffused with conscious desert, and lift- 
 ing for an instant the hair from his fore- 
 head. " I should be ashamed, if I had 
 not twenty such ! '' he added, seeing 
 her shrink at sight of the recent scar 
 thus displayed, yet look with an expres- 
 sion, which proved that some remnant of 
 her girlish enthusiasm for honour, pur- 
 chased at the risk of life, yet remained 
 in her heart. 
 
 "I am a vain coxcomb, Aigline, I 
 confess;" he resumed, actually blushing 
 with shame at the truth he had just 
 spoken. *' If the Chevalier heard me 
 boast thus, how he would disdain me ! — 
 The Chevalier ! — O, Aigline ! when you 
 and I get by ourselves, 1 will make you 
 absolutely in love with my gallant friend.
 
 258 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 If you don't allow that he has actually 
 walked out of one of our favourite books, 
 in short, that he is a downright hero of 
 romance — Til swear, some witch has 
 changed you since I went ; that you are 
 not the Aigline I left at Roche Blanc 
 last May twelve-month ! " 
 
 Aigline was eager enough to defend 
 herself against such a charge ; nay, to 
 disprove it, by placing every sort of 
 enthusiastic admiration at Clarence's 
 disposal, for the rare qualities of his 
 friend. But of Love she spoke not, 
 recked not: she was prepared to think 
 of the Chevalier de Bourbon, as she used 
 to do of the Cid, or the famed Roland j 
 and to lavish upon Clarence himself, the 
 pure, yet livelier fondness of a sister. 
 She was, therefore, happily invulnerable 
 to the dark looks levelled at her, from 
 time to time, by her mother. 
 
 The moody silence of Madame la 
 Baronne at last attracted the attention 
 of Mr. Willoughby, who had hitherto
 
 ROCHE BLANC. Q59 
 
 been regarding the respectful hilarity ot 
 his lowly guests, and the frank gaiety of 
 his son and Aigline, with unreflecting 
 pleasure. Madame de Roche Bhinc's 
 countenance gave him a suspicion of her 
 thoughts ; and, uncertain liimself what 
 ought to be the future destiny of his son, 
 he made an opportunity of breaking up 
 the party, by enquiring if Madame did 
 not feel indisposed. 
 
 Madame de Roche Blanc gladly seized 
 the offered excuse; avowed a racking 
 liead-ache in consequence of the noise 
 and heat of the hall ; and, abruptly rising 
 from table, desired Aigline w^ould accom- 
 pany her to her chamber. 
 
 Every one rose also. Clarence, sorry 
 as he was to see the evening close so 
 soon, was too liappy to be vexed at any 
 thing: Aigline was unconscious of having 
 excited any displeasure. They therefore 
 shook hands, and exchanged congra- 
 tulations at being together again, as 
 frankly as before j while Mr. Willougl)by
 
 SCO ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 desired his tenants and servants to re- 
 seat themselves, and resigning his place 
 to his steward, led Madame de Roche 
 Blanc to the door. Clarence staid a 
 moment behind, to pour out a cnp of 
 wine, and drink it to his father's health, 
 with the joyous and grateful party round 
 the table. Their enthusiastic clamour at 
 that honoured name, agitated him almost 
 to folly as he called it to himself, with- 
 out thinking it so ; and his eyes w^re 
 moist, therefore, when he thanked these 
 good people, and alternately grasped all 
 their rough hands. 
 
 By the time he rejoined his other 
 friends, they were separating for the 
 night. He would have remained behind 
 with his father, but Mr. Willoughby, 
 affectionately pressing his arm as they 
 ascended the staircase, whispered, ** No, 
 no, my dear boy, let us both go to 
 bed, and sleep as soundly as w^e can 
 to-night; to-morrow, if you and I 
 are left to ourselves, w^e must talk of
 
 ROCHE BLANC. S61 
 
 serious matters, and of a voyage to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 Mr, Willoughby had, unawares, ren- 
 dered one part of his injunction impos- 
 sible ; Clarence went to bed, but not to 
 sleep soundly. The w^ords " serious 
 matters, and a voyage to England," 
 vibrated in his ear, awakening that keen 
 curiosity respecting his own prospects 
 and his father's past life, w^hich other in- 
 terests had of late only lulled into a 
 trance. The new connections he had 
 made amongst persons in the highest and 
 most important situations of life, and the 
 new desires such intimacies had given 
 birth to, heightened his impatience to 
 become fully acquainted with all he had 
 to hope or fear from his own fortune. 
 He was at that age, also, when every 
 threatened change, or extraordinary cir- 
 cumstance, is met with a throbbing mix- 
 ture of awe and expectation, precious to 
 natures of an ardent temperament. To 
 them, untried scenes, and unknown feel-
 
 262 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 ings, hold out such temptation as ocean 
 offers to the inexperienced swimmer; who 
 stands irresolutely for awhile on its brink, 
 eyes its majestic waves, and those who 
 proudly breast them, then plunges re- 
 solutely in, to sink or swim, as Heaven 
 and his own strength determine.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 263 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 The guests at L'etoile were all departed 
 the next day, when Mr. Willoughby and 
 his son resumed the conversation with 
 which they had parted the preceding 
 night. Ere the formerbegan his expected 
 communication, he enquired of Clarence 
 every particular of his absence ; espe- 
 cially the characters and conduct of the 
 illustrious persons under whose directions 
 he had been acting : satisfied with all he 
 heard, he then proposed to gratify the 
 impatient curiosity of his son. 
 
 " I am not very like the hero of a ro- 
 mantic story, my dear boy,'* he said, with 
 an embarrassment suited to his natural 
 character ; " nor, at my age, would it be 
 wise in me to dwell on thepoor advantages 
 which I presume helped to make me so
 
 264 ROCHE BLANC> 
 
 formerly : such as I am, or rather, such 
 as I was, I pleased your mother — greatly 
 my superior in rank, though, unhappily for 
 herself, alas! so much my inferior in 
 years, that I ought to have considered 
 her a child, when her artless, too in- 
 genuous" — Mr. Willoughby stopped; his 
 first modest embarrassment increasing 
 to actual painfulness. Clarence looked 
 up, when his father paused ; but after an 
 instantaneous glance at his face, respect- 
 fully withdrew his eyes, and fixed them 
 upon the grounjd. His father, encouraged 
 by the expression of his countenance, 
 resumed in a more disengaged tone : " I 
 have begun my story so ill, that it will be 
 better to recommence it. — '*Well, then, 
 — our family is honorable and ancient, 
 though none of my immediate relations 
 are in the class of nobles. The paternal 
 estate of our house was to devolve, of 
 course, upon a brother elder than myself; 
 and I, as the younger, after the ordinary 
 mode of travelling for improvement, was
 
 ROCHE BLANC. €65 
 
 deemed fortunate in securing a place in 
 the princely establishment of the Lord 
 Montacute. This nobleman, his three 
 brothers, and two sisters, were children 
 of Sir Richard Pole, by Margaret 
 Plantagenet, Countess of Salisbury; 
 consequently they were grand-children to 
 Lionel Duke of Clarence, and the royal 
 blood in their veins entitled them to a 
 princely state in their style of living. The 
 situation 1 obtained under Lord Monta- 
 cute was that of master of his horse, an 
 honorable office, for which the younger 
 sons of noblemen contended. 
 
 *< I was preferred, my friends told me, 
 before other candidates, because I had a 
 tolerable figure, and was thought to look 
 well onhorse-back. Miserable distinctions, 
 my dear son, if their possessor has no 
 better ones! and more miserable the taste, 
 which sought for them only in the man 
 who was to become an inmate under the 
 selector's roof ! 
 
 " Four years passed after my admission 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 ^66 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 into the suite of Lord Montaciite, when 
 his youngest sister returned from France, 
 where she had been learning from infancy 
 those accomplishments thought necessary 
 for persons of her sex and condition. Iir 
 JFrance, she formed a childish attachment 
 to the beautiful Ann Boleyn, then in the 
 train of the Dutchess d'Alen9on ; and 
 this fancy, kept alive by the pretty letters 
 of the unhappy lady, after her return to 
 England, gradually strengthened into 
 friendship, and continued even after she 
 had become the wife of its king. 
 
 " Rosamond de la Pole was barely six- 
 teen, your blameable father seven and 
 twenty, when she took up her abode in her 
 brother's family. Her widowed mother's 
 aversion to the court and the new re- 
 ligion, as the doctrines of Luther and 
 Calvin were then called, kept her remote 
 frotn London : but, although equally 
 hostile to the latter, Lord Montacute 
 thought the family interest required him 
 to cherish the partiality of the queen
 
 ROCHE BLAN-C. 267 
 
 for their young sister, and he, therefore, 
 induced the countess to leave her in his 
 bands. She was, therefore, placed under 
 the eye of his wife, a lady totally in- 
 capable, from indolence and inattention, 
 of so important a charge. 
 
 •* Rosamond had no guide, no friend, 
 except the youthful queen ; and she, alas I 
 had none of the qualities of either cha- 
 racters, except kind intentions. Impru- 
 dent as innocent, she was little likely to 
 counsel discretion, or to awaken in her 
 friend a sense of the danger which may 
 fallow the indulgence even of a virtuous 
 affection: a girl of sixteen, with lively feel- 
 ings, was then left solely to her own in- 
 experienced heart, 
 
 "It was my fate to save Rosamond from 
 iijstant death during a hawking party. 
 The consequences of her fall, for it was an 
 accident on horseback, made her for a 
 long time dependant upon others for as- 
 sistance in. walking, or getting into her 
 coach. From my rank in Lord Mon- 
 N 2
 
 268 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 tacute's service, and my place at his table, 
 I was always the person nearest at hand 
 for such little offices, and they fell, there- 
 fore, to my share 5 — we were thrown 
 too much together — we were left too 
 much together : Lord Montacute had 
 forgotten, that a gentleman of good blood 
 and reputation does not easily see the ac- 
 tual difference between his condition and 
 that of a great nobleman's sister ; but I 
 ought never to have lost sight of it — I 
 was wrong, very, very wrong." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby sighed profoundly as 
 he spoke, without venturing a look at his 
 son : had he done so, too probably he might 
 have read in that son's eyes, that one so 
 fond of noble ancestry, could not think 
 the fault unpardonable which had given 
 him a mother of princely race. — ** Go 
 on, my dear father!" he said, breath- 
 lessly, pressing the hand he had uncon- 
 sciously possessed himself of. 
 
 " I will not indulge myself," Mr. Wil- 
 loughby resu med, <* by describingy our mo-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 269 
 
 ther; suffice it, she would have been charm- 
 ing in my eyes had she been nameless and 
 portionless, and -indifferent to my slender 
 merits ; as it was, every thing conspired 
 against my integrity. She was too young 
 to know that, in this hard world, we must 
 often contend against the blameless parts 
 of our natures ; her's was frank and san- 
 guine, and enthusiastic, like your's, Cla- 
 rence; and if she had wished it, she could 
 not have concealed what was passing in 
 her heart. That transparent countenance ! 
 I looked at it too often, not to know what 
 its brightening changes meant. In short, I 
 became sensible that she preferred me 
 to the many nobles that sought her, and 
 it cost me, therefore, the sharpest 
 struggle I ever had with myselfi to de- 
 termine upon quitting Lord Montacute's 
 service. My father was now d-ead, and 
 my brother in such a languishing state of 
 health tliat I could easily make both cir- 
 cumstances a plea for withdrawing into 
 my native county. Shortly after my re- 
 N 3
 
 ^70 ROCHE BI^INC. 
 
 iTJOval there, I was surprized by receiving 
 an appointment at court, obtained at the 
 queen's suit, without my solicitation or 
 knowledge. With that facile good na- 
 ture, which afterwards became an instru- 
 ment in the hands of her enemies, this 
 indulgent friend lent herself to our loves, 
 voluntarily procuring the situation which 
 was to bring me again within the same 
 sphere as that in which Rosamond 
 moved. 
 
 " I had for a long time embraced the 
 tenets of the Protestant religion, and 
 the queen had the task of her young 
 friend's conversion too much at heart, not 
 to win her to it at last. Unknown to 
 her bigotted family, Rosamond had be- 
 come a Protestant. 
 
 " Our religion the same, our affections 
 the same, my ties to Lord Montacute 
 broken, my station in society elevated 
 both by my place at court and the death 
 of mv brother, the dread of losing Rosa- 
 mond by a threatened marriage, the kind
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 271 
 
 or conscientious persuasions of the queen 
 herself who deprecated the evil of her 
 dear proselyte's union with a Catb.olic, 
 all united to precipitate me into the 
 blameable step of wishing for a private 
 marriage. Rosamond yielded ; and we 
 were married by Cranmer in the presence 
 of the queen, and one other person. 
 Almost immediately after this, tlie storm 
 which had been gathering unsuspected 
 over the thoughtless head of Ann Boleyn, 
 suddenly descended : the King's jealousy 
 burst forth the very morning she had 
 sent in to him a request, praying for my 
 appointment to a distinguished place 
 about his person, with which she hoped 
 to assuage the wounded pride of the de 
 la Poles, when she should undertake the 
 delicate office of reporting our secret 
 marriage. With a heart too prophetic 
 of her own dismal fate, and the ruin of all 
 she favoured ; magnanimously solicitous 
 to save others, the poor queen not merely 
 urged me to fly w^th my terrified Rosa- 
 N 4
 
 272 ROCHE BLANC* 
 
 mond to the continent, but exacted it as a 
 proof of our affection and gratitude : 
 with a heavy heart I obeyed. Her un- 
 happy, unjust sentence, you know. 
 
 *' Your mother and I passed four years 
 upon the continent, wandering from place 
 to place, sojourning nowhere; for although 
 by pledging my land to a kinsman for 
 life, I had obtained a sufficient provision 
 for our handsome support in any country, 
 I was too much afraid of the machinations 
 of my enemies, to remain long enough 
 where they might find and reach me." 
 
 "Yet you settled here?" observed 
 Clarence in a voice of question. 
 
 <« My son — the shaft was then shot." 
 Mr. Willoughby, upon saying this, got up 
 and walked to a window, where he staid 
 till his voice had recovered its ordinary 
 steadiness : he then returned and re- 
 seated himself. 
 
 <* Our first children died in their cra- 
 dles; youwereborn atGeneva. — 1 left my 
 wife there, three months after that event>
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^73 
 
 for the purpose of withdrawing our 
 money and jewels out of a merchant's 
 hands in Holland, with whom 1 had 
 placed them, and who was threatened 
 with failure. The business ended satis- 
 factorily, and I returned to find you, my 
 Clarence; but, your mother " 
 
 «« Was dead, I fear!" said Clarence, 
 willing to finish the sad sentence for him. 
 
 "Not so, alas!'* resumed Mr. Wil- 
 loughby, making an effort to speak dis- 
 tinctly ; '* some of her bigotted and 
 haughty kindred, were upon the watch for 
 a moment like this fatal one. They gained 
 access to her, alarmed her spiritual fears, 
 revived in her the superstition of early 
 years; spoke of Ann Boleyn's bloody end, 
 of our children's deaths, of some most 
 awful events in her own family, as judg- 
 ments of an angry God ; and, finally, 
 wrought upon her strong sensibility so 
 powerfully, that, partly by fear, partly by 
 persuasion, they succeeded in inducing 
 her to make, what she termed in her fare* 
 N 5
 
 •274 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 well letter to me, the voluntary surrender 
 of her happiness in this world, for salva- 
 tion in the next. Separation from her only 
 child, the offspring of a heretic lather^ 
 was deemed part of this bitter sin-ofler- 
 ing; but events have since proved that 
 you were left in your father's hands, only 
 because — no matter why!" Mr. Wil- 
 loughby hastily added, checking himself. 
 " Nay, nay, my father!" said Cla- 
 rence, holding him firmly by the arm, as 
 if afraid he would leave him, " I must im- 
 plore you, since you have thus graciously 
 volunteered to inform me of our family 
 history, to keep nothing back." He paused 
 a minute, then added in a choaking voice, 
 and with a cheek like ashes, "Is my 
 mother living then?" 
 
 Mr.Willoughby shook his head : it was 
 not necessary for him to answer farther. 
 Clarence looked down, and smothered a 
 <;onvulsive sigh. Mr. Willoughby re- 
 turned to his narrative. 
 
 *<WeU, then, the event I allude Id was
 
 ROCHE BLANC. '27.5 
 
 an attempt to steal you away — happily 
 frustrated. Though I could not trace the 
 authors of the attempt, I became per- 
 suaded that it was made by those who 
 feared your interference with their claim 
 on your mother's great fortune hereafter, 
 and it comforted me too by the convic- 
 tion that my poor Rosamond had refused 
 to leave me comfortless ; and that, conse- 
 sequently, her kindred had recourse to 
 this after-stratagem to possess themselves 
 of your person, unknown to her. I will 
 spare you the recital, Clarence, of what I 
 suffered from the cruel, the unexpected 
 blow of my wife's flight. I knew not 
 whither she was gone, or had been taken : 
 I could not seek her in England, for there 
 I was well aware my life would be endan- 
 gered from the suspicions left in the king's 
 mind respecting his unfortunate queen's 
 zeal in my service; and, joyless as my life 
 was then just made to me, for your 
 sake, Clarence, I desired to preserve it." 
 Clarence merely pressed his filher's 
 ]4 6
 
 ^76 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 hand, and looked up at him with eye& 
 flooded almost to overflowing, with tears 
 and gratefulness. Mr. Willougbly went 
 on, more and more oppressed, as was evi- 
 dent from the frequent interruptions of 
 his voice. 
 
 " The only course I could take, was ta 
 seek my Rosamond's best brother, the 
 Cardinal, then resident in Italy. He re- 
 ceived me with the urbanity and good- 
 ness which makes him so beloved by the 
 good of all sects and parties — disavowed 
 all share in the barbarous transaction — " 
 
 « He is dead, my father ! " Clarence 
 exclaimed, shocked the next instant at his- 
 abruptness. Mr. Willoughby changed co- 
 lour, and after a short interval given to re- 
 covering from painful surprise, he enquired 
 how long the Cardinal had been dead. 
 
 " He died on the same day with the 
 Queen of England," answered his son j 
 " when I heard the two pieces of intelli- 
 gence, I little thought how nearly you 
 would be interested in the last.**
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^77 
 
 ^« An excellent man is gone," ob- 
 served Mr. Willoughby, " one, whose 
 candor, benevolence, and charity in its 
 most extended sense, would have honored 
 any creed! I knew him principally by 
 reputation, for his peculiar line of study 
 kept him abroad. When I sought him 
 in my despair, the Cardinal could only 
 bestow compassion upon me : rebuke, he 
 forbore, for he saw I was a self-accusing 
 man. Suffice it, my dear son, none of 
 my efforts were availing to regain my 
 wife y the act of quitting me was in a 
 manner voluntary : she had entered into 
 the bosom of her original church, and 
 under the authority of her brothers, 
 both of whom were intolerant to absolute 
 hatred of any thing Protestant.'* 
 
 ** I thought you mentioned three be- 
 sides the Cardinal," observed Clarence, 
 anxious to elicit any species of inform- 
 ation about his family. 
 
 " There were four originally," replied 
 Mr. Willoughby J <* but death and dis-
 
 ^78 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 honour had made dismal havoc in their 
 house. Lord Montacute accused, and 
 *tis said convicted of treasonable practices 
 against the king, was tried and executed, 
 two years after my flight with his sister. 
 Their mother, accused of similar treason, 
 grounded on her antipathy to Protes- 
 tanism, and her maternal ambition, was 
 foully brought to the block by the same 
 royal murderer. The Cardinal, suspected 
 as the source of these practices, was sen- 
 tenced to exile; while Geoffrey de la Pole, 
 it is believed, preserved his head and his 
 estate by having given private evidence 
 against my former Lord. Arthur and his 
 son are now the sole surviving males of 
 that noble race ; for Geoffrey died dur- 
 ing the brief reign of Edward VI. ; it is 
 their enmity I dread, and the interested 
 hostility of another powerful family. — 
 To return, however, to the point 1 wan- 
 dered from. 
 
 **Such awful events as those I have 
 described, became mighty engines in the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. ^79 
 
 "'hands of Rosamond's spiritual directors, 
 and of her brother Geoffrey, who was 
 .anxious to acquire, by such means, a title 
 to the hand of a lady belonging to the 
 family I allude to. His denunciations and 
 exhortations, agitated, afflicted, terrified 
 her ; and I suppose it was his sophistry 
 made her believe the last act of her short 
 life the only price by wiiich she could pur- 
 chase pardon for the sin of marrying me.** 
 " And what was that act?'* falteringly 
 enquired Clarence, seeing his father stop 
 in extreme anguish of spirit. 
 
 <*I would fain conceal it from you," 
 replied Mr. Willoughby, increasing in 
 disorder. " I scarcely think I meawt to 
 have told you when I begun, but I have 
 gone on unawares to this point, and you 
 
 are so unhappily sensitive to " 
 
 " To what^ dear Sir ?" urged his son. 
 Mr. Willoughby stifled the word dis- 
 honor, and faintly articulated, "To what- 
 ever giv«s your father pain." Then, after 
 a pause, " Rosamond's marriage with
 
 S80 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 me, was privately annulled by the Pope, 
 her family being determined to insist that 
 she was a Catholic at the time of our union ; 
 after this, she was induced, or frightened 
 into — giving her hand to another 5 she 
 married a Dudley." — 
 
 " Married ! " Clarence repeated in as- 
 tonishment, indignation, incredulity. 
 
 " It is too true,*' Mr. Willoughby 
 faintly answered : Clarence was rendered 
 speechless. His father was too familiar 
 with all the changes of that expressive 
 countenance, to be mistaken in the mean- 
 ing of its present variations. He, therefore, 
 hastened to moderate the feelings, which 
 he well knew occasioned them, by saying, 
 ** Recollect your mother*s extreme youth, 
 my son, and the solemn events which her 
 ghostly directors had it in their power to 
 urge upon her distracted soul." 
 
 " I wish to remember nothing, but 
 yourself!" interrupted Clarence, cover- 
 ing his face with his hands in bitterness 
 of spirit.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 281 
 
 " Do not say so, Clarence ;" resumed 
 Mr. Willoughby, yet more mildly, *« a 
 little reflection will make you think 
 as I did, that your poor mother was 
 either \vrought iruto desperate reckless- 
 ness of herself; by the terrifying repre- 
 sentations of priests and fanatics, or 
 benumbed by them into a sort of living 
 death.^' 
 
 " Desgerate recklessness !" repeated 
 Clarence, shuddering, *« my own impulses 
 alarm me now ! dearest father, I fear my 
 character resembles my mother's far 
 more than it does yours ! how I wish it 
 were otherwise V* Clarence fervently 
 seized his father's hand as he spoke ; and 
 Mr. AVil lough by, affected now to tears, 
 or seizing the moment for indulging those 
 excited by long-buried emotions, covered 
 his face with his handkerchief. 
 
 Clarence would have had him defer the 
 conclusion of this distressing conversation 
 till another period, but Mr. Willoughby was 
 anxious to get it over, and, acknowledging
 
 S82 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 relief from these salutary tears, took up 
 his narrative again. — 
 
 " In less than eighteen months from 
 the time your mother was torn from me, 
 she was laid at rest for ever. During that 
 time, she became the wife of Sir Everard 
 Dudley, and the mother of another child : 
 at the age of four and twenty, the grave 
 closed over her — my business in life was 
 then done, at least for many years. Friend- 
 ships that might have been dear, and 
 companionships that might have been 
 pleasing under happier circumstances, 
 were nothing tome after this: I gave them 
 all up — but I had you, my boy, and what 
 could I desire more ? 
 
 ** You must have some recollection of 
 our vagrant mode of wandering from 
 country to country ; for, to own the truth, 
 I was long tormented with the apprehen- 
 sion that you would be stolen from me 
 at last, in despite of my cautious choice of 
 Protestant places to dwell in, where the 
 de la Pole influence could not extend. But
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 283 
 
 they relied on my quiescent character, I 
 presume, and were doubtless so anxious to 
 bury the whol-e affair in oblivion, that they 
 ceased to stir in it. Very, very few per- 
 sons, I believe, either in England or 
 abroad^ knew our history. The current 
 •report was, that I had fled my country in 
 apprehension of being convicted of a 
 criminal attachment to the queen ; and 
 the .de la Poles took pains to keep up 
 the report. After the death of Geoffrey, 
 the one I dreaded most, chance con- 
 •ducted me to Roche Blanc ; Providence, 
 rather let me say, for I have been very 
 happy in it." 
 
 *'Happy! dearfather!" Clarencespoke 
 in a tone of penetrating pity and affec- 
 tion. 
 
 "Yes, Clarence, I have beeja very happy, 
 thank God 1" rejoined Mr. Willoughby, 
 with a clearing countenance; "you 
 know I am not of a nature to nurse sor- 
 row, although I do not greatly affect 
 society ; my only serious care, has been
 
 284) ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 uneasiness to discover, whether I was 
 ^ght or wrong in determining to keep you 
 unacquainted with those agitating particu- 
 lars, unless the events that have happened, 
 should blessedly occur. I mean the death 
 of Queen Mary, and the accession of 
 Elizabeth, which you tell me is certain ; 
 these events make my return to Eng- 
 land safe and expedient/' 
 
 " Pardon me, dearest Sir ("interrupted 
 Clarence, *' I do not see why you should 
 return there. England must be full of 
 miserable recollections to you ; you say 
 that there is nothing there you particu- 
 larly regard, except the mere tombs of 
 what you once loved ! — at Roche Blanc 
 you have living friends at least j you say 
 you have been happy here : why then, 
 should you leave it ?" 
 
 " For your sake, Clarence." 
 ** For mine, my father ! — O, if that is 
 all your motive, give it up at once. I can 
 have no great interest in a country I never 
 saw, and where I have no possession."
 
 ROCHE BLANC, 285 
 
 " But I hope to regain a great deal for 
 you, returned his father. " It was not in 
 my power to sell the right of enjoying our 
 paternal estate for a longer time than 
 that of my own life. My kinsman made 
 the purchase with that knowledge : had 
 my son, after my death, remained in exile, 
 and a Catholic prince still held rule in Eng- 
 land, that relation would most probably 
 have been secured in it for perpetuity ; 
 but it has pleased Heaven to order things 
 otherwise ; and I go.'* 
 
 *« Not to take back this property, in the 
 name of God, dear father !'' interrupted 
 Clarence, breathless with honorable ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 ** Certainly not, Clarence !" replied his 
 father. ** I hope my own conscience 
 would make such a thing impossible if it 
 were otherwise possible ; but it is not so, 
 the property will remain in my cousin's 
 hands, until I die ; all my business now 
 is to substantiate your right to it after I 
 am gone."
 
 QS6 ROCHE BLAWC. 
 
 *' I see not why that is necessary," 
 Clarence said with his usual artlessii-esg^ 
 '*! am your son, nobody will dispute that ; 
 and so if I am to contemplate the sarrow 
 of surviving you, and should ever care 
 to reclaim this property, it is mine of 
 course. But I really think, if this cousin 
 of ours has children, brought up in the 
 expectation of inheriting their father's 
 reputed state, I should never have the 
 heart to take it from them." 
 
 *' JNly generous boy ! my excellent Cla- 
 rence !" exclaimed his father, warmly 
 folding him in his arms, '* how little you 
 still know of the world! we will not 
 argue the point just novv^, it will be time 
 enough to talk to you hereafter of i/our 
 children's rights, and that a bargain 
 thoroughly understood by both parties, 
 and willingly agreed to, is equally obli- 
 gatory upon both, for literal fulfilment. 
 At present, I'll set your mind at ease by 
 telling you my cousin is a bachelor, and 
 not inclined to become otherwise.'*
 
 ROCHE BLANC. '287 
 
 <« Still I ask, dearest Sir, why must you 
 go to England to afflict yourself? shall 
 I go there alone ? — can I act in your 
 stead, if you ^vish any thing done?" 
 
 Mr. Willoughby's face clouded again. 
 ** Clarence, why will you wring out of me, 
 what will pain you ? — Your mother's se- 
 cond marriage, and the gloss her relations 
 gave to certain circumstances, make it 
 possible for persons, whose interest it may 
 be to do so, to question your legitimacy. 
 The fact of her having entered into the 
 communion of my church, at the period 
 of our marriage, they deny; consequently, 
 our marriage ceremony, performed solely 
 by a Protestant divine, is null to Catho- 
 lics. Her fortune going, therefore, to her 
 daughter by a second husband, becomes 
 an object of contention, especially as it 
 has been greatly increased by the magni- 
 ficent legacy of a sponsor. For your mo- 
 ther's fortune, you will perhaps say you 
 care not ; be it so : — but you w^ll observe, 
 that if she and I were not indeed legally
 
 ^88 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 man and wife, you cease to be my natural 
 heir, and you are then left " 
 
 <« Without home, rank, or country 1** 
 interrupted Clarence, starting from his 
 seat, with a face of crimson. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby hastened to allay the 
 acute pain he had unwillingly inflicted, 
 by assuring his son that he had no doubt 
 of establishing the fact of Rosamond's 
 conversion to the same faith with his 
 own, by letters in his possession, from 
 herself and the queen, distinctly stating 
 the fact, and the circumstances of it 5 and 
 by the testimony of the only person who 
 witnessed their marriage, and was still 
 living, and who could at once testify to 
 the marriage and the sacrament having 
 been previously administered under the 
 same form to the bride and bridegroom, 
 as a pledge of their spiritual union. As 
 these circumstances, if proved, must ne- 
 cessarily restore Clarence's natural right 
 to his mother's property, and render his 
 half-sister illegitimate j Mr. Willoughby
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 289 
 
 said he had the powerful family of Dudley 
 to contend with, now more powerful than 
 that of the de la Poles, when he should 
 go to England, and supplicate a hearing 
 from the new queen. The de la Poles, 
 though Catholics, were her near relations, 
 and Clarence had himself informed his 
 father, that one of the Dudleys, the in- 
 sinuating Lord Robert, was already sus- 
 pected to be the person destined to share 
 Elizabeth's throne. Thus success was 
 doubtful 5 Mr. Willoughby was, however, 
 willing to believe that regard for the 
 friends of her unfortunate mother, the 
 justice of the cause itself, and the promis- 
 ing youth of his son, might operate against 
 other influence. ** It was now," he said, 
 '< that the Prince de Conde's friendship 
 might be of essential service, since his 
 protection of the religion for which 
 Elizabeth had endured so much, would 
 authorize him to solicit from that just 
 princess at least a hearing of Mr. Wil- 
 loughby*s claims," 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Clarence now understood that his father 
 had given the prince the heads of his son's 
 rights, when he saw him alone at Nerac, 
 andthatCondehad then expressed himself 
 convinced of them. Mr. Willoughby in- 
 sisted upon this, by way of moderating 
 that apprehension of dishonor, which 
 he feared would take possession of his 
 son's mind. He was agreeably surprised 
 by Clarence's exclaiming, after a long 
 and pondering silence, '^ Well ! I can 
 make up my mind to unjust obloquy ; — 
 this has given me a momentary shock ; 
 but since my mother was virtuous, though 
 imprudent, (afterwards, alas! deplorably 
 blameable) ; I need not blush to ovv'n my- 
 self her son. I am your lawful son, dear 
 Sir, and such I will assert myself, 
 such I will bear myselfi let who will bar 
 my way to my rights. —And now, this 
 sister of mine j am I to think of her as a 
 sister ? Dearest father, how all that you 
 have told me, has confused and con- 
 founded my faculties! It has opened such
 
 KOCHE BLANC. '291 
 
 different prospects to me, from what [ 
 have hitherto been looking at — it has 
 shown me such a strange contradictory 
 view of human nature, that I confess I 
 scarcely feel in my waking senses. I can- 
 not get over the idea of my mother having 
 married a second time, and being now, 
 where I can never hope to learn from her 
 some blessed extenuation!-—! wish — I 
 wish, I had not asked for this part of 
 your history, dear father; for I tliink I 
 shall never again be as happy and 
 thoughtless as I have been." 
 
 Mr. Willoughby, witl) his Iiabitual in- 
 dulgence, said something intended to 
 divert his son's mind from too serious a 
 contemplation of the subjects they had 
 been discussing ; but observing how 
 closely he continued adhering to it, he 
 became strengthened in a foregone pur- 
 pose of not making Clarence the com- 
 panion of his journey to England. 
 
 He dreaded the effect which mortifi- 
 cation respecting his disputed claim to 
 o ^
 
 S92 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 legitimacy, and probably ultimate disap- 
 pointment might have upon him : the 
 fire of his spirit, and the quickness of 
 his sensibility, might involve him in dan- 
 gerous quarrels with those whose policy 
 it might be to render him obnoxious to 
 censure at the court of Elizabeth, and 
 thus frustrate his father's attempt at seek- 
 ing her favor. A premature life of hopes 
 and fears, of worldly calculations, of suing, 
 and conciliating, and forbearing, might, if 
 it did not actually tarnish the integrity of 
 liis character, diminish much of its energy, 
 and take away all its happy confidence 
 in his fate and fellow-creatures. 
 
 So to blight his son's youth, was im- 
 possible to Mr. Willoughby ; and de- 
 termining, therefore, to breast every 
 difficulty alone, this affectionate father, to 
 whom exertion of every kind was disagree- 
 able, voluntarily prepared to encounter 
 a long season of mental harrassment and 
 bodily fatigue,' in the sole desire of spar- 
 ing them to his son.
 
 ROCHE BXANC. 293 
 
 It was in vain that Clarence, through 
 the whole of that day, tried at intervals 
 to resume this part of their conversation, 
 and extort more reasons, than the few 
 his father chose to give, for their medi- 
 tated separation. For once Mr. Wil- 
 loughby was resolute and impenetrable ; 
 and after much consultation and amicable 
 argumentation, it was finally determined 
 that the father and son should set out, in 
 a short time, for whatever place the 
 Prince de Conde was likely to be found 
 at ; there Mr. Willoughby hoped to re- 
 ceive counsel from the prince, and be 
 permitted to leave Clarence under the 
 care of his friend the Chevalier de Bour- 
 bon. This line of conduct once resolved 
 upon, Mr. Willoughby would not per- 
 mit either himself or Clarence to 
 dwell too frequently or too long upon 
 a subject of such painful interest to 
 both ; but called on him the next morn- 
 ing, immediately after their lingering 
 breakfast, to walk over the woods of 
 o 3
 
 *294 ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 L'etoile and look at the improvements he 
 had attempted during his absence. 
 
 At another time it might have been a 
 great effort for one so young and head- 
 long in all his feelings as Clarence, thus 
 to have left the prime subject of his 
 thoughts, for objects comparatively in- 
 significant y but at present he was ready 
 to merge every tiling in the pleasure of 
 being again at home, by the side of that 
 father whom he never dreamed he loved 
 so dearly as he did, until they were se- 
 parated, and his ever-present kindness 
 missed. Rallying his spirits, therefore, 
 and searching out enlivening topics of 
 conversation, he soon succeeded in re- 
 viving the spirit of joy between them. 
 
 From the garden, Clarence descended, 
 with the facility of early habits, those 
 wintiy paths, which even Mr. Wil- 
 loughby but slowly and cautiously com- 
 passed ; and landing his father at the 
 gate of chateau Roche Blanc, by way of 
 resting place, while his walk was ex-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 295 
 
 tended much farther ; he hastened on 
 to make the tour of cabins, and farms, 
 and mountain sheds: to enquire after 
 those that had, and those that had not 
 been at the rural feast at L'etoile ; to 
 kiss children and old women ; shake 
 hands with the young peasants ; and 
 leave tokens of his kindly remembrance 
 in many a grateful house. 
 
 By the time he got back, his father had 
 intentionally smoothed the brow of Ma- 
 dame de Roche Blanc, by mentioning 
 the probability of his son's departure with 
 him for Paris, and possibly for England, 
 in the course of a week. Such a pro- 
 bability rendered any apprehensions 
 about him and Aigline wholly unne- 
 cessary; and willing to conciliate her 
 obliging neighbour before his departure, 
 that she might secure a continuance 
 during his absence of the many agree- 
 able privileges he was in the habit of 
 granting her at L'etoile, she received 
 Clarence with unusual graciousness. 
 o 4
 
 S96 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Disappointed of seeing the master of 
 the chateau, in the fulness of his joy- 
 ful heart Clarence actually lamented 
 the absence of the baron : he would not 
 willingly have spared a single stone or tree 
 from the place ; much less a human 
 being. He could think now of La Marot's 
 absurdities, as mere incitements to mirth, 
 and pardon even his impertinences as en- 
 tertaining traits of character. He talked 
 of him, therefore, with an affectionate- 
 ness which surprised Aigline, who had 
 been accustomed to hear and reprove his 
 frequent complaints of her step-father's 
 wearisomeness and frivolity. But Aigline 
 had never experienced in her own per- 
 son, the endearing effect of separation 
 from e very-day objects. 
 
 Happily for Clarence, he came pro- 
 vided with a bunch of hoarded raisins, 
 which had been pressed on him by a vil- 
 lage dame, and which he now transferred 
 to Cecile. This accidental attention to 
 her favourite, completed the conquest of
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 297 
 
 Madame de Roche Blanc's ill-humour, 
 so that she did not frown, when taking 
 this little girl by the hand, and admiring 
 her curling locks, he invited Aigline to 
 show him some of their old haunts in the 
 garden. 
 
 Enchanted to find herself once more 
 by the early playmate, with whom her 
 taste and feelings always harmonized, 
 and from whom she expected so much to 
 delight and interest her, Aigline obeyed 
 the summons with alacrity ; and although 
 the trees under which they walked were 
 now leafless, and the river which bounded 
 their path no longer murmuring sweet 
 music, these early friends found the 
 garden as charming as ever. 
 
 Clarence talked of the Chevalier de 
 Bourbon, described his person, his man- 
 ners, his pecuHar turn of mind; spoke 
 with enthusiasm of the Prince de Conde j 
 with regret of the interesting d'Enghien: 
 now beguiled Aigline of her tears, now 
 animated her into smiles. Painting, as 
 o 5
 
 ^98 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 he did, ,v^ith a vivid pencil, all the comic 
 and all the tragic scenes he had passed 
 througli since they had parted, all the 
 variety of characters and varied habits of 
 life he had seen or adopted, all the feel- 
 ings those different circumstances had 
 occasioned him ; he proved himself still 
 the same delightful Clarence, whose 
 society used to be her holiday, whose 
 affection her happiness. 
 
 Neither of these friends were inclined 
 to trouble present enjoyments by too 
 anxious a scrutiny of the future: so that 
 when Clarence vv^aved a direct answer to 
 Aigline's question, whether it were 
 really true that he was so soon going 
 away again, she refrained from re-urging 
 it; gladly listening to his pleasurable ac- 
 count of old Godefroi's reception, when 
 he called on the old man in his way 
 through Lourdes. 
 
 So occupied, and so interested, they 
 were not soon weary of their loitering walk 
 about the rambling, leafless garden of the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 299 
 
 chateau ; but Cecile, after exhausting 
 the amusement of arranging and dis- 
 arranging all the flower-pots in the green- 
 house, was not to be coaxed into relishing 
 a cold saunter in the open air. She tor- 
 mented them to go in ; till at length 
 Aigline, accusing Clarence of his old 
 tyranny over her actions, refused to be 
 detained any longer from her duty within 
 doors, and ran away with Cecile. Cla- 
 rence was not long in following. 
 
 Much time w^as not given the inhabi- 
 tants of Roche Blanc for the enjoyment 
 of their young neighbour's return. Mr. 
 Willoughby said little about his early de- 
 parture and probable length of absence ; 
 though he quietly prepared for it : ar- 
 ranging with his steward for the moderate 
 keeping up of L'etoile during his absence, 
 fixing the number of servants that were 
 to be dismissed, w^ith a year's wages to 
 recompence them for the hastiness of 
 their dismissions, and providing for the 
 support of the few aged poor that had 
 o 6
 
 300 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 hitherto been fed from his charitable 
 kitchen. 
 
 Anthony of Navarre, disgusted at the 
 neglect of his interests, shown by the 
 French king in his treaty with Spain, had, 
 indeed, quitted Paris in resentment, and 
 withdrawn to Gascony : thither, however, 
 it was now ascertained by Clarence that 
 neither Conde nor Adhemar de Bourbon 
 were coming. They remained in Paris, 
 to assist at the nuptials of the princesses.^ 
 To the capital, therefore, Clarence and his 
 father purposed proceeding immediately. 
 
 Mr. Willoughby had one strong mo- 
 tive for wishing to depart quickly ; he 
 dreaded the return of the baron from his 
 foolish expedition to Bourdeaux, aware 
 that he would either fasten on him some 
 preposterous commission to be executed 
 with expence or inconvenience in Paris 
 or London j or that he might more se- 
 riously annoy him, by the request of that 
 pecuniary assistance which Mr. Wil- 
 loughby had so often afforded him in?
 
 HOCHE BLANC. 301 
 
 defiance of his better reason; an assistance 
 which now, with so many calls upon his 
 own settled income, he could no longer 
 spare. 
 
 Clarence was, perhaps, as eager to de- 
 part as his father ; although his affec- 
 tionate pleasure in Aigline's society, and 
 the mere joy of being at home, was 
 vivid to a degree which surprized him- 
 self: but the history of his father's youth 
 was too closely connected with his own 
 honour and happiness in after life, and 
 too affecting, as it regarded that dear 
 parent himself, not to occupy a son's 
 thoughts, nearly to the exclusion of every 
 other subject. 
 
 When Clarence thought of his mother, 
 it was less with tenderness, than with a 
 sort of stinging griefi very different from 
 what he wished he could have felt for her 
 memory. In spite of his father's partial 
 mode of describing her, Clarence could 
 not fail to discern, that she had been care- 
 Jess of those inward feelings, beyond the
 
 30^ " ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 modest measure of woman's frankness ; 
 that she had thus tempted Mr. Wil- 
 lougby to love her, and then harassed 
 his Kind, self-sacrificing nature, into com- 
 pliance with her more imperious passions. 
 Fondly attached she must have been, 
 but it was evident that she was selfish. 
 The latest acts of her life proved this. 
 — For had not self been dearer to Mrs. 
 Willoughby than the consideration of 
 her husband's fate, whom she had 
 drawn into error and exile ; if it had not 
 been dearer than the infant to whom she 
 had given birth, would she have left the 
 one to disgrace, and the other to despair, 
 even for the sake of absolution from all 
 her sins? 
 
 Thus argued Clarence, who, brought 
 up in principles which happily make the 
 performance of our duties necessary for 
 salvation — principles, which go to no 
 human oracle for their rule of action, 
 could not sufficiently enter into the feel- 
 ings of a being differently instructed.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 308 
 
 ^vhose religion taught her, in this instance, 
 that the more suffering she inflicted upon 
 the objects of her supposed guilty idolatry, 
 the more perfect would be her expiation. 
 
 Clarence had no recollection of his 
 mother, to counterbalance the lively 
 gratitude and poignant pity with which 
 he considered his deserted father ; bit- 
 terness, therefore, in such an ardent heart 
 as his, was more likely to be the fruit of 
 his musings about the parent that had left 
 him in his cradle, than any softer senti- 
 ment. That resentment which was purely 
 on his own account, he did not allow him 
 self to cherish, and after the first shock of 
 hearing that his legal title, even to the 
 name of his father, might be disputed, 
 he recovered composure, from the convic- 
 tion that he had a right to it. 
 
 Clarence could have made himself 
 happy with conscious integrity alone, had 
 circumstances rendered his worth sus- 
 pected : it was not difficult for him, 
 therefore, to be contented, under a pos-
 
 S04f ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 sible questioning of his legitimacy, when 
 his father had satisfied him that he was 
 the offspring of just and honourable 
 marriage. 
 
 In this conviction, Clarence had the 
 advantage of his friend de Bourbon, for 
 whose proud yet pitiable destiny on this 
 point, he would not have exchanged his 
 own. Struck with so singular a co- 
 incidence in their fates, he recalled a 
 remark or two of the Chevalier's, which 
 had appeared obscure at the time it was 
 uttered; but which he now compre- 
 hended must have had reference to his 
 knowledge of Mr. Willoughby's situa- 
 tion, and his son's connection with the 
 princely house of de la Pole. 
 
 Clarence would not allow himself to 
 think, that if the Prince de Conde had 
 indeed given Adhemar part of Mr. Wil- 
 loughby's brief confidence on this subject, 
 his more open friendship for his young^ 
 el^ve was less romantic than tlie latter 
 had flattered himself: Clarence was still
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 305 
 
 young enough to set too high a value 
 upon that total disregard of worldly con- 
 siderations, and established usages, which 
 is not often the concomitant of riper 
 years, when forming intimacies : and if 
 he erred in doing so, it was the error of a 
 noble and a generous soul.
 
 306 ROCHE BLANC* 
 
 CHAP. 11. 
 
 It cost Mr. Willoughby a very sharp 
 pang when he took leave of Aigline. As 
 he folded her in a fatherly embrace, her 
 animating attentions to him during his 
 period of solitude, were warm at his 
 bosom. He secretly wushed that Cla- 
 rence's future partner through life might 
 resemble her ; for it would have been 
 folly to w^ish her that partner herself. 
 His son's destiny Mr. Willoughby knew 
 would in all probability, be either too 
 brilliant, or too clouded for her to share. 
 She was well born indeed, but unfriended 
 by those whose relationship gave her dis- 
 tinction : she was portionless ; and she 
 was linked to the desperate fortunes of a
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 307 
 
 scheming, ruinous step-father. Thus, if 
 Clarence were at once allowed his right 
 place in society, that would fix him 
 where gayer images, and more ambitious 
 prospects would tempt him to climb yet 
 higher : and if he were cruelly shut out 
 from his inheritance, Mr. Willoughby 
 thought he knew him well enough to be 
 justified in believing, that abjuring ten- 
 derer ties, and domestic comforts, he 
 would devote himself to the service of 
 his illustrious friends in France, and 
 under their banner, try to make his 
 country ashamed of having rejected 
 him. 
 
 Provided with suitable remembrances 
 for every individual of Madame de Roche 
 Elanc's family, including her absent hus- 
 band and son, Mr. Willoughby bade 
 them all farewell ; with outward compo- 
 sure, but with that inward melancholy, 
 perhaps inseparable from advancing life, 
 when he that fancies himself entering 
 its latest stages, bids adieu to scenes and
 
 308 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 persons, whom he would fain be assured 
 he shall behold again. 
 
 The tears Aigline shed, as she hung 
 upon his tremulous hand with kisses and 
 blessings, were the first deeply-afflicted 
 ones she had ever known : many had 
 she shed in the temporary bitterness, or 
 fainter sadness, occasioned by the repul- 
 siveness of her mother: many more in 
 sympathy with distressed villagers, — but 
 none, none like the present. Mr. Wil- 
 loughby was going beyond sea, and that 
 idea seemed so distinctly to mark the 
 distance he would be removed to, and 
 had so much danger coupled with it, that 
 she wept over its necessity. 
 
 " And not a tear for me, Aigline ? '* 
 asked Clarence, with frank and kind 
 reproach, even more solicitous to draw 
 her attention from his oppressed father, 
 than to attract it to himself. 
 
 " Not many, dear Clarence !" she 
 answered as frankly, her eyes smiling 
 through their dewy fringes, though some-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 309 
 
 what mournfully. " You are only going 
 to Paris ; and you will be coming back to 
 L'etoile, you tell us ; and I have not been 
 with you, every day of my life, for the 
 last two years, as I have been with dear 
 Mr. Willoughby ! '' 
 
 " You are quite right, Aigline ;" re- 
 turned Clarence, most affectionately 
 regarding her ; " I admit that you lose a 
 great deal in my dear father : but cheer 
 up ! — I will send you news of my father 
 whenever I can, and we will both come 
 back and feast as merrily at L'etoile, as 
 I caught you all doing, when you fancied 
 me fairly out of the way at the wars." 
 
 This allusion to that happy moment, so 
 gaily uttered, turned the tide of *^ eir feel- 
 ings ; every one smiled ; and a more cheer- 
 ful strain of predictions and remembran- 
 ces, of hopes and confidences then followed. 
 
 Madame la Baronne was earnestly in- 
 treated to honor L'etoile with receiving 
 from it, during Mr. Willoughby's absence, 
 more than her usual supply of delicacies,
 
 310 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 which his good housekeeper would al- 
 ways have a pride in tendering: and 
 Aigiine was admonished to visit its 
 groves and its pastures, to see that her 
 friend's favourite haunts and favounte 
 flowers were preserved against their re- 
 turn, and to remind the servants of their 
 duty to their master's pensioners, w^he- 
 ther superannuated animals, or super- 
 annuated labourers. 
 
 Early the next morning, Mr. Wil- 
 loughby and his son departed privately, 
 to spare the former the painful gratifica- 
 tion of seeing how much he would be 
 regretted in Roche Blanc : and Aighne 
 rose from the pillow where she had wept 
 away 1;^ , whole night, afflicted beyond 
 her own comprehension or indulgence, 
 to resume those joyless duties which nei- 
 ther the characters nor the conduct of 
 her relations quickened with any princi- 
 {de of life. 
 
 She had fancied the bitterest moments 
 past after parting from her friends 5 but
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 311 
 
 she had to learn, from every succeed- 
 ing day's and hour's experience, that the 
 momentary anguish of saying farewell 
 to a valued person, is not to be com- 
 pared with the desolate feeling of miss* 
 ing them at every turn, and in every 
 exigency. 
 
 In comparison with the one that stays, 
 the friend that goes is little to be pitied, 
 however vivid may be their regret, or 
 their affection. They go to new scenes, 
 consequently to new impressions, which 
 must distract, if not amuse their grief; 
 but the wretch that remains, is left walk- 
 ing among the groves of departed joys, 
 trying in vain to believe, that any of 
 those buried joys are to revive for them. 
 
 Days, weeks, passed for Aigline, with- 
 out one instant's companionship with the 
 kindly heart she had resorted to so long 
 for comfort, and for the joy of giving 
 comfort. She went out, and she no where 
 encountered the excellent Mr. Wil- 
 loughby in his visits of friendship or be-
 
 312 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 nevolence. She no longer caught the 
 gladdening sight of his face, as looking 
 up from her work she saw him riding past 
 the chateau. She went to L'etoile, and 
 there, also, she sought its master in vain. 
 Every spot was full of his memorials ; 
 every echo seemed waiting for his voice j 
 but that voice was no longer heard. Her 
 heart sunk under the weight of these con- 
 victions, and she would often weep with 
 melancholy foreboding, that she should 
 soon need the tender friendship she de- 
 plored. 
 
 Hitherto Aigline had lived cheerfully, 
 if not absolutely happy. Little called 
 upon for sympathy with any species of 
 sorrow from the narrowness of her circle j 
 and disregarding, except for moments, 
 the mixed frost and gloom of her imme- 
 diate home : she had relished all that she 
 did enjoy, with such lively and thought- 
 less transport, that she was inclined to 
 believe herself not gifted or afflicted 
 with too much feeling. But sorrowfully
 
 ROCHE BLANC. Si5 
 
 tiid she ^ow learn, that, in proportion to 
 our vivid enjoyment of happiness*, is our 
 keen sense of its loss ; and that a gay tem- 
 per and profound fieelings are often united 
 in the same person. 
 
 The poor girl's sensibility had burst 
 its flood-gates, desolating all before and 
 Ttround it: yet as it had never been 
 suspected till now, either by hersetf oi' 
 her family, her incapacity to command 
 its torrent, Was a new cause of grief to 
 her, and of angry astonishment to her 
 mother. 
 
 After the firet ordinary expressions 6f 
 regret at the loss of an excellent neigh- 
 bour, and a few conjectures as to Mr. 
 Willoughby's reasons for going, the 
 •Baroness ceased to mention him, exxzejfi 
 accidentally; and that as carelessly zs 
 though he still lived within a walk's dis- 
 tance. Continuing to receive all that she 
 htad been accustomed to have from L'etoile, 
 and becoming every day less inclined to 
 thwart her own particular humour, she 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 was not sorry to be relieved from tlie 
 occasional toil of entertaining a person to 
 .whom she was so infinitely obliged. Of 
 these substantial benefits which her gra- 
 dually-submitted spirit had frequently 
 stooped to accept at different periods 
 from him, she thought only at the time 
 they were wanted ; at present, other 
 cares occupied her. 
 
 Shortly after Mr. Willoughby's depar- 
 ture, Madame de Roche Blanc had a 
 serious illness, which, though she reco- 
 vered from it, shook her constitution to 
 its foundations. Aigline's unremitting 
 attendance upon her, and watchful care 
 of Cecile, whose sickly state and froward 
 habits required both patience and tender- 
 ness, evidently made an impression 
 upon this hard parent^ for she spoke to 
 her daughter with more kindness than 
 she had ever done, and seemed to have 
 especial pleasure in repeating, " Well ; 
 if I die, I think you will not disappoint 
 me, Aighnej you will continue to be a 
 11
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 315 
 
 mother to Cecile — you will do your 
 duty by her." 
 
 Aigline was thus accustomed to make 
 abiding with her family, an article of her 
 creed ; and too much touched by her 
 mother's dawning kindness, and too de- 
 sirous of giving that suffering mother all 
 the solace in her power, to think of her 
 own future feelings, she never for a mo- 
 ment disputed the justice of Madame de 
 Roche Blanc's expectations. 
 
 A painful oppression at her heart, for 
 which she knew not completely how to 
 account, appeared to have taken from 
 her all the energy and buoyancy natural 
 to her character, and all her hopes in 
 days to come. The best half of her 
 being, seemed to have gone with Mr. 
 Willoughby and his son ; and although 
 her mother received a letter from the 
 former after his arrival in Paris, written 
 cheerfully and cordially, with a post* 
 script by Clarence, positively fixing the 
 time for his revisiting L'etoile, directly 
 p 2
 
 316 ROCHE BLANCrf 
 
 after th« court marriages then in pro5^ 
 pect, Aigline could not recover her relish 
 for customary enjoyments. A shiade of 
 frequent sadness, therefore, crossed her 
 beautiful eyes from this period, giving 
 interest to their beauty, and rendering 
 their occasional sunniness more remarka- 
 ble and more covetted. 
 
 With these shaded looksj shd was £rst 
 seen by a stranger of good mieii and 
 countenance, who accompanied the Ba-* 
 ron home from Bourdeaux, for the 
 nvowed purpose of seeking health at the 
 baths of St. Sauveur. 
 
 The Abbe de Fontevraud hbd bieen 
 travelling six years In Italy, where he had 
 forgotten the probable effects of malaria 
 upon a frame inadequate to the pursuits 
 of the spirit it clothed. His zealous 
 search afler undiscovered ^antiquities, and 
 his laborious investigation bf such &s 
 were already known, had nearly cb^t him 
 his life, when an imperious recall to Frahc^e 
 tore him from the objects of his mtellec-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 817 
 
 tual passion. He was recommended to 
 m^ke the voyage by sea 5 but, either sick 
 or weary, landed half way at Bourdeaux, 
 he encountered the Baron de Roche 
 Blanc; was, as the Baron gravely and 
 privately assured his family, instanta- 
 neously struck with his virtu and eru- 
 dition J and, with very little persuasion, 
 was induced to follow his advice, of try- 
 ing the waters in their neighbourhood, 
 and making a hotel of the chateau until 
 he could settle himself at St. Sauveur. 
 
 If the Baron's report were true, it must 
 be confessed that the classic Abbe was 
 given to first-sight fancies of a very dif- 
 ferent description ; for, upon the en- 
 trance of Aigline, his dark grey eyes 
 lighted up with evident admiration— he 
 seemed never weary of surveying her ; 
 and he attached himself to her side 
 almost solely : obviously anxious to dis- 
 cover whether her heart and mind kept 
 the charming promise of her counte- 
 nance." 
 
 p 3
 
 318 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Aigline, silent when not in spirits, and 
 sad when not gay, for gaiety was her na- 
 tural state, did not appear to great 
 advantage. The fluttering stir made by 
 the Baron to impress the stranger with a 
 due sense of his consequence and talents ; 
 the regular parading of plausible nothings 
 in the shape of his own productions, and 
 frivolous curiosities; the mixed coldness 
 and forced civility of her mother ; each of 
 these circumstances, by marking the first 
 stage of their new acquaintance, reminded 
 her only the more forcibly of an old one : 
 of those dear, absent friends, whose 
 sanctuary seemed now to be her heart. 
 
 Tears came into her eyes more than 
 once, from such recollections ; and once 
 she thought this perseveringly-observing 
 stranger, noticed them ; for shortly after- 
 wards he asked some questions about 
 Mr. Willoughby and his son, at whose 
 names, lightly mentioned by her step-fa- 
 ther, Aigline's cheek had suffused visibly. 
 There was nothing, however, in Monsieur
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 319 
 
 de Fontevraud said, offensive, or imper- 
 tinent: indeed he seemed to regard 
 Aigline with more interest than at first, 
 after seeing her emotion ; so that she was 
 at last won upon by his manner and 
 novel conversation, to recant the un- 
 favourable opinion she had formed of a 
 man, who could be the dupe of the Baron 
 de Roche Blanc's pretensions to sense 
 and sensibility. 
 
 Happily for the Abbe's wish to please, 
 he had a prepossessing voice j and its sil- 
 ver tones acted like music upon Aigline's 
 prejudices. Fontevraud did not talk 
 much, but he talked well j and his eyes 
 were never silent. Even when fixed upon 
 the ground, and they were often cast 
 down in thought or modesty, they 
 seemed to those familiar with them, still 
 pregnant with expression. So profound 
 was the impression they left upon the 
 memory. 
 
 The rest of the Abbe's face was not 
 remarkable for any peculiarity ; it was 
 V 4
 
 320 ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 merely pale and composed ; correspond- 
 ing with the character of his figure* 
 which though rather elegantly propor- 
 tioned, was obviously that of an in- 
 valid and a student. 
 
 Fontevraud seemed to be about two or 
 three and thirty, and he talked Hke a man 
 of easy fortune and untrammelled condi- 
 tion. Aigline was surprized to find how 
 this stranger grew upon her liking in the 
 course of a single evening; and how 
 much more so, duiing the week he 
 Kngered on, from day to day, at the 
 chateau. The interest she took in liis 
 society, was of a very diiFerent sort from 
 riaat inspired by Mr. Willoughby and 
 Clarence; it was purely that of the 
 mind; for he evidently delighted in in- 
 forming and expanding her's. Fontev- 
 raud's studies had lain in a completely 
 different track from the desultory and 
 imperfect ones of Clarence ; and when 
 he had Aigline by his side, he seemed ir- 
 resistibly impelled to make her the sharer
 
 nOCHE BLANC. 321 
 
 of his thoughts, however foreign they 
 might be supposed from her habits of 
 speculation. He, therefore, interested her 
 insensibly, in new subjects ; carried her 
 in imagination to the classic groves of 
 Athens, and the august temples of Rome; 
 awakened her to a just conception of the 
 taste, genius, and stern virtues of those 
 wondrous people ; and translated for her 
 the finest passages of their purest poets. 
 
 Aigline listened with pleasure, and 
 learned with satisfaction. But romance 
 and Clarence were the first loves of her 
 mind; and from the most touching, most 
 beautiful passages, even of the matchless 
 Euripides, she would turn to the antique 
 chronicle of the Cid, and read with more 
 abundant tears, tears due to old associa- 
 tions, that part, where his favorite horse 
 is led in to the death-bed of the Vv'arrior ; 
 where, " avec ses grands yeuoi il reste Id, 
 inuet, immobile comme un agneau. Son 
 maitre ne pent plus liii parkr, et lui 7ion 
 plus ne pent poijit parkr d son maitre P^ 
 p .5
 
 3^2 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 From the classical illustrations and po- 
 lished periods of Fontevraud, Aigline's 
 thoughts turned to the wild and fresher 
 luxuriance of her early companion's ge- 
 nius—that genius, existing unknown to 
 itself, and beautiful in its very lawlessness. 
 — The more her own spirit saddened, 
 and her own habits of reflection increased, 
 the more did she cherish and prize the 
 remembrance of his blissful temper. Her 
 spirits were, indeed, saddening in spite 
 of herself, from an accumulation of pain- 
 ful impressions which nothing coun- 
 teracted. L'etoile was now but the se- 
 pulchre of the regretted past : she met 
 its mocking spectre, in those deserted 
 groves ; the reality of joy, no more ! 
 
 To her mother's habitual peevishness 
 of temper, was added infirm health, and 
 brooding despondency; and although, 
 -after a week's residence at the chateau, 
 the Abbe Fontevraud had removed him- 
 self to St. Sauveur, Aigline saw that liis 
 frequent visits to Roche Blanc, regularly
 
 ROCHE BLANC* 328 
 
 occasioned dissension between her mo- 
 ther and the Baron. She guessed not, 
 that she herself was the prime cause 
 of their altercations ; and that Madame 
 de Roche Blanc's patience was exhausted 
 with fruitless endeavours to open her hus- 
 band's eyes to the mischief which might 
 accrue to them all, were this stranger 
 to profess himself Aigline's lover. 
 
 It is true that Monsieur de Fontevraud 
 was in the path to the priesthood; but, 
 like many other Abbe's, he might use 
 the privilege, always open to that class, of 
 relinquishing clerical honors, and prefer 
 a life of domestic ties to the hope of the 
 Papal crown itself. Madame de Roche 
 Blanc called upon her husband to re- 
 member, how often this otherwise-uncom- 
 municative stranger had of late spoken of 
 his father's desire to have him relinquish a 
 profession obliging him to celibacy, and 
 how often he had expressed himself as if 
 inclined to yield to so tempting a re- 
 t(]uest. She smiled disdainfully when her 
 p G
 
 S2* ROCHE BtANr^ 
 
 Lord assureS her that he had as oftetr 
 heard the Abbe declare his vocation was 
 not for the Fathers, but for the classic 
 writers of ancient Greece^ and that con- 
 sequently he might be inclined to obey 
 his father's wishes in one point, without 
 intending to concede to them all. She 
 »ti\\ maintained that this distinct ex- 
 planation of his power to marry, if he 
 chose to do so, had only been made 
 since his admiration of Aigline had be- 
 come apparent to every one* 
 
 The Baron, who never would see any 
 thing in a light foreign to his own fancies, 
 was not to be persuaded, that whoever 
 might marry Aigline, would assuredly 
 discover the disgraceful secret of her pro- 
 perty having been unfairly made away 
 with ; and that so far, therefore, from 
 Aigline continuing the friend of her 
 family, she might, in reality, cause their 
 ruin, by insisting upon the restitution of 
 this wasted fortune. 
 
 Madame, de Roche Blanc, while she
 
 ROCHE BtANC. 32.5 
 
 repeated this, did it with greater asperity 
 from the sentiment of remorse which now 
 began to torment her in addition to that 
 of shame. The Bai^on answered her re* 
 presentations with perfect sang froid and 
 good humour ; persisting in the pro-p 
 yoking declaration, that he was ready to 
 acknowledge the debt at any time ; and 
 to pay back the sum thus obtained, 
 unluckily lost by the villainy of the fel- 
 low his unsuspecting nature trusted, 
 whenever that money came into his 
 hand which he expected at the demise 
 of his aunt, and which his dear Baron- 
 ness knew he destined for the provision 
 of their younger children. At this 
 point, Madame de Roche Blanc's com- 
 punction stopt ; and soothing her con- 
 science by a belief that a provision was 
 more necessary for a sickly, spoiled 
 child, than for an amiable young crea- 
 ture, fitted to fulfil the kindest and ten- 
 derest duties of life, she ceased to 
 urge the subject upon her husband.
 
 .3?6 ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 Unsuccessful with him, she then tried to 
 avert the dreaded evil of her own dis* 
 grace, by studied coldness to the Abbe's 
 evident purpose, and by providing more 
 occupation than ever for the employment 
 of Aigline's time. She even descended 
 to the meanness of throwing out hints of 
 what she really disbelieved herself, a sus- 
 pected attachment between her daughter 
 and the absent Clarence Willoughby. 
 
 The Abbe, however, was not to be 
 distanced : he either saw through the 
 meaning of these private hints; or he did 
 not fear to enter the lists with an inex- 
 perienced young man ; or he was deter- 
 mined to conquer by his openness, the 
 respect, at least, of Aigline's mother. 
 He never came to the chateau without 
 asking for Aigline : yet he honorably 
 abstained from seeking her in her solitary 
 moments ; content to engage her atten- 
 tion when accident placed him beside 
 her in a walk, or in a room with others. 
 Aigline observed with some surprise, that
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 3^ 
 
 SO far from relishing the bombast of her 
 step-father, the Abbe obviously had 
 taken a sudden and strong disgust to him 
 as well as to her mother ; for his down- 
 ward look, that had at first merely ex- 
 pressed contemptuous compassion of the 
 one, and determined endurance of the 
 other, had of late evidenced the strongest 
 dislike to both. 
 
 Yet the Abbe continued to visit Roclie 
 Blanc; and when he did come, there was 
 such deep interest in his address to her, 
 such almost penetrating tenderness in his 
 intellectual eyes, such solicitude to make 
 her talk of her own feelings, and of her 
 absent friends, that it was impossible even 
 tor the unpractised Aigline not to be 
 struck with it. 
 
 The wife of the village pastor, taciturn 
 as she used to be at L'etoile, could not 
 keep silence now. A love-affair, in this 
 secluded valley, was an event more me- 
 morable than the appearance of a comet, 
 and several minute enquiries about
 
 8?8 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 M'amselle de Vanzeles' fortune, connec- 
 tions, admirers, &c. cautiously put by 
 the Abbe to this simple personage, had 
 opened lier eyes to his serious intentions 
 respecting her young neighbour. She, 
 therefore, did not hesitate to repeat every 
 one of his questions to the unconscious 
 object of them, who might not have liked 
 her lover the better for it, had she not 
 perceived, with a faint throb of grateful 
 pleasure, (for who does not wish to be loved 
 for themselves, even by those they desire 
 not to encourage !) that Fontevraud's 
 manner was more touchingly tender than 
 befpre. 
 
 This observation, after the first flattered 
 feeling, caused Aigline no livelier emotion 
 than concern : anxious solely not to 
 encourage him., or excite her mother's 
 displeasure, she saw the propriety of 
 avoiding the Abbe; and she did avoid 
 him as often, though as delicately, as 
 possible. 
 
 Fontevraud was not long of perceiving
 
 this change in hei: conduct, and the effect 
 of it was shortly visible. He surprised the 
 iamily at the chateau one morning at a 
 very early hour ^ and, without preface, 
 announced that his visit was to take 
 leave. 
 
 After making the ordinary compHments, 
 upon such occasions, to the lady of the 
 mansion, and thanking the Baron more 
 cordially for his frequent hospitality, he 
 turned to Aigline. That look of emo. 
 tion, which occasionally disturbed tiie 
 studious thoughtfulness of his features, 
 now spoke to her tremulous sensibility j 
 but, instead of making any covert appeal 
 ta pity or tenderness, he simply told her 
 that he was going through Paris, and 
 would with pleasure take charge of any 
 commission to her friends there. 
 
 The glow, which any allusion to her 
 dearest, her only friends, always caused 
 in Aigline's heart, now shone through 
 her cheek ; while trembling, irresolute, 
 doubtful, and anxious, she looked towards
 
 S90 
 
 her modier, to know how she might ans- 
 wer this. 
 
 *<0, s«id a message to our good 
 fiiends,'* said the Baroness, secretly 
 hiding that jealous Texation mi^t at 
 onoe extinguish any tender purpose of the 
 Abb6!s. *' If joo will do us the favor,'' 
 she added* turning to Fontevraud, ** to 
 ask for the Chevalier Willoughhj, at the 
 Prince de Coade's^ and give him news of 
 us» it will oblige us all." 
 
 ''Andprajtdlhim," exclaimed Ai^ine, 
 eageiiy, ** how we loi^ to hear again of 
 dear Mr. Willooghby : tell him that every 
 thing goes cm well at L'etoile, except 
 his &vorite ash-tree, by the water-miU, and 
 that was blown down in the last storm.*' 
 
 <* But if I am not commissioned to say, 
 that he is uprooted himself from the 
 memories he must joy to dwell io,'* ob« 
 served the Abbe, withan equivocal smile, 
 ** I presume the Chevalier Willoughby 
 will not hear this piece of news with 
 great dismay?"
 
 HOCHE BLAKC. 331 
 
 " Ah ! he will never be uprooted from our 
 hearts,'*exclaimedAigline, with artless fer- 
 vor. *' Don't you know that I always look 
 on Clarence Willoughby as a brother?" 
 
 " That exclamation is his eulogium/' 
 resumed the Abbe, with an air of satisfac- 
 tion. " If I am so fortunate as to . 
 Chevalier Willoughby, I may hope to 
 renew the acquaintance this commission 
 will enable me to make ; for / hope to 
 revisit Roche Blanc at tlie time I am 
 told this young soldier is expected. '* 
 
 " Indeed !" said the Baroness. 
 
 " I am going now," continued the 
 Abbe, disregarding her vexed tone, '' to 
 acquit myself of a duty too long de- 
 layed, — I am going home: when we 
 meet again, dear ^^a'msel]e, (he ad- 
 dressed himself to Aigline,) I hope it may 
 be to claim" — he stopt abruptly, but his 
 sparkling eyes, Madame de Roche Blanc 
 thought, finished the sentence only too 
 presumptuously and too clearly. She 
 darted an angry glance at her daughter,
 
 33^ ROCHE BLANC, 
 
 whose embarrassed answer to Fontevraud, 
 was Iiappily drowned in the cataract of 
 compliment and concern, with which 
 the Baron overflowed at this intimation 
 of his new friend's return, given at the 
 moment of parting. 
 
 The Abbe did not prolong his visit 5 he 
 bowed to the Baron, and upon the hands 
 of the ladies. Aigline's he raised to his 
 lips. Had it not been for the direful, name- 
 less apprehension, excited by his last 
 words, her countenance would have ex- 
 pressed the regard and regret she really 
 felt i but, for his smile of hope, she re- 
 turned only a distressed look, imme- 
 diately withdrew, and the moment he 
 was gone, ran to busy herself with a 
 hundred useful trifles, to ward off a pro- 
 bable lecture from her mother, accusing 
 her of silly or forward conduct, in conse- 
 quence of Fontevraud's evident satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 The departure, and probable intentions 
 of the Abbe, were, however, not long a
 
 nOCHE B^LANC. 333 
 
 subject either of discussion between the 
 Baron and Baroness, or of unpleasant 
 meditation to Aigline : new events 
 started up, to claim and absorb attention. 
 
 An express from Languedoc, roused 
 the chateau at day-break one morning ; 
 and immediately afterwards Aigline saw 
 her father and mother prepare to set off 
 for the ffesidence of her sister. She could 
 only learn, from her mother*s half-mut- 
 tered answers to the few questions she 
 hazarded, that Lolotte was not the ob- 
 ject of all this hurry and dispatch. 
 
 The Baron more communicative, and 
 in the highest glee, volubly informed 
 Aigline, that his aunt with whom Lolotte 
 lived, vvas now dying ; that he looked for 
 a superb inheritance ; and that, if his 
 hopes were realized, his charmajite Aigline 
 should have a dot and a husband into the 
 bargain, ih ^ite of sour tempers and 
 narrow ^bulis! 
 
 Madame de Roche Blahc's gl^tlce at 
 this insinuation, might have killed any
 
 3Si ROCHE BLANC* 
 
 other man than her thoughtless husband, 
 who was insensible to it; for he spoke what 
 he meant, though his kindness was perhaps 
 worth no more than her hardness. He 
 had spent Aigline's fortune, with as 
 little heed or principle as he would have 
 given her one : it was ever indifferent to 
 him how he came by money, or how he 
 got rid of it; shallow ostentation, vanity 
 that had not ingenuity enough to provide 
 for more than the triumph of the existing 
 moment, and complete callousness to 
 shame, rendering him more agreeable in 
 his unjustifiable acts than his wife, but 
 scarcely more respectable. — With the 
 air of one going to a wedding rather 
 than to a death-bed, he handed his dis- 
 turbed lady into the lumbering vehicle 
 used on these occasions, while she re- 
 peated again and again to Aigline, in- 
 structions how to manage and amuse 
 Cecile during her absence; then drawing 
 a troubled sigh, drew back into the 
 carriage.
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 335 
 
 The absence of this ill-assorted pair, 
 continued nearly a fortnight : the jour- 
 ney to and fro in their way of travelling, 
 consumed some days of this time, and 
 Aigline was aware that whether the 
 Baron's kinswoman lived or died, they 
 must be detained there longer than or- 
 dinary. The time, however, appeared 
 long to her ; for she was anxious to hear 
 of poor Lolotte, and she had promised 
 sueh incessant watchfulness over the 
 fractious Cecile, that it amounted almost 
 to imprisonment of herself. 
 
 Aigline had been told not to suffer the 
 little girl out of her sight a moment ; she 
 w^as admonished that the weather was 
 growing too warm for one so young and 
 delicate to walk any distance ; so that 
 L'etoile was, for the present, forbidden 
 ground. She was therefore denied theonly 
 lively pleasure remaining to her, that of 
 freely enjoying air, exercise, and the per- 
 formance of her best friend's wishes.
 
 33G IlOCHfe ^LA^X^i 
 
 CHAP. Xt 
 
 Ijate in the second week of their ab- 
 sence, just as she had put Cecile to bed, 
 and was beginning to lull her to sleep 
 with a fairy tale, she heard her tra- 
 vellers arrive, and go through the 
 usual noise and bustle of transferring 
 theitiselves and their baggage from their 
 heavy vehicle. 
 
 Cecile would not let her sister stir, till 
 she heard whether the giant conquered 
 the fairy, or the fairy the giant ; and 
 Aidine, conscious that her mother would 
 not have hdr darling crossed, even by 
 by the act which rendered respect to 
 herself, \vas standing by the little tyrant's 
 pillow, hurrying over the story, when 
 IS
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 337 
 
 Madame de Roche Blanc herself appeared. 
 Her black dress announced the death of 
 the Baron's aunt. She hastily touched 
 Aigline's cheek as the latter started for- 
 ward to welcome her ; then, advancing 
 to the bed, snatched up her idol, devour- 
 ing her with caresses. For some time, 
 Aigline's respectful enquiries about her 
 mother's and sister's health, were un- 
 noticed : at length, Madame de Roche 
 Blanc having challenged Cecile to tell 
 her truly whether Aigline had been kind 
 to her, and receiving a satisfactory reply, 
 found leisure to sigh, and say, " Go 
 down stairs ; you will find Lolotte with 
 the Baron. When I see you again, I 
 shall expect you to tell me truly, what 
 you think of your sister." 
 
 This strange adjuration, spoken in a 
 peculiarly desponding tone, convinced 
 Aigline that her poor sister was only 
 brought home to die j and that she was 
 going to see a young creature whiase 
 pitiable appearance would wring its last 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 hope out of her heart — that of one day 
 possessing in Lolotte a friend, to recom- 
 pense her for the loss of those at 
 L'etoile. 
 
 With such an impression Aigline en- 
 tered the treillage room, as it was called, 
 where the family generally sat in sum- 
 mer ; and which, opening out into the 
 garden under a semi-circular colonade of 
 light wood-work, covered entirely with 
 white roses, looked down the valley into 
 the green bosom of the mountains. 
 There, in the clear light of a chrystal 
 May-evening, stood Lolotte. 
 
 Never, under so lovely a canopy, stood 
 any thing more lovely. Instea4 of the 
 pale, attenuated girl, which Aigline ex- 
 pected to have seen, she beheld health, 
 beauty, and youth, in their first vernal 
 freshness. What the colour or shape of 
 her sister's eyes were, Aigline could not 
 have told : she was only sensible that 
 they were brighter and more beautiful 
 than any thing she had ever beheld ;
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 339 
 
 that a profusion of glittering hair, like 
 the hair of angels, was curling round a 
 neck almost sparkling from its alabaster 
 whiteness ; that Lolotte's complexion 
 made her fancy such cheeks must have 
 the odour, as well as the hue of roses ; 
 that her shape was that of the youthful 
 Venus ; and that an expression at once 
 bashful and tender, was diffused over her 
 whole countenance. 
 
 Exclaiming, ** Is this my sister ! " 
 Aigline ran and threw her arms about 
 Lolotte's neck, in a perfect transport of 
 admiration. 
 
 The Baron was beginning to say some- 
 thing ; but what, Aigline heard not. 
 She was overpowered with unexpected 
 joy ; and, as she hung smiling and 
 sobbing upon this recovered sister, his 
 voluble voice was unheeded. One of 
 his servants called him out of the room, 
 and Aigline was then left alone with 
 Lolotte : her tender endearments may 
 be imagined. Lolotte suffered herself to 
 Q 2
 
 340 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 be caressed, and admired, with timid 
 patieijce; but no tears or tremblings, 
 like those of the too sensitive Aigline, 
 evidenced sympathy of nature. She even 
 looked strangely astonished, when the 
 latter apprehensively grieved for the 
 death of her protectress. 
 
 All at once, without noticing any one 
 of these kindnesses, she began to struggle 
 like a wearied child, whispering, "Let 
 me go — do let me go." 
 
 Aigline suffered her to escape from 
 her hand ; and remaining under the co- 
 lonade, while the other darted with the 
 speed of a halcyon into the garden, — 
 stood there, for some minutes, watching 
 iier movements. 
 
 No sooner did Lolotte find herself 
 alone, than her awkward embarrassment 
 seemed to change into the wildest spirits: 
 for she went bounding along under the 
 high trees, snatching at the shrubs and 
 flowers as she passed, with a childish 
 disregard of the havoc she was making j
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 341 
 
 which surprised Aigline nearly as much 
 as her giddy animation had done. 
 
 While Lolotte thus caught at the 
 boughs and blossoms above her head, 
 it was impossible for her sister not to be 
 struck with the exquisite turn of her 
 figure, already of that luxuriant fullness 
 which forms perfection of shape. Her 
 beautiful arms, whiter than statuary mar- 
 ble, were moulded beyond the statuary's 
 art 5 and the foot, which her volant 
 movements frequently displayed, was as 
 delicate as exquisite in its formation. 
 
 Attracted afresh by her astonishing 
 beauty, and convinced now, that her dis- 
 inclination to talk must have arisen from 
 shyness, not unsocial humour, Aigline 
 thought the best way to win her sister 
 out of herself, would be to awaken her 
 grateful sensibility; she therefore, gently 
 drew to her side, and began asking some 
 questions respecting her recovered healthj 
 "about which she had made herself unhap- 
 py," she said, " happily without cause.'* 
 Q 3
 
 342 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 While Aigline affectionately and anx- 
 iously eyed her, blush after blush rose 
 and disappeared, like so many heavenly 
 visions, upon the youthful cheeks of 
 Lolotte. She looked down without speak- 
 ing. At length, suddenly bursting into 
 speech, she began a quick, wild, dis- 
 jointed string of sentences, so entirely 
 foreign to the subject of Aigline's ques- 
 tions, that she seemed like a person talk- 
 ing in their sleep. 
 
 Unable to comprehend what she meant, 
 and pained by what she supposed the 
 excessive confusion of her sister, Aigline 
 gently proposed their returning into the 
 house to wait for their mother. But 
 when she would have turned for that 
 purpose, Lolotte forcibly withheld her, 
 denying that Madame de Roche Blanc 
 was her mother ; and whispering " that 
 she liked Aigline the best, because she 
 was pretty, and the other lady fright- 
 ful." 
 
 Aigline was at no loss to comprehend
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 343 
 
 how beauty and ugliness might be sy- 
 nonymous, in a very artless young per- 
 son's mind, with kind and cross looks ; 
 but that Lolotte should refuse to acknow- 
 ledge her relationship to their mother, 
 astonished and perplexed her. She could 
 only solve the difficulty by concluding, 
 that the innocent girl had been taught to 
 think her dead relation was her parent. 
 The next moment, Lolotte, throwing 
 herself on the grass, began singing and 
 cropping the choicest flowers, as busily 
 again, as if nothing had agitated her. 
 
 Aigline's faculties were now quite be- 
 wildered; and, lost in a vague suspicion 
 of the dismal truth, she was standing 
 fixedly and fearfully regarding her un- 
 conscious sister, when a voice behind, 
 awakened her from her miserable trance. 
 She started j and saw her mother by her 
 side! 
 
 " Aigline ! " said Madame de Roche 
 Blanc, with something of a supplicatory 
 tone, " what do you think of her ? " 
 Q 4
 
 34Af ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 The tone in which this was said, and 
 the look which accompanied it ; naj, 
 the very words themselves, said in the 
 presence of the person spoken of, at once 
 flashed the truth upon Aigline. In a 
 faint voice, she besought her mother to 
 tell her what she expected her to think ? 
 
 " What ! I see you do,*' returned 
 Madame de Roche Blanc, more than its 
 usual cloud settling on her brow — "that 
 she is imbecile, past hope. Oh, my God ! 
 and so beautiful!" 
 
 These words were a death-knell to a 
 sister's heart. Aigline*s eyes closed with 
 a low shudder ; while, feeling herself on 
 the point of falling, she caught at one 
 of the trees for support. 
 
 One strong emotion, however, com- 
 bated another : she was too fearful of 
 displeasing her mother by this weakness, 
 not to struggle against it; and she, there- 
 fore, recovered herself in time to escape 
 rebuke. Madame de Roche Blanc then 
 took her arm; and looking round from
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 345 
 
 time to time, to see that Lolotte was 
 still safely seated among the flowers, 
 plucking and arranging them at will, she 
 said, with a choaking sigh, <* There sits 
 the dismal secret of my constant anxiety, 
 to fix you in your duty, Aigline ! An 
 inward complaint, which I have kept 
 principally to myself^ has long been 
 preying on my life ; I cannot live long" 
 — (the Baroness fancied she thought so). 
 ** What a comfort it would be to me, in 
 my last moments, if I might be sure 
 that yon poor idiot, and my little angel 
 within doors, would have a second mother 
 in their elder sister. If you were to con- 
 tinue living with the Baron, I do not 
 think he would marry again — at least, 
 if he did, your kindness to my poor chil- 
 dren '' 
 
 Aigline interrupted her. ** Dear mo- 
 ther," she asked, dissolving into tears at 
 this mention of her death, « is not my 
 life in your hands, to do with as you 
 please ? " 
 
 Q 5
 
 34(5 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Embarrassed by her victim's unresist- 
 ingness, Madame de Roche Blanc took 
 refuge in her usual frigidity of manner ; 
 and replied, with some hesitation, " If 
 I did not know by experience that they 
 who live single are far the happiest, I 
 should not wish you to do so ; and, 
 indeed, I will not ask it, if you are bent 
 upon the folly of marrying, or have 
 taken a fancy, (much as I should be 
 astonished at such a thing,) to any of 
 the persons you have seen." 
 
 " I am little likely to be tempted into 
 such folly at Roche Blanc," Aigline said, 
 blushing at the trifling insincerity of her 
 reply. 
 
 " Nay, Aigline," resumed her mother 
 with a sarcastic tone, " has not that fine 
 pedant. Monsieur Fontevraud — but 1 
 forget, he is a Catholic — that would be 
 out of the qu^tion." 
 
 " Quite out of the question any way," 
 Aigline said, decisively. 
 
 « But then there is the self-willed
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 347 
 
 young gentleman of L'etoile,'* observed 
 Madame de Roche Blanc more point- 
 edly y " not that he thinks of you in the 
 least as any thing beyond a play-fellow 
 
 — but you, perhaps " 
 
 " 1 ! '* exclaimed Aigline, smiling ; 
 " he used to be merely my play-fellow ; 
 but I hope I may now think of him as 
 my friend, without any impropriety or 
 foUy." 
 
 " Certainly, with proper restrictions," 
 cried her mother, seizing the opportunity 
 which Aigline's ignorance of her own 
 sensibilities, afforded her of enforcing the 
 point she had at heart. " I am satisfied 
 
 — I see you know your duty — and 
 know what is due to female dignity. 
 From this moment I renounce all my 
 fears"; which I confess some busy bodies 
 put into my head, about your heedless 
 intimacy at L'etoile. It was very well 
 when you were a child, and Clarence 
 Willoughby little better; but now that 
 he has been out in the world, and fancies 
 
 q6
 
 348 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 himself a hero and a great man, the next 
 thing he will do will be to fancy you in 
 love with him, if you go on walking and 
 talking with him when he returns, as you 
 were used to do. And Heaven forbid,^ 
 that any daughter of mine should give 
 occasion for such an immodest supposi- 
 tion \'' 
 
 Aigline, blushing crimson at the last 
 offensive expression, protested, with all 
 imaginable sincerity, her belief, " that 
 such ideas were as foreign to Clarence's 
 generous mind as to her own. For that, if 
 she were to judge his feelings by her's, 
 and hitherto they had been similar, she 
 could safely aver that he considered her 
 exactly as he had done in his boyish 
 years — as a sister, to whom he would 
 willingly give protection and share kind- 
 ness." 
 
 "That question, then, is set at rest 
 for ever," said her mother, willing to 
 conclude the subject on the point which 
 had pledged Aigline to act hereafter in
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 34^9 
 
 conformity with her present declaration ; 
 ** and now, AigHne, I must further tell 
 you that Lolotte is left a very large for- 
 tune, which ties us down to keep her 
 under the same roof with ourselves — if 
 we would reap any advantage from it. 
 Eventually, all this must benefit you, in 
 common with the rest of our children : 
 for the Baron, unlike most step-fathers, 
 generously — " here the Baroness stopped, 
 coughed, hesitated, and, unable to finish 
 the misrepresenting sentence, suddenly 
 returned to the former one — " so, as I 
 said, it behoves you to try to manage 
 her, and keep her out of harm's way ; 
 for, if any artful man, enticed by her 
 beauty and fortune, should succeed in 
 carrying her off) we should all be undone. 
 My increasing ill-health, the care re- 
 quired by that little angel Cecile, my 
 frequent trouble about the boys, and the 
 Baron's variety of vexatious whims, are, 
 altogethei, more than I can support 
 singly. You must, therefore, promise to
 
 350 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 take Lolotte entirely off my hands, by 
 studying her ways, coaxing her into 
 liking you, and teaching her to mind 
 what you say : in short, as you hope for 
 your mother's love and blessing." 
 
 " Ah, Madam ! " exclaimed Aigline, 
 bursting into tears, " what would I not 
 do for your love and blessing ? " 
 
 Madame de Roche Blanc was moment- 
 arily affected ; but restraining herself, 
 and stifling her better feelings, she said^ 
 austerely, " Come, come, Aigline ! you 
 must not give way to this foolish habit 
 of crying upon every trifling occasion. 
 Has any body put it into your head that 
 it is pretty and sentimental ? for it is 
 only of late that you have taken up this 
 annoying practice. I have cause enough 
 for tears every day, God knows, yet 
 when do you see me indulge myself so 
 senselessly ? " 
 
 There was no appeal from such a re- 
 mark as this ; and Aigline was obliged 
 to bind herself to the strictest care of
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 351 
 
 Lolotte, of whom she was henceforth to 
 be thef watchful guardian, day and night. 
 Alas ! Aigline knew not the extent of 
 what she was promising ; yet a strange 
 dread crept through her veins when she 
 made the promise. With what a different 
 sensation did she now behold the celes- 
 tial beauty of her sister! She gazed to 
 see if that beauty had not dazzled her 
 into a wrong notion of Lolotte's expres- 
 sion of countenance ; but imbecility of 
 mind was certainly not evident there. 
 Bkishing bashfulness was its striking 
 characteristic : and it was only when 
 Lol6tte was seized with fits of causeless 
 laughter, or fits of unreal fear, that her 
 beautiful face became frightfully expres- 
 sive of idiocy. 
 
 Aigline now recollected the imperfect 
 disclosure she had once overheard be- 
 tween her parents j and she shuddered 
 at the Baron's merciless idea of trying 
 terror as an experiment upon a feeble 
 intellect. How much more did her heart
 
 85^ ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 revolt against him, when, on rejoining 
 him in the house, she saw the extravagant 
 spirits into which he was thrown by the 
 expected disposal of a large income, only 
 nominally Lolotte's. 
 
 The Baron talked of the house in 
 Languedoc, as if it had already been in 
 his possession half a century : dismantled 
 it in idea ; rebuilt it ; uprooted its old 
 gardens, and laid out new ones, with the 
 transport of a young poet casting the 
 different characters of his play. He 
 seemed wholly to forget, that all this 
 wealth was bestowed by the liberal, 
 though weak relation, whom the grave 
 had just closed upon ; and that his un- 
 controlled authority over it, was the con- 
 sequence of the direst calamity that can 
 befall a parent in the person of their 
 child. 
 
 Pale, and aghast, with so many heart- 
 rending reflections, Aigline made only 
 feeble attempts to engage her sister's 
 attention: her own sensibility was, as yet,
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 353 
 
 not sufficiently exercised, to have the 
 strength requisite for recovering imme- 
 diately from the severe shock it had sus- 
 tained : she could only rally herself by 
 slow degrees and repeated efforts. — 
 Lolotte by degrees, also, became more 
 familiar with her sister; admired the 
 silken ringlets of her hair, the velvet 
 touch of her hand ; and looked at herself 
 so seriously, in the dark mirror of her 
 sister's eyes, as flooded those eyes with 
 tears of bitterest compassion. 
 
 During this first evening, an old ser- 
 vant, who had been Lolotte's attendant 
 in Languedoc, was the only person ad- 
 mitted to wait upon the family at supper. 
 Madame de Roche Blanc seemed anxious 
 to delay the mortifying discovery to her 
 household as long as possible, of her 
 daughter's humiliating condition. Ai- 
 gline anxiously observed Thomasine's 
 countenance as she came in and out of 
 the apartment with the fruits and creams; 
 and its respectful sorrowfulness pleased
 
 354 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 her. She was comforted to find that this 
 amiable-looking person was to sleep al- 
 ways in the next apartment to her and 
 Lolotte ; for the purpose of quieting her 
 young charge, in case she were seized 
 with one of her fits of causeless panic in 
 the night. 
 
 Night came, and night passed: Aigline, 
 indeed, slept not ; but the beauteous 
 creature by her side, happily lay steeped 
 in the profoundest sleep. When morn- 
 ing broke, Aigline raised herself on her 
 pillow, and contemplated Lolotte with 
 an anguish of mind she had never known 
 till now. How beautiful was that softly 
 breathing form, and those peaceful fea- 
 tures ! The few glittering ringlets which 
 had escaped from her night-fillet, and lay 
 upon her cheek, only made the roses of 
 that cheek glow more vividly through their 
 golden net-work. The action of her 
 rounded arms, crossed over her breast 
 as if she had sunk to sleep in the act of 
 her simple prayer 5 nay, the lingering
 
 . ROCHE BLANC. 355 
 
 smile of her lips, gave something angelic 
 to her appearance. Aigline felt the con- 
 trast between this appearance and the 
 woeful reality, pierce her inmost soul : 
 yet, could it be possible, she thought, 
 that such external perfection was coupled 
 with cureless imbecility ? might not in- 
 judicious treatment, or mere neglect, 
 have increased the evil ; or at least left 
 her intellect stationary ? Might not care 
 and kindness operate to good purpose ; 
 and something like rational notions of 
 good and evil, of the fit and unfit, be 
 at length traced on that pure blank of 
 thought ? 
 
 Aigline asked herself these questions 
 with kindling and generous hope ; re- 
 solving, that, if care and tenderness might 
 throw one gleam of light upon the dim 
 twilight of that mind, her's, with all its 
 powers, should be devoted unsparingly 
 to the task. 
 
 As Aigline continued gazing upon the 
 sleeping and fair creature beneath her
 
 356 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 eye, she could not help conjecturing 
 whether any connected visions visited 
 her slumbers, or whether a dreamless, 
 death-like insensibility held her spirit, 
 as well as her senses, wholly suspended. 
 She wondered whether the capacities of 
 the heart were limited in proportion to 
 those of the intellect ; and whether such 
 sad limitations were the consequence of 
 bodily structure, or of original difference 
 in the spiritual essence. 
 
 Awful, impenetrable, was the mystery ! 
 and retreating from the distressing en- 
 quiry with sighing submission to the 
 Almighty will, Aigline wrung her hands 
 in an agony of pity and despondency : 
 some heavy tears dropt from her eyes at 
 that moment, upon the face of Lolotte. 
 The latter started, and waked ; and, see- 
 ing an unremembered face all pale with 
 grief and watching, she shrieked aloud ; 
 falling into one of those paroxysms of 
 nervous terror, which often seized her 
 without apparent cause. At the sound
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 357 
 
 of her voice, the respectable Thomasine 
 came running in from the next apart- 
 ment ; and her judicious management 
 gradually brought Lolotte to herself. 
 This good woman instructed Aigline 
 what to do and say, to obtain Lolotte's 
 confidence ; while she coaxed and ca- 
 ressed the other into regarding with 
 steadiness the inviting face of her sister, 
 which, though covered with tears of 
 mingled alarm and sorrow, was so full of 
 love and sweetness, that it was impossible 
 really to look on it, without being touched 
 or soothed by its expression. 
 
 Beautiful, indeed, are the eyes that 
 look on us with love ! Lolotte felt this 
 in her heart, though incapable of com- 
 prehending why she was all at once 
 impelled to throw her arms round a 
 stranger's neck, and kiss those tenderly, 
 beaming eyes. Aigline pressed her softly 
 against her heart : every rapid movement, 
 or energetic expression, she now saw 
 must be avoided. While she assisted
 
 358 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 Thomasine to dress and entertain this 
 unconscious unfortunate, and heard her 
 rising into the highest spirits, gay and 
 gladsome about nothing, she felt it more 
 heart-breaking to behold her thus, than 
 to see her as she had so lately done, 
 lying in dreamless sleep upon her pillow. 
 From this day Aigline's period of domes- 
 tic slavery might be said determinately to 
 commence. Her attendance upon Cecile 
 had often been given mechanically, while 
 her thoughts were agreeably absorbed in 
 other things. Considering that attend- 
 ance partly unnecessary, she had never 
 scrupled to accept any offered moment 
 of release from it ; but, wdth Lolotte, 
 her own heart conspired against her. 
 This unfortunate sister grew^ upon her 
 affections, not merely as an object of pity, 
 but as an innocent being that loved 
 with all her bounded capacity. 
 
 Could Aigline have closed her eyes to 
 the ripened charms of Lolotte's person, 
 or forgotten that she was in her fifteenth 
 11
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 359 
 
 year, she might easily have imagined 
 that she was watching over a child ; self- 
 willed and capricious, it is true, yet sweet 
 and loving, and soon checked in folly. 
 There was nothing provoking, nothing 
 revolting in the poor girl's misfortune ; 
 and nature had provided her otherwise 
 defenceless beauty with so powerful a 
 protection in instinctive modesty, that 
 none but the vilest natures would have 
 dared to insult its unconsciousness by one 
 misbecoming look or action. That an- 
 gelic protector waved no flaming sword 
 to defend his paradise : the presence of 
 such a guardian was alone sufficient. 
 And they who looked upon Lolotte's 
 trembling, blushing appearance, might 
 as easily have intruded forbidden things 
 into the sanctuary, as have urged forward 
 their own levity to profane her purity. 
 
 Sometimes Aigline fancied that a ghm- 
 mering of improvement was visible in her 
 questions or remarks ; and, if the trusty 
 Thomasine appeared struck with the same
 
 360 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 idea, then Aigline's transport was un- 
 bounded. This new and sacred interest 
 diverted her thoughts from the only 
 channel they had hitherto joyed to flow 
 in, whether under sunshine or under 
 shadow, the recollection of Mr.Willoughby 
 and his son : that remembrance had, till 
 now, been the chief occupation of her 
 solitary musings, and the subject of her 
 nightly dreams. To imagine where they 
 were, and what they v/ere about ; to live 
 over past scenes with them, and to fancy 
 new, where they would be the principal 
 actors, formed her sweetest enjoyment. 
 But Lolotte was come to render this no 
 longer a blameless indulgence : Aigline 
 felt that she was henceforth called upon 
 for all the energies of her mind ; there- 
 fore, whatever might abstract her from 
 such exertion, was to be resisted. 
 
 At her home Mr. Willoughby was as 
 rarely spoken of as if he had never ex- 
 isted : neither the Baron nor Baroness 
 now required his serviceable aid ^ there-
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 3»t 
 
 fore they did not miss him. Aigline, 
 however, could not forget either Mr. 
 Willoughby or Clarence, even had she 
 wished it ; for every inhabitant of the 
 valley bewailed their absence. ToL'etoile 
 she still went, faithful to her promise, 
 and not unwilling to have an excuse for 
 haunting the place where she had often 
 been so happy. The nightingales 
 sang more sweetly and in greater num- 
 bers in those woods than they did at 
 Roche Blanc ; the wild flowers were 
 more abundant, the trees more um- 
 brageous, the solitude more profound. 
 
 Madame de Roche Blanc, too, well 
 pleased to have Lol6tte removed from 
 her sight and the mockery of Cecile, yet 
 in a place secure from intrusion, wil- 
 lingly yielded to her fancy for L'ttoile, 
 trusting her to Aigline and those quiet 
 shades, without scruple. 
 
 Solicitous to improve, while she 
 amused her, this tender sister gradually 
 tamed Lolotte's wildness, into habits leas 
 
 VOL. T. R
 
 36''2 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 obviously different from the rest of her 
 fiellow-beings. She got her to take delight 
 in imitating with shells and beads the 
 flowers she gathered in the garden : she 
 taught her to find pleasure in plant- 
 ing and nursing real flowers, in place of 
 destroying them : she told her affecting 
 or amusing stories, sufficiently artless in 
 their structure and language, even for a 
 child to understand, yet so happily con- 
 ceived as to contain the seeds of some 
 of our best principles, and most kindly 
 feelings. 
 
 Lolotte, by degrees, learned to weep 
 at these stories, and to love their repeti- 
 tion ; carrying their instructions often 
 into action, by tenderness to the inferior 
 creatures around her. As she had from 
 the first, shown an extraordinary degree 
 of interest in the details of another 
 world, though her imperfect ideas 
 wandered vaguely through its ** palpa- 
 ble obscure," Aigline urged them to pro- 
 ceed — yet in a plainer track, until she
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 363 
 
 led her to some stationary notions of 
 an all-seeing, rewarding Providence. 
 
 in the natural grottoes round L'etoile, 
 or under the bowers formed by its beau- 
 tiful trees, thus instructing and in- 
 structed, they would sit whole days to- 
 gether : the one knowing no world be- 
 yond those woods and those grottoes ; 
 the other, contented to forego every other, 
 for the sake of ministering to the inno- 
 cent Being, so awfully and unconsciously 
 afflicted. 
 
 In this way, days and weeks stole on in 
 comparative peace ; for Aigline's spirits 
 were composed, by constant performance 
 of an interesting duty : and sometimes 
 the gratifying consciousness of having 
 some beneficial result of her life, to show 
 her honored Mr. Willoughby when he 
 should return, would glide through her 
 inind. Her ingenious kindness had 
 already done so much for Lolotte, that 
 she fondly fancied there would be still 
 more effected j and glowing with the 
 u 2
 
 564 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 hope of improving her into something 
 like equality with a rational child, she 
 no longer lamented the absence of her 
 early friends : rather congratulating her- 
 self that they would not see her sister, 
 until they saw the poor thing all that 
 her instructress hoped. 
 
 As rashly given to hope as to despair, 
 Aigline yielded ta this belief with san- 
 guine confidence j recovering all the 
 spring of character which had, in that 
 respect, fully matched the felicitous elas- 
 ticity of Clarence Willoughby's. Yet 
 were clouds gathering over her family, 
 occasioned by the folly and obstinacy of 
 her step-father. 
 
 The large property which bad been 
 unwisely bequeathed to Lolotte by her 
 deceased friend, was now disputed by 
 the heir-at-law, the son to an elder bro- 
 ther of the Baron. This gentleman 
 had at first oflfered to compromise the 
 business ; both to avoid the scandal and 
 expense of bringing such an action into 
 17
 
 ROCHE BLANC. $65 
 
 the courts, and in consideration of the 
 testatrix's evident wish to provide nobly 
 for the former object of her doating 
 compassion. 
 
 This proposition, though made most 
 handsomely, and repeated at different 
 intervals, the Baron had peremptorily 
 refused, declaring he would have all for 
 his child, or nothing : persisting, in de- 
 fiance of his wife's acrid, though just re- 
 monstrances, in the belief that law would 
 decide in his favour; and that knowing 
 Lolotte's imbecility when she bequeathed 
 this property, his aunt's will would be 
 considered valid. 
 
 In vain Madame de Roche Blanc pro- 
 phesied that his full-blown hopes would 
 burst under him : in vain she threatened 
 himself and them with utter ruin, in 
 consequence of a long-drawn suit at 
 law : in vain she represented the shame 
 of having their whole family stigmatized 
 with imbecility or insanity, from the 
 misfortune of one. The Baron was deaf 
 R 3
 
 366 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 as the winds, ungovernable as the winds. 
 His levity increased with his lady's 
 vexation ; and by way of setting the seal 
 to his folly, and irritating her to the ut- 
 most, he flew to Languedoc, and began 
 immediately to pull down one wing of 
 the old house, by way of showing that he 
 was quite sure the estate could not be 
 withdrawn fiom his power, as natural 
 trustee to his child. 
 
 The legacy bequeathed to himself, 
 which could not be questioned, was too 
 likely to follow all that he had hitherto 
 spent in vexatious wastefulness. He 
 now clad his domestics in expensive 
 liveries, rather suited for the followers 
 of a courtier, than for the household 
 drudges of a mere Bearnese gentleman ; 
 he bought gaudy caparisons for a set of 
 rare mules, which he purchased out of 
 Spain to draw some ridiculous carriage 
 of his own invention ; he withdrew his 
 son from Paris, and placed him under 
 more costly care at Tholouse, for the
 
 ROCHE BLANC. 367 
 
 sake of enabling him to attend his father 
 to the courts there, during his process — 
 of course, in the hope of - the little 
 Francois profiting by his brilliant display 
 of wit and sagacity. In short, the Baron's 
 fooleries were without end; and Madame 
 de Roche Blanc, whose health was really 
 sinking, who foresaw how the law-suit 
 would terminate, and the money it would 
 dissipate, was beginning to feel, in her 
 extravagant distress for one favourite 
 child, the just punishment of disregard- 
 ing the others. Trembling lest the Baron 
 should indeed squander every atom of 
 the provision she had hoped to secure 
 for her youngest girl, she began to wish 
 sincerely for the return of Mr. Wil- 
 loughby, whose interference now, or 
 benevolence hereafter, she thought her- 
 self sure of commanding. 
 
 But Mr. Willonghby had now been 
 
 gone six long months from Koche Blanc; 
 
 and in that time, the inhabitants of the 
 
 chateau had heard of him only twice. 
 
 R 4
 
 368 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 That blessed medium of intercourse be- 
 tween separated friends, that medium of 
 annoyance from idlers — the Po^^— was 
 at this period unknown j and even 
 Clarence Willoughby, residing under the 
 roof of one of the princes, had no other 
 than chance modes of sending news 
 to his distant connexions. The facili- 
 ties afforded him in the time of war, 
 when couriers were officially dispatched, 
 or privately sent to their families by the 
 princes, had now ceased ; and Clarence 
 thought himself fortunate, when a mes- 
 senger to the king of Navarre at Pau 
 or Nerac, enabled him to let Aigline 
 know, through the medium of a letter to 
 the Baron, that his father had landed 
 safely in England ; and that he himself 
 was well. 
 
 This letter unluckily arrived at Roche 
 Blanc one day, just as the Baron was 
 mounting his gaily caparisoned steed, to 
 begin a journey into Languedoc : he 
 glanced his eye over it, thrust it into his
 
 BOCHS BLANC. 869 
 
 pocket, and galloped carelessly off, sing- 
 ing the fag-end of the old war-song of 
 Roland, which he chose to call a chanson 
 of his own. It was not for three weeks 
 after this, that on the Baron's temporary 
 return, some allusion being made to Mr. 
 Willoughby's protracted absence, the 
 former recollected that he might still 
 perhaps have Clarence's forgotten letter 
 in his pocket. He then produced it, 
 without shame or apology, to those so 
 affectionately mentioned in it j laughing 
 at the folly of women, who were always 
 sure to attach importance to such trifles 
 as letters and locks of hair. Then en- 
 chanted with his own vivacity, and 
 the happy vein of raillery, which he be- 
 lieved he had opened, he proceeded in 
 such a strain of puerile jest and mis- 
 becoming levity, to rally Aigline upon 
 her evident passion for the dumb widower 
 of L'etoile, that Madame de Roche BJanc 
 was obliged to remind him, with more than 
 her usual authoritative displeasure, that
 
 370 ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 he was speaking before two other persons, 
 to whom, such light conversation might 
 do harm ; before one, at least, w^hose 
 report might injure them all in the opi- 
 nion of their few neighbours. 
 
 Upon the innocent and unattending 
 Lolotte, it could have no effect ; but 
 Cecile was quick, curious, and what is 
 called witty ; and her mother knew 
 would be likely enough to divert herself 
 hereafter, by repeating precisely before 
 the persons from whom this senseless 
 jesting ought to be concealed, the whole 
 essence of her father's fancied wit. 
 Aigline utterly disregarded it : and ren- 
 dered happy by seeing the hand- writing 
 of Clarence, and hearing that Mr. Wil- 
 loughby was safely over the sea, she in- 
 dulged, for the first time since their 
 departure, a flow of such enchanting 
 spirits as were once stationary with her : 
 but which now came, ** like angel's visits! 
 few and far between.'* 
 
 So thoroughly ignorant as Aigline was
 
 nOCHE BLANC. 371 
 
 of law and property, it was not wonder- 
 ful that she should be inclined to believe 
 her step.father's florid assertion, that the 
 suit he was beginning to sustain, must 
 end in Lolotte'b favor. She wished it 
 for all their sakes ; and she hoped always, 
 that Lolotte would at last become able 
 to use her noble legacy with credit to 
 herself. Thus, Aigline's heart continued 
 comparatively light, in spite of her 
 mother's depressing habit of insisting 
 upon all the evils which existed, or 
 threatened them. That sensitive heart 
 actually bounded again, when, on going 
 to L'etoile, she was met by Godefroi, who 
 told her that he came an avant courier of 
 the dear young gentleman, the Chevalier 
 Clarence. 
 
 Breathless with joy and eagerness, and 
 the next moment overcome with the 
 tender recollections of Mr. Willoughby, 
 which Clarence's visit occasioned, 
 Aigline enquired the particulars. She 
 then learned, that Godefroi had received
 
 37^ ROCHE BLAKC. 
 
 a letter from Clarence, who was then at 
 Nerac with the princes, whence he meant 
 to come to L'etoile; and that he had 
 appointed Godefroi to go over to his 
 house with certain orders to the steward. 
 Aigline heard also, with regret, that 
 Clarence purposed bringing with him 
 three or four of his Paris friends : but 
 as Godefroi assured her, that his letter 
 said they would leave him in a week to 
 the quiet possession of his own fields, 
 she trusted that his frequent society af- 
 terwards, would make up to her for that 
 privation of it, to which she was sure 
 her mother would condemn her, during 
 the visit of Clarence's company. To 
 the propriety of this sentence, Aigline's 
 delicate mind itself consented. Her 
 unfortunate sister, she felt, was much 
 too lovely, to be shown for a mo- 
 ment to a set of giddy gallants, whose 
 admiration might either terrify or fas- 
 cinate her. 
 
 To Clarence himself she knew Lolotte's
 
 ROCHE BLANC. SJS 
 
 misfortune would render the blank of 
 her mind, a thing like the snow on con- 
 secrated ground — not to be profaned by 
 the breathings, either of feigned or real 
 passion. To his eyes, therefore, she 
 would have exposed that treasure of 
 beauty, without fear; to his generous 
 compasion she would have trusted her 
 lamentable infirmity with perfect con- 
 fidence. But what his associates might 
 prove, she knew not ; and she therefore 
 hastened home, after a short but kindly 
 conversation with Godefroi, to apprize 
 her mother that Clarence was expected 
 at L'etoile, accompanied, as she had 
 heard, and to agree with her on the 
 best mode of keeping Lolotte out of 
 sight. 
 
 Leaving Madame de Roche Blanc to 
 reflect whether she ought to be pleased 
 or sorry at the return of Clarence Wil- 
 loughby, and Aigline to anticipate, with 
 alternate throbs of hope and chills of 
 doubt, anothersight of her earliest, dearest
 
 S74f ROCHE BLANC. 
 
 companion ; it may be well to look to the 
 conduct and situation of that companion 
 himself, during the time which had 
 elapsed since his last departure from 
 Beam. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 LosDOV ; 
 
 Printed by A. & R. Spottiswoodc^ 
 
 New- Street- Square.
 
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