"Mademoiselle Madeleine! It was she who made me feel that we are all too ready with our peevish outcries against the beautiful world in which we have been placed; too ready to complain that all is sadness and sorrow and disappointment, when the gloom exists _within_ ourselves, not _without_ us; it is from ourselves the misty darkness springs; it is we ourselves who have lost, or who have never possessed, the secret of being happy, and we exclaim that there is no happiness on the face of the globe! It is we ourselves who are "_flat_, _stale_, and _unprofitable_," not our neighbors; though we are sure to charge them with the dulness and insipidity for which we, alone, are responsible."
Bertha answered, "One secret of Madeleine"s cheerfulness is her unquenchable _hope_. Even in her saddest moments, the light of hope never appeared to be extinguished. It shone about her almost like a visible halo, and illumined all her present and her future. Have you not remarked the strength of this characteristic?"
"That I have!" he replied with warmth. "And it forced upon my conviction the truth of the poet"s words that "_hope_ and _wisdom_ are akin"; that it is always wise to hope, and the most wise, because those who have most faith, ever hope most. She taught me to hope when I was plunged in the depths of despair!"
Bertha blushed suddenly, as though those fervently-uttered words had awakened some suggestion which could not be framed into language.
"This seat is shady and retired, and commands a fine view of the garden," remarked Gaston, pausing. There was an invitation in his accents.
Bertha, half unconsciously seated herself, and Gaston did the same. Then came another pause, a longer one than before; it was broken by Bertha, who exclaimed,--
"You defended Madeleine n.o.bly and courageously! and how I thanked you!"
"I only did her justice, or, rather, I did her far less than justice,"
returned Gaston.
"Yet few men would have dared to say what you did in my aunt"s presence."
"Could any man who had known Mademoiselle Madeleine as intimately as I have had the honor of knowing her, through these four last painful years of her life, could any man who had learned to reverence her as I reverence her, have said less?"
"But my aunt, by her towering pride, awes people out of what they _ought_ to do, and what they _want_ to do; at least, she does _me_; and therefore,--therefore I honored you all the more when I saw you had the courage to tell her harsh truths, while pleading Madeleine"s cause so eloquently."
Gaston was much moved by these unantic.i.p.ated and warmly uttered commendations. He tried to speak, but once again relapsed into his old habit of stammering.
"Your praises are most pre--pre--pre"--
Bertha finished his sentence as in by-gone days. "Precious, are they indeed? I am glad! I am truly glad that they are precious."
M. de Bois, notwithstanding the happiness communicated by this frank declaration, could make no reply. What _could_ he answer? And what right had he to give too delightful an interpretation to the chance expressions of the lovely being who sat there before him, uttering words in her ingenuous simplicity, which would have inspired a bolder, more self-confident man, with the certainty that she regarded him with partial eyes.
His gaze was riveted upon the ground, and so was hers. Neither spoke.
How long they would have sat thus, each looking for some movement to be made by the other, is problematical. The double reverie was broken by a well-known voice, which cried out,--
"Ah, M. de Bois, you are the very man I wanted to see. Good-morning, Mademoiselle de Merrivale."
Lord Linden and his sister, Lady Augusta, stood before them. M. de Bois instantly rose, and Bertha invited Lady Augusta to take the vacant place. Lord Linden had already seized Gaston"s arm, and drawn him aside.
"My dear fellow," began the n.o.bleman, "Do you know that I have been vainly seeking you for a couple of days! I am in a most awkward predicament; but I suppress particulars to make a long story short; in a word, I have discovered the fair unknown! I expected,--you know what sort of woman I expected to find."
"Perfectly," answered Gaston, laughing, "a walking angel, minus the traditional wings. I remember your description. Perhaps the lady grows more earthly upon a better acquaintance?"
"No, not by any means. I found her more enchanting than ever; but hang it, unless you had seen her, you could not comprehend how I could have made such a confounded mistake. This lovely being is--is--is--don"t prepare to laugh. I shall be tempted to knock you down if you do, for really my feelings are so much interested that I could not bear even a friend"s ridicule."
"Well, go on," urged M. de Bois. "The lady in question is,--not an angel, unless it be a fallen one; that I understand; good; then _what_ is she?"
"A _mantua-maker!_" exclaimed Lord Linden, in accents of deep mortification.
Well might he have been startled by the change that came over Gaston"s countenance; the merriment by which it had been lighted up suddenly vanished; he looked aghast, astounded, and his features worked as though with ill-suppressed rage.
"I see you are amazed: I thought you would be! You did not take me for such a greenhorn! But, in spite of her trade,--her _profession_, as it is considerately called in this country,--she is the most peerless creature; any man might have been duped."
"And her name?" inquired Gaston, in an agitated voice, though he hardly needed the confirmation to his fears contained in Lord Linden"s answer.
"Mademoiselle Melanie!"
"Good heavens! how unfortunate!" exclaimed Gaston, not knowing what he was saying.
"Unfortunate," repeated Lord Linden; "you may well say _that_. But as marrying her is out of the question, there may possibly be an alternative"--
"_What_ alternative? _What do you mean?_" demanded Gaston, turning upon him fiercely.
"It does not strike me that my meaning is so difficult to divine,"
replied the other, lightly. "When a woman is not in a position to become the wife of a man who has fallen desperately in love with her, there is only one thing else that he will very naturally seek to"--
"Forbear, my lord! I cannot listen to such language," cried Gaston, angrily. "You could not insult a pure woman, no matter in what station you found her, by such a suggestion. I will not believe you capable of such baseness."
Lord Linden looked at him in questioning amazement; then answered, somewhat scornfully,--
"Really, I was not aware that instances of the kind were so rare, or that your punctilious morality would be so terribly shocked by an every-day occurrence. If the lovely creature herself consents to my proposition, I consider that the arrangement will be a very fair one."
"Consents?" echoed Gaston, lashed into fury. "Do you know of whom you are speaking? This Mademoiselle Melanie is one of the n.o.blest,--that is to say, one of the most n.o.ble-minded, and one of the most chaste of women."
"You have heard of her then? Perhaps seen her?" inquired Lord Linden, eagerly. "As for her vaunted chast.i.ty, that is neither here nor there,--that _may_ or _may not_ be fict.i.tious. I have heard from the best authority that she receives the private visits of t.i.tled admirers, whose attentions can hardly be of a nature very different from mine. You see, it is fair game, and if I succeed"--
"For Heaven"s sake stop!" said Gaston, losing all control of his temper.
Then reflecting that this very energy in defending her might compromise Madeleine, he said, more calmly, "I beg your lordship to pause before you insult Mademoiselle Melanie. I know something of her history. She bears an unblemished name; she has a highly sensitive, a most delicate and refined nature. Could she deem it possible that any man entertained toward her such sentiments as those to which you have just given utterance, it would almost kill her."
Lord Linden"s lips curled sarcastically, but he did not feel disposed to communicate how completely Mademoiselle Melanie was already aware of those sentiments. He now essayed to put an end to the conversation by saying,--
"I shall bear your remarks in mind; though the accounts we have heard of the fair mantua-maker differ materially."
"Who has dared to slander her?" demanded Gaston, with an air which seemed to a.s.sert his right to ask the question.
"I have not said that she has been slandered. I see we are not likely to understand each other; let us join the ladies."
As he spoke, he walked toward Lady Augusta and Bertha. His sister rose and made her adieu.
When Lord Linden and Lady Augusta had pa.s.sed on, Gaston was surprised to see that Bertha did not appear desirous of returning to the hotel. She sat still, and, when he approached her, drew her dress slightly aside, as though to make room for him to resume his seat. Could he do otherwise than comply? She sat with her head bent down. The shining ringlets falling in rich, golden showers, partly concealed her face. She was tracing letters upon the gravel-walk with her parasol. Gaston was too much moved by his painful conversation with Lord Linden to start any indifferent topic; and Bertha"s manner, so different from her usual frank, lively bearing, made it still more difficult for him to know how to accost her.
At last, without raising her eyes, she said, "You and Lord Linden were having a very animated discussion. At one time I began to be afraid that you were quarrelling."
"We certainly never differed more. I doubt if we shall ever be friends again."
This a.s.sertion was uttered so earnestly that Bertha involuntarily looked up into Gaston"s face. It was flushed by his recent anger, and the expression of his countenance betokened perplexity mingled with vexation.
What woman ever saw the man she loved out of temper without seeking to pour oil upon the troubled waters, even at the risk of being charged with her s.e.x"s const.i.tutional curiosity? for an attempt to soothe includes a desire to fathom the secret cause of annoyance. If there be women who are not stirred by impulses of this kind they are cast in moulds the very opposite to that of Bertha.
She said, in a soft and winning tone, "Has he done you wrong?"