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THE MARCHIONESS OF AUREBONNE.

III.

THE marchioness and her son had passed part of the autumn in Geneva. Previous to returning to France, Madame d'Aurebonne had sent orders to her servants to meet her at Hyères; but whether from some mistake in the date of the letter, or owing to its miscarrying, they had not yet arrived. I should not be stating the truth, were I to affirm that the marchioness regretted the delay, as it induced more intimacy between herself and hosts. Her manner to Susan was kind and endearing, whilst she frankly suggested to the doctor that Raoul and herself should join his family circle. To this proposal Susan eagerly assented; but, to Madame d'Aurebonne's great surprise, she perceived a cloud arise on the brow of the doctor, and, as he gave her one of his keen, searching glances, she felt the colour fly to her cheek. Dr. Assandri's hesitation was only momentary, and, as if regretting that his daughter had been beforehand with him, he very cordially agreed to the marchioness's suggestion.

Had Madame d'Aurebonne, on beholding the sudden appearance of Susan—the living commentary, as it were, of her consultations with the doctor-had she really hoped that Raoul might love her, and that his love might become one all-absorbing feeling-such a feeling as she had been striving for so many years to excite in him? and had the doctor guessed the idea inspired by maternal egotism, and was there a cold shudder at his heart, as he thought that what might bring peace to Raoul might to his child be only the harbinger of misery? This twofold idea, engendered at one and the same moment in two pure and upright hearts, was more an instinct than a reflection; besides, there was as yet nothing to justify it. Everything went on in the usual way. It is true that Madame d'Aurebonne's manner to Susan became more affectionate, but there was nothing in that astonishing, for who was ever found to resist her influence? It would, indeed, have been singular, if, with the marchioness's naturally amiable disposition, she did not evince a tenderness towards a girl whose father had imparted some little consolation on the subject dearest to her heart, and whose own youth and beauty seemed to dispel every dark presage. Susan herself took a kind interest in Raoul; but when was she ever insensible to either suffering or sorrow? What grief had ever appealed to her sympathy and pity in vain? From the time she learned that Raoul held life by a precarious tenure-that his was a melancholy destiny-she was drawn towards him by the mystic attraction which suffering has for every noble-minded woman, in proportion to the sorrow she assuages, the wounds she heals.

But the person principally interested, the one in whom was centred all these cares and anxieties, was himself so cold and reserved in manner to both the doctor and his daughter that his conduct almost bordered on rudeness, towards the latter especially, whom he seemed carefully to avoid. The doctor looked on with his habitual acuteness, and all his former mistrust and fears died away. And when, in a short time, he was called upon by his duties to return to his usual mode of life, to recommence his visits to his patients both far and near, he felt no reluctance in leaving his daughter to perform the honours of her lovely home to Madame d'Aurebonne and her son. In the presence of Dr. Assandri the marchioness was always under some little restraint; whether it was that her thoughts had been dis

covered, or whether she felt a slight rebuke of conscience, certain it is, that when the doctor was absent she experienced an ineffable pleasure in seeing Susan and Raoul together, and gazing on their countenances, beaming, as they both did, with youth and beauty. There was in the marchioness's heart such an inexhaustible fund of maternal love that she quickly bestowed a portion of it upon Susan, whom she invoked silently, secretly, and from the depths of her heart, as her son's good angel!

Left by Dr. Assandri's avocations entirely to themselves, the marchioness, accompanied by Susan and Raoul, would wander along those beautiful shores, which, were they only a thousand miles off, would be as celebrated as any in the world. In the North there is but one spring, whilst in the South there are two. The second spring in Hyères commences in October, when autumnal rains have refreshed the atmosphere and revived both plants and trees. At this time may be seen everywhere in rich profusion wild flowers that have but awaited a cooling shower and a balmy breeze to re-appear in all their beauty. At moments Raoul seemed to surrender himself to the enjoyment of the sunny gladness of the scene. Life was here represented under such a smiling aspect that he seemed to cling to his own. He saw beside him his mother and Susan vying with each other in their endeavours to amuse and divert him and to shed on his brow a reflection of the sweet surrounding calm. Feelings before unknown to Raoul were stirring within his breast; and he questioned himself as to whether the woods, the valleys that lay before him, the hills with their verdure, the sea with its azure, possessed this magic, or had he now lighted on some mysterious talisman vainly sought for until then amid landscapes as smiling and amid scenes as beautiful.

Raoul's heart was to his mother as an open book, in which she could read clearly every impression, confused and inexplicable as it was to himself. Madame d'Aurebonne had watched a new sentiment steal into his morbid soul by degrees; and, as the marchioness reflected that it was to Susan she owed these first glimmerings of hope-which, however, were still shaded by many a fear-she felt towards her all the warm gratitude of a mother's impassioned heart.

After the expiration of a few days, Madame d'Aurebonne's servants arrived, bringing with them all the various appendages that follow in the train of rank and wealth. Their arrival created great disorder in the doctor's quiet household. It was necessary to find in the neighbourhood additional rooms and stables, also to conform to the demands of the cook and coachman, and to submit to all those ridiculous airs of importance that servants sometimes adopt, as if to counterbalance the amiable condescension of their masters. But, however great was the stir and bustle without, it was nothing compared to the conflict within poor Susan's heart. On beholding the marchioness's retinue she became painfully aware of the immense distance between herself, the humble daughter of a country practitioner, and the inheritor of one of the largest fortunes and one of the most distinguished names in France. It was not that Susan's vanity was wounded-such a feeling was unknown to her; still less was her sympathy for Raoul diminished. We say sympathy, for she would have died of shame had her affection for him been attributed to any other cause. Her simple heart, however, needed not to travel far to account for its sorrow. For what really grieved Susan was to find herself so inferior to the one she had wished to protect, comfort, and amuse, and to see her dream of their apparent equality melt away-a dream which had already

produced such a delightful intimacy, and which Madame d'Aurebonne had seemed to sanction by treating her with an almost maternal regard.

From this time Susan became more reserved towards her friends. They remarked the change, but did not guess the reason of it. Notwithstanding the declarations of modern novelists, it is the parvenus that attach importance to external signs of affluence and grandeur, and who have recourse to display as a means of enhancing their own value and asserting their superiority (a false one, however,) amongst their fellow-creatures. But the marchioness and her son, who had always lived within the magic circle, and had ever been surrounded by all the accessories of wealth and elegance-magnificent horses, unexceptionable carriages, a first-rate cook, and other innumerable luxuries-never thought of these things, and never supposed that others did so. Besides, they were both so completely under the dominion of one all-pervading care, that the details of every-day life scarcely entered into their minds. What signified luxury to Madame d'Aurebonne ? Could it lessen her despair if she lost her son, or increase her happiness were she to save him? Would she not sacrifice everything, and accept with rapture penury and its privations, for one day's calm, for one gleam of hope in Raoul's heart? How often has the marchioness wished, as she has witnessed some peasant mother leading along a ruddy, laughing child-how earnestly has she desired to exchange her own brilliant lot for this poor woman's humble one!

The marchioness and her son, not understanding the real cause of Susan's estrangement, attributed it to something widely different from what it really was. This was especially the case with Raoul, who was always so ardent, so prompt tò return to his own sinister ideas. He imagined that Susan was weary of tending and enlivening a being so wretched as himself. He was ever haunted by the same funereal dread; he also fancied that Susan feared the contagion of his ceaseless gloom and melancholy. There needed but this fancy on his part to effect one of those dreadful reactions which almost drove the poor mother to despair. Now, after days of calm and quiet, and after every possible effort to amuse him, he relapsed into a darker and deeper despondency than ever.

Madame d'Aurebonne's grief, was even more than usually profound. In proportion to her former hopes was her present disappointment. Like all who are under the sway of one engrossing feeling, Madame d'Aurebonne was unjustshe mentally accused Susan of being too easily weary of her task of consolation, and her manner became to the young girl less kind and more constrained. Susan soon perceived the difference, and being herself proud, and supposing the marchioness to regret her former kind familiarity, her own reserve increased. But none of these changes occurred without entailing on those two hearts, that until now had been strangers to even an unkind feeling, much pain and sorrow. Whoon gazing, through citron-trees and clustering geraniums, on this young man, in the first prime of manhood, accompanied by two ladies, one in the full splendour of maternal beauty, the other in all the loveliness of early youth, on a balcony, illumined by the bright rays of a noon-day sun-who would not have exclaimed, "These, at least, are happy?" But it was not so. Around their heads though all was bright and blooming, grief and mourning were within their hearts.

It is, however, the privilege of maternal love to be the first to hope, and the last to despair. An uncontrollable impulse again attracted the marchioness towards Susan, and she soon hit upon a pretext to renew their former intimacy.

In Raoul's stud were two superb Arabians, and so gentle that a child might ride them. Horse exercise was recommended by Dr. Assandri for Raoul. As he was always resolved on mounting the most restive horse he had, it was agreed that his mother should accompany him, and thus avoid the anxious suspense that his long absence would occasion her. Knowing nothing of the country around, the marchioness obtained permission of the doctor (but not without some difficulty) that Susan should ride one of the horses, and sometimes accompany them. By this arrangement they were enabled to explore the country. These

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excursions were not without a peculiar charm. Raoul on horseback seemed transformed; he was no longer the melancholy young man, with downcast look and gloomy brow, as if overwhelmed with care; but his form was erect, and his eye sparkled with health and animation. He took a strange delight in conquering the fiery nature of the animal, which seemed to tremble beneath him, and in mastering all its caprices to his own resolute will. At such moments he was so handsome that his mother gazed on him with rapture, and, carried away by a feeling of maternal pride, she would, by an expressive glance, show her desire that Susan should share in her admiration,

K

One morning, tempted by a beautiful day in March, one of those days that seem the fugitive precursors of spring and its loveliness, they took a longer ride than ordinary, and directed their horses' heads towards the Monastery of Monrieux. Raoul seemed even more than usually melancholy-perhaps from Susan's presence; or perhaps the prospect of an early grave was more terrible and overwhelming now that all Nature was endowed with fresh life and beauty. Be this as it may, his gloom increased as he proceeded. At his suggestion they quitted the highway, and plunged into a narrow defile with rocks on either side; further on, the road became very winding; at one time it led them into a deep ravine, at another over a fragile bridge with a foaming torrent beneath. By degrees the gloom and silence became deeper, and at last our riders heard nothing but the monotonous tread of their horses' hoofs, or the rolling down the precipice of some loose stones which they had displaced. Despite of every effort, the marchioness and Susan felt a vague feeling of anxiety, which increased when they looked at Raoul, for his countenance now, instead of being dejected, seemed flushed with feverish excitement.

Madame d'Aurebonne, Susan, and Raoul at length arrived at the monastery. Raoul rang at the gate, opened it, desired his mother and Susan to enter, and all three seated themselves on a stone bench outside the sacred inclosure. They were soon welcomed by a kind, although singular, hospitality. A servant of the convent brought them out a frugal repast, fed their horses, and told Raoul that, if he desired to see the interior of the convent, the superior would be happy to show him over it. The young man accepted the offer, and the two ladies were left alone.

The present opportunity was favourable for one of those easy conversations which act as a balm to every wound, and dispel every cloud. However, the marchioness and Susan exchanged but a few indifferent words. An indefinable feeling of embarrassment prevented their talking of the subject uppermost in their hearts. They limited their converse to the ordinary remarks on the weather, to the woods in their early spring attire, the melancholy effect of the wild scenery around, and to the convent's austere rules, which prohibited a monk of the Chartreuse of Monrieux seeing a woman. The contrast between what they really wished to say and what they actually did utter made the time pass both heavily and slowly. Hours elapsed, but Raoul did not return. Most of us know how wearisomely such moments pass when we are anxiously expecting some one that does not come. Madame d'Aurebonne complained of her son's long absence, at first in a tone of impatience, but at last in an accent of terror. Susan in vain endeavoured to comfort her by pointing out the hospitality they had received, and in continually repeating that the cloisters could only inclose those who wished to remain within them. These words, instead of decreasing the marchioness's anxiety, only redoubled it; and, with an agitation momentarily augmenting, and which at last communicated itself to Susan, the marchioness kept continually muttering, "Cruel, cruel Raoul!" At last, just as the sun was commencing to descend in the horizon, and great shadows were thrown by the roof of the convent, Raoul re-appeared. He looked pale, but resolute.

"Mother," said he, in a firm voice, "I am come to bid you adieu,"

"What do you say?" exclaimed the marchioness, becoming very white.

"I say that I am weary of contesting my life with the fatal malady that is

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