Part 7

"Are you quite sure," said he, "that both of them are in love with you?"

"Probably so," returned she, with a little coquettish smile, sent back to her from the mirror opposite.

"And their love is equally strong?"

"I trust so, Sire."

"And I don't believe a word of it."

"Ah!" said the Marchioness, "but that is, in truth, a most terrible supposition. Besides, Sire, they are on their way hither."

"Both of them?"

"One after the other: the Marquis at one o'clock precisely; the Baron at two. I promised them my decision to-morrow, on condition that they would pay me a final visit to-day."

As the Marchioness finished, the valet, who had announced the King, came to inform his mistress, that Monsieur de Beaugency was in the drawing-room, and solicited the favour of admission to pay his respects.

"Capital!" said Louis XV., smiling as though he were eighteen; "show Monsieur de Beaugency in. Marchioness, you will receive him, and tell him the price that you set upon your hand."

"And what is the price, Sire?"

"You must give him the choice--either to renounce you, or to consent to send in to me his resignation of his appointments, in order that he may go and bury himself with his wife on his estate of Courlac, in Poitou, there to live the life of a country gentleman."

"And then, Sire?"

"You will allow him a couple of hours for reflection, and so dismiss him."

"And in the end?"

"The rest is my concern." And the King got up, taking his dog and his gun, and concealed himself behind a screen, drawing also a curtain, that he might be completely hidden.

"What is your intention, Sire?" asked the Marchioness.

"I conceal myself like the kings of Persia, from the eyes of my subjects," replied Louis XV. "Hush, Marchioness."

A few moments later, and Monsieur de Beaugency entered the room.

II.

The Marquis was a charming cavalier; tall, slight, with a moustache black and curling upwards, an eye sparkling and intelligent, a Roman nose, an Austrian lip, a firm step, a noble and imposing presence.

The Marchioness blushed slightly, at sight of him, but offered him her hand to kiss; and as she begged him by a gesture to be seated, thus inwardly took counsel with herself.

"Decidedly, I believe that the test is useless; it is Monsieur de Beaugency whom I love. How proud shall I be to lean upon his arm at the court-fêtes! With what delight shall I keep long watches in the cabinet of his Excellency the Ambassador, whilst he is busy with his Majesty's affairs!"

But after this "aside," the Marchioness resumed her gracious and coquettish air; as though the woman comprehended the mission of refined gallantry which was reserved for her seductive and delicate epoch by an indulgent Providence, that laid by its anger and its evil days for the subsequent reign.

"Marchioness," said Monsieur de Beaugency, as he held in his hands the rosy fingers of the lovely widow, "it is fully a week since you received me!"

"A week? why, you were here yesterday!"

"Then I must have counted the hours for ages."

"A compliment which may be found in one of the younger Crebillon's books!"

"You are hard upon me, Marchioness."

"Perhaps so, ... it comes naturally ... I am tired."

"Ah, Marchioness! Heaven knows that I would make of your existence one never-ending fête!"

"That would, at least, be wearisome."

"Say a word, Madam, one single word, and my fortune, my future prospects, my ambition!"--

"You are still then as ambitious as ever?"

"More than ever, since I have been in love with you."

"Is that necessary?"

"Beyond a doubt. Ambition--what is it but honours, wealth, the envious looks of impotent rivals, the admiration of the crowd, the favour of monarchs?... And is not one's love unanswerably and most triumphantly proved, in laying all this at the feet of the woman whom one adores?"

"You may be right."

"I may be right, Marchioness! Listen to me, my fair lady-love."

"I am all attention, sir."

"Between us, who are well-born, and consort not with plebeians, that vulgar and sentimental sort of love, which is painted by those who write books for your mantuamakers and chambermaids, would be in exceedingly bad taste. It would be but slighting love and making no account of its enjoyments, were we to go and bury it in some obscure corner of the Provinces, or of Paris--we, who belong to Versailles--living away there with it, in monotonous solitude and unchanging contemplation!"

"Ah!" said the Marchioness, "you think so?"

"Tell me, rather, of fêtes that dazzle one with lights, with noise, with smiles, with wit, through which one glides intoxicated, with the fair conquest in triumph on one's arm ... why hide one's happiness, in place of parading it? The jealousy of the world does but increase, and cannot diminish it. My uncle, the Cardinal, stands well at court. He has the King's ear, and better still, the Countess's. He will, ere long, procure me one of the Northern embassies. Cannot you fancy yourself Madame the Ambassadress, treading the platform of a drawing-room, as royalty with royalty, with the highest nobility of a kingdom--having the men at your feet, and the women on lower seats around you, whilst you yourself are occupant of a throne, and wield a sceptre?"

And as Monsieur de Beaugency warmed with his own eloquence, he gently slid from his seat to the knees of the Marchioness, whose hand he covered with kisses.

She listened to him, with a smile on her lips, and then abruptly said to him:

"Rise, sir, and hear me in turn. Are you in truth sincerely attached to me?"

"With my whole soul, Marchioness!"

"Are you prepared to make every sacrifice?"

"Every one, Madam."

"That is fortunate indeed; for to be prepared for all, is to accomplish one, without the slightest difficulty; and it is but a single one that I require."

"Oh, speak! Must a throne be conquered?"

"By no means, sir. You must only call to mind that you own a fine chateau in Poitou."

"Pooh!" said Monsieur de Beaugency, "a shed."

"Every man's house is his castle," replied the widow. "And having called it to mind, you need only order post-horses."

"For what purpose?"

"To carry me off to Courlac. It is there that your almoner shall unite us, in the chapel, in presence of your domestics and your vassals, our only witnesses."

"A singular whim, Marchioness; but I submit to it."

"Very well. We will set out this evening.... Ah! I forgot."

"What, further?"

"Before starting, you will send in your resignation to the King."

Monsieur de Beaugency almost bounded from his seat.

"Do you dream of that, Marchioness?"

"Assuredly. You will not, at Courlac, be able to perform your duties at court."

"And on returning?"

"We will not return."

"We will--not--return!" slowly ejaculated Monsieur de Beaugency. "Where then shall we proceed?"

"Nowhere. We will remain at Courlac."

"All the winter?"

"And all the summer. I count upon settling myself there, after our marriage. I have a horror of the court. I do not like the turmoil. Grandeur wearies me.... I look forward only to a simple and charming country life, to the tranquil and happy existence of the forgotten lady of the castle.... What matters it to you? You were ambitious for my love's sake. I care but little for ambition; you ought to care for it still less, since you are in love with me."

"But, Marchioness--"

"Hush! it's a bargain.... Still, for form's sake, I give you one hour to reflect. There, pass out that way; go into the winter drawing-room that you will find at the end of the gallery, and send me your answer upon a leaf of your tablets. I am about to complete my toilet, which I left unfinished, to receive you."

And the Marchioness opened a door, bowed Monsieur de Beaugency into the corridor, and closed the door upon him.

"Marchioness," cried the King, from his hiding place and through the screen, "you will offer Monsieur de Menneval the embassy to Prussia, which I promise you for him."

"And you will not emerge from your retreat?"

"Certainly not, Madame; it is far more amusing to remain behind the scenes. One hears all, laughs at one's ease, and is not troubled with saying any thing."

It struck two. Monsieur de Menneval was announced. His Majesty remained snug, and shammed dead.

III.

Monsieur de Menneval was, at all points, a cavalier who yielded nothing to his rival, Monsieur de Beaugency. He was fair. He had a blue eye, a broad forehead, a mouth that wore a dreamy expression, and that somewhat pensive air which became so well the Troubadours of France in the olden time.

We cannot say whether Monsieur de Menneval had perpetrated verse; but he loved the poets, the arts, the quiet of the fields, the sunsets, the rosy dawn, the breeze sighing through the foliage, the low and mysterious tones of a harp, sounding at eve from the light bark shooting over the blue waters of the Loire--all things in short that harmonize with that melodious concert of the heart, which passes by the name of love.

He was timid, but he passionately loved the beautiful widow; and his dearest dream was of passing his whole life at her feet, in well chosen retirement, far from those envious lookers-on who are ever ready to fling their sarcasms on quiet happiness, and who dissemble their envy under cloak of a philosophic scepticism.

He trembled, as he entered the Marchioness's boudoir. He remained standing before her, and blushed as he kissed her hand. At length, encouraged by a smile, emboldened by the solemnity of this coveted interview, he spoke to her of his love, with a poetic simplicity and an unpremeditated warmth of heart--the genuine enthusiasm of a priest, who has faith in the object of his adoration.

And as he spoke, the Marchioness sighed, and said within herself:

"He is right. Love is happiness. Love is to be two indeed, but one at the same time; and to be free from those importunate intermeddlers, the indifference or the mocking attention of the world."

She remembered, however, the advice of the King, and thus addressed the Baron:

"What will you indeed do, in order to convince me of your affection?"

"All that man can do."

The Baron was less bold than Monsieur de Beaugency, who had talked of conquering a throne. He was probably more sincere.

"I am ambitious," said the widow.

"Ah!" replied Monsieur de Menneval, sorrowfully.

"And I would that the man, whom I marry, should aspire to every thing, and achieve every thing."

"I will try so to do, if you wish it."

"Listen; I give you an hour to reflect. I am, you know, the King's god-daughter. I have begged of him an embassy for you."

"Ah!" said Monsieur de Menneval, with indifference.

"He has granted my request. If you love me, you will accept the offer. We will be married this evening, and your Excellency the Ambassador to Prussia will set off for Berlin immediately after the nuptials. Reflect; I grant you an hour."

"It is useless," answered Monsieur de Menneval; "I have no need of reflection, for I love you. Your wishes are my orders: to obey you is my only desire. I accept the embassy."

"Never mind!" said she, trembling with joy and blushing deeply. "Pass into the room, wherein you were just now waiting. I must complete my toilet, and I shall then be at your service. I will summon you."

The Marchioness handed out the Baron by the right-hand door, as she had handed out the Marquis by the left; and then said to herself:

"I shall be prettily embarrassed, if Monsieur de Beaugency should consent to end his days at Courlac!"

Thereupon, the King removed the screen and reappeared.

His Majesty stepped quietly to the round table, whereupon he had replaced the oranges, and took up one of them.

"Ah!" exclaimed the Marchioness, "I perceive, Sire, that you foresee the difficulty that is about to spring up, and go back accordingly to the oranges, in order to settle it."

As his sole reply, Louis XV. took a small ivory handled pen-knife from his waistcoat pocket, made an incision in the rind of the orange, peeled it off very neatly, divided the fruit into two parts, and offered one to the astonished Marchioness.

"But, Sire, what are you doing?" was her eager inquiry.

"You see that I am eating the orange."

"But--"

"It was of no manner of use to us."

"You have decided then?"

"Unquestionably. Monsieur de Menneval loves you better than Monsieur de Beaugency."

"That is not quite certain yet; let us wait."

"Look," said the King, pointing to the valet, who entered with a note from the Marquis, "You'll soon see."

The widow opened the note, and read:

"Madam, I love you--Heaven is my witness; and to give you up is the most cruel of sacrifices. But I am a gentleman. A gentleman belongs to the King. My life, my blood are his. I cannot, without forfeit of my loyalty, abandon his service----."

"Et cetera," chimed in the King, "as was observed by the Abbé Fleury, my tutor. Marchioness, call in Monsieur de Menneval."

Monsieur de Menneval entered, and was greatly troubled to see the King in the widow's boudoir.

"Baron," said his Majesty, "Monsieur de Beaugency was deeply in love with the Marchioness; but he was more deeply still in love--since he would not renounce it, to please her--with the embassy to Prussia. And you, you love the Marchioness so much better than you love me, that you would only enter my service for her sake. This leads me to believe that you would be but a lukewarm public servant, and that Monsieur de Beaugency will make an excellent ambassador. He will start for Berlin this evening; and you shall marry the Marchioness. I will be present at the ceremony."

"Marchioness," whispered Louis XV. in the ear of his god-daughter, "true love is that which does not shrink from a sacrifice."

And the King peeled the second orange and eat it, as he placed the hand of the widow in that of the Baron.

"I have been making three persons happy: the Marchioness, whose indecision I have relieved; the Baron, who shall marry her; and Monsieur do Beaugency, who will perchance prove a sorry ambassador. In all this, I have only neglected my own interests, for I have been eating the oranges without sugar.... And yet they pretend to say that I am a selfish Monarch?"

THE MISSING MARINERS,

A DREAM OF THE ARCTIC SEAS.

This fanciful sketch was written and published, before the fate of Sir John Franklin and his Discovery Ships was known.

There was not a curtain of any kind over the window.

Now, there are few things that I dislike more than this total want of privacy in a bed-room. Opposite to a dead wall at a foot's distance, so that none but bogies could peer within, or looking out through a port-hole over the lonely sea, I confess to an almost old-maidenish particularity in this respect. Failing, therefore, in sundry efforts to substitute a great coat for a curtain, or even to delude myself into a sense of seclusion, by planting an open umbrella upon a chair before the window, I finally abandoned my efforts, determined to brazen it out, blew out my light, and tumbled into bed, not in the best of humours.

You remember, perhaps, the bitter cold night and the flurry of a snow storm, that came abruptly upon us, a few weeks since. That was the time of which I write--the place was a country village. And what a freezing night it was! The east wind blew gustily and drearily. It was moonlight, but dull and grey; and as I lay in bed, without raising my head from the starveling bolster vainly eked out by a meagre carpet bag, I could see a single pine tree, on a steep bank right opposite my window, nodding, and bowing at me by fits and by starts, as though the capricious spirit of the night wind had bid it mock me. How I longed for the sight of a chimney-pot!

There was no snow yet; but I listened to the rush of each driving blast, and shrunk, huddling under the clothes, from the chill it sent through me, as its keen edges forced their way through the crevices of the roof over my head. At length, and after much tumbling and tossing, I fell asleep--or believed that I did so; and presently I awoke again--or so it seemed to me. What was sleeping, and what was waking, I scarcely knew, that night.

Suddenly, there, between us--between myself, I mean, and the white, shining hill-side--came an object, undefined in form but palpable in substance, waving gently to and fro, passing and repassing before the window, and at last appearing almost to touch it. Finally it became stationary there, yet still undulating with that soft tremulous motion which you may have noticed in the humming-bird, when, poised upon his delicate wings, he darts his slender tongue into the petals of a favourite flower. "What in the world is it?" I exclaimed; and had just fancied that I could see a few slight cords reaching from it upwards, above the upper edge of the window, when I distinctly heard a rap upon the pane, and sprung from my bed, in wonderment, but not in fear. The glass melted away--frame-work to the casement there was none--I passed outwards, unconscious how or wherefore. I was seated, warmly and comfortably seated, springing aloft into the moonlit and starry sky.

Then I knew that it was a balloon. It rose at the instant, and sped rapidly through the air. The wind was strong, but blowing a steady gale; not in gusts now, as it had been. And I felt that it was from the south, for it was soft and balmy; and I knew that I was driving towards the Polar star, for I saw it; and saw it growing larger and more luminous.

Then my spirit yearned after the missing Mariners; and I prayed Heaven that I might be on my way to find them.

On we sped; but I was conscious, though the southerly gales were wafting me to the frozen regions of the North, that there was a spirit beneath or behind me, guiding the tiny car in which I was borne. I felt that he was there, though I strove in vain to detect his presence. Slily did I glance over my shoulder, abruptly did I turn my head, cautiously did I crane over the edge--I could not see him. I felt him directing my looks to what I beheld, shaping my thoughts whitherward they went; but it pleased him to remain invisible.

It was yet night. Many rivers did we cross in our progress, some looking inky-black as they flowed between snowy banks, others dimly made out, and lost in the one unvaried tone. Lakes were there, too, and cities sparcely scattered. The latter were mostly slumbering in the same quiet as the former; but ascending from one I heard the alarm of a bell, and glanced downwards at a herd of figures who seemed to be fussing and fuming around a fire.

And now, for a moment, I knew that I was dreaming; and oh, grievous disappointment, I half awoke to a consciousness that the vision was slipping away from me. How I clutched at it! how I hugged it, and refused to have a word to say to my senses! Did you never try this plan and succeed in it? If not, I would not give a fig for your dreams.

But I caught up the thread of mine. Bravo! It was a narrow escape, though. They told me, next day, that there had been a false alarm of fire in the village, during the night. I would have been roasted alive, rather than not have dreamed out my dream.

* * * * *

Day-light, and early summer, and we were hovering over the icy land and icy sea, scarcely now distinguishable, one from other. Nor can I, indeed, describe much of what I saw; for methought, that we were driving hither and thither, not only in the dreary realm of the Frost-king, but up, and down, and athwart the ordinary current of times and seasons. So was there much confusion. Anon it was that awful Winter, whose cold will eat, like red-hot iron, into the unguarded flesh, or more fatal still, will palm off Death upon his victim under the alluring disguise of Slumber--Winter, with his terrible silence, more fearful than the roar of his fiercest hurricanes--Winter, with his blinding mantle of unbroken white, and his snowdrifts wherein cities might be engulphed--Winter, with his one redeeming beauty, one attendant goddess, one Aurora, the Borealis, whose coruscations were so marvellous to behold, so changeful, so grand, so brilliant, that I smiled in looking on them, to think that ever human skill had fabricated fire-works, and that their display could throw spectators into ecstacies.

And anon it was the Arctic summer--and the blue waters peeped at intervals between giant pyramids of ice--pyramids, and pinnacles, and turrets, and all shapely and all shapeless masses. And these were floating in the sunlight--some majestically sailing through the ever opening spaces, coming never in contact with their fellows--others jarring, and crashing, and splintering into a thousand fragments, as the upheaving waves compelled them perilously to embrace each other; and their greeting was as the roar of thunder-storms. And uncouth walrusses were playing their clumsy antics on detached fragments of the ice, and the seal was basking in the sun, and the huge whale was spouting, and the seagull was skimming the surface of the loosened deep, dipping therein the tips of his wings, as though to assure himself that it was indeed liquid. Landward, too--for there was land, also, beneath us--I seemed to see the scanty blades of a dwarfish vegetation thrusting themselves pertinaciously through the snow; and anon the garb of the earth seemed changing from one universal white, to varied hues of brown and green.

Those things and other such, rare and beautiful, were visible to the bodily eye; but the eye of my mind was not therewith content. It strained its utmost, but saw not what it longed for; and my voice broke out in bitterness, "Oh, the ships and the men, the men and the ships, the good Sir John and his daring crews!"

Then I was conscious that my attendant spirit impelled the balloon in a direction hitherto unexplored, and lo! there beneath us was a ship--a ship, one of the objects of my search!

A ship! and my heart bounded within me at the first glimpse I caught of it. But ah! how the blood curdled in my veins, when, at the next moment, I saw that the ship had not, and could not have occupants. Poor, ill-fated, ill-treated vessel; never surely did typhoon or whirlwind so displace thee from thy proper bearings. The troubled waters of the Atlantic or the Caribbean Sea might indeed have reared thee upwards, and plunged thee downwards, and made thee reel to and fro, like a drunkard; but it was alone the frozen waters of the Arctic, that could have forced thee into this unnatural position, and then cruelly nailed thee there, to rot into decay.

Ay, stout ship _Erebus_ or _Terror_--I wot not which--there wert thou lying, or rather there didst thou stand upright, thy bows grovelling in the ice, thy stern uplifted high in air, thy keel propped up against a sheer precipice of ice, thy bowsprit shivered into splinters, thy masts and yards, and tackle, fallen all, and tangled in most inextricable confusion. One stick alone remained set out horizontally from the deck. From it drooped the tattered remnant of a flag; it was the blood-red standard of England!

As the balloon glided downwards towards the wreck, I could have peered into the after-cabin windows; but a single glance had already satisfied me that no living being would be found on board. I have said that my blood curdled in my veins. Turning hastily with a sudden movement of indignation, I obtained a moment's glance at my guide--his form was shadowy; but by his hideous features I recognized him as Despair, and felt that he and I were one.