CHAPTER XXXII

REFLECTIONS

Wholly absorbed by the surprise and terror awakened by the accusations of her husband, Madame de Hansfeld, during the late conversation between herself and the prince, had thought only of clearing herself from the foul charges brought against her; but, once left to her own thoughts, she began deeply and profoundly to reflect upon the events of the last hour. Her first feeling was that of strong indignation against the man who could for one instant have believed her capable of crimes so heinous; but this first burst of displeasure soon gave place to a grateful sense of the generous forbearance which had so carefully concealed her supposed guilt from the world. A mind less noble and considerate would have blazoned forth those suspicions, to which a train of singular circumstances lent so apparent a reality. And then, by a sudden change of ideas, the words of M. de Morville rose to her recollection, as though for ever and indelibly impressed on her brain,--

"_There can be nothing propitious in my love for you, until I dare hope to obtain your hand._"

In the present state of Madame de Hansfeld's mind, these words appeared to have a deep, strange, and thrilling connexion with the terrible accusations of her husband.

Supposing that the mysterious attempts upon the prince's life had succeeded, she would then have been free--free to bestow herself upon the object of her ardent passion, and by so doing secure his happiness as well as her own.

As yet the heart of Paula had cherished no sentiment unworthy her position as a wife; but how frequently have the purest-minded, the noblest-hearted persons allowed themselves to be tempted and beguiled, for a short period, by thoughts which, without assuming the form of desires, but merely presenting themselves as _suppositions_, would, if realised, have assuredly produced the blackest crimes!

How many gentle and resigned females, constrained to bear the most cruel and brutal usage from husbands, who might well be won to better conduct by the angelic patience of their heart-broken partners, have involuntarily exclaimed, "Ah me! why did I not choose a generous, noble-minded man, instead of such a tyrant as fate has given me?" There is nothing murderous in this perhaps involuntary regret, which expresses neither the hope nor expectation of seeing an end to the daily tortures the unoffending victim endures; and yet in this simple sentiment is contained the germ of passions that might lead to crime--even to murder itself; it is the natural instinct of self-preservation, aware of imminent danger from which it seeks the means of escaping.

With many, whose trials and sufferings have called forth the bitter exclamation before alluded to, the burst of feeling ends there; they submit to their destiny, which henceforth presents one long unbroken path of sighs and tears.

While others, endowed either with more acute and susceptible feelings, or a smaller share of resignation, relieve their oppressed hearts by crying, "Oh were I but free from my chains and him who thus enforces my slavery!"

While some, more desperate or more outraged, will call upon the friendly aid of death to release them from the thraldom of their tyrant!

Let the consequences--the full import of these several laments be fully analysed--let these _wishes_ be thoroughly examined, and it will invariably be found that, in a smaller or lesser degree, they all point to _murder_!

And what was it but a stern and fatal _necessity_ which led Macbeth on, step by step, to commit the gradual increase of crime to which he at last arrived?

And how many well-meaning persons have looked back, with astonishment and fright, at the numerous guilty acts they have committed under the influence of what at first appeared to them a right and justifiable motive!

As regarded Paula, her preponderating idea, as she reviewed her recent conference with M. de Hansfeld, was, "The husband to whom I am bound for life, whom I love not, and whom I married merely to escape importunity, whose opinion of me is so infamous, that he believes me capable of thrice endeavouring to murder him, has been at the very extremest point of danger; and by his death I should have been at liberty to reward the affection of one who adores me with an ardour equal to that I feel for him!"

In vain did Paula, who foresaw the dangerous consequences of indulging in this reflection, attempt to fly from its fatal influence; continually, and almost unconsciously, did she return to its fresh consideration, after the manner in which persons, wandering in the mazes of a labyrinth, find themselves perpetually and unwillingly back to the point from which they at first started.

To this idea succeeded a second, equally important to develope. The individual who had pursued M. de Hansfeld with such determined ferocity of purpose must, necessarily, be well acquainted with the arrangements of the family,--was, probably, one of its members. What could be the exciting cause for desiring the death of the prince?

After several moments of deep meditation, a fresh light seemed to break upon Paula. Recalling certain mysterious words spoken by Iris; the blind, almost savage attachment of the mulatto towards herself; the hatred she had occasionally manifested towards the prince when she (Paula) had expressed her regrets at having espoused so capricious and eccentric a person as himself,--all, all convinced her, the more she reflected, that she had discovered the real author of the crime. Her first impulse was judicious. Terrified at the ferocious perseverance with which Iris had pursued her murderous intent, and much dreading that she would never pause till she had accomplished her fell design, she determined to question and circumvent her evil machinations.

An hour after the prince's departure, a summons from her mistress brought Iris into the apartment of the princess.