The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 101: what you’re looking at

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KS wee ee oe ee oe 90 THR MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. a single glance at the amount specified—and rising from his seat, opened an iron safe. Taking thence a large tid box, he unlocked it ; and Clarine perceived that one compartment was full of gold and another of bank-notes. M. Volney took out a roll of those notes to select a coup’e for a thousand francs (or forty pounds) each; and Clarine, who was watch- ing him with mingled curiosity and surprise, was enabled to observe even at a glance and at the roughest calculation that the tin box contained an enormous sum of money. As M. Volney looked up to give her the notes which he had selected, he perceived the wonder and surprise expressed in her features; and for a moment a cloud passed over his countenance, But the next instant it was gone; and he said, in a voice of unusual kind- ness, and even with a faint smile upon his lips, * You did not perhaps know that I possessed such ample resources. It may be that I have shown you too little confidence———However,” he added, | ! suddenly checking himself, “it is as well this opportunity should have occurred for me to say that all that I have is your’s: and if anything should suddenly happen to me, you will know where to find that which will maintain you in comfort—aye, in affluence for the whole of yoar life.” “Good heavens, my dear father!” exclaimed Clarine, the tears pushing from her eyes: * do not speak on such subjects!—it seems as if I were about to lose you !” . “Remember, Clarine,” answered M. Volney, with an increasing mildness of tone, “I am ad- vanced fin years; and according to the tourse of nature—even setting apart those casualties from accident or sickness to which we are all liable But do not weep—do not weep! .I thought I had just now done something td afford you pleasure. Poor girl! you have not known fuch of happiness lately—and I would not now throw adamp upon that satisfaction which I hoped to afford you.” “fT am glad, dear father,” replied Clarine, smiling through her tears, and then quickly brush- ing them away, “that you now give me an oppor- tunity of expressing my gratitude for your goodness in respect to the piana.” Thus speaking, Clarine took her father’s hand and pressed it to her hips. He gazed upon her with a singularly melancholy expression for a few moments: then it seemed as if a sudden access of rage, fierce and bitter, swept over his countenance: but in a moment this in its turn vanished ;—and smoothing down the glossy hair of the amazed and half-affrighted Clarine, M. Volney said ina tone full of emotion, “Poor girl, if 1 thought that I had the right id ‘But he suddenly stopped short, and as abruptly turned away—yet not so quickly as to prevent Clarine from catching the look of inex- pressible anguish which seized upon his features. The young lady could have shricked out—there was something so fearful in that look: but she subdued her emotion sufficiently to avoid giving such vert to it. She longed to approach her sire —to ask him what he meant, and what dire woe was afflicting him: but she dared not! And now for tho first time Clarine’s eyes were open to the fact that she had been all along totally excluded from her father’s confidence in every matter in which a daughter might legitimately enjoy it. “Clarine,” said M. Volney, again turning to- wards her, and speaking with his habitual cold kindness of tone, if the reader can understand the phrase,—“ forget what has just passed—forget the unfinished sentence which came from my lips. But you cannot understand it———and you never, never shall! As for this dross,” he said, glancing with glacial contempt towards the treasure in the large tin box, “do not gossip about having seen it: we live in a secluded place, and it were as well not to suffer whispers to get abroad that may tempt desperate men to a lawless act. And now go, Clarine——-forget, I say, what has passed—and be happy, my dear firl—be happy with your new piano. Hencefortli in other things, ds in this trifling one, will { study your happinéss more | I have hitherto done.” _M. Volney pressed his lips for a moment to his Ghughter’s forehead—and then geritly pushed her from the room. She sped to her own chamber, where she remained for a few minutes to tranduil- lize her thoughté and compose her feelings, before she returned to the drawing-room—for she did hot wish to be questioned by Lad} Octavian Meredith : her father had enjoined her to forget what had just passed—and though it Were impossible to do this, yet at feast she resol bd to consider it as sacred. She had suddenly discovered that so far from her sire having lost Bik property, he was im- mensely rich; and moéré than ever, therefore, did she marvel why he shoutd Have left his own beau- tiful mansion and plesaaht little estate in the neighbourhood of Fontathebteau to bury himself in that gloomy old Chateat on the outskirt of the Pyrenees. Other things likewise entered into the midst of Clarine’s thoughts: but with these we have nothing to do—at least for the present, Having sufficiently composed her countenance, the young lady returned to the drawing-room, Where the piano-seller had just finished putting the instrument into proper tune. His account was paid, and he took his departure. Zoe and Clarinée now took their turns to try the new pur- chase; and they were enraptured with it. It was troly a splendid instrument; and they both brought out its fibe tones with the grandest effect. They practised together for the greater portion of the rest of that day: but amidst the joy which Clarine experinced in possessing the coveted piano, would come the recollection, saddening and sicken- ing, of that look of indescribable anguish which had swept over her father’s features during her singular interview with him in the study. That interview had in a few moments given Clarino’s mind the experience of whole years: a veil seemed to have fallen from her eyes; and she was led to reflect upon things on which she had never re- flected before. She now saw that there was some deep mystery connected with her perent,—a mys- tery for which not even the loss of a much-loved wife (as she supposed her mother to have been) could possibly &ccount. Then, what was it? Clarine was bewildered: there seemed no earthly clue to the solution of that mystery ;—and moreover it appeared to be her father’s resolve that, whatever it were, the secret should die with him. The ludies separated a little after ten o'clock in the evening, and sought their respective chambers. Zoe was on this occasion attended in her room by Rachel—for the maids tovk their turns to wait ECOMmiclooolkks