The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 104: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 93 a clue to the direction in which his contemplated journey lay. He however left behind him a letter for my father, promising that he would write so soon as his mind should have somewhat recovered from the effects of the terrible bereavement he had sustained. His infant son the Viscount had been consigned to the care of a distant female relative -—a Marchioness of considerable wealth, and who resided in the neighbourhood of Fontainebleau,— where, I should observe, the Viscount Delorme’s country mansion was situated—as you already know that my father’s likewise was. Shortly after the Viscount’s departure my father espoused the object of his love—my mother.” Here Clarine became deeply affected, as if that allusion to her long departed mother had re-opened the fountains of her grief. But at length con- quering her emotions, she continued her narra- tive in the ensuing manner :— “The marriage of my father and mother took place about six-and-twenty years ago. At the expiration of a year a daughter was born,—who, if she had lived, would have been my elder sister: but she died a few months after her birth from one of those maladies which are peculiar to infancy. Eighteen months had elapsed without the slightest intelligence being received from the Viscount Delorme, either by my father, or the Marchioness who had the care of his child; and it was feared that he had died in some foreign land. But at length letters arrived to announce that he was still a denizen of this world—that he had travelled through many @limes—and that he had resolved not to sadden the minds of his friends with the spectacle of his own deep sorrows until they were mellowed down to the healthier tone of resignation. Such was the mood, according to the letters, to which the Viscount had at length brought himeelf; and he conoluded by announcing his speedy return to his domain near Fontainebleau. These letters were written from Italy: and about three months after their arrival in France, the Viscount himself re- appeared at Fontainebleau. I need hardly say that he was cordially welcomed by my father, as well as by the Marchioness—or that he was de- lighted to observe how his beloved boy had thriven. Hie settled down once more at his own palatial mansion; and the Marchioness surrendered up the little Alfred to the parental protection. Timo passed on: the mind of the Viscount appeared to have completely recovered from its shook ; and even the mournfulness which had succeeded upon the phase of bitter affliction was yielding in its turn to hap- pier influences. The friendship between my father and himself continued as warm as ever; and as you may easily suppose, the Viscount was a constant guest at the Volney mansion. After an interval of between three and four years since the birth of the first child, my elder sister—an interval which made my father apprehend that he was now destined to continue childless—I was born. Great was the joy of my parents as I have been informed; and though perhaps my father could have wished for an heir to his name, he was nevertheless filled with enthusiastic happiness when contemplating his in- fant daughter. And now, my dear Zoe, I am abont to touch upon’ the saddest portion of my tale—that episode in last night’s series of revelations which has filled me with so much grief (” ° Clarine again paused for a few instants: the tears trickled from her eyes; and Lady Octavian spoke in the most soothing terms which her imagi- nation could suggest. Mademoiselle Volney her friend’s hand affectionately—wiped away her tears—and pursued her narrative in the following terms :— “I was scarcely a year old when a frightfal suspicion suddenly seized upon my father. Oh, dearest Zoe! how can I continueP—how can I pursue a theme which sheds dishonour upon my mother’s name—that mother: whom I have ever thought of with love and reverence, although she perished ere her image could be imprinted upon my mind! It is a painful task which I havo undertaken——-and yet my soul yearns to make you the confidant of its sorrows! I will compose myself sufficiently to enable me to proceed. Yes —a frightful suspicion struck athwart my father’s brain———and it was speedily confirmed! My mother had learnt to love the Viscount Delorme better than her own lawfal husband. You under- stand me, Zoo P” “Alas too well, dearest Clarine!” responded Lady Octavian, deeply affected. “ But was there no possibility of error P—might not your father have mistaken eome transient levity for an evi- dence of guilt P” “Alas, no!” replied Olarine, in a voice fall of the most melancholy pathos: “ the evidence was irresistible—my father was dishonoured in his wife ~——-and ob, that wife was my mother! Can you conceive any treachery so dark--any perfidy so black, as that of which the Viscount Delorme was guilty ? The explosion was terrific—and the Vis- count fled to avoid the vengeance which my half- frenzied sire vowed to wreak uponhim. As for my mother——” “ What became of her?” inguired Zoe ina ‘ half-hushed voice, as if fearing to put the ques- tion : for Clarine had suddenly stopped short—the tears were again trickling down her cheeks—and her bosom was heaving with the sobs that in- wardly convulsed it. “My mother,” she said, in a tone that was scarcely audible-—“ my mother——alas! she re- — ceived a shock from which she never recovered ! Overwhelmed with the sense of her own degrada: tion, and of the wreck which she had wrought with regard to a fond devoted husband's happiness ~——she died of a broken heart!” There was another long pause; ‘and then Clarine, after another outburst of grief, continued as follows :— “The Viscount Delorme had not only proved himself a black traitor to the sacred ties of friend- ship, but also a coward. He had fled to avoid the duel to which my incensed father purposed to pro- voke him. Yes—he fled, leaving his child behind him ; and thus the little Alfred became once more indebted to the kind care of the Marchioness. My father could not endure to remain at his own mansion—the scene where so much happiness had been so cruelly blighted! He set out for some other clime, taking me with him. Marguerite was my nurse. It was my father’s intention to pro- ceed to Italy—I know not whether with any set- tled purpose—or whether he fixed at random upon that transalpine country, all places in the world being equally the same to him in the desolated Gan nye: CONIC OOO <S co