The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 115: what you’re looking at

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104 THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. lips. I asked for that explanation at once: he wished to postpone it until the morrow. I then said to him, as nearly as I can recollect, the fol- lowing words:—‘ You have saved my life, Sir, and you have every claim upon my gratitude. Of that gratitude I have the liveliest sense; but my own idea of propriety must not be absorbed therein— nor the duty that I owe towards my father. If you purpose to remain in this neighbourhood, and we stand a chance of meeting again, I must assuredly mention to my father the acquaintance which I have had the honour to form.’—It was thus that I spoke.” “ And you spoke wisely and well !” exclaimed Zoe, in atone of enthusiasm. “I am delighted to hear that such was your conduct, Clarine. It was dignified and becoming, without the slightest sacrifice of that gratitude which you owed to the saviour of your life.” “ ‘Yes—it was thus I spoke,” said Mademoiselle Volney; “and my deliverer looked distressed. He paced to and fro on the spot where we had halted: I began to be alarmed that I had fallen in with some unworthy character, especially as I now recollected that he had not even mentioned his name nor where he was living, nor what business had brought him into that neighbourhood.—‘ Do you,” he at length said, ‘insist upon knowing who I am?f’—‘TI do,’ I answered, ‘if there be any chance of our meeting again.’—Then he told me a tale of how he had been engaged in a political conspiracy—how he bad been obliged to flee from Paris—and how he had sought this distant and secluded neighbourhood in the hope that he might dwell unrecognised here for a few weeks, while his influential friends in the capital exerted all their interest to hush up the matter. He added that he was personally known to my father, whom he had seen at Fontainebleau a few years back, when he was a youth; and that therefore if he now presented himself to my sire, the latter would be endangering hie own safety by not sur- rendering him up to justice. Finally he informed me that his name was Claude Maseon; that he was a gentleman of wealth and excellent family: thet he had no doubt bis friends would shortly succeed in smoothing down the temporary difficul- ties which beset his path ; and he therefore threw himeelf completely on my mercy.” “And what response did you make, my dear Clarine P” inquired Zoe. “T at once assured him,” replied Mademoiselle Volney, “that not for wurlds would I do aught that should injure a bair of his head ; that there- fore I would keep profoundly secret his presence in the neighbourhood, as well as all he had just been telling me; but that inasmuch as I must of necessity, under circumstances, remain silent even to my own father, it would be the height of im- propriety on my part to converse with M. Claude Maseon again. Such were the terms in which I spoke ; and then, with a salutation which I after- wards fancied to have been too coldly distant to- wards one who had saved my life, I hastened away. Some days passed; and I purposely avoided going out for fear of meeting M. Masson. And yet, dear Zoe——But you will blame me for my weak- ness —— And yot, I say, in my heart, did I long to behold him again! Can you understand these contradictory sentiments? I feared, yet I longed ——~I dreaded, yet I wished——-I trembled, yet I hoped !” “ Yos, my sweet friend,” said Zoe, in a soft murmuring voice; “ I can understand you—Oh! I can understand you! You loved—and love is a sentiment compounded of a thousand contradic- tions : it is the eccentricity of the soul, as other strange fantastic ways are the eccentricities of the disposition or the manner. How often, when one loves, is the duty opposed to the inclination ! —how often does a sense of dolicacy and propriety urge in one direction and the heart’s tendency in another! But pray proceed, my sweet Clarine— and tell me how progressed this lovo-affair—for a love-affair i¢ assuredly is !” | “Several days passed, as I just now said,” con- tinued Mademoiselle Volney: “and my rambles had been confined to the garden belonging to the Chateau. At length one morning, immediately after breakfast, my father gave me a bank-note for a thousand francs—which, as you know, is forty pounds sterling of your English money—and he asked me to proceed to the village and pay one or two little bills which had just been sent in. [ accordingly set out: I reached the village—and I subsequently remembered that on the outakirts I took a few pence from my reticule to give toa poor woman who implored alms. Then I hastened on, and reached the first shop to which my errand led me: but on thrusting my hand into the reti- cule, I found that the bank-note was lost. I sped back to the spot where I had encountered the poor woman: but she was no longer there—nor was tho bank-note anywhere to be seen. I was surely dis- tressed: for at that time I believed that my father had really lost his property, and that his means were very limited: I therefore fancied that this would be a very serious loss for him. Besides, [ feared that he would charge me with negligence ; and altogether I was much afflicted. Suddenly I looked up on hearing a footstep approach: Claude Masson stood before me. I was seised with con. fusion. In a voice of gentle melancholy—as if pleading for permission to address me—he inquired the cause of my tribulation. I scarcely know in what hurried or bewildered words I explained the occurrence.—-‘The wind,’ he exclaimed, ‘blows to this side of the road; and you, Mademoiselle, seem to have been searching on the other.’—Then he hastened in the direction which he had indicated ; and suddenly returning towards me, he said, ‘ Be- hold the note. I will not avail myself of the little service I thus render you, to intrade any longer on your presence.’—Thus speaking, he hastened away. I felt pained and grieved at the abrupt- ness of his flight: I blamed myself for having spoken too severely to him when last we met: [ began to fancy that my conduct was altogether tinged with ingratitude. I sighed profoundly: and again to confess the truth, dear Zoe, I wished that he had remained. However, I held in my hand the bank-note; and I proceeded to execute the commissions entrusted to me by my father. But as I was issuing from one of the shops, [ was accosted by the poor woman whom I had previously relieved ; and she inquired if I had lost anything ? I asked her what she meant: she repeated the question :—a strange idea struck me: i¢ was aoc- companied by a sensation as if I were experiencing a sudden fright. In terms as confused as those in Po COMMEOOO (CO