Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume Ii Part 66

"It is but a sorry memory, De Beauvais, that only retains while there are benefits to receive; mine is a more tenacious one."

"Then my mission is ended," cried he, taking up his hat. "I may mention to his royal highness that you intend returning to England; that you are indisposed to service at present. It is unnecessary to state more accurately the views you entertain?"

"I leave the matter completely to your discretion."

"Adieu, then. Our roads lie widely apart, Burke; and I for one regret it deeply. It only remains that I should give you this note; which I promised to deliver into your hands in the event of your declining to accept the prince's offer."

He blushed deeply, as he placed a small sealed note in my fingers; and as if anxious to get away, pressed my hand hurriedly, and left the room.

My curiosity to learn the contents of the billet made me tear it open at once; but it was not before I had perused it several times that I could credit the lines before me. They were but few, and ran thus:--

Dear Sir,--May I request the honor of a visit from you this evening at the Hotel de Grammont?

Truly yours,

Marie d'Auvergne, nee De Meudon.

Colonel Burke.

How did I read these lines over again and again!--now interpreting them as messengers of future hope; now fearing they might exclude every ray of it forever. One solution recurred to me at every moment, and tortured me to the very soul. Her family had all been Royalists. The mere accidents of youth had thrown her brother into the army, and herself into the Court of the Empire, where personal devotion and attachment to the Empress had retained her. What if she should exert her influence to induce me to accept the prince's offer? How could I resist a request, perhaps an entreaty, from her? The more I reflected over it, the more firmly this opinion gained ground with me, and the more deeply did I grieve over a position environed by such difficulty; and ardently as I longed for the moment of meeting her once more, the desire was tempered by a fear that the meeting should be our last.

The eventful moment of my destiny arrived, and found me at the door of the Hotel de Grammont. A valet in waiting for my arrival conducted me to a _salon_, saying the countess would appear in a few moments.

What an anxious interval was that! I tried to occupy myself with the objects around, and distract my attention from the approaching interview; but every sound startled me, and I turned at each instant towards the door by which I expected her to enter.

The time appeared to drag heavily on,--minutes became like hours; and yet no one appeared. My impatience had reached its climax, when I heard my name spoken in a low soft voice. I turned, and she was before me.

She was dressed in deep mourning, and looked paler, perhaps thinner, than I had ever seen her,--but not less beautiful. Whether prompted by her own feelings at the moment, or called up by my unconsciously fixed look, she blushed deeply as our eyes met.

"I was about to leave France, Colonel," said she, as soon as we were seated, "when I heard from my cousin, De Beauvais, that you were here, and delayed my departure to have the opportunity of seeing you."

She paused here, and drew a deep breath to continue; but leaning her head on her hand, she seemed to have fallen into a reverie for some minutes, from which she started suddenly, by saying,--

"His royal highness has offered you your grade in the service, I understand?"

"Yes, Madame; so my friend De Beauvais informs me."

"And you have refused,--is it not so?"

"Even so, Madame."

"How is this, sir? Are you so weary of a soldier's life, that you would leave it thus early?"

"This was not the reason, Madame."

"You loved the Emperor, sir," said she, hastily, and with a tone of almost pa.s.sionate eagerness, "even as I loved my dear, kind mistress; and you felt allegiance to be too sacred a thing to be bartered at a moment's notice. Is this the true explanation?"

"I am proud to say, you have read my motives; such were they."

"Why are there not many more to act thus?" cried she, vehemently. "Why do not the great names _he_ made glorious, become greater by fidelity than ever they were by heroism? There was one, sir, who, had he lived, had given this example to the world."

"True, most true, Madame. But was not his fate happier than to have survived for this?"

A long pause, unbroken by a word on either side, followed; when at last she said,--

"I had left with De Beauvais some few relics of my dear brother, hoping you would accept them for his sake. General d'Auvergne's sword,--the same he wore at Jena,--he desired might be conveyed to you when you left the service. These, and this ring," said she, endeavoring to withdraw a rich brilliant from her finger, "are the few souvenirs I would ask you to keep for their sakes, and for mine. You mean to return to England, sir?"

"Yes, Madame; that is, I had intended,--I know not now whither I shall go. Country has few ties for one like me."

"I, too, must be a wanderer," said she, half musingly, while still she endeavored to remove the ring from her finger. "I find," said she, smiling, "I must give you another keepsake; this will not leave me."

"Give it me, then, where it is," said I. "Yes, Marie! the devotion of a heart, wholly yours, should not go unrewarded. To you I owe all that my life has known of happiness,--to memory of you, every high and n.o.ble hope. Let me not, after years of such affection, lose the guiding star of my existence,--all that I have lived for, all that I love!"

These words, poured forth with all the pa.s.sionate energy which a last hope inspires, were followed by a story of my long-concealed love. I know not how incoherently the tale was told; I cannot say how often I interrupted my own recital by some appeal to the past,--some half-uttered hope that she had seen the pa.s.sion which burned within me.

I can but remember the bursting feeling of my bosom, as she placed her hand in mine, and said,--

"It is yours!"

These words ended the story of a life whose trials were many, and encountered at an age in which few have braved the world's cares.

The lessons I had learned, however, were acquired in that school,--adversity,--where few are taught in vain; and if the morning of my life broke in clouds and shadow, the noon has been not less peaceful and bright. And the evening, as it draws near, comes with an aspect of calm tranquillity, ample enough to recompense every vicissitude of those early days when the waves of fortune were roughest.

A PARTING WORD.

Dear Friends,--Time has hallowed the custom of a word at parting, and I am unwilling to relinquish the privilege. In the tale I have just concluded, my endeavor was to portray, with as little aid from fiction as might be, some lights and shadows of the most wonderful and eventful period of modern history,--the empire of Napoleon. The character I selected for my hero was not all imaginary, neither were many of the scenes, which bear less apparent proofs of reality. The subject was one long meditated on before undertaken; but as the work proceeded, I felt at some places, the difficulty of creating interest for persons, and incidents removed both by time and country from my reader; and at others, my own inadequacy to an effort, which mere zeal could never accomplish. These causes induced me to deviate from the plan I originally set down for my guidance; and combined with failing health, have rendered what might have been a matter of interest and amus.e.m.e.nt to the writer, a task of labor and anxiety.

It is the first time I have had to ask my reader's indulgence on such grounds; nor should I now allude to it, save as affording the only apology I can render for the many defects in a story, which, in defiance of me, took its coloring from my own mind at the period, rather from the reflex of the events I related.

The moral of my tale is simple,--the fatal influence crude and uncertain notions of liberty will exercise over a career, which, under happier direction of its energies, had won honor and distinction, and the impolicy of the effort, to subst.i.tute an adopted for a natural allegiance.

My estimate of Napoleon may seem to some to partake of exaggeration; but I have carefully distinguished between the Hero and the Emperor, and have not suffered my unqualified admiration of the one to carry me on to any blind devotion of the other.

Having begun this catalogue of excuses and explanations, I know not where to stop. So, once more asking forgiveness for all the errors of these volumes, I beg to subscribe myself, in great respect and esteem,

Your humble and obedient servant,

Harry Lorrequer.

Templeogue House,

August 26th, 1844.

THE END.