Fairy Fingers Part 60

"He has grossly wronged one whom I esteem more highly, perhaps, than any woman,--any being living," answered Gaston, firing up at the recollection of Lord Linden's insinuations; then he corrected himself.

"I should have said any--any oth--oth--other--but"--

"It was a woman--a lady, then, whom he wronged?" inquired Bertha, betraying redoubled interest at this inadvertent admission.

Gaston perceived that he had said too much; but, in adding nothing more, he did not extricate himself from the difficulty. His silence could only be interpreted into an affirmative.

"And one whom you esteem more highly than all others?" persisted Bertha.

"Whom do you esteem so highly as Madeleine? Surely it could not have been Madeleine? Lord Linden did not speak disrespectfully of Madeleine?"

Gaston had gone too far for concealment. "He spoke of Mademoiselle Melanie, the mantua-maker; but I warrant I have silenced him!"

"Madeleine is very happy in the possession of such a true friend as you are! one upon whom she can always lean,--always depend,--one who can never fail her! Yes, she is very, very happy! When I heard you defending her before my aunt, I said to myself, 'Oh that I had such a friend!'"

Would not Gaston de Bois have been the dullest of mortals if those words had failed to infuse a sudden courage into his heart?

He replied with impetuous ardor, "Would--would that you could be induced to accept the same friend as your own! Would that he might dare to hope that some day, however distant, you would grant him a nearer, dearer t.i.tle! Would that he might believe such a joy possible!"

Bertha spoke no word, made no movement, but sat with her eyes bent on the ground. Her manner emboldened Gaston to seize her hand; she did not withdraw it from his clasp; then he comprehended his joy, and poured out the history of his long-concealed pa.s.sion with a tender eloquence of which he never imagined himself capable.

If, when he awoke that morning from a dream in which Bertha's lovely countenance was vividly pictured, some prophetic voice had whispered that ere the sun went down he would have uttered such language, and she have listened to it, he would not have believed the verification of that delightful prediction within the bounds of possibility. Yet, when the happy pair left the capital grounds to return to the hotel, Gaston walked by the side of his betrothed bride.

It is true that the wealthy heiress had lured on her self-distrusting lover to make a declaration which he had not contemplated; but who will charge her with unmaidenly conduct? The most modest of women are daily doing, unaware, what Bertha did somewhat more consciously. Shakespeare, who read the hearts of women with the penetrating eyes of a seer, and who never painted a heroine who was not the type of a cla.s.s, pictured no rare or imaginary order of being in his beauteous Desdemona,--

"A maiden never bold, Of spirit so still and quiet that her motion Blushed at herself,"--

who was yet "_half the wooer_." And there is no lack of men who can testify (in spite of the feminine denial which we antic.i.p.ate) that they owe their happiness (or misery) to some gentle, timid girl who was nevertheless "_half the wooer_."

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A REVELATION.

Bertha was too happy as she walked toward the hotel, to dread the rebukes which she had good reason to antic.i.p.ate from the countess. For a young lady to traverse the streets alone with a gentleman, however intimate a friend, was, according to the strict rules of French etiquette, a gross breach of propriety. And, though the escort of a gentleman was deemed allowable in the purer and less conventional society of the land in which they were sojourning, Bertha knew that her supercilious aunt considered all customs barbarous but those of her refined native country.

The countess was sitting in her drawing-room, evidently in a state of high excitement, when Bertha and Gaston entered. Count Tristan appeared to be endeavoring to palliate his recent conduct by a series of contradictory statements, and a garbled explanation of the events which had placed Maurice in a dubious position; but his mother had sufficient shrewdness to detect that his object was to deceive, not to enlighten her.

The appearance of Bertha and Gaston gave inexpressible relief to the count, and his satisfaction betrayed itself in a singularly unnatural and childish manner. He kissed Bertha on both cheeks as though he had not seen her for a long period, asked her how she did, shook hands warmly with Gaston as if they had not parted a couple of hours before, offered them chairs, put his arm about Bertha, and drew her to him, as though he were making her his s.h.i.+eld against some imaginary a.s.sailant.

"What is the meaning of this prolonged absence, Bertha?" demanded the countess, without appearing to notice M. de Bois. "Where have you been?

Why did you not return immediately? Where is Maurice?"

"The day was so fine," answered Bertha, trying to speak with some show of dignity and composure, but failing lamentably, "that I thought I would enjoy a walk in the capitol grounds. We met Lady Augusta and Lord Linden. Maurice did not return with us."

"Are you aware of the singular impropriety of your behavior, Mademoiselle de Merrivale? Is it possible that a niece of mine can have become so perfectly regardless of all the rules of decorum?"

"Will you excuse me for the present, aunt?" interrupted Bertha, retreating toward the door in a rather cowardly fas.h.i.+on. "I leave M. de Bois to--M. de Bois wishes to"--

Gaston had risen and opened the door for her to pa.s.s, with as much self-possession as though bashfulness had not been the tormenting evil genius of his existence. His look rea.s.sured her, and, without finis.h.i.+ng her sentence, she disappeared.

The countess rose with even more than her wonted stateliness, and was about to follow her niece; but M. de Bois, pretending not to perceive her intention, closed the door and said,--

"There is a communication which I desire to have the honor of making to Madame de Gramont and Count Tristan."

"You can make no communication to which I feel disposed to listen,"

answered the countess haughtily, and advancing toward the door.

"I regret to hear the aunt of Mademoiselle de Merrivale say so, as I have this morning ventured to solicit the hand of that young lady in marriage, and have received a favorable answer to my suit, as well as permission to request the approval of her relatives."

The countess sank into the nearest chair. She knew that her consent was a mere form, and that Bertha could dispose of her hand in freedom.

Count Tristan, still speaking in a confused, incoherent manner, exclaimed,--

"Bless my soul! How astonis.h.i.+ng! The game's up, and Maurice has lost his chance! Bertha's fortune is to go out of the family! It's very puzzling.

How did it all come about? De Bois, you sly fellow, you lucky dog, I never suspected you. Managed matters quietly, eh? Should never have thought you were the man to succeed with a pretty girl."

"Really," returned Gaston good-humoredly, "I am almost as astonished as you are by Mademoiselle de Merrivale's preference. Let me hope that the Countess de Gramont and yourself will render my happiness complete by approving of Mademoiselle Bertha's choice."

"Of course, of course; there's nothing else to be done; we have lost our trump card, but there's no use of confessing it! Very glad to welcome you as a relative, sir; very happy indeed; everything shall be as Mademoiselle de Merrivale desires."

Count Tristan uttered these disjointed sentences, in the flurried, bewildered manner which had marked his conduct since Gaston entered. A stranger might easily have imagined that the count was under the influence of delirium; for his face was scarlet his eyes shone with lurid brightness, his muscles twitched, his hands trembled nervously, and he was, to all appearance, not thoroughly conscious of what he was doing.

His mother's look of rebuke was entirely lost upon him, and he rattled on with an air of a.s.sumed hilarity which was painfully absurd.

Gaston was disinclined to give the disdainful lady an opportunity of expressing her opposition to his suit, and, pretending to interpret her silence favorably, he took his hat, and said, "I thank you for the cordial manner in which my proposition has been received; I hope to have the pleasure of visiting Mademoiselle de Merrivale this evening; I wish you a good-morning."

The door had closed upon him before the countess had recovered herself sufficiently to reply.

That evening, before paying his proposed visit to Bertha, M. de Bois sought Madeleine, to make her a partic.i.p.ator in the happiness which she had so truly predicted would, one day, be his. He also purposed, if possible, to put her on her guard against the advances of Lord Linden.

At the door he encountered Maurice, who with unaffected warmth, congratulated him upon his betrothal.

When the servant answered their ring, both gentlemen were denied admission. Mademoiselle Melanie was not well, and had retired.

"Are you going back to the hotel?" asked Gaston, as they left the door.

"No, not until late. I hardly know what I shall do with myself; I may go to the reading-rooms."

As their roads were different, they parted, and Maurice, not being able to select any better place of refuge, took his way to the reading-rooms most frequented by gentlemen of the metropolis. He was fortunate in finding an apartment vacant. He sat down by the table, took up a newspaper, though the words before him might have been printed in an unknown tongue, for any sense they conveyed.

He had been sitting about half an hour, musing sadly, when Lord Linden sauntered through the rooms. The instant he observed Maurice, he advanced toward him, and unceremoniously took a seat at the same table.

This was just the opportunity which the _piqued_ n.o.bleman had desired.

Maurice returned his salutation politely, but with an occupied air which seemed to forbid conversation. But Lord Linden was not to be baffled. He opened a periodical, and, after listlessly turning the leaves, closed it, and, leaning over the table in the direction of Maurice, said, with a sarcastic intonation,--

"I hope you had an agreeable visit, M. de Gramont."

Maurice looked up in surprise.