The Huguenot: A Tale of the French Protestants. Volumes I-III. G. P. R. James

blush and a somewhat reproachful smile, "hush, hush, Monsieur de Morseiul; you forget that I am accustomed to hear such sweet speeches from morning till night, and know their right value. If you would prove to me that you really esteem me, do not take your tone from those empty coxcombs that flutter through such scenes as these. Be to me, as far as we are brought into communication together, the same Count de Morseiul that I have heard you are to others, frank, straightforward, sincere."

      "Indeed I will," replied the Count, feeling the full influence of all his fanciful dreams in the past, reviving in the present; "but will you never be offended?"

      "There is little chance," she replied as they moved on, "that we should ever see enough of each other for me to be offended. You, I hear, avoid the court as far as possible. I am doomed to spend the greater part of my life there; and I fear there is very little chance of the Duke, my guardian, going to the quiet shades of Ruffigny, where first I had the pleasure of seeing you."

      "Were you then at Ruffigny when I first saw you?" demanded the Count with some surprise.

      "Yes," she answered; "but I was staying there with some of my own relations, who were on a visit to the Duke. Do you remember--I dare say you do not--do you remember meeting me some days after with a party on horseback?"

      "Yes," he replied, "I have it all before my eyes even now."

      "And the lady who was upon my left hand?" she said.

      "Quite well," replied the Count; "was that your mother?"

      "Alas, no," replied Clémence, "that was my step-mother; my mother died three years before. But to return to what we were saying, I do not pretend to be less vain than other women, and therefore can scarcely answer for it, that, if you were to tell me harsh truths, I might not be offended; but I will tell you what, Monsieur de Morseiul, I would try--I would try as steadily as possible, not to be offended; and even if I were, I know my own mind sufficiently to say I would conquer it before the sun went down twice."

      "That is all that I could desire," replied the Count; "and if you promise me to do so, I will always be sincere and straightforward with you."

      "What an opportunity that promise gives," replied the lady, "of asking you to be sincere at once, and tell me what were the comments of which the Chevalier spoke. Would that be ungenerous, Monsieur de Morseiul?"

      "I think it would," replied the Count; "but I will pledge myself to one thing, that if you keep your promise towards me for one month, and take no offence at any thing I may say, I will tell you myself what those comments were without the slightest concealment whatsoever."

      The eyes of Clémence de Marly sparkled, as she answered, "You shall see;" but they had lingered so long that the dance was on the eve of commencing, and they were forced to hurry on into the other room. There the Count found the eyes of the Prince de Marsillac wherever he turned; and there was a peculiar expression on his countenance--not precisely a smile, but yet approaching to it--with a slight touch of sarcastic bitterness on the lip, which was annoying. Could the Count have heard, however, the conversation that was going on amongst two or three of the group which he and Clémence had quitted shortly before, he might have felt still more annoyed. There were three persons who took but a small part in that conversation, the Chevalier, the young Marquis de Hericourt, and the Duc de Melcourt. It was one of those that stood behind who first spoke.

      "How long will she be?" he demanded.

      "In doing what?" said another.

      "In fixing the fetters," replied the first; "in making him one of the train."

      "Not two whole days," said the second.

      "Not two whole hours I say," added a third; "look at them now, how they stand in the middle chamber: depend upon it when the Count comes back we shall all have to make him our bow, and welcome him as one of us."

      There was a little shrivelled old man who sat behind, and had, as yet, said nothing.

      "He will never be one of you, gentlemen," he now said, joining in, "he will never be one of you, for he sets out with a great advantage over you."

      "What is that?" demanded two or three voices at once.

      "Why," replied the old man, "he is the first man under sixty I ever heard her even civil to in my life. There is Monsieur le Duc there; you know he's out of the question, because he's past the age."

      The Duc de Melcourt looked a little mortified, and said, "Sir, you are mistaken; and at all events she never said any thing civil to you, though you are so much past the age."

      "I never asked her," replied the other.

      "But there is the Chevalier d'Evran," replied one of the younger men, "she has said three or four civil things to him this very night:--I heard her."

      "As much bitter as sweet in them," replied the old man; "but, at all events, she does not love him."

      "She loves me more than you know," said the Chevalier quietly; and turning on his heel he went to join a gay party on the opposite side of the room, and perversely paid devoted attention to a fair lady whom he cared nothing about, and to whom the morals of any other court would have required him to pay no attentions but those of ordinary civility.