Valerie. Фредерик Марриет

replied I; “she is in the south of France.”

      “So I understood,” replied Caroline; “but she did say so, and my aunt immediately sent me out of the room on a message. I am sure it was to get rid of me, that she might talk to Mrs. Corbet.”

      “What can this mean?” exclaimed I. “Oh, my heart forebodes evil! Excuse me, Caroline, but I feel very miserable;” and I laid my face down on the table, covering it with my hands, and tears trickled fast through my fingers.

      “Speak to my aunt,” said Caroline, consolingly; “do not cry, Valerie, it may be all a mistake.”

      “I will at once speak to Madame Bathurst,” said I, raising my head, “it will be the best plan.”

      I went into my room, bathed my eyes, and then sought Madame Bathurst, whom I found in the conservatory, giving directions to the gardener. After a time she took my arm and we walked down the terrace.

      “Madame Bathurst,” said I, “I have been made very miserable by Caroline stating that Mrs. Corbet had told you that she met Madame d’Albret at Paris. How can this be?”

      “I cannot imagine more than yourself, my dear Valerie,” replied Madame Bathurst, “except that Mrs. Corbet was mistaken.”

      “Do you think it was Madame?”

      “I cannot say, Valerie, but I have written to Paris to ascertain the fact, which is to me incomprehensible. A few days will let us into the truth; I cannot believe it—indeed, if it were true, I shall consider that Madame d’Albret has treated me ill, for much as I am pleased to have you here, she has not been candid with me in proposing that you should remain the winter, upon the plea of her being obliged to go to the south, when she is still at Paris. I cannot understand it, and until confirmed, I will not believe it. Mrs. Corbet is not an acquaintance of hers, and may, therefore, be mistaken.”

      “She must be, madame,” replied I; “still it is strange that I do not hear from her. I am fearful something is wrong, and what it can be, I cannot surmise.”

      “Let us talk no more about it, my dear Valerie. A few days will decide the point.”

      A few days did decide the point, for I received an answer from Madame Paon, in which she said:—

      “My dear Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf—You may imagine my surprise at receiving your letter, and I fear you must prepare yourself for unpleasant intelligence. Madame d’Albret is in Paris, and has never been in the south of France that I have heard. When she first called, I inquired after you. The reply was that you were on a visit to a lady in England; that you had left her; that you had a manie pour l’Angleterre; and so saying, she shrugged up her shoulders. I was about to inquire more particularly, but she cut the conversation short by asking to see a new pelisse, and I perceived at once that there was something wrong, but what I could not comprehend. I did not see her till four or five weeks afterwards, when she called, accompanied by a Monsieur de G—, a person well known in Paris, where he bears a very indifferent character, as a desperate gambler, and a man of very bad disposition concealed under a very polished exterior; but his character is better known in England, which country, I am told, he was obliged to quit in consequence of some gaming transaction anything but honourable. I again made inquiries after you, and this time the reply was given by Monsieur de G—, who replied that you were an ingrate, and your name must not be in future mentioned by anyone to Madame d’Albret.

      “The handsome face of Monsieur de G—, was changed to that of a demon when he made this remark, and fully proved to me the truth of the report that he was a person of very bad disposition. Madame d’Albret made no remark, except that she should be careful how she ever engaged a demoiselle de compagnie again. I was struck at this remark from her, as I always considered that you were (and indeed I know you were at one time), viewed in a very different light, and I was quite mystified. About a fortnight afterwards Madame d’Albret called upon me and announced her intended marriage to Monsieur de G—, and requested me to make her wedding dresses. Here the whole mystery was out, but why, because she marries Monsieur de G—, you should lose her protection, and why Monsieur de G—should be so inveterate against you, is more than I can tell. I have now, my dear mademoiselle, given you a detail of all I know, and shall be most happy to hear from you if you will please to write to me, etcetera, etcetera.

      “Emile Paon, née Mercé.”

      Here was a solution of the whole mystery. I read the letter and fell back on the sofa, gasping for breath. It was some time before I could recover myself. I was alone in my bedroom, my head and eyes swimming; but I staggered to the washing-stand, and obtained some water. It was half-an-hour before I could recall my astonished senses, and then everything appeared as clear to me as if it had been revealed. Monsieur de G—‘s double attentions; his spiteful look at my refusal; his occupying himself wholly with Madame d’Albret after I refused him; her wishing to get rid of me, by sending me to England with Madame Bathurst, and her subsequent false and evasive conduct. Monsieur de G—had had his revenge, and gained his point at the same time. He had obtained the wealth of Madame d’Albret to squander at the gaming-table, and had contrived, by some means or another, to ruin me in her good opinion. I perceived at once that all was lost, and when I considered the awkwardness of my position, I was almost in despair.