Chapter XX

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar
The heart's bleed longest, and but heal to wear
That which disfigures it; and they who war
With their own hopes, and have been vanquish'd, bear
Silence, but not submission.

LORD BYRON.

Madame de la Tour at length proceeded:--"I have already told you, Luciè, that De Courcy viewed, with uneasiness, the homage which was paid your mother, though it did not exceed the usual devotion which Parisian gallantry is wont to offer at the shrine of female loveliness. He must have expected it; for no one could have been more conscious of her beauty, or more proud of possessing it. But he persuaded himself, that this adulation was too grateful to her; his affection was selfish and engrossing, and he wished her to receive pleasure from no praises or attentions but his own. She was, perhaps, as free from vanity as any woman could be, young, beautiful, and admired as herself; and if not indifferent to the admiration which her charms excited, it was but the natural and transient delight of a gay and innocent mind; her heart was ever loyal to her husband, and his society, his fond and approving smile, were far more prized by her, than the idle homage of a world.

"The young Count de ---- was an object of particular dislike and unceasing suspicion to De Courcy. They were distantly related; but some slight disagreement, which had taken place at an earlier period, created a coolness between them, which was never overcome. Your mother was aware of this, and, had she more closely consulted her prudence, would, probably, have avoided the attentions of one so obnoxious to her husband's prejudices. But the Count was gay and agreeable, the versatility of his talents amused her, and he seemed to possess many amiable and brilliant qualities. His manners were courteous; his attentions never presuming; and there was a frankness in his address, which formed an agreeable contrast to the studied flattery of others around her. Yet even the most distant civilities excited your father's distrust; the Count became, every day, an object of more decided and marked aversion, and your mother could not but feel herself tacitly implicated in his displeasure. Grieved that he could doubt her affection, or the rectitude of her heart, and relying confidently on the purity of both, she resolved not to wound the Count's feelings, by yielding to an ungenerous prejudice, and her conduct and manners therefore continued unchanged.

"As spring advanced, your mother withdrew, almost entirely, from society; but the Count de ----, among a few others, was a privileged and frequent visitor at her house. One morning, De Courcy, contrary to his usual custom, had urged her to accompany him on some short excursion; and, equally surprised and gratified by the unexpected request, it was with extreme reluctance that she felt compelled, from indisposition, to decline it. Soon after his departure, however, I persuaded her to leave her apartment, for a few moments, to look at some choice exotics, which had just been brought to the house. She was still lingering to admire them, when the Count de ---- was announced, through the negligence of a servant, who had been ordered not to admit any visitors. It was too late to retire, unobserved; and the usual greetings of civility were scarcely exchanged, when De Courcy abruptly entered the room. He started, on seeing his wife, who had so recently refused his request, on the plea of illness, apparently well, and taking advantage of his absence, to admit his supposed rival to an interview. Pale with emotion, he stood a moment, as if rooted to the spot; his eye, which flashed with scorn and anger, fixed alternately on each; then deliberately turned, and left the house. The Count had met his gaze unmoved, and with an expression of calm contempt; your mother, terrified by the storm of passion which his countenance betrayed, fled precipitately to her own apartment. Ill as she was, however, and trembling with apprehension, she exerted herself to appear at dinner, hoping that the true explanation would appease her husband's irritation. But he met her with a gloomy reserve, which destroyed all hope of confidence; he did not allude to what had passed; every trace of passion was gone, and she felt re-assured by a deceitful calm, that only concealed the inward struggle.

"De Courcy left the house by day-light on the following morning; no one knew whither he was gone, but we had heard him traverse his apartment through the night, and were confident he had taken no repose. A few hours of anxious suspense passed away, and your mother had just risen from her sleepless pillow, when he suddenly entered her dressing-room. I was alone with her, and never shall I forget the impression his appearance made on me. His dress was disordered, his countenance pale and haggard, and every feature marked with the deepest anguish. Your mother rose with a faint exclamation, but instantly sunk again upon her seat. He approached her, and took her hands, even with gentleness, between his own, though every limb trembled with agitation.

"Luciè," he said, with unnatural calmness, and fixing his troubled eye on her face; "I come to bid you a long,--long farewell!"

"What mean you, de Courcy?" she asked, with extreme alarm; "speak, I conjure you, and relieve this torturing suspense!"

"My honor has been avenged!" he replied, with a hoarse and rapid utterance; "and from this moment we part--forever!"

"Part! de Courcy, my husband!" she exclaimed, in a voice of agony; "tell me, what"--

"The concluding words died on her quivering lips; the sudden conflict of strong emotions could not be endured, and she sunk insensible on my bosom. Frantic with alarm, I folded my arms around her, and, unwilling to summon any witnesses, attempted to recall her senses, by administering such restoratives as were fortunately within my reach. De Courcy looked at her an instant, like one bewildered; then fiercely exclaimed,

"She loves him! see you not how she loves him?"

"Wretched man!" I said, indignantly, "you have murdered her; go, and leave us to our misery."

"My words seemed to penetrate his heart; his features relaxed, and, before I was aware of his design, he took your mother from me, and laid her gently on a couch. The tide of tenderness had rushed back upon his soul, and every soft and generous feeling transiently revived. He stood over her inanimate form, gazing on her with melancholy fondness till the tears gushed freely from his eyes, and fell on her pallid features. At that moment, as if revived by his solicitude, she half unclosed her eyelids, and a faint glow gave signs of returning life. De Courcy kissed her cold lips, and, murmuring a few words, which did not reach my ear, he gave one last and lingering look, and turned precipitately to leave the room.

"I had retreated from the couch, inexpressibly affected by a scene, which I fondly hoped was the dawn of returning happiness. He stopped, as he was passing me, and, wringing my hand with emotion, pointed to your mother, and, in a voice scarcely audible, said,

"You love her, Justine; comfort her,--cherish her, as I would have done,--God knows how fervently,--had she permitted me. Farewell, my sister, forever."

Madame de la Tour was too much agitated to proceed, and even Luciè willingly suspended the painful interest to indulge the natural emotions which her parents' history excited. After a brief interval, Madame de la Tour thus continued:

"You must suffer me to pass rapidly over the remainder of this sad tale, my dear Luciè. It was long before your mother revived to perfect consciousness; and the shock which she had received was only a prelude to still deeper misery. The conduct of de Courcy was too soon explained. Yielding to the fatal error, that she had given her affections to the Count de ----, in the excitement of his passion, he sent a challenge, which was instantly accepted. They met; and the Count was carried, as his attendants supposed, mortally wounded, from the field of contest. De Courcy, however, was spared the commission of that crime; for, though the Count's life was long despaired of, a good constitution prevailed, and he at length recovered.

"De Courcy had made all his arrangements on the preceding night; and, immediately after his interview with your mother, he quitted Paris forever. A letter was left, addressed to her, which strikingly portrayed the disordered state of his mind, and feelingly delineated the strength of his affection, and the bitterness of his disappointment. Robbed, as he believed, of her love, the world had no longer any thing to attach him; and he resolved to bury himself in some retirement, which the vain passions of life could never penetrate.

"I will pass over the agonizing scenes, the months of wretchedness which succeeded this separation, this sudden dissolution of the most sacred and endearing ties. All attempts to discover De Courcy's retreat were unavailing, though it was long before your mother could relinquish the delusive hope, that he would be again restored to her. We returned to my father's house; but there every thing reminded her of happier days, and served to increase her melancholy. Your birth was the only event which reconciled her to life; but her health was then so precarious, we dared not flatter ourselves, that she would be long continued to you. Her physicians recommended change of air, and I accompanied her to a convent on the borders of the Pyrenees, where she had passed a few years in early childhood; and she earnestly desired to spend her remaining days within its peaceful walls.

"The good nuns welcomed her to their humble retreat, in the midst of a wild and romantic solitude; and, with unwearied kindness sought to alleviate the sufferings of disease. For three months, I watched unceasingly beside her; a heavenly resignation smoothed the bed of sickness, and her wearied spirit was gently loosed from earth, and prepared for its upward flight. You were the last cord that bound her to a world which she had found so bankrupt in its promises, and this was too strong to be severed, but by the iron grasp of death. As the moment of her departure approached, she expressed a wish to receive the last offices of religion; and a messenger was sent to a neighbouring monastery of Jesuits to request the attendance of a priest. One of the brotherhood soon after entered the little cell, and the nuns, who were chanting around her bed, retired at his approach.

"I retreated unobserved, to a corner of the room, fearing she would not live through the last confession of her blameless life. A dim lamp, from which she was carefully screened, shed a sickly gleam around the apartment; and, even in the deep silence of that awful hour, the low and labored whispers of her voice scarcely reached my ear. Suddenly I was startled by a suppressed, but fervent exclamation from the monk, instantly followed by a faint cry from your mother's lips. I flew to the bed; she had raised herself from the pillow, her arms were extended, as in the act of supplication, and a celestial glow irradiated her dying features. The priest stood in an attitude of eager attention: his cowl was removed; and, judge of my sensations, when I recognized the countenance of De Courcy!"

"My father!" exclaimed Luciè; "that priest"--

"Wait, and you shall know all;" interrupted Madame de la Tour. "That priest was indeed your father; he had taken the vows of a rigid order, and Providence guided him to the death-bed of your mother. I pass over the scene which followed; it is too hallowed for description. Suffice it to say, the solemn confession of that dreadful moment convinced him of her innocence, and her last sufferings were soothed by mutual reconciliation and forgiveness. Your father closed her eyes in their last sleep, and pressing you for an instant to his heart, rushed almost frantic from the convent.

"On the following day, my father sought De Courcy at the monastery, hoping to draw him back to the world by the touching claims of parental love. But he had already left it, never to return; and the superior had sworn to conceal his new abode from every human being. Before leaving the convent, on the night of your mother's death, he confirmed her bequest, which had already given you to my eldest sister, then a rigid Catholic. But my father soon after became a convert to the opinions of the Hugonots, to which we also inclined; and my sister's marriage with M. Rossville confirmed her in those sentiments. She thought proper to educate you in a faith which she had adopted from deliberate conviction; and, as your father had renounced his claims, she of course felt responsible only to her own conscience. Every effort to find him, indeed, continued unavailing; years passed away, and by all who had known him he was numbered as with the dead.

"But your father still lived, Luciè, and the recollection of his injured wife forever haunted him; her misery, her untimely death, all weighed heavily on his conscience, and he sought to expiate his crime by a life of austerity, and the most constant and painful acts of self-denial and devotion. Yet the severest penance which he inflicted on himself was to renounce his child, to burst the ties of natural affection, that no earthly claims might interfere with those holy duties to which he had consecrated his future life."

"Just heavens!" said Luciè, with emotion; "could such a sacrifice be exacted? dearest aunt, tell me if he yet lives, if I am right"--

"He does live," interrupted Madame de la Tour; "he received permission to quit his monastery only to fulfil a more rigid vow, which bound him to a life of unremitting hardship; and, after a severe illness, that for several weeks deprived him of reason, he at length reached this new world, where for nearly twenty years"--

"Father Gilbert!" exclaimed Luciè, starting from her seat in powerful agitation.

"Yes," said a deep, solemn voice; and the dark form of the priest, who had entered unnoticed, stood beside her; "my child, behold your father!"

"My father!" repeated Luciè, as she rushed into his extended arms, and sunk weeping upon his bosom.