CHAPTER XXXIII.
There be many hearts that, in the full fruition and delight of whatthey have obtained by evil means, know not remorse, and taste suchhappiness as gratified passion can bestow. There be also those firmand constant hearts which in the midst of trouble and adversity shakeoff one half of calamity's heavy load by the strength of consciousvirtue and integrity; and there be some so dull and so obtuse, as,under any circumstances, not to see and appreciate the worst portionof their fate. But the curse of curses, the deepest earthlyretribution that can be poured upon the head of the wicked, is to findtheir schemes frustrated, and their desires disappointed, by the veryevil means which they have taken to accomplish them. Such was the caseof Philip d'Aubin at the moment he left Beatrice of Ferrara; butpassion, and mortified vanity, and angry pride, combined to supporthim for the time, and to shut his eyes to the stinging certainty thathis own vices had produced his own misfortune.
For an instant he gazed after the fair girl he had lost for ever, asshe turned from him in beautiful disdain; and he felt tempted tofollow her, and casting himself once more at her feet, to acknowledgehis errors, and throw away his faults in repentance. But with heranger there had mingled a look of scorn, against which the worstweakness of his nature rose in arms. Her indignation, her reproaches,her wrath, he could have borne, but the contempt that curled her liproused vanity against repentance; and setting his teeth firm, hemuttered "Never! never!" and took another path to the chateau. Passinghastily to the apartments which he had occupied, he bade the servantthat he found in waiting, summon the _ma?tre d'h?tel_ to his presence,and questioned him on his arrival in regard to what part of thebaggage with which he had joined the army of the League at Ivry hadbeen brought thither from the field, and where were the soldiers andattendants who accompanied him.
"Neither baggage nor attendants of your own followed you here, sir,"replied the man. "You were carried off from the field insensible byfour or five of my lady's horsemen, and came hither still in yourbuff-coat and part of your broken armour. The purse which was on yourperson, sir, and its contents, are in that closet, if you have nottaken it. Your horse is well, and in the stable; but your troops andyour attendants were all dispersed; nor have we heard aught of any ofthem, except that some found their way to the Chateau d'Aubin; forwhich, and for your lands in Maine, we learn his majesty the king, atthe request of Monsieur de St. Real, has granted an immunity, lestthey should be plundered in the war."
There was a dryness in the man's tone that displeased the Countd'Aubin; and eyeing him with a somewhat frowning brow, he said, "Well,then, I will go forth from your lady's dwelling as I entered it,alone. Order my horse to be saddled: doubtless a countryman can easilybe hired to guide me on my way to my own lands. How far is it hence toVibraye or La Ferte?"
"Some thirty leagues, sir, by the road," replied the _ma?tre d'h?tel_;"but if you cross through the woods and by the hills--where the way isnot bad--the distance is hardly more than half as much."
"Well, then," said D'Aubin, "I will take the shortest; seek me aguide;" and while the man was gone upon that errand, he walked up anddown the room with his hands clasped, and his eyes bent upon thefloor. Even then his better spirit whispered that it was not yet toolate; but the fiend rose against such counsel, and setting his teethhard, he took his purse from the spot where it had been placed, anddescended to the court-yard. His horse was already prepared; and oneor two of the innumerable retainers that thronged a great mansion inthose days were loitering about below. The _ma?tre d'h?tel_ returnedin a few moments with a guide, riding on one of the small horses ofthe country, and D'Aubin, putting his foot in the stirrup, slowlymounted his charger. As he did so, he ran his eye over the many smallwindows of the building; but nothing like a female face was to be seenat any of them; and, turning to the attendants who stood around,somewhat marvelling to see him thus depart alone and unnoticed, afterall that had lately passed, he bestowed upon them half the contents ofhis purse, and then, with a slow pace and frowning brow, rode throughthe gates into the country beyond.
There was a well of bitterness in his heart, which kept him silent ashe rode on; and more than half an hour passed ere he even asked aquestion of the guide. Nor was his a mind to be soothed or comforted,or rendered better or wiser, by thinking over events in which his ownfollies had acted so principal a share. Too much a spoilt child ofvanity willingly to examine his own conduct with steady and impartialeyes, he felt himself injured, rather than reproved, and meditatedchiefly how he might heal the wounds which had been inflicted on hispride. At length, however, the sight of a distant town recalled to hismind the state of the land through which he travelled; and heremembered that it might be absolutely necessary for his own securityto ascertain the exact political situation of the different cities inthe vicinity. The guide, to whom his questions were of courseaddressed, was shrewd and intelligent enough; and from his answersD'Aubin found that the track, through which his road lay, thinlypeopled, and possessing few places of any importance, had known, asyet, but little of the evils of civil war. A body of troops had,indeed, occasionally crossed it. One or two of the defensible chateauxwere held for the king or for the League; now and then, too, a troopof plunderers attached to one of the parties would appear, carry offwhat pillage they could collect, and then retire; but no regular forcewas known to be in the neighbourhood, except indeed a company of horsearquebusiers, stationed at the small town of La Loupe, on the part ofthe king, in order to keep open his communication with Maine andTouraine. The guide, himself, was a strong Royalist; and as the Countd'Aubin soon ascertained that fact, he neither gave him anyinformation in regard to his own party and opinions, nor trusted toomuch the man's reports of great successes attending the king's arms,and of the return of peace and prosperity, wherever the countryheartily resumed the virtues of obedience and submission.
Having now, by the questions necessary to ascertain the state of thecountry, broken the dull and sullen taciturnity which had bound himfor some time, after quitting the chateau of Beatrice of Ferrara,D'Aubin continued the conversation, as a relief from thought; and manywas the subject on which he needed information, as during the last fewweeks he had given up all his thoughts to happier topics, and tobrighter dreams, than either war or policy could supply. Curiosity ofevery kind had seemed dead within him; but now he learned much fromthe answers of his guide, and guessed more from many a vague distortedtale, which the man had heard, concerning the late movements of thearmies;--tales which, indeed, contained in general less truth thanfalsehood, but which were easily rectified, by the previous knowledgeand better judgment of the narrator's auditor. Much, too, did D'Aubinhear of Beatrice of Ferrara; of her habits of life since she hadquitted Paris; of those kindlier virtues and gentler pursuits which acapital suffers not to show themselves; and of the ardent andenthusiastic love which the peasantry around had learned to beartowards her. He listened and mused, and good and evil purposesstruggled hard together in his heart; but the evil was stillpredominant; and though a lingering inclination to cast himself at herfeet, and sue for pardon, would make itself felt, more often still didhe ponder upon the means of teaching her, who had so bitterly rebukedhim, to repent in agony of spirit the resolution she had formedagainst him. Ever and anon, too, with a feeling of still unconqueredtriumph, he thought, "She loves me still! she loves me still! and theman who possesses a woman's love holds her in bonds that it isdifficult to break."
Thus past the hours; and towards seven o'clock the guide stopped atthe poor _auberge_ of a small open village, in order, as he said, togive the horses rest and provender. The scene was wild and hilly; andD'Aubin now began to recognise the country around, which was littlemore than twelve French leagues from his own paternal dwelling. Hisrecollection was vague, however, and not sufficient to justify him indismissing his guide; and, anxious to proceed, he took no refreshmenthimself, but urged the man to hasten on, hoping, ere night hadcompletely fallen, to reach some spot, whence he could go forwardalone on the following morning. But the
people of the _auberge_ wereslow, and the guide, who was their acquaintance, still slower;inasmuch as, finding himself in comfortable quarters, he hadpredetermined to take up his abode there for the night. He looked outtowards the west, declared that the sun was lower than he had thoughtfor; looked out towards the south, and predicted a sharp storm. ButD'Aubin was neither of a disposition, nor in a mood, to be delayed atany man's will and pleasure; and, in consequence, he urged such cogentarguments in regard to the payment of his guide's services, that theman did at length bestir himself, and the horses were brought to thedoor.
"How far is it to the little village of Neuville?" demanded D'Aubin,after they had ridden on about a mile.
"Four good leagues, Monseigneur," replied the man; "but before wereach that, we come to the chateau of Armen?on, which has ever heldout stoutly for the king, and we are sure of a hearty welcome there,should need be;" and as he spoke he looked up to that part of the skywhich rested, as it were, upon the edge of the high hilly bank formingthe southern boundary of the steep, narrow valley, or rather dell, upwhich their road led on into the forest. D'Aubin turned his eyes inthe same direction, and beheld, what is very common in the valleys ofthe Seine and the Eure during summer, large leaden masses of cloud, inthe shapes of rolling columns and sharp cones, rising up from behindthe hill, clear, defined, and harsh upon the sky, like the side-scenesof a theatre. These are the invariable precursors of a thunder-storm;but often they roll on for many hours, changing from one fantasticshape to another, ere the fire within them breaks forth, and thestrife begins. The Count paid them no farther attention than wasevinced by slightly hurrying his pace. The track upon which he was nowentering was broken ground, forest, and hill; but still the road layon through the same dell, skirting the banks of a small stream whichfell at no great distance into the higher Eure. The uplands on eitherside hid the sun, and afforded a shade which would have been pleasantin that hot season, had not the closeness of the atmosphere, and thewant of the slightest wind, rendered the whole air equally oppressive.The day rapidly declined as the travellers rode on, and the cloudsstretched wider overhead, while every now and then a faint, shifting,electric light played between the detached masses, and showed that thewarfare of the elements was about to commence. D'Aubin was not alittle anxious now to hurry on; but ere he had accomplished more thantwo leagues of the appointed way, night had fallen, and the storm hadbegun. The lightning D'Aubin heeded but little, though his horse wouldevery now and then start and rear, as the bright glare gleamed acrossthe narrow road; but he knew the violent deluge of rain, in whichthose storms generally end, would not be long ere it followed; andfeeling himself far more fatigued than he expected, he loved not thethought of prolonging his journey under the outpouring of the waterysky. They had now reached the summit of the hill: the trees affordedbut little shelter; and a few large drops began to patter upon theleaves. "Ride on, my lord, ride on," cried the guide, who sawD'Aubin's lately acquired strength beginning to flag; "the chateau ofArmen?on is not above a league off."
"But I do not intend to stop till I reach Neuville," replied D'Aubin,"Think you if we pause here under the shelter of some of the thickesttrees that the storm may not pass off?"
"Not to-night, sir, not to-night," replied the man; "but why not stopat Armen?on?" he continued with more eagerness, as the rain rapidlyincreased: "they will show you all hospitality there; and if you bejust recovered from a sickness, as the _ma?tre d'h?tel_ told me, itwill kill you to ride on for two or three hours more in a night likethis."
"Two or three hours!" exclaimed D'Aubin. "What! to travel threeleagues!"
"Ay, sir," answered the man, "even so. We are not here as if we werecoursing a hare over the plains. We shall have to go up and downtwenty steep hills ere we reach Neuville; but we shall be at Armen?onin three quarters of an hour."
"But I do not choose to stop there," replied D'Aubin, hastily: and fora moment or two the man paused without reply. The next instant,however, he said in a respectful tone, "I guess how the matter is,sir: you are one of Mayenne's friends, and if so, good faith! you areright not to go near Armen?on. They shot the captain's brother in coldblood, not long since, in Paris, and, by my soul, it would go hardwith any of the Leaguers if they were found within the chateau walls."
"I had nothing to do with the death of his brother," said D'Aubin,"but still I will not trust to an angry man. Tell me, however, myfriend, can I trust to _you?_"
"On my life you may, sir," replied the guide; "and I would not takeyou now into Armen?on for my right hand. But it is coming on to pour:your cloak will soon be wet through; and hereabouts there should be ahut where the wood-cutters live in the spring and autumn. That willgive better shelter than the trees; and most likely you may find a bedof rushes, and some pine-wood to dry your cloak withal."
"That were luck, indeed!" replied D'Aubin: "let us hasten on then, myfriend; and if you can meet with this hut, I will pay you for itsshelter better than ever _aubergiste_ was paid."
The memory of the guide was exact; and their search was not long. Thehut was, indeed, but four walls, thatched with stubble and plasteredwith mud; and the door, which was made of straw, interwoven withboughs, was lying detached upon the ground: but it was soon replaced;and the frequent flashes of lightning enabled them to discover the bedof moss and rushes which the guide had expected, and a small store ofdried fragments of the resinous pine, which, lighted by a flint andsteel, soon shed some better light upon the interior than was affordedby the fitful glare without. The interior was too small to admit thehorses also; but D'Aubin satisfied himself with placing his own beastunder a tree, and mentally saying, "He will do well enough," returnedto the shelter of the hut, cast off his dripping cloak, and seatedhimself upon the pile of dried herbs.
Still the storm continued, and still the incessant pattering of theheavy rain bade the travellers be contented with the refuge they hadfound. For awhile D'Aubin endeavoured to occupy his thoughts by askinga number of questions of his guide, and listening to the long-windedstories which the other, feeling the moments of inactivity as tediousto his own restless and wandering nature as they were to the Count,willingly poured forth for the sake of doing something. At length,however, his stock exhausted itself; and an hour more passed insilence and expectation; but the storm still went on.
The guide's patience now gave way. "My Lord," he said, "you will bestarved here, if I can find you nothing to eat. You took neither bitnor sup at the _auberge_, though you had ridden many a league; butamongst the houses that lie under the chateau of Armen?on, I have acousin, and can, I doubt not, procure a piece of meat and a flask ofwine. I will say that it is for an old lady, whom I am guiding throughthe wood, and who cannot come on for the storm."
D'Aubin did feel exhausted, and in need of food; but still hehesitated to let the man depart, for in those days acts of treacherywere not uncommon; and his life might depend upon his passing thecastle of Armen?on unobserved. The guide, however, insisted; and asthere was no means of staying him without showing suspicions, whichoften produce the very evils they point at, the Count at lengthsuffered him to depart, and remained alone, determined to try whetherhe could not sleep away the time while the peasant was absent.
The attempt was vain; and, stretched upon the bed of moss where thehard limbs of honest industry had enjoyed many a night of comfortablerepose, the gay and glittering Count d'Aubin strove in vain to banishfrom his bosom the torment of thought. Memory rested on the past, andconscience knew her hour, and seized it with relentless power. Hisgone existence was spread out before him like a map; and theupbraiding voice within proclaimed each stage of folly and of vicethrough which he had proceeded, and still read its sad comment uponevery act, showing his gradual downfall from honour, wealth,splendour, reputation, happiness, and love, by his own errors andvanities. The long procrastinated examination was forced upon hisheart at length; and oh! with what minute agony the moral torturerwracked forth the inmost secrets of his bosom, and then broke him uponthe wheel of despair. His fo
rtune irreparably injured; he himselfbound by large debts to an unfeeling mercenary; the party which he hadjoined against his conscience ruined and falling; his baffled schemesholding him up to the laughter of his light companions; the womanwhose wealth was to have repaired the consequences of his ownextravagance flying him with horror, and avoiding him with success;and the only woman whom he had ever really loved now regarding himwith what had once been affection, changed, by his own infamy, intohatred and contempt. Such were the terrible matters on which reason,and conscience, and remorse had to comment during his hours ofsolitude; and, from the first moment that those thoughts arose, hefelt that it would be a madness to deem that he could sleep. The agonyof his mind affected his body too much even to suffer him to liestill; and starting up, he sometimes paced the narrow limits of thehut like a tiger in its cage, sometimes cast himself down in his fury,and cursed the hour that he was born. He reproached, he reviledhimself for everything; and, in the torture that he felt when alone,exclaimed, "Fool that I was to let the boor leave me! even he werebetter than no one, in this gloomy, accursed place, with the lightningflashing eternally in my eyes, and the melancholy rain pattering overhead."
As he thus thought, the sound of horses' feet splashing through thewet ground made itself heard in the intervals of the thunder, and themoment after, D'Aubin could distinguish that there was more than onetraveller upon the road. A suspicion of his guide instantly crossedhis mind, and was immediately confirmed by hearing his voice exclaim,"There, in that hut! You will find him there!"
The Count loosened his dagger in the sheath; and partly drew hissword, while, stepping back to the farther side of the hut, he watchedfor the opening of the disjointed door. A moment or two elapsed,during which D'Aubin could hear the stranger on the outside speakingas if to his horse, while he tied him under a tree; and then thematted screen was pushed back, and the diminutive figure of Bartholo,the dwarf, stood before him. Without uttering a word, Bartholoadvanced towards the Count, and cast himself at his feet with a lookof imploring deprecation that D'Aubin did not understand. It wasexplained in a moment, however. "My Lord," said the dwarf, earnestly,"my Lord, I find that when last I saw you I deceived you; and, by thecounsel that I gave you, I have brought insult and disappointment uponyour head. My fault was involuntary; but I deserve to be punished; andI have sought you myself; that you may wreak what vengeance upon meyou like."
D'Aubin too well knew that to the counsels of his own perverse andpampered heart he had listened more than to those of the dwarf; but hewas glad, nevertheless, to find any one on whom he could heap a partof the blame; and while he snatched eagerly at the opportunity ofaccusing another, he felt a degree of gratitude for the relief whichmitigated the bitterness of self-reproach.
"Alas! alas! my poor Bartholo!" he said, "you did deceive me, indeed!But I am willing to believe that you deceived me unwittingly; and Iseek not to punish one who wished to serve me, though he failed."
"You are noble and generous ever, sir," replied the dwarf; "and thoughshe does not know the value of the heart she tramples on, others do,and I will conceal it no longer. You little know, sir, how much art,intrigue, and exertion were made use of to estrange from you a heartthat loved you, and rob you not only of your promised bride, but ofher affection."
"How say you?" cried D'Aubin, eagerly. "Speak more clearly, goodBartholo; I do not understand."
"I know not whether I ought to speak more clearly or not," answeredthe dwarf; "for although it is her pleasure and her pride to sportwith your love, and trample on you, yet it would wring her heart tohear that, notwithstanding all her wiles, you had been successful withher rival; and though to you she may appear but as a cold coquette, tome, who have known her from her childhood, she has ever been a goodlady and a kind."
"Bartholo!" cried D'Aubin, sternly, "you have in one thingmiscounselled me, and rendered me miserable. You but now professed awish to atone for that error; and I call upon you at once, to clearaway the obscurity which hangs over all these transactions in which Ihave been engaged, and to let me see how I really stand betweenBeatrice of Ferrara and Eugenie de Menancourt."
"I will, sir! I will!" cried the dwarf, "let it cost me what it may.But I must be quick, for the tale is intricate, and your guide, whodirected me hither, as I was following you to Armen?on, will soon beback. Listen, then," he continued, while his face resumed all itsbitter cynicism. "Think you, my Lord, that a girl, all gentleness andsweetness, like Mademoiselle de Menancourt, could in a moment beconverted into a being as stern and resolute as an old warrior,without some very potent magic? Think you that she who once loved youto all appearance as much as a young maiden ever ventures to show,would all at once affect hate and detestation towards you without somevery mighty cause? Think you that a girl who knows nothing of theworld, and is as timid as a young deer, could alone find means tocheat hard-judging Mayenne and keen Madame Montpensier, and pass ablaspheming Huguenot soldier off for a Catholic priest, frustrate youand all of them by a false marriage, and then effect her escape from abeleaguered city, where a thousand eyes were upon her; and all this bythe simple exertion of her own courage, ingenuity, and daring? Pshaw!One would think to hear it, and to hear that you and Mayenne believedit, that the warriors and the politicians of this world were changedinto old women. My Lord! my Lord! Eugenie de Menancourt loved you,loves you, will love you still; and only now weeps the perfidy whichmy noble lady--thinking, as all women do, that everything is fair inlove--taught her to fancy that you had committed against her. Had notMademoiselle de Menancourt learned to think, from the first moment sheset her foot in Paris, that your whole heart and soul were given tothe Lady Beatrice, and that you sought her hand only on account of herwealth, she would at once, on her father's death, have flown to yourarms for protection. But, day by day, and hour by hour, that idea hasbeen strengthened and confirmed in her mind by a voice whose eloquenceno one knows better than you and I. Another time I will point out how;but at present you will trust me--for your wits are not darkenedenough to doubt so apparent a fact--when I tell you, that the carryingoff the priest, the false marriage, and the escape from Paris, are allowing to the fertile brain and daring courage of Beatrice of Ferrara.She it was who robbed you of your bride; and she it is who nowconceals her within three leagues of this place, weeping that Philipd'Aubin is false, and resolving to enter a monastery as soon as shehears of his marriage to another."
"But St. Real!" exclaimed D'Aubin, "St. Real! I have more thansuspicions there."
"Pshaw!" cried the dwarf; "she thinks not of him. He may love her,perhaps, but she thinks not of him, but as a brave good-humoured lad,with wit enough to lead a score or two of iron-pated soldiers. But,once convince her that you love her, and that those who have told heryou loved another were interested deceivers, and you will soon findthe ice will melt, and all the coldness pass away. And now, my Lord, Ihave told you all. I have given you the key to the mystery; andthough, God knows, there are few men in this world that can comprehendclearly anything beyond a schoolboy's sum, done upon a broken slate,yet the matter here is so simple you cannot well mistake. Now I mustleave you; for if I be not back ere morning dawn, and my ladydiscovers my errand, I may chance to die by an earlier death than Ihave calculated on."
"But stay, stay yet a moment, good Bartholo," cried the count; "youhave not told me yet where I may find this fair lady. Think you mymarriage with her will touch your mistress so deeply then?"
"That is what I fear, my Lord," replied the dwarf, assuming a look ofsorrow, "that is what I fear. I owed you atonement, sir; and I havemade it at the risk of mortifying all the proud feelings of a lady andmistress that I love; for I know that she calculates upon seeing youagain at her feet, and pouring forth upon you more of her scorn andindignation, before she leaves you for ever, and returns to Italy. Shewas laughing over the scene with Annette just now."
"It is a scene she shall never see!" said D'Aubin, biting his lip."But tell me where dwells this fair fugitive--this Mademoiselle deMenancourt? She is
, indeed, as beautiful a creature as the eye of manever yet beheld. One not difficult to love."
"Oh no!" cried the dwarf; "where is the heart that would not beenvious of the man who wears a jewel such as that upon his hand. Herdwelling, I have said, is not far off. You know the little stream thatseparates the lands of Aubin from those of Menancourt. Trace it up toits source amongst these hills, and not half a league from the spotwhere it bubbles from its green fountain you will find two cottages,in one of which is the object of your search. It is not like theordinary dwelling of a French peasant; for the Lady Beatrice has takena pleasure in decking forth her friend's home after the fashion of ourown land, where taste, and the love of all that is beautiful, descendseven to the lowest tillers of the soil."
"I shall easily find it," replied the count; "and yon fair scornfuldame shall find that D'Aubin can seek him a mate as beautiful asherself. Bartholo, I trust you--once more I trust you! but oh! if youdeceive in this also, look to your heart's blood; for I will findmeans to punish you, should you hide in the farthest corner of theglobe."
"My Lord, I deceive you not," replied the dwarf, "nor in this am Imyself deceived. But, I entreat, undertake no enterprise upon myshowing, without resolving to carry it through at all hazards. If youwould have the love of that fair creature you seek, spare no vows andpersuasions to efface from her mind the evil impression that othershave given of your conduct. Nor trust to that alone. Forget that themarriage was null. Act upon it as if she were your wife, till you haveher safe in your own chateau; and then let the ceremony be performedagain. Neither must you seek her alone, and unattended by a sufficientforce to assert your right, should it be opposed. I know that five orsix of my lady's bravest followers are always watching near that spot;and there may be more. Stir not a step, without fifty horseman at yourback. At all events, remember, my noble lord, that if you undertakethis enterprise without sufficient strength and resolution, thefailure must not be laid to me. As I hope for life and happiness, Ibelieve that you may be fully successful."
"I am not apt to want in resolution, Bartholo," replied D'Aubin."Hence I shall speed to my own dwelling without a moment's loss oftime; but it may take long in the present state of affairs to collectsuch a troop as fifty men."
"Yet time is everything!" replied the dwarf. "'Tis more than likelythat changes may take place, of which I cannot inform you; and if thelady be removed from her present refuge, our scheme is ruined. To bebold and rapid is the best road to success, after all. Who can tellwhat even to-morrow may bring forth?"
"True!" answered D'Aubin; "and, if possible to-morrow's sun shall notset ere Eugenie de Menancourt be mine. Then let your mistress and hermaids laugh over the scene of my supplications if they will! But Imust be guided by circumstances. At present my purse is but lean, mygood friend. Nevertheless----"
"Speak not of it, sir! speak not of it!" replied the dwarf. "I came todo what I have done, in order to make atonement for an involuntaryerror towards one who was to me the most generous of masters; and whonever could accuse me of giving him false information before. I soughtnot gold, and will not take it. But if you succeed, and if you behappy, sometimes remember the poor dwarf when he is far away."
Thus saying, he kissed the hand of his former lord, and departed,drawing the matted door after him. The next moment D'Aubin heard hishorse's feet; and, again left alone, he once more cast himself uponthe bed of moss, and gave himself up to thought. His feelings,however, were now very different from what they had been an hourbefore. Although, as we have before shown, the idea of wedding Eugeniede Menancourt, repairing his wasted fortune by her wealth, andtriumphing proudly over her who had scorned and rejected him, and madehim the common jest of Paris, had never quitted his mind, even whileyielding willingly to his passionate love for Beatrice of Ferrara; yetthe repulse he had met with, from a being on whose love and compliancehe had counted with full confidence, the bitter scorn that she haddisplayed towards him, and the keen disappointment that her rejectioninflicted, had, in spite of all the Titan-like struggles of pride, soabased and overwhelmed him, that he had lost courage, and looked withhopeless eyes upon all the daring schemes on which, at other times, hewould have entered so boldly. The words of the dwarf, however, hadrevived him, not alone by showing him the easy means of accomplishingone part of his purpose, but by pointing out a new end to be obtained,a new object of desire, and that, too, of a nature to give the onlyalleviation which his heart was capable of receiving in the pain hesuffered--the alleviation of revenge. He felt that Beatrice wasalready unhappy; that his conduct was--must be--a source of misery toher; but that feeling, far from making him pity her, roused up hissuffering vanity to strive for means of avenging upon her the insultwhich her purity had offered to his baseness. The dwarf had pointedout the way; and to dream of wringing her heart by his marriage withEugenie, while he silenced for ever the stinging laughter of hisformer companions, was a relief--perhaps a pleasure. At the same time,a thought crossed his mind that the tale of his having dwelt manyweeks concealed in the dwelling of Beatrice of Ferrara, joined to hisreputation for gallantry, might, perchance, leave her proud reputationfor virtue somewhat sullied; and, as he thought thus, a smile,mingling vanity and pride and vengeance altogether, passed over hislip, and gave his fine features the expression of a demon; and yetthis was the bright and fascinating Count d'Aubin: whom we have seenso full of light and harmless gaiety in the beginning of this volume,and such was the creature he had, step by step, become.
Before the visit of the dwarf he had tried to sleep in vain; but nowhe felt the gnawing pain at his heart relieved by a new purpose; and,after the return of his guide with wine and meat, he ate and drank,though sparingly, and then, casting himself down once more, sleptundisturbed till morning dawned.