Valerie

“Do not call it foolish, Valerie,” returned the old man with a benignant smile. “Nothing that is natural can be foolish—least of all, anything of natural and kindly feeling. But do not yield to it—do not yield to it. The feelings are good slaves, but wretchedly poor masters. Do as you will, my dear child, but come to us again as soon as you can. In the meantime, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, let us go and see who are these new comers.”

And with these words, he turned away, leaning familiarly upon my brother’s arm, and left me to collect myself, and recover from the perturbation of my feelings as well and as soon as I could; which was not perhaps the more quickly that I had easily recognised in the new arrival, the person of the Count de Chavannes.

I have entered perhaps more fully into the detail of my sentiments at this period of my life, for two reasons—one, because of an eventful life, this was upon the whole the most eventful moment—the other, that having hitherto recorded facts and actions rather than feelings or principles, I am conscious that I have represented myself as a somewhat harder and more worldly person, than I feel myself in truth to be.

But the hardness and the worldliness were produced, if they existed at all, by the hardness of the circumstances into which I was thrown, and the worldliness of the persons with whom I was brought into contact.

Adversity had hardened my character, and perhaps in some sort my heart also. At least, it had aroused my pride to the utmost, had set me as it were upon the defensive, and led me to regard every stranger with suspicion, and to look in him for a future enemy.

Good fortune had, however, altered all this. All who had been my enemies, who had injured, or misrepresented me, were disarmed, or subdued, or repentant; I had forgiven all the world—was at peace with all the world. I had achieved what to me was a little competence; I was loved and esteemed by those whom I could in return love and esteem, and of whose regard I could be honestly proud. I had recovered my brother—I still hoped to be reconciled to my parents—and—and—why should I conceal it—I was beginning to think it by far less improbable that I should one day marry—in a word, I was beginning to like, if not yet to love.

All these things had been by degrees effecting a change in my thoughts and feelings. I had been gradually thawing, and was now completely melted, so that I felt the necessity of being alone—of giving way—of weeping.

I went to my own chamber, threw myself on my bed, and wept long, and freely.

But these were not tears of agony such as I shed when I first learned Madame d’Albret’s cruel conduct towards me—nor tears of injured pride such as Madame Bathurst had forced from me, by her effort to humiliate me in my own eyes—nor yet tears of wrathful indignation, such as burst from me when I detected Lady M—, in her base endeavour to destroy my character.

These were tears of affection, of softness, almost of joy. They flowed noiselessly and gently, and they relieved me, for my heart was very full; and, when I was relieved, I bathed my face, and arranged my hair, and descended the staircase almost merrily to join the merry company in the garden.

I found on my joining them, that the Count de Chavannes had already completely gained the good graces, not only of Caroline and her young sisters-in-law, but of Mr Selwyn and the Judge also.

He had come down to Kew with the particular purpose of engaging my brother and Lionel to accompany him, on the next day but one, to Wormwood Scrubs, where there was to be a grand review, in honour of some foreign prince or other, of two or three regiments of light cavalry, with horse-artillery and rockets. It was to conclude with a sham fight, and which he thought would interest Auguste as a military man, and especially one who had commenced his service in the hussars, though he had been subsequently transferred into the line.

This plan had been discussed and talked over, until the ladies, having expressed a laughing desire to see the spectacle, it was decided that Caroline, the two Miss Selwyns and myself, escorted by Lionel, in the rumble, should go down to the review in the Judge’s carriage, Auguste and the Count accompanying us en cavalier, and that after the order of the day should be concluded, the whole party, including the Count, should return to dinner at Kew.

On the day following, as I did not think it either wise or correct to neglect my pupils, my chapel, or Mrs Bradshaw’s school, although I had sent satisfactory reasons for taking one week’s leave of absence, we were all to return to town; I to good Monsieur Gironac’s, Auguste and Lionel to the lodgings of the latter in Suffolk Street.

Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long after I made my appearance, not wishing either to be, or to appear, de trop on a first visit; nor had he any opportunity of addressing more than a few common-place observations to me, had he desired to do so. Still I observed the same peculiarity in his manner towards me, as distinct as possible from the sort of proud humility, half badinage, half earnest, which he put on in talking with other ladies.

To me he observed a tone of serious softness, with something of earnest deference to everything that fell from my lips, however light or casual, for which he seemed to watch with the utmost eagerness.

He never joked with me, though he was doing so continually with the others; not that he was in the least degree grave or formal, much less stiff or affected; but rather that he seemed desirous of proving to me that he was not a mere butterfly of society, but had deeper ideas, and higher aspirations, than the every day world around us.

When he was going away, he for the first time put out his hand to me à l’anglaise, and as I shook hands with him, our eyes met once more, and I believe I again blushed a little; for though he dropped his gaze instantly, and bowed low, taking off his hat, he pressed my fingers very gently, ere he let them fall, and then turning to take his leave of the Judge and Mr Selwyn, who had just joined us, mounted his horse—a very fine hunter, by the way, which he sat admirably—again bowed low, and cantered off, followed by his groom, as well mounted as himself.

He was not well out of sight, before, as usual, he became the topic of general discussion.

“What a charming person,” said Caroline. “So full of spirit and vivacity, and yet so evidently a man of mind and good feeling. Where did you pick him up, Valerie?”

“He is an old friend, I told you, of Monsieur Gironac’s, and was calling there by accident when he met Auguste, and since that he has been exceedingly kind and civil to him. That is the whole I know about him.”

“Well, he is very handsome,” said Caroline; “don’t you think so, Valerie?”

“Yes,” I answered, quite composedly, “very handsome, a little effeminate-looking, perhaps.”

“Oh! no, not in the least,” said Caroline; “or if he is, so quick and clever and spirited-looking that it quite takes all that away.”

“Caroline,” said Selwyn, laughing, “you have no right to have eyes to see, or ears to hear, or mind to comprehend beauty, or wit, or any other good quality, in any one save me, your lord and master.”

“You, you monster!” she replied, laughing gaily, “I never thought you one bit handsome, or witty, or dreamed that you had one good quality. I only married you, you know as well as I do, to get away from school, and from the atrocious tyranny of my music-mistress there. You need not look fie! at me, Valerie, for I’m too big to be put in the corner, now, and he won’t let you whip me.”

“I think he ought to whip you, himself, baby,” replied the Judge, who had grown very fond of her; and, in truth, she was a very loveable little person in her way, and made her husband a very happy man.

“Now, Judge Selwyn,” interposed I, “do you remember a conversation we once had together, in which you endeavoured to force me to believe that men in general, and you in particular, were not tyrants to your wives and families, and now do I hear you giving your son such advice as that? Alas! what can make women so insane?”

“Don’t you know? Can’t you guess? Mademoiselle Valerie?” asked the old Judge, smiling slily, and with the least possible wink of his eye, when some of the others were looking at us, and then he added in a lower voice, “perhaps it will be your turn soon. I think you will soon be able to go to France without much fear of your mother’s persecution. Come,” he continued, offering me his arm, as the others had now moved a little way apart, “come and take a turn with me in the cedar-walk till dinner’s ready; I want to talk to you, for who knows when one will get another opportunity.”

I took his arm without reply, though my heart beat very fast, and I felt uncomfortable, knowing as I did perfectly well beforehand what he was going to say to me.

We turned into the cedar-walk, which was a long shadowy aisle, or bower, overhung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon, running parallel with the banks of the noble river, and so still and secluded that no more proper place could be found for a private consultation.

“Well,” said the old man, speaking gently, but not looking at me, perhaps for fear of embarrassing me by his eye, “you know I am in some sort, not only your legal adviser, but your self-constituted guardian, and father confessor—so now, without farther preamble, who is he, Valerie?”

“I will not affect to misunderstand you, Judge, though, upon my word, you are entirely mistaken in your conjecture.”

“Upon your word! entirely mistaken! I think, not—I am sure, not.”

“You are, indeed. I have not seen him above four times, nor spoken fifty words to him.”

“Never mind, never mind—who is he?”

“An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac’s, Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes. His father emigrated hither during the revolution, engaged in commerce, and made a fortune of some 40,000 pounds. At the restoration, the old Count returned to France, and was made by Louis XVIII a Colonel of the Legion of Honour, and died shortly afterwards. There is an estate, I believe, in Brittany, but Monsieur de Chavannes, who was at school here, and has passed all his younger days in this country, is more an Englishman than a Frenchman, and only visits France at rare intervals. That is all I know about him, and that only by accident, Monsieur Gironac having told me, in his lively way, what I should not have dreamed of inquiring.”

“Very proper, indeed—and very good so far, but one would like to know something definite about a man before taking him for one’s husband.”

“I should think so, indeed, Judge; but as I am not going to take him for my husband, I am quite contented with knowing what I do know of him.”

“And what do you know?—of yourself,—I speak of your own knowledge? No hearsay evidence in the case.”

“Nothing more than that he is lively and agreeable, that he has very good manners, and seems very good-natured—I might say, he has been very good-natured to Auguste, poor fellow.”

“Poor fellow! Yes,” answered the Judge. “But men are very apt to be good-natured to poor fellows, who have got nice sisters, with whom they are in love.”

“I dare say, Judge. But to reply in your own phraseology—that is no case in point; for granting that Auguste’s sister is nice, which I will not be so modest as to gainsay, Monsieur de Chavannes is not the least in love with her.”

“Perhaps, not.”

“Certainly, not.”

“Well, be it so? What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing, Judge Selwyn.”

“Nothing of his character, his principles, his morals, or his habits?”

“Really, Judge, one would think, to hear you, that I was going to hire a footman—which I am much too poor to do—and that Monsieur de Chavannes had applied for the place. What on earth have I to do with the young gentleman’s character or principles? I know that he is very gentlemanlike, and is neither a coxcomb nor a pedant, which is refreshing in these days.”

“And, as Caroline says, very handsome, eh?”

“Yes, I think he is handsome,” I replied. “But that has nothing to do with it.”

“Not much, truly,” said the Judge drily. “And this is all you know?”

“Or desire to know. It seems to me quite enough to know of an acquaintance of a few days’ standing.”

“Well—well,” he answered, shaking his head a little.

“Well. He is all that you say. A very fine young man, he seems. I like him. Well, I will make inquiries.”

“Not on my account, I intreat, Judge Selwyn,”—said I, interrupting him eagerly.

“Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf,” he said drily, though half in jest, “my head is an old one, yours a very young one. I know young folks are apt to think old heads good for nothing.”

“I do not, I am sure,” interrupted I, again. “I do not, indeed.”

“Nor I, Valerie,”—he answered, interrupting me in his turn, with a good-natured smile. “So you shall let me have my way in this matter. But, to relieve you, my dear, permit me to observe that I have two daughters of my own, and one young son, besides Charles, who is old enough to take care of himself; and, though I am very glad to ask a young man to dine in my house who has, as you observe, very good manners, and is neither a fool nor a coxcomb, I am not at all willing that he should become what you call an habitué, until I know something of his character and principles. And now, as the dressing-bell has rung these ten minutes, and it will take you at least half-an-hour to beautify your little person, I advise you to make the most of your time. And by all means, Valerie, stick to your resolution—never marry, my dear, never marry; for all men are tyrants.”

One might be very sure that I profited by this dismissal, and ran across the lawn as fast as I could, glad to escape the far-sighted experience of the shrewd old lawyer.

“He has seen it, then,” I thought to myself. “He has observed it even in this little space; even in this one interview, and he has read it, even as I read it. I wonder if he has read my heart, too. No, no,” I continued, communing with myself, “that he cannot have done, for I know not yet myself how to interpret it.”

Little thought I then, that whenever our feelings are deeply interested, or when strong passions are at work, even in embryo, we are for the most part the last persons who discover the secrets which are transparent enough, Heaven knows, to all persons but ourselves.

I do not know, nor did I inquire whether the Judge pursued his inquiries concerning the Count as he had promised to do; much less did I learn what was their result. But I do know that the following morning the young gentleman called again at the gate with a led horse for my brother; but did not ask if we were at home, merely sending his compliments to the ladies, and requesting Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to accompany him for a ride.

Lionel was absent in the city on business; so that Auguste and the Count rode out alone, and did not return until it was growing dark, when there was scarcely time to dress for dinner, the latter again sending in an apology for detaining my brother so long, and retiring without getting off his horse.

This gave me, I confess, more pleasure than it would have done to see him, though that would have given me pleasure, too; for I saw in it a proof of something more than mere tact, of mental delicacy, I mean; and an anxiety not to obtrude either upon the hospitality of the Selwyns, or upon my feelings.

Auguste, on his return, was in amazing spirits, and did nothing all dinner-time, but expatiate upon the companionable and amiable qualities of de Chavannes, whom he already liked, he said, more than any person he had ever seen for so short a time—so clever, so high-spirited, so gallant. Everything, in a word, that a man could desire for a friend, or a lady for a lover.

“Heyday!” said the Judge, laughing at this tirade. “This fine Count with his black moustaches seems to have made one conquest mighty quickly. I hope it will not run in the company, or we shall have more elopements,”—with a sly glance at Caroline. “Mademoiselle Valerie here,” he continued, “is a terrible person for promoting elopements, too. But we must have none from my house.”

We continued to be very gay all dinner-time. After dinner we had some music, and the Judge was just pressing me to sing, when Lionel’s servant came into the room, having hurried down from London, in pursuit of his master, in consequence of the sudden arrival of a large package of letters from Paris, endorsed “immediate, and to be delivered with all speed.”

This incident broke up the party for the moment; and indeed threw a chill over us all for the whole evening, when it appeared that the principal letter was one to my brother from the Commandant of Paris, of which city his regiment formed a part of the garrison, reluctantly revoking his leave of absence, in consequence of some expected émeute, and intimating that his presence would be expected at head-quarters on or before the third day of June; an order which it was, of course, impossible to think of neglecting or disobeying, while it would leave him at the furthest but a single week to give to us in London.

It was a bitter disappointment to be separated after so brief a communion, but we consoled ourselves by the recollection that the Straits of Dover are not the Pacific Ocean, and that Paris and London are not a thousand leagues asunder.

Chapter Thirteen

There never was a finer morning in the world than that appointed for the review. It was just the end of May, and all the scenery, even in the very suburbs of the great city, was brilliant with all the characteristic beauty of an English landscape.

The fine horse-chestnut trees and the thick hawthorn hedges were all in full bloom, and the air was perfectly scented with perfumes from the innumerable nursery grounds which hedge in that side of London with a belt of flowers.

The parks, and the suburban roads were crowded with neatly-dressed, modest-looking nurses and nursery-maids, leading whole troops of rosy-cheeked, brown-curled, merry boys and girls to enjoy the fresh morning air; and Auguste was never tired, as we drove along, of admiring everything that met his eyes in quick succession.

The trees, the flowery hedges, the gay parterres, the glimpses of the noble Thames white with the sails of innumerable craft, the beautiful villas with their small highly cultivated pleasure-grounds, the pretty nursery-maids, and happy English children, all came in for a share of his rapturous admiration; and so vivacious and original were his comments on all that he saw, that he in some sort communicated the infection of his merry humour to us also, and we were all as gay and joyous as the season and the scene.

When we came to the ground destined for the review, my brother was silent, and I saw his cheek turn pale for a moment; but his eye brightened and flashed as it ran over the splendid lines of the cavalry, which, at the moment we came upon the ground, were parading past the royal personage in honour of whom the review was given, and who was on horseback, by the side of a somewhat slender elderly gentleman, dressed in the uniform of a field-marshal, whose eagle eye and aquiline nose announced him, at a glance, the vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre.

“Magnifique, mais c’est vraiment magnifique,” muttered my brother to himself, as the superb life-guards swept along with their polished steel helmets and breast-plates glittering like silver in the sunshine, and their plumes and guidons flashing and twinkling in the breeze. “Dieu de dieu! qu’ils sont géants les cavaliers, qu’ils sont colossaux les chevaux. Et les allures si lestes, si gracieuses, comme s’ils n’étaient que des juments. Mais c’est un spectacle magnifique!”

A moment afterwards, a regiment of lancers passed at a trot, with their pennons fluttering in the breeze, and their lance-heads glimmering like stars above the clouds of dust which rose from under their horses’ hoofs; and these were followed by several squadrons of hussars, with their crimson trousers and their gaily furred pelisses, and then troop after troop of horse-artillery clattering along, the high-bred horses whirling the heavy guns and caissons behind them as if they had been mere playthings.

It certainly was a beautiful and brilliant pageant, and the splendid military music of the cavalry-bands, the clash and clang of the silver cymbals, the ringing roll of the kettle-drums, and the symphonious cadences of the cornets, horns, and trumpets at the same time, delighted and excited me to the utmost.

But, I confess, that to me the calm old veteran, sitting unmoved amidst all that pomp and clangour, and evidently marking only every smallest minutiae of the men, the accoutrements, the movements, was a more interesting, a more moving sight, than all the pageantry of uniform, than all the thrill of music.

I thought how he had sat as cool and impassive under the iron hail of battle, with thousands and thousands of the best and bravest falling around him, the fate of nations hanging on a balanced scale in those fights of giants—I thought how he, alone of men, had faced undaunted and self-confident, that greater than Hannibal, or Alexander, that world-conqueror Napoleon—I thought how he had quelled the might of my own gallant land, and my blood seemed to thrill coldly in my veins, as it will at the recital of great deeds and noble daring—and I knew not altogether whether it was the shudder of dislike, or the thrill of admiration that so shook me.

Had he looked proud, or self-elate, or triumphant, I felt that I could have hated him; but so impassive, and withal now so frail and feeble, yet with an eye so calmly firm, an expression of rectitude so conscious, I could not but perceive that if an enemy of my belle France was before me, it was an enemy who had been made such by duty, not by choice—an enemy who had done nought in hatred, all in honour.

I acknowledged to myself that I was in the presence of the greatest living man; and though I could neither love nor worship, I felt subdued and awed into a sort of breathless horror, as one might fancy humanity to be in the presence of some superior intelligence, some being of another world.

The girls observed my riveted and almost fascinated eye, as it dwelt on that mighty soldier, and began to whisper to one another with a sort of very natural pride at the evident interest which we took in their favourite hero.

Their tittering attracted my brother’s attention, and following their eyes he was not long in discovering what it was that had excited their mirth, and he looked at me for a moment with something like a frown on his forehead. But it cleared away in a moment, and he smiled at his own vehemence, perhaps injustice.

At that moment, the different regiments began wheeling to and fro in long lines, and open columns of troops, and performing an infinity of manoeuvres, which, though I of course did not in the least degree comprehend them, were very fine and beautiful to look at, from the rapidity of the movements, the high spirit of the horses, and the gleam and glitter of the arms, half seen among the dust-clouds. My brother, however, began, as I could see, to be vehemently excited, and his constant comments and exclamations of surprise and admiration, bore testimony to the correctness with which every movement was executed.

Then came the roar of the artillery, as the guns retreated before the charging horse, and even I could comprehend and appreciate the marvellous celerity with which flash followed flash, and roar echoed roar, from the same piece, so speedily that it was scarcely possible to comprehend how the gun should have been loaded and re-loaded while the horses were at full gallop.

By this time all the gentlemen had become so much interested and excited by the scene, that, Lionel having got upon his horse which had been led down to the ground by his servant, they asked our permission to leave us for a short time, and ride nearer to the spot where the artillery were manoeuvring.

As we had several servants about us in the first place, and as in the second there is not the slightest danger of ladies being treated with incivility by an English crowd, unless through their own fault or indiscretion, of course no objection was made, and our cavaliers galloped away, promising to return within a quarter of an hour.