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Eugenie's Waiting Maid lO.'i A. Eugenie Goes Again to Chateau d'O,- j j„ XI. The Escape.. YTT rn. • 128 All, The Denouement XIII. Ill .America 145 NoRAH ,., ,, 171 24!i » I M ■ par rea( we mor rocli whe mor mg i s tlists F( seein balct imm( howe have CHATEAU D'OR "VyE had left Paris behind us, and were going down to the .southern part of France, as far as Mar- «^eillcs and Nice. All day Hal and I had had the com- partment to ourselves, and had talked, and smoked, and read, and looked out upon the country through which we were passing so rapidly. But this had become rather monotonous, and I was beginning to tire of the gray rocks, and bleak mountain sides, and gnarled olive trees when suddenly, as we turned a curve and came out into a more open and fertile tract, Hal seized my arm, and point- ing to the left of us said : "Quick, quick ! Do you see that old chateau in the distance ? " Following the direction of his hand, I saw what at first seemerl to be a mass of dark stone walls, turrets, towers and Lalconies. tumbbnl promisr-uously together, and formino- an ' immense pile of ruins. A closer and nearer inspection however, showed me a huge stone building, which mn.t have been very old, judging from its style of architec- CHATEAU d'OR. >i H ture, and tlie thickness of its walls, and the ^ray moss, which had crept up to the very eaves, and found there before it the ivy, which i^rows so rankly and luxuriantly in many parts of France. " Yes, I see it," I said. " What oi it, and what place is it?" " That," said Hal, " is Chateau d'Or, which, translated into plain English for a stupid like you, means 'Chateau of gold,' though why that sombre, dreary old pile should have that name, is more than I can tell, unless it is that it cost so much to build it. It is nearly two hundred years old. Its first owner mined himself on it, I believe, and it has passed through many hands since. You see that stream of water yonder, almost a river ? Well, that passes entirely round the chateau, which really stands on an island, and is only accessible from one point, and that an iron bridge. That old building has been the scene of the strangest story you ever heard — almost a tragedy, in fact, and the heroine was an American woman, and native of my own town. I'll tell you about it to-night, after we have had our dinner." I was interested now, and leaned far out of the window to look at the chateau, which seemed gloomy and dreary enough to warrant the wildest story one could tell of it. And that night I heard the story which I now write down, using sometimes Hal Morton s words, and sometimes my own. ^^ijL.. THE STORY. C'HAPTER I. ANNA STRONG. jy /pLLFIELD," said Hal, " is one of those little New J- England towns which seem to have been fin- ished up years and years ago, and gone quietly to sleep without a susi)icion that anything more could be expected of It. It stands on a spur of the mountains which lie between Pittsfield and Albany, and can be distinctly seen from the car windows,with its spotless houses of white, with fresh green blipds,and the inevitable lilac bushesandsweet syringas in front. I was born there, and when I wish to Jest and get away from the noise and turmoil of New York, I go thei-e and grow a younger and better man amid the Sunday stillness which reigns perpetually in its streets. And yet you would be surprised to find how much intel- ligence and genuine aristocracy that little village has. There are the Crosbys, who claim relationship with the Adamses, and a real scion of the Washingtons, and a ! 8 CHATEAU DOR. lineal descendant of Lord Comwallis, and Miss Talleyrand, who prides herself upon having, in her veins, the best blood in New England, though good old Deacon Larkin's wife once shocked her horribly by saying, ' she didn't see, . for her part, why Polly Talleyrand need to brag so about good blood, when she was as full of erysipelas as she could hold.' " Here 1 laughed heartily over Miss Talleyrand's good blood, while Hal lighted a fresh cigar, and continued : " Next to' these aristocrats, upper crust, as the deacon's wife called them — comes the well-to-do class, tradespeople and mechnnics, the people whose sons and daughters work in the shoe-shops, for you know the shoe business is no- where carried on so extensively as in New England, and it gives employiment to many girls as well as boys, the former stitching the uppers, as they are called, and the latter putting on the soles. There is a very large shop in Millfield, which employs at least fifty girls, and at the time I am telling you about, there was not in the whoh^ fifty — no, nor in the entire town — so pretty a girl a;S An- na Strong, the heroine of my story. She was not very intellectual, it is true, or very fond of books, but she was beautiful to look at, with a lithe, graceful figur?, and win- some ways, while her voice was sweet and clear as a robin's. Birdie Strong, we called her, on account of her voice, and when she sang in the gallery of the old brick chuwh, 1 used to shut my eyes, and fancy I was in Heaven, listening- to the music of the sweetest sincrer there, ANNA STRONG. 9 " Bob, I may as well be frank with you. I was in love with Anna Strong, and I am certain she liked me a lit- tle, though she never encouraged me in the least. She was not a bit of a coquette, and made no secret of the fact that money, and nothing else, would have any influ- ence with her. Anna was ambitious, and when, from her shoe-bench in the hot work-room, she saw Judge Crosby's daughter go by in her dainty white dress and sash of blue, she thought hard, bitter things of the humble life she led, and vowed to accept the first man who could give her silks, and lace, and diamonds, and a place in society. " At last the man came — a brusque, haughty English- man, with a slight limp in his left anklo, and a cold, hard expression in his steel-gray eyes, but tolerably good-look- ing, with a certain assurance and style, and lavish gene- rosity, which won upon the people, and made him quite a lion. Eva Crosby invited him to tea ; Miss Talleyrand's niece drove with him once or twice ; and so he became the fashion. He was not young — was thirty -five at least, and looked older. He was of Scottish descent, he said, though English born, and he owned an estate in the north of Scotland, a large chateau in the south of France, and a city house in London, and he called himself Ernest Wal- singham Haverleigh. If he chose he could be very gra- cious and agreeable, though his manner was always haughty in the extreme, and had in it an undisguised contempt for everything American. '• I disliked him frem the first, and hated him after the iwn party, to which Anna Strong day Crosby'] 2 i ^ 10 CHATEAU d'oR, was invited, and where she shone the belle of the fSte, notwithstanding that her dress was a simple blue muslin, and the ruffle round her throat imitation lace. I learned that fact from hearing Miss Talleyrand's niece, from Springfield, say to Eva Crosby, in speaking of A.nna, 'she is rather pretty, but decidedly flashy. Her love of finery leads her to wear imitation lace. If there's any one thing I detest, it is that. It al^vays stamps a person.' " And so Anna was stamped, but did not seem to mind it at all. How plainly I can see her now as she came through the gate with her hat in her hand, and her beau- tiful hair falling in curls about her neck and shoulders. " Up to that moment Haverleigh had maintained an indolent, bored attitude, with a look of supreme indiffer- ence on his face, but when Anna joined us, his manner changed at once, and he devoted himself to her with a persistency which brought upon her the jealous rancour of every lady present. But Anna did not seem to know it, and received the Englishman's attentions with an air of sweet unconsciousness, which only deepened his ardour, and made him perfectly oblivious to every one around him. The next day he made some inquiries with regard to Anna's family, and before night had learned all there was to know of them, both good and bad. They were poor, but perfectly respectable people, and no taint had ever rested upon the name of Strong. Years and years before, Grandfather Strong had married a second wife, with a daughter about the age of his own son, afterward^ Anna's father, and this daughter, Milly Gardner, who ■I ANNA STRONG. 11 was in no^way connected with the Strongs, had run away with a Boston man, who promised her marriage and then deserted her. A few years later news was received in Millfield of her death, and so the scandal died and was buried in poor Milly's grave, and the family seldom spoke her name. Indeed, Anna's mother, who was many years younger than her husband, had never known Milly, while Mr. Strong himself, who had loved her as a dear sister, never blamed her. She was more sinned agamst than sinning, and so he let her rest in peace, and his childitn only knew of her as Aunt Milly, who was very pretty, and who was dead. Mr. Strong was dead now himself, and his widow lived in a little red house on the common with her three children— Mary, who made dresses in the winter, and taught school in the summer; Anna, who worked in the shoe-shop ; and Fred., the youngest and pet of the family, who was destined for college, and for whom the mother and sisters hoarded their small earn- ings and denied themselves everything. " This is the history of the Strongs up to the time when Haverleigh came to Millfield and made up his mind to marry Anna, with the decided understanding, however, that in taking her he was not taking her family. And Anna listened to him, and throwing aside her love, and pride, and womanhood, cast into one scale her humble home, with its poverty and privations, her scanty dress, her hateful life of toil in the dingy shop, stitching shoes for the negroes to wear; while into the other she put a life of ease and luxury, the country seat in Scotland, the 12 CHATEAU D'OR. Chateau in Southern France, the city house in London, and the gay season there, and what weighed more with her — the satins, and laces, and diamonds which, as Mrs. Haverleigh, she was sure to wear. Of course the latter scale overbalanced the former, and without a particle of love, but rather with a feeling of dread and fear for the cold Englishman, Anna promised to be his wife, on one condition. Fred, was to go to college, the mortgage of five hundred dollars on the red house was to be paid, her mother wi s to have a dress of handsome black silk, and Mary one of dark blue. This request she made timidly, not daring to look at the man who, with a sneer on his face, answered laughingly : " ' Oh, that is a mere trifle. Fred, shall go to college, the mortgage shall be paid, the silk gowns shall be forth- coming, and here is the wherewithal.' " It was a check for five thousand dollars which he gave her, and his unlooked-for generosity went far toward reconciling Mrs. Strong and Mary to the match. And so it was a settled thing, and Anna stitched her last shoe in the dingy shop ; went down the staircase for the last time, sang her last song in church, and was married quietly at home one lovely morning in July, when Millfield was looking its best from the effects of a recent rain. There were drops of crystal on the freshly cut grass, and the air was sweet with the perfume of roses, and pinks, and helio- trope, while the sky overhead was blue and clear as the eyes of the young bride, who, if she felt any regret for the home she was leaving, did not show it in the least. Per- ^^»r 1 haj 1 ger 1 gra J one 1 by m wei m her m atl m wei m mo] m whi 1 sior ANNA STRONG. 13 a sneer on his haps she was thinking of the costly diamond on her fin- ger, and the silken robe she wore, or possibly of the grandeur which awaited her over the sea. Poor Anna —she was very young— only eighteen— and to change at once from a poor girl, who was every morning awakened by the shoe-shop whistle, to a life she hated, to step into wealth and elegance must have benumbed and bewildered her so that she did not realize what she was doing, when at last she said good-by to the home of her childhood, and went away alone with a man she had scarcely known two months — a man whom she did not love, and who, even while caressing her, made her feel the immense condescen- sion it had been on his part to make her his wife. " Their destination was New York, where Anna had never been, and where they were to spend a week or two before sailing for Europe. At the hotel where they stop- ped, Anna met with an old school friend, who, like her- self, was a bride taking her wedding trip. As was natural, the two young girls talked together freely of their future prospects and the husbands they had chosen, and Anna could not help showing her elation at being the wife of a man like Mr. Haverleigh. " ' But tell me honestly, do you love him 1 ' Mrs. Flem- ing said to her one day. ' He is not at all the person I should have selected for you. Why, do you know I feel a kind of terror stealing over me every time he speaks to me, there is such a hard ring in his voice, and it seems to me a cruel look in his eyes. Then I always thought you would eventually marry Hal Morton.' 14 CHATEAU DOR. " This was a great deal to say to a bride concerning her husband, but Lucy Fleming was just the one to take liberties, and Anna did not resent it in the least, but ans- wered laughingly : ' Oh, Hal is quite too poor. He took it hard, and looked like a goosey at the wedding. I fancy he did not like Mr. Haverleigh, and I see you think him a kind of Blue Beard, too, and so I confess do I, but then I never intend to 'peek, and lose my life as did his silly wives. Honestly, though, Lucy, I do not love him, and I experience that same fear of him which you describe, and actually shrink from him when he kisses me ; but he is very kind to me, and I believe loves me truly, and I shall make him think that I love him. I married him for money, for fine dresses, and jewellery, and handsome furni- ture, and servants, and horses and carriages, and that Chateau d'Or, which did more toward influencing me than anything else. Only think of living in a house almost as large as a castle, with a French maid, and troops of ser- vants, and a housekeeper to take every care from me ; one could almost endure any man for the sake of all that.' " Here the conversation ceased, and a moment after Mr. Haverleigh himself entered the room. To an ordinary observer there was nothing in his manner to indicate that he had overheard a word, but there was a kind of ferocious look in his eyes, and his lips were shut more tightly to- gether than usual as he bowed to Mrs. Fleming, and then, crossing to his wife, bent over her affectionately, and kissed her forehead as he asked if she would take a drive. It was a lovely afternoon. The Park was full of people, • and notic had ] from ■■ were ■ ', was ( i go t] she ''i the 1 too, 1 1 execr ■^ befor 'h « < a lad; begin queni # ti nn % not S curtlj of the from ignorj ingh table. away slight he wi "0 whetl ANNA STRONG. 15 iceming her one to take ast, but ans- r. He took ng. I fancy 11 think him 1 1, but then did his silly i him, and I ou describe, me; but he truly, and I Tied him for isome fumi- )S, and that ;ing me than se almost as oops of ser- re from me ; ) of all that.' ;nt after Mr. an ordinary ndicate that . of ferocious J tightly to- ig, and then, •nately, and ake a drive. 11 of people, and Anna's fresh young face attracted a great deal of notice, as did the haughty looking man at her side, who had never been as lover-like in his attentions as he was from that day on until the ocean was crossed, and they were at the Grosvenor House in London. His own house was closed, he said, when Anna asked why they did not go there, but he drove her past it, and she was sure she saw a lady's face looking at them from one of the upper windows. Haverleigh must have seen it, too, for he muttered something which sounded like an execration under his breath, and drove on faster than before. " ' Does any one live in your house ? I thought I saw a lady at the window,' Anna said, timidly, for she was beginning to understand his moods, as he called his fre- quent fits of abstraction, and knew he was in one now. " There was nobody occupying his house, and she had not seen any one at the window, he answered rather curtly ; but Anna knew she had, and dreamed that night of the large black eyes that had peered at her so curiously from the house on Belgrave Square. She could not be ignorant of the fact, either, that her husband, while pay- ing her marked attention, especially in the parks and at table, was restless, and nervous, and very anxious to hurry away from London, and very impatient on account of the slight illness which kept them there a week longer than he wished to stay. " Once, just before their marriage, he had asked her whether she would rather go to Scotland first or France, 16 CHATEAU D'OR. 1 and she had answercJ Scotland, preferring Southern France later in the autumn, when she hoped to see Nice and Mentone, before settling down for the winter at Cha- teau d'Or. ' Then to Scotland we will go,' he had replied, and she had greatly anticipated her visit to Scotland, and her trip through the Trosachs, and across the beauti- ful Lakes Lomond and Katrine, but all this was to be given up ; her master had changed his mind, and without a word of explanation told her that they were going at once to Paris. "'You can attend to your dressmaking better there than elsewhere, and you know you are fond of satins, and laces, and jewellery,' he said, and there was a gleam in his eye from which Aruia would have shrunk had she noticed it ; but she did not. She was thinking of Paris and its gaieties, and she packed her trunks without a word of dissent, and was soon established in a handsome suite of rooms at the Grand Hotel, with permission to buy whatever she wanted, irrespective of expense. "'I'd like you to have morning dresses, and dinner dresses, and evening dresses, and riding dresses, and walk- ing dresses, and everything necessary to o. lady's ward- robe,' he said; and p j:)r unsuspecting Anna thought, ' How much society he must expect me lo .soq, i u-d how glad I shall be of it!'" Anna was beginning to feel a good deal bored with no company but that of her husband, for though he some- .'ju 3s b :> ved to ladies on the Boulevards, no one came to .ii', and as their meals were served in their parlour, *' ANNA STRONG, If ng Southern 1 to see Nice inter at Cha- e had replied, to Scotland, 8 the beauti- !iis was to be , and without were going at better there of satins, and as a gleam in unk had she king of Paris ks without a Q a handsome aission to buy e. ), and dinner ses, and walk- I. lady's ward- \ .1 I h ought, hrij, titid how oored with no ugh he some- one came to their parlour, she had but little chance to cultivate the acquaintance of the people staying at the hotel, so that, with the excop - tion of her milliner and dressmaker, both of whom spoke Kiigiish, itn 1 a few clerks at the different stores, she could fiJk v'ith no one in all the great, gay city, and thero gradually settled down upon her a feeling of loneliness and home-sickness, for which all her costly dresses and jewellery could not make Amends. But this would be changed when they were at Nice or Mentone, or even at the chateau, which her husband told her was frequently full of guests during the autumn months. Oh, how many pictures she drew of that chateau, with its turrets and towers overlooking the surrounding country, its beautiful grounds, its elegantly furnished rooms, its troops of ser- vants, and herself mistress of it all, with a new dress for every day in the month if she liked, for it almost amounted to that before her shopping was done, and when at last they left Paris, the porters counted fourteen trunks which they had brought down from No. — , all the property of the pretty little lady, whose travelling dress of gray silk was a marvel of puffs, and ruffles, and plaitings, and sashes, as she took her seat in the carriage, and was driven away through the streets of Paris to the Lyons Station. " They were going to the chateau first, her husband told her, adding that he hoped the arrangement suited her. " ' Oh, certainly,' she replied. *I shall be so gl9|| to se« one of my new homes. I know I shall like it, afd per- haps be so happy there that I shall not care to leave it for a long time. I am getting a little tired.' ^^: i '' 18 CHATEAU D'ob. They were alone in the railway carriage, and as Anna said this she leaned her head against his arm as if she were really tired and wanted rest. It was the first volun- tary demonstration of the kind she had ever made toward him, and there came a sudden flush into his face and a light into his eyes, but he did not pass his arm around the drooping little figure-he merely suffered the bright head to rest upon his shoulder, while he gazed gloomily out upon the country they were passing, not thinking of the dreary landscape, the barren hills, and grey mountain tops, but rather of the diabolical purpose from which he had never swerved an hour since the moment it was formed. , and as Anna irm as if she e first volun- made toward is face and a 1 arm around d the bright zed gloomily i thinking of By mountain )m which he nent it was CHAPTER II. CHATEAU D'oR. " TT was late one September afternoon when they came J- at last in sight of the chateau, and Ilaverleigh pointed it out to Anna, who involuntarily exclaimed : "'Why, it's more like a prison than a house: is that Chateau d'Or ? ' Yes, that's Chateau d'Or,' was the short reply, and fifteen minutes later they stopped at the little town where they were to leave the train. " Two men were waiting for them, one the coachman, who touched his hat t ^ the utmost deference to his master, while the other seemed on more familiar terms with Mr. Haverleigh, and stared so curiously at Anna that she drew her veil over her face, and conceived for him on the instant an aversion which she never overcame. He was a tall, dark man, with a sinister expression on his face, and a look in his keen black eyes as if he was con- stantly on the alert for something which it was his duty to discover. Her husband introduced him as Monsieur Brunell, explaining to her that he was his confidential agent, his head man, who superintended Chateau d'Or in 20 CHATEAD D'OE. hi. ateeMe, and whose house was close to the bridge which crossed the river so th=,t „„ , , ^ n. _, ' " *"** '"> on« could ever leave the grounds without his knowledge "Aniia paid hut little heed to what he was savins then though it afterwards came back to her witi 2 sigmflcanee. Now, however, she was too tired and tol an.o„s to see the inside of the chateau to th k " an^ gW to find herself alone with her husband in the car- -• Why does that man stare so impudently at me ' I pretty no dtl:-^ ™" ""' "^''"*"'^-'^ '■^ *»''«'- "They had crossed the bridge by this time, and Anna noticed that they passed through a heavy iron gate wWch ■ rrcrxrrrrit"^: """ ^^^^^^^ prison. TheyUri:^;:^^::;:^!" je. eautifuUy kept, and Anna forgot eve^g rntr delight at what she saw about her. -^ ""g >» her "■Oh, I shall be so happy here!' she cried as thev rode along the broad carriage road, and she saw evS where signs of luxury and wealth. ^ "And at that moment Anna was happy She had sighed for money, for a home handsomer tC the humbl! red house far away among the New England hills, and" here was something more beautiful than anything o^' which she had ever dreamed If there had been an^hing CHATEAU D'OR. ie to the bridge could ever leave he was saying ler with fearful tired and too think of any- e, and she was md in the car- atly at me ? 1 >Iied, jestingly : he thinks you ime, and Anna 'on gate, which lud which sent the gate of a grounds which rything in her 3ried, as they e saw every- 'y. She had n the humble 1 hills, and lo, anything of sen anything 21 lovable about Ernest Haverleigh, Anna might have loved him then in her great delight with the home he was bringing her to ; but there was nothing in his nature an- swering to hers, and he did not seem to see how pleased she was, but sat back in the carriage, with a dark look on his face and a darker purpose in his heart. And still he saw her every moment, and watched the light in her eyes and the clasping of her hands as she leaned from the window; but it awoke no answering chord of gladness, unless it were a gladness that he had in his power to avenge the insult he had received. They were close to the chateau now, directly in the shadow of the grey old walls, which looked so dark and gloomy, so out of keeping with the beauty of the grounds, that Anna's spirits sank again, and there was a tremor in her frame as she des- cended from the carriage in the wide court, around which balconies ran, tier upon tier, and into which so many long, narrow windows looked. " At the head of a flight of steps an elderly woman was standing, her white hair arranged in pufl^s about her face, which, though old and wrinkled, was so sweet and sad in its expression that Anna felt drawn to her at once, and the court was not half so damp and dreary, or the walls so dark and high. " The woman was dressed in black silk, with a tasteful lace cap upon her head, while the bunch of keys attached to her side with a silver chain showed her to be the housekeeper, even before Mr. Haverleigh said : " ' This is Madame Verwest, the head of the house, just ■'^ 22 CHATEAU d'oR, as MoHBieur Brunell is head of the grounds. You will do we 1 o conciliate her, and not show your dislike, if you leel it, as you did to monsieur.' " ' Oh, I shall love her. I bve her now for that sweet sorry face. Has she had some great trouble, Ernest V "It was the first time Anna had ever called her hus- band by the familiar name of Ernest. He had asked her to do so m the days of their courtship, and she had an- swered him, playfully : 'Oh, Mr. Haverleigh, you are so much older than I am, and know so much more, and then - Well, to tell the truth, I am a little bit afraid of you yet, but by and by I mean to learn to say Ernest ' "But the by and by had never come until now. Anna was the creature of impulse, and while driving through the handsome grounds she had felt elated and proud, that she, httle Anna Strong, who once sewed shoes in New England, and planned how to get an extra pair of gloves shou d be riding in her carriage, the mistress of so much wealth and her heart had thrilled a little for the man through whom this good fortune had come to her But the gloomy chateau, and the still more gloomy court, had driven this all away, and a wave of genuine homesicknes.s was sweeping over her when the serene face of Madame Vei-west looked so kindly down upon her and brought the better feeling back. She was happy. She was glad she was there, Mr. Haverleigh's wife, and she called him Ernest purposely, and looked up in his face as she did so. l>id he soften toward her at all ? Possibly, for a red flush crept up to his hair ; but he raised his hand as if to brush CHATEAU D'oR. 23 ids. You will do ir dislike, if you V for that sweet ible, Ernest V r called her hus- e had asked her ind she had an- 3igh, you are so I more, and then it afraid of you Ernest.' til now. Anna Iriving through and proud, that shoes in New pair of gloves, ess of so much ;le for the man e to her. But •my court, had J homesickness 3e of Madame id brought the was glad she e called him as she did So. ■or a red jQush as if to brush lit away, and then he was himself again— the man who jnever forgave, and who could break a young girl's heart jeven while seeming to caress her. If he heard Anna's question with regard to Madame Verwest, he did not jnotice it or make her any answer. He merely took her l^rm in his, and leading her up the broad stone steps, pre- fsented her to the lady as Madame Haverleigh, his wife. I " Instantly there came a change over the placid fea- |tures, which kindled with a strange light, and the dim f eyes, which looked so accustomed to tears, fastened them- I selves eagerly upon the fair face of the young girl, and 5 then were raised questioningly to the dark face of the : man whose lips curled with a sneering smile, as he said, in French : V " ' She does not understand a word. Ask me what you ? please.' Your wife truly! ' was the quick question of the wo- man, and Haverleigh replied : " ' Yes, truly. What do you take me for ? ' " To this there was no answer, but the woman's arms were stretched towaxd Anna with a quick, sudden motion, as if they fain would hold her a moment in their embrace;' but a look from Mr. Haverleigh checked the impulse', and only madame's hand was offered to Anna, who, never- theless, felt the warm welcome in the way the'fingers tightened round her own, and was sure she had found a friend. '"Madame is very welcome, and I hope she will be happy here,' the woman said ; but she might as weU hav© 24 CHATEAU D'OR. talked in Greek to Anna, who could only guess from her manner what she meant to say, and who smiled brightly back upon her, as she followed on up one narrow stair- case after another, until they reached a lofty room, which she first thought a hall such as the New Englanders call a ball-room, but which she soon discovered to be the apartment intended for herself. " The floor was inlaid and waxed, and so slippery that she came near falling as she first crossed the threshold. A few Persian rugs were thrown down here and there, and at the further end, near to a deep alcove, was a massive rosewood bed, with lace and silken hangings, and heavy tassels with knotted fringe. On the bed was a light blue satin spread, covered with real Valenciennes lace of a most exquisite pattern, and Anna stood a moment in wonder to look at and marvel at its richness. Then her eyes went on to the alcove, across which lace curtains were stretched, and which was daintily fitted up with the appliances of the toilet, with the bath-room just be- yond. All this was at the far end of the room, the re- mainder of which might have served as a boudoir for the empress herself, it was so exquisitely furnished with every- thing which the ingenuity of Paris could devise in the way of fauteuil, ottoman, easy-chair, and lounge, with mosaic tables from Florence, inlaid cabinets from Rome, lovely porcelains from Munich and full-length mirrors from Marseilles, " ' This is your room ; how do you like it ?' Mr. Haver- leigh asked : and Anna replied : CHATEAU DOR. 26^ ily guess from her 10 smiled brightly one narrow stair- lofty room, which w Euglanders call overed to be the d so slippery that I the threshold. A ire and there, and i^e, was a massive gings, and heavy d was a light blue ciennes lace of a lod a moment in hness. Then her ich lace curtains y fitted up with ith-room just be- the room, the re- a boudoir for the ished with every- ild devise in the md lounge, with nets from Rome, ll-length mirrors >it?' Mr.Haver- ' I wish mother and Mary knew. I wish they could be here too. Only the windows are kind of prison-like, they are so long and narrow,, and so deep in the wall.' ' As she said this she entered one of the arched re- bsses and tried to look from the window, but it was al- Jnost too high for her, and by standing on tip-toe she ;|ould just look over the ledge and get a view of the tree- lops in the grounds, of rocky hills beyond, and in the far ^istance a bit of the blue Mediterranean, which brought Tback to her mind a day at the seaside, where she had ifrone with a picnic party and bathed in the Atlantic, •hat day seemed so very, very far back in the past, and i|he ocean waves she had watched as they broke upon the >each was so far, far away that again that throb of home- lickness swept over her, and there were tears in her eyes irhen she turned from the window and came back into ^he salon. It was empty, for both her husband and ladame Verwest had left it, and she was free to look ^bout her as much as she liked, and to examine the many dutiful things with which the salon was filled. But ^hey did not quite satisfy her now, for that pang of pain vas still in her heart cutting like a knife, and her thoughts went back to the day when she and Mary had itted the cheap ingrain carpet and white curtains to the ittle parlour at home, and thought it, when done, the inest room in Millfield. The carpet and curtains were there still, but oh, how many miles and miles of land and ^ea lay between her and the humble surroundings she \a,i once so frettedagainst, longing for something better! 26 CHATEAU D'oR. She had the something better, but it did not satisfy, and it was 80 dreadful to be in a strange land where she could not understand a word the people said, and it would be still more dreadful without Mr. Haverleigh there as inter- preter, she thought ; and there began to grow in her a sense of nearness to her husband, a feeling of dependence upon and protection in him such as she had not ex- perienced before. " • I believe I could love him after all ; anyway, I mean * to try, and will begin to-night,' she thought, just as there came a knock upon the door, and in answer to her 'Entrez,' the one French word besides oui whjch she knew, a smart- looking young woman entered, followed by a man, who was bringing in her trra\ks. " With a low courtesy, ;,ne girl managed to make Anna understand that her name was Celine, and that she was to be her waiting-maid, and had come to dress her for dinner. " ' Voyez les clefs; she said, holding up the keys which 1 her master had given her, one of which she proceeded to ' fit to a certain trunk, as if she knew its contents, and that it contained what she wanted. " Anna had not before had the luxury of a maid, but she accepted it naturally as she did everything else,' and gave herself at once into the deft hands of Celine,' who brushed and arranged her beautiful hair with many ex- pressions of delight, not one of which Anna understood, But she knew she was being complimented, and when her toUet was^completed, and she saw hersel -ir CHATEAU D'OR. 27 id not satisfy, and id where she could and it would be sigh there as inter- to grow in her a ing of dependence she had not ex- ; anyway, I mean jght, just as there ^er to her 'Entrezl she knew, a smart- ed by a man, who ;ed to make Anna e, and that she !ome to dress her ,;;« p the keys which she proceeded to contents, and that y of a maid, but rything else, and 1 is of Celine, who ir with many ex- inna understood, anted, and when herself in one of the long mirrors arrayed in a soft, light gray silk, with I trimmings of blue and lace, with flowers in her hair, and Ipearls on her arms and neck, she felt that Celine's praises |were just, and laughed back at the vision of her own ^ loveliness. |: " ' Oh, if the folks at home could see me now they would .-say it paid,' she thought, as she walked up and down the apartment, trailing her silken robe after her and catching frequent flashes of her beauty in the mirrors as she jpassed. " And still there was a little of the old home-sickness lleft, a yearning for companionship, for somebody to see her, somebody to talk to, and then she remembered her I resolution to try to love her husband, and she said again : ' I'll do it, and I'll begin to-night.' "But where was he that he left her thus alone, walk- ing up and down, until, too tired to walk longer, she seated herself upon a satin couch to await his coming, little dreaming as she sat there of the scene which had taken place between him and Madame Verwest, who had invited him to her own room, and then turning fiercely up- on him, demanded ": ' Tell me, is she your wife, or another Agatha, brought here to beat her wings against her pris- on bars until death gives her release ? She is too young for that, too beautiful, too innocent, with those chUdish eyes of blue. Tell me you mean well by her, or ' " She did not finish her threat, save by a stamp of her I foot and an angry flash of the eyes, which had looked so pityingly at Anna, for Haverleigh interrupted her with r IP I 28 CHATEAU D'OR. a coarse laugh, and said : ' Spare yourself all uneasiness and puny threats which can avail nothing. You are as much in my power as she. Honestly, though this girl is as lawfully my wife as a New England parson could make her." " ' New England; and the woman started as if stung. * Is she an American ? Is she from New England ? Yia wrote me she was English born.' " ' Did I ? I had forgotten it. Well, then, she is an American and a New Englander, and her name was Anna Strong, and she worked in a shoe-shop in Millfield, where I stopped for a few months on account of the scenery first, and her pretty face afterwards. I man ied her for love, and because 1 fancied she loved me n little; but I have found she does not, and so she shall pay the penalty, but have her price all the same, diamonds and pearls, with satins and laces and a dress for every day of the month.' "He spoke bitterly, and in his eyes there was a look which boded no good to Anna, but Madame Verwest scarcely heard him. At the mention of Anna's name and Millfield she had laid her hand suddenly over her heart which beat so loudly that she could hear it herself, while her eyes had in them a concentrated, far-off look, and she evidently was not thinking of the object around her, the old chateau and the dreadful man who brought her back to the present by saying : " ' I shall leave her here with you for a time, and it is la «tL._. CHATEAU D'OR. 29 ou are as my wish that she has everything she wants except, of course, her freedom ; you understand i ' " She did understand ; she had been through the same thing once before, and she shuddered a-s she remembered the dark-haired, white-faced girl, who had died in tliat gloomy house, with wild snatches of song uj>on her lips, songs of ' Ma Normandie,' and the home wh re she had once been pure and innocent. ' Je vais revoir ma Nor- mandie' poor Agatha had sung as the breath was leaving her quivering lips, and the sad. sweet refrain had seemed to Madame Verwest to haunt the old chateau ever since, and now was she destined to hear another death-song or moaning cry for New England instead of Normandy ? ' Never ! ' was her mental reply, and to herself she vowed that the fate of Anna Strong should not be like that of Agatha Wynde. But she could do nothing then except to bow in acquiescence as she listened to Haverleigh's instructions, and from them gathered what his intentions were. Not to desert Anna absolutely ; he could not bring himself to do that, for the love he had felt for her was not yet extinct ; but she had offended him deeply, and had hurt his pride, and for the present she was a prisoner in Chateau d'Or, till such time as he chose to set her free, or ' till she recovers her reason, you know,' he said to Madame Verwest, who made no sign that she heard him, but whose face was white as ashes as she went out from his presence, and gave orders that dinner was to be serv- ed at once in the grand aalle d-manger, which was all ablaze with wax candles and tapers when Haverleigh led •■■II i.i '' It J ■;1| It ! ! f. !■: 30 CHATEAU D'OR. I II ^ fl his bride thither, and gave lier a place at the head of his table. " He had found her asleep on the couch, where she had thrown herself from sheer fatigue, and for a moment hal,t;„ • ZTi:2^:j2: '"^ -^ '^- which seemed to' J • Was she in earnest ? Did she mean it » Is it r,os'' ..ble that she might learn to love me through the" baubles she pr.es so much V he questioned of hi be e^ nature, which replied : . Pl^7'nb °f r .°°"'' '™™ ''■''^''^- » ">- *eary place. Dont shut out all the gladness and sunshine ■ f CHATEAU D'oR. 3d and down rosewood P- ighting a •ught be- p, and he > nothing yea, and leck, and had not like the ade him i rushed eye and le dark, eeet re- ips, and le place Inking, ting in imself, ned to •I it pos- these better reary shine from her young life. Give her a chance. Remember Agatha.' " Just then, through the casement he had thrown open, there came a gust of the night-wind, which lifted the muslin drapeiy of the tall bed in the comer and swept it toward him, making him start, it was so like the white, tossing, billowy figure he had seen there once, begging him for the love of God to set her free, and let her go back to 'la belle Normaiidiel where the father was for watching her, and would welcome her home again. " Was Agatha, the wild rose of Normandy, pleading for Anna, the singing bird from New England ? Possibly ; and if so, she pleaded well, and might have gained her c^use if the wicked spirit had not interposed, and sneer- ingly repeated : ' Do not love him— shrink from his cares- ses—can't endure to have him touch me— married him for money— can wind him round my little finger.' And that last turned the scale. No man likes to be wound round any finger, however small it may be, and Ernest Haverleigh was not an exception. '"She shall pay for that,' he said— 'shall siifier until the demon within me is satisfied, and I rather think I am possessed of the devil. Eugenie says I am, in her last interesting document,' and he laughed bitterly, as he took froni his pocket a dainty little epistle, bearing the London postmark, and stepping to the window, through which the early morning light was streaming, glanced again at the letter which had been forwarded to him from Paris, and a part of which had reference to Anna. t.i- I 34 CHATEAU D'OR. " ' Who was the doll-faced little girl I saw with you in the carnage, and why didn't you call upon me after that day ? Were you afraid to meet me, and what new fancy 18 this so soon after that other affair ? Ernest Haverleigh . I believe you are possessed with a demon, which makes you at times a maniac' "'Yes, I believe I am mad. I wonder if it is in the family far back, working itself out in me ?' Haverleigh said, as he stood with his eyes riveted upon the last two lines. ' Curse this woman with that spell she holds over me. If It were not for her Agatha might have been liv- mg, and I.might forgive Anna, for I do believe I am nearer loving her than any woman I ever saw, and that IS why I feel so bitter, so unrelenting, so determined upon revenge. ^ "There were signs of waking life in and around the chateau now. The servants were astir, and so Haverleigh left the room where he had passed the night, and which since Agatha s death had borne the cognomen of 'the haunted chamber.' On the stairs he met with Madame Verwest, who stood with hands and eyes bent down her usual attitude while receiving his orders. "Anna was to have breakfast in her own room, he said and be waited on by Celine, and then about ten o'clock he would see her alone, for he must be off that.night for x^aris. *= " It was a very dainty breakfast of chocolate, and fruits and French rolls, and limpid honey and eggs which Celine ^k to her mistress, whom she had dressed becomingly CHATEAU D'OR. 35 in a white cashmere wrapper, with broad blue sash, knotted at the side, and a blue silk, sleeveless jacket. In spite of the weary night, Anna was very beautiful that morning, though a little pale and worn, with a shadow about the eyes, which were lifted so timidly and question- ingly to Haverleigh when at last he entered the salon and closed the door behind him. " * Oh, Ernest, husband ! ' she began ; but she never called him by either of those names again, and half an hour later she lay on her face among the silken cushions of the couch, a terrified, bewildered, half-crazed creature, to whom death would have been a welcome relief just then. " He had succeeded in making her comprehend her po- sition fully, and in some degree to comprehend him. He was a man who never forgot and who never forgave. He had loved her, he believed ; at least, he had conferred upon her the great honour of becoming his wife — had raised her from nothing to a high and dazzling position, because he liked her face and fancied she liked him. She had certainly made him think so, and he, whom many a high- born damsel of both. Scotland and England had tried to captivate, had made a little Yankee shoe-stitcher Mrs. Haverleigh, and then had heard from her own lips that she married him for money, for fine dresses, and jewellery, and furniture, and horses, and carriages, and servants— and he added with an oath : ' You shall have all this. You shall have everything you married me for, except your frfifinnnri n.nd fViftt- vnii alioll novar Vinvp until T nVta-ncro m-u- purpose ;' then, without giving her a chance to spe&k in n i ; 11 i<1 iir iHl 36 CHATEAU D'OB. her own defence, he went on to unfold his plan formed on the instant when he stood by the door in New York and heard her foolish speech to Mrs. Fleming. She was to re- main at Chateau d'Or, where every possible luxuiy was to be hf^.s, and where the servants were to yield her per- fect obedience, except in one particular. She was never to go unattended outside the grounds, or off the little is- land on which the chateau stood. Monsieur Brunell, who kept the gate, would see this law enforced, as he would see to everything else. All letters which she wished to send to him or her friends would be given to Brunell's care. No other person would dare touch them, and it would be useless for her to try to persuade or bribe them, r?.8 they all feared him and would obey his orders. For society she would have Madame Verwest, and plenty of books in the library, and a splendid piano, which she would find in the same room, with a small cabinet organ for Sunday use, 'as you New Englanders are all so pious,' he added, with a sneer. Then pausing a moment, as if to rally his forces for a last blow, he said, slowly and dis- tinctly : '"Brunell and Madame Verwest know you are my wife, but I have told them you are crazy, and that rather than send you to a lunatic asylum, I shall keep you in close confinement here for a while, unless you become furious, in which case there are plenty of places for jou, not so good as this, or as much to your taste. To the other servants I make no explanations, except that you are crazy, and that it is a fancy of yours that you re not. CHATEAU D'OR. 37 This fancy they will humour to a certain extent, but you cannot bribe them. They will give you every possible at- tention. Celine will wait upon you as if you were a queen, You can dine in state every day, with twenty courses, if you like, and wear a new dress each time. You can drive in the grounds when it suits you, and drive alone there ; but when you go outside the gates, Madame Verwest, or Celine, or some trusty person will accompany you, as it is not sa/e for a luTiatic to go by herself into strange quarters. At intervals, as it suits my conveni- ence or pleasure, I shall visit you as my wife, and shall be the most devoted of husbands in the presence of the ser- vants, who will thus give me their sj^mpathy and vv-holly discredit anything you may tell them. So beat your pretty wings as you may, and break your heart as often as you like, you cannot help yourself. I am supreme here. I am your Master, and Madame Verwest says of me some- times that I am a madman — ha, ha ! ' " It was the laugh of a demon, and the look of the man was the look of a madman as he pushed from him the quivering form which had th»own itself upon the floor at his feet supplicating for pity, for pardon. He had neither, and, with a coarse laugh which echoed through the salan like the knell of death to all poor Anna's hi '>piness, he left the room and she heard his heavy footsteps as he went swiftly down the stone stairway and out into the court. " W&.S it a dream, a nightmare, or a horrible reality, she asked herself as she tried to recall the dreadful things he H U i I' 1/ 8S CHATEAU D'OR. Wi I ail;! had said to her and to understand their import. * A pri- soner, a maniac,' she whispered. ' Oh, mother, oh, Mary that I should come to this. Oh, if I could die, if I could die;' and in her anguish she looked about her for some means of ending her wretched life. Her New England training, however, was too strong fr- that. She dared not deliberately and suddenly die by her own hand, but if this thing were true, if she were a prisoner here with no means of escape, she would starve herself to death. They could not compel her to eat, and she would never taste food again until she knew that she was free. " There was a murmur of voices in the court below, and a sound of wheels crushing over the gravel. Was he really going, and without her ? She must know, and springing from her crouching attitude she started for the door, but found it locked from the other side it would seem, and she was a prisoner indeed,and for a time a maniac as well, if sobs and moans and piteous cries for some one to come to her aid could be called proofs of insanity. But no one came, and the hours dragged heavily on till she heard the house clock strike four, and then Celine came in to dress madame for dinner, but Anna waved her off, loathing the very thought of food— loathing the glitter and display of the day before— loathing the elegant dresses which Celine spread out before her, hoping thus to tempt her. " ' Go away, go away, or let me out,' she cried, while Celine, who could not understand a word, kept at a safe distoace, eyin^ her young mistress and thinking it very CHATEAU D'OE. 89 strange that her master should have two crazy girls in succession— poor Agatha Wynde and this fair American, - who Madame Verwest said was his wife. " ' Perhaps,' Celine had thought with a shrug of her shoulders , ' but, if the lady is his wife, why leave her so quick ? ' " But wife or not it was Celine's business to attend her, and she had no intention of shrinking from her duty. " ' Poor girl, and so young/ she thought, and she tried to quiet and conciliate her, and brought out dress after dress and held up to view, until, maddened at the sight of the finery so d3te8table to her now, Anna shut her eyes, and stopping her ears shrieked aloud in the utter aban- donment of despair. " ' Mon Dieu,' Celine exclaimed, as she fled from the room in quest of Madame Verwest, whose face was white as marble and whose eyes had in them a look which Celine had never seen before. But she did not offer to go near the lady whom Celine represented as being so bad, nor did she see her during that day or the next. She, too was acting very queerly, the servants said to each other as they talked in whispers of the American who refused to touch a morsel of food, and who had not tasted a mouthful since the master went away. " She was in bed now, Celine said, lying with her face to the wall, and moaning so sadly and saying things she could not understand, 'If Madame would only o-o to her ,'.! n , I '''i 4 . '4 I 1^ 40 CHATEAU DOR. and speak one word — Anglaiae,' she said to Madame Ver- west on the morning of the third day, and with that same white, pinched look upon her face, Madame started at last for the salon. Ill CHAPTER TIT. MADAME VERWEST AND ANNA. IT was now the third day since Haverleigh's departure and Anna had adhered to her resolution not to eat or drink, hoping thus to hasten the death she so longed for, and yet dared not acliieve l)y rasher means. Four times a day Celine had carried her the most tempting dishes which a French cook could manufacture, and tried by signs, and gestures, and a voluble rattling- of her mother tongue, to persuade her mistress to eat, or, at least, sip the delicious chocolate, or cafe au lait, whose perfume itself was almost meat and drink. But all in vain. Anna neither turned her head nor spoke, but lay with her face to the wall on the massive bedstead of rosewood and crilt whose silken and lace hangings seemed to aggravate her misery. So much grandeur, so much elegance, and she so hopeless and wretched. Oli, with what wild yearnings she thought of her New England home, and the labour she had so despised. " ' Oh, mother, mother, if you only knew, but I shall never see you again. I shall die, and nobody M-ill know 4 i. ; i: h '• -^^;l "it- •I pi 42 CHATEAU DOn. I believe I am dying now,' she moaned, as the gnawings of hunger and thirst began to make themselves felt, and there stole over her that deathly sickness and cold, clammy sweat which so often precedes a fainting fit, or a severe attack of vomiting. ' Yes, I'm dying and I'm glad,' she whispered, as everything around her began to grow dark, and she seemed to be floating away on a billow of the sea. " ' No, you are not dying. You are orly faint with himger and excitement. Take a sip of this wine,' was spoken in her ear in a pure English accent, while a cool hand was laid kindly upon her hot, throbbing head. " It was the English voice, the sound of home, which brought Anna back to consciousness, and turning herself quickly toward the speaker, she saw Madame Verwest bending over her, with a glass of spiced wine and some biscuits, at which she clutched eagerly, forgetful of her recent desire to die. The English voice had saved her, and a flood of tears rained over her young face as she glanced up at Madame Verwest, and met the same kind expression which had greeted her the first day of her arrival at Chateau d'Or. " ' Oh, you can speak English. You will help me to get away, to go home to mother ? You'll save me from him, won't you ? Why didn't you come to me before ? ' she cried ; and raising herself in bed, she laid her head upon the bosom of the woman and sobbed convulsively. ' Are you crying, too ? Crying for me ? ' she asked, as she felt the hot tears falling upon her hair, and drawing herself a MADAME VERWEST AND ANNA. 43 little from Madame Verwest, she gazed at her in astonish- ment, for every feature was convulsed with emotion, and the tears were running down her pallid cheeks. " ' What is it ? Are you a prisoner ( Does he say you are crazy like me ? Who are you, and why are you in this dreadful place ? ' Anna asked, and then Madame was herself again, and answered, calmly : " ' I am Madame Verwest, Mr. Haverleigh's housekeeper, and I am here from choice. I am neither a prisoner nor crazy, but I am your friend and can help you in many ways.' " ' Can you set me free ; oh, can you set me free and send me home to mother ? ' Anna cried ; but the lady shook her head. " ' I dare not do that, and could not if I would. Mon- sieur Brunell keeps the gate, the only way of escape, and would not let you pass. I can, however, make your life more endurable while you are here ; but the servants must rot suspect me, that is, they must not know that I talk English so fluently. They are aware that I speak it a very little, so never expect much talking from me in their presence. But learn the French yourself at once ; it will be better for you.' " Anna was too wholly unsuspicious to think for a mo- ment that Madame Verwest was not French, though she did wonder at the perfect ease with which she spoke Eng- lish, and said to her : " ' You talk almost as well as I do. Where did you learn ? ' it Mt'^ 44 CHATEAU D'oR. " ' I have lived three years in London and two in Edin- burgh,' was the ([uiet reply, as the woman held the wine again to Annsi's lips, bidding her drink before talking any more. " Anna obeyed eagerly, and then continued : " ' You lived in London three years, and in Edinburgh two. Were you with Mr. Haverleigh all the time ? ' '" Part of the time I lived with him, and part of the time alone, though always in his employ.' "'You must have known him a long, long time,' Anna rejoined. ' Tell me, then, who he is and what he is i What kind of man, 1 mean ? ' " ' That is a strange question for a wife to ask concern- ing her husband. Who did you think he was, and what ? Surely your mother, if you, have one did not allow you to marry without knowing something of his antece- dents,' Madame Verwest said, and Anna coloured pain- fully, for she remembered well how her mother and sister both at first opposed her marrying an entire stranger of whom they knew nothing except what he said of himself. " ' Did you know nothing of his history ? Did you not inquire ? How long had you known him, and what was he doing in your town ? ' Madame continued, and Anna replied : " ' He was travelling for pleasure, I think, and stopped for a few days in Millfield because he liked the scenery ; then he was sick, I believe, and so staid on as everybody was kind to him and made so much of him. He came MADAME VERWEST AND ANNA. 45 from New York with a Mr. Stevens whom ho knew and who said he was all right, and he had so much money and spent it so freely — ' " ' Yes, but what did he say of himself?' Madame per- sisted in asking, and Anna answered : " ' He said he was of Scottish descent on his father's side, but born in England, at Grasmere, I think— that he left there when he was three years old — that his father died when he was twenty-two, and left him a large pro- perty which, by judicious management, had doubled in value, so that he was very rich, and that weighed so much with me, for we were poor, mother, and Mary, and Fred, who wants to go to college. I'll tell you just the truth I "worked in the shoe-shop, and my hands were cut with the waxed ends, and my clothes Rm( lied of leather, and I was nothing but a shop-girl i I hated it and wanted handsome dresses, and jew ollery, and money, and position, and Mr. Haverleigh could give me these, I thought, and he showed us lettei*s from London and Liverpool, and so I married him, and he overheard what I said of him to Lucy Fleming in New York, and it made him so angry and jealous that he brought me here, and that is all. Oh Madame, tell me, please, what you know of him, and what people say of him who knew him best, and will he ever set me free ? ' " Anna asked her questions rapidly, but Madame replied in the same quiet, measured manner which marked all her movernents, " ' I think he told you truly with regard to his birth h J. 1 s i ! t I' I I !■ « ; 46 CHATEAU D'OR. and his money, and people who know him best say he is honest, and upright, and generous to a fault. Did he tell you anything of his mother ? He must have spoken of her.' " Madame was the questioner now, and Anna replied : " ' He never said much of her, nothing which I recall, ,, but I have an impression that her family was not as good as his father's. Do you know ? Did you ever see her ?' " ' Yes, I have seen his mother.' " ' Oh, tell me of her, please. Was she a lady ? ' " ' Not as the English account ladies, perhaps,' Madame said, and Anna went on : " ' Was she nice ? Was she good ?' " ' I believe she tried to be good,' was the low-spoken answer, and Anna cried : " ' Then there must be some good in him and sometime he'll relent and set me free. It would be so terrible to die here, and mother and Mary never know. He says I am crazy ; he has told you so, but you don't believe it ; tell me, you do not believe me mad ! ' " ' Not yet, but you will be if you suffer yourself to get so fearfully excited. Be quiet and make the best of the situation, which is not without its ameliorating circum- stances. Everybody will be very kind to you here, and believe me when I say it is better to live here without him, than to travel the world over with him ; so make the best of it, and at least seem to acquiesce. If you are fond of reading, there are plenty of books in the library, many of them English. There is a fine piano, too. Are you fond of music ? ' MADAME VERWEST AND ANNA. 47 " ' Yes, but do not play. I always had to work, and could not afford the lessons,' Anna replied, and Madame Verwest said : " ' I think I can get you a teacher. I know Mr. Haver- leigh will not object to that ; and now you must rest — must sleep. I'll draw the cuitains of the bed, and leave you alone for a time.' " There was something so soothing and reassuring in Madame's manner that Anna felt the influence, and worn out as she was and tired, she turned upon her pillow and fell into a quiet sleep which lasted till the sun went down, and the evening shadows were gathering in the room. Madame was sitting by her when she woke, and on a table at her side was a dainty supper which Celine had just brought in, and which Anna did not refuse. " * Perhaps you would like to tell me of your home in Millfield. I am always pleased to hear of foreign coun- tries, and how the people live there,' Madame Verwest said, as she saw the colour coming back to Anna's face and knew that she was stronger. " So Anna told her of New England and her Millfield home, the hills around it and the little ponds sleeping in the valley, and the river winding its graceful way to the east, until it was lost in the noble Connecticut. And Madame Verwest listened eagerly, with a deep flush on her pallid cheek, and a bright gleam in her eye. " ' And the pond lilies grow there by the old bridge, and the boat house is near by,' she said, in a half -whisper, 1 i^^nK f^ , i I 1, 48 CHATEAU d'oR. I' " hil ( r' I I as Anna told her of the beautiful lilies which open their petals in June, and fill the summer air with such delicious perfume. Why, Avere you ever there ? Did you ever see the boat-house ? ' Anna asked, in some surprise, and Madame replied : " ' You describe it all so vividly that I feel as if I had seen it. I love New England, and some day, perhaps— who knows— we may go there together— you and 1/ " She wrung her hands nervously, like one under strong excitement, and Anna looked at her wonderingly, while «he continued : " ' Yes, some day we'll go away from this prison-house, but it may be long hence. He is vigilant and cunning,' and mad, I believe ; so be quiet, and seem to be conten*t, nor beat your wings till you die like poor—' " She checked herself ere the name of Agatha escaped her lips, but a new idea had crossed Anna's mind, making her unmindful of what Madame Verwest was sayino-. She would write at once to Millfield, telling her mother where she was, and begging her to send some one to her relief. Strange she had not thought of that before as a way of escape, and she begged Madame Verwest for the lamp and writing material, that she might at once begin the letter which was to brinsr relief. Wait till to-morrow,' Madame said, ' when you will be stronger and fresher.' " And to this Anna was finally persuaded, but early the xt morning the letter was written, detailing every par- nc MADAME VERWEST AND ANNA. 49 ticular of her unhappy position, and asking her mother to send some one at once to liberate her. "This letter she intrusted to Celine, while Madame Verwest looked pityingly on, knowing in her heart that in all human probability the letter would never reach New England, but go instead to Paris, there to be read by Haverleigh and committed to the flames. Nil: !• I CHAPTER IV. THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO MILLFIELD. " TT was Thanksgiving day, and in the little red house -L which Anna had once called her home, the table was laid for dinner, laid for four— Mary, Fred., and the Anna over the sea, who had never been absent before from the festival which, in New Englf.nd, means so much and is kept so sacredly. They knew she would not be there, and they had grown somewhat accustomed to living without her, but on this day it was Mary's fancy to lay the table for her, to put her plate just where she used to sit, and place by it the little napkin ring of Stuart plaid which had been Iied/s present to her on her last birth- day. We'll play she is here, mother,' Mary said. ' She will be in fancy. Surely she'll remember us to-day of all days, and I know she'll wish heraelf here once more. How long it is,now since we heard from her. Only one letter since she reached Paris. You don't suppose she is forget- ting us with all the grandeur and fine things she has ? ' " ' Oh, no, Anna will never do that. She is probably too much occupied in Paris, and too happy with Mr. THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO MILLFIELD. 51 Haverleigh to write many letters,' Mrs. Strong replied, but her face belied her hopeful words. " She had felt many misgivings with regard to Anna's marriage, and her chance for happiness with a man as cold, and proud, and reticent as Mr. Haverleigh. But it could not now be helped, and so she made the best of it, and prided herself on having a daughter abroad, and ra- ther enjoyed the slight elevation in society which it really had given her. In the little town of Millfield it was something to be the mother of rich Mrs, Haverleigh, and to talk of my ' daughter's country-house in Scotland, and Chateau d'Or in France ; ' and on this Thanksgiving day the good woman wore her new black silk — Mr. Haver- leigh's gift — in honour of him, and committed the extra- vagance of celery and cranberries, too, and wondered as she basted the turkey browning in the oven, where Anna was and what her dinner would be. " ' Perhaps Fred, will bring us a letter. I told hira to stop at the office. It is time he was here,' she said, as, her arrangements for dinner completed, she stood for a moment looking into the street, where the first snow- rtakes were falling. " Why was it that the day seemed so dreary to her. and why was there such an undefined dread of somothiag in her heart ? Was it a presentiment of the sad news coming to her so fast, borne by Fred., who appeared round a corner running rapidly, and waving his cap when he saw his mother's face at the window. " ' Here's a letter from Anna/ he cried, as he burst into ■ In il; I 6-2 CHATEAU d'OR. the room, and held the precious document to sight. ' Isn't it jolly to get it on Thanksgiving d&y ? 'Most as good as having her here. Let's keep it for the dessert ! ' " But the mother could not wait, and taking the ktter from her son, she glanced at the superscription, which was in Mr. Haverleigh's handwriting. But that was not strange. The other letter had been directed by him, and so sho had no suspicion of the blow awaiting her &s she hastily broke the seal. Why, it is written by Mr. Haverleigh,' she exclaimed, and then, with Mary and Fred both looking over her shoulder, she read the following : " ' Paris, November lOtk "'Mrs. Strong :—i)ear Madame:— I am sorry to be obliged to tell you the sad news about Anna, and I hope you will bear up bravely, for there is hope, and insanity is not as bad as death.' Insanity,' the three whispered together, with white lips, and then read on rapidly : " ' My bright-haired darling, whom I loved so much, and who every day was growing more and more into my heart, has been very sick here in Paris, and when the fever left her her reason seemed wholly gone. The ablest physicians in France were consulted, but hgr case seemed to baffle all>eir skill, and as she constantly grew worse, they advised me, as a last resort, to place her in a private asylum, where she would have absolute quiet, together with the best and kindest of care. THE NE\V« WHTCFr t;AME TO MILLFIELD. 53 it. 'Isn't IS good as the ktter irhich was was not him, and er as she Kclaimed, over her r lOtk rry to be d I hope insanity th white o much, into my hen the le ablest i seemed V worse, - private together I (1 not tell how 1 shrank from such an al- need not tell you now temative, feeling, for a time, that I would vather see my darling dead than behind a grated window ; but it was my only hope of restoring her, and as she was at times very violent and uncontrollable, I yielded at last to the judg- ment of others, and yesterday I took her to a private asylum in ' " Here was a great blofc, which entirely obliterated the name of the place, but in their sorrow and surprise the three did not observe it then, but read on rapidly : " ' It is a charming spot, with lovely views. She has her own apartments, and maid, and private table, and car- riage, and is surrounded by every comfort which love can devise or money buy, but oh, my heart is wrung with an- guish when I think of her there, my beautiful Anna, who enjoyed everything so much. She was happ)"" for the brief space that she was with me, and I am glad to remember that in the dreariness and darkness which have so sud denly overshadowed my life. But oh, dear madame, what can I say to comfort you, her mother. Nothing, alas, nothing, except bid you hope, as I do, that time will res- tore her again, and thut reminds me of a question the physicians asked me. Is there insanity on either side of her family ? If not, her recovery is certain. Mean- while, do not be troubled about her treatment ; it will be the tenderest and best, as I know her doctor and nurse personally, and money will secure everything but happiness. It is not thought advisable for me to see her' often, but I shall keep myself thoroughly informed m ' ,1 I.I i 7 'I' ' " I m- :* 54 CHATEAU D'oR. with regard to her condition, and report to you acoord- '"The last time Anna was out with me before her sick- ness, she saw and gieatly admired an oil painting from a scene among the mountains of the Tyrol. It reminded her, she said, of New England, and the view from the hills across the river in Millfield. Recently I have seen the picture again, and remembering that she said, "Oh, how I wish mother and Mary could see it," I purchased it, and yesterday it started for America, marked to your address. In the same box is a porcelain picture of Murillo's Madonna (the one in the Louvre gallery), and I send it because it bears a strong resemblance to Anna, as I have seen her in white dressing-gown, with her hair unbound, her hands folded upon her breast, and her sweet foce upturned to the evening sky, which she loved to contemplate, because she said, "the same moon and stars were shining down on you." I hope you will like them, and accept them as com- ing—the painting from Anna, and the Madonna from me. Should you ever be in need of money, I beg you will com- mand me to any extent, fori desire to be to you a son for the sake of the daughter I have taken from you. '" As I may not be in Paris the entire winter, direct to Munroe & Co., and your letters will be forwarded, " ' Very truly, dear madam, yours, " ' Ernest Haverleigh.' "This was the letter received at the red house that Thanksgiving day, and for a time the mother and sister THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO MILLFIELD. 55 felt that Anna was as surely lost to them as if she had been lying dead in some far-off grave across the sea. There was no insanity in the family on either side that Mi*s. Strong had ever heard of, and that gave them a little hope, but their hearts were aching with a bitter pain as they sat down to the dinner, which was scarcely touched, so intent were they upon the sorrow, which had come so suddenly. It was terrible to think of their beautiful Anna as a maniac, confined behind bars and bolts, and so far away from home. " ' If we could only see her/ Mary said, while Fred, suggested going to France himself to find her if she did not recover soon. " ' Where is she ? Where did Mr. Haverleigh say the asylum was ? ' he asked, and then reference was had to the letter, but the name of the place was wholly unintel- ligible, and after trying in vain to make it out, they gave it up, and gathered what comfort they could from the apparent kindness and cordiality evinced in Mr. Haver- leigh's letter, so diflfereQt from his cold, proud manner when there, Mrs. Strong remarked, and she felt her love go out toward him as to a son, and before she slept that night she wrote him a long letter, which contained many messages of love for poor Anna, and thanks to hit self for his kindness and interest in her sorrowing family. " That night there was a Thanksgiving party in the ball-room of the village hotel. It had been the custom to have one there for years, and heretofore Anna Strong had been the very prettiest girl present, and the one most ! lU Q 56 CHATEAU 1>UR. sought for in the games wo played and the nverry dance. But that light she was not witli us, and the news tliat she was insane, and the inmate of a mad-house, came up- on us with a heavy shock, saddening our spirits and cast- ing a gloom over the gay scene. I'uor Anna ! How little we guessed the truth, or dreamed how many, many times that day her ^thoughts had been with u^, or how, until the last ray of sunset faded, she had stood by the window of her room looking to the west, as if, with the departing daylight, she would send some message to her far-off home. CHAPTER V. THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU d'OR. " ~\ /T^^NSIEUR BRUNELL had received a telegram J-V_L saying that M. Haverleigh would visit the chateau t he following day, and both Anna and Madame Verwest had received letters apprising them of his home- coming, and bidding the one see that a grand dinner was in readiness for him, and the other to array hemself in her most becoming attire, as befitted a wife about to receive her husband after a separation of many months. To Anna this visit seemed more awful than anything she had yet experienced at the chateau, for as a whole her life there had not been without its pleasures. Acting upon Madame Verwest's advice, she had tried to make the best of her position, and in acquiring the language and a knowledge of music, she had found a solace for many a weary hour which otherwise would have hung heavily upon her hands. She was fond of French and music, and had deve- loped a remarkable talent for them both, while in the well -selected library she had found a delight she had never thought she could find in books. Madame Verwest washerself a good scholar and a clear reasoner and thinker, - m ■,i:, i 58 CHATEAU DOR. PS and iu lu'i constant lompanionship Anna was rapidly devi iopinj? into a self-reliant woman, capablo of thinking and acting for herself. Sho had long since given up all hope of hearing from lionic^ unless she could find some other method of communication than through the medium of Monsieur Brunell, who took charge of every letter from the chateau, and who, when questioned upon the suhjcict as to why no answer ever came to her, always replied that he did not know, unless her letters were lost on the voy- age. He always deposited them in the post, and more than that he could not do. It was in vain that Anna had tried other methods of getting her letters to the post. It could not be done, even through Madame Verwest, who said always, ' I would so gladly, but I dare not.' " And so, though lettei- after letter had been written home, there had come to her no reply, and she guessed pretty accurately that her letters were sent directly to her husband, who, of course, destroyed them. A prisoner for life she began to fear she was, and sometimes beat her wings cruelly against her gilded cage. Haverleigh had kept his word, and every luxury in the way of service, elegant dress, and furniture was hers. All the servants were respectful and attentive, while Celine was her de- voted slave. Anna could talk with her now tolerably well, and the first use she made of her knowledge was an effort to convince her maid of her sanity, and that she was kept a prisoner there to suit the whim of her husband, whom she represented as a dreadful man. But to this Celine gave no credence, though she at fiiBt smilingly as- THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU d'oR. 59 »K sentod to her young mistress' assertion, as if it were a part of her business to iiumour every fancy of the poor hinatic. Once Anna was more earnest than usual, and begged her maid to say if she believed her crazy. Oui, owi' Celine answered, vehemently,'! must think it, else why are you here, shut up f-'^m the world and Paris, and monsieur is far too kin't, too iond to imprison Madame for naught, and yet ' " Here Celine paused a moment, as n a. ner idea had just occurred to her, and then she continu , i : " • And yet it is a little strange that mademoiselle Aga- tha should be crazy, too, like you, and like you shut up here.' " ' Who was Agatha ? ' Anna asked ; and then, little by little, she heard the story of the poor young girl from Nor- mandy, who had died in what Celine called the ' Ghost Room,' with the words, ' Je vais revoir ma Normandie ' on her lips. "'She haunts the room still,' Celine said; 'and often on stormy nights, when the wind howls round the old chateau, we hear her voice singing of Normandy. Y m see, that was her home, and she thought she was going back to see it again. Oh, but she was i)retty, much like Madame ; only she was mademoiselle — no wedding ring, for true— no priest— and she was not lady, like you Ame- vicaine. She was people — very people.' " This was Celine's version of the story, and that night Anna heard from Madame Verwest more of poor Agatha, who believed herself a wife, and who went really mad ff ! Ill M 60 CHATEAU DOR. ' I I ir when she found that she was not. If any thing had been wanting to complete Anna's loathing and horror of her husband, this story would have accomplished it. That he was Pj demon in human form, as v/ell as a madman, she had no doubt, and there gradually crept into her heart a fear lest she, too, like Agatha of Normandy, would die in that dreary house. Still youth is hopeful, and Anna was young and cheered by the courage oi Madame Verwest, who was to her more like a mother than a servant, she found herself constantly forming plans for escape from the chateau. When she received her husband's letter, telling her he was coming, her first and predominant feel- ing was one of horror and dread : but anon there arose in her mind a hope that he might be coming to release her, or at least to take her with him to Paris, and once there she would fall in with Americans or English, and through them obtain her freedom. " With this end in view she determined to make herself as attractive and agreeable ac possible to the man she de- tested, and on the day when he was expected she suffered Celine to dress her ia one of the many gowns which she had never worn, for it had hitherto seemed worse than folly to array herself in laces, and ilks, and jewels for her solitary meals. But to'day there was a reason for dress- ing, and she bade Celine do her best, and when that b>3sb was done and she saw herself in the glass, a picture of rare loveliness in b^ne satin and lace, with pearls on her neck and arms, something of her old vanity awoke within THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU D'oR. 61 her, and she found herself again wishing that her friends at home could see her, " In the kitchen below all was bustle and expectation for whatever Ernest Haverleigh might be to others, he was exceedingly popular with his servants, and not a mn or woman of them but would have walked through fire and water to serve him. In the dining salon the table was set for dinner as it never had been laid since the first night of Anna's arrival at Chateau d'Or, more than iive months ago. And Anna glanced in there once as she was passing the door, and felt herself grow sick and faint as she saw the costly array, and remembered what it was for. ^ " At half-past five the train was due, and just as the little silver clock chimed the half hour, the whistle was heard, aad from the window where she had so often watched the sun setting she saw the long train moving off towards Marseilles, and a few moments after the sound of carriage wheels in the court below told her that her husband had come. She did not go to meet him, but with clasped hands and rapidly beating heart stood wait- ing for him just where he left her months before, terrified, bewildered, crouching upon the couch, with her face hid- den in her hands. Now she stood erect, with an un- natural brightness in her blue eyes, and a flush on her cheeks, which deepened to scarlet as her ear caught the sound of heavy footsteps, and she knew he was coming. " The next moment he opened the door, and started in- voluntarily, as if he had not been prepared to see her ■H: i f . P i mm !| I 1-2 i i i ■ 1 ' '■ tt-'-ibbii 02 CHATEAU DOR. thus. He had not expected to find her so beautiful and so matured. He had left her a timid, shrinking girl ; he found her a woman, with that expression upon her face which only experience or suffering brings. His rdle had been all marked out and aiTanged. He should find her tearful, reproachful, desperate possibly, and that would suit him well, and make her insanity more probable to his servants, while he would be the patient, enduring, martyr-husband, humouring her like a child, and petting her as he would pet a kitten which scratched and spit at his caresses. How then Was he disappointed, when, with a steady step, she crossed the room to meet hiui, and offered her hand as quietly and self-possessed, to all ap- ^ jarance, as if he had been a stranger seeking audience of her. " ' Ma frecieuse, ma helle reine, how charming I find you, and how delighted I am to see you looking so well,' he exclaimed, as he encircled her in his arms as lovingly as if she had been the bride of yesterday. " Oh, how she loathed his caresses, and felt her blood curdling in her veins as he pressed kiss after kiss upon her cheek and lips, and called her his darling and pet, and asked if she were glad to see hiru again. She could not tell him a lie, and she dared not tell the truth, but her eyes told it for her, and he saw it at once, and said in a deprecating tone : " * What ! not glad to see me when I have lived in the anticipation of this meeting ever since I parted with you last autumn. Why then didn't I come before ? you may THE NEWS W«rCJ[ CAME TO CHITEAU d'oR, 03 ask. Business before pleasure, you know, and then I hoped that perfect quiet in this lovely retreat would go far toward restoring you. Eh, taa petite. How is it, are you any better here?' And he touched his forehead signiiScantly. " That exasperated Anna, who for a moment, lost lier self-control, and releasing herself from him, stepped back- ward, and with a proud gesture of her head, exclaimed : " ' Have done with that. You know I am not cra/y, and you shall not stay in my presence if you insult m« thus ! ' " She was very beautiful then, and for a moment Hav^r- leigh felt a wave of his old love or passion sweeping over him as he stood looking at her ; then the demon within whispered of that day in New York, and the words he overheard, and he was himself again, her jailor and mastei- rather than her lover and husband. " ' Ha, my pretty pet,' said he, ' and so you are mistress here, and can refuse or permit my presence as you please So be it then, and if it suits you better to be sane, why sane you are to me at .least. But, Mrs. Haverleigli, joking aside, I am glad to see you, and I think you greatly im- proved, and 1 come in peace and not in war, and if you incline to the latter, I would advise a change in your programme. Upon my soul, you are charming.' " He drew her to him again, and she suffered his kisses in silence, and did not even shrink from him when in the presence of Celine he drew her down upon his knee, arid called her his angel and dove. But the colour had all fi \ ' ;?iii 64 CHATEAU 1 OR. faded from her cheeks, and left her very pale, while her hands shook so that she could scarcely manage her soup, when at last dinner was announced, and he led her to the dining salon. He was all attention to her, and a stranger watching him would have thought him the most devoted of husbands, but to Anna there was something disgusting and terrible in his manner which she knew was assumed as a means of deceiving the servants, who pitied their master fo; being so unfortunately married. " When dinner was over, and they haa -i'med to the salon, Anna could restrain herself no longer, but going up to her husban'^ startled him with the question : " ' There is something I must ask you, and for the love of heaven answer me truthfully. I have written home seven times since you left me here last October, but have never received a word in reply. Tell me, do you think my letters ever crossed the sea ? Did mv ler ever get them?' " Foi* an instant the hot blood flamed up in Mr. Haver- leigh's face, and his eyes fell teneath the steady gaze fixed so searchingly upon him. Anna knew that her suspicions were correct, and that her letters had never gone to America, and the lie he told her did not in the least shake her belief. " ' Do I think your mother ever got them ?' he repeated, at last. ' She must have gotten some of them, and some may have been lost. You gave them to Brunell ?' " ' Yes, always to Brunell. No one else would touch them, and I was never allowed to post one myself. Why THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU D*OR. G6 not ? Why am I treated so like a prisoner ? Why do you keep me here ? Surely I have been sufficiently pun- ished for the foolish words you overheard. Forgive me for them. Try me again. Let me go with you to Paris, when you return. I shall die here or go mad. Don't drive me to that. Oh, let me go away somewhere. Let me go home— bad' to mother.' " She was kneeling now at his feet, and he was looking down upon her with a strange glitter in his eye. Then the look softened, and there was unutterable tenderness in the tone of his voice as he stooped to raise her, and leading her to the couch, said to her pityingly : Poor child, you don't know what you ask. You have no home to go to. Your mother is dead— died suddenly —and in kindness to you I have withheld your sister's letter, wishing to spare you pain, but I have it with me. Can you read it now ?' "He held a worn-looking envelope toward her, but for a moment she did not see it. The blow had fallen so suddenly, and was so terrible in its magnitude, that for a brief space both sight and sense failed her, and she sat staring blankly into his face as if she neither saw nor heard. After a moment, however, her eyes relaxed from their stony expression ; there was a quivering of the lips, a rapid heaving of the chest, and then in a voice her husband would never have recognised as hers, she said : Give me the letter, please. I can read it now.' " He gave it to her, and holding it mechanically in her hand she studied the address, in her sister's handwrit- '^ :u% ' r"! . '' J 06 (.'HArKAVT I) OH. iiig : ' Ernest Havkrleigh, Esq., Paris, France. Cava of Munroe pe had beoii ^-tudied, she slowly opened it atid drew forth the sheet folded inside. Then the look of anguish on her face gave way to one of [jerplexity as she said : " ' Look, this is i:0; Mary's letter. It is from your agent in Scotland.'* * " ' My agent in Scotland ! Not Mary's letter ! What do you mean ?' Mr, Haverleigh asked, and taking the paper from her he saw that she was right, and that he held a communication from his Scottish steward regard- ing his estate in the High Ian * ' What can this mean ? J don't understand V he said, and seemed to be intently thinking ; then suddenly he added : ' Oh, I believe I know how the mistake occurred. This from McKenzie I re- ceived the same day with the one from your sister, and instead of putting the latter in this envelope, as I meant to do, I tore it up, as I do all my letters of no importance, and put this in its place. I am sorry, but I can give you the particulars. Can you bear it now ? There, lay your head against my arm, you look so white and strange.' " He sat down beside her, and drawing her to him made her lean against him while he told her how her mot after an unusually hard day's work, had sickened sudfi ud^ and died within three lays, peacefully, happii - vvi h a THE NKWS WJiroil «'AMK To ClfATKAU D'oR. f.7 iiKvsHage of love on her lips for her absent daughter. After the funeral was over, yielding to the earnest solicitations of a lady who was visiting in Millfield, Mary had decided to rent the house and go West with the woman as governess for her children. Fred., too, had accompanied them, as there was in the place a good school, where he could finish his education for college. The name of the lady Mr. Haver- leigh could not recollect, except that it was something like Creydock or Hcydock, while the town he had quite forgotten, and could by no means recall. It was very unfortunate, that mistake about the letters, and he was so sorry, he kept reiterating : but Anna did not seem to hear, or if she did, she did not care. She only was con- scious of the fact that her mother was dead, her home broken up, and all hoj)e of help from that quarter cut off. The effect was terrible, and even her husband was alarmed when he saw how white and motionless she sat, with her hands dropped helplessly at her side. Bad as he was, he did not wish her to die then and there, and he tried to move her from her state of apathy ; but she only answered, ' Please go away. I want to be alone.' " He made lier lie down on the couch, and to this she did not object, but like a tired child, laid her head among the soft silken cushions, and with a long, low gasping sob, closed her eyes wearily, as if to shut out all sight of every- thing. Madame Verwest and Celine were sent to her, and were told of the sad news which had so affected her, and one believed it, .and the other did not ; but both were un- remitting in their attentions to the poor heart-broken girl, I' I ,r, I. (I ■' il 68 CHATEAU D'oR. who gave no sign that she knew what they were doing or saying to her, except to moan, occasionally : ' Oh, my mother is dead ! my mother is dead.' " Mr. Haverleigh, too, was exceedingly kind, and very lavish with his caresses, which Anna permitted in a dumb, passionless kind of way, like one who could not help her- self. Once, when he stroked her long bright hair, she lifted her mournful eyes to him, and asked . ' Won't you take me from here ? Won't you let me go back to where you found me ? I can take care of myself; I can work in the shop again, and after a while you will be free from me. Will you let me go ? ' " Free from her ! Did he wish to be that ? For a mo- ment, when he remembered the glittering black eyes, the only eyes in the world which had the power to make him quail, he half believed he did. On his return to Paris he had met the woman with the glittering eyes, which seemed to read his very soul, and ferret out his inmost thoughts. There had been a stormy scene, for Eugenie Arschinard was not one to brook a rival. She had compassed the ruin of poor Agatha of Normandy, whom, but for her, Haverleigh might have dealt fairly with, and made the marriage tie more than a mere farce, a horrid mockery. From his town-house in London, Eugenie had seen the young, fair-haired girl driving by and looking so eagerly at the place, and with her thorough knowledge of the world, she knew her to be an American, and guessed her to be some new flame whom he had lured from home, as the plaything of an hour. She never for a moment be- THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU D'OR. 69 lieved him married ; he was not a marrying man ; he dared not marry, bound as he was to her by the tie of honour, which, in her infidel heart, she held above the maniage vow. So when she met him in Paris by ap- pointment, she charged him with his new fancy, demand- ing who and where she was, and he was a very coward in her presence, and dared not tell her the truth of that simple wedding among the New England hills, but suf- fered her to believe that Anna, like Agatha, was only his dupe, whom he could cast off at pleasure. Eugenie had no wish, at present, to be bound herself. She was true to ' Ilaverleigh, and she enjoyed to the full the luxuries with which he surrounded her, and in Paris, where such con- nections were common, she had her circle of friends, and reigned among them a queen because of Haverleigh's name and the style in which she lived. By and by, when she was older, and ceased to attract admiration, she meant to marry him and so pass into a respectable old age, but just now her freedom suited her best, and she gave no sign of her real intentions for the future. But Haver- leigh knew well that to confess he had a wife was to raise a storm he had not courage to meet, and so he told her the girl she had seen was a little wild rose from America, whom he had lifted from poverty and taken to Chateau' d'Or. " ' You know I must have something to amuse me when I am at that dreary place, and Anna does as weU as any one. A little washed-out, spiritless body of whom you ed not be jealous.' r' 70 CBVTEAU D'<'il. "This he had said to Eugenie, ;\n(l then l)a(l bought her the diamond sot at Tiffany's which she had achnircd so much, had driven with her in the Bois de Boulo.^r-^, and afterwarls dined with her in the IHfV 'viry palace just off' the C'hamps Elysdea, her home, of which she had the title-deed in her possession. And yet, in his heart, Ernest Haverleigh respected Anna far more than he did this wom. J'., who so fascinated and enthralled him, for though Ann.i had come to him with a lie on her lips, and a lie in Ler heart, and had wounded his self-love cruelly, she was pure and womanly, while Eugenie was steeped to the dregs in sin and in intrigue. " But she ruled him completely, and if he had desired he did not dare take Anna back with him to Paris and present her as his wife, and he was not bad enou^rh to cast upon her publicly the odium of being his mistress. Neither would he send her back to America, for there was no pretext whatever by whicli he could be free fiom the bond which held him her husband. She }\ad plenty of pretexts, he had none. Ho could lot let her fro, and besides, he was consciou ■ of a real interest in her, a some- thing which fascinated him, and made him wish to keep her at Chateau d'Or, wh .c he, and ho alone, con id see her at his will. Some time, perhaps, when Eugenie wa^' less troublesome, he might take her av, \ , but not now, and when she said to him so plead" dy, ' Will you let me go home ? ' ho answered her very , ,.fclA Poor child, you have no home to go to in Americ... Your home is here, wi'li me. Not always Chateau d'Or, for some time I mean I bought admired •oulo.^iT^, y palace she had is lieart, n he did him, for lips, and > cruelly, ecped to desired 'aris and lOugh to mistress. )r there L'eo f lom 1 plenty go, and a some- to keep DO id see jnie wa*-' lot now, u let me did, you ! is he}'. ; I mean S THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU d'oU. 71 to take you with me. I cannot do so now for certain rea- sons, but by and by— so be patient, and wait for the hap- piness in store.* " A shudder was Anna's only answer, as she turned her face away from him and wished that she might die. For five weeks Mr. Haverleigh remained at the chateau de- voting himself entirely to Anna,, who, while shrinking with intense disgust from his caresses, permitted them because she must. To Madame Vers, .st he was very distant and cold, treating her civilly, it is true, but always in a manner which showed how wide was the distance between them. He was master, she was servant, and he made her feel it keenly. Once, however, when she came suddenly upon him as he sat alone in his room, she laid her hand » his arm, and asked : How lonsj is thici to go on ? ' " ' What to go on ^ ' he replied, savagely, and she con- tuiued : '"This horrid . of sin and deception. You know the girl's mother is not dead.' # " ' It's a lie ! ' he cried, springing to his feet. ' A lie~ I swear it to you ! And you shall not interfere, or if you do, by ' "There was a frightful oath as he threatened the trembling woman, who did not speak again while he went on : '" J am beginning to love her once more ; to feel a real interest in her. I find her greatly improved, thanks to von,. I up},....so. A few mouths more of seclusioti, and I ii- t,iF 72 CHATEAU DOR. shall introduce her to the world ; but I will not have her family hanging on me — a set of low Yankees, working in shoe-shops, teaching school, and making dresses for the rabble.' " ' Is not her family a good one, then ? ' Madame Ver- west asked, and he replied : " ' Good enough for its kind, for aught I know. No stain, unless it be the half-sister or something of the father, who went to the bad, they say — ran off with a Boston man, who never meant to marry her., and the natural consequence, of course.' " ' Whore is this woman ? ' Madame asked, and he re- plied : " ' Dead, I believe, or ought to be. Why should such women live ? ' " ' Yes, oh, why ? ' was answered sadly in Madame's heart; but she made no response, and when her tyrant of a master motioned her to the door in token that the inter- view Ayas ended, she went out without a word. " Three days later he left the chateau, saying he should come again in September or October, and possibly bring people with him. Madame Arschinard, a lady of high position and great wealth, had long wished to visit South- ern France, and he might perhaps invite her down with other friends, and fill the chateau. " ' And you, my little white rose,' he said to Anna, * I want you to get your colour back, and be like your old self, for I shall wish my wife not to be behind Parisian beauties. I shall send you the very latest styles. Worth THE NEWS WHICH CAME TO CHATEAU D'OR. 73 has your number, I believe. And now good-bye, my pet. Take care of yourself, and if ' " He bent down to her, and whispered .something in her ear which turned her face to scarlet, and made her invo- luntarily exclaim : '"Oh, anything but that— anything but that !' 1 II ; fi ■ I fell 6 ] r~ 11 W CHAPTER VI. IN THE AUTUMN. " npHE summer had gone by — a long, bright beautiful .JL summer so far as sunny skies, and fair flowers, and singing birds, and fresh, green grass could make it bright and beautiful ; but to Anna, still watching drearily the daylight fading in the western sky, and whispering mes- sages for the sun to carry to the dear ones across the water, it had dragged heavily, and not all Madame Verwest's love and petting which were given without stint to th« poor girl, had availed to win her back to the compara- tively cheerful state of mind she had been in before receiv- ing the sad news of her mother's death. " She had ceased writing to America ; that was useless, she knew. Her letters would never reach there, and she had ceased to expect any news from home, for however often Mary or Fred, might write, their letters would never come to her. Of this she was convinced, and she gradually settled into a state of hopeless apathy, taking little or no interest in anything, except poor Agatha's grave. " She had found it in a little inclosure on the island, V'^U V.y^l/1 r^Uof /iQ«i fl'Or "^'^ItA'I ■"'lfT> +011 cfvaaa ariA xtraoAa IN THE AUTUMN. 75 and smothered by the drooping branches of the pine and willow which ove; shadowed it and hid from view the plain white stone on which was simply inscribed, 'Ag&tha, aged 20/ Nothing to teU when she died, or where, or where her home had been, and what her life. But Anna knew now all the sad story of the sweet peasant-girl lured from her home by promises of a marriage, which did take place at last, but with a flaw in it which made it illegal, and poor Agatha no wife. Then, when reparation had been refuse7" I^^H '/''Iflj V ujfH i;. mIIH ,- i J 5 80 CHATEAU OR. brought there as her associates, and for half an instant he resolved to keep her from them, lest so much as their breath should fall upon and contaminate her in some way. But it was too late now. She must meet them day after day, and he must see her with them, and go on acting his false part, and make hims-jl.''^. still greater villain, if possi- ble, than ever. But he would be very kind to her, and defe- rential, too, especially before Eugenie, whom for the time being he felt that he hated with a most bitter hatred, not only for what she was, but for the power she had over him. How gorgeous she was at dinner in her dress of crimson satin, with lace overskirt, and diamonds flashing on her neck and arms, and how like a queen, or rather like the mistress of the house, she carried herself among her companions as they stood in the grand salon waiting for Mrs. Haverleigh, the younger portion speculating upon the probabilities of her acting rationally in their presence, while she, Eugenie, listened to their speculations with a scornful curl on her lip, and an increased glitter in her black eyes. " There was the sound of soft, trailing garments on the stairs, and Eugenie drew her tall figure to its full height, and tossed her head proudly as Anna entered the room, a graceful little creature, with a tint of the sun on her wavy hair, a faint flush on her cheeks, and the purity of her complexion heightened by the colour of her dress. And still she was not a child, for the woman was stamped in every lineament, and shone in the blue eyes she bent so curiousiy on the guests, as, one by one, they IN THE AUTUMN. 81 gathered around her to be presented. And Anna re- ceived them graciously, and welcomed them to the cha- teau, which, she said, would be pleasanter for having them there. You must be often very lonely living here alone so much,' Eugenie said to her, and instantly the great blue eyes, which had been scanning her so curiously, filled with tears, and the sweet voice was inexpressibly saJ which replied : " * Oh, you don't know how lonely.' " It was long since Eugenie Arschinard had felt a throb of anything like kindly pity for anyone ; but there was something in Anna's face and Anna's eyes which struck a chord she had thought stilled forever, and brought back a wave of memory which shook her, for an instant, like a tempest, and made her grow faint and weak before this woman she had meant to hate. Years ago, before Eugenie Arschinard was the woman she was now, she had loved a young half-sister with all the intensity of her strong, passionate nature, and loved her the more for having had the care of her from the time her first wailing cry echoed through the chamber of the dying mother. For this child Eugenie had toiled and denied herself, and gone without sufficient food that the little one might be daintily clothed and fed on delicacies. Then, in an unlucky hour, Eugenie went to Paris to make her fortune as a milliner, and get a home for the young girl growing each day more and more beautiful. But before that home was made Eugenie's brilliant beauty had been her ruin, and she i {| vJi % ''i iri f.* ' *i 1^' 82 CHATEAU D'OR. would not bring her sister into the tainted atmosphere of her world. " The glamour of Haverleigh's love and money was in its freshness, and in her intoxication she forgot every- thing else until there oame a terrible awakening, and she heard that ' La Petite,' as she called her sister, had left her home with a stranger, and gone no one knew whither, or whether for good or bad. Then for a time the fairy palace off the Champs Elysees was closed, while Euge- nie, maddened and remorseful, sought far and near for traces of La Petite, but sought in vain, and after many weeks she returned to her home and life in Paris, gayer, more reckless than ever, but with a pain in her heart which never left her for a moment. " Time passed on till more than a year was gone, and then she heard from the gray -haired father at home that in a roundabout way, which he nevertheless felt to be re- liable, tidings had come to him of La Petite's death, though how she died or where he did not know. "There were very uncomfortable days for Ernest Haver- leigh, who, never having heard Eugenie mention her sister, did not know she had one, and could . not guess of the bitter grief which consumed her day and night, and made her sometimes like a raging animal in her hatred of all mankind. •' It waa at that time that Mr. Haverleigh, finding no comfort with Eugenie, had decided to visit America, and leave the lady to herself until she was in a better frame her better on his return, and uf miud. TT_ had found B I IN THE AUTbJlN. 83 furiously jealous of Anna, whom she wished so much to see, and whom, when she saw, she felt herself drawn stratigely toward, because of a resemblance to the dear little sister dead, she knew not where. "Mr. Haverleigh had dreaded this meeting between the eagle and the dove, as he mentally styled the two women who were bound to him, one by the tie of marriage, the other by the so-called tie of honour. Would thJ eagle tear the dove, he wondered, and he watched them curiously as they met, marvelling much at Eugenie's man- ner, and the pallor which showed itself even through her paint. Anna had either made a favourable impression, or else Eugenie thought her too insipid to be considered as a rival for a moment. In either case he was pleased to know that there was not to be war between the two ladies, and with this load off his mind he became the most urbane and agreeable of hosts. " It was a very merry dinner party, for the guests were all young and in the best of spirits, and the light jest and gay repartee passed rapidly around the board. Only Anna was quiet. She did not understand French well enough to catch readily what they said, especially wl en they talked so rapidly, and so many at a time. But sue was a good listener, and tried to seem interested and smile in the right place, and she looked so girlish and pretty, and did her duties as hostess so gracefully, that her husband felt proud of her, while every man at the table pronounced her perfect, and every woman charming. " Those October days at Chateau d'Or were very pleas- r' ^ a I ' 84 CHATEAU D'OR. ant, for Mr. Haverleigh was a good host^ and his guests knew well how to entertain themselves, so that from early morning into the small hours of night there was no cessation of pleasure and revelry. But Anna did not join in the dissipation. She was not at all strong, and in the freedom of intercourse bf tween these volatile, unprincipled French people she saw .nuch to censure and shock her and shrunk from any familiarity with them. This reti- cence on her part was attributed to her supposed malady, which made her melancholy, the ladies thought, and after a few ineffectual efforts to draw her into their circle, they gave it up, and suffered her to remain quietly in her room. " Eugenie, however, often sought her society, attracted by the look in her h.-y,i i o the lost one, and by a desire to see how far the i^tot y ot her insanity was true, and to know something of bor early history. But it was not until the party had been at the chateau for three weeks and were beginning to talk of going back to Paris, or still farther south to Nice or Mentone, that an opportunity for the desired interview presented itself. CHAPTER VII. EUGENIE AND ANNA. " TT had been Anna's daily custom to steal away after -^ lunch to her favourite resort, the little yard where Agatha was buried, and where one of the servants had built her a rustic seat beneath the trees, and here Eugenie found her one afternoon, and leaning over the iron fence, asked her if she might come in, and next whose gi-ave it was. From where she stood she could not see the name upon the headstone, but when Anna answered, ' It is the grave of the young girl who is said to haunt the chateau ; you have heard the absurd story, of course,' she was in- terested at once, for she had heard from her maid some- thing of a ghost whose plaintive cry for home was heard wailing through the 16ng, dark corridors, and in the lonely rooms, especially on stormy nights when the wind was high, and shook the massive walls of the chateau. Euge- nie was not at all superstitious, and knowing that nearly every old place like Chateau d'Or had its ghost and ghost- room, she had paid no attention to the tale as told her by Elise, but when it assumed a tangible form in the shape of a real grave, her curiosity was roused, and without Tn k: . f ..s,^ im '/] i '^f^ <-■ ^ A' ^^ 86 CHATEATT D'OIL waiting for Anna's permission she passed through the gate, and going round to the seat where Anna sat, said : " ' Then there was a girl who died and was buried here ? Who was she ? Do you know ? ' " ' It was before I came,' Anna answered, ' and I only know that she was sick — crazy, they said, from some great wrong done to her, and quite up to her death she kept singing of her home in Normandy.' " ' Normandy ! Did you say she came from Nor- mandy ? What was her name ? ' Eugenie asked, but be- fore Anna could answer, she bent down and read ' Agatha, aged 20.' " ' Agatha ! ' she repeated, as she grasped the headstone and stood with her back to Anna, who thus did not see the corpse-like pallor which spread all over her face as a horrible suspicion passed through her mind. 'Agatha what ? Had she no other name ? ' she asked at last, when she had mastered her emotion sufficiently to speak in her natural voice. " ' Yes. Agatha Wynde,' Anna replied, and was instantly startled by a low, sharp cry from her companion, who laid her hand upon her side, exclaiming : " ' It's my heart. I'm subject to it : but don't call any one ; let me sit here until I'm better. Anything like a fuss around me disturbs me so much.' ' ' She was very white, and shivering like one with an ague chill, and though Anna did not call any one, she was glad to see her own maid, Celine, coming toward them. Eugenie did not object to her but suffered her to rub her EUGENIE AND ANNA. 87 head and hands until she was better, and the violent beating of her heart had ceased. " ' Now let me sit here in quiet, and do you tell me about this Agatha, whose ghost is said to haunt the cha- teau. Was she pretty, and when did she die ? ' " This she said to Celine, who, always ready and glad to talk, began the story, of Agatha so fax a^ she knew it telhng of her arrival at the chateau one wild rainy nicrht' of her deep melancholy and sweet, quiet ways, of her W into insanity, her pleadings to go home to Normandy and of her subsequent death with the words upon her 'lips, 'Je vais revoir ma Kormandie: '"She was not like you madame,' Celine said. 'She wa^ the people like me, and so she talked with me more than ladies might. There was no real marriage, only a sham, a fraud she said ; but she was innocent, and I be- heve she told the truth; but Mon Diea, what must such girls expect when gentlemen like monsieur entice them away from home:' and Celine shrugged her shoulders meaningly, as if to say that the poor dead girl beneath the grass had received only her due in betrayal and ruin. " ' Yes, don't talk any more, please. The pain has come back, and I believe I'm dying.' Eugenie gasped, while both Anna and Celine knelt by her, rubbing her again and loosening her dress until the colour came back to her face and she declared herself able to return to the chateau 'Don', talk of my illness and bring everybody aroimd me, she said to her attendauts. ' I cannot bear people . * :'r ■ tj ¥■ ,: It k ■|;i 88 CHATEAU D'OR. when I'm so. Send me Elise, and leave me alone. She knows what to do.' " They got her to her room, and called her maid, who said she had seen her thus a hundred times, and so Anna felt no particular alarm at the sudden illness, and did not think to connect it in any way with that lonely grave in the yard, or dream of the agony and remorse of the proud woman who lay upon her face writhing in pain and moan- ing bitterly : " ' Ma Petite, oh, ma Petite. I have found thee at last, sent to thy early grave by me — by me. Alas, if I too could die and be buried there beside thee.' " Eugenie did not appear at dinner that evening. She was suffering from a severe nervous attack, Elise said, and the attack kept her in her room for seme three days, dur- ing which time she saw no one but her maid, who reported her to the servants as in a dreadful way, walking her room day and night, eating nothing, but wringing her hands continually and moaning : " * Oh, how can I bear it — how can I bear it, and live ? ' " Once Mr. Haverleigh attempted to see her, but she repulsed him angrily. " ' No, no, tell him to go away. I cannot, and will not see him,' she said ; and her eyes glared savagely at the door outside which he was standing. " After a few days, however, she grew more quiet, and asked for Anna, who went to her imm' er. I hked you when I saw you, though I came pre- t>ared to hate, and do you harm.' " ' Hate me, and wished to do me harm ? Why ? ' Anna asked her great blue eyes full of wonder and surprise. I should hate you?' Eugenie said: and Anna int^ whose mind a suspicion of what this woman reallV was had never entered, answered : "'I do not know why any one should hate me. when I am so desolate and wretched, and homesick here, but not cray.^ Oh madame, surely you do not believe me crazy ? ' Crazy ! No, not half as much so as the man who i^eeps you here, and Eugenie spoke impetuously, while I . :';f H I j W'A Ut IW 1 t l 90 CHATEAU D'OR. her black eyes flashed, and there came a deep red flush to her face. ' What age are you, girl ? You look too young to be madame,' she continued. " ' Not quite nineteen,' was Anna's reply. " ' Neither was 8he when I saw her last, and you are like her in voice and manner, and so many things, and that's why I cannot hate you. Oh, Moti Dleu, that she should die and I live on,' said Eugenie. ' Let me tell you about her, the sweetest child that ever drew breath ; not high or noble, but lowly born, a country lass, as innocent and happy as the birds 'which sang by that cottage door, and I loved her, oh, how I loved her from the hour her djdng mother, who was not my mother, but my father's wife, put her in my arms. I am almost thirty-eight. She, if living, would be twenty-three ; so you see my arms were young and strong, and they kept her so tenderly and lovingly. How I cared for her and watched over her as she grew into the sweetest rose that ever bloomed in fair Normandy. How I toiled and drudged for her, going without myself that Petite might be fed, that hers might be the dainty food, the pretty peasant's dress in which she was so lovely. How I meant to educate and bring her up a lady, so that no soil should come to her soft ■white hands, nor tire to her little feet. When she was fifteen I went to Paris, hoping to get money and a home for her. I was a milliner first, then I recited, I sang, I acted and attracted much attention, and kept myself good and pure for her, till there came a chance of earning money faster, and woe is me. I took it. You are Anglaise or EUGENIE AND AKNA. Jj ^".erfcain,, which amount, to the same thing. You do fentlv "" "r """S^' ^"' I - French, eduoa Jdif. T .u ""^ oountry-woraen have their »ra«( CHAPTER IX. EUGENIE'S WAITING MAID. - nHARLES PATTERSON, London/ was the name Vy of the occupant of No. 512. Hotel du Louvre Pans and 512 was a small bedroom on the fifth floor, and looked down upon the busy Rue St. Honord. Charles was a very fair, girlisli-looking boy. who, from the ni^ht he took possession of No. 512. kept his room entirely and was served in his apartment daily with 'cafe an lait and two eggs in the n,orning, and with 'hiftek aux po^imes and haricots verts for dinner in the afternoon. At first the waiter had pointed significantly to the printed notice that having his meals thus served would cost an extra franc, but Charles had answered promptly ' Je le m. and that had ended It, and he was free to ell where he hked. Nobody noticed or thought of him again until the close of the second day, when, as he stood looking down upon the street below, and reading the strand names on the signs, there came a knock at the door, and a servant handed in a card bearing the name of 'Eugenie Arschinard.' The lady herself was in the hall near the 8 ■ ii! i: J ; 1 ! lOG CHATEAU D'OR. door, and in a moment was in the room alone with the young boy, whom she addressed as ' Monsieur Sharles,' and whom she regarded intently as he brought her a chair, and then proceeded to light the one candle which the room possessed. "' Mon Dieu !' she began, in her pretty, half-French, half -English style ; ' vou8 ites un petit gargon ! Mais n'importe. You make a very joli — what you call him ? — waiting-maid pour moi. Ah ! but you very like votre aoeur. Poor leetle madame ! * " ' Oh, tell me of Anna, please ! Tell me all you know, and what I am to do,' Fred, said, speaking in a whisper, as she had done, lest the occupants of the adjoining rooms should hear what it was necessary should be kept secret. " ' Madame has a leetle babee,' Eugenie said, and as Fred, uttered an exclamation of surprise, she continued : * It is so, veritable, but I it not write, for fear to worry la m^re. Both doing well, petite mother and babee, which makes a boy, and monsieur is — what you call it ? — very much up ; oui, very much ; but I hasten. Monsieur comes to find me to-night a diner. I tell you all tout- de-suite.' " Then very rapidly she communicated her plan for fu- ture action, interspreading her talk frequently with * Mon Dieu ! you make so pretty girl Anglaise, with that fair hair and those blue eyes. Nobody can suspect.' " And Fred, followed her closely, and understood what he was to do, and, after she was gone, wrote to his mother a full account of his adventures thus far, and then waited Eugenie's waiting maid. 107 with what patience he could command for what was to follow. " As will have been inferred, Eugenie was better The nervous depression and weakness had passed away and stimulated with this new excitement, she had never looked handsomer than when she consented at last to receive Haverleigh as a guest at her house. He had not seen her for weeks, or rather months; for since the time she left Chateau d'Or, until the day she visited Fred, at the Louvre, he had not so much as heard the sound of her voice, and this long separation from her, and seemino- in- difference on her part, had revived his old passion for her ten-fold, and when at last she wrote, ' Come and dine with me this evening,' he felt as elated and delighted as the bashful lover who goes for his first visit to his fiangSe. "He found her waiting for him, dressed with elegant simplicity, and looking. so fresh and young that he went forward eagerly to meet her, with his usual gush of ten- derness, but she stepped backward from him, with some- thmg in her manner which kept him in check so that he only raised her hand to his lips, and then stood lookincr at her and marvelling at her changed demeanour. And yet in most points she was not changed ; she would not suffer him to touch her, and she compelled him to treat her with a respect he had not been accustomed to pay her in private; but otherwise she was the same brilUant, fas- ti 'i\ If- "S \ 108 CHATEAU D OR. cinating woman, bewildering him with her beauty and intoxicating him with her wit and sharp repartees. " For la petite madame and le petit gargon she made many enquiries, expressing a strong desire to see them, and telling him as soon as the weather was more favourable she meant to go down to Chateau d'Or for a little visit. To this Haverleigh assented, for he was per- fectly willing that Eugenie and Anna should be on terms of intimacy, especially as the former pretended to believe in the lunacy of the latter, and inquired now very anxi- ously how she was in her mind since the birth of her child. " ' A little bettor,' Haverleigh hoped, and Eugenie con- tinued : " ' I mean some time this summer, say in June, to have her here at my house for a little ; the change will do her great good. You are willing, of course, when it will please me so much.' " The eyes which looked at him were very soft and pleading, and Haverleigh could not resist them, and an- swered that Madame Anna should certainly come up to Paris ; that he should be glad to have her come, especi- ally as Madame Arschinard was so kind as to ask her. Then Eugenie grew more gracious and captivating, and told him of her strange sickness, which made her so ner- vous that she could not see her dearest friends, but she was so much better now, and glad to have monsieur to dine just as he used to do ; then she told him as a great misfortune that Elise, her. waiting-maid had left her, and snie con- EUQENIE'S WAITING MAID. 100 that she had made up her mind to advertise for an En