■'^/(iHci^
CAPTAIN MARRYAT'S NOVELS
The ''King's Oivn" Edition
YALEEIE
VALERIE
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
BY
CAPTAIN MARRYAT
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
E. J. WHEELER
INTRODUCTION BY
W. L. COURTNEY, M.A., LL.D.
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS, Limited
Broadway, Ludgate Hill
1898
{Author's Edition)
Priuted liy Ballanttne, Hanson «5r* Co.
At the liallaiityne Tress
INTRODUCTION
Writing on August 20, I845, to ins friend Mrs. S ,
Marryat says :
" I really wish you ■would write your confessions. I will
publish them. I have a beautiful opening in some memo-
randa I have made of the early life of a Frenchwoman,
that is, up to the age of seventeen, when she is cast upon
the world ; and I would work it all up together. Let us
commence, and divide the ' tin ' ; it is better than doing
nothing." And at the end of the same letter he adds :
" I have told Ainsworth that I have commenced this
* Mdlle. Virginie,' and that he may perhaps have her for
the Ncir Munl/i/i/."
Later Mr. Ainsworth himself writes :
" By all means go on with ' Mdlle. \^irginie ' ; we shall
soon be ready for her in the Ncn' MonthJi/."
Mrs. S , however, refused to add her confessions to
those of the young Frenchwoman, and Marryat himself was
only able to write the first two volumes and part of the
third ; for, while the story was still running in the Magazine,
the first symptoms appeared of the illness which proved
fatal to him, and " Mdlle. Virginie " was finished by another
hand. At the last moment, the title was changed to
" Valerie."
Ostensibly an autobiography, it is not easy to decide
whether " Valerie " was originally inteiulcd for children or
for grown-up peo2)le. Although it belongs to the period
INTRODUCTION
when Marryat lived at Langham ami wrote exclusively for
the former, yet " Valerie " is not altogether a child's book.
Rather it would appear to be pre-eminently fitted to supply
the literary needs of " the young person/' a book that they
will read -with pleasure and j^erhaps some profit, the auto-
biography of a girl, wholesome, health}', and very readable,
— but — nothing more.
It was the last book that Captain Marryat ever wrote ;
and his spirit of fun and humour had left him long since,
but not his easy happy style, or his power of delineating
character, and of drawing a ra])id picture with a few light
touches. Lady R , the page Lionel, Monsieur Gironac,
and Madame Bathurst are all clever sketches of natural
lifelike people in whom, if we cainiot always feel interest,
\\c can, at all events, recognise the living creature.
Unfortunately, as in " The Privateersman," it is easy to
detect in "Valerie" the book-m<aking, or rathei', in this
case, the magazine-filling element. The story of Lady R
and of Lionel's parentage, though doubtless romantic, is
very hackneyed, and if not an absolute blot on the book, is
certainly an inartistic excrescence.
Valerie herself, by Mr. Hannay called the "Japhet in
petticoats," is a determined plucky girl, who makes an
honest struggle to defy circumstance. Marryat has not
succeeded in presenting her to us as a very lovable person ;
she is too cold, too calculating, and a most decided misan-
thrope ; yet he endows her with an unusual power of attract-
ing people, and she has always numbers of friends to whom
she can turn when her employers abuse or dismiss her. And
indeed, from the recital of the slights and humiliations to
which she is subjected, as she treads the thorny path of the
governess and companion, it would appear that the lot of
these unfortunate individuals was even worse in the early
forties than it is at present. Yet surely Valerie must have
INTRODUCTION
been as peculiarly unfortunate in the selection of her patrons,
as in her mother, a monster of cruelty, such as even the most
vindictive of stepmothers could hardly rival.
Although a persistent and successful match-maker for
her friends, Valerie's views against marriage for herself are
of the strongest. Here are some of them. " For my part,
I would not ci'oss the street for the best man that ever was
created. As friends, they are all very well ; as advisers, in
some cases they are useful ; but when you talk of marrying
one and becoming his slave, that is quite another affair."
This to Adele Chabot, who is about to marry a man whom
she knows does not cai'e for her, in the hope of winning his
love. And again — " What is it in women that I do not feel,
which makes them so mad after the other sex .'' Instinct,
certainly, for reason is against it. Well ! I have no objec-
tion to seeing others conunit the folly, provided that I am
not led into it myself." When Valerie is awaiting the arrival
of her brother Auguste, from whom she has been separated
for mar»y years, and to whom she is devoted, these lines
occur — " I thought of the future. ' Yes,' thought I, ' marry
I never will. That is decided. Nothing should ever in-
duce me ! ' "
We have heard, of course, of other girls who have made
like resolutions, and have lived to break them ; but surely
Marryat meant to leave Valerie a ha])py old maid, a pic-
ture of an independent, self-reliant woman, earning her
own living, and asking help from no one. Must it not be
the "other hand" who is responsible for the marvellous
Count de Chavannes, who appears at the end of the book }
Marryat would never have drawn so immaculate a man ;
he would not have believed in him. Such chivalry, right-
mindedness, and tact are not found in ordinary human beings,
and if they were, would be too far above us to be attractive.
However, the Count appears, instantly fascinating every one,
INTRODUCTION
including Valerie, whom he carries off in triumph as his
wife, and they together, with most of the other characters,
are left " to be happy ever afterwards."
Doubtless, the sole reason that " Valerie " was written,
was the desire for " tin," as Captain Marryat himself suggests
in his letter to Mrs. S . Unfortunately, as is the case
with so many writers, very many of his books owe their
existence to this need alone. It is diflicult for an author
to do justice, either to himself or to his work, under these
circumstances; but Valerie, although far from the best of
Marryat's "pot-boilers," is not the worst. It has the re-
deeming feature of a wholesome freshness both of plot and
style, and it is more consistent than many of his greater
works.
W. L. C.
April 1898.
vni
Y A L E R I E
CHAPTER I
1 HAVE titled these pages with nothing more than my
baptismal name. If the reader finds sufficient interest in
them to read to the end, he will discover the position that I
am in, after an eventful life. I shall, however, not trespass
upon his time by making many introductory remarks ; but
commence at once with my birth, parentage, and education.
This is necessary, as although the two first are, perhaps, of
little comparative consequence, still the latter is of import-
ance, as it will prepare the reader for many events in my
after-life. I may add, that much depends upon birth and
parentage ; at all events, it is necessary to comjjlete a perfect
picture. Let me, therefore, begin at the beginning.
I was born in France. My father, who was of the ancieniie
noblesse of France, by a younger branch of the best blood, and
was a most splendid specimen of the outward man, was the
son of an old officer, and an officer himself in the army of
Napoleon. In the conquest of Italy lie had served in the
ranks, and continuing to follow Napoleon through all his
campaigns, had arrived to the grade of captain of cavalry.
He had distinguished himself on many occasions, was a
favourite of the Emperor's, wore the cross of the Legion of
Honour, and was considered in a fair way to rapid promotion,
when he committed a great error. During the time that his
squadron was occupying a small German town, situated on
the river Erbach, called Deux Fonts, he saw my mother, fell
desperately in love, and married. There was some excuse
for him, for a more beautiful woman than my mother I never
beheld ; moreover, she was highly talented, and a most
1 A
VALERIE
perfect musician, of a good family, and with a dower by no
means contemptible.
The reader may say that, in marrying such a woman, my
father could hardly be said to have connnitted a very great
error. This is true, the error was not in marrying, but in
allowing his wife's influence over him to stop his future
advancement. He wished to leave her with her father and
mother until the campaign was over. She refused to be left,
and he yielded to her Avishes. Now, Napoleon had no objec-
tion to his officers being niarried, but a very great dislike to
their wives accompanying the army ; and this was the fault
which my father committed, and which lost him the favour
of his general. My mother was too beautiful a woman not to
be noticed, and immediately inquired about, and the know-
ledge soon came to Napoleon's ears, and militated against my
father's future advancement.
During the first year of their marriage, my eldest brother,
Auguste, was born, and shortly afterwards my mother pro-
mised an increase to the family, which was the occasion of
great satisfaction to my father, who, now that he had been
married more than a year, would at times look at my mother,
and, beautiful as she was, calculate in his mind whether the
possession of her was indemnification sufficient for the loss of
the brigade which she had cost him.
To account for my father's satisfaction, I must acquaint
the reader with circumstances which are not very well
known. As I before observed. Napoleon had no objection
to marriage, because he required men for his army ; and
because he required men, and not women, he thought
very poorly of a married couple who })roduced a plurality
of girls. If, on the contrary, a woman presented her
husband with six or seven boys, if he was an officer in the
army, he was certain of a pension for life. Now, as my
mother had commenced with a boy, and it is well known
that there is every chance of a woman continuing to pro-
duce the sex which first makes its appearance, she was much
complimented and congratulated by the officers when she so
soon gave signs of an increase, and they prophesied that
she would, by her fruitfulness, in a few years obtain a
pension for her husband. My father hoped so, and thought
that if he liad lost the brigade, he would be indemnified
2
VALERIE
hy the pension. My mother was certain of it ; and declared
it was a boy.
Rut prophecies, hopes, and declarations wei*e all falsified
and overthrown by my unfortunate appearance. The dis-
appointment of my father was great ; but he bore it like a
man. My mother was not only disappointed, but indignant.
She felt mortified, after all her declarations, that I should
have appeared and disj)roved them. She was a woman of
violent temj)er, a discovery which my father made too late.
To me, as the cause of her humiliation and disappointment,
she took an aversion, which only increased as I grew up, and
which, as will be hereafter shown, was the mainspring of all
my vicissitudes in after life.
Surely there is an error in asserting that there is no
feeling so strong as maternal love. How often do we witness
instances like mine, in which disappointed vanity, ambition,
or interest, have changed this love into deadly hate !
My father, who felt the inconvenience of my mother
accompanying him on forced marches, and who, perhaps,
being disappointed in his hopes of a pension, thought that
he might as well recover the Emperor's favour, and look for
the brigade, now proposed that my mother should return
with her two children to her parents. This my mother, who
had always gained the upper hand, positively refused to
accede to. She did, however, allow me and my brother
Auguste to be sent to her parents' care at Deux Ponts, and
there we remained Avhile my father followed the fortunes of
the Emperor, and my mother followed the fortunes of my
father. I have little or no recollection of my maternal
grandfather and gi'andmolher ; I remember that I lived with
them, as I remained there with my brother, till I was seven
years old, at which period my patei-nal grandmother offered
to receive my brother and me and take charge of our educa-
tion. This offer was accepted, and we both went to Luneville,
where she resided.
I have said that my paternal grandmother offered to re-
ceive us, and not my paternal grandfather, who was still
alive. Sjch was the case ; as, could he have had his own
way, he would not have allowed us to come to Luneville, for
he had a great dislike to children ; but my grandmother had
property of her own, independent of her husband, and she
3
VALERIE
insisted upon oiu* coming, ^'^cry often^ after we had been re-
ceived into her house, I would liear remonstrance on Iiis part
relative to the expense of keeping us^ and the reply of my
grandmother, which would be, " Kh hicii, ^lousicur Chatoneuf,
cent man argent que je dcpensc." I must describe Monsieur
Chatenceuf. As I before stated, he had been an officer in
the French army ; but had now retired upon his pension,
with the rank of major, and decorated with the Legion of
Honour. At the time that I first saw liim, he was a tall,
elegant old man, with hair as white as silver. I heard it
said that, when young, he was considered one of the bravest
and handsomest officers in the French army. He was very
quiet in his manners, spoke very little, and took a large
quantity of snuff. He was egotistic to excess, attending
wholly to himself and his own comforts ; and it was because
the noise of children interfered with his comfort that he
disliked them so much. We saw little of him, and cared less.
If I came into his room when he Avas alone, he promised me
a good whipping. I therefore avoided him as much as I
could ; the association was not pleasant.
Luneville is a beautiful town, in the department of Meurthe.
The castle, or rather palace, is a very splendid and spacious
building, in which formerly the dukes of Lorraine held their
court. It was afterwards inhabited by King Stanislaus, who
founded a militaiy school, a libraiy, and an hospital. The
palace was a square building, with a handsome facade facing
the town, and in front of it there was a fountain. There was
a large square in the centre of the palace, and behind it an
extensive garden, which was well kept up and carefully
attended to. One side of the palace was occupied by the
officers of the regiments quartered in Luneville ; the opposite
side by the soldiery ; and the remainder of the building was
appropriated to the reception of old retired officei's who had
been pensioned. It was in this beautiful building that my
grandfather and grandmother w'ere established for the re-
mainder of their lives. Except the Tuileries, I know of no
palace in France equal to that of Luneville. Here it was
that, at seven years old, I took up my quarters ; and it is
from that period that I have always dated my existence.
I have described my grandfather and my residence, but
now I must introduce my grandmother ; my dear, excellent
4
VALERIE
grandmother, wliom 1 loved so much when she was Hving,
and whose memory 1 shall ever revere. In person she was
rather diminutive, but although sixty years of age, she still
retained her figure, which was remarkably pi'etty, and she
was as straight as an arrow. Never had age pressed more
lightly upon the human frame ; for, strange to say, her hair
was black as jet, and fell down to her knees. It was con-
sidered a great curiosity, and she was not a little proud of it,
for there was not a grey hair to be seen. Although she had
lost many of her teeth, her skin was not wrinkled, but had a
freshness most remarkable in a person so advanced in years.
Her mind was as young as her body ; she was very witty
and co(|uettish, and the officers living in the palace were
continually in her apartments, preferring her company to
that of younger women. Partial to children, she would join
in all our sports, and sit down to play "hunt the slipper"
witli us and our young companions. But with all her vivacity,
she was a strictly moral and religious woman. She could be
lenient to indiscretion and carelessness, but any deviation
from truth and honesty, on the part of my brother or myself,
was certain to be visited with severe punishment. She
argued, that there could be no virtue where there was deceit,
which she considered as the hotbed from which every vice
would spring out spontaneously ; that truth was the basis of
all that was good and noble, and that every other branch of
education was, comparatively speaking, of no importance, and,
without truth, of no value. She was right.
My brother and I were both sent to day-schools. The
maid Catherine always took me to school after breakfast, and
came to fetch me home about four o'clock in the afternoon.
Those were happy times. With what joy I used to return to
the palace, bounding into my grandmother's apartment on
the ground-floor ; sometimes, to frighten her, leaping in at
the window and dropping at her feet, the old lady scolding
and laughing at the same time. My grandmother was, as I
observed, religious, but she was not a devotee. The great
object was to instil into me a love of truth, and in this she
was indefatigable. When I did wrong, it was not the fault I
had committed which caused her concern, it was the fear that
I should deny it which worried and alarmed her. To pre-
vent this, the old lady had a curious method — she dreamed
5
VALERIE
for my benefit. If I luul done wrong, and she suspected me,
she would not accuse me until she had made such incjuiries
as convinced her that I was the guilty person; and then,
perhaps, the next morning, she would say, as I stood by her
side: "Valerie, I had a dream last night; I can't get it out
of my head. I dreamt that my little girl had forgotten her
promise to me, and when she went to the storeroom had
eaten a large piece of the cake."
She would fix her eyes upon me as she naiTated the events
of her dream, and, as she proceeded, my face would be
covered with blushes, and my eyes cast down in confusion ;
I dared not look at her, and by the time that she had finished,
I was down on my knees, with my face buried in her lap.
If my oilence was great, I had to say my prayers, and implore
the Divine forgiveness, and was sent to prison, that is, locked
up for a few hours in my bedroom. Catherine, the maid, had
been many years with my grandmother, and Avas, to a certain
degree, a privileged person ; at all events, she considered
herself warranted in giving her opinion, and grumbling as
much as she pleased, and such was invariably the case when-
ever 1 was locked up. " Toujours en prisuii, ccfte paiivrc petite.
It is too bad, madame ; you must let her out." My grand-
mother would quietly reply, " Catherine, you are a good
woman, but you undei'stand nothing about the education of
children." Sometimes, however, she obtained the key from
my grandmother, and I was released sooner than was origi-
nally intended.
The fact is, that being put in prison was a very heavy
punishment, as it invariably took place in the evenings, after
my return from school, so that I lost my play-hours. There
were a great many officers with their wives located in the
palace, and, of course, no want of playmates. The girls used
to go to the husquet, which adjoined the gardens of the
palace, collect flowers, and make a garland, which they hung
on a rope stretched across the court\ard of the })alace. As
the day closed in, the jiarty from each house, or apartments
rather, brought out a lantern, and having thus ilhnuinated
our balh-oom by sulxscription, the l)oys and girls danced the
ru)idc', and other games, until it was bedtime. As the window
of my bedroom looked out upon the court, whenever I was
put into prison, I had the mortification of witnessing all
6
VALERIE
these joyous games without being permitted to join in
them.
To pro\'c the effect of my grandmother's system of dream-
ing upon me, I will narrate a circumstance which occurred.
My grandfather had a landed property about four miles from
Luneville. A portion of this land was let to a famner, and
the remainder he farmed on his own account, and the produce
was consumed in the housekeeping. From this farm we re-
ceived milk, butter, cheese, all kinds of fruit, and indeed
everything which a farm produces. In that part of France
they have a method of melting down and clarifying butter
for winter use, instead of salting it. Tv is not only preserves
it, but, to most people, makes it more pali table ; at all events,
I can answer for myself, for I was inordinately fond of it.
There were eighteen or twenty jars of it in the stoi'eroom,
which were used uj) in rotation. I dared not take any out of
the jar in use, as I should be cei'tain to be discovered ; so I
went to the last jai', and by my repeated assaults upon it,
it was nearly empty before my grandmother discovered it.
As usual, she had a dream. She commenced with counting
over the number of jars of butter; and how she opened sucii
an one, and it was full ; and then the next, and it was full ;
but before the dream was half over, and she was still a long
way from the jar which I had despoiled, I was on my knees,
telling her the end of the dream, of my own accord, for I
could not bear the suspense of having all the jars examined.
From that time, I generally made a full confession before the
dream was ended.
But when I was about nine years old I was guilty of a very
heavy offence, which I shall narrate, on account of the peculiar
punishment which I received, and Avhich might be advanta-
geously ])ursued by the parents of the present day, who may
happen to cast their eyes over these memoirs. It was the
custom for the children of the officers who lived in the palace,
that is, the girls, to club together occasionally, that they
might have a little /?/c in the garden of the palace. It was
a sort of picnic, to Avhich every one contributed : some would
bring cakes, some fruit ; some would bring money (a few
sous) to purchase bonbons, or anything else which might be
agreed upon.
On those occasions, my grandmother invariably gave me
7
VALERIE
frtiitj a very liberal allowance of apples and pears, from tiie
storeroom ; for we had plenty from the orchard of the farm.
But one day, one of the elder oirls told me that they had
plenty of fruit, and that I nmst bring some money. I asked
my grandmother, I)ut she refused me ; and then this girl pro-
posed that I should steal some from my grandfather. I ob-
jected ; but she ridiculed my objections, and pressed me until
she overcame my scruples, and I consented. But when I
left her, after she had obtained my promise, I was in a sad
state. I knew it was wicked to steal, and the girl had taken
care to point out to me how wicked it was to break a promise.
I did not know what to do : all that evening I was in such a
state of feverish excitement that my grandmother was quite
astonished. The fact was, that I was ashamed to retract my
promise, and yet I trembled at the deed that I was about to
do. I went into my room and got into bed. I remained
awake ; and about midnight I got up, and creeping softly
into my grandfather's room, I went to his clothes, which
were on a chair, and rifled his pockets of — two sous !
Having effected my purpose, I retired stealthily, and gained
my own room. What my feelings were when I was again in
bed, I cannot well describe — they were horrible — I could not
shut my eyes for the remainder of the night, and the next
morning I made my ajipearance, haggard, pale, and trembling.
It ])roved, however, that my grandfather, who was awake,
had witnessed the theft in silence, and informed my grand-
mother of it. Before I went to school, my grandmother
called me in to her, for I had avoided her.
"Come here, Valerie," said she; "1 have had a dream —
a most dreadful dream — it was about a little girl, who, in the
middle of the night, crept into her grandfather's room "
I could bear no more. I threw myself on the floor, and,
in agony, screamed out —
" Yes, grandmamma, and stole two sous."
A paroxysm of tears followed the confession, and for more
than an hour I remained on the floor, hiding my face and
sobbing. My grandmother allowed me to remain there — she
was very much annoyed — I had committed a crime of the
first magnitude. My punishment was severe. I was locked
uj) in my room for ten days : but this was the smallest portion
of the punishment : every visitor that came in, I was sent for.
VALERIE
and on my making my appearance, my grandmother would
take me by the hand, and leading me up, would formally
present me to the visitors.
" Permettez, madame (ou monsieur), que Je vous presente
Mademoiselle Valerie, qui est enfermee dans sa chambre pour
avoir vole deux sous de son grand-pere."
Oh ! the shame, the mortification that I felt. This would
take place at least ten times a day ; and each succeeding
{)resentation was followed by a burst of tears as I was again
led back to my chamber. Severe as this punishment was, the
effect of it was excellent. I would have endured martyrdom
after what I had gone through before I would have taken
what was not my own. It was a painful, but a judicious and
most radical cure.
For five years I remained under the care of this most
estimable woman, and, under her guidance, had become a
truthful and religious girl ; and I may conscientiously add,
that I was as innocent as a lamb — but a change was at hand.
The Emperor had been hurled from his throne, and was shut
uji on a barren rock, and soon great alterations were made in
the French ai-my. My father's regiment of hussars had been
disbanded, and lie was now aj)pointed to a dragoon regiment,
which was ordered to Luneville. He arrived with my mother
and a numerous family, she having presented him witli seven
moi-e children ; so that, with Auguste and me, he had now
nine children. I may as well here observe that my mother
continued to add yearly to the family till she had fourteen in
all, and out of these there were seven boys; so that, had the
emperor remained on the throne of France, my father would
certainly liave secured the pension.
The arrival of my family was a soui'ce both of pleasure and
pain to me. I was most anxious to see all my brothers and
sisters, and my heart yearned towards my father and mother,
although I had no recollection of them ; but I was fearful
that I should be removed from ni}' grandmother's care, and
she was ccpially alarmed at the chance of our separation.
Unfortunately for me, it turned out as we had anticipated.
My mother was anything but gracious to my grandmother,
notwithstanding the obligations she was under to her, and
very soon took an opportunity of quarrelling with her. The
cause of the quarrel was very absurd, and proved that it was
9
VALERIE
predetermined on the part of my motlier. My grandmother
had some curious old carved fin-niture, which my mother
coveted, and requested my grandmother to let her have it.
This my grandmother would not consent to, and my mother
took offence at her refusal. I and my brother were immedi-
ately ordered liome, my mother asserting that we had been
both very badly brought up ; and this was all the thanks that
my grandmother received for her kindness to us, and defray-
ing all our expenses for five years.
I had not been at home more than a week when my father's
regiment was ordered to Nanci ; but, during this short period,
I had sufficient to convince me that I should be very miser-
able. My mother's dislike to me, which I have referred to
before, now assumed the character of positive hatred, and I
was very ill-treated. I was employed as a servant, and as
nurse to the younger children ; and hardly a day passed with-
out my feeling the weight of her hand. We set off" for Nanci,
and I thought my heart would break as I quitted the arms of
my grandmother, who wept over me. My father was very
willing to leave me with my grandmother, who promised to
leave her property to me ; but this offer in my favour enraged
my mother still more ; she declared that I should not remain ;
and my father had long succumbed to her termagant disposi-
tion, and yielded implicit obedience to her authority. It was
lamentable to see such a fine soldier-like man afraid even to
speak before this woman ; but he was completely under her
thraldom, and never dared to contradict.
As soon as we were settled in the barracks at Nanci, my
mother commenced her system of pei'secution in downright
earnest. I liad to make all the beds, wash the children, carry
out the baby, and do every menial office for my brothers and
sisters, who were encouraged to order me about. I had very
good clothes, which had been provided me by my grand-
mother ; they were all taken away, and altered for my
younger sisters ; but what was still more mortifying, all my
sisters had lessons in music, dancing, and other ;iccomj)lish-
ments, from various masters, whose instructions I was not
permitted to take advantage of, although there Avould have
been no addition to the expense.
"Oh, my father," cried I, "why is this.'' What have I
done.'' Am not I your daughter — your eldest daughter.''"
10
VALERIE
" I Avill s])eak to your mother/' replied he.
And he did venture to do so ; but, by so doing, he raised
up such a tempest, that he was glad to drop the subject, and
a]K)logise for an act of justice. Poor man ! he could do no
more than pity me.
I well remember my feelings at that time. I felt that I
could love my mother, love her dearly, if she would have
allowed me so to do. I had tried to obtain her goodwill,
but I received nothing in return but blows, and at last I
became so alarmed when in her presence, that I almost lost
my reason. My ears were boxed till I could not recollect
where I was, atul 1 became stupefied with fear. All I thought
of, all my anxiety, at last, Avas to get out of the room where
my mother was. My terror was so great that her voice made
me tremble, and at the sight of her I caught my breath, and
gasped from alarm. My brother Auguste was very nearly as
much an object of dislike to my mother as I was, chiefly
because he had been brought up by my grandmother, and,
moreover, because he would take my part.
The great favourite of my mother was my second brother,
Nicolas ; he was a wonderful musician, could play upon any
instrument, and the most ditticult music at sight. This talent
endeared him to my mother, who was herself a first-i'ate
musician. He was permitted to order me about just as he
2)leascd, and if I did not please him to beat me without
mercy, and very often my mother would fly at me and assist
him. But Auguste took my part, and Nicolas received very
severe chastisement from him, but this did not help me ; on
the contrary, if Auguste interfered on my behalf, my mother
would jiounce upon me, and I may say that I was stunned
with her blows. Auguste appealed to his father, but he
dared not interfere. He was coward enough to sit by and
see his daughter treated in this way Avithout remonstrance ;
and, in a sliort time, I was fast api^roaching to what my
mother declared me to be — a perfect idiot.
I trust that my own sex will not think me a renegade
when I say tliat if ever there was a proof that woman Avas
intended by tlie Creator to be subject to man, it is, that once
j)lace power in the hands of women, and there is not one out
of a hundi'cd Avho Avill not abuse it. We hear much of the
rights of Avomen and their Avrongs ; but this is certain, that
11
VALERIE
in a family, as in a State, thtM-c can be no divided rule — no
e(iualit\'. One must be master, and no family is so badly
managed, or so badly brought up, as Avliere the law of nature
is reversed, and we contemplate that n)ost despicable of all
lusi 7iatura' — a henpecked husband. To proceed, the conse-
quence of my mother's treatment was to undermine in me all
the precepts of my worthy grandmother. I was a slave, and
a slave under the continual influence of fear cannot be
honest. The fear of punishment produced deceit to avoid it.
Even my brother Auguste, from his regard and pity for me,
would fall into the same error. "Valerie," he would say,
running out to me as I was coming home with my little
brother in my arms, "your mother will beat you on your
return. You must say so-and-so." This so-and-so was, of
course, an untruth ; and, in consequence, my fibs were so
awkward, and accompanied by so much hesitation and blush-
ing, that I was invariably found out, and then punished for
what I did not deserve to be ; and when my mother obtained
such triumphant proof against me, she did not fail to make
the most of it with my father, Avho, by degrees, began to
consider that my treatment was merited, and that I was a
bad and deceitful child.
My only hapjHness was to be out in the open air, away
from my mother's presence, and this was only to be obtained
when I Avas ordered out with my little brother Pierre, whom
I had to carry as soon as I had done the household work.
If Pierre was fractious, my mother would ord'^r me out of
the house with him immediately. This I knew, and I used
to pinch the poor child to make him cry, that I might gain
my object, and be sent away, so that to duplicit}' I added
cruelty. Six months before this, had any one told me that I
ever would be guilty of such a thing, with what indignation
I should have denied it !
Although my mother flattered herself that it Avas only in
her own domestic circle that her unnatural conduct towards
me was known, such was not the case, and the treatment
which I received from her Avas the occasion of much sym-
pathy on the part of the officers and their Avives, Avho were
quartered in the barracks. Some of them ventured to re-
monstrate with my father for his consenting to it ; but
although he Avas coAvcd by a Avoman, he had no fear of men,
12
VALERIE
and as he told them candidly that any future interference in
his domestic concerns must be answered by the sword, no
more was said to him on the subject. Strange, that a man
should risk his life with such indiiierence rather than remedy
an evil, and yet be under such thraldom to a woman ! — that
one who was always distinguished in action as the most
forward and the most brave, should be a trembling coward
before an imperious wife ! But this is a world of sad con-
tradictions.
There was a lady in the barracks, wife to one of the
superior officers, who was very partial to me. She had a
daughter, a very sweet girl, Avho was also named Valerie.
When I could escape from the house, I used to be constantly
with them ; and when I saw my namesake caressing and
caressed, in the arms of her mother, as I was sitting by on a
stool, the tears would run down at the thoughts that such
pleasm-e was debarred from me.
" Why do you cry, Valerie .'' "
" Oh ! madam, why have I not a mother, like your Valerie .''
Why am I to be beat instead of being caressed and fondled
like her ? What have I done ? — But she is not my mother —
I'm sure she cannot be — I never will believe it."
And such had really become my conviction, and in conse-
quence I never would address her by the title of mother.
This my mother perceived, and it only added to her ill-
will. Only permit any one feeling or passion to master you
— allow it to increase by never being in the slightest degree
checked, and it is horrible to what an excess it will carry
you. v\bout this time, my mother pi'oved the truth of the
above observation by saying to me, as she struck me to the
ground —
" I'll kill you ! " cried she ; and then, catching her breath,
said in a low determined tone, " Oh ! I only wish that I
dared."
13
VALERIE
CHAPTER II
One day, a short time after this, I was walking out as usual
with my little brother Pierre in my arms ; I was deep in
thought ; in imagination I was at Luneville with my dear
grandmother, when my foot slipped, and I fell. In trying to
save my brother, I hurt myself very much, and he, poor child,
was unfortunately very much hurt, as well as mj'self. He
cried and moaned piteously, and I did all that I could to
console him, but he was in too much pain to be comforted.
I remained out for an hour or two, not daring to go home,
but the evening was closing in, and I returned at last. The
child, who could not yet speak, still moaned and cried, and
I told the truth as to the cause of it. My mother flew at
me, and I received such chastisement that I could be patient
no longer, and I pushed my mother from me ; I was felled to
the ground, and left there bleeding profusely.
After a time I rose up and crawled to bed. I reflected upon
all I had suffered, and made up my mind that I would no
longer remain under my father's roof. At daybreak I dressed
myself, hastened out of the barracks, and set off" for Luneville,
which was fifteen miles distant. I had gained about half the
way when I was met by a soldier of the regiment who had
once been our servant. I tried to avoid him, but he i*ecog-
nised me. I then begged him not to interfere with me, and
told him that I was running away to my grandmother's.
Jacques, for that was his name, replied that I was right, and
that he would say nothing about it.
"But, mademoiselle," continued he, ''you will be tired
before you get to Luneville, and may have a chance of a
conveyance if you have money to pay for it."
He then slipped a five-franc piece into my hand, and left
me to pursue my way. I continued my journey, and at last
arrived at the farm belonging to my grandfather, which I
have before mentioned as being about four miles fi'om the
town. I was afraid to go direct to Luneville, on accotnit of
my grandfather, who, I knew, from motives of parsimony,
would be unwilling to receive me. I told my history to the
14
VALERIE
farmer's wife, showing licr my face covered witli bruises and
scars, and entreated her to go to my granchiiother's and tell
her wliere I was. She ])iit me to bed, and the next morning
set off' for Luncville^ and acquainted my grandmother with
the circumstances. The old lady immediately ordered her
char-a-baiic and drove out for me. There was proof positive
of my mother's cruelty, and the good old woman shed tears
over me when she had pulled oft" the humble blue cotton
dress which I wore and examined my wounds and bruises.
When we arrived at Luneville, we met with much opposition
from my grandfather, but my grandmother was resolute.
"Since you object to my receiving her in the house," said
she, " at all events you cannot prevent my doing my duty
towards her, and doing as I please with my own money. I
shall therefore send her to school, and ]iay her expenses."
As soon as new clothes could be made for me, I was sent
to the best peuslon in Luneville. Shortly afterwards my father
arrived ; he had been desjiatched by my mother to reclaim
me and bring me back with him ; but he found the tide too
strong against him, and my grandmother threatened to appeal
to the authorities and make an exposure ; this he knew would
be a serious injury to his character, and he was therefore com-
pelled to go back Avithout me, and I remained a year and a
half at the. petis'wit , very happy, and improving very fast in my
education and my personal ajipcarance.
But I was not destined to be so happy long. True it was,
that during this year and a half of tranquillity and happiness,
the feelings created by my mother's treatment had softened
down, and all animosity had long been discarded, but I was
too happy to want to retui'n home again. At the expiration
of this year and a half, my father's regiment was again ordered
to shift their quarters to a small town, the name of which I
now forget ; but Luneville lay in their route. My mother had
for some time ceased to imj)ortune my father about my return.
The fact was, that she had been so coldly treated by the other
ladies at Nanci, in consequence of her behaviour to me, that
she did not think it advisable ; but now that they were about
to remove, she insisted ujion my father taking me with him,
promising that I should be well treated, and have the same
instruction as my sisters ; in fact, she jn*omiscd everything ;
acknowledging to my grandmother that she had been too
15
VALERIE
hasty to me, and was very sorry for it. Even my brother
Augiiste thought that she was now sincere, and my father,
my brother, and even my dear granthnother, persuaded me
to consent. My mother was now very kind and affectionate
towards me, and as I really wanted to love her, I left the
peusio7i and accompanied the family to their new quarters.
But this was all treachery on the part of my mother. Re-
gardless of my advantage, as she had shown herself on every
occasion, she had played her part that she might have an
opportunity of discharging an accumulated debt of revenge
which had been heaped up in consequence of the slights she
had received from other people on account of her treatment
of me. We had hardly been settled in our new abode, before
my mother burst out with a virulence again which exceeded
all her former cruelty. But I was no longer the frightened
victim that I had been ; I complained to my father, and in-
sisted upon justice; but that was useless. My brother
Auguste now took my part in defiance of his father, and it
was one scene of continual family discord. I had made many
friends, and used to remain at their houses all day. As for
doing household work, notwithstanding her blows, I refused it.
One morning my mother was chastising me severely, when
my brother Auguste, who was dressed in his hussar uniform,
came in and hastened to my assistance, interposing himself
between us. My mother's rage was beyond all bounds.
" Wretch," cried she, " would you strike your mother } "
"No," replied he, "but I will protect my sister. You bar-
barous woman, why do you not kill her at once .'' — it would be
a kindness."
It was after this scene that I resolved that I would again
return to Luneville. I did not confide my intentions to any
one, not even to Auguste. There Avas a great difficulty in
getting out of the front door without being perceived, and my
bundle would have created suspicion ; by the back of the
house the only exit was through a barred Avindow. I was then
fourteen years old, but very slight in figure. I tried if my
liead would pass through the bars, and succeeding, I soon
forced my body through, and seizing my bundle, made all
haste to the diligence office. I found that it was about
to start for I^uneville, which was more than half a day's
journey distant. I got in very quickly, and the condncleur,
IG
VALERIE
knowing me, thought that all was right, and the diligence
drove off".
There were two peoj)le in the coupe with me, an officer
and his wife ; before we had proceeded far, they asked me
where I was going ; I replied, to my grandmother's, at
Luneville. Thinking it, however, strange that I should be
unaccompanied, they questioned, until they extracted the
whole history from me. The lady wished me to come to
her on a visit, but the husband, more prudent, said that I
was better under the cave of my grandmother.
About mid-day we stopped to change horses at an auberge
called the Louis d'Or, about a quarter of a mile from Lune-
ville. Here I alighted without offering any explanation to
the couducieur ; but as he knew me and my grandmother well,
that was of no consequence. My reason for alighting was,
that the diligence would have put me down at the front of
the palace, where I was certain to meet my grandfather, who
passed the major portion of the day there, basking on one of
the seats; and I was afraid to see him until I had communi-
cated with my grandmother. I had an uncle in the town,
and I had been very intimate with my cousin Marie, who was
a pretty, kind-hearted girl, and I resolved that I would go
there, and beg her to go to my grandmother. The difficulty
was, how to get to the house without passing the front of
the palace, or even the bridge across the river. At last I
decided that I would walk down by the river side until I was
opposite to the hoxtjiief, which adjoined the garden of the
palace, and there wait till it was low water, when I knew
that the river could be forded, as I had often seen others
do so.
When I arrived opposite to the bosquet I sat down on my
bundle, by the banks of the river, for two or three hours,
watching the long feathery weeds at the bottom, which
moved gently from one side to the other with the current of
the stream. As soon as it was low water I pulled off" my
shoes and stockings, put them into my bundle, and raising
my petticoats, I gained the opposite shore without difficulty,
I then replaced my shoes and stockings, crossed the bosquet,
and gained my uncle's house. My uncle was not at home,
but I told my story and showed my bruises to Marie, who
immediately put on her bonnet and went to my grand-
17 B
VALERIE
mother. That night I was again installed in my own
little bedroom, and most gratefully did I pray before I went
to sleep.
This time my grandmother took more decided steps. She
went to the commandant of the town, taking me with her,
pointing out the treatment which I had received, and claiming
his protection ; she stated that she had educated me and
brought me up, and that she had a claim upon me. My
mother's treatment of me was so notorious, that the com-
mandant immediately decided that my grandmother had a
right to detain me ; and when my father came a day or two
after to take me back, lie was ordered home by the com-
mandant, with a severe rebuke, and the assurance that I
should not return to a father who could permit such cruelty
and injustice.
I was now once more happy ; but as I remained in the
house, my grandfather was continually vexing my grand-
mother on my account ; nevertheless, I remained there more
than a year, during which I learnt a great deal, particularly
lace work and fine embroidery, at which I became very
expert. But now there was another opposition I'aised, which
was on the part of my uncle, who joined my grandfather in
annoying the old lady. The fact was, that when I was not
there, my grandmother was very kind and generous to my
cousin Marie, who certainly deserved it ; but now that I was
again with her, all her presents and expenses Avere lavished
upon me, and poor Marie was neglected.
My uncle was not pleased at this ; he joined my grand-
father, and they pointed out that I was now more than
fifteen, and my mother dare not beat me, and as my father
was continually writing for me to return, it was her duty not
to oppose. Between the two, my ])oor grandmother was so
annoyed and perplexed that she hardly knew what to do.
Thej' made her miserable, and at last they worried her into
consenting that I should return to my family, which had now
removed to Colmar. I did not know this. It was my grand-
motiier's birthday. I had woi'ked for her a beautiful sachet
in lace and embroidery, which, with a large bouquet, I
brought to her as a present. The old lady folded me in
her arms and burst into tears. She then told me that we
must part, and that I must return to my father's. Had a
18
VALERIE
dagger been thrust to my heart, I could not liave received
more anguisli.
" Yes, dear Valerie," continued she, ")'ou must leave me
to-morrow ; I can no longer prevent it. I have not the health
and spirits that I had. I am growing old — \'ery old."
1 did not remonstrate or try to make her alter her de-
cision. I knew how much she had been annoyed and
worried for my sake, and I felt that I would bear everything
for hers. I cried bitterly. The next morning my father
made his appearance and embraced me witli great affection.
He was nnich pleased with my personal improvement. I
was now fast budding into womanhood, although I had the
feelings of a mere child. I bade farewell to my grand-
mother, and also to my grandfather, whom I never saw
again, as he died three months after I quitted Luneville.
I trust my readers will not think that I dwell too long
upon this portion of my life. I do it because I consider it is
necessary they should know in what manner I was brought
up, and also the cause of my leaving my family, as I aftei-
wards did. If I had stated merely that I could not agree
with my mother, who treated me cruelly, they might have
imagined that I was not warranted, in a moment of irritation,
in taking such a decided step ; but when they learn that my
persecutions were renewed the moment that I Avas again in
my mother's power, and that nothing could conquer her
inveteracy against me, neither time, nor absence, nor sub-
mission on my part, nor remonstrance from others, not even
a regard for her own character, nor the loss of her friends
and acquaintances, they will then acknowledge that I could
have done no otherwise, unless I preferred being in daily
risk of my life. On my arrival at C'olmar, my mother
received me graciously, but her politeness did not last long.
I now gave a new cause of offence — one that a woman, ])roud
of her beauty and jealous of its decay, does not easily forgive.
I was admired and paid great attention to by the officers, —
much more attention tiian she received herself.
'■' M. Chatencjeuf," the officers would sa)% " you have be-
gotten a daughter much handsomer than yourself." My
mother considered this as a polite way to avoid saying that
I was much handsomer than she was. If she thought so,
she did herself a great injustice, for I could not be compared
19
VALERIE
to what slie was when she was of my age. She was even
then a most splendid matron. But I had youth in my
favour, which is more than half the hattle. At all events,
the remarks and attentions of the officers aroused my mothei*'s
spleen, and she was more harsh in language than ever,
although I admit that it was but seldom that she resorted
to blows.
I recollect that one day, when I was not supposed to be in
hearing, one of the officers said to another, " Ma foi, el/e est
jolie — elle a besom de deux ans, ct elle sera par fait e." So
childish and innocent was I at that time, that I could not
imagine what they meant.
" Why was I to be two years older ? " I thought and
puzzled over it till I fell fast asleep. The attentions of the
officers, and the flattery he received from them on my
account, ajjpeared to have more effect on my father than I
could have imagined. Perhaps he felt that I was somebody
to be proud of, and his vanity gave him that courage to
oppose my mother which his paternal feelings had not roused.
I recollect one instance particularly. There was a great
ceremony to be performed in the church, no less than the
christening of the two new bells, previous to their being
hoisted up in the belfry. The officers told my father that I
must be present, and on his return home he stated to my
mother his intention of taking me with him on the following
day to see the ceremony.
"She can't go — she has no clothes fit to wear," cried my
mother.
"Why has she not, madam .^ " replied my father stei'nly.
"Let her have some ready for to-morrow, and without fail."
My mother perceived that my father was not to be trifled
with, and therefore thought proper to acquiesce. Pity it
was that he did not use his authority a little more, after he
had discovered that he could regain it if he pleased.
On the following day I accompanied my father, who was
one of the officers on duty in the interior of the church, and
as he stood in advance of his men, I remained at his side,
and of course had a very complete view of the whole cere-
mony. I was very neatly dressed, and my father received
man}^ compliments upon my appearance. At last the cere-
mony began. The church Avas lined with troops to keep
20
VALERIE
back the crowd, and the procession entered tlie church, the
bishop walking under a canopy, attended by the priests, then
the banners, and pretty children, dressed as angels, tossing
frankincense from silver censers. The two bells were in the
centre of the church, both of them dressed in white petti-
coats, which covered them completely, ornamented with
ribbons, and a garland of flowers upon the head of each — if
I may so designate their tops. The godmothers, dressed in
white as on baptismal ceremonies, and the godfathers in
court suits, stood on each side. They had been selected
from the elite of the families in the town. The organ and
the military band relieved each other until the service com-
menced. The bishop read the formula ; the godmothers
and godfathers gave the customary security ; the holy water
was sprinkled over the bells, and thus were they regularly
baptized. One was named Eulalie and the other Lucile. It
was a very pretty ceremony, and I should have liked to have
been present at their "premiere communiun," if it ever took
place.
My English readers may consider this a ])iece of mummery.
At the time I did not. As a good Catholic, which I was at
that time, and a pretty Frenchwoman, I thought that nothing
could be more correct than the decoration des belles. I believe
that it has always been the custom to name bells — to con-
secrate them most certainly — and if we call to mind what an
important part they perform in our religion, I do not wonder
at it. By being consecrated, they receive the rites of the
Church. Why, therefore, should they not receive the same
rites in baptism .'' But why baptize them .'' Because they
speak to us in many ways, and with their loud tongues express
the feelings, and make known the duties imposed ujion us
Is there cause for the nation to I'ejoice — their merry notes
proclaim it from afar ; in solemn tones they summon us to
the house of prayer, to the lifting of the Host, and to the
blessing of the priest ; and it is their mournful notes which
announce to us that one of our generation has been sum-
moned away, and has quitted this transitory abode. Their
offices are Christian offices, and therefore are they received
into tlie Church.
%l
VALERIE
CHAPTER III
An elder sister of my mother's resided at Colmar, and I
passed most of my time with her during our stay. When my
father's regiment was ordered to Paris, this lady requested
that I might remain Avith her ; but my mother refused, telling
her sister that she could not, conscientiously as a mother,
allow any of her daughters to quit her care for any worldly
advantage. That this was mere hypocrisy, the reader will
imagine ; indeed, it Avas fully proved so to be in two hours
afterwards, by my mother telling my father that if her sister
had offered to take Clara, my second sister, she would have
consented. The fact was that the old lady had promised to
dower me very handsomely (for she was rich), and my mother
could not bear any good fortune to come to me.
We passed through Luneville on our road to Paris, and I
saw my dear grandmother for the last time. She requested
that I might be left with her, making the same offer as she
did before, of leaving me all her property at her death ; but
my mother would not listen to any solicitation. Now, as our
family was now fourteen in number, she surely might, in
either of the above instances, have well spared me, and it
would have been a relief to my father; but this is certain,
she would not spare ine, although she never disguised her
dislike, and would, if she had dared, have treated me as she
had formerly done. I was very anxious to stay with my dear
grandmother. She had altered very much since my grand-
father's death, and was evidently breaking up fast ; but my
mother was inexorable. W'e continued our route, and arrived
at Paris, where Ave took up our quarters in the barracks close
to the Boulevards.
My mother Avas as harsh as ever, and now recommenced
her boxes of the ear — Avhich during the time we were at
Colmar had but seldom been applied. In all my troubles I
never Avas Avithout friends. I noAV made an acquaintance with
the Avife of the colonel of the regiment, Avho joined us at
Paris. She had no children. I imparted all my troubles to
her, and she used to console me. She Avas a very religious
23
VALERIE
woman, and as I liad been brought up in tlie same way by
my grandmother, she Avas pleased to find piety in one so
young, and became much attached to me. She had a sister,
a widow of large fortune, who lived in the Rue St. Honoi-e,
a very pleasant lively woman, but very sarcastic when she
pleased, and not caring what she said if her feelings prompted
her. I constantly met her at the colonel's house, and she
Invited me to come and see her at her own ; but I knew that
my mother would not permit me, so I did not ask. As the
colonel was my father's superior officer, all attempts to break
off my intimacy with her, Avhich my mother made, were un-
availing, and I passed as usual all my time in any other house
except my home.
I have now to record but two more beatings. The reader
may think that I have recorded enough already ; but as these
were the two last, and they were peculiar, I must beg him to
allow me so to do. The first beating was given me for the
following cause : — A very gentlemanlike young officer in the
regiment was very particular in his attentions to me. I liked
his company, but my thoughts had never been directed to-
wai'ds mari'iage, for I was too childish and innocent. One
morning it appeared that he proposed to my father, who
immediately gave his consent, provided that I was agreeable,
and this he ventured to do without consulting my mother.
Perhaps he thought it a good opportunity to remove me from
my mother's persecution. At all events, when he had made
known to her what he had done, and requested her to sound
me on the subject, she was in no pleasant humour. When
she did so, my reply was (he being a very dark-complexioned
man, although well-featured), " Non^ maman, je ne veiix pas.
11 est trap noir."
To my astonishment, my mother flew at me, and I received
such an avalanche of boxes on the ears for this vepl}', that I
was glad to make my escape as fast as I could, and locked
myself up in my OAvn i-oom. Now I really believe that I was
almost a single instance of a young lady having her ears well
boxed for refusing to marry a man that she did not care for
— but such was my fate.
The treatment I received in this instance got wind in the
barracks, and my cause was Avarmly taken up by every one.
Finding myself thus supported, I one day ventured to refuse
23
VALERIE
to do a very menial and unpleasant office, and for this refusal
I received the second beating. It -was the last certainly, but
it was the most severe ; for my mother caught up a hearth-
brush, and struck me for several minutes such a succession of
severe blows, that my face was so disfigured that I was hardly
to be recognised, my head cut open in several places, and
the blood pouring down me in every dii'ection. At last she
left me for dead on the floor. After a time I recovered my
recollection, and when I did so, I sjirang away from the
servants who had been supporting me, and with my hair
flying in the wind, and my face and dress streaming with
blood, I ran across the barrack-yard to the colonel's house,
and entering the room in which she was sitting with her
sister, sank at her feet, choking with the blood which poured
out of my mouth.
"Who is it.^" exclaimed she, springing up in horror and
amazement.
" Valerie — pauvre Valerie," moaned I, with my face on the
floor.
They raised me up, sent for the servants, took me into a
bedroom, and sent for the surgeon of the regiment, who lived
in the barracks. As soon as I was somewhat recovex'ed, I
told them that it was my mother's treatment ; and I became
so excited, that as soon as the surgeon had left the house, I
cried —
" Never, madam, will I again enter my father's house ;
never while I live. If you do not protect me — or if nobody
else will — if you send me back again, I will throw myself in
the Seine. I swear it as I kneel."
"What is to be done, sister?" said the colonel's wife.
" I will see. At all events, Valerie, I will keep you here a
few days till something can be arranged. It is now quite
dark, and you shall stay here, and sleep on this bed."
" Or the bed of the river," replied I ; " I care not if it
were that, for I should not rise up to misery. I have made a
vow, and I repeat, that I never will enter my father's house
again."
" My dear Valerie," said the colonel's wife, in a soothing
tone.
" Leave her to me, sister," said the other, who was busy
arranging my hair, now that my wounds had stojjjjed bleed-
24
VALERIE
ing, " I will talk to her. The colonel will be home directly,
and you must receive him."
Madame Allarde, for that was the colonel's wife's name,
left the room. As soon as she was gone, Madame d'Albret,
her sister, said to me, " Valerie, I fear that what you have
said you will adhere to, and you will throw yourself into the
river."
" Yes, if I am taken back again," replied I. " I hope God
will forgive me ; but I feel I shall, for my mind is over-
thrown, and I am not sane at times."
" My poor child, you may go back again to your father's
house, because my sister and her husband, in their position,
cannot prevent it, but believe me, you shall not remain there.
As long as I have a home to offer, you shall never want one ;
but you must listen to me. I wish to serve you, and to
punish your unnatural mother, and I will do so ; but, Valerie,
you must well weigh circumstances before you decide ; I
say that I can offer you a home, but recollect life is uncertain,
and if it pleases God to summon me, you will have a home
no longer. What will you do then .'' — for you will never be
able to return to your father's house."
"You are very kind, madam," replied I, " but my resolu-
tion is formed, and I will work for my daily bread in any
way that I can rather than return. Put me but in the way
of doing that, and I will for ever bless you."
" You shall never work for your bread while I live, Valerie;
but if I die, you will have to do something for your own
support, and recollect how friendless you will be, and so
young."
" Can I be more friendless than I am at home, madam "i "
said I, shaking my head mournfully.
" Your father deserves punishment for his want of moral
courage, as well as your mother," replied Madame d'Albret.
" You had better go to bed now, and to-morrow give me
your decision."
"To-morrow will make no change, madam," answered I,
"but I fear that there is no chance of my escape. To-
morrow my father will arrive for me as usual, and — but I
have said it. You may preserve my life, madam, but how
I know not ; " and I threw myself down on the bed in
despair.
25
VALERIE
CHAPTER IV
About an hour afterwards Madame d'Albret, who had left
me on the bed while she went down to her sister, came up
again, and spoke to me ; but from weakness, occasioned by
the loss of blood and from excitement, I talked for many
minutes in the most incoherent mannei", and Madame
d'Albret was seriously alarmed. In the meantime the colonel
had come home, and his wife explained what had happened.
She led him up to my room just at the time that I was
raving. He took the candle, and looked at my swelled
features, and said —
" I should not have recognised the poor girl. Mort de ma
vie ! but this is infamous, and Monsieur de Chatenoeuf is a
contemptible coward. I will see him to-morrow morning."
The colonel and his wife then left the room. By this time
I had recovered from my paroxysm. Madame d'Albret came
to me, and putting her face close to mine, said, "Valerie."
" Yes, madam," replied I.
" Are you more composed now .'' Do you think that you
could listen to me .'' "
" Yes, madam, and thankfully," replied I.
" Well, then, my plan is this. I am sure that the colonel
will take you home to-morrow. Let him do so ; in the
morning I will tell you how to behave. To-morrow night
you shall escape, and I will be with a. fiacre at the corner of
the street ready to receive you. I will take you to my house,
and no one, not even my sister, shall know that you are with
me. They will believe that you have thrown yourself into
the Seine, and as the regiment is ordered to Lyons, and will
leave in ten days or a fortnight, there will be no chance, if
you are concealed till their departure, of their knowing that
you are alive."
"Thank you, thank you, madam, you know not how happy
you have made me," replied I, pressing my hand to my heart,
wliich throbbed painfully with joy. " God bless you, Madame
d'Albret. Oh, how I shall pray for you, kind Madame
d'Albret ! "
26
VALERIE
Madame d'Alljret shed tears over me after I liad done
speaking, and then, wishing me good night, told me tliat she
woidd see me in the morning, and let me know what was
going on, and then give me further directions for my conduct.
She tlien left me, and I tried to go to sleep ; but I was in
too much pain. Once I did slumber, and dreamt that my
mother was beating me again. I screamed with the pain
that the blows gave, and awoke. I slept no more that night.
At daylight I rose, and, as may be supposed, the first thing
that I did was to look into the glass. I was terrified ; my
face was swelled so that my features were hardly distinguish-
able ; one eye was closed up, and the blood had oozed out
through the handkerchief which had been tied i-ound my
head by the sui'geon. I was, indeed, an object. The servant
brought me uj) some coffee, Avhich I drank, and then remained
till the colonel's wife came up to me.
It was the first and only time that I ever beheld that good
woman angry. She called from the top of the stairs for her
husband to come up ; he did so, looked at me, said nothing,
but went down again. About half-an-hour afterwards Madame
d'Albret and the surgeon came up together. The latter was
interrogated by her as to the effects of the injuries I had
received, and after examination, he replied, that although it
would take some days for the inflammation and marks of the
blows to go away, yet he did not consider that eventually I
should be in any way disfigured. This gave me great pleasure,
as I suspect it would have done any other pretty girl in my
situation. Madame d'Albret Avaited till the surgeon was
gone, and then gave me some further instructions, which I
obeyed to the letter. She also brought me a black veil, in
case I had not one of my own. She then left me, saying,
that the colonel had sent for my father, and that she wished
to be pi'esent at the interview.
My father came, and the colonel, after stating the treat-
ment which I had received, loaded him with reproaches ;
told him liis conduct was that of a coward, to allow his Avife
to be guilty of such cruelty towards his child. Then he sent
Madame d'Albret to bring me doAvn ; Avhen I entered, my
father started back with surprise ; he had ansAvered the
colonel haughtily, but Avhen he beheld the condition I was
in, he said —
27
VALERIE
" Colonel, you are right ; I deserve all you have said, and
even more ; but now do me the favour to accompany me
home. Come, Valerie, my poor child, your father begs your
pardon."
As my father took my hand to lead me away, Madame
d'Albret said to the colonel —
" i\Iy dear Allarde, do you not incur a heavy responsibility
in allowing that girl to go back again .'' You know Avhat she
said yesterday."
" Yes, ma chcre, I have been told by your sister, but it
was said in a state of excitement, and I have no doubt that
kindness Mill remove all such ideas. Monsieur de Chatenoeuf,
I am at 3'our orders."
I never said a word during all this interview. Madame
d'Albret tied the black veil round my head and let it fall,
to conceal my features, and I was led home by my father,
accompanied by the colonel. We went into the room where
my mother was sitting. My father lifted the veil from my
face.
" Madam," said my father, m a severe tone, " do you see
the condition to which your barbarity has reduced this poor
girl ? I have brought Monsieur Allarde here to tell 3'ou,
before him, that your conduct has been infamous, and that
mine has been unpardonable in not having protected her
from your cruelty ; but I now tell you, that you have bent
the bow till it has broken, and your power in this house is
ended for ever."
My mother was so much astonished at this severe rebuke
before witnesses, that she remained with her mouth open
and her eyes staring. At last she gave a sort of chuckling
laugh.
" Madam, I am in earnest," continued my father, " and you
shall find that in future I command here. To your room,
madam, immediately ! "
The last word was pronounced in a voice of thunder. My
mother rose, and as she retired, burst into a passionate flood
of tears. The colonel then took his leave, saying to my
father —
"Tenez-vous la."
My father remained a quarter of an hour with me, con-
soling me and blaming himself, and promising that in future
28
VALERIE
he would see nie done justice to. I lieai'd him without
reply. The tears started in my eyes at his kind expressions,
but I felt there was no security for his adhei'ing to all he
promised, and I trembled as I thought so. He left me
and Avent out. My mother, who had been watching, as
soon as she saw that he had left the house, hastened down-
stairs from her room, and came into the one where I was
sitting alone.
" So, mademoiselle," said she, panting, and apparently
striving to contain herself, "my power in this house is gone
for ever, and all through you. Ha, ha, ha ! we shall see,
we shall see. I^ ye hear me, creature .'' " continued she,
with her clenched hand close to my face. "No, not yet,"
said she, after a pause, and then she left the room.
If my father's kindness had somewhat staggered my re-
solution, this conduct of my mother's confirmed it. I felt
that she was right in what she said, and that in a month
she would regain her sway, and drive me to desperation.
During the whole of that day I made no reply to anything
that was said to nie by my brothers and sisters, who came
in by stealth to see me. In this I followed the advice of
Madame d'Albret, and at the same time my own feelings
and inclinations. The servants who offered me dinner, and
coaxed me to take some nourishment, could not get any
answer from me, and at last one of them, who was a kind-
hearted girl, burst out into tears, crying that mademoiselle
was foUe. My father did not come home to dinner ; my
mother remained in her room till he came in the evening,
and then he went up to her. It wanted but half-an-hour
of the time that I had agreed to meet Madame d'Albret.
I waited that time, during which I heard sounds of high
altercation above stairs. I was quite alone, for my mother
had prevented the children coming to me, and as the clock
struck, I dropped my veil over my face, and quietly walking
out of the house, made for the rendezvous agreed.
I found the fiacre with Madame d'Albret waiting for me,
and stepping into it, I was in a few minutes safely lodged
in her splendid, comfortable apartments. Madame d'Albret
put me in a little cabinet inside of her own room, so that
no one, except one servant whom she could trust, knew of
my being on the premises. There I was left to recover from
29
V^ALERIE
niv bruises, and regain, if possible, my good looks. On the
lol lowing day she rej)aired to the barracks, and remained
with her sister till the evening, when she returned, and
came up to me.
"All has happened as I wished," said she, as she took off
her bonnet ; "you are nowhere to be found, and they have
not tlie least suspicion tliat you are here. When you were
first missed, they thought you had I'etui'ned to the colonel's,
and your father did not tliink it advisable to make inquiry
until the next morning, when to his surprise he learnt that
you had never been there. The dismounted hussar, who
was sentry during the evening, was then examined ; and
he replied, that about half-past eight o'clock, a young person,
who by her figure he presumed to be Mademoiselle Chate-
nanif, had gone out of the gates, but that she had a thick
veil over her face, and he could not see it. When your
father and the colonel had interrogated the man and dis-
missed him, my poor sister burst into tears and said, * Alas !
alas ! then she has kept her word, and has thrown lierself
into the Seine. Oh, ^Ionsieur Allarde, my sister said you
would incur a heavy responsibility by sending that poor
girl back, and now it has proved but too true : poor dear
Valerie ! ' Your father and the colonel were almost as much
distressed as my sister, and it was just at that moment that
I came in.
" ' Sister,' cried Madame Allarde to me, ' Valerie has left
the barracks.'
"'What!' exclaimed I. ' When .^ oh, m}' fear was too
true ! ' said I, clasping my hands ; and then taking out my
handkerchief, I covered my face and sobbed. I tell you,
Valerie, that nothing but my affection for you would have
induced me to be so deceitful ; but under the circumstances
1 hope I was justified. My assumed grief and distress quite
removed any suspicion of your being here, and shortly after-
wards the colonel made a sign to your father, and tliey both
left the barracks ; I have no doubt they went down to the
Morgue, to ascertain if their fears had already been proved
correct."
"What is the Morgue, madam.?" said I.
"Do you not know, my child.? It is a small building by
the side of the Seine, where all bodies which are found in
30
VALERIE
the river are laid out for the examination of the friends of
those who are missing. Below the bridges there is a large
strong net laid across^ which receives all the bodies as they
are swept away by the tide ; that is, it receives many^ if not
most of them ; but some are never found again."
Madame d'Albret did not fail to return to the barracks on
the next day, and found that a general excitement prevailed,
not only among the officers, but the men. My supposed
suicide had been iii.ade knoAvn. My father had visited the
Morgue a second time, and the police had been on the searcli
without success. My mother dared not even show herself at
the window of her apartments, and found herself avoided even
by her own children. As for my father, he was half mad,
and never met her but to load her with reproaches, and to
curse his own folly in having so long submitted to her im-
perious will.
"At all events, one good has arisen from your supposed
death, Valerie," said Madame d'Albret, " which is, that your
fother has completely resumed his authority, and I do not
think will ever yield it up again."
" My poor father," replied I, shedding tears, " I feel for
him."
" He is certainly to be pitied," replied Madame d'Albret ;
"but it is his own conscience which must be his greatest tor-
mentor. He was selfish enough not to feel for you during
your years of persecution, and rather than have his own
comforts invaded by domestic brawls for a short period, he
allowed you to be sacrificed. But observe, Valerie, if you have
still a wish to return to your jiarents, it is not too late. The
regiment does not leave Paris till next Thursday."
" Oh no, no," cried I, " my mother would kill me ; don't
mention that again, madam," continued I, trembling.
" I will not, my child ; for to tell you the truth, you would
not appear in so favourable a light, if you were now to return.
You have caused much grief to my sister and her husband, and
they would not receive you w-ith cordiality after having thus
triried with their feelings. It would also be a victory for your
mother ; and I doubt not but that in a short time she would
again recover that powder which for the present she has lost.
You never can be happy in your family after what has passed,
and I think that what has been done is for the best. Your
31
VALERIE
father can well spare one cliikl out of fourteen, having little
more than a long sword for their support. Your supposed
death -will be the cause of your father retaining his lawful
authority, and preventing any of the remaining children re-
ceiving such injustice as you have done ; and remorse will
check, if it does not humanise your mother, and I trust that
the latter will be the case. I had well weighed all this in my
mind, my dear \'alerie, before I made the proposal, and I
consider still that for your sake and for the sake of others, it
is better that you should be the sacrifice. Nevertheless, I
repeat, consult your own feelings, and if you repent the step
which you have taken, there is yet time for you to return."
" My dear madam, return I never will, unless I am taken
by force. All I feel is, that I should like that my father's
bitter anguish was assuaged by his knowledge of my being
still in existence."
"And so should I, Valerie, were it possible that the com-
munication could be made, and the same happy results be
arrived at; but that cannot be, unless it should please Heaven
to summon your mother, and then you might safely inform
your father of your existence."
" You are right, madam."
" Yes, I think I am, Valerie ; foi", after all, your father duly
deserves his severe penance, which is, to visit the Morgue
every day ; but painful as is the remedy, it is necessary for
the cure."
"Yes, madam," replied I, sobbing, "all you say is true;
but still I cannot help weeping and pitying my poor father ;
not that it alters my determination, but I cannot command
my feelings."
" Your feelings do you honour, Valerie, and I do not blame
you for your grief Do not, however, indulge it to excess,
for that is turning a virtue into a failing."
There were still three days remaining previous to the depar-
ture of the regiment for Lyons. I was sorely distressed during
this time. I pictured to myself my father's remorse, and would
gladly have hastened to the barracks and thrown myself into
his arms ; but my mother's image rose before me, and her last
M-ords, " We shall see if my power is gone for ever," rung in
my ears, her clenched hand was apparently close to my face,
and then my i-esolution remained fixed. "The swelling of my
32
VALERIE
features had now subsided, and I had in some degree recovered
my good looks ; still my eye and cheeks were tinged black
and yellow in various places, and the cuts on my head not
quite healetl. However, I was satisfied that the surgeon of
the regiment was correct in his assertion that I should not be
the least disfigured by the treatment a\ hich I had received.
'- I have news for you," said Madame d'vVlbret, as she
returned from the barracks, Avhere she had been to see her
sister off on her journey. " Your brother Auguste, whom you
know has been awaj-, has returned to rejoin his regiment, but
has since obtained his rank in another, which is stationed at
Brest."
" Why has he done so, madam .'' do you know } have you
seen him .'' "
" Yes ; he was at the colonel's ; he stated that he could
not remain in the regiment if his mother continued with
his father ; that he should never be able, after what had
happened, to treat his mother with common courtesy, still
less with the duty of a son, and therefore he preferred leaving
the regiment."
" And my father, madam ? "
" Your father allows him to act as he pleases ; indeed, he
feels the force of what your brother says, and so does my
brother-in-law, who has given his assent, as commanding
officer, to your brother's exchange. Auguste laments jou very
much, and the poor fellow looks very ill. I think he has done
right, although it is a severe blow to your mother ; but for
her I have no compassion."
" My mother never liked Auguste, madam."
" No, I believe that ; but what annoys her is the cause of
his leaving his regiment, as it is open condemnation of her
conduct."
" Yes, I can understand that feeling on her part," replied I.
"Well, Valerie, I did not return until the I'egiment was
gone, and the barracks cleared. You know tlie commandant
always goes the last. I saw my sister safe off, and now I am
here to tell you that you are no longer a prisoner, but may
make yourself comfortable by roving through my apartments.
But the first affair which we must take in hand is your ward-
robe. I am rich enough to fui-nish you, so that shall be seen
to immediately. And, Valerie dear, let me now say once for
33 c
VALERIE
all, what I do not intend to repeat in words, but I hope to
prove by my actions. Look iijion me as your mother, for I
have not taken you away from your family without the reso-
lution of supi)lying, as far as I can, not the mother you have
lost, but the mother which in your dreams you have fancied.
I love you, my child, for you are deserving of love. Treat
me, therefore, with that unlimited confidence and affection
which your young and pure heart yearns to pour out."
" Bless you, madam, bless you," cried I, bursting into tears,
and burying my face in her lap ; " I feel that now I have a
mother."
CHAPTER V
_r OR several days I remained quiet in the little ante-
chamber, during which Madame d'Albret had been busy
every morning driving in her carriage, and ordering me a
wardrobe ; and as the vai'ious articles came in, I was as much
surprised as I was pleased at the taste which had been
shown, and the expense which must have been incurred.
" My dear madam/' cried I, as each parcel was opened,
" these are much too good for me ; recollect that I am but a
poor soldier's daughter."
" You Avere so," replied Madame d'Albret ; " but you for-
get," continued she, kissing my forehead, "that the poor
soldier's daughter was di'owned in the Seine, and you are
now the protegee of Madame d'Albret. I have already
mentioned to all my friends that I expect a young cousin
from Gascony, whom I have adopted, having no children of
my own. Your own name is noble, and you may safely
retain it, as there are no want of Chatenoeufs in Gascony, and
there have been former alliances between them and the
d'Albi-ets. I have no doubt that if I were to refer back to
family records, that I could prove you to be a cousin, some
three Inmdred times removed, and that is quite enough. As
soon as you are quite well, and I think in a week all vestiges
of your ill-treatment will be effaced, we will go down to my
chateau for a few months, and we will return to Paris in the
season. Has Madame Paon been here.?"
34
VALERIE
" Yes, my dear madams she has, and has taken my measure
for the dresses ; but don't scold me. I must cry a little, for
I am so happy and so grateful. My heart will burst if I do
not. Bless you, bless you, dear madam ; little did I think
before I saw you, that I should ever cry for joy."
Madame d'Albret embraced me with much affection, and
allowed me to give vent to my feelings, which I did, bedew-
ing her hands with my tears. A week afterwards, every-
thing was ready, and we set off for the cha.teau in Brittany,
travelling in Madame d'Albret's post-chariot, with an avanl-
couricr, and without regard to expense.
And now I must make the reader somewhat better ac-
quainted with my kind protectress. I little thought at the
time that she offered me her protection, that she was a per-
sonage of such consequence ; but the fact was, that her sister
having made a very inferior match to her own, she, out of
delicac}', while the colonel and his wife were at Paris, avoided
anything like state in paying them a visit, and I supposed
that she was 'much in the same rank and society as they
were ; but such was not the case.
Madame d'Albret had married into one of the highest and
most noble families of France. Her husband had died three
years after their marriage, and having no children, had left
her a large revenue entirely at her own disjjosal during her
life, and wishing her to marry again, had the property
entailed upon her children, if she had any ; if not, after her
death, it was to go to a distant branch of the d'Albret
family. I was informed that her income amounted to 60,000
livres per annum, besides her chateau in the country, and
the hotel in the Rue St. Honore, which belonged to her,
although she only occupied a portion of it. Her husband
had now been dead more than ten years, and Madame
d'Albi'et had not been persuaded by her numerous suitors
to marry again. She Avas still handsome, about thirty-four
years of age, and I hardly need say, was in the very best
society in Paris. Such was the person who came to the
barracks in so unassuming a manner, and whose protection I
was so fortunate as to obtain.
I could dwell long upon the happy days that I passed at
the chiiteau. There was no want of society, and the relations
were charming; and being in the country, I was allowed to
35
VALERIE
join them, liaving been formally introduced by Madame
d'Albret to all her visitors as her cousin. My time was fully
occupied. Madame d'Albret, perceiving that I had great
talent for music, and a fine voice, had jirocured me good
masters ; and wishing to prove my gratitude b)^ attention, I
was indefatigable, and made so rapid a ])rogress that my
masters were surprised. Music and embroidery, at which I
have before mentioned I was very expert, were my only
occupations — and on the latter my talents were exerted to
please Madame d'Albret, by offering her each piece as they
were successively taken from the frame. So far from wish-
ing to return to Paris, I was unhappy at the idea of leaving
the chateau. Indeed, if the reader will recall what I have
narrated of my former life, he will at once perceive that I
could but be in a state of perfect happiness.
Until I was received by Madame d'Albret, I had lived a
life of persecution, and had not known kindness. Fear was
the passion which had been acted upon, and which, I may
say, had crushed both mind and body : now all was kindness
and love. Praise, which I had never before received, was
now lavished upon me, and I felt my energies and talents
roused, and develoj)ing themselves in a way that astonished
myself I had not known what I was, or what I was capable
of I had had no confidence in myself, and I had believed
myself to be almost as incapable as my mother would have
persuaded me and everybody else. This sudden change of
treatment had a most surprising effect. In the course of a
few months I had grown nearly three inches taller, and not
only my figure, but my features had become so improved,
that, although not vain, it was impossible for me not to
believe what every one said, and what my glass told me, that
I was very handsome, and that I should make a great sensa-
tion when I was introduced at Paris. But although I believed
this^ I felt no desire. I was too happy as I was, and would
not have exchanged the kindness of Madame d'Albret for the
best husband that France could produce ; and when anything
was mentioned by ladies who visited Madame d'Albret to
that effect, and they talked about my future establishment,
my reply invariably was, " Jc ne veux pas." I had always
exi)ressed my regrets that we should be obliged to go to Paris
for the season, and Madame d'Albret, who of course had no
VALERIE
wish to part with me so soon, and who felt that I was still
young enough to remain for some years single, made me very
happy by telling me that she did not intend to stay long in
the capital, and that although I should appear at her jjarties,
she did not intend that 1 should be much at public places.
And so it proved ; we went to Paris, and the best masters
were procured for me ; but I did not go out with Madame
d'Albret, except occasionally in her morning drives, and once
or twice to the opera and theatres. My music occupied the
major portion of my time, and having expressed a wish to
learn English, I had a good master ; but I had another
resource from an intimacy having arisen between me and
Madame Paon, Avhom, I believe, I have before mentioned as
the first milliner in Paris.
This intimacy was brought about in the following manner.
Being very clever with my needle, and having a great taste
for dress, I used to amuse myself at the clnlteau with invent-
ing something new, not for myself, but for Madame d'Albret,
and very often surjmsed and pleased her by making altera-
tions or additions to her dresses, which were always admired,
and declared to be in the best taste. On our arrival at Paris,
Madame Paon was visited, of course, that the new fashions
might be ascertained, and she immediately remarked and
admired my little inventions. I was therefore consulted
whenever a new dress was to be made for Madame d'Albret,
and as Madame Paon was a very ladylike and superior person,
of a decayed but good family, we soon became very intimate.
We had been at Paris about two months, when one morning
Madame Paon observed to Madame d'Albret that, as I was
learning English, it would not be a bad plan if Madame
d'Albret was to drop me at her establishment when she took
her morning airing, as she had two highly respectable English
modi.stcs in her employ, who she found were necessary for her
English customers, and that I should leai-n more English by
an hour's conversation with them than a master could supjily.
Madame d'Albret agreed with her ; I was pleased at the idea,
and consequently three or four mornings in the week were
passed at Madame Paon's.
But the reader must be introduced to the establishment of
Madame Paon, or he may imagine that it was too condescend-
ing for a young lady in my position to visit at a milliner's.
37
VALERIE
Madame Paon was the first milliner at Paris, and, as is gene-
rally the case, was on the most intimate terms with all the
ladies. She made for the court, and, indeed, for every lady
to whom she could dedicate her time, as it was almost a
favour to be permitted to be one of her customers. Her
establishment was in the Rue St. Honore, — I forget the
name of the hotel, but it was one of the largest.
The suite of apartments was magnificent. You passed from
one room to another, each displaying every variety of rich
and graceful costume. In every room Avere demoiselles, well
dressed, to attend to the customers, and everything bespoke
a degree of taste and elegance quite unparalleled. At last
you arrived at the reception-room of madame, which was
spacious and most superbly furnished. There were no men
in the establishment, except in one room, called the Comptoir,
in which were six clerks at their desks. When I add that
Madame Paon was elegant in her manners, and handsome
in her person, very tall and majestic; that she was rich, kept
several servants, a handsome carriage, and had a maison de
campagne, to which she retired every Saturday afternoon,
the reader may acknowledge that she was a person whom
Madame d'Albret might permit me to visit.
This intimacy soon became very great. There was a certain
degree of eclat at my being so constantly in the house ; and,
moreover, as I had a decided taste for dress, I often brought
forward some new invention which was not only approved of,
but a source of profit to Madame Paon. Everything was
submitted to my judgment, as Madame Paon more than once
observed, " What a first-rate modiste you would make, made-
moiselle ; but, unfortunately for the fashions, there is no
chance of your being so employed."
At last the Paris season was neai-ly over, and truly glad
was I when Madame d'Albret mentioned the day of our
departure. I had very much improved in my music and my
Engh.'ih during our residence at Paris. I had not been out,
except to small parties, and had no Avish whatever to go out
at all. I was satisfied with Madame d'Albret's company, and
had no wish to leave her. I may say that I was truly happy,
and my countenance was radiant, and proved that I was so.
My thoughts would occasionally revert to my father and my
brother Auguste, and make me melancholy for the time ;
38
VALERIE
but I felt that all was for the best, and I built castles, in
which I imagined my suddenly breaking in upon them,
throwing myself in my father's arms, and requesting to share
the wealth and luxury with which I fancied myself to be
endowed.
I was now nearly eighteen years old. I had been one
year under the protection of Madame d'Albret, and the old
dowagers who visited us at the chateau were incessantly
pointing out to Madame d'Albret that it was time to look
out for an establishment for me. Madame d'Albret was, to a
certain degree, of their opinion ; but she did not wish to
part with me, and I was resolute in my determination not
to leave her. I had no wish to be married ; I had reflected
much upon the subject ; the few married lives I had wit-
nessed were not to my taste. I had seen my kind-hearted,
amiable grandmother thwarted by a penurious husband ; I
had witnessed my father under the control of a revengeful
woman ; and when I beheld, as I did every day, the peace
and happiness in the establishment of Madame d'Albret,
as a single woman, I felt certain that marriage was a
lottery in which there were thousands of blanks to one
prize. When, therefore, any of Madame d'Albret' s ac-
quaintances brought up the subject, when they left the
room I earnestly implored Madame d'Albret not to be in-
fluenced by their remarks, as I had made up my mind to
remain single, and that all I asked was to remain with her
and prove my gratitude.
" I believe you, Valerie," replied Madame d'Albret, " but
I should not be doing my duty if I permitted you to act
upon your own feelings. A girl like you was not intended
by Heaven to pine away in celibacy, but to adorn the station
in life in which she is placed. At the same time I will not
press the matter ; but if an advantageous offer were to be
made, I shall then consider it my duty to exert my influence
with you to make you change your mind ; but, at the same
time, I will never use anything more than persuasion. I am
too hajipy with you as a companion to wish to part with you,
but, at the same time, I should be very selfish if I did not
give you up when your own interest told me that such was
my duty."
" Well, madam, I thank Heaven that I have no fortune,
39
V'ALERIE
ami thai Avill, 1 trust, be a bar to any i)roposals from the in-
terested gentlemen of the present day."
" That may not save yoii, Valerie/' replied Madame
d'Albret, laughing; "gentlemen may be satisfied with ex-
pectancies ; nay, it is possible that one may be found -who may
be satisfied with your own pretty self, and ask no more."
" I rather think not, madam," replied I. " You have too
good an opinion of me, and must not expect others to view
me with your partial eyes ; all I can say is, that if such a
gentleman could be found, his disinterestedness would make
me think more highly of him than I do of the sex at present,
although not sufiiciently well to wish me to change my
present condition."
" Well, well, we shall see," replied Madame d'Albret ;
"the carriage is at the door, so bring me my bonnet and
cashmere."
A few weeks after our return to the chateau, a Monsieur
de G , of an old family in Brittany, who had been for the
last two years in England, returned to his father's house, and
called upon Madame d'Albret. She had known him from
childhood, and received him most cordially. I must describe
him fully, as he played no small part in my little drama. He
was, I should think, nearly thirty years of age, small in
person, but elegantly made, with a very handsome but rather
effeminate face. His address and manners were perfect.
He was very witty, and apparently very amiable. His de-
portment towards our sex was certainly most fascinating — so
tender and so respectful. I certainly never had befoi*e seen
so polished a man. He sang well, and played upon several
instruments ; drew, cai'icatured — indeed, he did everything
well that he attempted to do ; I hardly need say that with
such (jnalifications, and being so old a friend, he was gladly
welcomed by Madame d'Albret, and became a daily visitor at
the chateau. I was soon intimate with him, and partial to
his conij)any, but nothing more ; indeed, his attentions to
Madaujc d'Albret were quite as great as to me, and there
was nothing to permit any one to suppose that he was ])aying
his court either to her or to me. Madame d'Albret thought
otherwise, because we sang together, and because he talked
to me in English ; and she as well as others rallied me in
consequence.
40
VALERIE
After two months had passed away, Monsieur dc G
was supposed to be payinj^ his attentions more partieidarly
to me, and I thought so myself; Madame d'Albret certainlv
did, and gave him every opportunity. He was the heir to
a large property, and did not require money with liis wife.
About this time an English lady of the name of Bathurst,
who was travelling with a niece, a little girl about fourteen
years old, had accepted an invitation from Monsieur de
G 's father to pass a week with them at their chateau,
which was about five miles from that of Madame d'Albret,
and this lady was introduced. She Avas apj)arently very
amiable, and certainly very distingucc in her maimers, and we
saw a great deal of her, as she was a great favourite with
Madame d'Albret.
A few weeks after the introduction of this English lady, I
was one day on the terrace alone, when I was accosted by
Monsieur de G . After a remark or two upon the beauty
of the autumnal flowers, he observed —
" How different are the customs of two great nations, with
but a few leagues of Avater between them — I refer to the
French and the English. You would be surprised to see how
great they are, if you were ever to go to England — in none,
perhaps, more so than in the affairs of the heart. In Fi-ance
we do not consult the Avishes or the feelings of the young
lady ; we apply to her parents, and if the match is considered
equally advantageous, the young lady is told to prepare her-
self for changing her condition. In England the very re-
verse is the case ; we apply to the young lady, gain her
affections, and when certain of them, we then request the
sanction of those who ai*e her guardians. Which do you
think is the most natural and satisfactory, Mademoiselle de
Chatena'uf .'' "
" I have been brought up in France, Monsieur de G ,
and I prefer the mode of France ; our parents and our
guardians are the people most able to decide upon the
propriety of a match, and I think that, until that point is
ascertained, no affections should be engaged, as, should the
marriage not be considered advisable, much pain and disap-
pointment will be prevented."
" In some instances I grant that such may be the case,"
replied he ; " but still, is it not treating your sex like slaves
41
VALERIE
to permit no love before marriage ? and is it agreeable for
ours that we lead to the albir a person who may consent from
a sense of duty, without having the least regard for her
husband, nay, ]ierhaj)S feeling an aversion?"
" I do not think that any kind parents would force their
child to marry a man for whom she felt an aversion," re-
plied 1; "and if there is not much love before marriage,
there may be a great deal after ; but the fact is, it is a
subject upon which I am not able, nor do I wish, to give
my opinion."
" As you disagree with me. Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf,"
replied he, " I fear you will not be pleased at my courting
you in the E,nglish fashion ; and previous to addressing my-
self to Madame d'Albret, making known to you my sincere
regard for you, and my humble hopes that I am not indifferent
to you."
" I will answer you very plainly, Monsieur de G ; and,
perhaps, it is as Avell you have taken this unusual step, as it
will save you the trouble of making any application to Madame
d'Albret. Flattered as I am by your compliment, I beg to
decline the honour you propose ; and now that you know my
feelings, you will of course not be so ungenerous as to make
any application to Madame d'Albret."
" Certainly, mademoiselle," I'eplied he, with great pique,
**but on one condition, which is, that you will pi'omise me
that you will not mention to Madame d'Albret what has now
passed between us."
"That I willingly promise. Monsieur de G , as I may
consider it as your secret."
"And I trust," continued he, "that you will not discard
me from your friendship, but receive me as before."
" I shall always be happy to receive the friends of
Madame d'Albret," replied I ; "and now I wish you a good
morning."
I went to my own room, and reflected upon what had
passed. I was angry with Monsieur de G for what I
considered the unwarrantable liberty he had taken, the
greater, as he must have known my utter dependence upon
Madame d'Albret, and how unlikely it was that I would form
any such engagement without her knowledge and sanction.
That I had no love for Monsieur de G was certain,
42
■■^rinUdiiRiris
VALERIE
although I was pleased with his company and conversation.
I was sorry, on reflection, that I had given my promise not
to mention what had passed ; but having made the promise,
although hastily, I resolved to adhere to it.
I took it for granted that he would gradually withdraw
himself, and that we should see little more of him ; but in
this I was mistaken ; he was as frequent in his visits as
before, dividing his attentions between Madame d'Albret
and me. This annoyed me, and I avoided him as much as I
could, and the consequence was that he was oftener with
Madame d'Albret than with me. At first, when Madame
d'Albi'et perceived this, she appeared to be vexed, as she
had evidently set her mind upon the match, and expected
daily to receive a formal proposal from him in my behalf;
but gradually, why I know not, it gave her no further concern,
and I Avas pei'mitted to leave the room and do as I pleased
without being subjected to any remarks.
Such was the state of affairs when the Pai'is season drew
near. Madame Bathurst had been induced to i-emain in
Brittany, and was continually with us. She had often asked
me to come over to England and pass a few weeks with
them, and I had jokingly replied that I would. One morn-
ing Madame d'Albret said to me —
" My dear Valerie, Madame Bathurst has again requested
me to allow you to go to England with her. Now if you
think that you would like to pass a short time with her,
instead of remaining at Paris during the season, I really have
no objection, if it would give you pleasure."
" Aly dear madam, I was only joking when I said so."
" Well, you have made Madame Bathurst think you were
in earnest, my dear," replied she; "and I thought so too,
and have this morning promised that you shall go with her.
I thought you would perfect yourself in English, and it would
be a good o])portunity of relieving you for a short time of
your constant attendance upon me ; so, my dear Valerie, I
advise you to go. It will amuse you, and a little change will
do you good : besides, my dear, I perceive that the attentions
of NIonsieur de G are not agreeable to you, and it is as
well to break it off by a short absence."
" I shall not dispute your wishes, madam," replied I
mournfully, for my heart misgave me, why I knew not ; "but
43
VALERIE
if I do ijo, it will be to oblige yo'^ Jind not because I really
wish it."
" My dear \'alerie, I think it will be for the best, and
therefore you will oblige nie. I have promised for you, and
I should be sorry to have to recall my promise — so consent,
my dear, and I will write to Madame Bathurst, that she may
be prepared to receive you."
"Certainly, madam," replied I, "your wishes will ever be
a law to me ; " and so saying I left the room, and going to
my own chamber, I threw myself down on the bed and wept
bitterly, without knowing why.
About ten days after this, Madame Bathurst called for me
to take me to the chateau of Monsieur de G 's father,
where I was to remain till the next morning, when we were
to post to Paris. It was with great pain that I quitted
Madame d'Albret ; but her kindness to me appeared to have
increased rather than diminished, after the proposal of our
short separation. " God bless you, my dear Valerie," she
said ; " you must write to me twice a week ; I shall be most
impatient for your return." I parted from her with many
tears, and did not leave off weeping till we arrived at the
chateau at which Madame Bathurst resided.
I was received with formal politeness by the old gentleman,
and Monsieur de G , who was also at home, and in an
excessively gay humour. " Alas, mademoiselle," cried he,
" what a desert you will leave behind you ! It is too cruel
this travelling mania on your part. We never shall see you
again."
There was so much irony in his face as he said this, that I
hardly knew what to make of it; but it made me feel anxious
and dissatisfied. I would have given much to have abandoned
the journey ; but Madame d'Albret's wishes were a law to me.
To avoid reflection, which was painful, I talked with Caroline,
the niece of Madame Bathurst, and as we were to set off at
daylight, we retired early. The following morning we set
off, and in due time arrived at Paris, where we remained
but one day, and then proceeded to Boulogne, where we
embarked.
It was now November, and half-way across the Channel we
were enveloped in a fog, and it was with difficulty that we
made the harbour. We set off for London ; the fog continued
44
VALERIE
iliirin_£f the ■whole (lay, and on our arrival at the suburbs it was
thicker than ever, and the horses were led through the streets
by peoj)le carrying flambeaux. I had heard that England
was a Iristc pcii/s, and I thought it so indeed. At last I ob-
served to Madame Bathurst, " Eat-ce qiiil )i'i/ a jamais dc .soldi
dans ce pai/s, vuuhnnc ? "
"Oh yes," replied she, laughing, "and a very beautiful
sun too."
The next day we set off for Madame Bathurst's country seat,
to pass the Christmas. Before we were three miles out of
London the fog had disappeared, the sun shone out brilliantly,
and the branches of the leafless trees covered with rime glit-
tered like diamond wands as we flew past them. What with
the change in the weather, and the rapid motion produced
by the four English post-horses, I thought PLngland beautiful ;
but I must say that the first two days were a trial, the more
so as I was very despondent from having quitted Madame
d'Albret. I was delighted with Madame Bathurst's country
seat, the well-arranged gardens, the conservatories, the neat-
ness displayed in everything, so different from France, the
cleanness of the house and furniture: the London carpets
over the whole of the rooms and staircases were, in my
opinion, great improvements ; but I cared little for the
society, which I found not only dull, but it appeared to me
to be selfish. I found a lively companion in Caroline, and
Ave sat up in a little boudoir, where we were never in-
terrupted. Here I j^ractised my music, and, at Madame
Bathurst's request, spoke alternately English and French with
my little companion, for our mutual improvement.
I had written twice to Madame d'Albret, and had received
one very kind answer ; but no mention was made of my re-
turn, although it was at first arranged that my visit was to be
three weeks or a month. A fortnight after my arrival at
Fairfield, I received a second letter from Madame d'Albret,
kind as usual, but stating, to my great grief, that she was not
well, having had an attack on her chest from having taken a
violent cold. I answered the letter immediately, requesting
that I might be permitted to return home and nurse her, for
I felt very uneasy. For three weeks, during which I had no
reply, I was in a state of great anxiety and distress, as I
imagined that Madame d'Albret must have been too ill to
VALERIE
write, and I was in a fever of suspense. At last I received a
letter from her, stating that she had been very ill, and that
she had been recommended by the physicians to go to the
south of France for the winter. At the same time, as she
could not put off her departure, she wrote to Madame
Hathurst, requesting, if not inconvenient, that she would
allow my visit to be extended till the spring, at which
season she expected to I'eturn to Paris. Madame Batlun-st
read her letter to me, and stated how happy she should be
for me to remain. I could do no otherwise but thank her,
although I was truly miserable. I wrote to Madame d'Albret,
and stated what my feelings were ; but as she had, by what
was said in her letter, already left for the south of France, I
knew that my letter would arrive too late to enable her to
alter her determination. All I requested was, that she would
give me continual intelligence of her health.
I was, however, much consoled in mj^ distress by the kind-
ness of Madame Bathurst, and affectionate manners of her
niece Caroline, who was my constant companion. There was
a great deal of company not only visiting, but staying in the
house ; but although there was much company, there was
very little society. Horses, dogs, guns, were the amusements
of the gentlemen during the day ; in the evening we saw
little of them, as they seldom left the dinner-table before
Caroline and I had retired to our rooms ; and the ladies
ai)pcared to me to be all afraid of each other, and to be con-
stantly on the reserve.
Christmas had passed, and I had not heard again from
Madame d'Albret, which was a source of great vexation and
many bitter tears. I fancied her dying in the south of
France, without any one to take care of her. I often spoke
to Madame Bathurst on the subject, who offered all the
excuses that she could devise ; but I thought at the same
time appeared to be very grave, and unwilling to continue
the conversation. At last I thought of Madame Paon, and I
wrote to her, inquiring whether she knew how Madame
d'Albret was, detailing to her how I had come to England,
and how Madame d'Albret had been seriously indisposed,
stating my fears from not having received any reply to my
last letters. The day after I had Avritten to Madame Paon,
Caroline, who was sitting with me in the boudoir, observed,
40'
VALERIE
" I heard Mrs. Corbet say to my aunt that she had seen
Madame d'Albret at Paris about ten days ago."
" Impossible ! " repHed I ; " she is in the south of France."
"So I understood," repHed CaroHne ; "but she did say so,
and my aunt immediately sent me out of the room on a
message. I am sure it was to get rid of me^ that she might
talk to Mrs. Corbet."
"What can this mean.-^" exclaiiTied I. "Oh, my heart
forebodes evil ! Excuse me, Caroline, but I feel very miser-
able ; " and I laid my face down on the table, covering it
with my hands, and tears trickled fast through my fingers.
" Speak to my aunt," said Caroline consolingly ; " do not
cry, ^'^alerie ; it may be all a mistake."
" I will at once speak to Madame Bathurst," said I, raising
my head, "it will be the best ])lan."
I went into my room, bathed my eyes, and then sought
Madame Bathurst, whom I found in the conservatory, giving
directions to the gardenei*. After a time she took my arm,
and we walked down the terrace.
" Madame Bathurst," said I, " I have been made very
miserable by Caroline stating that Mrs. Corbet had told
you that she met Madame d'Albret at Paris. How can
this be ? "
" I cannot imagine more than yourself, my dear Valerie,"
replied Madame Bathurst, "except that Mrs. Corbet was
mistaken."
" Do you think it was, madam .'' "
" I cannot say, Valei'ie ; but I have written to Paris to
ascertain the fact, which is to me incomprehensible. A few
days will let us into the truth ; I cannot believe it — indeed,
if it were true, I shall consider that Madame d'Albret has
treated me ill ; for much as I am pleased to have you here,
she has not been candid with me in proposing that you
should remain the winter, upon the plea of her being obliged
to go to the south, when she is still at Paris. I cannot
understand it, and until confirmed, I will not believe it.
Mrs. Corbet is not an acquaintance of hers, and may, there-
fore, be mistaken."
"She must be, madam," replied I ; "still it is strange that
I do not hear from her. I am fearful something is wrong,
and what it can be I cannot surmise."
47
VALERIE
" Let us talk no more about it, my clear Valerie. A few
tiays will decide the point."
A few days did decide the point, for I received an answer
from NLadanie Paon, in which she said : —
" Mv DEAR Mademoiselle Cmatenceuf, — You may imagine
mv sin-prise at receiving your letter, and I fear you must pre-
pare yourself for unpleasant intelligence. Madame d'Albret
is in Paris, and has never been in the south of France that
I have heard. When she first called, I inquired after you.
The reply was, that you were on a visit to a lady in England ;
that you had left her ; that you had a manie pour I' /higldcrre :
and so saying, she shrugged up her shoulders. I was about
to inquire more particularly, but she cut the conversation
short by asking to see a new pelisse, and I perceived at
once that there was something wrong, but wdiat I could not
comprehend. I did not see her till four or five weeks aftex*-
wards, when she called, accompanied by a Monsieur de
G , a person well known in Paris, where he bears a
very indifferent character, as a desperate gambler, and a man
of very bad disposition concealed under a very polished
exterior ; but his character is better known in England,
which country, I am told, he was obliged to quit in conse-
quence of some gaming transaction, anything but honour-
able. I again made inquiries after you, and this time the
reply was given by Monsieur de G , who replied that
you were an ingrate, and your name must not be in future
mentioned by any one to Madame d'Albret.
" The handsome face of Monsieur de G was changed
to that of a demon when he made this remark, and fully
proved to me the truth of the report that he was a person of
very bad disposition. INLadame d'Albret made no remark,
except that she should be careful how she ever engaged a
demoiselle de co}>ipag>iic again. I was struck at this remark
from her, as I always considered that you were (and, indeed,
I know you were at one time) viewed in a very different
light, and I was quite mystified. About a fortnight after-
wards Madame d'Albret called upon me, and announced her
intended marriage to Monsieur de G , and requested me
to make her wedding dresses. Here the whole mystery was
out ; but why, because she marries Monsieur de G , you
48
VALERIE
should lose her protection, and why Monsieur de G •
should be so inveterate against you, is more than I can tell.
I have now, my dear mademoiselle, given you a detail of all
I know, and shall be most happy to hear from you if you will
please to write to me, &c., &c.
"Emilie Paon, nee Merge."
Here was a solution of the whole mystery. I read the
letter, and fell back on the sofa, gasping for breath. It Avas
some time before I could recover myself. I was alone in my
bedroom, my head and eyes swimming ; but I staggered to
the washing-stand, and obtained some water. It was half-
an-hour before I could recall my astonished senses, and then
everything appeared as clear to me as if it had been revealed.
Monsieur de G 's double attentions ; his spiteful look at
my refusal ; his occupying himself wholly with Madame
d'Albret after I refused him ; her wishing to get rid of me
by sending me to England with Madame Bathurst, and her
subsequent false and evasive conduct. Monsieur de G— —
had had his revenge, and gained his point at the same time.
He had obtained the wealth of Madame d'Albret to squander
at the gaming-table, and had contrived, by some means or
another, to ruin me in her good opinion. I perceived at
once that all was lost, and when I considered the awkward-
ness of my position, I was almost in despair.
CHAPTER VI
x\S I continued for more than an hour on the sofa, gloomily
passing in revicAV my short career, my present position, and
occasionally venturing a surmise upon the future, a feeling
which I had not had before — one which had hitherto been
latent — pride, gradually was awakened in my bosom, and as
it was aroused, it sustained me. I have before observed,
that fear had been my predominating feeling till I had
({uitted my parents ; love and gratitude had succeeded them ;
but now, smarting under injustice, pride, and with j)ride,
many less worthy passions were suumioned uji, and I ap-
-19 D
VALERIE
peared in the course of two short hours to be another
being. I felt confidence in myself, my eyes were opened
all at once, as it were, to the heartlessness of the world; the
more I considered the almost hopeless condition in which
I was, the more my energy was roused. I sat down on the
6ofa a confiding, clinging girl ; I rose up a resolute, cleai*-
sighted woman.
I reflected, and had made up my mind that Madame
d'Albret would never forgive one whom she had injured as
she had me. She had induced me to break off all family and
parental ties (such as they were) ; she had made me wholly
dependent upon her, and had now cast me off' in a cruel and
heartless manner. She had used deceit, because she knew
that she could not justify her conduct. She had raised
calumnies against me, accusing me of ingratitude, as an
excuse for her own conduct. Anything like a reconciliation,
therefore, was impossible, and any assistance from her I was
determined not to accept. Besides, was she not married to
Monsieur de G , whom pique at my refusal had made my
enemy, and who had, in all probability, as he })ressed his own
suit, perceived the necessity, independent of the gratification
it afforded him to be my ruin, of removing me as a serious
obstacle to Madame d'Albret's contracting a new alliance .''
From that quarter, therefore, there was nothing to be ex-
pected or hoped for, even if it were desired. And what was
my position with Madame Bathurst .'' On a visit. At the
termination of which I was houseless.
That Madame Bathurst would probably offer me a tem-
porary asylum, for she would hardly turn me out of doors, I
felt convinced ; but my new-born pride revolted at the idea
of dependence upon one on whom I had no claim whatever.
\\'hat, then, was to be done .'' I examined my ca])ital. I
was handsome, but that was of no use to me ; the insidious
conduct of Monsieur de G had raised to positive dis-
like the indifference that I felt for his sex, and 1 had no
inclination to make a market of my personal advantages.
I could sing and j)lay well. I spoke French and English,
and understood Italian. I could embroider and work well
with my needle. Such were my capabilities, my stock-in-
trade, with which to commence the world ; I was therefore
competent, to a certain degree, to give lessons in music
50
VALERIE
and in French, or to take a governess's place, or to become
a viodiste.
I thought of Madame Paon ; but when I reflected in what
manner I had visited her, the respect and homage, I may
say, Avhich liad been ofTered up to me, and how ditterent my
reception and treatment would be if I entered the estabhsh-
ment as one of themselves, the reflection was too mortifying,
and I determined, that if I were driven to such an employ-
ment for my livelihood, it should be where I was not known.
After much consideration, I decided that I woulil see Madame
Bathin'st, make known to her my intentions, and ask her
assistance and reconnnendation to procure me a situation. I
arranged my hair, removed all traces of my late agitation,
and went down to her. I found her alone, and asking her
whether she could spare me a few minutes of her time, I
handed to her the letter which I had received from Madame
Paon, and then made her accjuainted with that portion of my
history with which she had been unacquainted. As I spoke^
my courage revived, and my voice became firm — I felt that
1 was no longer a girl.
" Madame Bathurst, I have confided this to you, because
you will agree with me that there can be nothing more
between Madame d'Albret and me ; for even if she made
an offer, I would never accept it. I am now in a very
false position, owing to her conduct. I am here on a
visit, supposed by you to be the protegee of that lady, and
a person of some consequence. Her protection has been
taken away from me, and I am now a beggar, with nothing
but my talents for my future support. I explain this to
you frankly, because I cannot think of remaining as your
visitor ; and if I do not ask too much, all that I wish of
your friendship is, that you will give me such a recom-
mendation as you think I deserve, by which I may obtain
the means of future livelihood."
"My dear Valerie," replied Madame Bathurst, "I will not
hurt your feelings. It is a heavy blow, and I am glad to
perceive, that instead of being crushed by it, you aj)pear to
rise. I have heard of Madame d'Albret's marriage, and the
deceit which she has been practising evidently to get rid of
you. Not many days ago I wrote to her, pointing out the
variance between what she stated in her letters, and her
51
VALERIE
actual position, and requesting to know wliat Avas to be done
relative to you. Her answer I have received tliis da}'. She
states that you have cruelly deceived her ; that at the very
time that you professed the utmost gratitude and affection,
you were slandering her, and laughing at her behind her
back, particularly to Monsieur de G , to whom she is now
married ; and that, however she might be inclined to forgive
and overlook your conduct herself, Monsieur de G is
resolute, and determined that you never shall come again
under his roof She has, therefore, transmitted a billet of
five hundred francs to enable you to return to your father's
house."
" Then," replied I, " it is as I suspected ; Monsieur de
G is the cause of all."
" Why did you trust him, Valerie, or rather why were you
so imprudent, and I must add, ungrateful, to speak of Madame
d'Albret as you did t"
" And you believe it, Madame Bathurst, you believe that
I did so ? I can only say, that if such is your belief, the
sooner we part the better."
I then told her what I had omitted in my narrative, how
I had refused Monsieur de G , and, explaining his char-
acter, showed that he had acted thus out of interest and
revenge.
" I believe it all now, Valerie, and I must beg your pardon
for having supposed that you had been ungrateful This
explanation relieves me, and enables me to make you the
offer which I had thought of doing, had I not been checked
by tiiis calumny against you. I say, therefore, for the present,
m}^ dear Valerie, remain here. You ai'e quite equal to be
governess to Caroline, but I prefer you should remain with
me more as a friend than as a governess. I say this, because
I fear you will be too proud to remain as a dependant,
without making yourself useful. You know that I did
intend to take a governess for Caroline as soon as we went
to London. I will now take you, if you will consent, and
shall feel the obligation on my side, as I shall not only
have retained a capable person, but shall also not lose a
dear young friend."
" I thank you for the offer, my dear madame," replied I,
rising and courtesying ; " I trust, however, that you will allow
52
VALERIE
me a little time for reflection before I decide. You iTiust
admit that this is a most critical epoch in my life, and I must
not make one false step if it is possible to prevent it."
" Certainlj'," rejilicd Madame Bathurst, "certainly. You
are right, Valerie, in reflecting well before you decide ; but
I must say that you are rather haughty in your manner
towards me."
" I may have been, my dear Madame Bathurst, but if so,
take my excuses. Recollect, the Valerie of yesterday, who
was your visitor and young friend, is not the Valerie of to-
day ! " and with these words I took up the cheque for five
hundred francs which Madame Bathurst had laid on the table,
left the room, and returned to my own apartment.
I returned to my room, and was glad to be once more
alone ; for although I bore up well under the circumstances,
still the compressed excitement was wearying to the frame.
I had resolved to accept the offer of Madame Bathurst at the
time that she made it, but I did not choose to appear to jump
at it, as she probably expected that I would. I felt no confi-
dence in any one but my own self, after the treatment of
Madame d'Albret, and I considered that Madame Bathurst
would probably dismiss me, as soon as my services were no
longer required, with as little ceremony as had Madame
d'Albret. That I was capable of taking charge of and instruct-
ing Caroline, I knew well, and that Madame Bathurst would
not easily procure a governess so cajiable of singing and music
as myself. There would be consequently no obligation, and I
resolved that I would I'eject her terms if they were not favour-
able. I had some money, for I had spent but a small portion
of twenty sovereigns which Madame d'Albret had given me
in a purse when I quitted her. I had, therefore, the means
of subsistence for some little time, should I not come to
terms with Madame Bathurst.
After an hour's reflection, I sat down and wrote a letter to
Madame Paon, stating what had occurred, and my determina-
tion to obtain my own livelihood, and adding, that as I was
not sure whether I should accept of Mndame Bathurst's offer,
I wished her to give me a letter of inti'oduction to some
French acquaintance of hers in London, as I was an utter
stranger to everything, and, without advice, should probably
be cheated in every way. As soon as this letter was finished
53
VALERIE
I commenced .inother to Madame d'Albret, which was in the
following words : —
" My dear Madame, — Yes, I will still say my dear
madame ; for although you will never hear of me again, you
are still dear to me, more dear perhaps than you were, when
I considered you my patroness and my more than mother.
And why so ? — because when those we love are in misfortune,
when those who have benefited us are likely to soon want
succour themselves, it is then the time that we should pour
out our gratitude and love. I do not consider it your fault,
my dear Madame d'Albret, that you have been deceived by a
base hypocrite, who wears so captivating a mask ; I do not
blame you that you have been persuaded by him that I have
slandered and behaved ungratefully to you. You have been
blinded by your own feelings toAvards him and by his con-
summate art. I am also to blame for not having communi-
cated to 30U that he made me a proposal of marriage but a
short time previous to my departure, and which I indignantly
rejected, because he had taken such an unusual step without
any previous communication with you on the subject — not
that I would have accepted him, even if you had wished it,
for I knew how false and unworthy he was considered to be.
I should have told you, my dear madame, of this offer of
marriage on his part, but he requested me as a favour not to
mention it to you, and I did not then know that he was a
ruined man, a desperate gambler, and that he had been
obliged to quit this countr}- for dishonourable practices at the
gaming-table, as you may easily discover to be true ; for even
Madame Paon can give you all the necessary information.
And into this man's hands have you fallen, my dear Madame
d'Albret. Alas, how you are to be pitied ! my heart bleeds
for you, and I fear that a few months will sufhce to prove to
you the truth of what I now write. That I am a sufferer by
the conduct of Monsieur de G is true. I have lost a kind
patroness, an indulgent mother, and am now left to obtain
my own livelihood how I can. All my visions, all my dreams
of happiness with you, all my wishes of proving my gratitude
and love for your kindness have vanished, and here I am,
young, alone, and unprotected. But I think not of myself;
at all events I am free — I am not chained to such a person
VALERIE
as Monsieui' de G ; and it is of yon, and all that you will
have to suffer, that my thoiii^hts and heart are full. I return
you the cheque for five hundred francs — I cannot take the
money. You are married to Monsieur de G , and I can
accept nothing' from one who has made you believe that
Valerie could be calumnious and ungrateful. Adieu, my
dear madamc ; I shall j)ray for you, and weep over your
misfortunes. — Yours ever gratefully,
" Valerie de Chaten(EUF."
That there was a mixed feeling in this letter I confess.
As I said in it, I really pitied Madamc d'Albret and forgave
her her unkindness ; but I sought revenge upon Monsieur de
G , and in seeking that, I planted daggers into the heart
of Madame d'Albret ; but 1 did not at the time that I Avrote
reflect upon this. What I wished to do was to vindicate
myself, and that I could not do without exposing Monsieur
de G , and exposing him in his true colours was, of
course, awakening Madame d'Albret to her position sooner
than she would have been, and filling her mind with doubts
and jealousy. That this was not kind, I felt when I perused
what I had written previous to folding the letter ; but I felt
no inclination to alter it, probably because I had not quite so
wholly forgiven Madame d'Albret as I thought that I had.
Be it as it may, the letter was sealed and despatched by that
night's post, as well as that written to Madame Paon.
I had now only to arrange with Madame Bathurst, and I
went down into the drawing-room, where I found her alone.
" I have considered, my dear Madame Bathurst," said I,
"your kind proposal. I certainly have had a little struggle
to get over, as you must admit that it is not pleasant to sink
from a visitor in a family into a dependant, as I must in
future be if 1 remain with you ; but the advantages of being
with a person whom I respect as much as I do you, and of
having charge of a young person to whom I am so attached
as I am to Caroline, have decided me on accepting your offer.
May I know then what may be the terms upon which I am
received as governess } "
"Valerie, I feel that this is all pride," replied Madame
Bathurst, " but still it is not disreputable pride, and though I
shall yield to it, I Avould have made no terms, but retained
55
VALERIE
you as a dear friend, my purse and everything in the house
at vour command, and I hoped that you would have allowed
me so to do. But as you will not, I have only to say that I
should have expected to pay any governess whom I might
have retained for Caroline a salary of £100 per annum, and
that I offer you the same."
"It is more than sufficient, my dear madame," replied I,
"and I accept your offer if you will take me on trial for six
months."
" Valerie, you make me laugh, and make me angry at the
same time ; but I can bear much from you now, for you have
had a heavy blow, my poor child. Now let's say no more on
the subject ; all is settled, and the arrangement will remain
a secret, unless you publish it yourself"
" I certainly shall make no secret of it, Madame Bathurst ;
I should be sorry to show false colours, and be supposed by
your friends to be otherwise than what I really am. I have
done nothing that I ought to be ashamed of, and I abhor
deceit. Whatever may be my position in life, I trust that I
shall never disgrace the name that I beai', and I am not the
first of a noble name who has had a reverse in fortune."
How strange that I now, for the first time in my life, began
to feel pride in my family name. I presume because when
we have lost almost everything, we cherish more that which
remains to us. From the time that Madame Bathurst had
first known me till the last twenty-four hours, not a
symptom of pride had ever been discovered in me. As the
protegee and adopted daughter of Madame d'Albret, with
brilliant j^rospects, I was all humility — now a dependant,
with a salary of £100 per annum, Valerie was as proud as
Lucifer himself Madame Bathurst perceived this, and I
must do her the justice to say, that she was very guai'ded
in her conduct towards me. She felt sympathy for me,
and treated me with more kindness, and I may say with
more respect, than she did when I was her visitor and
her equal.
The next day I informed Caroline of the change in my
prospects, and of my having accc})ted the office of governess ;
that was to say, on a six months' trial. I pointed out to
her that it would now be my duty to see that she did not
neglect her studies, and that I was determijied to do justice
5ii
VALERIE
to Madame Bathurst's confidence reposed in nie. Caroline,
who was of a very amiable and sweet disposition, rejilied,
"That she should always look upon me as her friend and
companion, and from her love for me, would do everything
I wished," and she kept her word.
The reader will agree with me, that it was impossible for
any one to have been lowered down in ])osition more gently
than I was in this instance. The servants never knew that
I had accepted the offer of governess, for I was invariably
called Valerie by Madame Bathurst and her niece, and was
treated as I Avas before when a visitor to the house. I be-
stowed much time upon Caroline, and taught myself daily,
that I might be more able to teach her. I went back to
the elements in everything, that I might be more capable
of instructing, and Caroline made rapid progress in music,
and promised to have, in a few years, a very fine voice. We
went to town for the season, but I avoided company as
much as possible — so much so, that Madame Bathurst com-
plained of it.
" Valerie, you do wrong not to make your appearance.
You retire in such a way that people natui-ally put questions
to me, and ask if you are the governess, or what you are."
" I wish them to do so, my dear madame, and I want j^ou
to reply frankly. I am the governess, and do not like any-
thing like concealment."
" But I cannot admit that you are what may be called a
governess, Valerie. You are a young friend staying with
me, who instructs my niece."
"That is what a governess ought to be," replied I, "a
young friend who instructs your children."
"I grant it," replied Madame Bathurst; "but I fear if
you were to take the situation in another family, you would
find that a governess is not generally so considered or so
treated. I do not know any class of people who arc more
to be pitied than these young people who enter families as
governesses; not considered good enough for the drawing-
room, they are too good for the kitchen ; they are treated
with hauteur by the master and mistress, and only admitted,
or suffered, for a time to be in their company ; by the servants
they are considered as not having claims to those attentions
and civilities, for which they are paid and fed ; because re-
57
VALERIE
ceiving salaries, or ' \vai;re.s like themselves,' as they asseri:,
thcv are not entitled in their opinion to be attended upon.
Thus are they, in most houses, ne<i;lccled by all parties.
Unhappy themselves, they cause ill-will and dissension, and
more servants are dismissed, or give warning, on account of
the governesses than from any other cause. In the drawing-
room they arc a check upon conversation ; in the school-
room, if they do their duty, they are the cause of discontent,
pouting, and tears ; like the bat, they are neither bird nor
beast, and they flit about the house like ill omens ; they lose
the light-heartedness and spring of youth ; become sour from
continual vexation and annoyance, and their lives are miser-
able, tedious, and full of repining. I tell you this candidly ;
it is a harsh picture, but I fear too true a one. With me I
trust you will be haj)py, but you will run a great risk if you
were to change and go into another family."
" I have heard as much before, my dear madame," replied
I ; " but your considerate kindness has made me forget it.
I can only say that it will be a melancholy day when I am
forced to quit your roof."
Visitors announced, interrupted the conversation. I have
before mentioned the talent I had for dress, and the kind-
ness of Madame Bathurst induced me to exert all that I
possessed in her favour. Every one was pleased, and ex-
pressed admiration at the peculiar elegance of her attire,
and asked who was the modiste she employed, and Madame
Bathurst never failed to ascribe all the merit to me.
Time passed on rapidly, and the season was nearly over.
Madame Bathurst had explained to her most intimate friends
the alterations which had taken place in my prospects,
and that I remained with her more as a companion than
in any other capacity. This procured me consideration and
respect, and I very often had invitations to parties ; but I
invariably refused ; except, occasionally, accepting a seat
in the box at the oj^era and French plays, I was content
to remain quiet.
Madame Paon had, as I requested, sent me a letter of in-
troduction to a friend of hers, a Monsieur Gironac, who lived
in Leicester Sijuare. He was a married man, without family.
He obtained his livelihood by giving lessons on the flute, on
the guitar, and in teaching French during the day, and at
58
VALERIE
night was engaged as second violin in the orchestra of the
Opera House ; so that lie had many strings to his bow,
besides those of his fiddle. His wife, a pretty little lively
woman, taught young ladies to make flowei's in wax, and
mended lace in the evenings. They were a very amiable
and amusing couple, always at good-natured warfare with
each other, and sparring all day long, from the time they
met until they parted. Their battles were the most comical
and annising I ever witnessed, and generally ended in roars
of laughter. They received me with the greatest kindness
and consideration, treating me with great respect, until our
extreme intimacy no longer required it, and our friendship
increased more than it could have done from Caroline ex-
pressing a wish to learn to model flowers, and becoming the
pupil of Madame Gironac. Such were the state of affairs
when the London season was over, and we once more
returned to the country.
The time flew away rapidly. Madame Bathurst treated
me with kindness and respect, Caroline with affection, and I
was again quite happy and contented. I was earnest in my
endeavours to improve Caroline, and, moreover, had the
satisfaction to feel and hear it acknowledged that my
attempts were not thrown away. I looked forward to re-
maining at least till Caroline's education was complete,
which it could not be under two or three years ; and feeling
security for such a period, I gave myself little thought of the
future, when a circumstance occurred which put an end to
all my calculations.
I have stated that Caroline was the niece of Madame
Bathurst ; she was the daughter of a younger sister who had
contracted an unfortunate marriage, having eloped with a
young man who had not a shilling that he could call his own,
and whose whole dependence was upon an uncle without a
family. This imprudent match had, hoAvever, i-aised the in-
dignation of his relative, who from that moment told him he
was to expect nothing from him either before or after his
death. The consequence was, that Madame Bathurst's sister
and husband were in a state of great distress, until Madame
Bathurst, by exerting herself in his behalf, procui*ed for him
a situation of .£."00 per annum in the Excise. Upon this
sum, and the occasional presents of Madame Bathurst, they
59
VALERIE
contrived to live, but haviiifj two boys and a girl to educate,
Madame Bathurst took charge of the latter, who was
Caroline, promising that she would either establish her in
life, or leave her a sufficiency at her death. Madame
Bathurst had a very large jointure, and could well afford to
save up every j'car for Caroline, which she liad done ever
since she had taken charge of her, at seven yeai's old. At
the time that I have been speaking of, it appeared that the
uncle of the fjither of Caroline died, and notwithstanding his
threat bequeathed to his ne])hew the whole of his large
propcrt}', by which he became even more wealthy than
Madame Bathurst. The consequence was, that Madame
Bathurst received a letter announcing this intelligence, and
winding up with a notification that Caroline was to be imme-
diately taken back to her father's house. In the letter —
which I read, for Madame Bathurst, Avho was in great
distress, handed it to me, observing at the time, " This con-
cerns you as well as me and Caroline "—there were not any
expressions of gratitude for the great kindness which they
had received from her hands ; it was an unkind, unfeeling
letter, and I Avas disgusted when I had gone through it.
" Is this all the return that you receive for what you have
done for your sister and her husband.^" observed I; "the
more I see of this world, the more I hate it."
" It is indeed most selfish and unfeeling," replied Madame
Bathurst : " Caroline has been so long Avith me, that I have
looked upon lier as my oAvn child, and noAv she is to be torn
from me Avithout the least consideration of my feelings. It
is very cruel and very ungrateful."
Madame Bathurst, after this remark, rose and left the
room. As I afterAvards discovered, she replied to the letter,
pointing out hoAv long she had had charge of Caroline, and
now considered her as her daughter, and requesting her
parents to alloAV her to return to her after she paid them a
visit ; pointing out how unkind and ungrateful it Avas of them
to take her away, now that their circumstances Avere altered,
and hoAv very j)ainful it Avould be for her if they did so. To
this appeal on her part she received a most insulting ansAver,
in Avhich she Avas requested to make out an account of the
expenses incurred for the education and maintenance of her
niece, that they might be reimbursed forthAvith. On this
(50
VALERIE
occasion, for the first time, I saw Matlame Bathurst really
aii<jjry, and certainly not without good cause. She sent for
Caroline, who as yet had onl}' been informed that her father
and mother had succeeded to a large inheritance, and put the
letter into her hands with a copy of her own, requesting that
she would read them, watching her countenance with the
severest scrutiny as she complied with the injunction, as if
to discover if she inherited the ingratitude of her parents.
Such was not the case ; for poor Caroline sunk, covered her
face with her hands, and then rushing to Madame Bathurst,
fell on her knees before her, and burying her face in her
aunt's lap, cried as if her heart would break. After a few
minutes, Madame Bathurst raised up her niece, and kissed
her, saying —
" I am satisfied, my dear Caroline at least is not ungrateful.
Now, my child, you must do your duty, and obey your
parents — as we must part, the sooner we part the better.
Valerie, will you see that everything is ready for Caroline's
going away to-morrow morning ? "
Saying this, Madame Bathurst disengaged herself from
Caroline, and quitted the room. It was a long while before I
could reason the poor girl into anything like composure. I
could not help agreeing with her, that the conduct of her
parents was most ungracious towards Madame Bathurst; but
at the same time I pointed out to her how natural it was,
that having but one daughter, her ])arents would wish for
her return to their own care ; that the resigning her to
Matlame Bathurst must have been a severe trial to them,
and that it could only be from consulting her advantage that
they could have consented to it. But, notwithstanding all
that I could urge, Caroline's indignation against her parents,
of whom she knew but little, was very great, and her dislike
to return home as strong. However, there was no help for
it, as Madame Bathurst had decided that she was to go, and
I persuaded her to come with me and pre])are her clothes
ready for packing up. We did not meet at dinner that day,
Madame Bathurst sending an excuse that she was too much
out of spirits to leave her room ; Caroline and I were equally
so, and we remained whei*e we were. In the evening,
Madame Bathurst sent for me ; I found her in bed, and
looking very ill.
61
VALERIE
" Valerie/' said she, " I wish Carohne to start early to-
morrow muniiii!;, that, as you accompany lier, you may be
able to return here before night. I shall not be able to see
her to-morrow morning. I must, therefore, bid her farewell
this night ; bring her here, and the sooner it is over the
better."
I went for Caroline, and a bitter parting it was. I hardly
know which of the three cried the most, but after half-an-
hour Madame Bathurst signed to me to take Caroline away,
which 1 did, and afterwards put her into bed as soon as I
could. Having remained with her till she had sobbed her-
self to sleep, I went down to the servants, and gave Madame
Bathurst's directions for the next morning, and then retired
myself. Worn out as I was with such a day of anxiety and
distress, I could not close my eyes for some time, reflecting
upon what might be the issue of this breaking up of the con-
nection to myself. I had been engaged as governess to
Caroline, and I could not well expect that Madame Bathurst
would wish to retain me now that Caroline was removed from
her care ; neither, indeed, would my pride permit me to
accept such an offer if made, as I should become a mere
dependant on her bounty, with no services to offer in return.
That I must leave Madame Bathurst was certain, and that I
must look out for some other situation. I took it for granted
that Madame Bathurst would not permit me to leave imme-
diately, but allow me a short time to look out for a suitable
situation; but whether I should decide upon taking the situa-
tion of a governess after what Madame Bathurst had told
me, or what situation I should seek, was the cause of nuich
thought and indecision. At last I could make no mind up,
and decided that I would trust to Pi-ovidence, and having so
far come to a conclusion, I fell asleep.
After an early breakfast, I set off in the carriage with
Caroline in charge, and before noon we arrived at her father's
house. The servants, dressed in very gaudy liveries, ushered
us into the library, where we found her father and mother
waiting to receive her. A first glance satisfied me that they
were swelled with pride at the change in their fortunes.
Caroline was not received with great cordiality. There was
a stiffness on the part of her parents which would have
checked any feelings of affection on her part, had she been
62
VALERIE
inclined to show them, which I was sorry to perceive she
did not ; indeed Iier feelin<rs ai)pearcd rather those of resent-
ment for the conduct they had shown to her aunt. After
the saUitation of meeting, CaroHne sat down on a sofa,
opposite to her father and mother. I remained standing,
and when the pause took place, I said —
" I was deputed by Madame Bathurst to convey your
daughter safe to you, and as soon as the horses are baited, I
am to return home."
"Who may this person be, Caroline.''" demanded her
mother.
" I must apologise to Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf for not
having introduced her," replied Caroline, blushing with
annoyance. " She is a very dear friend of mine and my
aunt's."
" Latterly I have been the governess of your daughter,
madam e," said L
"Oh ! "said the lady. "Will somebody ring the bell ?"
I presumed by this somebody, it was intended to convey
to me that I was to perform that office ; but as they had not
had the common civility to ask me to take a chair, I took no
notice.
" Will you ring the bell, my dear ? " said the lady to her
husband.
The gentleman complied ; and when the servant entered,
the lady said, " Show the governess into the small breakfast-
room, and tell the coachman to put up his horses and bait
them. He must be round again in an hour."
The man stood with the door in his hand, waiting for me
to follow him. Not a little indignant, I turned to Caroline,
and said to her, " I had better wish you good-bye now."
"Yes, indeed, Valerie, you had," replied Caroline, rising
from the sofa, " for I am ashamed to look you in the face,
after such treatment as you have received. W^ill you,"
continued she, with great spii-it, " accept my apology for
the behaviour of my parents towards one who is of a much
higher family, and much higher breeding, than they can
boast of"
"Hush! Caroline," said I; "recollect "
" I do recollect, and shall continue to recollect, the insults
to my dear aunt in the first place, and now the insult to you,
63
VALERII?.
my dear Valerie," retorted Caroline, who then put her arms
rouiul mv neck, and kissed me several times ; having so done,
she darted from me, threw herself on the sofa, and burst into
tears, while I hastened to follow the servant, to escape from
such an unpleasant scene.
I was shown into a small room, where I remained some
little time, thinkinjr how true were Madame Bathurst's
observations as to what I might expect in the position of a
governess, when a servant came in, and in a condescending
manner, asked if I did not wish to have some lunch. I
replied in the negative.
" You can have a glass of wine if you choose," continued he.
"You may leave the room," I replied calmly; "I wish
for nothing."
The man went out, slamming the dooi', and I was again
alone. I reflected upon the scene I had just been witness
to, and I own that I was surprised at Caroline's conduct,
who had always ajipeared so mild and amiable ; but the fact
appeared to me to be, that when parents give up their
children to the care of another, they surrender at the same
time all those feelings wliich should exist between parent
and child to the party who undertakes the charge of them.
The respect and love which by nature belonged to them
were now transferred to her aunt, to whom Caroline was
always obedient and attached. The insult to me was resented
by Caroline as if it had been offered by perfect strangers to
her; Caroline not feeling herself at all checked by filial
duty. There appeared to be little prospect of any addition
to the happiness of either of the ])arties by the return of
Caroline to her father's house ; and how it would end I
could not surmise.
At last my reverie was interrupted by the servant coming
in and telling me that the carriage was at the door. I
immediately followed him, and set off on my return, during
which I resolved that I Avould not leave my own expectations
any longer in doubt, but come immediately to an under-
standing with Madame Bathurst.
As it was late when I arrived, I did not see Madame
Bathurst that evening, but she came down to breakfast the
next morning, when I informed her of all that had occurred
at her sister's, and the unceremonious manner in which I had
VALERIE
been treated ; and having done so, I then observed, that of
course I did not expect to remain with her now that Carohne
was gone, and begged she would give me her advice and
assistance in procuring anotlier situation.
" At all events, do not be in a hurry, Valerie," rejilied
Madame Bathurst ; "I trust you will not refuse to be my
visitor until you are suited to your liking. I will not ask
you to stay with me, as I know 30U will refuse, and 1 do
not pay unnecessary compliments. And yet, Avhy should
you not ? I knoAV you well, and am attached to you. I
shall feel the loss of Caroline severely. Why not i-emain.''"
"Many thanks, my dear madame," replied I, "for your
kind wishes and exj:)ressions, but you know my resolution
has been made to earn my own livelihood."
" I know that ; but a resolution may be altered when
circumstances demand it. Madame d'Albret was no more
related to you than I am, and yet you accepted her offer."
"I did, madame," replied I bitterly, "and you know
the result. I would have staked my life upon her sincerity
and affection, and yet how was I cast away ? With every
feeling of gratitude, my dear madame, I cannot accept your
offer, for I never will put myself in a similar position a
second time."
" You do not pay me a very great compliment by that
remark, Wilerie," said Madame Bathurst, somewhat harshly,
" Indeed, my dear madame, I should be sorry if any-
thing I have said should annoy one who has been so kind
and considerate to me as you have been ; but I know that
I should be miserable and unhappy if not independent, and
I never can risk a second shock, like that I received from
the conduct of Madame d'Albret. I entreat as a favour
that you will not continue the subject."
" Well, Valerie, I will not ; perhaps had I been treated
as you have been, I might feel the same. What then do
you propose to seek .'' Is it the situation of a governess } "
" Anything in preference, my dear madame ; I was suffi-
ciently humiliated yesterday. I should prefer that of a lady's
maid, although I hope not to descend quite so low."
"There are so few situations for a person educated as
you have been. There is a companion for a lady, which I
believe is anything but pleasant : there is that of amanuensis,
65 E
VALERIE
but it is seldom required. You might certainly go out and
give lessons in music, and singing, and in the French
language ; but there are so many French masters and
mistresses, and for music and singing a master is always
preferred, why, I do not exactly know. However, I think
something may be done when we go to town, but till then
all that we can do is to talk the matter over. Perhaps
something may turn up when we least expect it. I will,
however, now that I know your decision, make every inquiry,
and give you all the assistance in my power."
I expressed my thanks and gratitude, and the conversation
ended.
I did not, however, trust altogether to Madame Bathurst.
I wrote a letter to my acquaintance, Madame Gironac, in
Leicester Square, stating what had occurred, and what my
ideas and intentions were, requesting her to give me her
advice and opinion as to the best plan I could follow. In
a few days I received from her the following reply, which
I insert as characteristic of the party.
" My dear Mademoiselle, — Your letter gave great pain
to me, and as for my husband, he was quite furious, and
declared that he would not live a minute longer in such an
abominable world. However, to oblige me, he has not yet
made away with himself. It really is dreadful to see a
young lady like you in such an awkward position from the
weakness and follies of others ; but we must submit to what
the hon Dicu disposes, and when things come to the worst,
hope that a change will take place, as any change must
then be for the better. I have consulted my husband about
what you propose, but he negatives everything. He says
you are too good for a governess ; would be thrown away
as a companion to a lady ; that you must not be seen in a
cab, going about giving lessons — in fact, he will listen to
nothing except that you must come and live with us. I
can only say, my dear mademoiselle, that I join in the latter
request, and that it would make me perfectly happy, and
that the honour and pleasure of your company would be
more than a compensation. Still, it is but a poor home to
offer to you, but at all events one that you might condescend
to take advantage of rather than remain to be mortified
66
VALERIE
by those who think, as they do in this country, that money
is everythin<:f. Do, })niy, then come to us, if you feci in-
clined, and then we can talk ovei* things quietly, and wait
upon Providence. My husband has now hardly time to eat
his dinner, he has so many pupils of one kind and the other;
and I am happy to say that I have also most of my time
occupied ; and if it pleases God to continue us in good
health, we hope to be able to put by a little money for a
rainy day, as they say in this coinitry, where it is always
raining. Assure yourself, my dear mademoiselle, of our love,
respect, consideration. Annette Gironac."
We went to town earlier than usual, Madame Bathurst feel-
ing lonely in the country after the departure of Caroline, from
whom she had not received a line since her quitting her.
This of course was to be ascribed to her parents, who thus
returned all Madame Bathurst's kindness as soon as they
no longer required her assistance. I know not how it Avas,
but gradually a sort of coolness had arisen between Madame
Bathurst ancl me. Whether it was that she was displeased at
my refusing her offer to remain with her, or thought proper
to wean herself from one who was so soon to quit her, I know
not. I did nothing to give offence : I was more quiet and
subdued, perhaps, than before, because I had become more
reflective ; but I could not accuse myself of any fault or error,
that I was aware of.
We had been about a week in London, when an old ac-
quaintance of Madame Bathurst's, who had just returned from
Italy, where she had resided for two years, called upon her.
Her name was Lady R : she was the widow of a baronet,
not in very opulent circumstances, although with a sufficiency
to hire, if not keep a carriage. She was, moreover, an author,
having written two or three novels, not very good I was told,
but still, emanating from the pen of a lady, they Avere well
paid. She was very eccentric, and rather amusing. When a
woman says everything that comes into her head, out of a
great deal of chaff there will drop some few grains of wheat ;
and so sometimes, more by accident than otherwise, she said
what is called a good tiling. Now, a good thing is repeated,
while all the nonsense is forgotten ; and Lady R was
considered a wit as well as an author. She was a tall woman ;
67
VALERIE
I should think very near, if not past, fifty years of age, with
the remains of beauty in lier countenance ; apjjarentl}', she
was strong and healthy, as slic walked with a sj)ring, and was
lively and (|uick in all her motions.
'' Cni-a m'ut," exclaimed she, as she was announced, running
up to Madame Bathurst, "and how have you been all this
while — my biennial absence in the land of poetry — in which I
have laid up such stores of beauteous images and ideas in my
mind, that I shall make them last me during my life. Have
you read my last .^ It's surprising, every one says, and proves
the effect of climate upon composition — quite new — an Italian
story of thrilling interest. And you have something new
here, I perceive," continued she, turning to me ; " not only
new, but beautiful — introduce me : I am an enthusiast in the
sublime and beautiful. Is she any relation .'' No relation ! —
Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf! — what a pretty name for a
novel. I should like to borrow it, and paint the original from
nature. Will you sit for your likeness } "
That Lady R allowed no one to talk but herself was
evident. Madame Bathurst, who knew her well, allowed her
to run on ; and I, not much valuing the dose of flattery so
unceremoniously bestowed upon me, took an opportunity,
when Lady R turned round to whisper something to
Madame Bathurst, to make my escape from the room. The
following morning, Madame Bathui'st said to me —
" Valerie, Lady R was very much pleased with your
appearance when she made her visit yesterday ; and as she
told me, after you had left the room, that she wanted just
such a person as yourself as a companion and amanuensis, I
thought it right to say that }'ou were looking out for some-
thing of the kind, and that you were remaining under my
protection until you could procure it. We had more conver-
sation on the subject, and she said, before she left, that she
woulil write to me on the subject. Her note has just been
put into my hands ; you can read it. She offers you a salary
of one hundred pounds per annum ; all your expenses paid
except your dress. As far as salary goes, I think her terms
liberal. And now, as to Lady R . My opinion of her is
in a few words. You saw her yesterda}', and I never knew
her otherwise ; never more or less ratiemal. She is an oddity,
but she is good-natured ; and, I am told, more liberal and
68
VALERIE
charitable than many others who can afford it better. Now
you know all I can tell you about her, and you must decide
for yourself. Here is her note ; you need not give me an
answer till to-morrow morning."
I made one or two observations, and then left the room.
The note was very kind, certainly, but it was as flighty as
her manners. I hastened to my own bedchamber, and sat
down to reflect. I felt that I was not exactly comfortable
with Madame Bathurst, and certainly was anxious to be in-
dependent ; but still, I could not exactly make up my mind
to accept the offer of Lady R . She was so different
from those I had been accustomed to live with. I was still
deliberating, when Madame Bathurst's maid came into my
room, telling me it was time to change my dress for dinner.
As she was assisting me she said —
"And so, Miss Chatenotuif, you are about to quit us, I find.
I am so sorry — first Miss Caroline— now you. I hoped you
would stay with us, and I should soon have become an expert
milliner under your directions."
" Who told you. Mason, that I was going to leave you ? "
" Mrs. Bathurst told me so, and not a quarter of an hour
ago," replied the woman.
"Well," replied I, "she told you truly, Mason; such is
the case ; " for this information of Mason's decided me upon
accepting the offer of Lady R ; for Madame Bathurst,
it apjieared to me, had certainly decided it for me by making
such a premature communication to her servant.
The reader may suj)pose, that when I made this discovery,
I felt little pain at tiie idea of parting with Madame Bathurst;
and the following morning, I coolly announced my intention
of accepting the ofl^er of Lady R . Madame Bathurst
looked at me very hard, as if surprised at not hearing from
me any regrets at leaving her, and expressions of gratitude
for all favours ; but I could not express what I really did not
feel at the time. Afterwards, I thought that I had been
wrong, as, to a certain degree, I was under obligations to
her ; not that I think, had she been ever so inclined to get
rid of me, she could have well tinned me out of the house,
althougii I had been foisted upon her in such a way by
Madame d'Albret. Still I was under obligations to lier, and
should have expressed myself so, if it had not been for the
69
VALERIE
communication made tt) me by the maid, which jiroved that
her expressions to me were not sincere.
"Well then," replied Madame Bathurst at last, "I will
write to Lady R immediately. I presume I may say
that you are at her commands as soon as she can receive
you ?"
" Yes, madame, at an hour's notice," replied L
" You really ajipear as if you were anxious to quit me,
mademoiselle," said Madame Bathurst, biting her lip.
'• I certainly am," replied L " You informed Mason that
I was to go, previous to having my decision ; and therefore I
gladly witlidraw myself from the company of those who have
made up tlieir minds to get rid of me."
" I certainly did tell Mason that there was a prospect
of your quitting me," replied Madame Bathurst, colouring
up ; " but — however, it's no use entering into an investiga-
tion of what I really said, or catechising my maid : one
thing is clear, we have been mutually disappointed with
each other, and, thei-efore, it perhaps is better that we
should part. I believe that I am in your debt, Made-
moiselle de Chatenoeuf. Have you reckoned how long you
have been with me .'' "
" I have reckoned the time that I instructed Caroline."
" Miss Caroline, if you please. Mademoiselle de Chate-
ncEuf "
" Well then, madame. Miss Caroline, since you wish it ;
it is five months and two weeks," replied I, i-ising fi-om my
chair.
"You may sit down, mademoiselle, while I make the
calculation," said Madame Bathurst.
"It is too great an honour for a Chatenoeuf to sit in your
presence," replied I quietly, remaining on my feet.
Madame Bathurst made no reply, but calculating the sum
of money due to me on a sheet of note-paper, handed it to
me, and begged me to see if it was correct.
" I liave no doubt of it, madame," replied I, looking at it,
and then laying it down on the desk before hei'.
Madame B.ithurst put the sum in bank-notes and sove-
reigns down bclore me, and said —
"Do me the favour to count it, and see if it is correct;"
and then rising, said, " Your wishes will be complied with by
70
VALERIE
my servants as usual, mademoiselle, as long as you remain
under my roof. I wish you farewell."
The last words were accompanied with a low courtesy, and
she then quitted the room.
I replied with a salute as formal as her own, and mortified
at the treatment I had received, I sat down, and a few tears
escaped ; but my pride came to my assistance, and I soon
recovered myself.
This scene was, however, another proof to me of what I
must in future expect ; and it had the effect of hardening
me, and blunting my feelings. " Miss Caroline ! " said I to
myself; "when the protegee of Madame d'Albret, and the
visitor of Madame Bathurst, it was Caroline, and dear Valerie.
She might have allowed me to quit her without pointing out
to me, in so marked a manner, how our relative positions have
been changed. However, I thank you, Madame Bathurst ;
what obligations I may have been under to you are now
cancelled, and I need not regret the weight of them as I
might have done. Ah ! Madame d'Albret, you took me from
my home that I might not be buffeted by my mother, and
now you have abandoned me to be buffeted by the whole
world. Well, be it so, I will figlit my way, nevertheless ; "
and as I left the room to pack up my trunks, I felt my
courage rise from this very attempt on the part of Madame
Bathurst to humiliate me.
The letter of Madame Bathurst to Lady R brought
the latter to the house that afternoon. I was up in my room
when I was informed by the servants that she waited below
to see me. When I entered she was alone, Madame Bathurst
having gone out in her carriage, and as soon as she saw me,
she rushed into my arms almost, taking me by both hands,
and saying how happy she was that she had acquired such a
treasure as a friend and companion ; Avished to know whether
I could not come with her immediately, as her carriage was
at the door, and went on for nearly ten minutes without a
check, asking fifty questions, and not permitting me to
answer one. At last I was able to reply to the most im-
portant, which was that I would be happy to come to her
on the fallowing morning, if she would send for me. She
insisted that I should come to breakfast, and I acceded to
her request, as Madame Bathurst, who was not an early riser,
71
VALERIE
would not be down at the hour mentioned, and I wished to
leave the house without seeing her again^ after our formal
adieu. Having arranged this, she appeared to be in a great
hurry to be off, and skipped out of the room before I could
ring the l)ell to order tlic carriage.
I completed mj^ prepai'ations for departure, and had some
dinner brought into my own room, sending down an excuse
for not joining Madame Bathurst, stating that I had a bad
headache, which was true enough. The next morning, long
before Madame Bathurst was up, I was driven to Baker
Street, Portman Square, where Lady R resided. I found
her ladyship in her robe de chambre.
" Well," said she, " this is delightful. My wishes are
crowned at last. I have passed a night of uncertainty,
rolling about between hopes and fears, as people always
do when they have so much at stake. Let me show you
your room."
I found a very well-furnished anartment prepared for me,
looking out upon the street.
" See, you have a front view," she said, " not extensive,
but still you can rise early and moralise. You can see
London Avake up. First, the drowsy policeman ; the tired
cabman, and more tired horse, after a night of motion, seeking
the stable and repose ; the housemaid, half-awake, dragging
on her clothes ; the kitchen-wench washing from the steps
the dirt of yesterday ; the milkmaid's falsetto, and the dust-
man's bass ; the bakers' boys, the early post-delivery, and
thus from units to tens, and from tens to tens of thousands,
and London stirs again. Thei'e is poetry in that, and now
let us down to breakfast. I always breakfast in my robe de
cliambre ; you must do the same, that is, if you like the
fashion. Where's the page .'' "
Lady R rang the bell of the sitting-room, which she
called a boudoir, and a lad of fourteen, in a blue blouse and
leather belt, made his appearance.
"Lionel, breakfast in a moment. Vanish, before the
leviathan can swim a league — bring up hot rolls and butter."
"Yes, my lady," replied the lad ))crtly, "I'll be up again
before the chap can swim a hundred yards ; " and he shot
out of the room in a second.
" There's virtue in that boy ; he has wit enough for a prime
72
VALERIE
minister, or a clown at Astley's. I picked hinj^up by a mere
chance ; he is one of my models."
What her ladyship meant by models I could not imagine,
but I soon found out. The return of the lad with breakfast
put an end to her talking for the time being. When we had
finished, the page wvas again summoned.
" Now then, Lionel, do your spiriting gently."
" I know," said the boy ; " I'm not to smash the cups and
saucers as I did yesterday."
The lad collected the breakfast things on a tray with
great rapidity, and disappeared with such a sudden turn
round, that I fully anticipated he would add to yesterday's
damage before he was down the stairs.
As soon as he was gone, Lady R coming up to me,
said —
"And now let me have a good look at you, and then I
shall be content for some time. Yes, I was not mistaken,
you are a perfect model, and must be my future heroine.
Yours is just the beauty that I required. There, that will
do, now sit down and let us converse. I often have wanted
a companion. As for an amanuensis, that is only a nominal
task ; I write as fast as most people, and I cannot follow my
ideas, let me scribble for life, as I may say ; ami as for my
writing being illegible, that's the compositor's concern, not
mine. It's his business to make it out, and therefore, I
never have mine copied. But I wanted a beautiful com-
panion and friend — I wouldn't have an ugly one for the
world, she would do me as much harm as you will do me
service."
" I am sure I hardly know how I am to do you service,
Lady R , if I do not write for you."
" I dare say not ; but when I tell you that I am more than
repaid by looking at you when I feel inclined, you will ac-
knowledge that you do me service ; but we will not enter
into metaphysics or psychological questions just now, it
shall all be explained by-and-by. And now the first service
I ask of you is, at once to leap over the dull fortnight of
gradual approaching, which at last ends in intimacy. I have
ever held it to be a proof of the suspiciousness of our natures,
and unworthy. You nuist allow me to call you V'alerie at
once, and I must entreat of you to call me Sempronia. Your
73
VALERIE
name is delightful, fit for a first-class heroine. My real
baptismal name is one that I have abjured, and if my god-
fathers and godmothers did give it to me, I throw it back to
them with contempt. What do you think it Avas .'' — Barbara.
Barbara, indeed ! ' My mother had a maid called Barbara,'
Shaks])eare says, and such a name should be associated with
brooms and yellow soap. Call me Sempronia from this time
forward, and you confer a favour on me. And now I must
write a little, so take a book and a seat on the sofa, for at
the opening of this chapter my heroine is exactly in that
position, 'in maiden meditation, fancy free.' "
CHAPTER VII
ijADY R sat down before her writing materials, and I
took my seat on the sofa, as she had I'equested, and Avas
soon occupied Avith my reading. I perceived that, as she
Avrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off her paper
and fixed them upon me. I presumed that she Avas de-
scribing me, and I Avas correct in my idea, for, in about half-
an-hour, she threw doAvn her pen, and cried —
"There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a
heroine that I ever drcAv ! Listen."
And her ladyship read to me a most flattering de-
scription of my SAveet person, couched in very high-flown
language.
" I think. Lady R ," said I, Avhen she had finished,
" that you are more indebted to your OAvn imagination than
to reality in draAving my portrait."
" Not so, not so, my dear Valerie. I may have done you
justice, but certainly not more. There is nothing like
having the living subject to Avrite from. It is the same
as painting or draAving : it only can be true Avhen draAvn
from nature ; in fact, Avhat is Avriting but painting Avith
the pen ?"
As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in
Avith a letter on a Avaiter, and hearing her observation, as he
handed the letter, he impudently observed —
74
VALERIE
" Here's somebody been jjainting your name on the out-
side of this paper ; and as there's sevenpenee to pay, I think
it's rather dear for such a snnidge."
" You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel,"
repUed Lady R ; " the contents may be worth pounds.
It is not prepossessing, I grant, in its superscription, but may,
like the toad, ugly and venomous, wear a precious jewel in
its head. That was a vulgar error of former days, Lionel,
which Shaksjjeare has taken advantage of."
"Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a fine rate," replied
the boy, as Lady R opened the letter and read it.
" You may go, Lionel," said she, putting the letter down.
" I just wanted to know, now that you've opened your
toad, if you have found the jewel, or whether it's a vulgar
error .-^ "
"It's a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel," replied her
ladyship, "and concerns you; it is from the shoemaker at
Brighton, who requests me to pay him eighteen shillings for
a pair of boots ordered by you, and not paid for."
" Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough ; but
it's impossible for me always to recollect my own affairs, I
am so busy with looking after yours."
" Well, but now you are reminded of tlipm, Lionel, j^ou had
better give me the money, and I will send it to him."
At this moment Lady R stooped from her chair to
pick up her handkerchief. There were some sovereigns
lying on the desk, and the lad, winking his eye at me,
took one up, and, as Lady R rose up, held it out to her
in silence.
" That's right, Lionel," said Lady R — ; " I like honesty."
" Yes, madame," replied the impudent rogue, very de-
murely ; " like most people who tell their own stories, I Avas
born of honest but poor parents."
" I believe your jiarents were honest ; and now, Lionel, to
reward you, I shall pay for your boots, and you may keep
your sovereign."
"Thank your ladyship," replied the lad. "I forgot to say
that the cook is outside for orders."
Lady R rose, and went out of the room ; and Mr.
Lionel, laughing at me, put the sovereign down with the
others.
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VALERIE
"Now, I call that real honesty. You saw nie borrow it,
and now you see nie pay it."
" Yes ; but suppose her ladyship had not piven you the
sovereign, how would it have been then?" said I.
" I should have paid her very honestly," replied he. " If
I wished to cheat her, or rob her, I might do so all day
long. She leaves her money about everywhere, and never
knows what she has ; besides, if I wanted to steal, I should
not do so with those bright eyes of yours looking at me
all the time."
"You are a very saucy boy," replied I, more amused than
angry.
" It's all from reading, and it's not my fault ; for her lady-
ship makes me read, and I never yet read any book about
old times in which the jiages were not saucy ; but I've no
time to talk just now — my spoons are not clean yet;" so
saying, he quitted the room.
I did not know whether I ought to inform her ladyship of
this freak of her page's ; but as the money was returned, I
thought I had better say nothing for the present. I soon
found out that the lad was correct in asserting that she was
careless of her money, and that, if he chose, he might pilfer
without chance of discovery ; and moreover, that he really
was a good and honest lad, only full of mischief and very
impudent ; owing, however, to Lady R 's treatment of
him, for she rather encouraged his impudence than other-
wise. He was certainly a very clever, witty boy, and a
very quick servant ; so quick, indeed, at his work, that
it almost appeared as if he never had anything to do ;
and he had plenty of time for reading, which he was very
fond of
Lady R returned, and i-esumed her writing.
"You sing, do you not.-' I think Mrs. Batlnu'st told me
you were very harmonious. Now, Valerie, do me a favour :
I want to hear a voice carolling some melodious ditty. I
shall describe it so much better if I really heard you sing.
I do like reality. Of course, you nnjst sing without music;
for my country girl cannot be crossing the mead with a piano
in one hand and a j)ail of water in the other."
"I should think not," replied I, laughing; "but am I not
too near ? "
76
Hnntedi?! ftins
VALERIE
" Yes, ratlier ; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on the
first floor ]<uuHn<>- ; but I could not be so rude as to send you
out of" the room."
"But I will go without sending," replied I; and I did
so, and having arrived at my station, I sang a little French
refrain, which I thought would answer her ladyship's pur-
j)ose. On my return her ladyship was writing furiously, and
did not appear to notice my entrance. I took my seat
quietly, and in about ten minutes she again threw down
the pen, exclaiming —
" I never wrote so effective a chapter ! Valerie, you are
more precious to me than fine gold ; and as Shy lock said of
his ring, ' I would not change thee for a Avilderness of
monkeys.' I make the quotation as expressive of your
value. It was so kind-hearted of you to comply with my
wish. You don't know an author's feelings. You have
no idea how our self-love is flattered by success, and that
we value a good passage in our works more than anything
else in existence. Now, you have so kindly administered
to my ruling passion twice in one morning, that I love you
exceedingly. I dare say you think me very odd, and people
say that I am so ; I may ask you to do many odd things
for me, but I shall never ask 3'ou to do what a lady may
not do, or what would be incorrect for you to do, or for
me to propose— that you may depend upon, Valerie ; and
now I close my manuscript for the present, being well
satisfied with the day's work."
Lady R rang the bell, and on Lionel making his ap-
pearance, she desired him to take away her writing materials,
put her money into her purse — if he knew where the purse
was — and then asked him what were her engagements for
the evening.
"I know ire have an engagement," re])lied the boy; "I
can't recollect it, but I shall find it in the drawing-i'oom."
He went out, and in a miiuite returned.
" I have found it, my lady," said he. " Here's the ticket :
Mrs. Allwood at home, nine o'clock."
" Mrs. Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a literary lady, and her
parties are very agreeable."
The page looked at me from behind Lady R 's chair,
and shook his head in dissent.
77
VALERIE
" Shall we go ? " continued Lady R .
"If you please, niadame," replied I.
" Well then, we will take a drive before dinner, and
the evening after dinner shall be dedicated to the feast of
reason and the flow of soul. Dear me, how I have inked
my fingers ! I must go upstairs and wash them."
As soon as Lady R left the room. Master Lionel
began —
"^ Feast of reason and flow of soul; I don't like such
entertainment. Give me a good supper and plenty of cham-
pagne."
" Why, what matter can it make to you ? " said I, laughing.
" It matters a good deal. I object to literary parties,"
replied he. " In the first place, for one respectable carriage
driving up to the door, there are twenty cabs and jarveys, so
tliat the company isn't so good ; and then at parties, Avhen
tliere is a good supper, I get my share of it in the kitchen.
You don't think we are idle down below. I have been to
Mrs. AUwood's twice, and there's no supper, nothing but
feast of reason, Avhich remains upstairs, and they're welcome
to my share of it. As for the drink, it's negus and cherry-
water ; nothing else, and if the flow of soul is not better
than such stuff, they may have my share of that also. No
music, no dancing, nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz. Won't
you feel it stupid r "
"Why, one would think you had been upstairs instead of
down, Lionel."
" Of course I am. They press all who have liveries into
the service, and I hand the cakes about rather than kick for
hours at the legs of the kitchen-table. I hear all that's said
just as well as the company, and I've often thought that I
could have given a better answer than I've heard some of
your great literaries. When I hand the cakes to-night, take
them I point out to you — they'll be the best."
" Why, how can you tell .'' "
" Because I try them all before I come into the room."
" You ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it."
" All comes of reading, miss," replied he. " I read that in
former times great people, kings and princes and so on,
always had their victuals tasted first, lest there should be
poison in them ; so I taste upon that princijile, and I have
78
VALERIE
been half-poisoned sometimes at these cheap parties ; but
I'm gettinj;- cunning, and wlien I meet a suspicious-looking
])iece of pastry, I leave it for the company ; but I can't wait
to talk any longer, miss, I must give coachman his orders."
"I never asked you to talk, Mr. Lionel," said L
"No, you didn't; but still I know you like to hear me,
you can't deny that. Now, to use my lady's style, I am to
tell the coachman to put a gii'dle round the Park in forty
minutes ; " so saying, the lad vanislicd, as he usually did, in
a second.
The lad was certainly right when he said that I did like to
hear him talk, for he amused me so much that I forgave his
impudence and fixmiliarily. Shortly afterwards, we went out
in the carriage, and having driven two or three times round
the Park, returned home to dinner. At ten o'clock we Avent
to Mrs. Allwoods partv. I was introduced to a great many
literary stars, whom I had never before heard of; but the
person who attracted the most attention was a Russian count,
who had had his ears and nose cut off by the Turks. It
certainly did not add to his beauty, however it might have
to his interest. However, Lionel was right. It was a very
stupid party to me ; all talking at once, and constantly on
the move to find fresh listeners ; it tvas all buzz, buzz, buzz,
and I was glad when the carriage was announced. Such
were the events of the first day which I passed under the
roof of Lady R .
Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of most
others, and a month passed rapidly away. Each day, how-
ever, was marked with some peculiar eccentricity on her
part ; but these diverted me. I was often requested to do
strange things in my position as a model ; but with all her
oddities Lady R was a gentlewoman in manner and in
feeling ; and what I should certainly ha\e refused to any
one else, I did for her without reluctance. I now called
lier Sempronia, as she requested, and, moreover, I became
very intimate with Master Lionel, who would be intimate,
whether or no, and who, like Lady R , was a source of
great amusement. At times, when I was alone and com-
muned with myself, I could not help surveying my peculiar
position. I was engaged at a large salary — for wliat ? to
look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to do nothing.
79
VALERIE
This was not flatterin^f to my talents (such as I had), but
still I was treated with kindness and confidence ; was the
companion of her ladyship ; was introduced and taken to
all the parties to which she was askcd^ and never made to
feel my dependence. I had already imbibed a strong friend-
ship for Lady II , and I was therefore content to remain.
One morning she said to me —
" My dear \'alerie, do me the favour to tighten the laces
of my stays."
She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown.
" Oh, tighter yet ; as tight as you can draw them. That
will do nicely."
" Why, you can hardly breathe, Sempronia."
" But I can Avrite, my dear child, and, as I before observed,
the mind and the body influence each other. I am about to
write a strictly moral dialogue, and I never could do it unless
I am strait-laced. Now I feel fit for the wife of Cato and of
Rome."
A few days afterwards she amused me st'U more. After
writing about half-an-hour, she threw down her pen —
" I never can do it ; come upstairs, my dear Valerie, and
help me off with my stays. I must be a rabmidoti."
I followed her, and having removed these impediments,
we returned to the boudoir.
"There," said she, sitting down, "I think I shall manage
it now : I feel as if I could."
" Manage what ? " inquired I.
" My dear, I am about to write a love scene, very warm
and impassioned, and I could not do it, confined as I was.
Now that I am loose, I can give loose to the reins of my
imagination, and delineate with the arrow of Cupid's self.
My heroine is reclining, with her hand on her cheek ; put
yourself in that attitude, ni}' dear, dear Valerie, as if you
were meditating upon the prolonged absence of one dear to
you. Exactly — beautiful— true to nature — but I forgot, a
page enters — don't move, I'll ring the bell."
Lionel answered quickly, as usual.
" Here, Lionel, I want you to ))lay the page."
" I've no time for ))lay, my lady ; I'm page in earnest.
There's all the knives to clean."
" Never mind the knives just now. Observe, Lionel, you
"so
VALERIli
are supposed to be sent ;i message to that lovely girl, who is
sitting absorbed in a soft X'everie. You enter her presence
unperceived, and are struck with her beauty ; you lean
against a tree, in a careless but graceful attitude, with
your eyes fixed upon her lovely features. Now lean
against the door, as I liave described, and then I shall be
able to write."
I could not help smiling at the absurdity of this scene,
the more so as Lionel, just jxissing his fingers through his
hair, and then pulling up his shirt collar, took his position,
saying —
" Now, Miss \^alerie, we'll see who performs best : I
think you will be sooner tired of sitting than I shall be of
looking at you."
" Excellent, Lionel ! — exactly the position that I wished,"
said Lady li , scribbling as fast as she could; "that
stare of yours is true to nature — Cymon and Iphigenia —
a perfect tableau ! — don't move, I beg ; I only require ten
minutes."
I looked up at Master Lionel, and he made such a grimace^
that I could hardly keep my countenance, and I did not
exactly feel satisfied at thus performing, as it were, with a
servant ; but still, that servant was Lionel, who was very un-
like other servants. In ten minutes, as promised, we were
released, much to my satisfaction. Lionel went off to clean
his knives, and I took up my book, and really, when I per-
ceived the delight of Lady R , at what she called her
success, I no longer felt anything like annoyance at having
complied with her wishes.
One morning, when Lady R had walked out, and
the page, Lionel, was in the room, I entered into con-
versation with him, and asked how it was that he had
been so much better educated than were lads in his position
in general.
"That's a question that I often ask myself. Miss Valerie,"
replied he, "as they say in some autobiographies. The
first recollection I have of myself was finding myself, walk-
ing two-and-two, in a suit of pepper-and-salt, along with
about twenty other very little boys, at a cheap preparatory
school, kept by the Misses Wiggins. There I remained
— nobody came to see me : other boys talked of their papas
81 F
VALERIE
and mammas — I liad none to talk about ; they went liome
at the holidays, and brought back toys and plumcakes — I
enjoyed my holidays alone, scraping holes in the gravel,
for want of better employment, between my meals, and
perhaps not opening my mouth, or hearing the sound of
my own voice, more than three or four times in the twenty-
four hours. As I had plenty of time for reflection during
the vacations, as I grcAv bigger, I began to imagine that
somehow or another I must have had a father and mother,
like the other boys, and began to make very impertinent
(as I Avas told) inquiries about them. The Misses Wiggins
gave me a good wigging, as they call it, for my unwarranted
curiosity, jwinting out the indelicacy of entering upon such
subjects; and thus was my mouth stopped.
" At last I grew up too big for the school, and was not
to be managed by two old maids, and I presume it was
through their representations that I was at last honoured
by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman above fifty,
whom I never saw before. I ventured to put the for-
bidden questions to her, and she replied that I had neither
father nor mother ; that they were both dead, and that I
was educated by the kindness of a great lady whose de-
pendants they had been, and that the great lady would
call and see me perhaps, or if she did not w'ould send
for me, and do something for me. Well, about four
years ago (I was then twelve years old, I was told, but
my idea is that I am older than they say), I was sent for
by Lady R , and at first I was dressed in a turban
and red jacket, and sat on the floor. I was told that I
was to be her page, and I liked it very much, as I did
nothing but run messages and read books, which I was
very fond of, and Lady R took some pains with me ;
but as I grew bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate,
and by degrees descended from the drawing-room to the
kitchen.
" My finery was not renewed ; at first I had a ^ilain
suit, and did my work under the footman ; and two years
ago, when the footman was sent away, rather than be
under the orders of another I volunteered to do the work,
which 1 have done ever since, and now receive high wages,
and wear sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive. Now, Miss
82
VALERIE
Valerie, that's all I knoAV of myself, but I suspect that
Lady II knows more; still, it may be that wliat the
old woman told )ne was correct, and that I was the child
of one of her favourite dependants, and was educated by
her in the manner that I was, for you know how many
odd things she does."
" What is your otlier name, Lionel ? "
" Bedingfield, I am told, is my name," replied he.
" Have you ever spoken to Lady R ," inquired I,
"relative to your parents?"
" I once did ; but she said they were Sir Richard's people,
not hers (that is, her father's, the late baronet's), and that
she knew nothing about them, except that my father Avas
a steward or bailiff to him in the country, and that he
had left directions that she should do something for me.
Her ladyship did not appear to be inclined to talk about
them much, and sent me away as soon as she had told me
what I now repeat to you ; however, I have found out
something since that — but there's her ladyship's knock ; "
so saying, Lionel vanished.
Soon after her ladyship's return, Madame Gironac, who
had called upon me two or three times, was ainiounced.
I Avent out of the room, and Avhen I met her in the dining-
parlour, she told me that she had brought some of her
imitations of floAvers on Avax, to show them to her lady-
ship. I immediately Avent up, and asked Lady R • if
she Avould like to see them ; to which projiosal she assented.
When Madame Gironac displayed her performances, Avhich
were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship Avas delighted,
and purchased several of them, after Avhich I again Avent
downstairs, and had a long conversation Avith my Avarm-
hearted little friend.
" I don't like this situation of yours, mademoiselle," said
she, "nor does my husband. Now I Avas thinking, Made-
moiselle de Chatcnccuf, that it Avould not be a bad plan if
you Avere to learn hoAV to make those HoAvers. I Avill teach
you for nothing ; and I Avill teach you Avhat I never teach my
pu))ils, Avhich is, hoAv to prepare the Avax, and a great many
other little secrets which are AA'orth knoAving."
" I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame," rej)lied
I ; " but I can afford to pay you for your time and trouble,
83
VAI.EUIR
and must insist upon doing so ; if not, I will not be your
pupil."
"Well, veil, we nuist not quarrel about that. I know
that no one likes to be under an obligation, especially one
like you. But learn you must — so let us arrange for the
lessons."
I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R ,
I a])plied mvself so assiduously to the art, that, with the
unreserved communications of Madame (Jironac, I became a
proficient, and could equal her own performances — Madame
Gironac declared that I excelled her, because I had more
taste. But to return.
After I had j^arted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs,
and found Lady R sitting at the table, looking at the
purchases she had made.
" My dear \'alerie," cried she, " you don't know how you
have obliged me by introducing that little woman and her
flowers. What a delightful and elegant employment for a
heroine to undertake — so ladylike ! I have determined that
mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax. I
am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circum-
stances, and did not well know how she was to gain her
livelihood, but, thanks to you, that is selected, and in a
most charming and satisfjictory manner. It is so hard to
associate povei'ty with clean hands."
About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversa-
tion, Lady R said —
" My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you. The season
is nearly over, and, what is more important, my third volume
will be complete in a fortnight. Last night, as I was wooing
Somnus in vain, an idea came into my head. I proposed
going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know, but
last night I made up my mind that Ave would go over the
water ; but whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris,
or anywhere else, I cannot say, but certainly La Belle
France. Mow do you like the idea.'' I think of making
a sort of sentimental journey. We will seek adventures.
Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia ? I with 'gallant
curtal axe,' dressed as a youth. Shall we be mad, Valerie .''
What say you ?"
I hardly knew what to sav. Lady R appeared to
84
VALERIE
have a most unusual freak in her head, and to be a little
more odd than usual. Now I had no wish to go to France,
as I might fall in with people wlioni I did not wish to
see ; and, moreover, from wliat I had heard of her ladyshij)'s
adventures in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of
many, I may saj^, who fancy that they may do as they please
out of their own country, and I certainly did not wish to
figure in her train. I therefore replied —
" I knoAV my own country well, Lady R , and there
cannot be a less eligible one for a masquerade. We should
meet with too many dcsagrcmens, if unprotected by male
society, and our journey would be anything but senti-
mental. But if you do go to France, does Lionel accom-
pany you .'' "
" Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn
the language. I think I shall take him. He is a clever
boy."
*' Very," replied I ; "where did you pick him up?"
"He is a son of my late father's — ('a son of,' exclaimed
I) — tenant, or something, I was going to say," continued
Lady R , colouring ; " but I could not recollect exactly
what the man was. Bailiff, I think. I know nothing about
his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard
before he died."
" Recommended as a servant .'' " replied I ; " he appears
to me to be too good for so menial a position."
" I have made him above his jiosition, Valei'ie ; not that
he was recommended as a servant, but recommended to
my care. Perhaps some day I may be able to do more
for him. You know that we are to go to Lady G 's
ball to-night. It will be a very brilliant affair. She gives
but one during the season, and she alwa3's does the thing in
good st)'le. Bless me, how late it is ! Tlie carriage will be
round in two minutes ; I've a round of visits to Jiay."
" Will you excuse me ? I have promised to take a lesson
of Madame Gironae."
" V^ery true ; then I must enter upon my melancholy task
alone. What can be so absurd as a rational and innnortal
soul going about distributing pasteboard ! "
We went to Lady G -'s ball, which was very splendid.
I had been dancing, for all hough I was not considered,
VALERIE
probably, good enough among the young aristocrats to be
made a partner for Hfe, as a partner in a waltz or quadrille
I was rather in recpiest, for the odium of governess had not
yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that
capacity in the metro])olis, where I was unknown. I had
but a short time taken my seat by Lady R , when the
latter sprang off in a great hurry, after what I could not
tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a lady,
whom I immediately recognised as a Lady M , who had,
with her daughters, composed a portion of the company at
Madame Bathurst's country seat.
"Have you forgotten me. Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf .'' "
said Lady M , extending her hand.
" No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well. I
hope your daughters are also quite well .'' "
" Thank you ; they look very well in the evening, but
rather pale in the morning. It is a terrible thing a London
season, very trying to the constitution ; but what can we
do ? We must be out and be seen everywhere, or we lose
caste — so many balls and parties every night. The fjict is,
that if girls are not married during the three first seasons
after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all
the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising
to the other sex, are almost gone. No constitution can
withstand the fatigue. I've often compared our young
ladies to the carriage-horses — they are both worked to death
during the season, and then turned out to grass in the
country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the
next winter. It really is a horrible life ; but girls must be
got off. I wish mine were, for what Avith fatigue and
anxiety, I'm worn to a shadow. Come, Mademoiselle de
Chatenanif, let us go into the next room. It is cooler, and
we shall be more ([uict ; take my arm : perhaps Ave shall
meet the girls."
I accepted her ladyship's invitation, and we went into the
next room, and took a seat u])on a sofa in a recess.
" Here we can talk without being overheard," said Lady
M . " And now, my dear young lady, I know that you
liave left Madame Rathurst, but why I did not know. Is it
a secret ? "
" No, mj' lady ; when Caroline W'cnt away, I Avas of no
86
VALERIE
further use, and therefore I did not wish to remain. You
may, perliaps, know tliat I went to Madame Bathurst's on
a visit, and that an unforeseen change of circumstances
induced nie to remain for some time as instructress to
her niece."
" I heard something of that sort — a kind of friendly
arrangement, at which Madame Bathurst had good cause to
be content. I'm sm-e I shoukl have been, had I been so
fortunate ; and now you are residing with Lady II : may
I inquire, without presuming too nnich, in what capacity
you are with Lady 11 .''"
" I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written
a line. Lady R is pleased to consider me as a com-
panion, and 1 must say that she has behaved to me with
great kindness and consideration."
" I have no doubt of it," replied Lady M ; " but still
it appears to me (excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to
a feeling of goodwill), that your position with Lady R
is not quite what those who have an interest in you would
wish. Every one knows how odd she is, to say the least of
it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her
tongue outruns her discretion. In your presence she of
course is on her guard, for she is really good-natured, and
would not willingly offend any one or hurt their feelings ;
but when led away by her desire to shine in company, she
is very indiscreet. I have been told that at Mrs. W 's
dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited,
on your name being brought uj), she called you her charm-
ing model, I think was the phrase, and on an explanation
being demanded of the term, she said you stood for her
hei'oines, putting yourself in postures and positions while
she drew from nature, as she termed it ; and that, moreover,
on being complimented on the idea, and some of the young
men offering, or rather intimating, that they would be de-
lighted to stand or kneel at your feet, as the hei'o of the
tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their services,
as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that
portion of the work. Surely this cannot be true, my dear
Mademoiselle de Chatentruf ?"
Oh ! how my blood boiled when I heard tliis.
How far it was true, the reader already knows ; but
87
VALERIE
the manner in ■which it was conveyed by Lady M
quite horrified nie. I coloured up to the temples, and
replied —
" Lady M , that Lady R has very often, Avhen I
have been sitting, and she has been writinjr, told me that
she was taking me as a model for her lieroine, is very
true ; but I have considered it as a mere whim of hers,
knowing how very eccentric she is. I little thought from
my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I
should have been so mortified as I have been by what
you have communicated to me. That she must have
been indiscreet is certain, for it was known only to herself
and me."
"And the footman."
" Footman, my lady .'' There is a boy — a sort of page —
there."
" Exactly ; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert
boy, who is much indulged by Lady R , and if report
says true, is nearer related to her than she is willing to
acknowledge. Did you never observe that there is a strong
likeness } "
" Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me."
" And, I fear, have also annoyed you. But," continued
Lady M , laying her hand on mine, "I thought it kinder
to let you know your peculiar position than to sneer and
ridicule, as others do, behind your back. This is a sad
wf)rld in one respect ; if there is any scandal or false report
sj)read against us, it is known to every one but ourselves.
We cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our
friend as to tell us of it. The poison is allowed to circulate
Avithout the power being given to us of applying an anti-
dote — so hollow is friendship in this world. My dear
mademoiselle, I have done otherwise ; whether you thank
me for it or not, I cainiot tell ; perhaps not, for those
who communicate unpleasant intelligence are seldom looked
kindly upon."
" Lady M ," rcj)lied I, " I do thank you most heartily.
I do consider that 3'ou have acted a friendly part. That I
have been dreadfully shocked and mortified, I admit," con-
tinued I, wiping away the tears that foi'ced their passage ;
" but I shall not give an opportunity for future unjust
88
VALERIE
insinuations or remarks, as I liave made up my mind that I
shall leave Lady H as soon as possible."
" My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you
accjuainted with what I knew would, to a person of your
sensitive mind, be the cause of your quitting the protection
of Lady 11 without having considered whether an
equivalent could not be offered to you ; and I am happy
to say that 1 can offer you a home, and I trust comfort
and consideration, if you will accept of them. The fact
is, that had I known that you had any idea of quitting
Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then —
now I do so with all sincerity ; but at })resent you are
agitated and annoyed, and I Avill say no more. If I
send the carriage for you to-morrow at two o'clock, will
you do me the favour to come and see me .'' I would call
upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R would
be a check to our free converse. Say, my dear, will you
come } "
I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M then rose,
and giving me her arm, we walked back to the bench which
I had left, where I found Lady R in a hot dispute with
a Member of Parliament. I sat down by her unnoticed,
and Lady M having smiled an adieu, I was left to my
own reflections, which were anything but agreeable. My
head ached dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R 's
warm antagonist j^erceived it, and pointed it out to her,
saying —
"Your prot<^gt'e is not well, I fear. Lady R ."
I replied to Lady R , "that I had a violent headache,
and wished to get home, if it were possible."
She immediately consented, and showed great concern.
As soon as we were home, I need hardly say that I hastened
to my room.
I sat down and pressed my forehead with my hands : my
knowledge of the world was increasing too fast. I began
to hate it — hate men, and women even more • than men.
What lessons had I learnt within the last year. First
Madame d'Albret, then Madame Bathui-st, and now Lady
R . Was there no such thing as friendshi]) in the world
— no such thing as generosity .'' In my excited state it
appeared to me that there was not. All was false and
8J)
VALERIE
hollow. Self was the idol of mankind, and all worshipped
at its altar. After a time I became more composed ; I
thought of little Madame Gironac, and the i-ecollection of
her disinterested kindness put me in a better frame of mind.
Mortified as I was, I could not help feeling that it was only
the vanity of Lady 11 , and her desire to shine, to which
I had been made a sacrifice, and that she had no intention
of wounding my feelings. Still, to remain with her after
■what had been told to me by Lady M was impossible.
And then I reflected upon what steps I should take. I
did not like to tell Lady R the real grounds of my
leaving her. I thought it would be prudent to make some
excuse and part good friends. At last it occurred to me
that her intention of going to France would be a good
excuse. I could tell her that I was afraid of meeting my
relatives.
Having decided upon this point, I then canvassed the
words of Lady M . What could she offer me in
her house .'' She had three daughters, but they were all
out, as the phrase is, and their education supposed to be
completed. This was a mystery I could not solve, and I
was obliged to give up thinking about it, and at last I
fell asleep. The next morning I woke up, jaded in mind,
and with a bad headache, but I dressed and went down
to breakfast. Lady R asked after my health, and then
said —
" I observed you talking very confidently with Lady
M . I was not aware that you knew her. Between
ourselves, Valei'ie, she is one of my models."
"Indeed," replied I, "I do not think that her ladyship is
aware of the honour conferred ujion her."
" Very likely not ; but in the last Avork she was portrayed
to the life. Lady M is a schemer, always plotting;
her great object now is to get her three daughters well
marded."
" I believe that most mothers wish that, Lady R ."
" I grant it, and ])erhaps manoeuvre as much, but with
more skill than she does, for every one sees the game that
she is playing, and the consequence is that the young men
shy off, wliich they probably would not if she were quiet,
for thev arc really clever, unaffected, and natural girls, very
90
VALERIE
obliging, and without any pride. But how came you to be
so intimate with Lady M ?"
" Lady M and her eldest daughter were staying for
some time with Madame Bathurst in the country when I
was there."
"Oh, I understand, that accounts for it."
" I am going to call upon Lady M , if she sends
her carriage for me," replied L "She told me that she
would, if she could, at two o'clock. She has proposed
my paying her a visit ; I presume it will be after she leaves
town."
" But that you will not be able to do, Valerie ; you forget
our trip to France."
"I did not think that you were serious," replied I; "you
mentioned it as the resolution of a night, and I did not
know that you might not think differently upon further
consideration."
"Oh no, my resolutions are hastily formed, but not often
given up. Go to Paris we certainly shall."
" If you are determined upon going. Lady R , I am
afraid that I cannot accompany you."
"Indeed!" exclaimed her ladyship in surprise. "May I
ask why not .'' "
"Simply because I might meet those I am most anxious
to avoid ; there is a portion of my history that you are not
acquainted with. Lady R , which I will now make known
to you."
I then told her as much as I thought necessary relative
to my parents, and stated my determination not to run the
risk of meeting them. Lady R argued, persuaded,
coaxed, and scolded, but it was all in vain ; at last she
became seriously angry, and left the room. Lionel soon
afterwards made his appearance, and said to me, in his usual
familiar way —
" What's the matter. Miss Valerie ? The governess is in a
rage about something ; she gave me a box on the ear."
" I suppose you deserved it, Lionel," replied I.
"Well, there may be differences of ojiinion about that,"
replied the boy. " She went on scolding me at such a rate
that I was quite astonished, and all aljout nothing. She
blew up cook — didn't she — blew her half up the chimney —
VALERIE
and tlien she was at me ajrain. At last I could bear it no
longer, and 1 said, ' Don't flare up, my lady.'
'■ 'Don't my lady me,' cried she, 'or I'll box your ears.'
" Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my
lad}', I thought she was angry with me for the same reason,
so I said, * Sempronia, keep your temper,' — and didn't I get
a box on the ear."
I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool im-
pudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air
of injured innocence.
"Indeed, Lionel," said I at last, "you well deserved the
box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R ,
you will find that you must behave with proj^er respect to
those above you ; if not, you will not remain an hour in any
other house. Lady R is very odd and very good-
temj)ered, and permits more liberties than any other person
would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R is dis-
pleased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with
her, and I have refused."
" Then you are going to leave us ? " inquired Lionel
mournfully.
" I suppose so/' replied I.
"Then I shall go, too," said the boy. "I'm tired of it."
" But why should you go, Lionel ? You may not find
another situation half so comfortable."
" I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the
hope that I maj'^ find out from her ladyshij:) who and what
my parents Avere, and she will not tell me. I shall live by
my wits, never fear ; ' the world's my oyster,' as Shakspeare
sa^s, and I think I've wit enough to ojjcn it."
I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M
relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me
surmise that there was some mystery, and on examination
of his countenance, there jvas a family likeness to Lady
R . I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter
upon the subject when I brought it up.
" But, Lionel," said I, after a ])ause, "what is it that makes
you suppose that Lady R conceals who were your
jiarents.'' When we last talked on the subject, you said j'ou
had found out something : she told me that your father was
a bailiff or steward to Sir Richard."
92
VALERIA
" Which I have proved to be false. She told me that my
father was Sir Richard's butler ; tliat I have also discovered
to be false ; for one day the old housekeeper, who called
upon me at school, came here, and was closeted with Lady
R for half-an-hour. When she went away, I called a
hackney-coach for her, and getting behind it, went home
with her to her lodgings. When I fov.nd out where she
lived, I hastened back innnediately, that 1 might not be
missed, intending to have made a call upon her. The next
day Lady R gave me a letter to put in the twopenny-
post ; it was directed to a Mrs. Green, to the very house
where the hackney-coach had stopped, so I knew it was for
the old housekeeper. Instead of putting the letter in the
post, I kept it till the evening, and then took it myself
" ' Mrs. Green,' said I, for I found her at home with
another old woman sitting over their tea, ' I have brought
you a letter from Lady R .' This is about a year ago.
Miss Valerie.
" ' Mercy on me ! ' said she, ' how strange that Lady R
should send you liere.'
" ' Not strange that she should send a letter by a servant,'
said I, 'only strange that I should be a servant.'
" I said this. Miss Valerie, as a random throw, just to see
what answer she Avould make.
"'Why, who has been telling you anything.''' said she,
looking at me through her spectacles.
"'Ah,' replied I, 'that's what I must keep to myself, for
I'm under a promise of secrecy.'
" ' Mercy on me ! it couldn't be — no, that's impossible,'
muttered the old Avoman, as she opened the letter and took
out a bank-note, which she crumpled up in her hand. She
then commenced reading the letter. I walked a little way
from her, and stood between her and the window. Every
now and then she held the letter up to the candle, and when
the light was strong upon it I could read a line from where I
stood, for I have been used to her ladyship's writing, as you
know. One line I read was, ' remains still at Culverwood
Hall ;' another was, 'the only person now left in Essex.' I
also saw the words 'secrecy' and 'ignorant' at the bottom
of the page. The old woman finished the letter at last, but
it took her a good while to get through it.
93
VALERIE
" ' Well/ sa\-s she, ' have you anything more to say ? '
"No/ says I; 'you are well paid for your secrecy, Mrs.
Green.'
" ' What do you mean .'' ' said she.
'"Oh, I'm not quite so ignorant as you suppose,' replied I.
" ' Ignorant,' said she, confused ; ' ignorant of what ? '
" ' When were you last in Essex .'' ' said I.
'"When, Avhy ? — what's that to you, you impudent boy .'*'
"'Nay, then I'll put another question to you. How long
is it since you were at Culverwood Hall .'■'
" ' Culverwood Hall! What do you know about Culver-
wood Hall ?— the boy's mad, I believe ; go away, you've done
your message: if you don't, I'll tell her ladyship.'
" ' Certainly, Mrs. Green,' said I. ' I wish you a good
night.'
" I left the room, slamming the door, but not allowing the
catch to fall in, so that I held it a little ajar, and then I
heard Mrs. Green say to the other woman —
'"Somebody's been with that boy; I wonder who it can
be ? He's put me in such a flurry. Well, these things will
out.'
" ' Yes, yes, it's like murder,' replied the other ; ' not
that I know what it's all about, only I see there's a secret —
perhaps you'll tell me, Mrs. Green ? '
" ' All I dare tell you is that there is a secret,' replied Mrs.
Green, ' and the boy has got an inkling of it somehow or
another. I must see my lady — no, I had better not,' added
she ; * for she is so queer that she 11 swear that I've told him.
Now there's only one besides myself and her ladyship who
knows anything, and I'll swear that he could not have been
with the boy, for he's bedridden. I'm all of a puzzle, and
that's the truth. What a wind there is; why, the boy has
left the door open. Boys never shut doors.'
" Mrs. Green got up and slammed the door to, and I
walked off; and now, Miss Valerie, that's all that I know of
the matter. But why I should be sent to a good school and
wear pepper-and-salt, and be taken away to be made first
a page, and now a footman, I can't tell ; but you must
acknowledge that there is some mystery, after what I have
told you."
"It certainly is strange, Lionel," replied I, "but my
94
VALERIE
advice is, that you remain patiently till you can find it out,
which by leaving Lady II you are not likely to do."
" I don't know tiiat, Miss Valerie ; let me get down to
Culverwood Hall, and I think I would find out sometliing,
or my wits were given me to no purpose. But I hear her
ladyship coming upstairs ; so good-bye, Miss Valerie."
And Lionel made a hasty retreat.
Lady R slowly ascended the stairs, and came into the
room. Her violence had been exhausted, but she looked
sullen and moody, and I could hardly recognise her ; for I
must do her the justice to say, that I had never before seen
her out of temper. She sat down in her chair, and I asked
her whether I should bring her her Avriting materials.
"A pi-etty state I am in to wi'ite/' replied she, leaning her
elbows on the table, and })ressing her hands to her eyes.
" You don't know what a rage I have been in, and how I
have been venting it upon innocent i^eople. I struck that
poor boy — shame on me ! Alas ! I was born with violent
passions, and they have been my curse through life. I had
hoped that years had somewhat subdued them, but they will
occasionally master me. What would I not give to have had
your placid temper, Valerie ! How much unhappiness I
should have been spared ! How much error shoulcl I have
avoided ! I was going to say, how much crime."
Lady R was evidently more talking to herself than to
me when she said the last words, and I therefore made no
reply. A silence of more than a quarter of an hour followed,
which was broken by Lionel coming in, and announcing the
carriage of Lady M .
"That woman is the cause of all this," said Lady R-
" I am sure that she is. Pray do not wait, Valerie. Go
and see her. I shall be better company when you come
back."
I made no reply, but left the room, and putting on my
bonnet, was driven to Lady M 's. She received me witli
great cordiality, and so did her daughters, who were in the
room ; but they were dismissed by their mother, who then
said, "I told you last night, my dear Mademoiselle dc Chate-
nceuf, that I wished you to reside with me. You may say in
what capacity, and I acknowledge that I hardly know what
answer to give. Not as governess, certainly, for I consider it
95
Valerie
an odious position, and one that I could not offer you ; in-
deed,, my girls do not require teacliing, as they liave finished
their studies ; in only one thing you could be of advantage to
them in that respect, which is in music and singing. But I
wish you to come as their companion, as I am convinced that
they will gain much by your so doing. I wish you, therefore,
to be considered by others as a visitor at the house, but at
the same time I nuist insist, that from the advantages my
girls will derive from your assisting them in music and sing-
ing, you will accept the same salary per annum which you
have from Lady 11 . Do you understand me .'' I wish
you to I'emain with me, not as a model after the idea of
Lady R , but as a model for my girls to take pattern by.
I shall leave it to yourself to act as you please. I am sure
my girls like you already, and will like you better. I do not
think that I can say more, except that I trust you will not
refuse my offer."
There was a delicacy and kindness in this proposal on the
part of Lady M which I felt gratefully ; but it appeared
to me, that after all it was onlj' an excuse to offer me an
asylum without any remuneration on my part, and I stated
my feeling on that point.
" Do not think so," replied Lady M . " I avoided
saying so, because I would not have you styled a music-
mistress ; but on that one point alone you will more than
earn your salary, as I will prove to you, by showing you the
annual payments to professors for lessons ; but you will be
of great value to me in other points, I have no doubt. May
I, therefore, consider it as an ajfaire arraiigee ?"
After a little more conversation, I acquiesced, and having
agreed that I would come as soon as Lady R went to
the Continent, or at all events, in three weeks, when Lady
M quitted London, I took my leave, and was conveyed
back to Lady R in the carriage which had been sent
for me.
On my return, I found Lady R seated where I had
left her.
"Well," said she, "so you have had your audience; and
I have no doubt but that you were most graciously' received.
Oh ! I know the woman ; and I have been reflecting upon
it during your absence, and I have discovered what she
96
VALERIE
wants you for; but this she has not mentioned, not even
hinted at. She knows better; but when once in her house,
you will submit to it, rather than be again in seai-ch of a
home."
" I really do not know what you mean, Lady R ,"
said L
" Has not Lady M asked you to come as a visitor,
without specifying any particular emploj^ment .'*"
" No, she has not. She has proposed my staying in the
house to give lessons to her daughters in music, and to be
their companion; but there is nothing stated as to a fixed
residence with her."
"Well, Valerie, I know that I am odd; but you will soon
find out whether you have gained by the change."
" Lady R , I reall}' do not consider you should be so
sarcastic or unkind towards me. I do not like to go to
France with you, for reasons which I have fully explained,
at the expense of disclosing family affairs which I had much
rather not have mentioned. You leave me by myself, and
I must seek protection somewhere. It is kindly offered by
Lady M , and in my unfortunate position I have not to
choose. Be just and be generous."
" Well, well, I will," said Lady R , the tears starting
in her eyes ; " but you do not know how much I am annoyed
at your leaving me. I had hoped, with all my faults, that
I had created in you a feeling of attachment to me — God
knows that I have tried. If you knew all my history, Valerie,
you would not be surprised at my being strange. That
occurred when I was of your age, which would have driven
some people to despair or suicide. As it is, it has alienated
me from all my relations, — not that I have many. My
brother, I never see or hear from, and have not for years.
I have refused all his invitations to go down to see him,
and he is now offended with me ; but there are causes for
it, and years cannot wipe away the memory of Avhat did
occur."
" I assure you. Lady R , I have been very sensible of
your kindness to me," replied I, " and shall always remember
it with gratitude ; and it" you think I have no regard for you,
you are mistaken ; but the subject has become painful — pray
let us say no more."
97 G
VALERIE
" Well, Valerie, be it so ; perhaps it is the wisest plan."
To change the conversation, I said — " Is not your brother
the present baronet ? "
" Yes," replied Lady R .
" And where does he reside ? "
" In Essex, at Culverwood Hall, the seat of all my mis-
fortunes."
I started a little at the mention of the place, as it was the
one which the reader may remember was spoken of by
Lionel. I then turned the conversation to other matters,
and by dinner-time Lady R had recovered herself, and
was as amiable as ever.
From that day until Lady R set off for Paris, there
was not a word said relative to Ladj^ M . She was
kind and polite, but not so warm and friendly as she
had been before, and in her subdued bearing towards
me, was more agreeable. Her time was now employed in
making preparations for her tour. Lionel was the only
one who was to accompany her except her own maid. At
last she fixed the day of her departure, and I wrote to
Lady M , who returned an answer that it suited her
exactly, as she would go to the country the day after. The
evening before Lady R was to start, was passed very
gloomily. I felt great soitow at our separation, more than
I could have imagined ; but when you have been associ-
ated with a person who is good-tempered and kind, you
soon feel more for them than you would suppose until you
are about to quit them.
Lady R was very much dispirited, and said to me,
" Valerie, I have a presentiment that we never shall meet
again, and yet I am anything but superstitious. I can truly
say that you are the only person to whom I have felt real
attachment since my youth, and I feel more than I can
describe. Something whispers to me, ' Do not go to France,'
and yet something impels me to go. \ alerie, if I do come
back, I trust that you will consider my house your home,
if at any time you cannot place yourself more to your
satisfaction ; I will not say more, as I know that I am not
exactly a lovable person, and my ways are odd ; but do
pray look upon me as your sincere friend, who will always
be ready to serve you. I have to thank you for a few happy
98
VALERIE
months^ and that is sayinj:^ niiich. God bless you, my dear
V^alerie."
I was moved to tears by what Lady R said, and I
thanked her with a faltering voice.
"Come now," said she, "I shall be off too early in the
morning to see you ; let us take our farewell."
Lady R put a small packet into my hand, kissed me
on the forehead, and then hastened up to her own room.
That people love change is certain ; but still there is a
mournfulness connected with it, even in a change of resi-
dence ; the packing up, the litter attending it, the corded
trunks and packages, give a forlorn appearance to the house
itself To me it was peculiarly distressing ; I had changed
so often within the last year, and had such a precarious
footing wherever I went ; I felt myself to be the sport of
fortune, and a football to the whims and caprices of others.
I was sitting in my bedroom, my trunks packed but not
yet closed down, thinking of Lady R 's last conversa-
tion, and very triste. The packet was lying on the table
before me unopened, when I was roused by a knock at
the door. I thought it was Lady R 's maid, and I said,
"Come in."
The door opened, and Lionel made his appearance.
" Is it you, Lionel ? What do you want } "
" I knew that you were up, and I recollected, as we leave
before you do to-morrow, that you would have no one to cord
your luggage, so I thought I would come up and do it for
you to-night. Miss Valerie, if it is ready."
" Thank you, Lionel, it is very considerate of you. I will
lock the trunks up, and you can cord them outside."
Lionel took out the trunks and corded them in the pas-
sage. When he had finished he said to me —
"Good-bye, Miss Valerie; you will see me again very
soon."
" See you very soon, Lionel ! I am afraid there is no
chance of that, for Lady R intends to stay abroad for
six months."
" I do not," replied he.
" Why, Lionel, it would be very foolish for you to give up
such a good situation. You have such unusual wages : twenty
pounds a year, is it not ? "
99
VALERIE
"Yes, Miss Valerie. I should not get half that in another
situation, but that is one reason why I am going to leave.
Why should she give me twenty jwunds a year? I must find
out why, and find out I will, as I said to you before. She
don't give me twenty pounds for my beauty, although she
might give you a great deal more, and yet not pay you half
enough."
" Well, Lionel, I think you have been here long enough.
It is too late to sit up to pay compliments. Fare you
well."
I shut my door upon him gently, and then went to bed.
As usual after excitement, I slept long and soundly. When
I awoke the next morning, I found it was bi'oad day, and
nearly ten o'clock. I rang the bell, and it was answered by
the cook, who told me that she and I were the only people
in the house. I rose, and as I passed by my table, I per-
ceived another package lying b}^ the side of the one which
Lady R had given me. It was addressed to me, and I
opened it. It contained a miniature of Lady R when
she was about my age, and very beautiful she must have
been. It was labelled " Sempronia at eighteen. Keep it
for my sake, dear Valerie, and do not open the paper
accompanying it until you have my permission, or you hear
of my being no more."
I laid the miniature down, and opened the first packet
given me by Lady 11 . It contained bank-notes to the
amount of one hundred pounds, nearly double the salary
due to me. The contents of both these packets only
made me feel more melancholy, and I sighed heavily as
I put them in my dressing-case ; but time ran on, and I
had agreed to be at Lady M 's at one o'clock, when
the carriage would be sent for me. I therefore hastened
my toilet, closed the remainder of my lug^;age, and went
down to the breakfast which the cook had prepared for
me. While I was at breakfast, a letter was brought by
the post. It had been directed to Madame Bathurst, and
was redirected to Lady R 's address. It was from
Madame Paon, and as follows : —
" My dear Madlle. de Chaten(Euf, — As I take it for
granted that you do not see the French papers, I write
100
VALERIE
to tell you that your predictions relative to Monsieur
G have all proved correct. A nioiiih after the marriage,
he neglected Madame, and spent his whole time at the
gaming-table, only returning home to obtain fresh sujjplies
from her. These were at last refused, and in his rage
he struck her. A suit for separation of person and jn'operty
was brought into court last week, and terminated in fa\our
of Madame d'Albret, who retains all her fortune, and is
rid of a monster. She came to me yesterday morning, and
showed me the letter which you had Avritten to her, asking
me whether I did not correspond with you, and whether
I thought that, after her conduct, you could be prevailed
upon to return to her. Of course I could not give any
opinion ; but I am convinced that if you only say that
you forgive her, that she will write to you and make the
request. I really do not well see how you can do other-
wise, after the letter which you wrote to her, but of
course you will decide for yourself. I trust. Mademoiselle,
you will favour me with a speedy answer, as Madame
d'Albret is here every day, and is evidently very im-
patient. — I am, my dear Mademoiselle, yours,
''Emilie Paon, nee Merce."
To this letter I sent the following re})ly by that day's
post : —
" Mv DEAR Madame Paon, — That I sincerely forgive
Madame d'Albret is true ; I do so from my heart ; but
although I forgive her, I cannot listen to any proposal to
resume the position I once held. Recollect that she has
driven all over Paris, and accused me among all her friends
of ingratitude and slander. How then, after having been
discarded for such conduct, could I again make my appear-
ance in her company ? Either I have done as she has
stated, and if so, am unworthy of her patronage, or I have
not done so, and therefore have been cruelly used : made
to feel my dej)endence in the bitterest way, having been
dismissed and thrown upon the Avoild with loss of character.
Could I ever feel secure or comfortable with her after
such injustice? or could she feel at her ease on again
presenting one as her protegee whom she had so ill-treated ?
101
VALERIE
Would she not have to bhisli every time that she met
with any of our former mutual friends and acquaintances ?
It would be a series of humiliations to us both. Assure
her of my forgiveness and goodwill, and my Avishes for
her happiness ; but to return to her is impossible. I
would rather starve. If she knew what I have suffered
in consequence of her hasty conduct towards me, she
would pity me more than she may do now ; but what is
done is done. There is no remedy for it. Adieu, Madame
Paon. Many thanks for your kindness to one so fallen
as I am. — Yours truly and sincerely, Valerie."
I wrote the above under great depression of spirits, and
it was with a heavy heart that I afterwards alighted at
Lady M 's residence in St. James's Square. If smiles,
however, and cordial congratulations, and shakes of the
hand, could have consoled me, they were not wanting on
the part of Lady M and her daughters. I was shown
all the rooms below, then Lady M 's room, the young
ladies' rooms, and lastly my own, and was truly glad
when I was at last left alone to unpack and arrange my
things.
The room allotted to me was very comfortable, and
better furnished than those in which the young ladies
slept, and as far as appearances went, I was in all respects
treated as a visitor, and not as a governess. The maid
who attended me was very civil, and as she assisted and
laid my dresses in the wardrobe, made no attempt to be
familiar. I ought to have informed the reader that Lady
M was a widow. Lord M having died about two
years before. Her eldest son, the present Lord M ,
was on the Continent. Dinner was announced ; there were
only two visitors, and I was treated as one of the company.
In fact, nothing could be more gratifying than the manner
in which I was treated. In the evening I played and
sang. The young ladies did the same ; their voices were
good, but they wanted expression in their singing, and I
perceived that I could be useful.
Lady M asked me, when we were not overheard,
" What I thought of her daughters' singing .'' "
I told her frankly.
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VALERIE
" It is impossible to doubt the truth of what you say, my
dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, after having heard your
performance. I knew that you were considered a good
performer, but I had no idea of the perfection which you
have arrived at."
" If your daughters are really fond of music, they would
soon do as well, my lady," replied I.
" Impossible," exclaimed her ladyship ; " but still they
must gain something from listening to you. You look
fatigued. Do you wish to go to bed ? Augusta will go up
with you."
" I have a nervous headache," replied I, " and I will
accept your ladyshij/s considerate proposal."
Augusta, the eldest daughter, lighted a chamber-candle,
and went up with me into my room. After a little conver-
sation, she wished me good night, and thus passed the first
day in St. James's Square.
CHAPTER VIII
As arranged by Lady M , the next day we went €o
Harking Castle, the family seat, in Dorsetshire, and I was
not sorry to be again quiet, after the noise and bustle of a
London season. As Lady M had observed, the young
ladies were sadly jaded with continual late hours and hot
rooms, but they had not been a week in the country be-
fore they were improved in appearance and complexion.
They certainly were amiable, nice girls, clever, and Avithout
pride, and I soon became attached to them. I attended
to their music, and they made great progress. I also taught
them the art of making flowers in wax, which I had so lately
learnt myself This was all I could do, except mildly remon-
strating with them when I saw what did not aj)pear to me
to be quite correct in their conduct and deportment. Lady
M appeared quite satisfied, and treated me with great
consideration, and I was in a short time very happy in my
new position.
For the first montn there were no visitors in the house ;
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VALERIE
after that, invitations were sent out. Lady M had said
tliat slie -rtould have a month's quiet to recover herself from
the fatigues of the season, and 1 had no doubt but that she
also thought her daughters would be much benefited, as
they really were, by a similar retirement. It was on Monday
that company was expected, and on Friflay Lady M de-
sired Augusta, the eldest daughter, to put on a new dress which
had just been made l)y the two lady's-maids, and come down
in it that she might see it on. When Augusta made her
appearance, and her inother had surveyed the dress, she said —
" I do not quite like it, Augusta, and yet I do not exactly
know where it's wrong; but something requires to be
altered ; it does not hang gracefully."
As she said this, I was reading a book, and I naturally
looked up, and immediately perceived the alteration which
the dress required. I pointed it out, and with a few pins
made the dress sit well.
" Why, this is a new talent, my dear Mademoiselle de
Chatenoeuf, one that I had no idea that you possessed ;
although I admit that no one dresses more elegantly than
you do," said Lady M . " How much I am obliged to
you for taking so much trouble."
" I am most happy to be of any service, Lady M , and
you may always command me," replied I. " I have the
credit of being a very good millinei'."
" I believe you can do anything," replied Lady M .
" Augusta, go up to Benson and show her the alterations that
are required, and tell her to make them directly. After all,"
continued Lady M to me, "it is bad economy making
dresses at home ; but I really cannot afford to pay the ex-
travagant prices charged by Madame Desbelli. My bills are
monstrous, and my poverty, but not my will, consents. Still
it does make such a difference in the appearance, being well
dressed, that if I could, I never would have a dress made at
home ; but the saving is astonishing — nearly two-thirds, I
assure you."
" If you will allow me to interfere a little, my lady,"
replied I, " I think you can have them as well made at home
as by Madame Desbelli. I think I can be useful."
" You are very kind. Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, but it
will be taxing you too nmch."
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VALERIE
"Not at all, Lady M , if I have your sanction."
"You shall do just as you please, my dear," replied Lady
M ; " I give you full authority over the whole household,
if you wish it ; but, indeed, I think Benson -will be much
obliged to you for any slight hint that you may give her, and
I am sure that I shall. But the carriage is at the door — do
you drive to day ? "
" Not to-day, I thank you, Lady M ," replied L
"Well, then, I will take Hortense and Amy with me, and
leave Augusta with you."
After Lady M 's departure, I went up to the room
whei'e the maids were at work. I altered the arrangement
of Augusta's dress so as to suit her figure, and cut out the
two others for Llortense and Amy. Wishing to please Lady
M , I worked myself at Augusta's dress, and had it com-
pleted before Lady M had returned from her drive. It
certainly was now a very different aflliir, and Augusta looked
remarkably well in it. She was delighted herself, and
hastened down to her mother to show it to her. Wlien I
came down to dinner. Lady M • was profuse in her
acknowledgments ; the two other dresses, when finished,
gave equal satisfaction, and from that time till the period
of my quitting Lad}' M , all the dresses, not only of the
young ladies, but those of Lady M , were made at home,
and my taste and judgment invariably afjjiealed to, and most
cheerfully given. I felt it my duty to be of all the use that
I could be, and perhaj)s was not a little gratified by the
compliments I received upon my exquisite taste. Time
passed on; during the shooting season, Augusta, the eldest
daughter, received a very good offer, which was accepted ;
and at the Christmas festivities, Hortense, the second girl,
accepted another proposal, which was also very favourable.
Lady M was delighted at such success.
" Is it not strange, my dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf,
that I have been fagging two seasons, night and day, to get
husbands for those girls, and now alone here, in solitude and
retirement almost, they have both obtained excellent estab-
lishments ? I do really declare tliat I believe it is all owing
to you, and the delightful manner in which you have dressed
them."
"I should rather think that it is owing, in the first place,
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VALERIE
to their having so much improved in personal appearance
since they have been down in the country/' rej)Hed I ; " and
furthei", to the gentlemen having now an opportunity of
discovering their truly estimable qualities, which they were
not likely to do at Almack's or other parties during a London
season."
" You may think so/' replied Lady M , " but it is my
conviction that all is owing to their being so tastefully
dressed. Why, every one admires the elegance of their
costume and requests patterns. Well, now I have only Amy
on my hands, and I think that her sisters' high connections
will assist in getting her off."
"She is a sweet girl. Amy," replied I, "and were I you,
Lady M , I should be in no hurry to part with her."
" Indeed, but I am," replied Lady M ; " you don't
know the expense of girls, and my jointure is not so very
large. However, I must not complain. Don't you think Amy
looks better in lilac than any other colour.''"
" She looks well in almost any colour," replied I.
" Yes, with your taste, I grant," replied Lady M .
" Are you aware that we go to town in a fortnight .'' We
must look after the trousseaux. It was arranged last night
that both marriages shall take place in February. Amy will
of course be one of the bridemaids, and I trust to you, my
dear Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf, to invent something very
distingue for her on that occasion. Who knows but that it
may get her off.'' But it's late, so good night."
I could not admire Lady M 's apparent hurry to get
rid of her daughters ; but it certainly was the one thing
needful which had occupied all her thoughts and attention
during the time that I had been with her. That it was
natural slie should Avish that her children were well estab-
lished, I granted ; but all that she apjieared to consider was
good connection and the means of living in good style ;
every other point as to the character of the husbands being
totally overlooked.
A fortnight after Chi-istmas we all went to London, and
were, as Lady M had observed, very busy with the
trousseaux, when one day the butler came to say that a
young gentleman wished to see me, and was waiting in
the breakfast - parlour below. I went down, wondering
106
VALERIE
who it could be, when, to my surprise, I found Lionel,
the p;ige of Lady 11 , dressed in plain clothes, and
certainly looking very much like a gentleman. He bowed
very respectfully to me when he entered, much more so
than he had ever done when he was a page with Lady
R , and said—
" Miss Valerie, I have ventured to call upon you, as
I thought, when we parted, that you did me the honour
to feel some little interest about me, and I thought you
would like to know Avhat has taken place. I have been
in England now four months, and have not been idle during
that time."
" I am certainly glad to see you, Lionel, although I am
sorry you have left Lady R , and I hope you have been
satisfied with the result of your inquiries."
" It is rather a long story. Miss Valerie, and if you wish to
hear it, you will oblige me by sitting down while I nai'rate it
to you."
" I hope it will not be too long, Lionel, as I shall be
wanted in an hour or so to go out with Lady M , but
I am ready to hear you," continued I, sitting down as he
requested.
Lionel stood by me, and then commenced : — " We arrived
at Dover the evening of the day that we left. Miss Valei'ie ;
and Lady H , who had been in a state of great agitation
during the journey, was so unwell, that she remained there
four or five days. As soon as she was better, I thought it was
advisable that she should settle my book, and pay me my
wages before we left England, and I brought it to her, stating
my wish, as the sum was then very large.
" ' And what do you want money for } ' said she, rather
angrily.
" ' I want to place it in safety, my lady,' replied I.
"'That's as much as to say that it is not safe with me.'
" ' No, my lady,' replied I. ' But suppose any accident were
to happen to you abroad, would your executors ever believe
that you owed more than £"2,5, besides a year's wages, to a
page like me .'' They would say that it could not be, and
would not pay me my money ; neither would they believe
that you gave me such wages.'
"'Well,' she replied, 'there is some truth in that, and it
107
VALERIE
will perhaps be bettei* that I do pay j-ou at once ; but where
will you put tlie money, Lionel ? '
" ' I will ket'p the cheque, my lady, if you please.'
'''Then I will write it to order, and not to bearer,' replied
she, ' and then, if you lose it, it will not be paid, for it will
require your own signature.'
" ' Thank you, my lady,' replied L
"Having examined my accounts and my wages due, she
gave me a cheque for the full amount. The next morning,
the packet was to sail at nine o'clock. We were in good
time, and as soon as Lad}' R was on board, she went
down into the cabin. Her maid asked me for the bottle
of salts which I had j)urposely left under the sofa-pillow
at the Ship Hotel. I told her that I had left it, and as
there was plenty of time would run and fetch it. I did so,
but contrived not to be back until the steamer had moved
away from the pier and her paddles were in motion. I
called out, ' Stop, stop,' knowing of course that the}^ would
not, although they were not twenty yards away. I saw
Lady R 's maid run to the captain and speak to him,
but it was of no use, and thus I was left behind, Avithout
Lady R having any suspicion that it was intentional
on my ]iart.
" I waited at the pier till the packet was about two miles
off, and then walked away from the crowd of people who
were bothering me with advice how to proceed, so that I
might join my mistress at Calais. I returned to the hotel
for a portion of my clothes which I had not sent on boai'd
of the packet, but had left in charge of the boots, and
then sat down in the tap to reflect upon what I should
do. My first object Avas to get rid of my sugar-loaf
buttons, for I hated liver}'. Miss Valerie ; perhaps it was
pride, but I could not help it. I walked out till I came
to a slopseller's, as they call them at seaports, and went
in ; there Avas nothing hanging up but seamen's clothes,
and on reflection, I thought I could not do better than
to dress as a sailor ; so I told the man that I wanted a suit
of sailor's clothes.
" ' You want to go to sea, I suppose,' said the man, not
guessing exactly right, considering that 1 had just refused to
embark.
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VALERIE
" Howevei*, I bargained first for a complete suit, and then
sold him my liveries, exclianging my dress in the back-
parlour. I then returned to the tap, obtained my other
clothes, and as soon as the coach started, t^ot outside and
arrived in London. I called upon you at this house, and
found that you were in the country, and then I resolved that
I would go down to Culverwood llall."
" And now you must leave off, Lionel, for the present,"
said I, " for I must go out with Lady M . Come to-
morrow early, and I shall have leisure to hear the rest of
your story."
The following morning Lionel returned, and resumed his
history.
" Miss Valerie, little things often give you more trouble
than greater ; and I had more difficulty to find out where
Culverwood Hall was than you may imagine. I asked many
at the inn where I put up, but no one could tell me, and at
such places I was not likely to find any book which I could
refer to. I went to the coach-offices and asked what coaches
started for Essex, and the reply was ' Where did I want to
go?' and when I said Culverwood Hall, no one could tell
me by w'hich coach I was to go, or which town it was near.
At last, I did find out from the porter of the Saracen's Head,
who had taken in parcels with that address, and who went to
the coachman, who said that his coach passed within a mile
of Sir Alexander Moystyn's, who lived there. I never knew
her ladyship's maiden name before. I took my jilace by the
coach, for I had gone to the banker's in Fleet Street, and re-
ceived the money for my cheque, and started the next morning
at three o'clock.
" I was })ut down at a village called Westgate, at an inn
called the Moystyn Arms. I kept to the dress of a sailor,
and when the people spoke to me on the coach, kept np the
character as well as I could, which is very easy to do when
you have to do with people who know nothing about it. I
shivered my timbers, and all that sort of thing, and hitched
up my trousers, as they do at the theatres. The coachman
told me that the inn was the nearest place I could stop at,
if I wanted to go to the Hall, and taking my bundle, I got
down and he drove off. A sailor-boy is a sort of curiosity in
a country village, Miss Valerie, and I had many questions put
109
VALERIE
to iTie ; but I answered them by putting others. I said that
my friends were formerly hving at the Hall in the old
baronet's time, but that I knew little about them, as it was
a long while ago ; and I asked if there were any of the old
sei'vants still living at the place. The woman who kept the
inn told me that there was one, old Roberts, who still lived
in the village, and had been Jwdriddai for some years. This
of course was the jierson I wanted, and I incjuired what had
become of his family. The I'cply Avas, that his daughter, who
had married Green, was somewhere in London, and his son,
who had married Kitty Wilson of the village, had gone to
reside as gamekeeper somewhere near Portsmouth, and had
a large ftimily of children.
" ' You're right enough,' replied I, laughing, ' we are a
large family.'
" ' What ! are you old Roberts' grandson ? ' exclaimed the
woman. ' Well, we did hear that one of them, Harry, I
think, did go to sea.'
" ' Well, now, perhaps you'll tell me where I am to find
the old gentleman ? ' replied L
" ' Come with me,' said she ; ' he lives hard by, and glad
enough he'll be, poor man, to have any one to talk with him
a bit, for it's a lonesome life he leads in bed there.'
" I followed the Avoman, and when about a hundred j^ards
from the inn, she stopped at the door of a small house, and
called to Mrs. Meshin to 'go up and tell old Roberts that
one of his gi'andsons is here.' A snuffy old woman made her
appearance, peered at me through lier spectacles, and then
stumped up a pair of stairs which faced the door. Shortly
afterwards I was desired to come up, and did so. I found an
old man with silver hair lying in bed, and the said Mrs.
Meshin, with her spectacles, smoothing down the bedclothes
and making the place tidj'.
" ' What cheer, old boy ? ' said I, after T. P. Cooke's style.
" ' What do you say ? I'm hard of hearing, rather,' replied
the old man.
" ' How do you find yourself, sir ? ' said I.
"'Oh, pretty well for an old man; and so you're my
grandson Harry ; glad to see you. You may go, Mrs.
Meshin, and shut the door; and, do you hear, don't listen
at the keyhole.'
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VALERIE
" The stately lady, Mrs. Meshin, growled and then left
the room, slamming the door.
" ' She is very cross, grandson/ said the old man, ' and
I see nobody but her. It's a sad thing to be bedridden
this way, and not to get out in the fresh air, and sadder
still to be tended by a cross old woman, who won't talk
when I want her, and won't hold her tongue when I
want her. I'm glad to see you, boy. I hope you won't
go away directly, as your brother Tom did. I want some-
body to talk to me, sadly. And how do you like being
at sea ? '
"'I like the shore better, sir.'
" ' Ay, so all sailors say, I believe ; and yet I would
rather go to sea than lie here all day long. It's all owing
to my being out, as I used to do, night after night, watching
for poachers. I had too little bed then, and now I've too
much of it. But the se«a must be grand. As the Bible
says, " They who go ujion the great waters, they see the
wonders of the deep." '
" I was glad to find that the old man was so perfect in
all his mental faculties, and after having listened to, rather
than re])lied to, observations about his son and my supposed
brothers and sisters, by which I obtained a pretty accurate
knowledge of them, I wished him good-bye, and promised
to call and have a long talk in the morning.
" On my return to the inn, I was able to reply to all
the interrogatories which were put to me relative to my
sui)posed relations, thanks to the garrulity of old Roberts,
and put many questions relative to the family residing at
the Hall, which were freely answered. As the evening
advanced, many people came in, and the noise and smoking
was so disagreeable to me, that I asked for a bed and
retired. The next morning I repaired to old Roberts, who
appeared delighted to see me.
" ' You are a good boy,' said he, ' to come and see a poor
bedridden old man, who has not a soul that comes near
him perhaps in a week. And now tell ntie what took place
during your last voyage.'
" ' The last vessel 1 was on board of,' replied I, ' was a
packet from Dover to Calais.'
"'Well, that must be pleasant ; so many passengers.
Ill
VALERIE
" ' Yes, sir ; and who do you think I saw on board of
the packet the other day ? — somebody that you know.'
" ' Ay, who ? '
"'Why, I-ady R ,' rejilied I, 'and that young gentle-
man who, I heard say, once Uved with her as her servant.'
" ' Ay ! ' said the okl man, ' indeed I then she has done
justice at last. I'm gkid on it, Harry, gkid on it, for it's a
rehef to my mind. I was bound to the secret, and have
kept it ; but when a man is on the brink of the grave, he
does not Hke to have a secret Hke that upon his mind,
and I've more than once talked to my daughter about '
" ' What, Aunt Green } '
" ' Yes, your Aunt Green ; but she would never listen to
me. We both took our oath, and she said it was binding ;
besides, we were paid for it. Well, well, I thank God, for
it's a great load off my mind.'
" ' Yes, sir,' replied I, ' you need not keej:) the secret
any longer now.'
" ' And how has he grown up } ' said the old man ; ' is
he good-looking } '
" ' Yevy much so, sir,' replied I, ' and looks very much
like a gentleman.' "
I could not help laughing at this part of Lionel's story,
although I could not but admit the truth. Lionel observed
it, and said —
" You cannot be surprised at my giving myself a good
character. Miss Valerie, for, as they say in the kitchen, it's
all that a poor servant has to depend upon."
"Go on," replied I.
"'He was a very fine child while he lived with us; but
he was taken away at six years old, and I have never seen
him since.'
"'Some people say that he is very like Lady R .'
" ' Well, why should he not be } Ay, she was once a very
beautiful young person.'
" ' Well, grandfather, I have never heard the rights of that
story,' said I, 'and now that you are at liberty to tell it,
perhaps you will let me have the whole history.'
" ' Well,' said the old man, ' as there is no longer a secret,
I do not know but that I may. Your Aunt Green, you know,
was nurse to Lady R , and remained in the family for
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VALERIE
years afterwards; for old Sir Alexander Moystyn was con-
fined to his room for years with gout and other comjilaints,
and your Aunt Green attended him. It was just as Sir
Alexander had recovered from a very bad fit that Miss
Ellen, who was Lady R 's sister, and years younger than
she was, made her runaway match with Colonel Dempster,
a very fashionable, gay young man, who had come down
here to shoot Avith the ])resent baronet. Every one was
nuich surprised at this, for all the talk was that the match
would be with the eldest sister, Lady R , and not the
youngest. They went oS' somewhere abroad. Old Sir
Alexander was in a terrible luifF about it, and was taken
ill again ; and Lady R , who was then Miss Barbara,
appeared also much distressed at her sister's conduct. Well,
a year or more passed away, when, one day. Miss Barbara
told your Aunt Green that she wished her to go with her
on a journey, and she set off in the evening with four post-
horses, and travelled all night till she arrived at South-
ampton. There she stojjped at a lodging and got out,
spoke to the landlady, and calling my daughter out of the
chaise, desired her to remain below while she went u])Stairs.
My daughter was tired of staying so long, for she remained
there for five hours, and Miss Barbara did not make her
appearance ; but they appeared to be very busy in the house,
running up and down stairs. At last a grave person, who
appeared to be a doctor, came into the parlour, followed by
the landlady — in the parlour in which my daughter was
sitting.
"'"It's all over, Mrs. Wilson," said he; "nothing could
save her ; but the child will do well, I have no doubt."
" ' " What's to be done, sir .'' "
" ' " Oh," replied the doctor, " the lady above-stairs told
me that she was her sister, so of course we must look to her
for all future arrangements."
" ' After giving a few directions about the infant, the
doctor left the house, and soon after that Miss Barbara came
downstairs.
"'"I'm quite worn-out, Martha," said she; "let us go to
the hotel as fast as we can. You sent away the carriage, of
course. I would it had remained, for I shall hardly be able
to walk so far."
113 H
VALERIE
" ' Slie took her arm, and as the landhuly opened the door,
she said —
tt(sci y^^[\\ (..jii to-morrow, and give directions about the
infant, and everything which is necessary. I never went
through such a trying scene," said Miss Barbara ; " she was
an ol(l schoolfellow of mine, who entreated me to come to
her in her distress. She died giving birth to her infant, and
it was, I presume, with that presentiment that she sent for
me, and entreated me, on her death-bed, to protect the un-
fortunate child, for she has been cast away by her relations
in consequence of her misconduct. You have never had the
small-pox, Martha, have you ? "
"'"No, miss," she replied, "you know I never have."
" ' " Well, it was having the small-pox at the same time
that she was confined that has caused her death, and that
was the reason why I did not send for you to come up and
assist."
" ' My daughter made no answer, for Miss Barbara was
of a haughty temper, and she was afraid of her ; but she
did not forget that the doctor had told the landlady that
Miss Barbara had stated the lady to be her sister. My
daughter had thought it very odd that Miss Barbai'a had
not told her, during their journey, where she was going,
and whom she was going to see, for Miss Barbara had
wrapped herself up in her cloak, and pretended to be
asleep during the whole time, only waking up to pay the
postboys ; but Miss Barbara was of a very violent temper,
and had, since her sister's mari'iage, been much w'orse than
before ; indeed, some said that she was a little mad, and
used to walk at moonlights.
"'When they arrived at the hotel. Miss Barbara went to
bed, and insisted upon her sleeping in the same room, as
she was afraid of being alone in an hotel. My daughter
thought over the business as she lay in bed, and at last
resolved to ascertain the truth ; so she got up early the
next morning, and walked to the lodging-house, and when
the door was opened by the landlady, pretended to come
from her mistress to inquire hoAv the infant was. The reply
was that it was doing well ; and then a conversation took
place, in which my daughter found out that the lady did
not die of the small-pox, as Miss Barbara had stated. The
114
V^ALERIE
landlady asked my daughter if she would not like to come
up and look at the corpse. My daughter consented, as it
was what she was about to request, and when she went up,
sure enough it was poor Mrs. Dempster, Miss Ellen that
was, who had run away with the colonel.
" ' " Ain't it a pity, ma'am," said the landlady ; " her
husband died only two months ago, and they say he was so
handsome a man ; indeed he must have been, for here's his
picture, which the poor lady wore round her neck."
" ' When your aunt had satisfied herself, and cried a little
over the body, for she was very fond of Miss Ellen, she went
back to the hotel as fast as she could, and getting a jug of
warm water from the kitchen, she went into Miss Barbara's
room, and had just time to throw off her bonnet and shawl,
when Miss Barbara woke up and asked who was there.
"'"It's me, miss," replied my daughter; "I've just gone
down for some warm water for you, for it's past nine o'clock,
and I thought you would like to be up early."
"'"Yes, I must get up, Martha, for I intend to return
home to-day. It's no use waiting here. I will have break-
fast, and then walk to the lodgings and give directions.
You may pack up in the meantime, for I suppose you do not
wish to go with me."
"'"Oh no, miss," replied your aunt; "I am frightened
out of my wits at having been in the house ah-eady, now
that I know that the lady died of the small-pox."
"'Well, Miss Barbara went away after breakfast, and re-
mained for two or three hours, when she returned, a servant
bringing the baby with her. My daughter had packed up
everything, and in half-an-hour they were on the road back,
the baby with them, in my daughter's arms. Now, you see,
if it had not been for the accidental remark of the doctor
in your aunt's presence, she would have been completely
deceived by Miss Barbara, and never would have known
whose child it was ; but your aunt kept her own counsel —
indeed, she was afraid to do otherwise.
'"As they went home, Miss Barbara talked a great deal
to your aunt, telling her that this Mrs. Bedingfield was a
great friend of hers, w^ith whom she had corresjxmded for
years after they had left school ; that her husband had been
killed in a duel a short time before ; that he was a gambler
115
VALERIE
and a man of very bad character ; nevertheless^ she had
promised Mrs. Bedingficld before she died that she voidd
take care of the child, and that she would do so. She then
said, "Martha, I should like your mother to take charge of
it ; do 30U think that she would ? but it must be a secret,
for my father would be very angry with me, and besides
there might be unjileasant reports." Your aunt replied,
that she thought tliat her mother would, and then Miss
Barbara proposed that your aunt should get out of the
chaise when they stopped to change horses at the last
stage, when it was dark, and no one could pei'ceive it, and
walk with the infant until she could find some conveyance
to my house.
"'This was done, the child was brought to your grand-
mother, who is now in heaven, and then your aunt made
known to us what she had discovered, and whose child it
was. I was very angry, and if I had not been laid up at
the time Avith the rheumatism, would have gone right into
Sir Alexander's room and told him who the infant was ; but
I was overruled by your grandmother and your aunt, who
then went away and walked to the Hall. So we agreed that
we would say exactly what Miss Barbara said to us when she
came over to us on the next da}-.' "
" Well, then, Lionel, I have to congratulate you on being
the son of a gentleman and the nephew of Lady 11 .
I wish you joy with all my heart," said I, extending my
hand.
"Thank you. Miss Valerie. It is true that I am so, but
proofs are still to be given ; but of that hereafter."
" Lionel, you have been standing all this while. I think
it would be most uncourteous if I did not request you to
take a chair." Lionel did so, and then proceeded with the
old man's narrative.
"'About a month after this. Sir Richard R came
down, and after three weeks Avas accejjted by Miss Barbara.
It was a hasty match, every one thought, especially as the
news of Mrs. Dempster's death had, as it was reported,
been received by letter, and all the family had gone into
mourning. Poor old Sir Alexander never held up his head
afterwards, and in two months more he was carried to the
family vault. Your aunt then came home to us, and, as
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VALERIE
you Iic'ive heard, inarried poor Green, who was killed in a
poaching business about three months after his marriage.
Then came your ])oor grandmother's death of a quinsy, and
so I was left alone with your Aunt Green, who then took
charge of the child, who had ))een christened by the name
of Lionel Bedingfield. Thei'e Avas some talk about the
child, and some wonders Avhose it could be ; but after the
death of Sir Alexander, and Miss Barbara had gone away
with her husband, nothing more was thought or said about
it. And now, boy, I've talked enough for to-day, to-morrow
I'll tell you the rest of the history.'
" Perhaps, Miss Valerie, you think the same of me, and
are tired of listening," observed Lionel.
" Not at all ; and I have leisure now, which I may not
have another time ; besides, your visits, if so frequent, may
cause inquiries, and I shall not know Avhat to say."
"Well, then, I'll finish my story this morning. Miss
V^alerie. The next day old Roberts continued : ' It Avas
about three months after Sir Alexander's death, Avhen her
brother, the new baronet, came doAvn to Culvcrwood Hall,
that Miss Barbara made her appearance again as Lady
R . Your grandmother Avas just buried, and poor Green
had not been dead more than a month. Your aunt, Avho
Avas much .afflicted at the loss of her husband, and was of
course very grave and serious, began to agree with me that
it would be very Avicked of us, knoAving whose child it Avas,
to keep the secret. Moreover, your aunt had become very
fond of the infont, for it in a manner consoled her for the
loss of her husband. Lady II came to the cottage to
see us, and Ave then both told lier that Ave did not like to
keep secret the child's parentage, as it Avas doing a great
injustice, if injustice had not been done alread)\ Lady
R Avas very much frightened at what we said, and
begged very hard that Ave Avould not expose her. She Avould
be ruined, she said, in the opinion of her husband, and also
of her own relations. She l)egged and prayed so hard, and
made a solemn j)romise to us that she Avonld do justice to
the child as soon as she could Avith prudence, that she over-
came om- scrujiles, and Ave agreed to say nothing at present.
She also put a bank-note for X.^O into my daughter's hands
to defray expenses and })ay for trouble, and toltl her that
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VALERIE
the same amount would be paid every year until the child
was taken away.
" ' I believe this did more to satisfy our scruples than
anything else. It ought not to have done so, but we were
poor, and money is a great temptation. At all events, we
were satisfied with Lady R 's promise and with her
liberality ; and from that time till the child was seven years
old we received the money and had charge of the boy. He
was then taken away and sent to school, but where we did
not know for some time. Lady R was still very liberal
to us, always stating her intention of acknowledging the
child to be her nephew. At last my daughter was summoned
to London, and sent to the school for the boy. Lady R
stating it to be her intention of keeping him at her own
house, now that her husband was dead. This rejoiced us
very much ; but we had no idea that it was as a servant
that he was to be employed, as your aunt afterwards found
out, when she went up to London and called unexpectedly
upon Lady R . However, Lady R said that what
she was doing was for the best, and was more liberal than
usual ; and that stopped our tongues.
" ' Three years back your aunt left this place to find em-
ployment in London, and has resided there ever since as a
clear-starcher and getter-up of lace ; but she often sends me
down money, quite sufficient to pay for all the few comforts
and expenses required by a bedridden old man. There,
Harry, now I've told you the whole story ; and I am glad
that I am able to do so, and that at last she has done justice
to the lad, and there is no further a load upon my conscience
which often caused me to lay down my Bible, when I was
reading, and sigh.'
" ' But,' said I, ' are you sure that she has acknowledged
him as her nephew ? '
" ' Am I sure ! Why, did not you say so ? '
" ' No ; I only said that he was with her, travelling in her
company.'
"'Well, but — I understood you that it was all right.'
" ' It may be all right,' replied I, ' but how can I tell } I
only saw them together. Lady R may still keep her
secret, for all I can say to the contrary. I don't wonder at
its being a load on your mind. I shouldn't be able to sleep
118
VALERIE
at nights ; and as for my reading my Bible, I sliould think
it wicked to do so with the recolkction always before me
that I had been a party in defrauding the poor boy of liis
name, and perhaps fortune.'
" ' Dear me ! dear me ! I've often thought as much,
Harry.'
" ' Yes, grandfather, and, as you say, on the brink of the
grave. Who knows but you may be called away this very
night ? '
" ' Yes, yes, who knows, boy ? ' replied the old man, looking
rather terrified ; ' but what shall I do ? '
" ' I know what I would do,' replied I. ' I'd make a clean
breast of it at once. I'd send for the minister and a
magistrate, and state the whole story upon affidavit. Then
you will feel happy again, and ease your mind, and not
before.'
" ' Well, boy, I believe you are right ; I'll think about it.
Leave me now.'
"'Think about your own soul, sir — think of your own
danger and do not mind Lady R — — . There can be but
a bad reason for doing such an act of injustice. I will come
again in an hour, sir, and then you will let me know your
decision. Think about what the Bible says about those
who defraud the widow and orphan. Good-bye for the
present.'
" * No, stop, boy ; I've made up my mind. You may go
to Mr. Sewell, the clergyman, — he often calls to see me, and
I can speak to him. I'll tell him.'
" I did not wait for the old man to alter his mind, but
hastened as fast as I could to the parsonage-house, which
was not four hundred yards distant. I went to the door,
and asked for Mr. Sewell, who came out to me. I told
him that old Roberts wanted to see him immediately, as he
had an important confession to make.
" ' Is the old man going, then } I did not hear that he
was any way dangerously ill .'' '
" ' No, sir, he is in his usual health, but he has something
very heavy on his conscience, and he begs your presence
immediately, that he may reveal an important secret.'
" ' Well, my lad, go back to him and say that I will be
there in two hours. You are his grandson, 1 believe ? '
VALERIE
" ' I will go and tell him, sir/ replied I, evading the last
question.
" I returned to old Roberts, and informed him that the
clergyman -would be -with him in an hour or two ; but I
found the old man already hesitating and doubting again.
" ' You didn't tell him Avhat it was for, did you ? for
perhaps '
" ' Yes, I did. I told him you had an important secret to
communicate that lay heavy on your conscience.'
" ' I'm sadl}' puzzled,' said the old man, musing.
"'Well,* replied I, 'I'm not puzzled; and if you don't
confess, I must. I won't have my conscience loaded, poor
fellow that I am ; and if you choose to die with the sin
upon you of depriving the orphan, I will not.'
" ' I'll tell — tell it all — it's the best way,' replied old
Roberts, after a pause.
" ' There now,' said I, ' the best thing to be done is for
me to get paper and pen, and write it all down for Mr.
Sewell to read when he comes ; then you need not have to
repeat it all again.'
" ' Yes, that will be best, for I couldn't face the clergy-
man.'
" ' Then how can you expect to face the Almighty } '
replied I.
" ' True — very true : get the paper,' said he.
" I went to the inn and procured writing materials, and
then returned and took down his confession of what I have
now told you. Miss \'alerie. When Mi*. Sewell came, I had
just finished it, and I then told him that I had written it
doAvn, and handed it to him to read. Mr. Sewell was much
surprised and shocked, and said to Roberts, ' You have done
right to make this confession, Roberts, for it may be most
important ; but you must now swear to it in the presence of a
magistrate and me. Of course you have no objection ? '
" ' No, sir ; I'm ready to swear to the truth of every
word.'
" ' Well, then, let me see. Why, there is no magistrate
near us just now but Sir Thomas Moystyn ; and as it concerns
his own nejihew, there cannot be a more proper person. I
will go up to the Hall immediately, and ask him to come
with me to-morrow morning.'
120
VALERIE
" Mr. Sewell did so ; and the next day he and Sir Tliomas
Moystyn came down in a phaeton, and went up to old
Roberts. I rather turned away, that my uncle, as he now
proves to be, might not, when I was regularly introduced
to him, as I hope to be, as his nephew, recognise me as the
sailor lad who passed off as the grandson of old Robei'ts."
"Then you admit that you have been playing a very
deceitful game ? "
"Yes, Miss Valerie. I have a conscience; and I admit
that I have been playing what may be called an unworthy
game ; but when it is considered how much I have at stake,
and how long I have been defrauded of my rights by the
duplicity of others, I think I may be excused if I have beat
them at their own weapons."
" I admit that there is great truth in your observations,
Lionel ; and that is all the answer I shall give."
" I remained outside the door while old Roberts signed
the paper and the oath was administered. Sir Thomas
put many questions afterwards. He inquired the residence
of his daughter, Mrs. Green, and then they both went
away. As soon as they were gone, I went in to old Roberts
and said —
" ' \\'ell now, sir, do you not feel happier that you have
made the confession ? '
"^Yes/ replied he, 'I do, boj^ ; but still I am scared when
I think of Lady R and your Aunt Green ; they'll be so
angr\-.'
" ' I've been thinking that I had better go up to
Mrs. Green,' I said, 'and prepare her for it. I can pacify
her, I'm sure, when I explain matters. I must have gone
away the day after to-morrow, and I'll go up to London
to-morrow.'
"'Well, perhaps it will be as well,' replied old Roberts;
'and yet I wish you could stay and talk to me — I've no one
to talk to me now.'
"Thinks I, I have made j'ou talk to some purpose, and
have no inclination to sit by your bedside any longer ; how-
ever, I kej)t up the appearance to the last, and the next
morning set off for London. I arrived three days before I
saw you first, which gave me time to change my sailor's
dress for the suit I now wear. I have not yet been to
121
VALERIE
Mrs. Green, for I thoujjjlit I would just see you, and ask
your advice. And now, Miss \alerie, you have ni_v whole
history."
" I once more congratulate you, with all my heart," replied
I, offering my hand to Lionel. He kissed it respectfully,
and as he was in the act, one of the maids opened the door,
and told me that Lady M had been some time waiting
to see me. I believe I coloured up, although I had no
cause for blushing ; and wishing Lionel good-bye, I desired
him to call on Sunday afternoon, and I would remain at
home to see him.
It was on Thursday that tliis interview took place with
Lionel, and on the Saturday I received a letter from Lady
R 's solicitor, by which I was shocked by the information
of her ladyship having died at Caudebec, a small town on
the river Seine, and begging to know whether I could
receive him that afternoon, as he was anxious to communi-
cate with me. I answered by the person who brought the
letter, that I would receive him at three o'clock ; and he
made his appearance at the hour appointed. He informed
me that Lady R had left Havre in a fishing-boat,
with the resolution of going up to Paris by that strange
conveyance ; that having no protection from the weather,
she had been wet for a Avhole day without changing her
clothes ; and on her arrival at Caudebec, had been taken
with a fever, which, from the ignorance of the faculty in
that sequestered place, had proved fatal. Her maid had
just written the intelligence, enclosing the documents from
the authorities substantiating the fact.
" You are not, perhaps, aware. Miss, that you are left
her executrix ?"
" I her executrix ! " exclaimed I, with astonishment.
"Yes," replied Mr. Selwyn. "Before she left town she
made an alteration in her will ; and stated to me that
you would be able to find the party most interested in
it, and that you had a document in your hands which
would explain everything."
" I have a sealed paper which she enclosed to me, desiring
I would not open it, unless I heard of her death, or had
her permission."
" It must be that to which she refers, I presume," replied
122
VALERIE
he. "I have the will in my pocket: it will be as well
to read it to you, as you are her executrix."
Mr. Selwyn tlien produced the will, by which Lionel
Dempster, her nephew, was left her sole heir; and by a
codicil she had, for the love she bore me, as she stated
in her own handwriting, left me £500 as her executrix,
and all her jewels and wearing aj)parel.
" I congratulate you on your legacy. Miss de Chatenceuf,"
said lie ; " and now, perhaps you can tell me where I can
find this nephew ; for I must say it is the first that I
ever heard of him."
" I believe that I can point him out, sir," replied I ;
"but the most important proofs, I suspect, are to be found
in the paper which I have not yet read."
" I will then, if you please, no longer trespass on you,"
said Mr. Selwyn ; " when you wish me to call again, you will
oblige me by sending word or writing by post."
The departure of Mr. Selwyn was quite a relief to me. I
longed to be alone, that I might be left to my own reflec-
tions, and also that I might peruse the document Avhich had
been confided to me by poor Lady R . I could not help
feeling much shocked at her death — more so, when I con-
sidered her liberality towards me, and the confidence she
reposed in one with whom she had but a short acquaintance.
It was like her, nevertlieless ; who but Lady R would
ever have thought of making a young person so unprotected
and so unacquainted as 1 was with business — a foreigner to
boot — the executrix of her will ; and her death occasioned
by such a mad freak — and Lionel now restored to his position
and his fortune — altogether it was overwhelming, and after
a time I relieved myself with tears. I was still with my
handkerchief to my eyes when Lady M came into the
room.
" Crying, Miss Chatenceuf," said her ladyship ; " is it at the
departure of a very dear friend ? "
There was a sort of sneer on her face as she said this ; and
I replied —
" Yes, my lady, it is for the departure of a dear friend, for
Lady R is dead."
" Mercy ! you don't say so ; and what are these gentlemen
who have been calling upon you .'' "
123
VALERIE
" One is her solicitor, madam/' replied I, " and the other is
a relative of hers."
" A relation ! hut Avhat has the solicitor called upon you
for, if it is not an intrusive (piestion ?"
" No, my lady ; Lady R has appointed me her exe-
cutrix."
" Executrix ! well, I now do helieve that Lady R was
mad !" exclaimed Lady M . "I wanted you to come up
to my boudoir to consult you about the pink satin dress, but
I fear your important avocation will not allow you at present,
so I will leave you till you are a little recovei'ed."
" I thank you, my lady," said I ; " I will be more myself
to-morrow, and will then be at your disposal."
Her ladyship then left the room. I was not pleased at lier
manner, which was very different from her usual courtesy
towards me ; but I was not in a state of mind to weigh well
all that she said or how she said it. I hastened to my room
to look for the paper which Lady R had enclosed to me
previous to her departure. I will give the whole contents to
my readers.
" My dear Valerie, — I will not attempt to account for
the extreme predilection which I, an old woman in com-
parison, immediately imbibed for you before we had been an
hour in company. Some feelings are unaccountable and
inex])licable, but I felt a sympathy, a mesmeric attraction, if
I may use the term, which was uncontrollable at our first
meeting, and which increased every day during our residence
together. It was not the feeling of a mother towards a
child — at least I think not, for it was mingled with a certain
degree of awe and presentiment of evil if ever we parted
again. I felt as if you were my fate, and never has this
feeling departed from me. On the contrary, now that we
separate, it has become stronger than ever. How little do
we know of the mysteries of the mind, as well as of the
body ! We know that we are fearfully and wonderfully made,
and that is all. That there are influences and attractions
uncontrollable and unexplained, I feel certain. Often have
I reflected and wondered on this as I have lain in bed and
meditated ' even to madness,' but have been unable to re-
move the veil. [Alas, poor Lady R ! thought I, I doubt
124
VALERIE
it not ; you were madder than I thought you were.] Imagine,
then, my grief and liorror when I found that you had de-
termined to leave me, dear Valeric. It was to me as the
sentence of death ; but I felt that I could not resist ; it was
my fate, and who can oppose its decrees ? It Avould indeed
have pained your young and generous heart if you knew how
I suffered and still suffer from your desertion ; but I con-
sidered it as a judgment on me — a visitation upon me for the
crimes of my early years, and which I am now about to con-
fide to you, as the only person in whom I feel confidence,
and that justice may be done to one whom I have greatly
injured. 1 would not die without reparation, and that i-e-
paration I entrust to you, as from my own pen I can explain
that without which, M^ith all my good intentions tov.ards the
party, reparation might be difficult. But I must fii'st make
you acquainted Avith the cause of crime ; and to do this you
must hear the events of my early life.
" My father. Sir Alexander Moystyn, had four children,
two sons and two daughters. I Avas the first-born, then my
two brothers, and afterwards, at an interval, my sister ; so
that there Avas a difference of eight years between me and
my sister Ellen. Our mother died in giving birth to Ellen ;
we grew up ; my brothers Avent to Eton and college. I
remained the sole mistress of my father's establishment.
Haughty by natui'e and my position, the power it gave me,
the respect I received — and if 30U Avill look at the miniature
I enclose with this, I may Avithout vanity add, my beauty —
made me imperious and tyrannical. I had many advan-
tageous oflfers, which I rejected, before I was twenty years
of age. My power with my father was unbounded ; his
infirmities kept him for a long time a prisoner in his room,
and my Avord Avas Liav to him, as well as to the Avhole house-
hold. My sister Ellen, still a child, I treated Avith harshness
— first, I believe, because she promised to rival me in good
looks ; and secondly, because my father showed greater aff^ec-
tion towards her than I liked. She Avas meek in temj)er,
and never complained. Time passed — I refused many offers
of marriage. I did not like to resign my position for the
authority of a husband, and I had reached my tAventy-fifth
year, and my sister Ellen Avas a lovely girl of seventeen, Avhen
it was fated that all should be changed.
125
VALERIE
"A Colonel Dempster came down with my eldest brother,
who was a captain in the same regiment of guards — a more
prepossessing jierson I never beheld, and for the first time I
felt that I would with pleasure give up being at the head of
my father's establishment to follow the fortunes of another
man. If my predilection was so strong, I had no I'eason to
complain of want of attention on his part. He courted me
in the most obsequious manner, the style most suited to my
haughty disposition, and I at once gave way to the feelings
with which he had inspired me. I became fervently in love
with him, and valued one of his smiles more than an earthly
crown. Two months passed, his original invitation had been
for one Aveek, and he still remained. The affair was con-
sidered as arranged, not only by myself, but by everybody
else. My father, satisfied that he was a gentleman by birth,
and being able to support himself by his own means in so
expensive a regiment, made no inquiries, leaving the matter
to take its own course. But although two months had
passed away, and his attentions to me were unremitting,
Colonel Dempster had made no proposal, which I ascribed
to his awe of me, and his diffidence as to his success. This
rather pleased me than otherwise ; but my own feelings now
made me wish for the affair to be decided, and I gave him
every opportunity that modesty and discretion would permit.
I saw little of him during the mornings, as he went out w-ith
his gun with the other gentlemen ; but in the evenings he
was my constant and devoted attendant. I received many
congratulations from female acquaintances (friends I had none)
upon my having conquered one who was supposed to be in-
vulnerable to the charms of our sex, and made no disclaimer
Avhen spoken to on the subject. Every hour I expected the
declaration to be made, when, imagine my indignation and
astonishment at being informed one morning when I arose,
that Colonel Dempster and my sister Ellen had disappeared,
and it was reported that they had been seen in a carriage
driving at furious speed.
" It was but too true. It appeared that Colonel Dempster,
who had been informed by my brother of my temper and
disposition, and wdio was aware that without paying court
to me his visit would not be extended, and who had
fallen in love with Ellen almost as soon as he saw her,
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VALERIE
had practised bis dissiimdation towards me to enable liim,
without my knowledge, to gain my sister's affections ; that
his mornings were not spent in shooting with my brother,
as was supposed, but in my sister Ellen's company ; my
brother, to whom he had acknowledged his attachment,
conniving with him to deceive me. A letter from the
colonel to my father, excusing himself for the step he had
taken, and requesting him to pardon his daughter, was
brought in the same morning and read by me. 'Very foolish
of him/ said my father ; ' what is the use of stealing what
you may have for asking. He might have had Ellen if he
had spoken to me, but I always thought that he was courting
you, Barbara.'
"This letter, proving the truth of the report, was too
much for me. I fell down at my father's feet in a violent
fit, and was carried to my bed. The next day I was
seized with a brain fever, and it was doubtful if ever my
reason would return. But it did gradually, and, after a
confinement to my room of three months, I recovered both
health and reason, pai'tially, I may say, for I doubt not but
that the shock I then received has had a lasting effect upon
me, and that it has caused me to be the unsettled, rest-
less, wandering thing that I now am, only content when in
motion, and using my pen to create an artificial excitement.
I believe most people are a little cracked before they begin
to write. I will not assert that it is a proof of madness, but
it is a proof that a very little more would make them mad.
Shakspeare says, 'The lover, the lunatic, and the poet, are
of an imagination all compact.' It matters little whether
it is prose or poetry ; there is often more imagination and
more poetry in prose than in rhyme. But to proceed.
" I arose with but one feeling — that of revenge ; I say
but one feeling. Alas ! I had forgotten to mention hatred,
the parent of that revenge. I felt myself mortified and
humiliated, cruelly deceived and mocked. My love for
him was now turned to abhorrence, and my sister was an
aversion. I felt that I never could forgive her. My father
had not replied to the colonel's letter; indeed, the gout
in his hand prevented him, or he would probably have
done so long before I left my room. Now that I was
once more at his side, he said to me—
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VALERIE
" ' Barbara, I think it is high time to forgive and forget.
I would have ansAvered the colonel's letter before, but I
could not. Now we must write and ask them to come and
pay us a visit.'
"I sat down and wrote the letter, not according to dic-
tation, -which was all kindness, but stating that my father
would never forgive him or my sister, and requested all cor-
respondence might cease, as it would be useless.
" ' Read what you have said, Barbara.'
" I read the letter as if it was written according to his
wishes.
"'That will do, dearest — they'll come back fjist enough.
I long to have Ellen in my arms again. She was very
precious to me, that child, for she cost the life of your
dear mother. I want to ask her why she ran away. I
really believe that it was more from fear of your anger
than of mine, Barbara.'
"I made no reply, but folded the letter and sealed it.
As I alwaj's opened the post-bag, I prevented my father
from ever receiving the many letters written by my poor
sister imploring his forgiveness, and did all 1 could to excite
his anger against her. At last I found out from her letters
that they had gone to the Continent. Months passed.
My poor father fretted sadly at the silence of Ellen, and
the supposed rejection of his kind overtures. His un-
happy state of mind had evidently an effect upon his body ;
he grew weaker and more querulous every day. At last
a letter arrived from Ellen, which I now blush to say gave
me inexpressible joy. It announced the death of her hus-
band — a trifling wound on the thumb having terminated in
lockjaw and death.
"'He is dead, then,' thought I; ' if I lost him, she has
no longer possession of him.'
" Alas ! what a demon had taken possession of me ! The
letter further said, that she was coming over directly, and
that she expected to be shortly confined. This letter was
addresised to me, and not to ni}' father. The death of
her husband did not diminish my hatred against my sister ;
on the contraiy, I felt as if I had her now in my
power, and that my revenge upon her was about to be
accomplished. After meditating u{)on what course I should
12S
VALERIE
pursue, I determined to write to her. T did so, statinp^
that my lather's anger was not to be appeased ; that I had
tried all I could to soften his wrath, but in vain; that
he was grooving weaker every day, and 1 thought her rash
conduct had been the cause of it ; that I did not think
that he could last much longer, and I would make another
apj)eal to him in her favour, which the death of her husband
would probably occasion to be more successful.
" In a fortnight I had a reply, in which my poor sister
invoked blessings on my head for my supposed kindness,
and told me that she was in England, and expected every
hour to be confined ; that she was ill in body and in spirits,
and did not think that she could get over it. She begged
me by the remembrance of our inother, who died giving
her birth, that I Avould come to her. Surely I might have
forgotten my enmity after all the poor girl had suffered ;
but my heart was steeled.
" On consideration, I now thought proper to tell my
father that Colonel Dempster was dead, and my sister re-
turned to England, adding her request that I would attend
her in her confinement, and my willingness so to do. My
poor father was much shocked, and begged me in a tremu-
lous voice to set off' immediately. I promised so to do,
but requested that he would not say a word to any one
as to the cause of my absence until he heard from me, as
it would occasion much talk among the servants, and per-
haps ill-natured remarks might be made. He promised, and
I departed, with a maid who had been ni}'^ nurse, and upon
whose secrecy I thought I could rely. What my intentions
were, I can hardly say ; all I knew Avas, that my re\enge
was not satiated, and I would leave no opportunity of
wreaking it that offered.
" I found my sister in the very pangs of labour, heart-
broken at the supposed resentment of my father, and his
refusal of his forgiveness. I did not alleviate her misery
by telling her the truth, which I n)ight have done. I was
indeed a demon, or jiossessetl by one.
"She died giving birth to a boy. I then felt sorrow, until
I looked at the child, and saw that it was the image of the
colonel — the man who had caused me such misery. Again
my passions were roused, and I vowed that the child should
J29 I
VALERIE
never know its father. I made my maid believe that the
lady I visited was an old schooliellow, and never mentioned
my sister's name — at h-ast 1 thoii^irlit so at the time, hut 1
afterwards fouiul that I had not deceived her. I persuaded
her to take the chikl to her father's, saying that 1 had
promised my friend on her death-bed that 1 would take
care of it, but that it must be a secret, or invidious remarks
would be made. I then returned to C'ulverwood Hall,
dropping my nurse and the child on nij' 'way, and re-
ported to my father my sister's death, of course conceal-
ing that the child was living. Sir Alexander -was much
affected and wept bitterly; indeed, from that day he rapidly
declined.
" I had now satiated my revenge, and was sorry when I
had done so. Until then 1 had been kept up by excitement,
and now all excitement was over, and I had time for reflec-
tion. I was miserable, and in a state of constant warfare
with my conscience, but in vain ; the more I reflected, the
more I was dissatisfied with myself, and would have given
worlds that I could recall what I had done.
"At this time Sir Richard R came down on a visit.
He admired me, proposed, and was accepted, chiefly that
I might remove from the Hall than for any other cause.
I thought that new scenes and change of place would
make me forget, but I was sadly mistaken. I went away
with my husband, and as soon as I was away I was in a
constant fright lest my nurse should betray me to my
father, and begged Sir Richard to shorten his intended
tour and allow me to return to the Hall, as the accounts
of my father's health were alarming. My husband con-
sented, and I had not been at the Hall more than a fortnight
when my father's death relieved me from further anxiety
on that score.
" Another fear now possessed me. I saw by my father's
will that he had left £5000 to me, and also to my sister ;
in case of one dying, the survivor to have both sums ; but
the same cause of alarm w'as in my great-aunt's will. My
great-aunt had left £10,000 to me and .£10,000 to my sister
Ellen, to be settled upon us at our marriage, and in case
of either dying without issue, the survivor to be legatee.
Thus in two instances, by concealing the birth of the
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VALERIE
child, I was depriving; it of its projierty, and obtaining
it for myself. Tiiat I was ignoi-ant of these points is
certain, and unfortunate it was that it was so, for had I
known it, I would not have dared to conceal the birth
of the child, lest 1 should have been accused of having
done so for pecuniary considerations ; and I well knew
that if betrayed by my nurse, such would be the accusa-
tion made against me. I would willingly, even now, have
acknowledged the child as my nephew, but knew not
how to do so, as my husband had possession of the money,
and I dared not confess the crime that I had been guilty
of. If ever retribution fell upon any one, it fell upon me.
My life was one of perfect misery, and when I found that
my nurse and her father objected to keeping the secret
any longer, I thought I should have gone distracted. I
pointed out to them the ruin they would entail upon me,
and gave my solemn promise that I would see justice
done to the child. This satisfied them. For several years
I lived an unhappy life with my husband, until I was at
last relieved by his death. You may ask how it was that
I did not acknowledge the child at his death ; the fact
was that I was afraid. I had put him to school, and he
was then twelve or thirteen years old. I removed him
to my own house with the intention of so doing, and
because my nurse and her father reminded me of my
promise ; but when he was in my house I could not see
my way, or how I could tell the story without acknow-
ledging my guilt, and this pride prevented.
" I remained thus irresolute, every day putting off the
confession, till the boy, from first being allowed to remain
in the drawing-i'oom, sank doAvn into the kitchen. Yes,
Valerie, Lionel, the page, the lacquey, is Lionel Dempster,
my nephew. I said that I could not bear to make the
avowal, and such is the case. At last I satisfied myself
that what I did was for the boy's good. Alas ! how easy
we satisfy ourselves when it suits our views. I had left
him my property, I had educated him, and I said, by
being brought up in a humble position, he will be cured
of j)ride, and w'ill make a better man. Bad reasoning, I
acknowledge.
" Valerie, I have left you my executrix, for even after
131
VALERIE
my death, I -would as much as possible avoid exposure. I
would not be the talk of the town, even for a fortnight,
and it certainly will not helj) Lionel when it is known to
all the world that he has served as a footman. My solicitor
knows not who my nephew is, but is referred to you to
produce him. In a small tin box in the closet of my bed-
room you will find all the papers necessary for his identifi-
cation, and also the names and residence of the parties
who have been my accomplices in this deed ; also all the
intercepted letters of my poor sister's. You must be aware
that Lionel is not only entitled to the property I have
left him, but also to his father's propert)', which, in default
of heirs, passed away to others. Consult with my solicitor
to take such steps as are requisite, without inculpating me
more than is necessar}' ; but if required, let all be known
to my shame, rather than the lad should not be put in
possession of his rights.
'• You will, I am afraid, hate my memory after this sad
disclosure ; but in my extenuation recall to mind how madly
I loved, how cruelly I was deceived. Remember, also, that
if not insane, I was little better at the time I was so
criminal ; and may it prove to you a lesson how difficult
it is, when once you have stepped aside into the path of
error, ever to recover the right tx'ack.
" You now know all my sufferings, all my crimes. You
now know why I have been, not without truth, considered
as a pers'on eccentric to follj^, and occasionally on the verge
of madness. Forgive me and pity me, for I have indeed
been sufficiently punished by an ever-torturing conscience !
" Barbara R ."
CHAPTER IX
i PUT the papers do^^■n on the table as soon as I had finished
them, and for a long while was absorbed in meditation.
" Is it possible," thought I, " that love disappointed can
turn to such fury — can so harden the heart to all better
feelings — induce a woman to shorten the days of her parent
1 [)2
VALERIE
— to allow a sister to remain in painful error on lier death-
bed, and wreak vengeance upon an innocent being, regard-
less of all justice ? Grant, then, that I may never yield to
such a passion ! Who would have ever imagined that the
cai'eless, eccentric Lady R had such a load of crime
weighing her down, and daily and hourly remijided of it
by the pi-esence of the injured party ? How callous she
must have become by habit, to still delay doing an act of
justice — how strange that the fear of the world and its
opinion should be greater than the fear of God ! "
This last remark proved how little I yet knew of tlie
world, and then my thoughts went into another direction.
As I have already said, I had been brought up as a
Catholic ; but, after my grandmother's death, I had little
encouragement or example shown me in religious duties.
Now, having been moi'e than two years in England, and.
continually with Protestants, I had gone to the established
Protestant church with those I resided with at first ; because
I considered it better to go to that church, although I
knew it to be somewhat at variance with my own, rather
than go to no church at all, and by habit I Avas gradually
inclining to Protestantism. But now the idea came across
my mind, if Lady R had confessed as we Catholics do,
this secret could not have been kept so long ; and, if she
withheld herself from the confessional, had her agents been
Catholics, the secret would have been divulged to the priest
by them, and justice Avould have been done to Lionel. And
having made this reflection, I felt, as it were, that I was
again a sincere Catholic.
After a little more reflection, I put away the papers,
wrote a letter to Mr. Selwyn, the solicitor, requesting that
he would call upon me the following morning, and then
went down to Lady M .
" I suppose that we shall not have much of the pleasure
of your company, Miss de Chateno-uf," said her Iad3shi2i,
" now that you have such a novel occupation .'' "
"It is a very distressing one," replied I, "and I wish
Lady R had not paid me such a com.i)liment. Might
I trespass upon your lachship's kindness to request the loan
of the carriage for half-an-hour to obtain some papers from
Lady R 's house in Baker Street .'' "
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VALERIE
"Oh, certainly," replied her ladyship. "Pray, have you
seen Lady R 's will ? "
" Yes, madam."
" And how has she dis])osed of her property .'' "
"She has left it all to her nephew, Lady M ."
" Nephew ! I never heard her speak of a nephew before.
Sir Richard had no nephews or nieces, for he was an only
son, and the title has now gone into the Vivian branch,
and I never heard of her having a nephew. And what
has she left you, mademoiselle, if it is not asking too
much ? "
" Lady R has left me £500, my lady."
" Indeed ! well, then, she pays you for your trouble. But
really. Miss de Chatenoeuf, I do wish you could put off
this business until after the marriages. I am so hurried
and worried that I really do not know which way to turn,
and reall}' I have felt your loss these last two days more
than you can imagine. You are so clever and have so
much taste, that we cannot get on without you. It's all
your own fault," continued her ladyship playfully; "you
are so good-natured, and have made us so dependent upon
you, that we cannot let you off now. Nothing in the
trousseaux is approved of unless stamped by the taste of
Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf. Now a week cannot
make a great difference, and lawyers love delay : will you
ol)lige me, therefore, by leaving Lady R 's affairs for
the present } "
" Certainly, Lady M ," replied I. " I will stop a
letter I was about to send to her solicitor, and Avrite an-
other to the effect you wish, and I will not repeat my
request for the carriage until after the marriages have
taken place."
" Many thanks," replied her ladyship ; and I went out,
took my letter from the hall-table, and wrote another to
Mr. Sehvyn, stating that I could not enter into any business
until the following week, when I should be prepared to
receive him.
I wrote another to the same effect to Lionel, requesting
liim not to call again, but that I would write and let him
know where to meet me as soon as I was more at leisure.
Indeed, I was glad that Lady M had made the request,
134
VALERIE
as the trouble, and chattering, and happy faces -whic-li were
surrounding the trousseaux, and the constant employment
and appeals made to me, drove away the melancholy
which Lady R 's afl'airs had occasioned me. I succeeded
to a great degree in recovering my spirits, and exerted
myself to my utmost, so that everything was comj)lete and
satisfactory to all parties two days before the wedding was
to take place.
At last the morning came. The brides were dressed,
and went down into the drawing-room, frightened and
perplexed, but their tears had been shed above. The pro-
cession of carriages moved on to Hanover Square ; there
was a bishop of course, and the church was filled with gay
and tastefully-dressed women. The ceremony was per-
formed, and the brides were led into the vestry-room to
recover, and receive kisses and congratulations. Then came
the banquet, which nobody hardly tasted except the bishop,
who had joined too many couples in his lifetime to have
his appetite at all affected by the ceremony, and some two
or three others who were old stagers on the road of life,
and who cared little whether it was a wedding-breakfast or
refreshments after a funeral.
At last, after a most silent entertainment, the brides
retired to change their dresses, and, when they reappeared,
they were handed into the carriages of their respective
bridegrooms as soon as they could be torn away from the
kisses and tears of Lady M , who played the part of a
bereaved mother to ])erfection. No one to have seen her
then, raving like another Niobe, would have imagined that
all her thoughts, and endeavours, and manoeuvres for the
last three years, had been devoted to the sole view of get-
ting them off; but Lady M was a perfect actress, and
this last scene was well got up.
As her daughters were led down to the carriages, I
thought that she was going to faint ; but it appeared, on
second thoughts, that she wished first to see the girls
depart in their gay equipages; she therefore tottered to
the window, saw them get in, looked at Newman's greys
and gay postillions — at the white and silver favours — the
dandy valet and smart lady's-maid in each rumble. She
saw them start at a rattling pace, watched them till they
135
VALERIE
turned the corner of the square, and then — and not till then
— fell senseless in my arms, and was carried by the atten-
dants into lier own room.
After all, the poor woman must have been very much
Avorn-out, for she had been for the last six weeks in a
continual worry lest any contretemps should happen, which
miijht have stopped or delayed the happy consummation.
The next morninj^ her ladyship did not leave her room,
but sent doAvn word that the carriai^e was at my service ;
but I was fatigued and worn-out, and declined it for that
day. I wrote to Lionel and to Mr. Selwyn, desiring them
to meet me in Baker Street at two o'clock the next day,
and then passed the day quietly in comjiany with Amy,
the third daughter of Lady M , whom I have before
mentioned. She was a very sweet, unaffected girl ; and I
was more partial to her than to her sisters, who had been
just married. I had paid great attention to her, for she had
a fine voice, and did credit to my teaching, and there was
a great intimacy between us, arising on my part from
ray admiration of her ingenuous and amiable disposition,
which even her mother's example to the contrary could not
spoil.
After some conversation relative to her sisters and their
husbands, she said —
" I hardly know what to do, Valerie. I love you too well
to be a party to your being ill-treated, and yet I fear that
you will be pained if I tell you what I have heard about
you. I know also that you will not stay if I do tell you,
and that Avill give me great pain; but that is a selfish feel-
ing Avhich I could overcome. What I do not like is hurting
your feelings. Now, tell me candidly, ought I to tell you
or not t"
"1 will give you my opinion candidly," replied L "You
have said too little or too much. You speak of my being
ill-treated ; certainly, I should wish to guard against that,
although I cannot imagine who is my enemy."
''Had I not heard it, I could not have believed it eitlur,"
replied she. " I thought that you had come here on a visit
as a friend ; but what makes me think that I ought to tell
you is, that there will be something said against your char-
acter, which I am sure must be false."
VALERIE
"Now, indeed, I must re{]uest that you will tell nic every-
thing, and soften nothing down, but tell nie the whole truth.
Wlio is it that intends to attack my character ? "
" I am sorry — very sorry to say, it is mamma," replied she,
wiping away a tear.
" Lady M ! " exclaimed L
"Yes," replied she; "but now you nuist listen to all
I have to say. I am sure that I am doing right in telling
you, and therefore nothing shall prevent me. I love my
mother — what a sad thing it is that I cannot respect
her ! I was in the dressing-room when my mother was
lying on the sofa in her bedroom this morning, when her
great friend, Mrs. Germane, came up. She sat talking
with my mother for some time, and they appeared either
to forget or not to care if I heard them, for at last your
name was mentioned.
"'Well, she does dress you and your girls beautifully, I
must say,' said Mrs. Germane. ' Who is she ? They say
that she is of a good family ; and hoAv came she to live with
you as a milliner .'' '
" ' My dear Mrs. Germane, that she does live with me as
a milliner is ti*ue, and it was for that reason only I invited
her to the house ; but she is not aware that I retain her
in that capacity. She is, I understand from Mrs. Bathurst,
of a noble family in France, thrown upon the world by
circumstances, very talented, and very proud. Her extreme
taste in dress I discovered when she was living with Mrs.
Bathurst ; and when I found that she was about, through my
management, to leave Lady R , I invited her here as a
sort of friend, and to stay with my daughters — not a word
did I mention about millinery ; I had too much tact for that.
Even when her services were required, I made it appear as
her own offer, and expressed my thanks for her condescen-
sion, and since that, by flattery and management, she has
continued to dress my daughters for me ; and, I must say,
that I do believe it lias been owing to her exquisite taste
that my daughters liave gone off so well.'
"'Well, you have managed admirably,' rej)lied Mrs.
CJermane ; ' but, my dear Lady M , what will you do
with her now .'' "
"'Oh,' replied Lady M , 'as Amy will now come out,
137
VALERlt:
1 shall retain her in my employ until she is disposed of, and
then '
" ' Yes, then will be the difficulty/ replied Mrs. Germane ;
'after having allowed her to live so long with you as a visitor,
I may say, how will you get rid of her ? '
" ' ^Vhy, I was puzzling myself about that, and partly
decided that it should be done by mortifying her and
wounding her feelings, for she is very proud ; but, fortu-
nately, I have found out something which I shall keep to
myself until the time comes, and then I can dismiss her at
a moment's warning.'
"'Indeed!' said Mrs. Germane; 'what could you have
found out ? '
'"Well, I will tell you, but you must not mention it
again. My maid entered the room the other day, when
mademoiselle was receiving a young man who called upon
her, and she found them kissing.'
" ' You don't say so ! '
" ' Yes, a kiss was given, and my maid saw it. Now, I can
easily make it ap})ear that my maid never mentioned it to
me till the time that it may be convenient to make use of
it, and then I can send her away ; and if any questions are
asked, hint at a little impropriety of conduct.'
" ' And very properly too,' replied Mrs. Germane. ' Had
I not better hint a little beforehand to prepare people .'' '
" ' Why, it may be as well, perhaps ; but be cautious, very
cautious, my dear Mrs. Germane.'
" Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, I am sorry that I am
obliged, in doing my duty to you, to expose mamma," said
Amy, rising up from her chair ; " but I am sure that you
could not be guilty of any impropriety, and I will not allow
you to be accused of it, if it is to be prevented."
" Many thanks," replied I. " My dear Amy, you have
behaved like a kind friend. I have only, in duty to myself,
to clear up the charge against me of impro2)riety. You
must not imagine me guilty of that. It is true that your
mother's maid did come in when a young lad of seventeen,
who was grateful to me for the interest I took in his welfare,
and who was taking leave of me at the time, did raise my
hand to his lips and kiss it; and had he done so before your
mothei", I should not have prevented it. This was the kiss,
138
VALERIE
which, as your mothei* asserts, passed between us, and this
is the only impropriety that took place. Oh, wliat a sad,
treacherous, selfish, wicked world this is ! " cried I, throwing
myself on the sofa and bursting into tears.
Amy was making every attempt to console me, and
blaming herself for having made the communication, when
Lady M came downstairs into the room.
" What is all this .'' What a scene ! " exclaimed she.
" Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, have you had any bad
news ? "
" Yes, my lady," replied I, " so bad that I am under the
necessity of leaving you directly."
" Indeed ! may I inquire what has happened .'' "
" No, my lady, it is not in my power to tell you. I have
only to repeat, that I must, with your permission, leave this
house to-morrow morning."
" Well, mademoiselle," replied her ladyship, " I do not
want to pry into your secrets, but this I must say, that
where there is concealment there must be wrong ; but I
have lately discovered so much, that I do not wonder at
concealment, nor am I, indeed, surprised at your wish to
leave me."
" Lady M ," replied I haughtily, " I have never done
anything during the time that I have been under your roof
which I have to blush for, nor indeed anything that requires
concealment. This I can proudly say. If I conceal now,
it is to spare others, and I may add, to spare you. Do not
oblige me to say more in presence of your daughter. It
will be sufficient for me to hint to you, that I am now aware
why I was invited to your house, and what are your plans
for dismissing me when it suits you."
" Eavesdropping, then, is a portion of your character,
mademoiselle," cried Lady M , colouring up to the
temples.
" No, madam, such is not the case, and that is all the
answer 1 shall give ; it is sufficient for you that you are
exposed, and I do not envy your present feelings. I liave
only to rejieat, that I shall leave this house to-morrow
morning, and I will not further trouble your ladyshi}! with
my company."
I then walked out of the I'oom, and as I passed Lady
139
VALERIE
M , and observed lier confusioji and vexation, I felt that
it was she who was liiimihated, and not nie. I went up to
my room and connnenced my preparations for immediate
departure, and had been more tlian an liour busy in packing
up, when Amy came into my room.
"Oh, \'alerie, how sorry I am ; but you have behaved just
as I think that you ought to have done ; and how very kind
of you not to sa}' that I told you. My mother was so angry
after you left ; said that the maids must have been listening,
and declares she will give them all warning ; but I know
that she will not do that. She spoke about your meeting a
young man, and kissing going on ; but you have already
explained all that."
"Amy," replied I, "after I am gone, take an opportunity
of saying to Lady M that you mentioned this to me,
and tell her that my reply was, if Lady M knew who
that young man was, how he is connected, and how large a
fortune he will inherit, she would be very glad to see him
kiss one of her daughter's hands with a different feeling from
that which induced him to kiss mine."
" I will, depend upon it," said Amy ; " and then mamma
Avill think that she has lost a good husband for me."
" She will meet him some of these days," replied I ; " and
what is more, he will defend me from any attack made on
that score."
"I will tell her that also," said Amy; "it will make her
careful of what she says."
One of the servants then knocked at the door, and said
that Lady M wished to see Miss Amy.
"Wish me good-bye now," said I, "for you may not be
permitted to see me again."
The dear girl embraced me cordially, and, Avith tears in her
eyes, left the room. I remained till I had finished packing,
and then sat down. Shortly afterwards her ladyship's maid
came in, and delivered me an envelope from her ladyship,
enclosing the salary due to me, Avith Lady M 's compli-
ments written outside.
I saw no more of Lady M or her daughter that even-
ing. I went to bed, and, as in my former changes, I
reflected what steps I should take. As for the treatment I
had received, I was now to a certain degree hardened to it,
140
VALERIE
and my feelings certainl}^ were not so acute as when, the
first time, I had received a lesson of what I might expect
through life from the heartlessness and selfishness of the
world ; but in the present case there w;is a difficulty which
did not exist in the former — I was going away without know-
ing where I was to go. After a little thought, I determined
that I would seek Madame Gironac, and ascertain whether
she could not receive me until I had decided upon my future
plans.
My thoughts then recurred to other points. I recollected
that I had to meet Mr. Selwyn and Lionel in Baker Street,
and I resolved that I would go there with my effects early
the next morning, and leave them in charge of the cook,
who was taking care of the house. I calculated also the
money that I had in possession and in prospect. I had such
a good stock of clothes when I came to England with
Madame Bathurst, that I had no occasion, during the two
years and more" that I had now been in England, to make
any purchases of consequence — indeed, I had not expended
more than the twenty pounds I had brought with me. 1
had received some few presents from Lady M and
Madame Bathurst, and a great many from Lady R .
Altogether, I calculated that I had about two hundred and
sixty pounds in my desk, for Lady R had given me one
hundred pounds for only a portion of the year ; then there
was the five hundred pounds which she had left me, besides
her wearing apparel and trinkets, which last I knew to be of
value. It was a little fortune to one in my position, and I
resolved to consult Mr. Selwyn as to the best way of dispos-
ing of it. Having wound up my meditations with the most
agreeable portion of them, I fell asleep, and in the morning
woke up refreshed.
Ijidy M 's maid, who had always been partial to me,
for I had taught her many things valuable to a lady's-maid,
came in early, and said that she knew that I was going
away, which she regretted very much. I replied that I
should leave as soon as possible, but I wanted some break-
fast. This she brought up to my room.
I had not finished when Amy came into the room and
said, " I have permission to come and wish you good-b^c,
Valerie. I told mannna Avhat you said about the person who
IH
VALERIE
was seen to kiss your hand. She acknowledges now that
it was your hand that was kissed, and she was so astonished,
for she knows that you never tell stories : and, what do
}'ou tliiiik, she desired me to find out what was the young
gentleman's name that had so large a fortune. I said I
would if I eould, and so I will by asking you outright, not
by any other means. I don't want to know his name,"
continued she, laughing, " but I'm sure mamma has in her
mind fixed upon him for a husband for me, and would now
give the world that you were not going away, that through
you he might be introduced to her."
" I cannot tell you, my dear," replied I. " I am not at
liberty to mention it at present, otherwise I would with
pleasure. I am going now. May God bless you, my dearest,
and may you always continue to be the same frank and
amiable creature that you are now ! I leave you with regret,
and I pray eai'nestly for your happiness. You have made me
very hajijiy by telling me that your mamma acknowledges
that it was my hand that Avas kissed ; after that, she will
hardly attempt to injure me, as she proposed."
'^ Oh no, Valerie ; I think she is afraid to do so now.
This young man of fortune has made her think differently.
He would, of course, protect you from slander, and expose
her if she attempted it. Then, good-bye."
We embraced, and then I ordered a hackney-coach to be
called, and drove with my luggage to Baker Street. The
cook welcomed me, saying that she expected my coming, as
Mr. Selwyn had called to tell her of Lady R 's death,
and that when she asked to whom she was to look for her
wages, he had told her that I was the person who was to
settle all her ladyship's affairs, as everything was left on
my hands. She showed me a letter from Martha, Lady
R 's maid, by which I found that they would probably
arrive in Baker Sti-eet that vei-y day, with all her ladyship's
effects.
"I suppose you will sleep here, miss?" said the cook;
*"' I have aired your bed, and your room is all ready."
I replied that I wished to do so for a night or two, at all
events, as I had a good deal to attend to, but that Mr.
Selwyn would call at one o'clock, and that I would speak to
him on the subject.
142
VALERIE
I had requested Lionel to call at twelve, an hour previous
to Mr. Selwyn, that I nii^ht make him actjuainted with the
contents of Lady R 's paj)ers addressed to me. He
was punctual to the time, and I shook liands with him,
saying, " Lionel, I congratulate you at now having proofs
of your being the ncj)hew of Lady R , and also at her
having left you considerable property. You will be surprised
to hear that she has ap])ointed me her executrix."
" I am not at all sin-prised," replied Lionel ; " I am sure
she has done a wise thing at last."
"That is more than I am," replied I ; "but I appreciate
the compliment. But, Lionel, there is no time to be lost,
as Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer, is coming here at one o'clock,
and before he comes I wish you to read over Lady R 's
confession, if I ma}^ so call it, which will explain the motives
of her conduct towards you. I am afraid that it will not
extenuate her conduct ; but recollect that she h;>s now
made all the reparation in her j)ower, and that we nmst
forgive as Ave hojie to be forgiven. Sit down and read
these papers, while I unpack one or two of my boxes
upstairs."
"The last time that we were here, I corded them up for
you, Miss Valerie ; 1 hope that you will allow me to assist
you again."
"Thank you, but you will have no time to read what
Lady R has said, and the cook and I can manage with-
out you."
1 then left the room and went upstairs. I was still busy
in my room when a knock at the sti-eet-door announced
the arrival of Mr. Selwyn, and I went down into the drawing-
room to meet him. I asked Lionel, who was walking up
and down the room, whether he had finished the papers,
and he replied by a nod of the head. The ])oor lad appeared
very miserable, but Mr. Selwyn entered, and I could not
say more to him.
" I hope I have not kept you waiting. Mademoiselle de
Chatenteuf," saitl he.
" No, indeed. I came here at ten o'clock, for I have left
Lady M , and I may as well ask at once whether there
is any objection to my taking a bed in this house for a few
nights .'' "
143
VALERIE
"Objection! Why, mademoiselle, you are sole executrix,
and everything is at present yours, in fact, for the time.
You have, therefore, a right to take possession until he
appears, and the will is proved."
"The hero is before you, Mr. Sehvyn. Allow me to
introduce you to Mr. Lionel Dempster, the nephew of
Lady R ."
Mr. Selwyn bowed to Lionel, and congratulated him upon
his accession to the property.
Lionel returned the salute, and then said, " Mademoiselle
de Chatenceuf, I am convinced that in this case Mr. Selwyn
must be made a party to all that has occurred. The reading
of these papers has rather disturbed me, and it would be
painful to me to hear everything repeated in my presence.
With your permission, I will walk out for an hour, and leave
you to explain everything to Mr. Selwyn, for I am sure that
I shall need his advice. Here is the confession of old
Roberts, which I shall leave for his perusal. Good morning,
then, for the present."
So saying, Lionel took up his hat and quitted the room.
" He is a very prepossessing young man," observed Mr.
Selwyn. "What a fine eye he has \"
" Yes," replied I ; " and now that he has so large a pro-
perty, others will find out that he is a prepossessing young
man with fine eyes. But sit down, Mr. Selwyn, for you have
to listen to a very strange narrative."
When he had finished it, he laid it down on the table,
saying, " This is perhaps the strangest history that has ever
come to my knowledge during thirty years of practice. And
so she brought him up as a footman. I now recognise him
again as the lad who has so often opened the door for me ;
but I confess I never should have done so if I had not heard
what you have now communicated."
" He was always much above his position," replied L
" He is very clever and very amusing ; at least I found him
so when he served me in his menial capacity, and certainly
was much more intimate with him than I ever thought I
could be with a servant. At all events, his education has
not been neglected."
"Strange! very strange!" observed Mr. Selwyn, "this
is a curious world ; l)ut I fear that his history cannot be
114
VALERIE
kept altogether a secret; for you must recollect, made-
moiselle, that his father's property must be claimed, and
no doubt it will be disputed. I must go to Doctors'
Commons and search out the will at once of Colonel
Dempster ; he intends, as I presume he docs by Avhat he
said just now, to employ me. After all, it will, if known,
be but a nine days' wonder, and do him no harm ; for he
proves his birth by his appearance, and his breeding is so
innate as to have conquered all his disadvantages."
"When I knew him as a servant, I thought him an in-
telligent and witty lad, but I never could have believed that
he would have become so improved in such a short time ;
not only his manners, but his language is so different."
" It was in him," replied Mr. Selwyn ; "as a domestic,
the manners and language of a gentleman would have
been out of place, and he did not attempt them ; now
that he knows his position, he has called them forth. We
must find out this Mrs. Green, and have her testimony
as soon as possible. Of course, after the deposition of old
Roberts, Sir Thomas Moystyn will not be surprised when
I communicate to him the confession of Lady R , and
the disposition of her property. In fact, the only difficulty
will be in the recovery of the property of his father. Colonel
Dempster, and "
A knock at the street door announced the return of
Lionel. When he entered the room, Mr. Selwyn said —
" Ml'. Dempster, that you are the nej)hcw of Lady
R , to whom she has bequeathed her jjroperty, and
what was your own, is sufficiently established in my opinion.
I will therefore, with your permission, read her ladyship's
will."
Lionel took a seat, and the will was read. When it was
finished, Mr. Selwyn said —
" Having been Lady R 's legal adviser for many years,
I am able to tell you, within a trifle, what property you
will receive. There are £.57,000 three per cents. ; this house
and furniture, which I purchased the lease of for her, and
which is only saddled with a ground-rent for the next forty
years; and I find a balance of .£1200 at the banker's. Your
father's property, Mr. Dempster, of course I know nothing
about, but will ascertain this (o-morrow by going to Doctors'
145 K
VALERIE
Commons. I think I may venture to assure the executrix
that she will run no risk in allowing you to take any sum
of money you may require from the balance in the bank,
as soon as the will is proved, which had lictter be done
to-morrow, if it suits Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf."
" Certainly," replied I ; " I am anxious to get rid of my
trust as soon as possible, and give Mr. Dempster possession.
There is a tin box of papers, Mr. Selwyn, which I cannot
get at till the return of Lady R 's maid, as the keys are
with Lady R 's effects, which she is bringing home with
her."
"Yes, they will no doubt be important," replied Mr.
Selwyn ; " and now, Mr. Dempster, if you are in want of
any ready cash, I shall be your banker with pleasure till
you can have possession of your own."
" I thank you, sir, I am not in want of any," replied
Lionel, " for the present ; but, as soon as I may be per-
mitted to have money from the bank, I shall be glad, as
it is not my intention to remain in England."
" Indeed ! " exclaimed I.
"No, Mademoiselle Valerie," said Lionel. "I am but
too well aware of many deficiencies which must arise from
the position I have been so long in, not to wish to remedy
them as soon as possible ; and, before I appear as the heir
of Ladv R , it is my intention, as soon as I can, to
go to Paris, and remain there for two years, or perhaps,
until I am of age; and I think in that time to improve
myself, and make myself more what the son of Colonel
Dempster should be. I am young yet, and capable of in-
struction."
" You propose a vei*y proper step, Mr. Dempster," said
Mr. Selwyn; "and during 3'our absence all legal proceed-
ings will be over, and, if the whole affair is made public,
it will be forgotten again by the time that you propose
to return. I am sure that the executrix will be most happy
to forward such very judicious arrangements. I will now
take my leave, and beg Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf to
meet me at Doctors' Commons at three o'clock to-morrow ;
that will give me time to look for Colonel Dempster's
will. Good morning, mademoiselle ; good morning, Mr.
Dempster."
146
VALERIE
Mr. Selwyn went out, and left us alone.
" May I askj Miss Valerie, whether you have left Lady
M ? '•
" Yes," replied I ; and I told him what had passed,
adding, " I stay here for a night or two, and shall go then
to Madame Gironac's."
" Why not stay here altogether } I hope you will. I
shall go abroad as soon as possible."
" Yes, and you are right in so doing. But, Lionel, you
forget that my duty as executrix will be to make the best
of the estate for you until you are of age, and this house
must be let furnished ; Mr. Selwyn told me so while you
were away ; besides, I am not a young lady of fortune, but
one most unfortunately dependent upon the caprices of
others, and I must submit to my fate."
Lionel made no reply for some little while, and then he
said —
" I am very glad that Lady R has shown the high
opinion she had of jou ; but I cannot forgive her treatment
of my mother. It was too cruel ; but I had better not talk
aiiy more about it ; and I am sure, Miss Valerie, you must be
anxious to be alone. Good afternoon. Miss Valerie."
" Good-bye, Lionel, for the present," replied L " By-the-
bye, did the cook recognise you .'' "
" Yes ; and I told her that I had given up going out to
service."
" I think that you had better not come here, Lionel, till
I have dismissed Lady H 's maid, which I shall do the
day after her arrival. I will meet you at Mr. Selwyn's
office — it will be better."
To this Lionel agreed, and we parted.
The next day the will was proved, and Mr. Selwyn then
informed us that he liad found the will of the late Colonel
Dempster, which had left his property to his child unborn,
as might be supposed, with a jointure on the estate, which
was entailed. The will, in consequence of the supposed
non-existence of Lionel, had been proved by the next of
kin, a gentleman of large property, and of whom report
spoke highly. It was the intention of Mr. Selwyn to
communicate with him directly. The probate duty, Sec,
had required a large portion of the £1200 left in the
147
VALERIE
bank, but there was still enough to meet all Lionel's wants
for a year, if he wished to go abroad immediately ; and
another dividend would be due in a month, so that there
could be no difficulty. Mr. Sclwyn explained all this as
we drove to his chambers, where I signed some papers at
his request, and Lionel received a cheque on the bank, and
I sent, by Mr. Sehvyn, instructions to meet his drafts for
the future.
This affair being arranged, Lionel stated his intention
of quitting immediately for Paris. He said that he would
go for his passport that afternoon, as there was time enough
left for him to give in his name at the office ; and that
he would call to-morrow afternoon to bid me farewell.
He then took his leave, and left me with Mr. Selwyn, with
whom I had a long conversation, during which I stated to
him that I had some money of my own, as well as what
liad been left me by Lady R , which I w-ished to put
in safety. He recommended that I should lodge what I
tlien had at a banker's, and, as soon as I had received the
rest, he would look out for a good mortgage for me. He
then handed me into a coach, and bade me farewell,
stating that he would call on the day after the morrow,
at three o'clock, as by that time Lady R s maid must
have arrived, and I should have obtained possession of the
key of the tin box, the papers in which he was anxious to
examine.
On my return to Baker Street, I found that Lady R 's
maid had arrived, and I of course immediately took posses-
sion of everything. I then ])aid her her wages, and dis-
missed her, giving her permission to remain and sleep in
the house, and promising her a character. It appeared very
summary to dismiss her so soon, but I was anxious she should
not see Lionel, and I told her that, as executrix, I was not
warranted in keeping her a day longer than was necessary,
as I was answerable for all expenses. Having now the key.s,
I was able to examine everything. I first found the tin box,
with various papers in it; among others, a packet, on which
was written, " Papers relative to my sister Ellen and her
child." I thought I would not open them till Mr. Selwyn
was present, as it might appear as if I was curious ; so I laid
them aside. I then despatched the cook with a note to
148
VALERIE
Madame Gironac, requesting that slie would come and spend
the evening with me, as I had mucli to communicate to her.
Indeed, I felt (hdl ah)ne in sucli a large house, and I also
felt the want of a sincere friend to talk with.
Having nothing better to do, I opened the various
drawers and cupboards which contained the apparel, <!vc., of
Lady R , and found such a mass of things that I was
astonished. In her whimsical way, she had at times pur-
chased silks and various jewels, wliich she had never made
use of, but thrown on one side. There Avere more studs
for making up dresses than dresses made up, — I should
say nearly double. I found one large bundle of point-lace,
some of it of great beauty, which I presume had belonged
to her mother, and of other laces there was a great quantity.
The jewels which she had taken abroad with her wei'c
very few, and such as she wore in common ; her diamonds,
and all that was of value, I knew she had sent to her
banker's a day or two previous to her departure, and I
thought I would wait till I had seen Mr. Selwyn again
before I claimed them.
Madame Ciironac came as requested, and I then com-
municated to her all that had taken place. She was
delighted at my good fortune, and said she hoped that
I would now come and live with them, as I had the means
of living, without being subject to the caprices of others ;
but I could give no answer till I knew what my property
might amoinit to. All I could promise was, to go to her
as soon as I had finished my business in Baker Street, and
then I would afterwards decide Avhat steps it would be
advisable for me to take.
After a long conversation, during which Madame Gironac
was as lively as ever, we separated, Madame Gironac
promising to come and pass the next day with me, and
assist me in looking over Lady R 's wardrobe. During
the afternoon I had selected a good many of Lady R 's
dresses, and some which did not please my taste, or had
been much worn, I gave to her maid, on the following
nu>rning, before her departure. This pleased her very
much, as she knew that her mistress's wardrobe had been
bc(|ueathed to me, and did not expect to obtain any jjorlion
of it ; but the drawers aiul closets were so loaded, that I
14.9
VALERIE
could well afford to be generous. Madame Gironac came
to breakfast the next morning, accompanied by her hus-
band, •who was dflighted to see nie, and having as usual
quarrelled, after their fasliion, he bounced out of the room
declaring that he never would see that odious little woman
any more.
" Oh, Monsieur Gironac, you forget you promised to come
and dine here."
" Well, Avell, so I did ; but, Mademoiselle Valerie, that
promise has prevented a separation."
" It is very unlucky that you asked him. Mademoiselle
Valerie," replied his wife, " all my hopes are destroyed.
Good-bye, Monsieur Gironac, and be grateful that you have
been prevented from conunitting a folly ; now go, we are
to be very busy, and don't want you."
" I will go, madame ; and hear me," said Monsieur
Gironac, with a mock solemnity, " as I live, I Mill not
return — till dinner-time."
He then bounced out of the room. We then proceeded
to sort and arrange. Madame Gironac, who was a good
judge, stated the lace to be worth at least £200, and the
other articles, such as silks, &c., with the dresses and lace,
at about £100 more. The laces and silks not made up
she proposed selling for me, which she said that she could
to various customers, and the dresses and lace she said
could be disposed of to a person she knew, who gained her
livelihood by remaking up such things.
We were thus employed when Lionel called. He had
obtained his passport, and had come to wish me good-bye.
When he rose to say farewell, he said —
'•' Miss Valerie, I can hardly say Avhat my feelings are to-
wards you. Your kindness to me when I was a supposed
footman, and the interest you always took in anything con-
cerning me, have deeply impressed me with gratitude ; but I
feel more. You are much too young for my mother, but I
feel the I'cvei'cnce of a son, and if I did dare to use the ex-
pression, I feel towards you, what I think are the feelings
that a brother should have towards a sister."
" I am flattered by your saying so, Lionel," replied I.
"You are now in a much higher position, or rather, soon
will be, than I shall ever obtain in this world, and that you
150
VALERIE
have such feeHngs towards me for any little kindness I have
shown to you is highly creditable to your heart. Have you
any letters of introduction to any one in Paris ? but now I
think of it, you cannot well have."
" No," replied he ; " I may have by-and-by, but how could
I possibly obtain one at present ? "
A thought struck me.
" Well, Lionel, you do not know my history ; but I was
once very intimate with a lady at Paris, and although we
parted bad friends, she has since written kindly to me, and
I believe her to have been sincere in so doing. I will give
you a letter of inti-oduction to her ; but do not blame me
if I have been deceived in her a second time."
I went to the table and wrote the following short note : —
" My dear Madame D' Albret, — This letter will be pre-
sented to you by a Mr. Lionel Dempster, a young English-
man of fortune, and a great friend of mine. He is going
to reside at Paris, to improve himself, until he becomes of
age ; and I give him this introduction to you for two reasojis :
the first, because I want to prove to you that, although my
feelings would not permit me to accej)t jour last kind offer,
I have long forgotten and forgiven any little injustice you
did me ; and the second, because I feel convinced that in
your society, and that which you keep, he will gain moie
advantage than perhaps in any other in Paris. — ^'ours with
esteem, Valerie de Ciiaten(euk."
" There, Lionel, this may be of use to you ; if not, write
and let me know. You will, of course, let me hear from you
occasionally ?"
" May Heaven preserve you. Miss Valerie ! " replied Lionel.
" I only hope the time may arrive when I may be able to
prove my gratitude."
Lionel kissed my hand, and the tears rolled down his
cheeks as he quitted the room.
" He is a charming young man," said Madame Gironac, as
soon as the door was shut.
" He is a very superior young man, in my opinion," rej>lied
I; "and I am most anxious that he should do well. I did
VALERIE
not think it possible that I ever could have written again to
Madame d'Albret, but my goodwill towards him induced
me. There is Monsieur Gironac's knock ; so now for a
quarrel, or a reconciliation — which is it to be ? "
'• Oh, we must reconcile first, and then have a quarrel
afterwards ; that is the established rule."
Monsieur Gironac soon joined us. We passed a very
lively evening, and it was arranged that I should in three
days take u{) my quarters at their house.
The next day Mr. Selwyn called at the time appointed,
and I made over to him the box and papers. He told me
that he had seen Mrs. Green, and had had her full confession
of what took place, in corroboration of all that was stated
by Lady R and old Roberts, and that he had written
to Mr. Armiger Dempster, who had succeeded to the pro-
perty of Lionel's father.
I then told him that I wished to go with him to the bank,
to lodge the money I then had, and to obtain Lady R 's
jewel-case, which Avas deposited there.
" Nothing like the time present," said Mr. Selwyn ; " my
carriage is at the door. I will have the ])leasure of taking
you there and then returning with you. But I have another
appointment, and must be so impolite as to request that you
will hurry your toilet as much as possible."
This was done, and in an hour I had lodged my money
and obtained the jewel-case.
Mr. Selwyn took me back again, and, having put the tin
box into the carriage, wished me farewell.
I told him that I was about to take up my residence
with the Gironacs, gave him their address, and then we
parted.
That evening I opened the jewel-case, and found it well
stocked. The value of its contents I could not possibly be
acquainted with ; but that so many diamonds and other
stones were of value I knew well. I placed the other
caskets of Lady R in the case, and then proceeded to
make up my packages ready for transportation to Madame
Gironac's, for there were a great many trunks full. I
occupied myself with this for the remainder of the time
that I was in Baker Street, and when Monsieur Gironac
and his wife called according to promise, to take me to
152
VALERIE
their home, it required two eoaclies, and well loaded, to
take all the luggage ; a third conveyed Monsieur and
Madame Gironac, myself, and the jewel-case. I found a
very cheerful room jjrepared for me, and I had the })leasant
feeling, as we sat down to our small dinner, that I had a
home.
Madame Gironac was indefatigable in her exertions, and
soon disposed of all the laces and wardrobe that I had de-
cided upon parting with, and I paid the sum that they
realised, viz., £310, into the banker's. The disposal of the
jewels was a more difficult affair, but they were valued by a
friend of Monsieur Gironac's, who had once been in the
trade, at £6"0. After many attempts to dispose of them
more favourably, I succeeded in obtaining for them the sum
of £570.
Mr. Selwyn had called upon me once or twice, and I had
received my legacy with interest; deducting the legacy-duty
of £50, it came to £4-5S. I had, therefore, the following
sums in all : £230 of my savings, £310 for the wardrobe
and laces, £570 for the jewels, and £458 for the legacy ;
amounting in all to £15()8. Who would have imagined,
three months before, that I should ever have possessed such
a sum ? I did not, certainly.
Mr. Selwyn, as soon as he knew w hat sum I had to dispose
of, viz., £1500, for I i-etained the £68 for my expenses, pro-
cured me a mortgage at five per cent, on excellent landed
security; and thus did the poor forlorn Valerie possess an
income of £75 per annum.
As soon as this was all arranged, I felt a tranquillity I
had not known before. I Avas now independent. I could
work, it is true, if I felt inclined, and had an opportunity.
I could, however, do without work. The Gironacs, finding
that I insisted upon paying for my board, and knowing
that I could now afford it, agreed to receive forty pounds
per annum — more they would not listen to. Oh ! what a
balm to the feelings is the consciousness of independence,
especially to one who had been treated as I had been.
There were two situations to which I had taken a violent
abhorrence^that of a governess, and now that of a milliner;
and I thanked Heaven that I was no longer under any fear of
being driven into either of those unfortunate employments.
153
VALERIE
For the first month that I remained vitli the Gironacs, I
absohitely did nothing but enjoy my emancipation ; after
that I began to talk over matters Avith Monsieur Gironac,
who pointed out to me, that now that 1 could live upon my
own means, I should endeavour to increase them, so as to
be still more at my ease.
" What do you propose that I should do, then, monsieur ? "
replied I.
" I shall propose that you establish yourself as a music-
mistress, and give lessons on the pianoforte and singing. By
degi-ees you will get a connection, and you will still be your
own mistress."
"And when you have nothing else to do, mademoiselle,
you must make flowers in wax," said Madame Gironac.
" You make them so well, that I can always sell yours when
I cannot my own."
" I must not interfei'e with you, Elise," said I ; " that
would be very ungrateful on my part."
" Pooh — nonsense — there are customers enough for us
both."
I thought this advice to be very good, and made up my
mind to follow it. I had not money sufficient to purchase a
piano just then, as it would be five months before the half-
year's interest of the mortgage would be due ; so I hired one
from a dealer with whom Monsieur Gironac was intimate,
and practised several hours every day. Fortune appeared
inclined to favour me, for I obtained employment from four
different channels.
The first and most important was this : I w-ent every
Sunday to the Catholic Chapel with Madame Gironac, and
of course I joined in the singing. On the third Sunday,
as I was going out, I was touched on the arm by one of
the priests, who requested to speak with me in the vestry.
Madame Gironac and I followed him, and he requested us
to sit down.
" Whom have I the pleasure of addressing .'' " said he
to me.
" Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, sir," replied I.
" I am not aware of your circumstances, mademoiselle,"
said he, "but the name is one well known in France. Still,
those who hold our best names are very often not in affluent
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VALERIE
circumstances in this country. I trust, let it be as it may,
that you will not be offended, but the fact is, your singing
has been nuich admired, and we would wish for your service,
gratuitous, if you are in good circumstances, but well paid
for, if you are not, in the choir."
" Mademoiselle de Chatena'uf is not, I am sorry to say, in
good circumstances, monsieur," replied Madame Gironac.
"'J'lien I will promise that she shall be well rewarded for
her exertions, if she will consent to sing in the chapel — but
do you consent ? "
" I have no objection, sir," replied I.
" Allow me, then, to call the gentleman who presides
over the choir," said the priest, going out.
" Accept by all means. Mademoiselle Valerie. It will
be an introduction for you as a music-mistress, and very
advantageous."
"I agree with you," replied I, "and I like singing sacred
music."
The priest returned with a gentleman, who told me that
he had listened with great pleasure to my singing, and
begged, as a favour, that I would sing him a solo, which
he had brought with him.
As I could sing at sight, I did so. He was satisfied, and
it was agreed that I should come on Saturday at twelve, to
practise with the rest of the choir. The following Sunday
I sang with them, and also sang the solos. After the
service was over, I received three guineas for my per-
formance, and was informed that a similar sum would be
given to me every Sunday on which I sang. My voice
was much admired ; and when it was known that I gave
lessons, I very soon had engagements from many Catholic
families. My charges to them were moderate, — five shillings
a lesson of one hour.
The next channel was through Monsieur and Madame
Gironac. He recommended me to a gentleman whom he
taught, as a music-mistress for his sisters and daughters,
and she to all her various customers and employers. I soon
obtained several pupils by her exertions. The third was
from an intimacy I had formed with an acquaintance of
Madame Gironac, a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, who was
of a good French family, but earning her livelihood as
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VALERIE
a French teacher in one of the most fashionable schools at
Kensington.
'rhrmigli lier reconinienclation, I obtained the teaching
of the young ladies at the school,— but of her more here-
after. The fourth channel was through the kindness of
Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer, to whom I shall now again revert.
I had several visits from Mr. Selwyn after I had left Baker
Street, and on one of these he informed me, that upon
the proofs of Lionel Dempster's identity being examined
by the legal advisers of Mr. Dempster, of Yorkshire, they
were considered so jjositive, that the aforenamed gentle-
man immediately came to terms, agreeing to give up the
property to Lionel, provided, in consequence of the great
improvements he had made, he was not come upon for
arrears of income arising from it. That Mr. Selwyn advised
this offer to be accepted, as it would prevent any exposure
of Lady R , and the circumstances under which Lionel
had been brought up, from being made public. Lionel
had written to say that he was anxious that any sacrifice
should be made rather than the affair should be exposed ;
and the terms were consented to, and Lionel came into
possession of further property to the amount of X9OO per
aiuium. As we became more intimate, Mr. Selwyn asked
me many particulars relative to myself, and, by his habit
of cross-examining, soon gained the best portion of my
liistory: only one point I did not mention to him, — that
my family supposed that I was dead.
CHAPTER X
vJNE day he came, accompanied by Mrs. Selwyn, wno
joined him very earnestly in requesting me to pass a day
or two with them at their country house at Kew. I ac-
cepted the invitation, and they called for me in their
carriage on their way down. It was summer time, and
I was very glad to be out of London for a day or two.
I found a charming family of two sons and three daughters,
grown up, and who appeared very accomplished. Mr.
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VALERIE
Selwyn then, for the first time, asked me whether 1 was
settled or not.
I told him no, — that I was giving lessons in music —
that I sang at the chapel, and that I was laying by
money.
He said I was right, and that he hoped to be able to
[procure me jnipils. " But now," said he, " as I did not
know that you had a voice, I must be permitted to hear
it, as otherwise I shall not be able to make my report."
I sat down immediately and sang, and he and Mrs.
Selwyn, as well as the daughters, were highly pleased
with my performance. During my stav Mr. Selwyn treated
me in, I may say, almost a parental manner, and ex-
tracted something more from me relative to my previous
life, and he told me that he thought I had done wisely
in remaining independent, and not again trusting to Lady
M or Madame d'Albret. I went afterwai-ds several
times to their town house, being invited to evening parties,
and the people who were there and heard my singing
sent for me to teach their daughters.
In six months after I had taken up my residence with
the Gironacs I was in flourishing circumstances. I had
twenty-eight pupils, ten at five shillings per lesson, and
eight at seven shillings, and they took lessons twice a
week. I had also a school, for which I received about
five guineas per week, and the singing at the chapel, for
which I received three. In fact, I was receiving about
eighteen pounds a week during the winter season ; but it
must be confessed that I worked hard for it, and expended
two or three pounds a week in coach-hire. Nevertheless,
although I now spent more money on my appearance,
and had purchased a piano, before the year was over, I
liad paid £2.50 into Mr. Selwyn's hands to take care of
for me. When I thought of what might have still been
my position had it not been for the kindness of poor Lady
R ; when I reflected how I had been cast upon the
world, young and friendless, by Madame d'Albret, and that
I was now making money rapidly by my own exertions,
and that at such an early age (for 1 was but little past
twenty years old), had I not reason to be grateful .'' I
was so, and most truly so, and, moreover, I was happy,
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VALERIE
truly happy. All my former mirlh and vivacity, which
had been checked during my sojoiu-n in England, returned.
I improved every day in good looks, at least so everybody
told me but Mr. Sehvyn ; and I gained that which to a
certain degree iny figure required, more roundness and
expansion. And this was the poor Valerie, supposed to
have been drowned in the river Seine !
I forgot to say, that about three weeks after Lionel
went to Pai'is, I received a letter from Madame d'Albret,
in which she thanked me warmly for my having introduced
the young Englishman to her, as slie took it as a proof
of my really having forgiven her what she never should
forgive herself. She still indulged the hope that she might
one day embrace me. With respect to Lionel, she said
that he appeared a modest, luiassuming young lad, and
that it should not be her fault if he did not turn out
an accomplished gentleman ; that he had already the best
fencing and music masters, and was working very hard at
the language. As soon as he could speak French tolerabl}',
he was to commence German and Italian. She had pro-
cured him a pension in an excellent French family, and
he appeared to be very happy.
I could not help reflecting, as I read the contents of
this letter, upon the change which had taken place in
Lionel Dempster, as soon as he found himself established
in his rights. From an impudent, talkative page, he at
once became a modest, respectful, and silent young man.
What could have caused this change.'' Was it because,
when a page, he felt himself above his condition ; and
now that he had gained a name and fortune, that he felt
himself beneath it.'' I decided, when I remembered how
anxious he was to improve himself, that such was the
case ; and I fiu'ther inferred that it showed a noble,
generous, and sensitive mind. And I now felt very glad
that I had written to Madame d'Albret, and all my objec-
tions to seeing her again were removed. Why so } because
I was indejiendent. It was my dependence that made
me so proud and unforgiving. In fact, I was on better
terms with the world, now that I had somewhat raised
myself in it. I was one day talking over my life with
Mr. Selwyn ; and after pointing out how I had been taken
1 58
VALERIE
in by my ignorance and confidence, how nnicli wiser I
had become ah'eady from experience, and my liopes that
I should one day cease to be a dupe, he replied —
" My dear Miss Valerie, do not say so. To have been a
dupe is to have lived; we are dupes when we are full of
the hope and warmth of youth. I am an old man ; my
profession lias given me great knowledge of the world ;
knowledge of the world has made me cautious and in-
different ; but this has not added to my happiness, although
it may have saved my pocket. No, no ; when we arrive
at that point, when we warm before no affection, doubting
its truth ; when we have gained this age-bought experience,
which has left our hearts as dry as the remainder biscuits
after a long voyage — there is no happiness in this, Valerie.
Better to be deceived and trust again. I almost wish that
I could now be the dupe of a woman or a false friend, for
I should then feel as if I were young again."
"But, sir," replied I, "your conduct is at variance with
your language ; why else such kindness shown to me, a
perfect stranger, and one without claims u{)on you ? "
" You overrate my little attention, my dear Valerie ;
but that proves that you have a grateful heart. I speak
of myself as when in contact with the world. You forget
that I have domestic ties to which the heart is ever fresh.
Were it not for home and the natural affections, we men
should be brutes indeed. The heart, when in conflict with
the world, may be compared to a plant scorched by the heat
of the sun ; but, in the shade of domestic repose, it again
recovei's its freshness for the time."
I have stated that, through the recommendation and
influence of a Mademoiselle Adele Chabot, I taught music
at an establishment for young ladies at Kensington. It
was what is called a finishing-school. The ternas were
very high, and the young ladies did not always sit down
to boiled mutton ; but, from what I learned from Adele,
in other points it was not better than schools in general ;
but it had a rejnitation, and that was sufficient.
One day, I was informed by Mrs. Bradshaw, the pro-
prietress of the establishment, that I was to have a new
pupil the next quarter, which was very near ; and when
it did arrive, and the young lady was brought in, who
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VALERIE
should it be but Caroline, my former companion and pupil
at Madame Bathurst's ?
'•Valerie ! " exclaimed she, rushing into my arms.
"My dear Caroline, this is an unexpected pleasure," said
I ; " but how came you here ? "
" I will tell you some day," replied Caroline, not wishing
to talk about her family while the teacher, who came in
with her, was present.
" I hope Madame Bathurst is well .'' " inquired I.
" Quite well, when I saw her last," said Caroline.
" Well, my dear, we must work, and not talk, for my time
is valuable," said I ; "so sit down, and let me hear whether
you have improved since I last gave you a lesson."
The teacher then left the room, and Caroline, having run
over a few bars, stojiped, and said, " I never can play till I
have talked to you, ^'alerie. You asked me how I came
here. At my own request ; or, if a girl may use such lan-
guage, because I insisted upon it. I was so uncomfortable
at home, that I could bear it no longer. I must speak
against my father and mother — I cannot help it; for it is
impossible to be blind ; they are so strange, so conceited, so
spoiled by prosperity, so haughty and imperious, and so
rude and uncouth to any whom they consider beneath them,
that it is painful to be in their company. Servants will
not remain a month in the house — there is nothing but
exchange, and everything is uncomfortable. After having
lived with my aunt Bathurst, whom you will acknowledge
to be a lady in every respect, I really thought I was in an
Hopital des Fous. Such assumption, such pretension, such
absurdities, to all which they wished to make me a party.
I have had a wilderness of governesses, but not one coidd
or would submit to the hinniliations which they were loaded
with. At last, by rebelling in every way, I gained my
point, and have escaped to school. I feel that I ought not
to speak disparagingly of my parents ; but still I must speak
the truth to you, although I would say nothing to othei'S ;
so do not be angry with me, V^alerie. '
" I am more sorry that it is so than that you should tell
me of it, Caroline ; but from what I saAv during my short
visit, I can fully give credit to all you have said."
" But is it not a hard case, Valerie, when you cannot
160
VALERIE
respect your parents ? " replied Caroline, putting her handker-
chief to her eyes.
" It is, my dear ; but still, on the whole, it is, perhaps,
for the best. You were taken from your parents, and were
well brought up ; you return to them, and find tliem many
degrees below you in the scale of refinement, and therefore
you cannot respect them. Now, if you had never left
them, you would of course have remained down at their
level, and would have respected them, having imbibed the
same opinions, and perceiving nothing wrong in their con-
duct. Now, which of the two would you prefer if you had
the power to choose .''"
"Most certainly to be as I am," replied Caroline; "but
I cannot but grieve that my parents should not have been
like my aunt Bathurst."
" I agree with you in that feeling ; but what is — is, and
we must make the best of it. You must excuse your
parents' faults as much as you can, since your education
will not permit you to be blind to them, and you must treat
them with respect fi-om a sense of duty."
"That I have always done," replied Caroline; "but it
too often happens that 1 have to decide between the re-
spect I would show to my parents, and a sense of justice,
or a love of truth opposed to it — that is the greatest
difficulty."
"Very true," replied I, "and in such cases you must act
according to the dictates of your own conscience."
"Well," replied Caroline, "I think I have done wisely in
getting away altogether. I have seen little of my aunt
Bathurst since you took me to my father's house ; for,
although some advances were made towards a reconciliation,
as soon as my aunt was told that my father and mother
liad stated that I had been most improperly bi'ought up
by her, she was so angry at the false accusation, that all
intercourse is broken off, I fear, for ever. Oh, how I have
longed to be with my aunt again ! But, Valerie, I never
heard Avhy you left her. Some one did say that you had
gone, but why was not known."
" I went away, Caroline, because I was no longer of any
use in the house after you had been removed, and I did
not choose to be an encumbrance to your aunt. I preferred
161 L
VALERIE
gaining my livelihood by my own exertions, as I am now
doing, and to which resolution on my part I am indebted
for the pleasure of our again meeting."
" Ah, \'alerie, I never loved you so much as I did after
I had lost you," said Caroline.
"That is generally the case, my dear," rej)lied I; "but
now, if you please, we will try this sonata. We shall
have plenty of time for talking, as we shall meet twice
a week."
Caroline played the sonata, and then dropping her fingers
on the keys, said, " Now, Valerie, do you know what was
one of my wild dreams which assisted in inducing me to
come here ? I'll tell you. I know that I shall never find
a husband at my father's house. All well-bred people, if
they once go there, do not go a second time, and whatever
may be the merits of the daughter, they have no time to
find them out, and leave the house with the sup])osition that
she, having been educated in so bad a school, must be
unworthy of notice. Now I mean, if I can, to elope from
school, that is, if I can find a gentleman to my fancy — not
to Gretna Green, but as soon as I am married, to go to
my aunt Bathurst direct, and you know that once under a
husband's protection, my father and mother have no control
over me. Will you assist my views, Valerie .'' It's the only
chance I have of happiness."
" A very pretty confession for a young lady not yet
eighteen," replied I ; " and a very pretty question to put to
me who have been your governess, Caroline. I am afraid
that you must not look to me for assistance, but consider it,
as you tei'med it at first, a wild dream."
" Nevertheless, dreams come true sometimes," replied
Caroline, laughing ; " and all I I'equire is birth and character :
you know that I must have plenty of money."
" But, my dear Caroline, it is not people of birth and
character who prowl round boarding-schools in search of
heiresses."
" I know that ; and that was why I asked you to help me.
At all events, I'll not leave this place till I am married, or
going to be married, that's certain, if I stay here till I'm
twenty-five."
" Well, do not make rash resolutions ; but surely, Caroline,
162
VALERIE
you have not reason to complain of your parents' treatment ;
they are kind and affectionate towards you."
" Indeed they are not, nor were they from tlie time that
I returned to them with you. They try by force to make
nie espouse their own incorrect notions of right and wrong,
and it is one scene of daily altercation. They abuse and
laugh at aunt Bathurst, I believe, on purpose to vex me ;
and, having never lived with thena from my infancy, of
course, when I met them I had to learn to love them.
I was wilHng so to do, notwithstanding their unkindness
to my aunt, whom I love so dearly, but they would not
let me ; and now I really believe that they care little
about me, and would care nothing, if I Avere not their
only daughter, for you know, perhaps, that both my brothers
are now dead .'' "
" I knew that one was," replied I.
" The other, William, died last year," replied Caroline ;
" his death was a release, poor fellow, as he had a com-
plaint in the spine for many years. Do you know what
I mean to do .'' I shall write to aunt Bathurst to come and
see me."
"Well, I think you will be right in so doing; but will not
your father and mother come to you ? "
" No, for the)' are very angry, and say that until I come
to my senses, and learn the difference between people
who are somebodies, and people who are nobodies, they
will take no notice of me ; and that I may remain
here till I am tired, which they think I shall soon be,
and write to come back again. The last words of my
father when he brought me here and left me, were, ' I
leave you here to come to your senses.' He was white
with anger ; but I do not wish to talk any more about
them."
" And your time is up, Caroline, so you must go and
make room for another pupil. Miss Greaves is the next."
Shortly after my meeting with Cai'oline, I received a
letter from Lionel, stating that it was his intention to
come over to England for a fortnight, and asking whether
he could execute any commissions for me in Paris, jirevious
to his departure. He also informed me that he had
received a very kind letter from his uncle the baronet,
\63
VAT^ERIE
who had had several interviews with Mr. Selwyn, and
who was fully satisfied with his identity, and acknowledged
him as his nephew. This gave me great pleasure. I
replied to his letter, stating that I should be most happy
to see him, but that as for commissions, I was too poor
to give him any. Madame d'Albret had sent her kind
souvenirs to me in Lionel's letter, and I returned them
in my reply. Indeed, now that I was earning a liveli-
hood, and, by my own exertions, I felt that I was every
day adding to my means and future independence, a great
change, I may safely say for the better, took place in
me. My pride was lessened, that is, my worst pride was
superseded by a moi*e honest one. I had a strange re-
vulsion in feeling towards Madame d'Albret, Madame
Bathurst, and Lady M , and I felt that I could forgive
them all. I was no longer brooding over my dependent
jiosition, fancying, perhaps, insults never intended, or irri-
tated by real slights. Everything was couleur cle ruse with
me, and that couleur was reflected upon everything.
" Ah, Mademoiselle Valerie," said Madame Gironac to
me one day, " I had no idea when I first made your
acquaintance that you were so witty. My husband and
all the gentlemen say that you have plus d'esprit than any
woman they ever conversed with."
" When I first knew you, Annette, I was not happy ;
now I am happy, almost too happy, and that is the reason
I am so gay."
"And I don't think you hate the men so much as you
did," continued she.
" I am in a humour to hate nobody," replied L
" That is true ; and. Mademoiselle Valerie, you will marry
one of these days ; mind," continued she, putting up her
finger, " I tell you so."
"And I tell you, no," replied L " I think there is only
one excuse for a woman marrying, which is, when she
requires some one to support her ; that is not my ease,
for I thank Heaven I can support myself."
" Nous verrons," replied Madame Gironac.
Caroline did, however, find the restraint of a school
rather irksome, and wished very much to go out with me.
When the holidays arrived, and the other young ladies
164
VALERIE
had gone home, I spoke to Mrs. Bradshaw, and as she
was very partial to me, and knew my former relations
witli Caroline, she gave her consent. Shortly afterwards,
Mrs. Hradshaw accepted an invitation to pass three weeks
with some friends, and I then proposed that Caroline
should pass the remainder of the holidays with me, to
which Mrs. Bradshaw also consented, much to Caroline's
delight. Madame Gironac had made up a bed for her in
my room, and we were a \ery merry party.
A few days after Caroline came to the house, Lionel made
his appearance. I should hardly have believed it possible
that he could have so improved in appeai-ance in so short a
time. He brought me a very kind letter from Madame
d'Albret, in which she begged, as a proof of my having
forgiven her, that I would not refuse a few presents she had
sent by Lionel. They were very beautiful and expensive,
and, when I had had some conversation with Lionel, I made
up my mind that I would not return them, which certainly
I at first felt more inclined to do than to keep them. When
Lionel took leave, promising to come to dinner, Caroline
asked me who that gentlemanly young man was. I replied,
that it Avas a Mr. Lionel Dempster, the nephew of Lady
R ; but further conversation was interrupted by the
arrival of young Mr. Selwyn, who came with a message
from his fother inviting me to Kew. I declined the in-
vitation, on the plea of Caroline being with me. Mr.
Selwyn remained some time conversing with me, and at
last inquired if I should like to go to the next meeting at
the Horticultural Gardens, at the same time offering me two
tickets. As I was anxious to see the gardens, I accepted
them. He told me that his father would call for us, and
his mother and sisters were to be there, and then he took
leave.
"Who is Mr. Selwyn.-^" inquired Caroline.
I told her.
*'WcIl," said she, "I have seen two nice 3'oung men this
morning; 1 don't know which I like best, but 1 think Mr.
Selwyn is the more manly of the two."
"I should think so, too, Caroline," re])lied I; "Mr.
Selwyn is twenty-four years old, I believe, and Mr. Dempster
is younger, I think, than you are."
165
VALERIE
" I did not think he was so young ; but, Valerie, are we
not to go to the National Gallery ? "
" Yes, when Monsieur Gironac comes home to escort us ;
we may as well put on our bonnets, for he will be here in
a few minutes."
" Oh, Valerie, how fortunate it was that I came to
Mrs. Bradshaw's," said Caroline, "and that I met you!
I should have been moped, that is certain, if I had not ;
but now I'm so happy — that's Monsieur Gironac's knock,
I'm sure."
But Caroline was wrong, for it was Mademoiselle Chabot,
of whom I have before spoken, who made her appearance.
Mademoiselle Chabot was an acquaintance of Madame
Gironac, and it w'as through my having become intimate
with her, that I obtained the teaching at Mrs. Bradshaw's.
Adele Chabot was a very pretty person, thoroughly French,
and dressed with great taste. She was the resident French
teacher in Mrs. Bradshaw's establishment ; and, although
tw'enty-five years old, did not look more than eighteen ; she
was very amusing and rather wild, although she looked
very demure. I never thought that there was anything
wrong in Adele, but, at the same time, I did not consider
that Caroline would derive any good from her company, as
Caroline required to be held in check as it w^as. But, as
is usually the case, the more I attempted to check any
intimacy between them, the more intimate they became.
Adele was of a good family ; her father had fallen at
Montmartre, when the allies entered Paris after the battle
of Waterloo ; but the property left was very small to be
divided among a large family, and consequently Adele had
first gone out as a govex'ness at Pai-is, and ultimately
accepted the situation she now held. She spoke English
remarkably well, indeed, better than I ever heard it
spoken by a Frenchwoman ; and everybody said so as well
as me.
" Well, Adele, I thought you were at Brighton," said
Caroline.
" I was yesterday, and I am here to-day ; I am come to
dine with you," re2)lied Adele, taking off her bonnet and
shawl, and smoothing her hair before the glass. " Where's
Madame Gironac } "
166
VALERIE
" Gone out to give a lesson in flower-making," replied I,
"Yes, she is like the little busy bees, always on the wing,
and, as the hymn says, ' How neat she spreads her wax ! '
And Monsieur, where is he ? "
"Gone out to give a lesson, also," replied I.
"Yes, he's like the wind, always blowing, one hour the
flute, another the French horn, then the bassoon or the
bugle : always blowing and always shifting from one point
to the other ; never a calm with him, for when he comes
home there's a breeze with his wife, a raimahle, to be
sure."
" Yes," replied Caroline, " always blowing, but never coming
to blows."
"You are witty, Mademoiselle Caroline," said Adele, "with
your paradox. Do you know that I had an adventure at
Brighton, and I am taken for you by a very fashionable
young man ? "
" How can you have been taken for me ? " said Caroline.
"The gentleman wished to find out who I was, and I
would not tell him. He inquired of the chambermaid of
the lodging-house, and bribed hei-, I presume, for the next
day she came up to my i-oom and asked me for my card,
that her mistress might write my name down correctly in
the book. I knew that the mistress had not sent her, as
I had, by her request, entered my own name in the book
three days before, and I was therefore certain that it was
to find out who I was for the gentleman who followed me
everywhere. I recollected that I had a card of yours
in my case, and I gave it to her veiy quietly, and she
walked off with it. The next day, when I was at the
library, the gentleman addressed me by your name ; I
told him that it was not my name, and requested that
he would not address me again. When I left Brighton
yesterday, I discovered the chambermaid copying the ad-
dresses I had put on my trunks, which was your name,
at Mrs. Bradshaw's; so now I think we shall have somfe
fun."
" But, my dear Adele, you have not been prudent ; you
may compromise Caroline very much," said I; "recollect
that men talk, and something unpleasant may occur from
this want of discretion on your part."
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VALERIE
" Be not afraid, Valerie ; I conducted myself with such
prudery that an angel's character could not sutter."
'• I do not mean to hint otherwise, Adele ; but still
you must acknowledge that you have done an imprudent
thing."
" Well, I do confess it ; but, Valerie, every one has not
your discretion and good sense. At all events, if 1 see or
hear any more of the gentleman, I can undo it again, — but
that is not veiy likely."
" We have had two gentlemen here to-day, Adele," said
Caroline, "and one dines with us."
" Indeed ; well, I'm in demi-toiletle, and must remain so,
for I cannot go all the way back to Mrs. Bradshaw's to
dress."
" He is a very handsome young man, is he not, Valerie .'' "
*'Yes," replied I, "and of lai'ge fortune, too."
"Well, I shall not have a fair chance, then," said Adele,
"for go back I cannot."
" Now, Adele, you know how much more becoming the
deini-toilette is to you than the evening dress," replied Caroline,
"so don't pretend to deny it."
" I deny nothing, and I admit nothing," replied Adele,
laughing, " except that I am a woman, and now draw your
own inferences and conclusions — ce vi'est cgal."
We had a very pleasant dinner-party. Adele tried to flirt
with Lionel, but it was in vain. He had no attentions to
throw away, except upon me ; once he whispered, " I should
not feel strange at being seated with others, but to be by
your side does make me awkward. Old habits are strong,
and every now and then I find myself jumping up to change
your plate."
" It's a great pleasure to me, Lionel, to find you in the
position you are entitled to from your birth. You will soon
sit down with people of more consequence than Valerie de
Chatenoeuf."
" But never with any one that I shall esteem or respect so
much, be they who they may," replied Lionel.
During dinner, I mentioned that Mr. Selwyn had called and
engaged Caroline and me to go to the horticultural fete.
" I wish Madame Gironac was going," continued I, " she
is so fond of flowers."
168
VALERIE
"Never mind, iiiy dear Valerie; I will stay at home and
earn some money."
" Madame," cried Monsieur Gironac, pretending to be very
angry, and striking with his fist on the table so as to make
all the wine-glasses ring, "you shall do no such thing. You
shall not always oppose my wishes. You shall not stay at
home and earn some money. Y'ou shall go out and spend
money. Yes, madame, I will be obeyed ; you shall go to
the horticultural fete, and I invite Monsieur Lionel and
Mademoiselle Adele to come with us, that they may witness
that I am the master. Yes, madame, resistance is useless.
You shall go in a remise de ver, or glass-coach, as round as
a pumpkin; but you shall not go in glass slippei's, like
Cinderella, because they are not pleasant to walk in. How
Cinderella danced in them has always been a puzzle to me,
ever since I was a child, and of what kind of glass they
were made."
" Perhaps isinglass," said Lionel.
" No, sir, not isinglass ; it must have been fairy glass ;
but never mind. I ask you, Madame Gironac, whether
3'ou intend to be an obedient wife, or intend to resist my
connnands ?"
" Barbare," replied Madame Gironac, " am I then to be
forced to go to a fete ! Ah, cruel man, you'll break my
heart ; but I submit to my unhappy destiny. Yes, I will go
in the remise de ver : pity me, my good friends, but you don't
know that man."
" I am satisfied with your obedience, madame, and now I
permit you to embrace me."
Madame Gironac, who was delighted at the idea of going
to the fete, ran to her husband, and kissed him over and
over again. Adele and Lionel accepted Monsieur Gironac's in-
vitation, and thus was the affair settled in Monsieur Gironac's
queer way.
The day of the horticultural fete arrived. It was a lovely
morning. We were all dressed and the glass-coach was
at the door, when Mr. Selwjn arrived in his carriage, and
Caroline and I stepj)ed in. I introduced Caroline, who
was remarkably well tiressed, and very pretty. Mr. Selwyn
had before told me that he was acquainted with Madame
Bathurst, having met her two or three times, and sat by her
169
VALERIE
at a dinner-party. He appeared much pleased with CaroHne,
but could not make out how she was in my company. Of
course he asked no questions before her.
On our arrival at the gardens, we found young Mr. Selwyn
waiting at the entrance to take us to Mrs. Selwyn and his
sisters, who had come from their house at Kew. About
half-an-hour afterwards we fell in with Monsieur Gironac,
madarae, Adele, and Lionel. Mr. Selwyn greeted Lionel
warmly, introducing him to his family ; and on my pre-
senting the Gironacs and Adele, was very polite and
friendly, for he knew from me how kind they had been.
Adele Chabot never looked so Avell ; lier costume was
most becoming ; she had put on her oir mutine, and was
admired by all who passed us. We were all grouped
together close to the band, when, who should appear
right in front of us but Madame Bathurst. At that time
Caroline was on the one arm of Mr. Selwyn, and I on the
other.
"Caroline !" exclaimed Madame Bathurst, " and you here ! "
turning to me.
While she remained in astonishment, Caroline ran up and
kissed her.
" You recollect Mr. Selwyn, aunt, do you not } "
" Yes," said Madame Bathurst, returning the salute of Mr.
Selwyn, "but still I am surj)rised."
" Come with me, aunt, and I will tell you all about it."
Caroline then walked to a seat at a little distance, sat
down, and entered into conversation with Madame Bathurst.
In a few minutes Madame Bathurst rose, and came up to
our party, with Caroline on her arm.
She first thanked Mr. Selwyn for his kindness in bring-
ing her niece to the fete, and then turning to me, said
with some emotion, as she offered her hand, " Valerie, I hope
we are friends. We have mistaken each other."
I felt all my resentment gone, and took her offered
hand.
She then led me aside, and said, " I must beg your pardon,
Valerie, I did not "
" Nay," replied I, interrupting her, " I was too hasty and
too proud."
" You are a good, kind-hearted girl, Valerie — but let
170
VALERIE
us say no more about it. Now introduce me to youi*
friends."
I did so. Madame Bathurst was most gracious, and
appeared vei*y much struck with Adcle Chabot, and entered
into convei'sation witli her, and certainly Adele would not
have been taken for a French teacher by her appearance.
There was something very aristocratic about her. While
they were in converse, a very gentlemanlike man raised
his hat to Madame Bathurst, as I thought, and passed on.
Adele coloured up, I observed, as if she knew him, but did
not return the salute, which Madame Bathurst did.
" Do you know that gentleman. Mademoiselle Chabot .-^ "
inquired Caroline. " I thought he bowed to you, and not
to aunt."
" I have seen him before," replied Adele carelessly, " but
I forget his name."
"Then I can tell you," added Madame Bathurst; "it is
Colonel Jervis, a very fashionable man, but not a very great
favourite of mine ; not that I have anything to accuse him
of jvu-ticularly, except that he is said to be a very worldly
man."
" Is he of good family ? " inquired Adele.
" Oh yes, unexceptionable on that point ; but it is time
for me to go. There is my party coming down the walk.
Caroline, dear, I will call upon you to-morroAv at three
o'clock, and then wc will make our arrangements."
Madame Bathurst then bade adieu to Mr. Selwyn and
the rest, saying to me, " Au rcvoir, Valerie."
Shortly afterwards Ave agreed to leave. As Mr. Selwyn
was returning to Kew, I would not accept the offer of his
carriage to take Caroline and me to London, the glass-coach,
round as a pumpkin, would hold six, and we all went away
together.
I was very much pleased at thus meeting with Madame
Bathurst, and our reconciliation, and quite as much so for
Caroline's sake; for although she had at first said that she
would write to her aunt, she had put it ofl' continually, for
reasons which she liad never expressed to me. I rather
think that she feared her aunt might prove a check on
her, and I was, therefore, very glad that they had met, as
now Madame Bathurst would look after her.
171
VALERIE
During the evening, I observed that Adele and Caroline
had a long conversation sotto voce. I susj^ected that the
gentleman, at whose appearance she had coloured up, -was
the subject of it. The next day Madame Bathurst called,
and heard a detailed account of all that had passed from
Caroline and from me since we had ])arted. She said, that
as Caroline was put to the school by her father, of course
she could not remove her, but that she would call and see
her as often as she could. She congratulated me upon my
little independence, and trusted that we should ever be on
friendly terms, and that I would come and visit her when-
ever my avocations would permit me. As there were still
three weeks of the holidays remaining, she proposed that
we should come and pass a portion of the time with her
at a villa which she had upon the banks of the Thames.
She said that Caroline's father and mother were down at
Brighton, giving very gay parties. Having arranged the
time that the carriage should come for us on the following
da}', she kissed us both affectionately, and went away.
The next day we were at Richmond, in a delightful
cottage ornee ; and there we remained for more than a
fortnight. To me it was a time of much happiness, for it
was like the renewal of old times, and I was sorry when
the visit was over.
On my return, I found a pressing invitation for Caroline
and me to go to Kew, and remain two or three days, and
as we had still time to pay tlie visit, it was accepted ; but
before we went, Adele came to see us, and after a little
general conversation, requested that she might speak to
me in my own room.
" Valerie," said Adele, as soon as we were seated, " I
know that you think me a wild girl, and perhaps I am so ;
but I am not quite so wild as I thought myself; for now
that I am in a critical position, I come to you for advice,
and for advice against my own feelings, for I tell you
frankly that I am very much in love, and moreover,
which you may well supjiose, most anxious to be relieved
from the detestable position of a French teacher in a
boarding-school. I now have the opportunity, and yet I
dread to avail mvself of it, and I therefore come to you,
who are so prudent and so sage, to request, after you have
172
VALERIE
heard what I have to impart, you will give me yo"r real
opinion as to what I oiip^ht to do. You recollect that I
told you that a gentleman had followed nie at Jirighton,
and how for mere frolic I had led him to suppose that I
was (ai-oline Stanhope ; I certainly did not expect to see
him again, but I did three days after I came up from
Brighton. The girl had evidently copied the address on
my trunk for him, and he followed me up, and he accosted
me as I was walking home. He told me that he had
never slept since he had first seen me, and that he was
honourably in love with me. I replied that he was mis-
taken in supposing that I was Caroline Stanhope ; that my
name was Adele Chabot, and that now that I had stated
the truth to him, he would alter his sentiments. He de-
clared that he should not, pressed me to allow him to call,
which I refused, and such was our fii'st interview.
" I did not see him again until at the horticultural fete,
when I was talking to Madame Bathurst. He had told me
that he was an officer in the army, but he did not mention
his name. You recollect what Madame Bathurst said about
him, and who he was. Since you have been at Richmond,
he has contrived to see me every day, and I will confess
that latterly I have not been unwilling to meet him, for
every day I have been more pleased with him. On our
first meeting after the fete, I told him that he still supposed
me to be Caroline Stanhope, and that seeing me Avalking
with Caroline's aunt had confirmed him in his idea; but I
assured him that I was Adele Chabot, a gii*l without fortune,
and not, as he supposed, a great heiress. His answer was,
that any acquaintance of Madame Bathurst's must be a
lady, and that he had never inquired or thought about my
fortune. That my having none would prove the dis-
interestedness of his affection for me, and that he required
me and nothing more. I have seen him every day almost
since then ; he has given me his name, and made proposals
to me, notwithstanding my reiterated assertions that I am
Adele Chabot, and not Caroline Stanho})e. One thing is
certain, that I am very much attached to him, and if I do
not mai-ry him I shall be very miserable for a long time ; "
and here Adele burst into tears.
" But why do you grieve, Adele ? " said I ; " you like
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VALERIE
him, and he offers to marry you. My advice is very simple,
— marry him."
"Yes," repHed AdMe, "if all vas as it seems. I agree
with you that my course is clear ; but, notwithstanding
his repeated assertions that he loves me as Adele Chabot,
I am convinced in my own mind that he still believes me
to be Caroline Stanhope. Perhaps he thinks that I am
a romantic young lady who is determined to be married
pour ses beaux yeux alone, and conceals her being an heiress
on that account, and he therefore humours me by pretend-
ing to believe that I am a poor girl without a shilliug.
Now, Valerie, here is my difficulty. If I were to marry
him, as he proposes, when he comes to find out that he
has been deceiving himself, and that I am not the heiress,
will he not be angry, and, perhaps, disgusted with me —
will he not blame me instead of himself, as people always
do, and will he not ill-treat me .'' If he did, it would
break my heart, for I love him — love him dearly. Then,
on the other hand, I may be wrong, and he may be, as
he says, in love with Adele Chabot ; so that I shall have
thrown away my chance of happiness from an erroneous
idea. What shall I do, Valerie ? Do advise me."
" Much will depend on the character of the man, Adele.
You have some insight into people's characters, what idea
have you formed of his } "
" I hardly can say ; for when men profess to be in love,
they are such deceivers. Their faults are concealed, and
they assume virtues which they do not possess. On my
first meeting with him, I thought that he was a proud
man — perhaps I might say a vain man — but, since I have
seen more of him, I think I was wrong."
" No, Adele, depend upon it you were right ; at that
time you were not blinded as you are now. Do you think
him a good-tempered man } "
" Yes, I firmly believe that he is. I made a remark
at Brighton : a child that had its fingers very dirty I'an
out to him, and as it stumbled jmnted the marks of its
fingers upon his white trousers, so that he was obliged
to return home and change them. Instead of pushing
the child away, he saved it from falling, saying, ' Well,
my little man, it's better that I should change my dress
174
VALERIE
than that you should have broken your head on the pave-
ment.' "
"Well, AdMe, I agree with you tliat it is a proof of great
good temper."
"Well, then, Valerie, what do you think .^ "
" I think that it is a lottery ; hut all marriages are
lotteries, with more blanks than prizes. You have done
all you can to undeceive him, if he still deceives himself.
You can do no more. I will assume that he does deceive
himself, and that disappointment and irritation will be
the consequence of his discovery, that 30U have been tell-
ing the truth. If he is a vain man, he will not like to
acknowledge to the Avorld that he has been his own dupe.
If he is a good-hearted man, he will not long continue
angry ; but, Adele, much depends upon yourself. You
must forbear all recrimination — you must exert all your
talents of pleasing to reconcile him to his disappointment ;
and, if you act wisely, you will probably succeed ; indeed,
unless the man is a bad-hearted man, you must eventually
succeed. You best knoAv your own powers, and must decide
for yourself."
" It is that feeling — that almost certain feeling that I
shall be able to console him for his disappointment, that
impels me on. Valerie, I will make him love me, I am
determined."
" And when a woman is determined on that point, she
invariably succeeds in the end, Adele. This is supposing
that he is deceiving himself, which may not be the case,
Adele ; for I do think that you have sufficient attrac-
tions to make a man love you for yourself alone ; and
i*ecollect that such may be the ease in the present instance.
It may be that at first he followed you as an heiress,
and has since found out that if not an heiress, you are a
very charming woman, and has in consequence been un-
able to resist your influence. However, there is only one
to whom the secrets of the heart are known. I consider
that you have acted honourably, and if you choose to risk
the hazard of the die, no one can attach blame to you."
" Thank you, Valerie ; you have taken a great load off
my heart. If you think I am not doing -svrong, I will risk
everything."
175
VALERIE
"Well, Ad^le, let you decide how you may, I hope you
will prosper. For my part, I would not cross the street
for the best man that ever was created. As friends, they
are all very well ; as advisers, in some cases, they are use-
ful ; but when you talk of marrying one, and becoming
his slave, that is (juite another affair. What were you and
Caroline talking about so earnestly in the corner.''"
" I will confess the truth, it was of love and marriage,
with an episode about Mr. Charles Selwyn, of whom Caroline
appears to have a very good opinion."
" Well, Adele, I must go down again now. If you wish
my advice at any future time, such as it is, it is at your
service. You are making 'A Bold Stroke for a Husband,'
that's certain. However, the title of another play is ' All's
Well that Ends Well.' "
"Well, I will follow out your playing upon playSj Valerie,
by saying that with you ^Love's Labour's Lost.' "
" Exactly," replied I, " because I consider it ' Much Ado
about Nothing.' "
The next day, Lionel came to bid me farewell, as he
was returning to Paris. During our sojourn at Madame
Bathurst's, he had been down to see his uncle, and had
been very kindly received. I wrote to Madame d'Albret,
thanking her for her presents, which, valuable as they
were, I would not retui'n after what she had said, and
confided to Lionel a box of the flowers in wax that I was
so successful in imitating, and which I requested her to
put on her side table in i-emembrance of me. Mr. Selwyn
sent the carriage at the time appointed, and we went down
to Kew, where I Avas as kindly received as before.
What Adele told me of the conversation between Caroline
and her made me watchful, and before our visit was out,
I had made up my mind that there was a mutual feeling
between her and young Mr. Selwyn. When we were going
away, this was confirmed, but I took no notice. But al-
though I made no remark, this commencement of an attach-
ment between Caroline and him occupied my mind during
the whole of our journey to town.
In Caroline's position, I was not decided if I would
encourage it and assist it. Charles Selwyn Avas a gentle-
man by birth and profession, a very good-looking and very
176
VALEIilJ-:
talented young man. All his family were amiable, and
he hixuself remarkably kind-hearted and wcll-disj)osed.
That Caroline was not likely to return to her father's
house, where I felt assured that she was miserable, w-as
very evident, and that she would soon weary of the
monotony of a school at her age was also to be expected.
There was, therefore, every probability that she would, if
she found an opportunity, run away, as she stated to me
she would, and it was ten chances to one that in so doing
she would make an unfortunate match, either becoming the
prey of some fortune-hunter, or connecting herself with some
thoughtless young man.
Could she do better than marry Mr. Selwyn ? Certainly
not. That her father and mother, who thought only of
dukes and earls, would give their consent, was not very
likely. Should I acquaint Madame Bathurst ? That would
be of little use, as she would not interfere. Should I
tell Mr. Selwyn's father ? No. If a match at all, it must
be a runaway match, and Mr. Selwyn, senior, would never
sanction anything of the kind. I resolved, therefore, to
let the affair ri])en as it might. It would occupy Caroline,
and prevent her doing a more foolish thing, even if it
were to be ultimately broken off by unforeseen circum-
stances. Caroline seemed as much absorbed by her own
thoughts as I was during the ride, and not a syllable was
exchanged between us till we were roused by the rattling
over the stones.
" My dear Caroline, what a reverie you have been in,"
said I.
"And you, Valerie."
" Why, I have been thinking ; certainly, when I cannot
have a more agreeable companion, I amuse myself with my
own thoughts."
" Will you tell me what you have been thinking about."
" Yes, Caroline, provided you will be equally confiding."
"I will, I assure you."
" Well, then, I was thinking of a gentleman."
" And so Avas I," re})lied Caroline.
" Mine was a very handsome, clever young man."
" And so was mine," rej)lied she.
" But I am not smitten with him," continued I.
177 11
VALERIE
"I cannot answer that question," replied Caroline, "because
I do not know who you were thinking about."
" You must answer the question as to the gentleman you
were thinking of, Caroline. I repeat that I am not smitten
with him, and that his name is Mr. Charles Selwyn."
" I was also thinking of Mr. Charles Selwyn/' replied
Caroline.
'' And you are not smitten with him any more than I am,
or he is with you t " continued I, smiling, and looking her
full in the face.
Caroline coloured, and said —
" I like him very much from what I have seen of him,
Valerie ; but, recollect, our acquaintance has been very
short."
" A very proper answer, my dear Caroline, and given with
due maidenly decorum — but here we are ; and there is
Madame Gironac nodding to us from the window."
The next day Caroline went back to Mrs. Bradshaw's, and
I did not see her till the music-lesson of Wednesday after-
wards. Caroline, who had been watching for me, met me at
the door.
" Oh ! Valerie, I have a great deal to tell. In the
first place, the establishment is in an uproar at the dis-
appearance of Adele Chabot, who has removed her clothes,
and gone off without beat of drum. One of the maids
states that she has several times seen her walking and
talking -svith a tall gentleman, and Mrs. Bradshaw thinks
that the reputation of her school is ruined by Adele's flight.
She has drunk at least two bottles of eau-de-cologne and
water to keep off the hysterics, and is now lying on the
sofa, talking in a very incoherent way. Miss Phipps says
she thinks her head is affected."
" I should think it was," replied I. " Well, is that all ? "
" All ! why, Valerie, you apjjear to think nothing of an
elopement. All ! why, is it not horrible .'' "
" I do not think it very horrible, Caroline ; but I am glad
to find that you have such correct ideas on that point, as it
satisfies me that nothing would induce you to take such
a step."
"Well," replied Caroline quickly, "what I had also to
communicate is, that I have seen my father, who informed
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VALERIE
me that on their return from Brighton in October, they
expect that I will come home. He said that it was liigh
time that 1 was settled in life, and that I could not expect
to be married if I remained at a boarding-school."
" Well, and what did you say ? "
" I said that I did not expect to be married, and I did not
wish it ; that I thought my education was far from complete,
and that I wished to improve myself."
" Well ? "
" Then he said that he should submit to my caprices no
longer, and that I should go back in October, as he had
decided."
" Well ? "
"Well, I said no more, and he went away."
Having received all this intelligence, I went upstairs. I
found Mrs. Bradshaw crying bitterly, and she threw herself
into my arms.
"Oh, Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf ! — the disgrace ! — the ruin !
— I shall never get over it," exclaimed she.
" I see no disgrace or ruin, Mrs. Bradshaw. Adele has
told me that a gentleman had proposed marriage to her, and
asked my advice."
" Indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Bradshaw.
" Yes."
"Well, that alters the case; but still, why did she leave
in this strange way } "
" I presume the gentleman did not think it right that
she should marry out of a young ladies' establishment,
madam."
"^ erj' true ; I did not think of that."
" After all, what is it } Your French teacher is married —
surely that will not injure your establishment.^"
" No, certainly — why should it } — but the news came upon
me so abruptly, that it quite upset me. I will lie down a
little, and my head will soon be better."
Time went on ; so did the school. Miss Adele, that was,
sent no wedding-cake, much to the astonishment of the
young ladies ; and it was not till nearly three weeks after-
wards that I had a letter from Adele C'habot, now Mrs.
Jervis. But, before I give the letter to my readers, I
must state that Mr. Selwyn, junior, had called upon me
179
VALERIE
the day before Caroline went to school, and had had a
long conversation ■with her, while I went out to speak with
Madame Gironac on business ; further, that Mr. Selwj'n,
junior, called upon me a few days afterwards, and after a
little commonplace conversation, a I'Anglai.sc, about the
weather, he asked after Miss Caroline Stanhope, and then
asked many questions. As I knew what he wished, I
made to him a full statement of her position, and the un-
pleasant predicament in which she was placed. I also
stated my conviction that she was not likely to make a
happy match, if her husband was selected by her father
and mother ; and how much I regretted it, as she was
a very amiable, kind-hearted girl, who would make an
excellent wife to any one deserving of her. He thought
so too, and professed great admiration of her ; and having,
as he thought, pumped me sufficiently, he took his leave.
A few days afterwards, he came upon some pretended
message from his father, and then I told him that she
was to be removed in October. This appeared to distress
him ; but he did not forget to pull out of his pocket a
piece of music, sealed uj), telling me that, by mistake,
Caroline had left two pieces of music at Kew, and had
taken away one belonging to his sister Mary ; that he
returned one, but the other was mislaid, and would be
returned as soon as it was found ; and would I oblige him
so far as to request Miss Stanhope to send him the piece
of music belonging to his sister, if she could lay her hand
upon it .''
" Well, I Avill do your bidding, Mr. Selwyn," replied I ;
" it is a very proper message for a music-mistress to take ;
and I will also bring back your sister's music, when
Caroline gives it me, and you can call here for it. If I
am out, you can ask Madame Gironac to give it to you."
Upon which, with many thanks and much gratitude for
my kindness, Mr. Selwyn withdrew.
Having made all this known to the reader, he shall now
have the contents of Adcle's letter.
180
VALERIE
CHAPTER XI
V\ E must now read Adele's letter.
" My dear Valerie, — The die is cast, and I liave now
a most diHicult game to play. I have risked all upon it,
and the happiness of my future life is at stake. But let
me narrate what has passed since I made you my confi-
dante. Of course, you must know the day on which I
was missing. On that day I walked out with him, and
we were in a few minutes joined by a friend of his, whom
he introduced as Major Argat. After proceeding about
one hundred yards farther wc arrived at a chapel, the
doors of which were open, and the verger looking out,
evidently expecting somebody.
"'My dear angel,' said the colonel, 'I have the licence
in my pocket ; I have requested the clergyman to attend ;
he is now in the chapel, and all is ready. My friend will
be a witness, and there are others in attendance. You
have said that you love me ; trust yourself to me. Prove
now that you arc sincere, and consent at once that our
hands as well as our hearts be united.'
"Oh! how I trembled. I could not speak. The words
died away upon my lijis. I looked at him imploringly.
He led me gently, for my resistance was more in manner
than in effect, and I found myself within the chapel, the
verger bowing as he preceded us, and the clergyman wait-
ing at the altar. To retreat appeared impossible ; indeed
I hardly felt as if I wished it, but my feelings were so
excited that I burst into tears. What tlie clergyman may
have thought of my conduct, and my being dressed so
little like a bride, I know not ; but the colonel handed
the licence to his friend, who took it to the clergyman
while I was recovering myself. At last we went up to
the altar : my head swam, and I hardly knew what Avas
said, but I repeated the responses, and I was — ^a wife.
When the ceremony was over, and I was attempting to
rise from my knees, I fell, and was carried by the colonel
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VALERIE
into the vestrV;, "where I remained on a chair trembling
witli fear. After a time, the colonel asked nie if I was well
enough to sign my name to the marriage register, and he
put the pen in my hand. I could not see where to sign ;
my eyes were swimming with tears. The clergyman guided
my hand to the place, and I wrote Adele Chabot. The
knowledge what the effect of this signature might possibly
have upon my husband quite overcame me, and I sank
my head down upon my hands upon the table.
'' ' I will send for a glass of water, sir,' said the clerg}Tnan,
leaving the vestry to call the verger, or clerk : 'the lady is
fainting.'
" After he went out, I heard the colonel and his friend
speaking in low tones apart. Probably they thought that I
was not in a condition to pay attention to them, — but I had
too much at stake.
" ' Yes,' replied the colonel, ' she has signed as you say,
but she hardly knows what she is about. Depend upon it,
it is as I told you.'
" I did not hear the majoi-'s reply, but I did what the
colonel said.
" ' It's all the better ; the marriage will not be legal, and
I can bring her parents to my own terms.'
" All doubt was now at an end. He had married me
convinced, and still convinced, that I was Caroline Stanhope,
and not Adele Chabot, and he had married me supposing
that I was an heiress. My blood ran cold, and in a few
seconds I was senseless, and should have fallen under the
table, had they not perceived that I was sinking, and ran
to my support. The arrival of the clergyman with the
water recovered me. My husband Avhispered to me that
it was time to go, and that a carriage was at the door. I
do not recollect how I left the church ; the motion of the
carriage first roused me up, and a flood of tears came to my
relief How strange it is, Valerie, that we should be so
courageous and such cowards at the same time. Would
you believe, when I had collected myself, with a certain
knowledge that my husband had deceived himself — a full
conviction of the danger of my position when he found
out his mistake, and that my future happiness was at stake
— I felt glad that the deed was done, and would not have
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VALERIE
been unmavriecl again for the universe. As I became more
composed, I felt that it was time to act. I wiped away my
tears and said, as I smiled upon my husband, who held my
hand in his, ' I know that I have behaved very ill, and very
foolishly, but I was so taken by surprise.'
" ' Do you think that I love you the less for showing so
much feeling, my dearest.''' he replied; 'no, no, it only
makes you still more dear to me, as it convinces me what a
sacrifice you have made for my sake.'
" Now, V^alerie, could there be a prettier speech, or one
so apparently sincere, from a newly married man to his
bride, and yet recollect what he said to his friend not a
quarter of an hour before, about having my parents in his
power by the marriage not being legal .'' I really am in-
clined to believe that we have two souls, a good and an
evil one, continually striving for the mastery — one for this
world, and the other for the next — and that the evil one
will permit the good one to have its influence, provided
that at the same time it has its own or an equal share in
the direction of us. For instance, I believe the colonel was
sincere in what he said, and really does love me, supposing
me to be Caroline Stanhope, with the mundane advantages
to be gained by the marriage, and that these better feelings
of humanity are allowed to be exercised, and not interfered
with by the adverse party, who is satisfied Avith its own
Mammon shai*e. But the struggle is to come when the evil
spirit finds itself defrauded of its portion, and then attem])ls
to destroy the influence of the good. He does love me
now, and will continue to love me, if disappointment shall
not tear up his still slightly rooted affections. Now comes
my task to cherish and protect it, till it has taken firm root,
and all that woman can do shall be done. I felt that all
that I required was time.
" ' Where ai-e we going ? " said I.
" ' About twenty miles from London,' replied my husband,
'after which, that is, to-morrow, you shall decide upon our
future plans.'
" I care not where,' replied I ; ' with you, place is in-
different, only do not refuse nie the first favour that I request
of you.'
" ' Depend upon it I will not,' replied he.
IS'S
VALERIE
" ' It is this, dearest — take me where you will, but let it be
three months before we return or come near London. You
must feel my reason for making this request.'
'"I grant it with pleasure/ replied he ; ' for three
months I am yours, and yours only. We will live for one
another.'
"'Yes, and never let us mention anything about future
prospects, but devote the three months to each other.'
"'I understand you,' replied the colonel, "^ and I promise
you it shall be so. I will have no correspondence even
— there shall be nothing to annoy you or ve.x you in
any way.'
'" For three months,' said I, extending my hand.
" ' Agreed,' said he ; ' and to tell you the truth, it
would have been my own feeling, had it not been yours.
When you strike iron, you should do it when it is hot,
but when you have to handle it, you had better wait
till it is cool ; you understand me, and now the subject
is dropped.'
" My husband has adhered most religiously to his word
up to the present time, as you will see by the date of this
letter. We are now visiting the lakes of Cumberland.
Never could a sj^ot be better situated for the furtherance
of my wishes. The calm repose and silent beauty of
these waters must be reflected upon the mind of any one
of feeling, which the colonel certainly does not want ; and
when you consider that I am exerting all the art which
poor woman has to please, I do hope and pray to Heaven
that I may succeed in entwining myself I'ound his heart
before his worldly views are destroyed by disappointment.
Pray for me, dear Valerie — pray for one who loves you
dearly, and who feels that the whole happiness of her
life is at stake. — Yours, Adele."
" So far all goes well, my dear Adcle," thought I ; " but
we have yet to see the end. I will j^i'-iy foj* you with
all my heart, for you deserve to be happy, and none can
be more fascinating than you, when you exert yourself.
What is it in women that I do not feel M'hich makes
them so mad after the other sex } Instinct, certainly ;
for reason is against it. Well, I have no objection to help
184
VALERIE
others to commit the folly, provided that I am not led
into it myself." Such were my reflections as 1 closed the
letter from Adele.
A few (lays afterwards I received a note from Mr. Selwyn,
junior, informing me that his father had been made a puisne
judge. What that was I did not know, except that he
was a judge on the bench of some kind. He also stated
his intention of calling upon me on the next day.
"Yes," thought I, "to receive the music from Caroline.
Of course she will return it to me when I give her a lesson
to-day."
I was right in my supposition. Caroline brought me a
piece of music with a note, saying, " Here is the music
belonging to Miss Selwyn, Valerie ; will you take an
02)portunity of returning it to her ? Any time will do ;
I presume she is in no hurry;" and Caroline coloured up
when her eyes met mine.
To punish her, I replied, " Oh no, there can be no
hurry; I shall be down at Kew in a fortnight or three
weeks ; I Avill take it with me then."
" But my note, thanking Mr. Selwyn, will be of very
long date," replied Caroline, "and I want the other piece
of music belonging to me which I left at Kew."
" Well, Caroline, you cannot expect me to be carrying
your messages, and going to the chambers of a handsome
young Chancery barrister. By-lhc-bye, I had a note from
him this morning, telling me that his father is advanced
to the bench. What does that mean ? "
"That his father is made a judge. Is that all he said?"
replied Caroline carelessly.
"Well, now I think of it, he said that he would call
upon me to-morrow, so I can give him this music when
he calls."
At this intelligence, Caroline's face brightened up, and
she went away. Mr. Selwyn called the next day, and 1
delivered the music and the note. He informed me that
he had now all his father's private as well as Chancery
business, and wished to know whether he was to consider
himself my legal adviser. I replied —
"Certainly; but that he could not expect the business of
a teacher of music to be very profitable."
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VALERIE
"No, nor do I intend that it shall be; but it will be a
great pleasure," replied he, very n;allantly. " 1 hope you
have some money to put by."
"Yes/' replied 1, " I have some, but not quite enoucfh ; by
the end of the year I hope to have £500."
" I am glad that you have told me, as a profitable invest-
ment may occur before that time, and I will secure it for
you."
He asked permission to read Caroline's note, and then
said that he would find the other piece of music, and leave
it at Monsieur Gironac's in the course of a day or two —
after which he took his leave. I received that evening
a letter from Lionel, which had a great effect upon me.
In it he stated that at the fencing-school he had made
accpiaintance with a young officer, a Monsieur Augusta
de Chatenoeuf, — that he had mentioned to him that he
knew a lady of his name in England ; that the officer had
asked him what the age of the lady might be, and he had
replied.
" ' Strange,' said the officer ; ' I had a very dear sister,
who was supposed to be di'owned, although the body was
never found. Can you tell me the baptismal name of the
lady you mention ? '
"It then occurred to me," continued Lionel, "that I
might be imprudent if I answered, and I therefore said that
I did not know, but I thought you had been called by your
friends Annette."
" ' Then it cannot be she,' replied he, ' for my sister's
name was Valerie. But she may have changed her name —
describe to me her face and figure.'
" As I at once felt certain that you were the party, and
was aware that the early portion of your life was never
referred to by you, I thought it advisable to put him off the
scent, until I had made this communication. I therefore
replied, 'That (excuse me) you were very plain, Avith a pug
nose, and very short and fat.'
"'Then it must be somebody else,' replied the officer.
* You made my heart beat when you first spoke about her,
for I loved my sister dearly, and have never ceased to
lament her lo.ss.'
"He then talked a great deal of you, and gave me some
186
VALERIE
history of your former life. I took the opportunity to ask
whetlier your unnatural mother was alive, and he said, 'Yes,
and that your father was also alive and well.'
" I did not dare to ask more. Have I done right or
wrong, my dear Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf .'' If wrong, I
can easily repair the error. Your brother, for such I
presume he is, I admire very much. He is very different
from the officers of the French army in general, quite
subdued, and very courteous, and there is a kind spirit in
all he says, which makes me like him more. You have
no idea of the feeling he showed, when he talked about
you — that is, if it is you — which I cannot but feel almost
certain that it is. One observation of his I think it is
right to make known to you, which is, that he told me
that since your supposed death, your father had never held
up his head ] indeed, he said that he had never seen him
smile since."
The above extract from Lionel's letter created such a
revulsion, that I was obliged to retire to my chamber to
conceal my agitated feelings from Madame Gironac. I
wept bitterly for some time. I thought of what my poor
father must have suffered, and the regrets of poor Auguste
at my supposed death ; and I doubted whether I was
justified in the act I had committed, by the treatment I
had received from my mother. If she had caused me so
nuich pain, was I right in having given so much to others
who loved me ? Aly poor father, he had never smiled
since ! Should I permit him to wear out his days in sorrow-
ing for my loss — oh no ! I no longer felt any animosity
against others who had ill-treated me. Surely, I could
forgive even my mother, if not for love of her, at all events
for love of my father and my brother. Yes, I would do so ;
I was now independent of my mother and all the family.
I had nothing to fear from her ; I could assist my family if
they required it.
Such were my first feelings — but then came doubts and
fears. Could not my mother claim me ? insist upon my
living with her ? prevent my earning my livelihood } or if
I did employ myself, could she not take from me all my
earnings? Yes, by the law of France, I ihought she could.
Then again, would she forgive me the thret; years of re-
"187
VALERIE
morse ? the three years during which she had been under
the stigma of havings by her barbarity, caused her child
to commit self-destruction ; tlie three years of reproach
Avhich she must have experienced from n)y fatiicr's clouded
brow ? Would she ever forgive me for having obtained
my independence by the very talents which she would not
allow me to cultivate? No, never, unless her heart was
changed.
After many liours of reflection, I resolved that I would
make known my existence to Auguste, and permit liim
to acquaint my father, under a promise of secrecy, but
that 1 would not trust myself in France, or'; allow my
mother to be aware of my existence, until I could ascertain
what her power might be over me. But before I decided
upon anything, I made up my mind that I would make
a confidant, and obtain the opinion of Judge Selwyn.
By the evening's post I wrote a note to him, requesting
that he would let me know Avhen I might have an inter-
view.
An answer arrived the next day, stating that Judge Selwyn
would call and take me down with him to Kew, where I
should sleep, and return to town with him on the following
morning. This suited me very well, and as soon as the
carriage was off the stones, I said that I Avas now about to
confide to him that portion of my life with which he was
unacquainted, and ask his advice how I ought to proceed,
in consequence of some intelligence lately communicated by
Lionel. I then went into the whole detail, until I arrived
at my being taken away from the barracks by Madame
d'Albret ; the remainder of my life he knew sufficient of,
and I then gave him Lionel's letter to read, and when he
liad done so, I stated to him what my wishes and what
my fears were, and begged him to decide for me what was
best to be done.
" This is an eventful history, \"alerie," said the old gentle-
man. " I agree with you in the propriety of making your
existence known to your brother, and also to your father, who
has been sufficiently punished for his cowardice. Whether
your father will be able to contain his secret, I doubt very
much ; and from what you have told me of your mother,
I should certainly not trust myself in France. I am not
188*
VALERIE
very well informed of the laws of the country, but it is my
im])rcssion tiiat children are there under the control of their
parents until they are married. Go to France I therefore
would not, unless it were as a married woman : then you
will be safe. When does Lionel come over ? "
" He will come at any time, if I say I wish it."
"Then let him come over, and invite your brother to come
with him, then you can arrange with him. I really wish you
were married, Valerie, and I wish also that my son was
married ; I should like to be a gi'andfather before I die."
" With respect to my marrying, sir, I see little chance of
that ; I dislike the idea, and, in fact, it would be better to
be with my mother at once ; for I 2:)refer an old tyranny to
a new one."
" It does not follow, my dear Valerie ; depend upon it,
there are many happy marriages. Am I a tyi*ant in my own
house } Does my wife appear to be a slave } "
"There are many happy exceptions, my dear sir," re-
I^lied I. " With respect to your son's marrying, I think
you need not despair of that ; for it is my opinion that
he very soon will be — but this is a secret, and I must say
no more."
"Indeed !" replied the judge. "I know of no one, and
he would hardly marry Avithout consulting me."
" Yes, sir, I think that he will, and I shall advise him so
to do — as it is necessary that nothing should be known till
it is over. Trust to me, sir, that if it does take place, you
will be quite satisfied with the choice which he makes ; but
I must have your })ledge not to say one word about it. You
might spoil all."
The old judge fell back in his carriage in a reverie, which
lasted some little while, and then said —
"Valeric, I believe that I understand you now. If it is
as I guess, I certainly agree with you that I will ask no
more questions, as I should for many reasons not wish it to
appear that I know anything about it."
Soon afterwards we arrived at Kew, and, after a pleasant
visit, on the following morning early, I returned to town
with the judge. I then wrote to Lionel, making known
to him as much as was necessary, under pledge of secrecy,
and stating my wish that he should follow up my brother's
189
VALERIE
acquaintance, and the next time that he came over, per-
suade him to accompanj' him ; but that he was not to say
anything to him relative to my being his sister, on any
account whatever.
Young Selwj-n called the same day that I came from
Kew, with the piece of music which was missing. I made
no remarks upon the fact, that the music might have been
delivered to me by his sister, because I felt assui'ed that
it contained a note more musical than any in the score ;
I gave it to Caroline, and a few days afterwards, observing
that she was pale and restless, I obtained permission for
her to go out with me for a day. Mr. Selwyn happened
to call a few minutes after our arrival at Madame Gironac's,
and that frequently occurred for nearly two months, when
the time arrived that she w'as to be removed from the
school.
The reader Avill, of course, perceive that I was assisting
this affair as much as I could. I admit it ; and I did so
out of gratitude to Mr. Selwyn's father, for his kindness
to me. I knew Caroline to be a good girl, and well suited
to Mr. Selwyn ; I knew that she must eventually have a
very large fortune ; and, provided that her father and
mother would not be reconciled to their daughter after
the marriage, that Mr. Selwjn had the means, by his
practice, of supporting her comfortably without their assist-
ance. I considered that I did a kindness to Cai'oline and
to Mr. Selw3'n, and therefore did not hesitate ; besides, I
had other ideas on the subject, Avhich eventually turned out
as I expected, and proved that I was right.
On the last day of September, Caroline slipped out and
follow'ed me to Madame Gironac's ; Mr. Selwyn was ready
with the licence. We walked to church, the ceremony
was performed, and Mr. Selwyn took his bride down to
his father's house at Kew. The old judge was somewhat
prepared for the event, and received her very graciously.
Mrs. Selwyn and his sisters were partial to Caroline, and
followed the example of the judge. Nothing could pass
off more quietly or more pleasantly. For reasons which
I did not explain, I requested Mr. Selwyn, for the present,
not to make known his marriage to Caroline's parents,
as I considered it would be attended with great and
190
VALERIE
certain advantage ; and he promised nie tliat he would not
only be silent upon the subject^ but that all his family
should be equally so.
If Mrs. Bradshaw required two bottles of eau-de-cologne
and water to suj)port her when she heard of the elopement
of Adtle Chabotj I leave the reader to imagine liow many
she required when an heiress entrusted to her charge had
been guilty of a similar act.
As Caroline had not left Avith me^ I was not implicated,
and the affair was most inscrutable. She had never been
seen walking, or known to correspond with any young
man. I suggested to Mrs. Bradshaw that it was the fear
of her fiither removing her from her protection A^hich had
induced her to run away, and most probably she had gone
to her aunt Bathurst's. Upon this hint, she Avrote to Mr.
Stanhope, acquainting him with his daughter's disappear-
ance, and giving it as her opinion that she had gone to
her aunt's, being very unwilling to return home. Mr.
Stanhope was furious ; he immediately drove to Madame
Bathurst's, whom he had not seen for a long time, and
demanded his daughter. Madame Bathurst declared that
she knew nothing about her. Mr. Stanhope expressed his
disbelief, and they parted in high words.
A few^ days afterwards, the colonel and Adele came to
town, the three montlis acceded to her wishes having
expired ; and now I must relate what I did not know till
some days afterwards, when I saw Adele, and who had the
narrative from her husband.
It appeared that as soon as the colonel arrived in London,
still persuaded that he had married Caroline Stanhope,
and not Adele Chabot, without stating his intention to
her, he went to Grosvenor Square, and requested to see
Mr. Stanhope. This was about a fortnight after Caroline's
elopement with Mr. Selwyn. He was admitted, and found
Mr. and Mrs. Staidiope in the drawing-room. He had
sent up his card, and Mr. Stanhope received him with great
hauteur.
"What may your pleasure be with me, sir.-* [Looking at
the card.] Colonel Jervis, I thiid<; you call yourself.'' "
Now, Colonel Jervis was a man well known about town,
and, in his own opinion, not to know him argued yourself
191
VALERIE
unknown ; he was therefore not a little angry at this recep-
tion^ and being a really well-bred man, was also much
startled with the vulgarity of both parties.
" My name, Mr. Stanhope, as you are pleased to observe/'
said the colonel, Avith hauteur, " is Jervis, and my business
with you is relative to your daughter."
" My daughter, sir } "
" Our daughter ! Why, you don't mean to tell us that
you have run aw^ay with our daughter .'' " screamed Mi's.
Stanhope.
"Yes, madam, such is the fact; she is now my wife, and
I trust that she is not married beneath herself"
"A colonel! — a paltry colonel ! — a match for my daughter!
Why, with her fortune she might have married a duke,"
screamed Mrs. Stanhope. " I'll never speak to the wretch
again. A colonel, indeed ! I suppose a militia-colonel. I
dare say you are only a captain, after all. Well, take her
to barracks, and to barracks yourself. You may leave the
house. Not a penny — no, not a penny do you get. Does
he. Stanhope ? "
" Not one half a fai-thing," replied Mr. Stanhope pomp-
ously. " Go, sir ; Mrs. Stanhope's sentiments are mine."
The colonel, who was in a towering })assion at the treat-
ment he received, now started up, and said, " Sir and
madam, you appear to me not to understand the usages of
good society, and I positively declare, that had I been
aware of the insufferable vulgarity of her parents, nothing
would have induced me to marry the daughter. I tell
you this, because I care nothing for you. You are on the
stilts at present, but I shall soon bring you to your senses ;
for know, sir and madam, although I did elope with and
man-ied your daughter, the marriage is not legal, as she
was married under a false name, and that was her own
act — not mine. You may therefore prepare to recei\e
your daughter back, when I think fit to send her — dis-
graced and dishonoured ; and then try if you can match
her with a duke. I leave you to digest this piece of
information, and now wish you good morning. You have
my address, when you feel inclined to apologise, and do
me the justice which I shall expect before a legal marriage
takes place."
VALERIE
So saying, the colonel left the house ; and it would be
difficult to s;iy which of the three parties was in the
greatest rage.
The colonel, who had become sincerely attached to Adele,
who had well profited by the time which she had gained,
returned home in no very pleasant humour. Throwing him-
self down on the sofa, he said to her in a moody way —
" I'll be candid with you, my dear ; if I had seen your
father and mother before I married you, nothing would
have persuaded me to have made you my wife. When a
man marries, I consider connection and fortune to be the
two greatest points to be obtained : but such animals as
your father and mother I never beheld. Good Heaven !
that I should be allied to such people ! "
" May I ask you, dearest, to whom you refer, and what is
the meaning of all this ? My father and mother ! Why,
colonel, my father was killed at the attack of Montmartre,
and my mother died before him."
" Then who and what are you ? " cried the colonel, jumping
up; "are you not Caroline Stanhope?"
" I thank Heaven I am not. I have always told you that
I was Adele Chabot, and no other person. You must admit
that. My father and mother were no vulgar people, dearest
husband, and my family is as good as most in France. Come
over with me to Paris, and you will then see who my
relatives and connections are. I am poor, I grant ; but
recollect that the Revolution exiled many w-ealthy families,
and mine among the rest, although we were permitted
eventually to return to France. What can have induced
you to fall into this error, and still persist (notwithstanding
my assertions to the conti*ary) that I am the daughter of
those vulgar upstarts, who are }M'overbial for their want of
manners, and who are admitted into hardly any society, rich
as they are supposed to be ? "
The colonel looked all amazement.
" I'm sorry you are disappointed, dearest," continued
Adele, " if you are so. I am sorry that I'm not Caroline
Stanhope with a large fortune ; but if I do not bring you a
fortune, by economy I will save you one. Let me only
see that you are not deprived of your usual pleasures and
luxuries, and I care not what I do, or how I live. You
193 N
VALERIE
will find no exacting wife in me, dearest, troubling you
for expenses you cannot afford. I will live but to please
you, and if I do not succeed, I will die — if you wish to be
rid of me."
Adele resumed her caresses with the tears running down
her cheeks, for she loved her husband dearly, and felt what
she said.
The colonel could not resist her : he put his arms round
her and said, " Do not cry, Adele ; I believe you, and,
moreover, I feel that I love you. I am thankful that I
have not married Caroline Stanhope, for I presume she
cannot be very different from her parents. I admit that
I have been deceiving myself, and that I have deceived
myself into a better little wife than I deserve, perhaps. I
really am glad of my escape. I Avould not have been
connected with those people for the universe. We will do
as you say : we will go to France for a short time, and you
shall introduce me to your relations."
Befoi'e the next morning, Adele had gained the victory.
The Colonel felt that he had deceived himself, that he might
be laughed at, and that the best that could be done was to
go to Pai'is and announce from thence his marriage in the
papers. He had a sufficiency to live upon, to command
luxury as well as comforts, and on the whole he was now
satisfied that a handsome and strongly attached wife, who
brought him no fortune, was preferable to a marriage of mere
interest. I may as well here observe that Adele played
her cards so well that the colonel was a happy and con-
tented man. She kejit her promise, and he found with her
management that he had more money than a married man
required, and he blessed the day in which he had married by
mistake. And now to return to the Stanhopes.
Although they were too angry at the time to pay much
heed to the colonel's parting threats, yet when they had
cooled, and had time for reflection, Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope
were much distressed at the intelligence that their daughter
was not legally married. For some days they remained
quiet ; at last they thought it advisable to come to terms,
to save their daughter's honour. But during this delay on
their part, Adele had called upon me, and introduced her
husband, and made me acquainted with all that had passed.
VALERIE
They stated their intention of proceeding to Paris imme-
diately, and although I knew that Adcle's relations were
of good family, yet I thought an introduction to Madame
d'Albret would be of service to her. I therefore gave her
one, and it proved most serviceable ; for the colonel found
himself in the first society in Paris, and his wife was well
received and much admired. When, therefore, Mr. Stan-
hope made up his mind to call upon the colonel at the
address of the hotel where they had put up, he found they
had left, and nobody knew where they had gone. This
was a severe blow, and Mi*, and Mrs. Staidiope were in a
state of the utmost uncertainty and suspense. Now was
the time for Mr. Selwyn to come forward, and I despatched
a note to him requesting him to come to town. I put
him in possession of Adele's history, her marriage with
the colonel, and all the particulars with which the reader
is acquainted, and I pointed out to him how he should
act when he called ujion Mr. Stanhope, which I advised
him to do immediatel}'. He followed my advice, and thus
described what passed on his return.
" I sent up my card to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhojje, and was
received almost as politely as the colonel. I made no
remark, but taking a chair, which was not offered to me,
I said, ' You have my card, Mr. Stanhope ; I must, in
addition to my name, inform you that I am a barrister,
and that my father is Judge Selwjn, who now sits on
the King's Bench. You })robably have met him in the
circles in which you visit, although you are not acquainted
with him. Your sister, Madame Hathurst, we have the
pleasure of knowing.'
"This introduction made them look more civil, for a judge
was with them somebody.
"'My object in coming here is to speak to you relative to
your daughter.'
"'Do you come from the colonel, then.?' said Mrs. Stan-
hope sharply.
"'No, madam. I have no accjualnlance with the colonel.'
" 'Then how do you know my daughter, sir?'
"'I had the pleasure of meeting her at my fatlier's.
She stayed a short time with my faniil}' at our country seat
at Kew.'
195
VALERIE
" ' Indeed ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Stanhope ; ' well, I had no
idea of that. I'm sure the judge was very kind ; but,
sir, you know that my daughter has married very unfortu-
nately.'
" ' That she has married, madam, I am aware, but I trust
not unfortunately.'
" ' Why, sir, she has married a colonel,— a fellow who came
here and told us it was no marriage at all ! '
" ' It is to I'ectify that mistake, madam, Avhich has induced
me to call. The colonel, madam, did hear that your
daughter was at Mrs. Bradshaw's establishment, and wished
to cany her oif, sujiposing that she was a very rich prize ;
but, madam, he made a slight mistake — instead of your
daughtei', he has run away and married the French teacher,
who has not a sixpence. He has now found out his mistake,
and is off to Paris to hide himself from the laughter of
the town.'
" This intelligence was the cause of much mirth and
glee to Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope ; the latter actually cried
with delight, and I took care to join heartily in the
merriment. As soon as it had subsided, Mrs. Stanhope
said —
" ' But, Mr. Selwyn, you said that my daughter was
married. How is that } '
" ' Why, madam, the fact is, that your daughter's affec-
tions wei'e engaged at the time of this elopement of the
colonel's, and it was her intention to make known to you
that such was the case, presuming that you would not
refuse to sanction her marriage ; but when the elopement
took place, and it was even reported that she had run
away, her position became very awkward, and the more
so, as some people declared (as the colonel asserted) that
she was not legally man-ied. On consulting with the
gentleman of her choice, it was argued thus : If Miss Stan-
hope goes back to her father's house after this report
that she is not legally married, it will be supposed that
the colonel, finding that he was disappointed in his views,
had returned her dishonoured upon her jiarents' hands, and
no subsequent marriage would remove the impression. It
was, therefore, considered advisable, both on her parents'
account and on her own, that slie also should elope, and then
iy6
VALERIE
it would be easily explained that it was somebody else who
had eloped with the colonel, and that Miss Stanhope had
married in a secret way. Miss Stanhojie, therefore, was
properly married in churcli before respectable witnesses, and
conducted immediately afterwards by her husband to his
father's house, who approved of what was done, as now no
reflection can be made, either upon Miss Stanhope or her
respectable parents.'
"'Well, let us all know the person to whom she is
married.'
"'To myself, madam ; and your daughter is now at Judge
Selwyn's, where she has been ever since her marriage,
with my mother and sisters. My father would have ac-
companied me, to explain all this ; but the fact is, that
his lordship is now so much occupied that he could not.
He will, however, be happy to sec Mr. Stanhope, who is
an idle man, either at his town house, or at his country
seat. I trust, madam, as I have the honour to be your
son-in-law, you will j)ermit me to kiss your hand .'' '
"'Caroline may have done worse, my dear,' said the
lady to her husband, who was still wavering. ' Mr. Selwyn
may be a judge himself, or he may be a Lord Chancellor,
recollect that. Mr. Selwyn, you are welcome, and I sliall
be most happy to see his lordship, and my husband sliall
call upon him when we know when he will be at leisure.
Oh, that colonel ! but he's rightly served — a French teacher.
Ha, ha, ha ! ' and Mrs. Stanhope's mirth was communicated
to her husband, who now held out his hand to me in a
most ])atroiiising manner.
'"Well, sir, I give you joy. I believe you have saved
my daughter's character ; and, my dear,' added he, very
pompously, 'we must do something for the young ])eople.'
" ' I trust, sir, I bear your forgiveness to Caroline.'
"'Yes, you do, Mr. Selwyn,' said the lady. 'Bring
her here as soon as you please. Oh, that colonel .' Iia,
ha, ha! and it is capital. A French teacher. Ha, ha,
ha ! ' "
Such was the winding-up of this second maniagr. Il.id
not Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope been nuich suixlucd by tlie
intelligence received from the colonel of the marriage
being illegal, and had they not also been nuich gratified
197
VALERIE
at the mistake of the colonel, things might not have gone
off so pleasantly. I have only to add, that Mr. Stanhope,
who appeared to obey his wife in everything, called uj)on
the judge, and their interview was very amicable. Mr.
Stanhope, upon the judge stating that his son had sufficient
income, immediately became profuse, and settled X2000
per annum upon his daughter, during his life, with a promise
of much more eventually. Caroline was graciously received
by her mother, and presented with some splendid diamonds.
The judge told me that he knew the part I had taken in
the affair, and shook his finger at me.
Thus ended this affair ; and Madame Gironac, when she
heard how busy I had been in the two elopements, said —
" Ah, Valerie, )'ou begin by marrying other people. You
will end in finding a husband for yourself."
"That is quite another thing, madam," I replied; "I
have no objection in assisting other people to their wishes,
but it does not follow that therefore I am to seek for
myself what I do not wish."
" Valerie, I am a prophetess. You will be "married some
time next year. Mark my words."
" I will not forget them, and at the end of the year we
shall see who is rifjht and who is wronfj."
After all this bustle and turmoil, there was a calm, which
lasted the whole winter. I followed up my usual avoca-
tions. I had as many pupils as I could attend to, and
saved money fast. The winter passed away, and in the
spring I expected Lionel with my brother Auguste. I
looked forward to seeing my brother with great impatience ;
not a day that he was out of mj^ thoughts. I was most
anxious to hear of my father, my brothers, and sisters,
and every particular connected with the family ; even my
mother was an object of interest, although not of regard;
but I had forgiven all others who had ill-treated me, and
I felt that I forgave and forgot, if she would behave as
a mother towards me. I had received kind letters from
Madame d'Albret and Adele ; the letters of the latter
were most amusing. Madame Bathurst had called upon
me several times. I was at peace with all the world and
with myself. At last I received a letter from Lionel,
stating that he was coming over in a few days ; that he
198
VALERIE
had great difficulty in persuading my brother to come
with him, as he could not afford the expense out of his
own means, and did not like to lie under such an obli-
gation. At last he had been overruled, and was coming
with him.
"Then I shall see you again, dear Auguste !" thought I;
"you who always loved me, always protected me and took
my part, and who so lamented my supposed death;" and
my thoughts turned to the time when he and I were with
my grandmother in the palace, and our early days were
passed over in review. " My poor grandmother, how I loved
you ! and how you deserved to be loved ! " And then I
calculated what I might have been, had I been left with
my grandmother, and had inherited her small projierLy ;
and, on reflection, I decided that I was better off now
than I probably should have been, and that all was for the
best. I thought of the future, and whether it was likely
I ever should marry, and I decided that I never would, but
that if I ever returned to my family, I would assist my
sisters, and try to make them happy.
"Yes," thought I, "marry I never will — that is decided —
nothing shall ever induce me."
My reverie was interrupted by the entrance of a stranger,
who, apologising to me, stated that he had come to seek
Monsieur Ciironac.
I replied that he Avas not at liome, and probably it would
be half-an-hour before he returned to dinner.
"With your leave, mademoiselle," said he, gracefully
bowing, " i will wait till he returns. I will not, however,
trespass upon your time, if it is disagreeable ; perhaps the
servant will accommodate me with a chair elsewhere ?"
I requested that he would be seated, as there was no fire
in any other room ; and he took a chair. He was a French-
man, speaking good English ; but he soon discovered that
I was his countrywoman, and the conversation was carried
on in French. He informed me that he was the Comtc
de Chavannes. But I must describe liiin. He was rather
small in stature, but elegantly made ; his features were, if
anvthing, effeminate, but very handsome ; ihey would have
been liandsome in a woman. The etleminacy was, liowcver,
relieved by a pair of moustaches, soft, silky, and curling.
W9
VALERIE
His manners wei'e peculiarly fascinating, and his conversa-
tion lively and full of point. I was much pleased with
him durin<>- the half-hour that we were together, during
which we had kept up the convei'sation with much spirit.
The arrival of Monsieur Gironac put an end to our tete-d-
telc, and having arranged his business with him, which was
relative to some flute-music, which the comte wished to be
published^ after a few minutes' more conversation, he took
his leave.
" Now, there's a man that I would select for your husband,
Valerie," said Monsieur Gironac, after the comte had left.
"Is he not a very agreeable fellow .'' "
" Yes, he is," I replied ; " he is very entertaining and
very well bred. Who is he ? "
" His history is told in few words," replied Monsieur
Gironac. " His father emigrated with the Bourbons ; but,
unlike most of those who emigrated, he neither turned
music-master, dancing-master, hair-dresser, nor teacher of
the French language. He had a little money, and he
embarked in commerce. He went as supercargo, and then
as travelling partner in a house, to America, the Havannah,
and the West Indies ; and after having crossed the Atlantic
about twenty times in the course of the late war, he amassed
a fortune of about £40,000. At the restoration he went
to Paris, resumed his title, which he had laid aside during
his commercial course, was well received by Louis XVIII.,
and made a colonel of the Legion of Honour. He returned
to this country to settle his affairs, previous to going down
to Brittany, and died suddenly, leaving the young man
you have just seen, who is his only son and heir, alone
on the wide world, and with a good fortune as soon as
he came of age. At the time of his father's death, he
was still at school. Now he is twenty-four years old, and
has been for three years in possession of the property,
which is still in the English funds. He appears to like
England better than France, for most of his time is passed
in London. He is very talented, very musical, composes
well, and is altogether a most agreeable young man, and
fit for the husband of Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenteuf.
Now you have the whole history : the marriage is yet to
take place."
200
VALERIE
" Your last observation is correct ; or rather it is not, for
the marriage will never take })lace."
"^^ Mais, que voiilcrj-voKs, mademoiselle?" cried Monsieur
Gironac ; "must we send for the angel (iabriel for you ? "
"No," replied 1; "he is not a marrying man, any more
than I am a marrying woman. Is it not sufficient that
I admit your count to be very agreeable ? — that won't
content you. You want me to marry a man whom I have
seen for one half-hour. Are you reasonable, Monsieur
Gironac ? "
" He has rank, wealth, good looks, talents, and polished
manners ; and you admit that you do not dislike him ; what
would you have more ? "
" He is not in love with me, and I am not in love with
him."
" Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf, you are wic cvfant.
I will no longer trouble myself with looking out for a
husband for you. You shall die a sour old maid ; " and
Monsieur Gironac left the room, pretending to be in a
passion.
A few days after the meeting with Count de Chavannes,
Lionel made his appearance. My heart beat quick as I
welcomed him.
"He is here," said he, anticipating my question; "but I
called just to know when we should come, and whether I
was to say anything to him before he came."
" No, no, tell him nothing — bring him here directly — how
long will it be before you return ?"
" Not half-an-hour. I am at my old lodgings in Suffolk
Street, so good-bye for the present ; " and Lionel walked
away again.
Monsieur and Madame Gironac were both out, and would
not return for an hour or two. I thought the half-liour
would never pass ; but it did at last, and they knocked
at the door. Lionel entered, followed by my brother
Auguste. I was surprised at his having grown so tall and
hajidsome.
"Madame Gironac is not at home, mademoiselle?" said
Lionel.
"No, Monsieur Lionel."
" Allow me to present to you Monsieur Auguste de
201
VALERIE
ChatencEufj a lieutenant in the service of his Majesty the
King of the French."
Auguste bowed, and as I returned the sahite, looked
earnestly at me and started.
" P^xcuse me, mademoiselle," said lie, coming up to me,
and speaking in a tremulous voice ; " but — yes, jou must
be Valerie."
" Yes, dear Auguste," cried I, opening my arms.
He rushed to me and covered me with kisses, and then,
staggering to a chair, sat down and wept. So did I, and so
did Lionel, for symj^athy and company.
"Why did you conceal this from me, Lionel.''" said he,
after a time ; " see how you have unmanned me ! "
"I only obeyed orders, Auguste," replied Lionel; "but
now that I have executed my commission, I will leave you
together ; for you must have much to say to each other.
I will join you at dinner-time."
Lionel went out and left us together ; we renewed our
embraces, and after we were more composed, entered into
explanations. I told him my historj'^ in as few words as
possible, promising to enter into details afterwai'ds, and then
I inquired about the family. Auguste replied —
" I will begin from the time of your disappearance. No
one certainly had any suspicion of Madame d'Albret having
spirited you away ; indeed, she was, as you know, con-
stantly at the barracks till my father left, and expressed
her conviction that you had destroyed yourself. The out-
cry against your mother was universal ; she dared not show
herself, and your father was in a state to excite compassion.
Four or five times a day did he take his melancholy walk
down to the Morgue, to ascertain if your body was found.
He became so melancholy, morose, and irritable, that j^eople
were afraid lest he would destroy himself. He never went
home to your mother but there was a scene of reproaches
on his part, and defiance on hers, that was a scandal to
the barracks. All her power over him ceased from that
time, and has ceased for ever since ; and perhaps you know
that he has retired } "
" How should I know, Auguste .'* "
" Yes ; he could not bear to look the other officers in the
face ; and he told me that he considered himself, from his
202
VALERIE
weakness and folly, to have been the murderer of his child ;
that he felt himself despicable, and could no longer remain
with the regiment. As soon as the regiment arrived at
Lyons, he sent in his retirement, and has ever since been
living at Pau, in the south of France, upon his half-pay,
and the other property which he possesses."
" I\Iy poor father ! " exclaimed I, bursting into tears.
'' As for me, you know that I obtained leave to quit the
regiment, and have ever since been in the 51st of the line.
I have obtained my grade of lieutenant. I have seen my
father but once since I parted with him at Paris. He is
much altered, and his hair is grey."
" Is he comfortable where he is, Auguste .''"
" Yes, Valerie ; I think that he did wisely ; for it was
ruinous travelling about with so many children. He is
comfortable, and, I believe, as happy as he can be. Oh !
if he did but know that you were alive, it would add ten
years to his life."
"He shall know it, my dear Auguste," exclaimed I, as
the tears coursed down my cheeks. " I feel now that I
was very selfish in consenting to Madame d'Albret's proposal,
but I was hardly in my senses at the time."
" I cannot wonder at your taking the step, nor can I
blame you. Your life was one of torture, and it was torture
to others to see what you underwent."
" I pity my father, for weak as he v/as, the punishment
has been too severe."
" But you Avill make him happy now, and he will rejoice
in his old days."
"And now, Auguste, tell me about Nicolas; he never
liked me, but I forgive him ; how is he ? "
" He is, I believe, well ; but he has left his home."
" Left home ? "
" You know how kind your mother was to him — I may say,
how she doled upon him. Well, one day he announced his
intention of going to Italy with a friend he had picked up,
who belonged to Naples. His mother was frantic at the
idea, but he actually laughed at her, and behaved in a very
unfeeling manner. Your mother was cut to the heart, and
has never got over it ; but, Valerie, the children who are
spoiled by indulgence, always turn out the most ungrateful."
203
VALERIE
" Have you heard of him since ? "
" Yes, he wrote to me telling me that he was leading
an orchestra in some small town, and advancing rapidly —
you know his talent for music — but not one line has he
ever written to his mother."
"Ah me!" sighed I, "and that is all the return she has
for her indulgence to him. Now tell me about Clara."
" She is well married, and lives at Tours : her husband is
an employe, but I don't exactly know what."
"And Sophie and Elisee .^ "
"Are both well, and promise to grow up fine girls, but
not so handsome as you are, Valerie. It was the wonderful
improvement in your person that made me doubt for a
moment when I first saw you."
" And dear little Pierre, that I used to pinch that I might
get out of the house, poor fellow ? "
" Is a fine boy, and makes his father very melancholy, and
his mother very angry, by talking about you."
" And now, Auguste, one more question. On what terms
are my father and mother, and how does she conduct
herself.''"
" My father treats her with ceremony and politeness, but
not with affection. She has tried every means to resume
her empire over him, but finds it impossible, and she has
now turned devote. They sleep in separate rooms, and he
is very harsh and severe to her at times, when the fit
comes on him. Indeed, Valerie, if you sought revenge,
which I know you do not do, you have had sufficient, for
her brow is wrinkled with care and moi-tification."
"But do you think she is soi*ry for what she has done .''"
" I regret to say I do not. I think she is sorry for the
consequences, but that her animosity against you would be
greater than ever if she knew that you were alive, and if
you were again in her power she would wreak double
vengeance. Many things have occurred to confirm me in
this belief. You have overthrown her power, which she
never will forgive, and as for her religion, I have no faith
in that."
" It is, then, as I feared, Auguste ; and if I make known
my existence to my father, it must be concealed from my
mother."
204
VALERIE
"I agree with you that it will be best, for there is no
saying to what point the vengeance of an unnatural mother
may be carried. But let us quit this subject, ior the present
at least ; and now tell me more about yourself."
"I will, but there is Lionel's knock; so I nuist defer it
till another opportunity. Dear Auguste^ give me one more
kiss, while we are alone."
CHAPTER XII
XN a few minutes after Lionel's return, which he had
considerately postponed until Monsieur Gironac's dinner-
hour had all but arrived, my good host first, and then
kind, merry little madame, made their appearance, and a
little while was consimied in introductions, exclamations,
admirations, and congratulations, all tinctured not a little
by that national vivacity which other folks are in the
habit of calling extravagance, and which, as my readers
well know already, the good Gironacs had by no means
got rid of, even in the course of a long scjour in the matter-
of-fact metropolis of England.
Fortunately, my friends were for the most part an fail
to the leading circumstances of my life, so that little ex-
planation was needed.
And more fortunately yet, like tide and time, dinner
waits for no man ; nor have I ever observed, in all my
adventurous life, that the sympathy of the most sentimental,
the grief of the most woe-begone, or the joy of the happiest,
ever induces them to neglect the summons of the dinner-
bell, and the calls of the responsive a])petite.
In the midst of the delight of madame at having at last
to receive the brother of cclle chcrc Vdlcrie, and that brother,
too, .si bcl liouime el brave nfficier, el d'laie ressemhhoicc si parfaile
(i la chantHuile sccur, dinner was luckily announced ; and
the torrent-tide of madame's hospitality was cut short by
her husband's declaration that we were all, like himself,
dying of hunger, and that not a word more must be sjioken,
touching sympathies or sentiments, until we had partaken
205
VALERIE
of something nutritious, de qiioi soulniir V epidsemcnt des emotions
si dicliininlcs.
Madame laughed, declared that he was uii harhare, un
malheiireiu sans grandeur de I'dme, and taking possession of
Auguste, led him away into the dining-room, where, though
she told nie afterwards that she was au comhle de desespoir at
having to set us down to so every-daj' a meal, we found
an excellent dinner, and spent a very pleasant hour until
coffee was served; when, with it, not a little to my surprise,
nor very much to my delight, Monsieur de Chavannes made
his appearance.
There was a quizzical look on Monsieur Gironac's face,
and a roguish twinkle in his e3'e, which led me to believe
that what was really a matter of surprise to me was none
to my worthy host ; for the Count de Chavannes had never
visited the house before in the evening, nor, from what I
had understood, was he on terms of particular intimacy Avith
the Gironacs.
I was foolish enough to be, at first, a little put out at
this ; and having manifested some slight embarrassment
on his first entrance, which I learned afterwards did not
escape his eye, though he was far too well-bred to show
it, I made the matter worse by calling my pride to my
aid, incited thereto by Madame Gironac's glance and smile
at my blushing confusion, and certainly in no respect con-
tributed to the gaiety of the evening. Nothing, however,
I must admit, could have been more gentlemanly, or in
better taste than the whole demeanour of Monsieur de
Chavannes, and I could not help feeling this, and comparing
it mentally with the inferior bearing of others I had seen,
even in the midst of my fit of hatdeur and frigidity.
He neither immediately withdrew himself on learning that
my brother, whom I had not seen for many years, had but
just arrived, as any half-bred person would have done under
the like circumstances, with an awkward apology for his
presence, tending only to make every one else more awkward
yet; nor made set speeches, nor foolish compliments, on a
subject too important for such trifling.
He did not trouble me with any attentions, which he
perceived would be at that moment distasteful, but ex-
hibited the most marked desire to cultivate the acquaintance
206
VALERIE
of Auguste, to whom he showed a degree of deference,
though liimself somewhat the senior, ns to a military man,
that flattered his csprll dc corps, mingled with a sort of
frank cordiality, which, except from countryman to country-
man in a foreign land, would perhaps have been a little
overdone : but, under the actual circmnstances, it could not
have been improved.
For the short time lie remained, he conversed well and
wittily ; yet with a strain of fancy and feeling blended with
liis wit, whicli rendered it singidarly original and attractive ;
and perfectly succeeded, though I know not whether he
intended it or not, in directing the attention of the company
from my altered and somewhat unamiable mood.
Amoug other things, I remember that, in the course of
conversation, while tendering some civilities to Auguste,
the use of his riding-horses, his cabriolet, or his services
in showing him some of the lions of London, he observed
that Monsieur de Chatenoeuf must not consider such an
offer impertinent on liis part, since he believed, if our
genealogy were pro})erly traced, some sort of cousinship
could be established ; as more than one of the De Chavannes
had intermarried in old times with the Chatenanifs of
Gascony, when both the families, like their native })rovinces,
had been acting in alliance with the English Plantagenets
against the French kings of the house of Valois.
A few words were said in connection with this, touching
the singularity of the fact that it would seem as if England
had something to do with the associations of the two families ;
but I do not think the remark was made by De Chavannes,
and whatever it was it was not sufficiently pointed to be in
any way offensive or annoying.
On the whole, hurt as I was in some sort by the idea
which had taken hold of me, that the Gironacs, through
a false and indelicate idea of advancing my welfare, were
endeavouring to promote a liking between myself and the
count, I cannot deny that the evening, on the whole, was
a pleasant one, and that, if at first it had been my im-
pression that De Chavannes was agreeable, entertaining,
and well-bred, I was now prepared to admit he had excellent
taste, and delicate feelings into the bargain.
Still I felt that I did not like him, or jjcrhaps 1 should
207
VALERIE
rather say his attentions — though in fact he had paid me
none, — -and was rather relieved when he made his bow
and retired.
Siiortly al'terwards, Auguste observed tliat I seemed dull
and tired, and Madame Gironac followed suit by saying
that it was no wonder if the excitement and interest created
by the unexpected arrival of so dear a brother had proved
too much for my nerves.
Thereupon, after promising to return early in the morning,
so that we might have a long talk about the past, and a long
consultation about the future, Lionel and Auguste bade us
good-night also ; but not before Lionel had said to me as
he was taking leave —
" I think, mademoiselle, that it will be no more than
proper that I should drive down to Kew to-morrow morning,
and wait upon Judge Selwyn, who has always been so kind
to me — have you any message for him .'' "
"Oh yes. I beg you will tell him that Auguste has
come, and that I request he will let me know when we may
wait on him."
" And the answer will be, mademoiselle, his waiting upon
you. Is that what you desire ? "
" I only desire what I state — to know when and how we
may see him, for I know very little of Auguste's heart, if he
does not wish to return thanks to one who, except our dear
friends here, has been poor Valerie's surest confidant and
protector. But you will find the judge's family increased
since you saw him. His son has persuaded my j)retty little
friend Caroline Stanhope to become his wife, and she is living
with the judge's family at present."
Lionel expressed his surprise and pleasure at the news ;
but I thought at the moment that the pleasure was not
real, though I have since had reason to believe that the
gravity which came over his face as he spoke was the
gravity of thought, rather than that, as I fancied at the
time, of disappointment.
Nothing more passed worthy of record, and after shaking
hands with Lionel, and kissing my long-lost brother, I was
left alone with the Gironacs, half-expectant of a playful
scolding.
"Well, Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf," began mon-
208
VALERIE
sieur, as soon as the ii^entlenu'ii had left us, "is it because
you have found out that you have <rot a handsome brother,
that you are determined to drive all other handsome youn<jf
men an dcscspoir ? — or is it that you wish to break the heart,
especially of this pauvre Monsieur de Chavaniics, that you have
treated us all with an air si /iautai?ie, si liautainc, that if you
had been the queen of France, it could not have been
colder? "
" I told you once before. Monsieur Gironac," I replied,
" that your Count de Chavannes does not care a straw how
I treat him, or with what air ; and if he did, I do not. He
is simply a civil, agreeable gentleman, who looks upon me as
he would upon an}^ other young lady whom he is glad to talk
to when she is in the humour to talk ; and whom, when she
is not, he leaves to herself, as all well-bred men do. But I
repeat, I do not care enough about him to think for one
moment whether he is hautaiiie or not. And he feels just
the same about me, I am certain."
" What brings him here, then, eh .'' — where he never
came before to-night.^ — not for the beaux yetix of madame,
I believe," with a quizzical bow to his wife, "or for the
grand esprit of myself. I have an eye, I tell you, as well as
other people, and I can see one petit peu."
" I have no doubt you can, monsieur," I answered
rather pettishly; "for 1 suppose you asked him yourself;
and if you did so on my account, I must beg you will
omit that proof of kindness in future, for I do not wish
to see him."
" Oh ! Monsieur Gironac, for shame ! you have made
her very angry with your ridiculous badinage^ — you have
made her angry, really, and I do not wonder. Who ever
heard of teasing a young lady about a gentleman she has
never seen, only three times, and who has never declared
any preference ? "
" iNladame," replied her husband, in great wrath, either
real or simulated, " vous eles utic iiigrale — une — uuc — words
fail me to express what I think of your enormous and
unkind ingratitude. I am homme iveompris, and Made-
moiselle here — Mademoiselle is either uiie enfant, or she
does not know her own mind. Shall I give the Comle de
Chavannes his conge, or shall I not ? I shall not, — for if
209 O
VALERIE
she be mtc eiifinil, it is fit her friends look after her ; if
she does not know her own mind, it is u;ood she liave some
one who do! — voild tout. Here is why I sliall not go
congedier monsieur le Comte. Why, rather, I shall request
him to dine with me to-morrow, the next day, the day
after. If he do not, I swear by my honour, foi de Gironac,
I will dine at home again never more."
I could not help laughing at this tirade of the kind-
hearted little man, on the strength of which he patted
me on the head, and said I was bonne enfant, if I ■were
not si diahlement entctee, and bade me go to bed, and sleep
myself into a better humour ; a piece of advice which
appeared to me so judicious, that I proceeded at once
to obey it, and bidding them both a kind good-night,
betook myself to my own room to ponder rather than
to sleep. And, in truth, I felt that I had need of reflec-
tion ; for with the return of Auguste, a tide of feelings,
which had long lain dormant rather than dead within me,
had almost overwhelmed me ; and the hardness which
had its origin in the bitterness of conscious dependence,
and which had gained strength from the pride of self-
acquired independence, began to thaw in my heart, and to
give way to milder and gentler feelings.
The thoughts of home, the desire for my country, the
love for my father, who, though weak and ahnost iml^ecile,
had ever been kind to me in person, the craving affection
for my brothers and my sisters, nay, something approach-
ing to pity, or regret, for the mother who had proved
herself but a step-mother towards me, all revived in in-
creased and reinvigorated force.
By-and-by, too, I began to feel that I should be very
wretched after the parting with my beloved brother at
the end of so brief a i-enewal of love and intimacy ; to
be aware of what I had scarcely felt before, in the self-
confidence of the position I had won — that it is a sad
and lonely thing to be a sojourner in a foreign land, with
no natural friends, no kind kindred, on whom to rely in
case of sickness or misfortune ; — and to consider how dark
and grave a thing must be solitary old age, and perhaps a
solitaiy death-bed, far from the home of one's youth, the
friends of one's childhood.
210
VALERIE
Then there arose another thought, connected with the
preceding by that extraordinary and inexplicable chain,
which seems to run through the whole mind of man,
linking together things apparently as far asunder as the
poles, which have, however, in reality, a kindred origin.
That thought was, wherefore should ni}- life be solitary ?
Why should I stand apart and alone from my race, rely-
ing on myself only, and depriving myself, for the sake of a
perhaps imaginary independence, of all the endearments
of social life, all the sweet ties of family ?
Perhaps the very presence of my brother had opened
my eyes to the truth, that there is no such thing in the
world as real independence. To realise that possession,
most coveted, and most unattainable, one must be a
Robinson Crusoe, alone on his desert island, — a sort of
independence which no one, I should think, would practi-
cally desire to enjoy.
Before sleep came, I believe that I began to muse
about Monsieur de Chavanncs : but it Avas only to think
that I did not care in the least about him, nor he about
me ; and that, so far as he was concerned, I had seen no
cause to change my decided resolution that I would never
marry. All this was, perhaps, in reality, the best of proofs
that I did already care something about him, and was
very likely before long to care something more ; for some
one has said, and he, by the way, no ordinary judge of
human nature, that if he desired to win a woman's fancy
or affection, his first step would be to make her (Jibik
about him — even if it were to hate him ! anything before
the absence of all thought, the blank void of real absolute
indifference.
Indeed, I believe it is nearly true, tiiat a woman rarely
begins to think oflen of a man, even if it be as she fancies
in dislike, but when, however she may deceive lierself,
she is on the verge of loving him. Was such the case
with me ?
At least, if it were so, I was then so far from knowing
it, that I did not even ask myself the question. But I
remember that when I fell asleep, I dreamed that I was
standing at the altar with the Count de Chavannes, when
a band of all those who had ever wronged me, — my
211
VALERIE
mother, Madame d'Albret, Madame Bathurst, the Stan-
hopes, Lady M , nishcil between us, and tore us for-
cibly asunder ; and 1 wept so loud that my sorrow awoke
me, and it was some time before I was sure it was a
dream.
Early the next morning, Auguste came again to see
me ; and as Monsieur Gironac was abroad, giving lessons
on the flute and guitar, while madame either was, or
pretended to be, excessively busy with her wax-flowers,
we had the whole day to ourselves until luncheon-time,
and we profited by it so well, that before w'e were inter-
rupted, we had Httle to learn on either side concerning
the passages of our lives, and tlie adventures which both
we and all our family had gone through. And if I had
been a little inclined to be proud of myself before, and to
give their full value to my energy and decision of character,
I certainly now stood in no small danger of being spoiled by
Auguste's praises.
For now, half-crying at my trials and troubles, now
laughing at Lady R 's absurdities, — now bursting into
vehement invective against my enemies, — he insisted that
I was a perfect heroine — the bravest and most accomplished
of women, as well as the dearest of sisters.
But when I had finished my own story, which I did not
begin until I had extracted from him every particle of
information about my family —
" Well, my little Valerie," he said caressingly, as he put
his arm about my waist, "you have told me everything —
all your little sorrows, and trials, and troubles — all your
little pleasures and successes — all your little schemings
and mana?uvrings in the love-afffiirs of other people — and
all about the great little fortune which you have accumu-
lated — quite a millionaire, upon my word, with your twenty-
five hundred livres de rente — but not one word have you
told me about your own little affaires de cceur. I am afraid,
little sister mine, you are either a very great hypociute, or
very cold-hearted ; Avhich is it, dearest Valerie .'' "
"Very cold-hearted, I believe, brother. At least I
certainly have no affaires de ccvur to relate. I cannot
pretend to say whether it is my fault or that of other
people ; but certainly no one ever fell in love with me,
212
VALERIE
if it were not that odious Monsieur G ; and most
certainly I have never fallen in love with any one at all."
Auguste gazed earnestly in my face for a moment, as if
he Avould have read my heart ; but I met his eyes with
mine quite steadily and calmly, till at length I burst into
a merry laugh, which I could not restrain.
"Quite true, little sister.?" he said at last, after my
manner had in some sort convinced him.
"Quite true, Auguste, upon my honour," I replied.
"Well, Valerie, I suppose I must believe that earnest
face, and that honest little laugh of 3'ours."
"You may just as well do so, indeed," I replied; "for
no one w'as ever in love with me, I assure you. And I
do not think," I added, with a touch of the old pride,
'• that a De Chatenceuf is likely to give away a heart that
is not desired."
"It is all very strange," he added. "And this Monsieur
Lionel Dempster "
" Is a little older than poor Pierre, Avhom I used to pinch
when I wanted to get out of ni}^ mother's reach ; and
regards me very much as he would a much elder sister —
almost, indeed, as a mother."
" A mother, indeed, Valerie ! "
" He once told me something of the kind ! He is a very
fine jonng man, certainly, full of talent and spirit, and will
make you a very good and agreeable friend — but he is no
husband for me, I assure you. He would do much better
for Sophia, or Elisee, if he ever should see and like either
of them."
" Always busy for others, Valerie ! And for yourself —
when will you think for yourself.''"
" I think I have thought, and done, too, for myself, pretty
well. You forget my twenty-five hundred Hvres de rente."
" But twenty-five hundred livres de rente are not a husband,
Valerie."
" I am not so sure about that. I daresay they would
buy one at a pinch," I replied, laughing; "at least in our
jwor country, where every one you meet in societ)^ is not
a millionaire, like these cold islanders."
"I think you have grown almost as cold yourself, little
sister, and as calculating."
213
VALERIE
"To be sure I have/' I made answer; "and to punish
me. Monsieur Gironac swears that 1 shall die a sour old
maid."
" And what do you say ? "
" An old maid, verj' likely ; but not a sour one, at all
events. But hark ! there is a carriage at the door — let me
see Avho it is."
And I jumped up, and, running to the window, saw the
Selwyn liveries, and Lionel, en cavnlier, beside the carriage
window.
In a moment the steps were let down ; and Caroline
speedily made her apjiearance, commissioned, as she said,
by her motlier-in-law, to take immediate possession both
of myself and Augusta, and to bring us down straightway
to Kew. Her husband, she said, would certainly have
called on Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, and the judge also, but
that, the courts being all in session, they were both so
completely occupied that, except after dinner, they had not
an hour of the twenty-four disengaged.
She was commanded, moreover, she added, to invite Mon-
sieur and Madame Gironac to cUne at Kew on the following
day. Me, moreover, and Augusta, she was to carry down
forthwith in the carriage.
" So now," she said, " get you gone, Valerie, and pack up
as quickly as possible all that you require to make yourself
beautiful for a week, at least."
" And Avhat do you say to all this, messieurs ? " said I,
laughingly, to my brother and Lionel ; " for there is nuich
more necessity to consult you lords of the creation, as you
call j'ourselves, who are in reality vainer by half, and care
five times as much about your toilettes as we much-
calumniated women — what do you say about this summary
packing up and taking flight ? can it be accomplished ? "
"It is accomplished," replied Lionel ; "in so far, at least,
that I have promised, on my own part, and for Monsieur
Auguste de Chatenoeuf in the bargain, to overlook the
preparation of his kit as well as my own, and to bring them
down in a cabriolet, while you and your brother are rolling
smoothly along in the judge's venerable coach."
" All that is arranged, then," said I, " and I will not
detain you above ten minutes, during which time I will
214
VALERIE
send Madame Gironac to amuse you, and you can delivrr
your own message to her."
And then, without waiting for any answer, I hurried
upstairs to inake my traveUing toilette, and to put up things
for a week's visit to my good friends.
In the meantime Madame Gironac, who had always been
a great favourite of Caroline's, had taken my place ; and l)y
the merriment which I could hear going on, I could not
doubt tliat, on the whole, the party had been a gainer by
the exchange.
Before I was quite ready to make my reappearance, there
came a smart double knock at the door ; and then, after a
minute or two, I could distinguish a gentleman's footstep
ascending the staircase to the dining-room.
My own I'oom looked towards the back of the house, so
that I had no means of seeing for myself who the new-
comer was ; and I did not choose to ask any questions of
the servant-girl, who was bu.stling in and out of the door
with trunks and travelling-cases innumerable.
So I finished my toilette with a heart that beat, I must
confess, a little faster than usual, though I should certainly
have been puzzled to explain why ; put on my liat and
shawl, perhaps a little coquettishly, and went downstairs,
half-im])atient, half-embarrassed, yet fully persuaded in my
own mind that I had not the least expectation of seeing
anybody in particular.
I found all the company assembled round the luncheon
table when I entered, and busily engaged with the coleleties
(i la Maintcnon and green peas. Among those present was
Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes, whom I certainly did not
expect to see.
He rose immediately from the table as I entered, and
advanced a step or two to meet me, with a graceful inclina-
tion, and a few well-chosen words, to the intent that he had
called in order to invite Monsieur dc Chatenctuf to go out
and take a promenade a cheval with him, in order to see the
parks and the beauty of London.
All this was said with the utmost frankness, and in the
most unatlected manner in the world ; and assureilly there
was nothing either in the words, or in the manner in which
they were uttered, which should have thrown me into a
215
VALERIE
confusion of blushes^ and rendered me for a moment almost
incapable of answering him.
It must be remembered, however, that I liad been rallied
very much concerning him of late by Monsieur (iironac, and
I could scarcely avoid perceiving that this exceeding assiduity
in doing the honours to Auguste could not but be attributed
to some more potent cause than mere civility to a fellow-
countryman.
My confusion produced, for a second or two, a slight
similar embarrassment in the count, and the blood mounted
highly to his foi'chead. Our eyes met, too, at the same
instant ; and though the encounter was but momentary,
from that time a sort of secret consciousness was established
between us.
This scene passed in less time than it takes to describe
it ; and, becoming aware that ever}' one's eyes were upon
us, I rallied instinctively, rejilied by a few civil words of
thanks, and took a place at the table, which had been left
vacant for me, between my brother and Lionel Dempster.
This little interruption at an end, the conversation returned
to the course it had taken before I came in, and there was
a good deal of very agreeable talk ; as is sure to be the
case whenever four or five pleasant and clever people are
thrown together under circumstances which create a sudden
and unexpected familiarity, each person desirous of amusing
and rendering himself pleasant to his companions of an
hour ; but not so anxious to make an impression, as to be-
come stiff, stilted, or affected.
Lionel, as I have said long ago, was remarkably witty and
clever by nature, and had pi'ofited greatly by his oppor-
tunities in France; so much so, that I have rarely seen a
young man of his age at all comparable to him. The count
was likewise a person of superior abilities and breeding, with
a touch of English seriousness and soundness engrafted on
the stock of French vivacity; and my brother Auguste was
a young, ardent soldier, full of gay youth, high hopes, and
brilliant aspirations, all kindled uj) l)y the excitement of thus
visiting a foreign country, and finding himself in the company
of a long-lost and much-beloved sister.
Caroline Sclwyn was quick, bright, and lively; Madame
Gironac was a perfect mine of life and vivacity ; and I,
2lG
VALERIE
desirous of atoninc; for my folly of tlie past evening, did my
best to be agreeable.
I suppose I Avas not wholly unsuccessful, for every time
I raised my eyes, I was sure to find those of Monsieur de
Chavannes riveted on my face with a deep, earnest gaze,
which, though it was instantly averted, even before our
glances met, showed that he was in some sort interested
either in myself, or in my words.
Before luncheon was finished. Monsieur Gironac made his
entree, and it was finally arranged that he and madame should
join us at Kew on the following evening ; and befoi'e we set
oft", Caroline expressed a hope to the Count de Chavannes
that he would call upon his friend Monsieur de Chatenceuf
while he was staying at the judge's, explaining that it was
impossible for Mr. Selwyn or the jwdge to wait on him for
some days, until the courts had done sitting, when she
assured him that they would do so Avithout I'ail.
He promised innuediatcly, without a moment's hesitation,
that he would do so; and I believe a riding party Avas made
up on the spot between himself, Lionel, and Auguste, for
tlie second or third day.
As soon as everything was settled, Caroline huri'ied us
aAvay, saying that her mother-in-laAV Avould think she had
run off; and a short agreeable drive carried us doAvn to the
judge's pleasant villa, Avhere I was received almost as one
of the famil}', and Auguste rather as an old friend, than as
a stranger and a foreigner.
The time passed aAvay pleasantly, for it Avas the height
of the loveliest spring weather ; the situation of the villa
on the banks of the Tliames Avas in itself charming; and
for once the English month of May Avas Avhat its poets have
described it — that is to say, Avhat it is once in every hundred
years.
Every one Avished to please and to be pleased, and the
Sehvyns Avere of that very rare class of people, Avhom you
like the more the more you see of them — the very reverse
of the Avorld in general — nothing could be more delightful
than the week which we passed there.
From the judge I had no concealments ; and regarding
him almost in the light of a second father, Avhile Auguste
Avas prepared to love him for his love to me, Ave had
217
VALERIE
many long conversations and consultations concerning my
affairs, and the propriety of disclosing my existence to my
father.
This I was resolved upon, and both the judge and Augusta
appi'oving, it was decided that it should be done.
The only question, then, which remained to be disposed
of, Avas, how far my disclosures should be caiTied, and
whether it would be practicable, and if practicable, safe,
that I should return to France at present, or indeed at all
while in my present condition.
Auguste gave me his opinion, as he had done repeatedly,
that my mother never had laid aside, and never would lay
aside, her rancour towards me ; and that she would grasp
at the first oppoi'tunity of taking any vengeance upon me
which my presence should afford her.
He did not believe, he said, that my father would be
able long to preserve from her the secret of my being alive,
and of my having raised myself to a condition of comparative
affluence ; nor did he feel by any means assured that, while
labouring under the revulsion of feelings which the happy
tidings would work upon his mind, my mother would not
recover her ascendency over him.
Beyond this he could say nothing ; for as a young French-
man, and more especially a young French soldier, he knew
even less about the laws of France, and the rights of parents
over children, than did Judge Selwyn ; only, like the judge,
he was inclined to the opinion that I had better not trust
myself within the limits of any jurisdiction which might
be called upon to hand me over to the parental authority,
until such time as I should be completely my own mistress
as regarded them, which probably could only be effected
by ceasing to be my own mistress as regarded some one
else.
"For be assured, Valerie," he added, "that the possession
of yotn* person for the purpose of annoying you, and aveng-
ing herself on you for all the sufferings she has undergone
in consequence of your supposed suicide, will become the
darling object of her life, so sure as she learns that 3'ou are
in the land of the living ; and the fact of your having
secured to yourself a little fortune will not act as a check
upon her inclinations."
218
VALERIE
I sighed deeply ; for although I felt and knew the truth
of all he said, and expected that he would say it, his
words seemed to extinguish the last spark of hope in
my heart ; and it is a bitter and painful thing in any case
for a daughter to feel that she shall in all probability
never again be permitted to see the authors of her life,
or the companions and scenes of her childhood ; but it is
doubly so when she feels it to be the fault of the wicked-
ness or weakness of those whom she would fain love and
esteem, but cannot.
The good judge marked my emotion, and laying his
hand kindly on my shoulder, said, " You must not give
way, my dear girl ; you have done all that is right and true
and honest ; and the course which you have taken has been
forced ujion you. To yield now, and return home to be
tortured and despoiled of the little all which your own
good sense and your own good conduct have procured you
— for, apart from good sense and good conduct, there is
no such thing in the world as good fortune — would not
only be positive insanity, but positive ingratitude to the
Giver of all good. My advice to you, therefore, is to
remain altogether passive, to pursue the career which you
have chosen, and, without yourself taking any steps to
disclose your present situation, to authorise your brother
fully to reveal to your father so much of it as shall appear
necessary and desirable to him when on the spot. I should
not recommend that your place of residence, or exact cir-
cumstances, should be communicated even to him, at least
for the present ; and should he desire to write to you, the
letters should pass through your brother's hands, and be
forwarded under cover to me, which will prevent the gain-
ing of intelligence through the post-ofhce. The rest we
must leave to the effects of time, and of that Providence
which has been displayed so singularly in your behalf
already, and which never deserts those who believe humbly,
and endeavour sincerely to deserve Divine favour. So this,"
he added with a smile, "is the end and sum total of an
old lawyer's counsel, and an old man's sermon. And now,
think over what I have said between you ; for I believe
you will find it the best course, although it may now hardly
suit your excited feelings ; and in the meantime }et us go
219
VALERIE
on the lawn and join the ladies, who seem to have got some
new metal of attraction."
" Indeed, judge," I replied, " I am quite convinced of
the wisdom of what you propose, and 1 thank yc" sincerely
for your advice as for all your other goodness towards me.
No father could be kinder to an only daugliter than you
have been to me ; and God will bless you for it. But to
say the truth, I do feel very sad and downcast just at this
moment, and am not equal to the joining that gay party.
I will go up to my own room," I added, "for a little while,
and come down again so soon as I can conquer this foolish
weakness."
" Do not call it foolish, Valerie," returned the old man,
with a benignant smile. " Nothing that is natural can be
foolish — least of all, anything of natural and kindly feeling.
But do not yield to it — do not yield to it. The feelings
are good slaves, but wretchedly poor masters. Do as you
will, my dear child, but come to us again as soon as you
can. In the meantime. Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, let us go
and see who are these new-comers."
And with these words he turned away, leaning familiarly
upon my brothei''s arm, and left me to collect myself, and
recover from the perturbation of my feelings as well and
as soon as I could, — which was not perhaps the more quickly
that I had easily i-ecogniscd in the new arrival the person
of the Count de Chavannes.
I have entered perhaps more fully into the detail of
my sentiments at this period of my life, for two reasons
— one, because of an eventful life, this was upon the whole
the most eventful moment — the other, that having hitherto
recorded facts and actions rather than feelings or principles,
I am conscious that I have represented myself as a some-
what harder and more worldly person than I feel myself in
truth to be.
But the hardness and the worldliness were pi'oduced, if
they existed at all, by the hardness of the circumstances
into which I was thrown, and the worldliness of the persons
with whom I was brought into contact.
Adversity had hardened my chai'acter, and perhaps in
some sort my heart also. At least, it had aroused my j^ride
to the utmost, had set me, as it were, upon the defensive, and
220
VALERIE
led me to reirard every stran<^er Avith suspicion, and to look
in him for a future enemy.
Good fortune had, however, altered all this. All who
had been my enemies, who had injured or misrepresented
me, were disarmed, or subdued, or repentant. 1 had for-
given all the world — was at peace with all the world. I
had achieved what to me was a little competence ; I was
loved and esteemed by those whom I could in return love
and esteem, and of whose regard I could be honestly ])roud.
I had recovered my brother — 1 still li()})ed to be reconciled
to my parents — and — and — why should I conceal it.'' — I
was beginninsr to think it by far less improbable that I
should one day marry — in a word, I was beginning to like,
if not yet to love.
All these things had been by degrees effecting a change in
my thoughts and feelings. I had been gradually thawing,
and was now completely melted, so that I felt the necessity
of being alone — of giving way — of weeping.
I went to my own chamber, threw myself on my bed, and
wept long and freely.
But these were not tears of agony such as I shed when I
first learned Madame d'Albret's cruel conduct towards me —
nor tears of injured pride such as Madame Bathurst had
forced from me by her effort to humiliate me in my own
eyes — nor yet tears of wrathful indignation such as burst
from me when I detected Lady M in her base endeavour
to destroy my charactei*.
These were tears of affection, of softness, almost of joy.
They flowed noiselessly and gently, and they relieved me,
for my heart was very full ; and, when I was relieved, I
bathed my face, and arranged my hair, and descended the
staircase, almost merrily, to join the merry company in the
garden.
I found, on my joining them, that the Count de Chavannes
had already completely gained the good graces, not only of
Caroline and her young sisters-in-law, but of Mr. Selwyn and
the judge also.
lie had come down to Kew with the particular purpose of
engaging my brother and Lionel to accompany him, on the
next day but one, to Wormwood .Scrubs, where there was
to be a grand i*eview, in honour of some foreign prince or
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VALERIE
other, of two or three regiments of hght cavalry, witli horse-
artillery aiul rockets. It was to coucliule with a sham
fight, which he thought would interest Auguste as a militaiy
man, and especially one who had connnenced his service in
the hussars, though he had been subsequently transferred
into the line.
This plan had been discussed and talked over, until
the ladies, having expressed a laughing desire to see the
spcclach', it was decided that Caroline, the two Miss Selwyns,
and mj'self, escorted by Lionel in the rumble, should go
down to the review in the judge's carriage, Auguste and
the count accompanying us en cavalier; and that after the
order of the day should be concluded, the whole party,
including the count, should return to dinner at Kew.
On the day following, as I did not think it either wise
or correct to neglect my pupils, my chapel, or Mrs. Brad-
shaw's school, although I had sent satisfactory reasons for
taking one week's leave of absence, we were all to return
to town ; I to good Monsieur Gironac's, Auguste and Lionel
to the lodgings of the latter in Suffolk Street.
Monsieur de Chavannes did not stay long after I made
my appearance, not wishing either to be, or to appear,
de trop on a fii'st visit ; nor had he any opportunity of
addressing more than a few commonplace observations
to me, had he desired to do so. Still I observed the
same peculiarity in his manner towards me, as distinct
as possible froui the sort of proud humility, half badin-
age, half earnest, which he put on in talking Avith other
ladies.
To me he observed a tone of serious softness, with
something of earnest deference to everything that fell from
my lips, however light or casual, for which he seemed to
watch with the utmost eagerness.
He never joked with me, though he was doing so con-
tinually with the others ; not that he was in the least
degree grave or formal, much less stiff or afl'ected ; but
rather that he seemed desirous of ))roving to me that
he was not a mere butterfly of society, but had deeper
ideas, and higher aspirations, than the everyday world
around us.
When he was going away, he for the first time put out
222
VALERIE
his hand to me h rA/ighiise, and as I shook hands with
him, our eyes met once more, and I believe I again bluslied
a little ; for though he dropped his gaze instantly^ and
bowed low, taking off' his hat, he pressed my fingers very
gently, ere he let them fall, and then turning to take
his leave of the judge and Mr. Selwyn, who had just
joined us, mounted his horse — a very fine hunter, by
the way, which he sat admirably — again bowed low, and
cantered off", followed by his groom, as well mounted as
himself.
He was not well out of sight before, as usual, he became
the topic of general discussion.
"What a charming person!" said Caroline: "so full of
spirit and vivacity, and yet so evidently a man of mind
and good feeling. Where did you pick him up, Valerie .'' "
" He is an old friend, I told you, of Monsieur Gironac's,
and was calling there by accident when he met Auguste,
and since that he has been exceedingly kind and civil to
him. That is the whole I know about him."
"Well, he is very handsome," said Caroline; "don't you
think so, Valerie .'' "
'■' Yes," I answered, quite composedly, " very handsome,
a little effeminate-looking, perhaps."
"Oh! no, not in the least," said Caroline: "or if he
is, so quick and clever and spirited-looking that it quite
takes all that away."
" Caroline," said Selwyn, laughing, " you have no right
to have eyes to see, or ears to hear, or mind to compre-
hend, beauty, or wit, or any other quality, in any one
save me, your lord and master."
" You ! you monster ! " she replied, laughing gaily. " I
never thought you one bit handsome, or witty, or dreamed
that you had one good quality. I only married you, you
know as well as I do, to get away from school, and from
the atrocious tyranny of my music-mistress there. You
need not look fie ! at me, Valerie, for I'm too big to be
put in the corner, now, and he won't let you wiiip me."
" I think he ought to whip you himself, baby," replied
the judge, who had grown very fond of her; and, in truth,
she was a very lovable little person in her way, and made
her husband a very happy man.
223
VALERIE
"Now, Judge Selwyn/' interposed I, ''do you remember
a conversation we once had together, in which you en-
deavoured to force me to beheve that men in general,
and you in particular, were not tyrants to your wives
and families, and now do I hear you giving your son
such advice as that ? Alas ! what can make women so
insane ?"
" Don't you know ? Can't you guess, Mademoiselle
\'alerie ? " asked the old judge, smiling slyly, and with the
least possible wink of his eye, when some of the others
■were looking at us ; and then he added in a lower voice,
" Perhajjs it will be your turn soon. I think you will soon
be able to go to France without much fear of your mother's
persecution. Come," he continued, offering me his arm,
as the others had now moved a little way apart, "come
and take a turn with me in the cedar-walk till dinner's
ready ; I want to talk to you, for who knows when one
will get another opportunity .'' "
I took his arm without re|)ly, though my heart beat very
fast, and I felt uncomfortable, knowing as I did perfectly
well beforehand what he was going to say to me.
We tiM'ncd into the ccdar-Avalk, which was a long shadowy
aisle, or bower, overhung with magnificent cedars of Lebanon,
running parallel with the banks of the noble river, and so
still and secluoled that no more proper jilace could be found
for a private consultation.
" Well," said the old man, speaking gently, but not
looking at me, perhaps for fear of embarrassing me by
his eye, "you know I am in some sort, not oidy your
legal adviser, but your self-constituted guardian, and father
confessor — so now, without further preamble, who is he,
Valerie ? "
"I will not affect to misunderstand you, judge, though,
upon my word, you are entirely mistaken in your con-
jecture."
•' Upon your word ! entirely mistaken ! I think not — I
am sure not."
" You are indeed. I have not seen him above four times,
nor spoken fifty words to him."
" Never mind, never mind — who is he ? "
"An acquaintance of Monsieur Gironac's — Monsieur le
224
VALERIE
Comte de Chavannes. His father emigraletl hither during
the Revohition, engaged in commerce, and made a fortune
of some £10,000. At the restoration, tlie old count re-
turned to France, and Avas made by Louis X\'IIL a colonel
of the Legion of Honour, and died shortly afterwards.
There is an estate, I believe, in Brittany, but Monsieur de
Chavannes, who was at school here, and has passed all his
younger days in tliis country, is more an Englishman than
a Frenchman, and only visits France at rare intervals.
That is all I know about him, and that only by accident,
Monsieur Gironac having told me, in his lively way, what
I should not have dreamed of inquiring."
" Verj'^ proper, indeed — and very good so far, but one
would like to know something definite about a man before
taking him for one's husband."
" I should think so, indeed, judge ; but as I am not
going to take him for my husband, I am quite contented
with knowing what I do know of him."
"And what do you know? — of yourself I speak, of your
own knowledge ? No hearsay evidence in the case."
"Nothing more than that he is lively and agreeable,
that he has very good manners, and seems very good-
natured — I might say, he has been very good-natured to
Auguste, poor fellow."
" Poor fellow ! Yes," answered the judge. " But men
are very apt to be good-natiu-ed to poor felloAvs who have
got nice sisters, with whom they are in love."
" I dare say, judge. But to reply in your own phraseology
— that is no case in point ; for granting that Auguste's
sister is nice, which I will not be so modest as to gain-
say. Monsieur de Chavannes is not the least in love with
her."
'" Perhaps not."
" Certainly not."
"Well, be it so. What else do you know about him ?"
"Nothing, Judge Selwyn."
" Nothing of his character, his principles, his morals, or
his habits ? "
" Really, judge, one would think, to hear you, that I was
going to hire a footman — which I am much too poor to
do — and that Monsieur de Chavannes had applied for the
225 P
VALERIE
place. \Vhat on earth have I to do with tlie young
gentleman's character or principles ? I know that he is
very gentlemanlike, and is neither a coxcomb nor a pedant,
which is refreshing in these days."
" And, as Caroline says, very handsome, eh ? "
"Yes, I think he is handsome," I replied. ''But that
has nothing to do with it."
"Not much, truly," said the judge dryly. "And this is
all you know .''"
" Or desire to know. It seems to me quite enough to
know of an acquaintance of a few days' standing."
" Well — well," he answered, shaking his head a little.
"Well. He is all that you say. A very fine young man,
he seems. I like him. Well, I will make inquiries."
"Not on my account, I entreat. Judge Selw3'n," said I,
interrupting him eagerly.
" Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenceuf," he said dryly,
though half in jest, "my head is an old one, yours a very
young one. I know young folks are apt to think old
heads good for nothing."
" I do not, I am sure," interrupted I, again. " I do not
indeed."
"Nor I, \^alerie," he answered, interrupting me in
his turn, with a good-natured smile. " So you shall let
me have my way in this matter. But, to relieve you,
my dear, permit me to observe that I have two daughters
of my own, and one young son, besides Chai'les, who is
old enough to take care of himself; and though I am
very glad to ask a young man to dine in my house who
has, as you observe, very good manners, and is neither
a fool nor a coxcomb, I am not at all willing that he
should become what you call an hahiliie, until I know
something of his character and principles. And now, as
the dressing-bell has rung these ten minutes, and it will
take you at least half-an-hour to beautify your little person,
I advise you to make the most of your time. And by
all means, Valerie, stick to your resolution — never marry,
my dear, never marry ; for all men are tyrants."
One might be very sure that I profited by this dismissal,
and ran across the lawn as fast as I could, glad to escape the
far-sighted experience of the shrewd old lawyer.
226"
VALERIE
"He has seen it, then/' I thoiiirlit to myself. "He
has observed it even in this little space ; even in this one
interview ; and he has read it^ even as 1 read it. I wonder
if he has read my heart, too. No, no," I continued, com-
muning with myself, " that he cannot have done, for 1 know
not yet myself how to interpret it."
Little thought I then, that whenever our feelings are
deeply interested, or when strong passions are at work,
even in embryo, we are for the most part the last persons
who discover the secrets whicli are transparent enough.
Heaven knows, to all persons but ourselves.
I do not know, nor did I inquire, whether the judge
pursued his inquiries concerning the count as lie had
promised to do ; much less did 1 learn what was their
result. But I do know that the following morning the
yoimg gentleman called again at the gate with a led
horse for my brother ; but did not ask if we were at
home, merely sending his compliments to the ladies, and
recjuesting Monsieur de Chatenoeuf to accompany him for
a ride.
Lionel was absent in the city on business ; so that
Auguste and the count rode out alone, and did not return
until it was growing dark, when there was scarcely time
to dress for dinner, the latter again sending in an apology
for detaining my brother so long, and retiring without
getting ofl' his horse.
This gave me, 1 confess, more pleasure than it would
have done to see him, though that Avould have given me
pleasure, too ^ for I saw in it a proof of something more
than mere tact, of inental delicacy, I mean ; and an anxiety
not to obtrude either upon the hospitality of the Selwyns,
or upon my feelings.
Auguste, on his return, was in amazing sjiirits, and did
nothing all dinner time but expatiate upon the companionable
and amiable qualities of De Chavannes, whom he already
liked, he said, more than any person he had ever seen
for so short a time — so clever, so high-spirited, so gallant.
Everything, in a word, that a man could desire for a friend,
or a lady for a lover.
"Heyday!" said the judge, laughing at this tirade.
"This fine count with his black moustaches seems to have
227
VALERIE
made one conquest miglity quickly. I hope it will not
run in the company, or we shall have more elopements " —
with a sly glance at Caroline. " Mademoiselle Valerie,
here," he continued, "is a terrible person for promot-
ing elopements, too. But we must have none from uiy
house."
We continued "^to be very gay all dinner-time. After
dinner we had some music, and the judge was just pressing
me to sing, when Lionel's servant came into the room,
having hurried down from London in pursuit of his master,
in consequence of the sudden-arrival of a large package
of letters from Paris, endorsed " Immediate, and to be
delivered with all speed."
This incident broke up the party for the moment ; and
indeed threw a chill over us all for the whole evening,
when it appeai*ed that the principal letter was one to
my brother from the commandant of Paris, of which city
his regiment formed a part of the garrison, reluctantly
revoking his leave of absence, in consequence of some
expected cmeulc, and intimating that his presence would
be expected at headquarters on or before the third day
of June, an order which it was, of course, impossible to
think of neglecting or disobeying, while it would leave
him at the furthest but a single w^eek to give to us in
London.
It was a bitter disapjjointment to be separated after so
brief a communion ; but we consoled ourselves by the re-
collection that the Straits of Dover are not the Pacific
Ocean, and that Paris and London ai'e not a thousand leagues
asunder.
CHAPTER XIII
i HERE never was a finer morning in the world than that
;i|)p()inted for the review. It was just the end of Ma}', and
all the scenery, even in the very suburbs of the great city,
was brilliant with all the chai-acteristic beauty of an English
landscape.
The fine horse-chestnut trees and the thick hawthorn
228
VALERIE
hedges were all in fall l)looin, and the air was perfeetly
scented with perfumes from the innumerable nursery-grounds
wliich hedge in that side of London with a belt of flowers.
The parks and the suburban roads were crowded with
neatly-dressed, modest-looking nurses and nursery-maids,
leading whole troops of rosy-cheeked, brown-curled, merry
boys and girls to enjoy the fresh morning air ; and Auguste
was never tired, as we drove along, of admiring everything
that met his eyes in quick succession.
The trees, the flowery hedges, the gay parterres, the
glimpses of the noble Thames white with the sails of in-
numerable craft, the beautiful villas with their small highly
cultivated pleasure-grounds, the pretty nursery-maids, and
haj)py English children, all came in for a share of his
rapturous admiration ; and so vivacious and original were
his comments on all that he saw, that he in some sort
communicated the infection of his merry humour to us
also, and we were all as gay and joyous as the season
and the scene.
When we came to the ground destined for the review, my
brother was silent, and I saw his cheek turn ])ale for a
moment ; but his eye brightened and flashed as it ran over
the splendid lines of the cavalry, which, at the moment
we came upon the ground, were parading jjast the royal
personage in honour of Avhom the review was given, and who
was on horseback, by the side of a somewhat slender elderly
gentleman, dressed in the uniform of a field-marshal, whose
eagle eye and aquiline nose announced him, at a glance, the
iminqueur tlu vauiqiieiir de la terre.
" Mdgni/iq/ie ; mais c'esl vraivient magni/ique," muttered my
brother to himself, as the superb Life Guards swept along,
with their polished steel helmets and breastplates glittering
like silver in the sunshine, and their plumes and guidons
flashing and twinkling in the breeze. " Dicii dc d'leu ! quils
sonl gcanls les cavaliers, qii'i/s soul colossaiix Ics chevaux. Et
Ic.s allures si lesles, si gracicuscs, comme s'ils iictaiciit que des
jumenis. Mais c'est mi spectacle magni/ique !"
A moment afterwards, a regiment of lancers passed at a
trot, with their pennons fluttering in the In'ccze, and their
l.mce-heads glimmering like stars above the clouds of dust
which rose from under their horses' hoofs ; and these were
229
VALERIE
followed by several squadrons of hussars, with their crimson
trousers and their G;aily-furred pelisses ; and then troop after
troop of horse-artillery elattering alon<;-, the hii;h-!)red horses
whirlinjr the heavy <;uns and caissons behind them as if they
had been mere playthings.
It certainly was a beautiful and brilliant pageant, and
the splendid military music of the cavalry bands, the clash
and clang of the silver cymbals, the ringing roll of the
kettle-drums, and the symphonious cadences of the cornets,
horns, and trumpets at the same time, delighted and excited
me to the utmost.
But I confess, that to me the calm old veteran, sitting
unmoved amiilst all that pomp and clangour, and evidently
marking only the very smallest niinutine of the men, the
accoutrements, the movements, was a more interesting, a
more moving sight, than all the pageantry of uniform, than
all the thrill of music.
I thought how he had sat as cool and impassive under
the iron hail of battle, with thousands and thousands of
the best and bravest falling around him, the fate of nations
hanging on a balanced scale in those fights of giants — I
thought how he, alone of men, had faced, undaunted and
self-confident, that greater than Hannibal, or Alexander,
that world-conqueror. Napoleon — I thought how he had
quelled the might of my own gallant land, and my blood
seemed to thrill coldly in my veins, as it will at the recital
of great deeds and noble daring — and I kncAV not altogether
whether it was the shudder of dislike, or the thrill of
admiration that so shook me.
Had he looked proud, or self-elate, or triumphant, I felt
that I could have hated him ; but so impassive, and withal
now so frail and feeble, yet with an eye so calmly firm, an
expression of rectitude so conscious, I could not but per-
ceive that if an enemy of my Belle France was before me,
it was an enemy who had been made such by duty, not
by choice — an enemy who had done nought in hatred, — all
in honour.
I acknowledged to myself that I was in the presence of
the greatest living man; and though I could neither love
nor worship, I felt subdued and awed into a sort of breath-
less horror, as one might fancy humanity to be in the
2o0
VALERIE
presence of some superior intelligence, — some being of
another world.
'I'he girls observed my riveted and almost fascinated eye,
as it dwelt on that mighty soldier, and began to w'hisper to
one another with a sort of very natiu'al pride at the evident
interest which we took in their favourite hero.
Their tittering attracted my brother's attention, and
following their eyes he was not long in discovering what
it was that had excited their mirth, and he looked at me
for a moment with something like a frown on his forehead.
But it cleared away in a moment, and he smiled at his own
vehemence, perhaps injustice.
At that moment, the different regiments began wheel-
ing to and fro in long lines, and open columns of troops,
and performing an infinity of manoeuvres, which, though
I of course did not in the least degree comprehend
them, were very fine and beautiful to look at, from the
rapidity of the movements, the high spirit of the horses,
and the gleam and glitter of the arms, half seen among
the dust-clouds. My brother, however, began, as I could
see, to be vehemently excited, and his constant com-
ments and exclamations of surprise and admiration, bore
testimony to the correctness with which every movement
was executed.
Then came the roar of the artillery, as the guns retreated
before the charging horse, and even I could com])rehend
and appreciate the marvellous celerity with which flash
followeil flash, and roar echoed roar, from the same piece, so
speedily that it was scarcely possible to comprehend how^
the gun should have been loaded and re-loaded while the
horses were at full gallop.
By this time all the gentlemen had become so much in-
terested and excited by the scene, that, Lionel having got
upon his horse, which had been led down to the ground by
his servant, they asked our permission to leave us for a
short time, and ride nearer to the spot where the artillery
were manoeuvring.
As we had several servants about us in the first place, and
as in the second there is not the slightest danger of ladies
being treated with incivility by an English crowd, unless
through their own fault or indiscretion, of course no objec-
231
VALERIE
tion was made, and our cavaliers jj^alloped away, promisinor
to return witliin a quarter of an liour.
Scarcely were they out of sight, before I observed a tall,
handsome, soldierly man, though in plain clothes, ride past
the carriage on a very fine liorsc, followed by a groom in
a plain dark frock, with a cockade in his hat.
It seemed to me, on the instant, that I had seen his face
somewhere before, and that I ought to know him ; for the
featm*es all seemed familiar, although, had it been to save my
life, I could not have said where I had met him.
I was torturing my memory on this head in vain — for he
Avas evidently an Englishman, and I had no acquaintance
with any English officer — when he i*ode past a second time,
and seemed to be engaged in endeavouring to decipher the
arms on our carriage, and his object appeared to be the
discovery of who / was ; at least, I could not but observe
that he looked at me from time to time with a furtive glance
from under the brim of his hat, as if he, too, fancied that
he knew or remembered me. The same thing happened
yet a third time ; and then he called his servant to his
side, and I saw the man ride up a second afterwards to
Judge Selwyn's footman, -who was standing at a few yards'
distance from the carriage, and ask him some question,
which he answered by a word or two, when the groom
rode away.
The gentleman, on receiving the reply, nodded his head
quietly, as if he would have said, " I thought so," and then
he looked at me steadily till he caught my eye, when he
raised his hat, made a half-military bow, and trotted slow'ly
away.
Caroline's quick eye caught this action in an instant, and
turning to me suddenly, she cried quickly —
" Ah ! Valerie, who is that ? that handsome man who
bowed to you .'' — Where have I seen him before .'' "
"The ver\' question which I was asking myself, Caroline.
I am quite sure that I have seen his face, and yet I cannot
remember where. It is very strange."
"Very!" replied a strange, sneering voice, close to my
ear, with a slightly foreign accent. "Can you say where
you have seen mine, bigrate?"
I turned my head as quick as lightning ; for in answering
232
VALERIE
Caroline, avIio sat on the side of the carriage next to the
military spectacle, I had leaned a little inward ; and there,
with his eircmiiiate features actually livid with rage, and
writhing with impotent malignity, stood Monsieur G — — ,
the infamous divorced husband of Madame d'Albret, and
the first cause of almost all my misfortunes.
I looked at him steadily, and replied with bitter but calm
contemjit —
" Perfectly well, Monsieur G . And very little did I
suppose that I should ever see it again. I imagined, sir,
that you were in your proper place, — the galleys ! "
It was wrong, doubtless, in me so to answer him— un-
feminine, perhaps, and too provocative of insult ; but the
blood of my race is hot, and vehement to repel insult ; and
when I thought of the sufferings I had endured, the trials I
had encountered, and the contumely which I had borne on
account of that man, my every vein seemed to overflow with
passion.
" Ha ! " he replied, grinding his teeth with rage, and
becoming crimson from the rush of blood to his head, while
he grasped my wrist hard with his hand, and shook it
furiously. "Ha! to the galleys yourself — Chiciine ! Ligralc!
Per/id e ! Traitresse ! c'cst aux galcrcs que jai era tc rcncontrcr
— OH pliilot h la -"
What further atrocity the ruffian was about to utter, I
know not, for while his odious voice was yet hissing in my
ear these atrocious epithets, before the footman, who was
standing, as I have said, a few yards off at the other side
of the carriage, had time to interfere, I heai'd the sound of
a horse at full gallop, and the next instant he was dragged
forcibly away, and I saw him quivering in the furious grasp
of the Count de Chavannes, who had, it seems, been returning
to join us when the assault was conniiitted.
To gallop to my side, to spring to the ground, to collar
the ruffian, drag him from the carriage, and lash him with
his whole strength with a rough jockey-whip till he fairly
screamed for mercy, were but the work of a moment.
And I could not but marvel afterwards to think how
much power and nervous energy his indignant spirit had
lent to his slight frame and slender limbs, for in size he
was by no means superior to G , whom he, nevcrthe-
233
VALERIE
less, handled almost as if he had been a child of five
years old.
Want of breath at last, rather than want of will, com-
pelled him to pause in his exercise ; and then turning
towards us with an air as com])()sed and smiling as if he
had been mei*ely dancing a quadrille, he took off his hat,
saying —
" I must implore your pardon, ladies, yours more espe-
cially. Mademoiselle \'alerie, for enacting such a scene in
your j)resence. Mais c'ctait plus fori (jite moi!" he added,
laughing. *' I could not contain myself at seeing a lady
so infamously insulted."
Caroline and the Misses Selwyn were so much frightened
by the whole fracas, that they were really unable to
answer, and I was for the moment so much taken by
surprise, that I could not find words to reply. At this
moment, covered with dust and blood, for the whij) had
cut his face in several places, without his hat, and with all
his gay attire besmeared and rent, Cir again came up
towards the carriage.
He was very ])ale, nay white, even to the lips, but it was
evidently not with terror but with rage, as his first words
testified.
"Monsieur le Comte de Chavannes," he said slowly, "car
je vous connais, et vous me connaitrez aussi, je vous le jure ;
vous m'avez frappe, vous me rendrez satisfaction, n'est-ce
pas } "
" Oh, no, no ! " I exclaimed, before he could answer,
clasping my hands eagerly together. " Oh, no, no ! not on
my account, I implore you. Monsieur le Comte — no life on
my account — above all, not yours."
He thanked me by one expressive glance, which spoke
volumes to my heart, and perhajjs read volumes in return
in my pale face and trembling lips, then turned with a
calm smile to his late antagonist, and answered him in
I'.nglish.
" I do not know in the least, sir, who you are, and I
do not sup[)ose that I ever shall know. 1 chastised you,
five minutes since, for insulting this lady most grossly "
" Lady ! " interrupted the ruffian, with a sneer. " Lady.
Lady of ])lea "
234
VALERIE
But the count went on without pausing or seeming to
hear him — " which I should have done at all events, whether
1 had known you or not, and which I shall most assuredly
do again, should you think fit to proceed fiu-ther with
your infamies. As for satisfaction^ if I should be called
upon in a proper way, I shall not refuse it to any person
worthy to meet me."
"Which this person is not, sir," interposed yet a third
voice ; and, looking up, I recognised the officer w-ho had
bowed to me; '^ which this person is not, I assure you, and
my word is wont to be sufficient in such cases — Lieutenant-
Colonel Jei-vis," — he added, Avith a half-bow to me, — "late
of his Majesty's light dragoons. This person is the
notoi'ious Monsieur G , who was detected cheating at
ccartc at the ' Travellers ' ; was a defaulter on the St. Leger
in the St. Patrick's year ; has been warned off every race-
course in England by the Jockey Club, besides being horse-
whipped by half the Legs in England. He can get no
gentleman to bring you a message, sir ; and if he could,
you must not meet him."
Gnashing his teeth with impotent rage, the detected
impostor slunk away, while the count, bowing to Colonel
Jervis, replied quietly —
" I thank you very much, colonel. I am Monsieur de
Chavannes ; and I have no doubt what you say is perfectly
correct. No one but a low ruffian could have behaved as
this fellow did. It was, I assure you, no small offence which
caused me to strike a blow in the presence of ladies."
" I saw it, Monsieur le Comte," answered Jervis, " I saw
it from a distance, and was coming up as fast as I could
make my horse gallop, when you anticipated me. Then,
seeing that I was not wanted, I stood looking on with
intense satisfaction ; for, uj)on my word, I never saw a
thing better done in my life. No offence, count, but by
the way you use your hands, I think you ought to have
been an Englishman rather than a Frenchman, which I
suppose from your name — for you have no French accent —
you are."
" I was at school in England, colonel," answered the count,
laughing, "and so learned the use of my hands."
"That accounts for it — that accounts for it; for on my
235
VALERIE
life I never saw a fellow more handsomely horsewhipped —
and I have seen a a;ood many, too. Did 3-011, Mademoiselle
Valeric de Chateiui'iif ; — for 1 believe it is you whom I have
the honour of addressing ? "
"I have been less fortunate than you, Colonel Jervis ; for
I never saw any one horsewhipped before, and sincerely hope
I shall never see another."
"Don't say that, my dear lady, don't say that. I am sure
it is a very pretty sight, Avhen it is well and soundly done.
Besides, it seems ungrateful to the count."
"I would not be ungrateful for the world," I replied;
"and I am sure the count needs no assurance of that fact.
I am for ever obliged by his prompt defence of me ; but it
is nothing more than I should have cx2iected from him."
"What, that he would fight for you, V'alerie ?" whispered
Cai'oline maliciously, in a tone which, perha{)s, she did not
intend to be overheard ; but, if such was her meaning, she
missed it, for all present heard her distinctly.
I replied, however, veiy coolly —
" Yes, Caroline, that he would fight for me, or you, or
any lady who was aggrieved or insulted in his presence."
" Mille graces for your good opinions ! " said De Chavannes,
with a bow, and a glance that was far more eloquent than
words.
" A truce to compliments, if you will not think me imper-
tinent, count," said the colonel ; " but I wish to ask this fair
lady, if she will pardon me one question — had you ever a
friend called "
"Adele Chabot!" I interrupted him; "and I shall be
most enchanted to hear of her, or better still to see her, as
Mrs. Jervis."
" You have anticipated me ; that is what I was about to
say. We arrived in town last night ; and she commissioned
me at once to make out your whereabouts for her. The
Gironacs told me that you were staying at Kew "
" Yes, at Judge Selwyn's. By the way," I added, a little
mischievously, I confess, "allow me to make known to one
another Mrs. Charles Sclwyn, once Caroline Stanhoj^e, and
Colonel Jervis."
Jervis bowed low, but his cheek and brow burned a little,
and he looked sharply at me out of the corner of his eye ;
236
VALERIE
but I j)reserved such a ilenuirc face, that he did not quite
know whether I was an fait or not.
Carohne, to do her justice, behaved exceedingly Avell.
Her character, inderd, which had been quite unformed before
her marriage, had gained soHdity, and her mind, judgment
as well as tone, since her introduction to a family so superior
as that of the Selwyns. And she now neither blushed nor
tittered, nor, indeed, showed any signs of consciousness,
although she gave me a sly pinch, while she was inquiring
in her sweetest voice and serenest manner after Adcle,
whom she said she had always loved very much, and longed
to see her sincerely in her new station, which she was so
admirably qualified to fill. "I hear she was vastly admired
in Paris, colonel ; and no wonder, for I really think she was
the ver}'^ prettiest creature I ever saw in my life. You are
a fortunate man, Cohmel Jervis."
" I am, indeed," said he, laughing. " Adele is a very good
little creature ; and the people were so good-natured as to
be very civil to her in Paris, especially your friend Madame
d'Albret, Mademoiselle de Chatenceuf Nothing could ex-
ceed her attentions to us. We are very much indebted to
yea ^or her acquaintance. By the way, Adele has no end
of letters and presents of all sorts for you from her. When
can you come and see Adele .'' "
"Where are you staying, Colonel .lervis ? "
"At 'J'homas's Hotel, in Berkeley Square, at present, until
we can find a furnished house for the season. In August
we are going down to a little cottage of mine, in the High-
lands. And I believe Adele has some plan for inducing you
to come down and bear her company, while I am slaughter-
ing grouse and blackcock."
" Thanks, colonel, both to you and Adele. But I do not
know how that will be. August is two whole months distant
yet, and one never knows what may happen in the course
of two months. Do you know I was half thinking of paying
a visit to France myself, when my brother, who is on a visit
to me noAv, returns to join his regiment."
" Were you, indeed .'' " asked De Chavannes, more earnestly
than the subject seemed to warrant. " I had not heard of
that scheme before. Is it likely to be carried into effect,
mademoiselle .'' "
237
VALERIE
" I hardly know. As yet it is little more than a distant
dream."
" But you have not yet answered my question. Made-
moiselle de Chatenoeuf," said the colonel. " You have not
yet told me when you will come and see Adele."
" Oh ! pardon me, colonel. I return to town to-morrow,
and I will not lose a moment. Suppose I say at one
o'clock to-morrow, or two will be better. Caroline, the
judge was so good as to say that he Avould let his carriage
take me home ; I dare say it can drop me at Thomas's, can
it not ? "
" Certainly jiut, \ alerie ! There, don't stare now, or look
indignant or surprised. It served you perfectly right ; what
did you expect me to say ? Or why do you ask such silly
questions ? Of course, it can take you wherever you please,
precisely as if it were your own."
"Then at two o'clock, I will be at Thomas's to-morrow,
colonel; in the meantime, pray give Adele my best love."
" I will, indeed. And now I will intrude upon you no
longer, ladies," he added, raising his hat. " In fact, I owe
you many apologies for the liberty I have taken in introduc-
ing myself. I hope you will believe that I would not have
done so under any other circumstances."
We bowed, and without any further remarks, ]ie put spurs
to his horse and cantered away.
"A very gentlemanly person," said Caroline; "I think
Adele has done very well for herself."
"You had better not let Mr. Charles Selwyn hear you say
so, under all circumstances, or I think that very likely the
whipping we were talking about in fun, yesterday, will be-
come real, cara mia ! "
" Nonsense ! for shame, you mischievous thing ! " said
Caroline, blushing a little, but not painfully.
" Who is this Colonel Jervis .'' " asked the Count de
Chavannes. " I was a little puzzled, or rather not a little ;
for at first none of you seemed to know him ; and, after a
little while, you all appeared to know him quite well. Pray
explain the m3'stery."
" He is a very gentlemanly person, count, as Mrs. Selwyn
justly observes, and, as you can perceive, a very handsome
man. Further than that, he was colonel of one of his
238
VALERIE
Majesty's crack rcf^iincnls as they call them, and is now on
half-pay. He is, moreover, a man of hi<i;li fashion, and of
the first standini^ in society. And, last of all, which is the
secret of the whole, he is the husband of a very charming
little Frenchwoman, a particular friend of Caroline's and
mine, one of the prettiest and nicest persons on earth, with
whom he ran away some six months since, fancying her
to be "
"Valerie !" exclaimed Caroline, blushing fiery red.
"Caroline!" replied I quietly.
"What were you going to say .''"
" Fancying her to be a very great heiress," I continued,
" but finding her to be a far better thing, a delightful,
beautiful, and excellent wife."
" Happy man ! " said De Chavannes, with a half-sigh.
"Why do you say so, count.''"
" To have married one for whom you vouch so strongly.
Is that any common fortune ?"
"It is rather common, count, just of late I mean," said
Cai'oline, laughing. " You do not know that among Valerie's
other accomplishments she is the greatest little match-maker
in existence. She marries off" all her fi'iends as fast^ — oh !
you cannot think how fast."
" I hope, — I mean to say I think," he corrected himself,
not without some little confusion, "that she is not quite so
bad as you make her out. She has not yet made any match
for herself, I believe. No, no. I don't believe she is quite
so bad."
" I would not be too sure, count, were I you," she
answered, desii'ous of paying me off a little for some of the
badinage with which I had treated her. " These ladies,
with so many strings to their bow "
It was now my time to exclaim " Caroline ! " and I
did so not without giving some little emphasis of severity
to my tone ; for I really thought she was going beyond
the limits of propriety, if not of persiflage ; and I will
do her the justice to say that she felt it herself, for
she blushed very much as I spoke, and was at once
silent.
The awkwardness of this pause was fortunately broken
by the return of Auguste and Lionel, at a sharp canter; for
239
VALERIE
the review was now entirely at an end, and they had now
for the first moment remembered that, havincj promised
to return in a quarter of an hour, tliey had suffered two
hours or more to elapse, and that we were probably all
alone.
Caroline immediately began to rally Lionel and Auguste ;
the former, witli whom she was very intimate, pretty
severely, for their want of gallantry in leaving us all alone
and unprotected in such a crowd.
" Not the least danger — not the least ! " replied Lionel
hastily. " Had we not known that, we should have returned
long ago."
" In proof of which vo danger, we have been all frightened
nearly to death ; Mademoiselle Valerie de Chatenoeuf has
been grievously affronted, and I am not sure but what she
would have been beaten by a French ChevaVier d' Industrie, had
it not been for the gallantry of the Count de Chavannes."
And thereupon out came the whole histor}' of Monsieur
G , his horscAvhipping, the opportune ajipearance of
Colonel Jervis, and all the curious circumstances of the
scene.
I never in my life saw any one so fearfully excited as
Auguste. He tui-ned white as ashes, even to his very lips,
while his eyes literally flashed fire, and his frame shivered
as if he had been in an ague fit. " // me le paicra 1 " he
muttered between his hard-set teeth. " // 7ue le patera, le
scclerat ! Ma pauvrc scetir — ma paitvre petite Jalcrie ! "
And then he shook the hand of Chavannes with the
heartiest and warmest emotion. " I shall never forget this,"
he said, in a tliick, low voice ; " never, never ! From this
time forth, De Chavannes, we are friends for ever. But I
shall never, never be able to repay you."
" Nonsense, vioii c/ier, nonsense," replied Chavannes. " I
did nothing — positively nothing at all. I should not have
been a man had I done otherwise."
This had, however, no effect at all in stopping Auguste's
exclamations and professions of eternal gratitude ; nor did he
cease until Monsieur de Chavannes said quietly, " Well, well,
if you will have it so, say no more about it ; and one day or
other I will ask a favour of you, which, if granted, will leave
me your debtor."
240
VALERIE
"//granted! — it is granted/' exclaimed Auguste impetu-
ously. "What is it? — name it — I say it is- granted."
"Don't be rash, inon c/icr," replied the count, laughing;
"it is no sliglit boon which I sliall ask."
"Do not be foolish, Auguste," I interposed; "you are
letting your feelings get the better of you strangely ; and,
Caroline, if you do not tell the peo})le to drive home, you
will keep the judge waiting dinner — a proceeding to which
you know he is by no means partial."
" You are right, as usual, Valerie ; always thoughtful for
other people. So we will go home."
But, just as we were on the point of starting, the groom
with the cockade, wdiom we had seen following Colonel
Jervis, ti'otted up, and touching his hat, asked —
" I beg your paixlon, gentlemen, but is any one of you the
Count de Chavannes ? "
"I am," replied the count; "what do you want with
me, sir ? "
" From Colonel Jervis, sir," replied the man, handing him
a visiting card. "The colonel's compliments, count, and he
begs you will do him the favour, in case you hear anything
more from that fellow as you hoi'sewhipped, count, to let
him know at Thomas's at once ; for you must not treat him
as a gentleman, nohow, the colonel says ; and if so be he
gives you any trouble, the colonel can get his flint fixed —
the colonel can ! "
"Thank you, my man," replied the count; "give my com-
pliments to your master, and I am much obliged for his
interest. I shall do myself the honour of waiting on the
colonel to-morrow. Be so good as to tell him so."
" I will, sir," said the man ; and I'ode away without another
word.
" You see, Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, you must not dream of
noticing the fellow as a gentleman," said the count.
" Impossible ! " Lionel chimed in, almost in the same
breath ; and all the ladies followed suit with their absolute
" Impossible ! "
A rai)id drive brought us to the judge's house at Kew,
where we found dinner nearly ready, though not waiting ;
and the events of the day were the topic, and the count
the hero, of tiie evening.
241 Q
VALERIE
The next morniii«]f we returned to town — Augiiste and
myself, I mean; Monsieur de Chavannes having driven up
from Kew in liis own cabriolet after dinner.
I called, according to my promise, and found Adele alone,
and delighted to see me, and in the highest possible spirits.
She was the ha})piest of women, she said ; and Colonel Jervis
was everything that she could wish — the kindest, most affec-
tionate of husbands ; and all lliat she now desired, as she
declared, was to see me established suitably.
"You had better let matters take their course, Adele,"
I answered. "Though not much of a fatalist, I believe
that when a person's time is to come, it comes. It avails
nothing to hurry — nothing to endeavour to retard it. I
shall fare, I doubt not, as my friends before me, dear
Adele ; and if I can consult as well for myself as I seem
to have done for my friends, I shall do very well. Caro-
line, by the way, is quite as happy as you declare yourself
to be, and I doubt not are ; for I like your colonel amaz-
ingly."
" I am delighted to hear it. He also is charmed with
you. But who is the Count de Chavannes, of whom he
is so full just now } He says he is the only Frenchman
he ever saw worthy to be an Englishman — which, though
we may not i-egard it exactly as a compliment, he considers
the greatest thing he can say in any one's favour. Who
is this Count de Chavannes, Valerie ? "
I told her, in reply, all that I knew, and that you know,
gentle reader, about the Count de Chavannes.
" Et puis ? — Et ptiis ? " asked Adele, laughing.
" Et jmis, nothing at all," I answered.
" No secrets among friends, Valerie," said Adele, looking
me earnestly in the face ; " I had none with you, and you
helped me with your advice. Be as frank, at least, with
me, if you love me."
" I do love you dearly, Adele ; and I have no secrets.
There is nothing concerning which to have a secret."
" Nothing ? — not this gay and gallant count .'' "
" Not even he."
"And you are not about to become Madame la Com-
tesse .'' "
"I am not, indeed."
242
VALERIE
" Indeed — in very deed ? "
" In very — very deed."
" Well, I do not understand it. By what Jervis told me,
I presumed it was a settled thing."
"The colonel was mistaken. There is no thing, settled
or unsettled."
" And do you, really, not like him } "
" I really do like him, Adele, as a very pleasant companion
for an hour or two, and as a very perfect gentleman."
" Yes, he told me all that. But if you like him so well,
why not like him better.'' Why not love him ?"
" I will be |)lain and true with you, Adcle. I do not
choose to consider at all whether I could, or could not,
love him. He has never asked me, has never spoken of
love to me ; and putting it out of the question that it is
unmaidenly to love unasked, I am sui'e it is unwise."
" I understand, I understand. But he uill ask you, that
is certain ; and, when he does ask, what shall you say } "
" It will be time enough to consider when that time
shall come."
" Another way of saying, ' I shall say yes ! ' But come,
Valerie, you must promise me that if you need my assist-
ance, you will call upon me for it. You know that anything
I can do for you will be done without a thought, but how
I best may serve you ; and Jervis will do likewise, since
he, as I do, considers that under Heaven, we owe our
happiness to you."
" I promise it."
" Enough ; I will ask no more. Now come up to my
room, and I will give you Madame d'Albret's letters, and
some pretty presents she has sent you. Do you know,
Valerie, nothing could exceed her kindness to us. I be-
lieve she repents bitterly her unkindness to you. I cannot
repeat the terms of praise and admiration which she applied
to you."
" And do you know, Adele, that it wns her infamous
and miserable husband, Monsieur G , whom the count
horsewhipped this very day for insulting me }"
" Indeed ? was it indeed ? That man's enmity to you
will never cease so long as he has life. No, Jervis did
not tell me who it Avas, thinking, I fancj', that neither
243
VALERIE
you nor I would have so much as known his name. But
never care about the wretch. Here is madame's letter."
It was as kind a letter as could be written, full of thanks
for the favour I had sliown her in introducing my friends
to her, and of hopes that we should one day meet again,
when all the past should be forgotten, and I should
resume my own place and station in the society of my
own land. She begged my acceptance of the pretty
dresses she sent, which she said she had selected, not for
their value, but because they were pretty; and, in her
postscript, she added what of course outweighed all the
rest of her letter, both in interest and importance, that
she had recently been informed, through a strange channel,
and, as it were, by accident, that my mother's health was
failing seriously, and that, although not attacked by any
regular disorder, nor in any immediate danger, it was not
thought probable that she could live much longer. " In
that case, Valerie," she continued, "for, although no one
could be so unnatural as to wish for a mother's death, how
cruel and unmotherly she might be soever, it cannot be
expected that you should regard her decease with more
than decent observation, and a proper seriousness, I shall
look to see you dwelling again among us, and spending
the little fortune, which I understand you have so bravely
earned, in the midst of your friends, and in your own
country."
" That I shall never do," I said, speaking aloud, though
in answer partly to her letter, partly to my own words;
"that I shall never do. Visit France I may, once and
again ; but in England I shall dwell. France banished
and repudiated me like a stepmother — England received
me, kinder than my own, like a mother. In England I
shall dwell."
" Wait till you see the lord of your destinies ; and
learn Avhere he shall dwell. You will have to say,
like the rest of us, ' Your country shall be my country,
and your God my God,' " observed Adele, interrupting
my musings.
" The first perhaps — the last never ! never ! Catholic
I was born, Catholic I will die. I do not say that I will
never marry any but a Catliolie, but I do say that I will
244
VALERIE
never marry but one who will approve my adoring my
own Godj according to my own conscience."
" Is the Coinit de Chavannes a Catholic ? "
" Indeed, I know not. But he is a Breton, and the
Bretons are a loyal race, both to their king and their
God."
I now turned to finish my reading, which had been for
the moment interrupted.
" Indeed, my dear Valerie," she concluded her letter,
" I have long felt that although we were certainly justified
by the circumstances of your situation in taking the steps
we did at that time, we have been hardly pai'donablc
in persisting so long in the maintenance of a falsehood
which has certainly been the cause of great pain and
suffering to both your parents, the innocent no less than
the guilty. I know that your mother can never forgive
me for aiding you in your escape from her authority ; but
for my part, I am Avilling to bear her enmity, rather than
persist in further concealment, so that you need not in
any degree consider me in any .steps which you may think
it wise or right to take towards i-evelation and reconcilia-
tion. Indeed I think, Valerie, that if it can be done with
due regard to your own safety and happiness, you ought
to discover yourself to both your parents, and, if j)ossible,
even to visit the most unhappy, because the guiltier of
the two, before her dissolution, which I really believe to
be now very near at hand. Every one knows so well
what you have undergone, that no blame will attach to
you in the least degree. Allow me to add, that should
you return to France, as I hope you will do, I shall
never forgive you if you do not make my house your
home."
This postscript, as will readily be believed, gave me more
cause for thought than all the letter beside, and rendered
me exceedingly uneasy. If I had felt ill-satisfied before
with my condition and my concealment, much more was
I now discontented with myself, and uidiappy. I was
almost resolved to return at all hazards w ith Auguste ;
and, indeed, when I consulted with Adele, she leaned
very much towards the same opinion. I would not, how-
ever, do anything rashly, but I determined to consult
245
VALERIE
not only with my brother, but witli the judge, in whose
wisdom I hud no less confidence than I had in his friend-
ship and integrity.
Things, however, were destined to occin*, which in some
degree altered and hastened all my proceedings ; for that
very evening, when the Gironacs had retired, on my be-
ginning to consult Auguste, " Listen to me a moment,
before you tell me about your letters from France, or
anything about returning ; and I entreat you answer me
truly, and let no false modesty, or little missish delicacy,
prevent 3'our doing so. Many a life has been rendered
miserable by such foolishness, I have heard say ; and being,
as it were, almost alone in the world, as if an only brother
with an only sister, to whom, if not to one another, should
we speak freely } "
" You need not have made so long a preamble, dear
Auguste," I replied, with a smile; "of course I will
answer you ; and when I say that, of course I will answer
truly."
" Well, then, A'alerie, do you like this Count de
Chavannes ? "
*' It is an odd question, but — Yes. I do like him."
" Do you love him, Valerie ? "
" Oh ! Auguste — that is not fair. Besides, he has never
spoken to me of love. He has never — I do not know
whether he loves me — I have no reason to believe that he
does."
"No reason!" he exclaimed, half-surprised, half-indignant
— " no reason ! I should think — but never mind — answer
me this ; if he did love you, do you love him, or like him
enough to take him for your husband f "
" He has spoken to you, Auguste — he has spoken to
you ! " I exclaimed, blushing very deeply, but unable to
conceal my gratification.
" I am answered, Valerie, by the sparkle of those bright
eyes. Yes, he has spoken to me, dearest sister ; and asked
m}' influence with you, and my permission to address you."
" And you replied ? "
" And I replied, that my permission was a matter of no
consequence, for that you were entirely your own mistress,
and that my influence would be exerted only to induce you
246
VALERIE
to follow your own judgment and inclinations, and to consult
for your own happiness."
" Answered like a ffood and wise brother. And then
" Askedj whether I could form any opinion of the state
of your feelings. To which I replied, that I could only say
that I had I'eason to suppose that your hand and heart
were neither of them engaged, and that the field was open
to him if he chose to make a trial. But that I had no
opportunity of judging how you felt towards liim. I also
said that I thought you knew very little of each other, and
that his attachment must have groM'n up too rapidly to
have taken a very strong root. But there I found I was
mistaken. For he assured me that it was fi'om esteem of
your character, and admiration of your energy, courage, and
constancy under adversity, not from the mere prettiness of
your face, or niceness of your manners, that he first began
to love you. And I since ascertained that there is scarce
an incident of your life with which he has not made him-
self acquainted, and that in the most delicate and guarded
manner. I confess, Valerie, that it has raised him greatly
in my estimation, to find that he looks upon marriage as a
thing so serious and solemn, and does not rush into it from
mere fancy for a pretty fsice and ladylike accomj)lishments."
"I think so too, Auguste," I replied. "But I wish we
knew a little more about him. His character and principles,
I mean."
Auguste looked at me for a moment, in great surprise.
" What an exceedingly matter-of-fjict girl you are, Valerie ; I
never knew any one in the least like you. Do you know
I am afraid you are a little " and he paused a moment,
as if he hardly knew how to proceed.
" A little hard and cold, is it not, dear Auguste .'' " said I,
throwing my arms about him. " No, no, indeed I am not ;
but I have been cast so long on my own sole resources, and
obliged to rely only on my own energy and clear-sighted-
ness, that I always try to look at l)oth sides of the question,
and not to let my feelings overpower me, until I have
proved that it is good and wise to do so. Consider, too,
Auguste, that on this step depends the whole happiness or
misery of a girl's existence."
VALERIE
" You are riglit, \'alerie, and I am wrong. But tell me,
do you love liim ? "
" I do, Auguste. I like him better than any man I have
ever seen. He is the only man of -whom I could think as a
husband — and I have for some time past been fi'arful of
liking him — loving him, too much, not knowing, though I
did believe and hope, that he reciprocated my feelings.
And now, if I knew but a little more of his principles and
character, I would not hesitate."
" Then you need not hesitate, dearest Valerie ; for, as if
to obviate this objection, he showed me, in the most delicate
manner, private letters from his oldest and most intimate
friends, and especially from Mr. , a most respectable
clergyman, who lives at Hendon, by whom he was educated,
and with whom he has maintained constant intercourse and
correspondence ever since. This alone speaks very highly
in his favour ; and the terms in which he writes to his pupil
are such as prove them both to be men of the highest char-
acter for worth, integrity, and virtue. He has proposed,
moreover, that I should ride down with him to-morrow, to
Hendon, to visit Mr. , and to hear from his own lips
yet more of his character and conduct, that is to say, if I
can give him any hopes of ultimate success."
" Well, Auguste," I replied, " I think, w'ith you, that
all this speaks very highly in favour of your friend ; and
I think that the best thing you can do is to take this
ride which he proposes, and see his tutor. In the mean-
time, I will drive down to Kew, and speak with our good
friend Judge Selwyn on the subject. To-morrow evening
I will see the count, and hear whatever he desires to say
to me."
This was a verj^ matter-of-fact way of dealing with the
affair, certainly; but what Auguste had said was in some
sort true. I was in truth rather a matter-of-fact girl, and
I never found that I suffered by it in the least; for I
certainly was not either worldly or selfish, and the feelings
do, as certainly, require to be guided and controlled by
sober reason.
After coming to this conclusion, I showed Madame
d'Albret's letter to Auguste, and we came to the decision,
also, that under the circumstances Auguste should, imme-
248
VALERIE
diately on his return, communicate the fact of my beinji
aHve, and in good circumstances, to my father ; leaving it
at his discretion to inform my mother of the facts or not,
as he miglit judge expedient.
At a very early hour next morning, I took a glass coach
and drove down to Kew, where I arrived, greatly to the
astonishment of the whole family, just as they were sitting
down to breakfast ; and w hen I stated that I had come to
speak on very urgent business with the judge, he desired
my carriage to return to town, and proposed to carry me
back himself, so that we might kill two birds, as he ex-
pressed it, with one stone, — holding a consultation in his
carriage^ while on his ^^ ay to court.
As soon as we got into the coach, while I was hesitating
how to open the subject, which was certaiidy a little awk-
ward for a young girl, the judge took up the discourse —
" Well, Valerie," he said, " I suppose you want to know
the result of the inquiries which you were so unwilling that
I should make about the Count de C'havannes. Is not that
true .-^ "
" It is perfectly true, judge — though I do not know how
you ever have divined it."
"It is lucky, at least, that I consulted my own judgment,
rather than your fancy ; for otherwise I should have had no
information to give you."
" But as it is, judge } "
"Why, as it is. Mademoiselle Valerie, you may marry him
as soon as ever he asks you, and think yourself a very lucky
young lady into the bargain. He has a chai'acter such as
not one man in fifty can produce. He is rich, liberal with-
out being extravagant, never plays, is by no means dis-
.sipated, and in all respects is a man of honour, ability, and
character ; such is what I have learned from a quarter where
there can be no mistake."
I was a good deal affected for a moment or two, and was
very near bursting into tears. The good judge took my
hand in his, and spoke soothingly and almost caressingly,
bidding me confide in him altogether, and he would advise
me as if he were my own father.
I did so accordingly ; and while he approved highly of
all that I had done, and of the delicate and gentlemanly
249
VALERIE
manner in which the count had acted, he fully advised
me to deal frankly and directly with him. " You like him,
I am sure, \alerie ; indeed, I believe I knew that before
you did yourself, and I have no doubt he will make you
an admirable husband. Tell him all, show him this letter
of your friend Madame d'Albret's about your mother, and
if he desires it, as I dare say he M'ill, marry him at once,
and set out together with Auguste, for France, when his
leave of absence is expired, and go directly to Paris with
your husband. As a married woman, your parents will
have no authority of any kind over you, and I think it is
your duty to do so."
I agreed with him at once ; and when, in the evening,
Auguste returned with the count from a visit to his former
tutor, Avhich had been in all respects satisfactory, and left
me alone witli Monsieur de Chavannes, everything was de-
termined without difficulty.
Love-scenes and courtships, though vastly interesting to
the actors, are always the dullest things in the world to
bystanders ; I shall therefore proceed at once to the end,
merely stating that the count ivas all, and did all, that
the most exigcmitc of women could have required — that
from the first to the last he was full of delicacy, of tender-
ness, and honour, and that after twelve years of a happy
life with him, I have never had cause to repent for a
moment that I consented to give him the hand which he
so ardently desired.
The joy of Madame Gironac can be imagined better than
described, as well as the manner in which she bustled about
my trousseau and my outfit for France, as it was determined
that the judge's plan should be adopted to the letter, and
that we should start directly from St. George's to Dover
and Calais.
Never, perhapS;, was a marriage more rapidly organised
and completed. The law business was expedited with all
speed by Charles Selwyn ; Madame Bathurst, the Jervises,
the Gironacs, and the Selwyns, were alone present at the
wedding ; and though we were all dear friends, there was
no affectation of tears or lamentable partings ; for we
knew that, in Heaven's pleasure, we should all meet again
within a few months, as, after our wedding tour was ended,
250
VALERIE
Monsieur de Chav.vnnes proposed to take up his abode in
England^ the land of his choice, as of his education.
There was no bisho]) to perform the ceremony, nor any
duke to give away the bride. No k)ng array of liveried
servants, with favours in their buttons and in their hats — no
pompous paragraph in the morning papers to describe the
beauties of the high-bred bride and the dresses of her
aristocratic bridemaids — but two hearts were united as well
as two hands, and Heaven smiled upon the union.
A ([uick and pleasant passage carried us to Paris, where
I was received with raptures by my good old friend
Madame Paon, and with sincere satisfaction by Madame
d'Albret, who was proud to recognise her old protegee in
the new character of the Comtesse de Chavannes, a character
which she imagined reflected no small credit on her tuition
and patronage.
The thi'eatened emeiite having passed over, Auguste easily
obtained a renewal of his leave of absence, in order to
visit his family at Pau, and as he preceded us by three
days, and travelled with the utmost diligence, he outstri])ped
us by nearly a week, and we found both my j)arents pre-
pared to receive us, and both rcalli) ha})py at the prosperous
tidings.
My poor mother was indeed dying ; had we come two
days later, we should have been too late, for she died in
my arms on the day following our arriv-al, enraptured to
find herself relieved from the heinous crime of which she
had so long believed herself guilty, and blessing me with
her dying lips.
My father, who had always loved me, and Avho had eiTed
through weakness of head only, seemed never to weary of
sitting beside me, of holding my hand in his, and of gazing
in my face. With Monsieur de Chavannes' consent, the
whole of my little earnings, amounting now to nearly
£3500, was settled on him for his life, and then on my
sisters ; and the income arising from it, though a mere
trifle in England, in that cheap region sufficed, with what
he possessed of his own, to render his old age aflhient and
hajipy.
Thus all my trials ended : and if the beginning of my
career was painful and disastrous, the cares and sorrows of
251
VALERIE
Valerie de Chatenoeuf have been more than compensated by
tlic liappiness of Valerie de Chavannes.
I may as well mention here, that a few years afterwards,
Lionel Dempster married my second sister, Elisee, a very
nice and very handsome girl, and has settled very close
to the villa which the count purchased on his return from
France, near Windsor, on the lovely Thames, ministering
not a little by their company to the bliss of our happ}',
peaceful life.
My eldest brother, Auguste, is now a lieutenant-colonel
of the line, having greatly distinguished himself in Algeria ;
Nicolas, who never returned to France, has acquired both
renown and riches by his musical abilities; and all the
younger branches of the family are happily provided for.
I have three sweet children, one boy and two little girls,
and the difficulties and sorrows I experienced, owing to an
evil and injudicious course of education, have been so far
of use, that they have taught me how to bring up my own
children, even more to love and honour than to obey.
Perfect happiness is not allotted to any here below ; but
few and short have been the latter sorrows, and infinite
the blessings, vouchsafed by a kind Providence to the once
poor and houseless, but now rich and honoured, and, better
than all, loved Valerie.
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