The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 372: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Senne, THY MYSTERIES OF THE COURT. 371 impression ; for if so, he would at once suspect that she had watched his movements. Therefore, when he saw nothing in her features to betray what was ing in her mind, he suddenly de- sisted from that keenness of gaze,—and observed in his wonted off-hand frank way, “The fellow be- longs to a family that has been long located on my @omain. Since he has been in France, he has falien, I fear, into bad company: but he is now repentant, and purposes to lead «@ steady life. §o XY ‘have given him this last chance—and af all events have bade him come info my presence no more.” ° ‘The discourse was then turned into another channel; and Juliana knew not what to think. She could not altogether banish the disagreeable impression made upon her mind, nor the vague suspicions that something was wrong, which had been excited in her bosom: but still her husband’s explanations had been given with a frankness which seemed perfectly sincere ; and so far as she could perceive, he had not practised any deception towards her. But a circumstance which she had foreseen now happened in the course of a day or two: this was that the Count informed her of his intention to undertake another journey across the Pyrenees. “ This time,” she at once oad id you must per- mit me to accom uP there be dangers I will share them” ~ “And if is for this very reason, dearest, that you must sof accompany me,” was his immediate response, accompanied by caressing manifestations of affection. “I beseech you,” persisted Juliana, “to let me 5° with you on the nf necasion. Resjdea, J ng to see the place which sooner or later will be our home. I have hitherto concealed, if not alto- gether subdued, my impatience ” ‘ And you must continue to do so for a short space longer,” interrupted her husband. “You cannot accompany me now, my dearest wife: it would perhaps seriously compromise my safety. I expect to receive some tidings of a nature favourable to our hopes, and trust that in a very short time there will no longer be any necessity for stealthy visits to my ancesttal home.” “Promise me, then—promise me faithfully,” said Juliana, “ that if circumstances should compel you to pay another stealthy visit, after this one, to your estates, you will suifer me to accompany you,” “T promise faithfully,” responded her husband : and having embraced her, he once again took his departure on horseback—but unattended and alone. CHAPTER CLXY. THE MEETING. Fox the first fow days after they had thus sepa- rated, Juliana continued much troubled in her mind. Sometimes she was dull and desponding— haunted by vagué suspicions—a prey to indefi- nite fears: at other times she was excited, im- patient, and angry,—thinking that she had not acted with proper spirit in forbearing from ques- tioning her husband farther relative to the man whose frequent extortions compelled him to visit his intendant oftener than he otherwise would have done. And now, too, she began to reflect that these repeated absences might have been very well avoided, if the intendant himself came periodi- cally across the Pyrenean boundary to bring the uisite supplics,—which course, indeed, seemed much more natural on the part of that functionary, rather than suffer his master to endanger his own safety by running after him, She wondered that this had not struck her before. Suspicion is terri- bly prolific: it engenders a thousand ;—and such wag the case in the present instance. Juliana began to calculate that though they lived well, and even handsomely, yet their expenditure must be wretchedly insignificant in comparison with tho lordly revenues produced by her husband's estates: that is to say, if they were of the magnitude which he had represented. The thought would steal into her head that in some way or another she had been deceiyed: but this was an idea too frightful ta harbour willingly. She endeavoured to banish it altogethey; but she could not. In her attempt to escapo from it, she sought excitement in other ways. She paid a round of visits—she invited guests to the co he rode out frequently — she took long walks. Still that idea haunted her, Yet, how could she have been deceived? Not in respect to hey husband’s rank and station: for had stor fcne ascertained in Paris that he was all he represented himself? But perhaps it was in the extent of his pecuniary resources that he had misled her: or perhaps his estates were really confiscated, and he had not liked to reveal the dis- tressing truth—so that the resources which he re- presented as coming from his intendant, might be in reality furnished by the purse of private friend- shipP At all events she resolved to lead him into the fullest explanations on his return: for now that her suspicions were once excited, she could not possibly endure a state of uncertainty and ense. an week had elapsed from the date of the Count de Toledo’s departure on this last occasion,—when one day, as Juliana was riding in the phaeton through the village, the groom driving her, she was struck with astonishment on beholding M. Durand standing at the door of the inn. She liked this encounter as little as possible; inasmuch as the Durands knew full well, when she wag staying at their villa at Anteuil, that she was in a way to become a mother; and they were likewise perfectly cognizant of her amour with the Viscount de Chateauneuf. If a word were breathed in the village of thoge circumstances, her reputation would be ruined—the tale would inevitably reach her husband’s ears—and she would be dishonoured in his eyes. M. Durand had at once recognised her, so that she was compelled to order the phaeton to stop. Hastily alighting, she ran forward ag if to welcome him with enthusiasm—but in reality to prevent him from addressing her by the name of Madame Chesterfield (as she had been called at tha villa) in the presence of the groom. She shook him by the hand; and inquired with much seeming friendship after his wife: M. Durand led her into a parlour in the hostelry; and there she found Madame Durand herself. It appeared that a bro- ther of the old gentleman’s had recently died at Barcelona; and as he had no children, M. Durand pcre EAA CS (COL (C DOO CS (COL