The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 140: what you’re looking at

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

— = THE MYSTERIES OF THE CounT. 1287 guage with a perfect accent and fluency: his voice, “Splendour, my dear Etienne!” returned Con- naturally low, was full of a deep music that gave to atance. “Oh! let not that word be associated with ite tones a wonderful fascination when breathing love! I seek not for splendour—I am sick of the the language of love. present splendour in which I live! The gaiotics, Such was the Marquis of Villebelle. His father, the dissipations, and the fmvolities of fashionable who had been dead some years, was a refugee during life seem a mockery to the soul that longs for a the period of the Empire; and having lived a con- blissful seclusion with the object of ite love. Think siderable time in England, he for this and other not therefore that if in wedding you I should wed reasons conceived such an affection for its hos- ‘| even poverty, that reproaches or regrets would ever pitable shores that he had his son educated at one | fall from my lips. No, no—that were impossible! . of our public schools. Hence the intimate ee- | But——” quaintance which Etienne possessed in all things pertaining to the English language and Hterature; ' mured Etienne, as his arm and in habits, tastes, and ideas, as well as in per- sonal “You hesitate, Constance—you hesitate?’ mur- gently encircled her waist; and he gased fondly upon the countenance the Marquis of Villebelle was ‘on which a shade of mournfulness had suddenly set- appearance, much more of an Englishman than a Frenchman. | tled. “Tell me, my sweet girl, wherefore do you By the time he had finished his education in this | country, his father died; and he was recalled to France to look after his affairs. For some years he remained on the Continent without revisiting Eng- land; bat at length he returned to the land which he loved better than his own. This was about twelve months prior to the date when we now in- troduce him to our readers, and when we find him hesitate P Have you no confidence in my love? or do you believe I am the unprincipled adventurer that I know your mother has sought to ‘represent me ?” “No, no—not for an instant do I entertain such a dishonouring, such an injurious thought !”—and Constance showed by her looks, her accenta, and her manner that she was deeply pained by the remark secking a clandestine interview with the beautiful ‘her lover had made. “ Besides, Etienne, what could Constance Farefield m the garden of Saxondale House.’ Fond and affectionate was the meeting of the lovers. The Marquis strained Constance to his! of love in her to entrust all my life’s happinees to your keeping P breast, pouring the delicious language you think of me, if supposing for a moment that I did entertain such a dark suspicion, you still find me meeting you thus—acespting the assurances of your love—-giving you mine in return—aend willing ears ; and she clung to him with all a maiden’s con- No—deeply and devotedly as I love you, if I thought fiding affection, drinking in the low melting har- mony of his voice. She looked sweetly beautiful, did Constance Farefield!—for she was dressed in evening costume so that she might be in readiness for the dinner-table when the hour should come. Her long fair hair flowed in thick clusters upon her white shoulders; and though there was no small constrast between her style of beeuty and the per. | sonal attributes of her lover, yet were it impossible to deny that they would make a remarkably inter- esting couple. “ How long, my sweet Constance,” said the Mar- quis, as they sat down together upon a tench be- | neath the verdant covering of the trees, “ are we to pursue this stealthy and clandestine course >—a eourse which though marked by so many hours of ibablo happiness, has nevertheless in it some- ing humiliating alike to your feelings and mine.” “What would yo: have me do, my beloved Etienne?” asked Constance, gazing affectionately upon his countenance. “I tremble at the idea of a furtive marriage——” “Listen, my sweet Constance,” exclaimed the Marquis, in a tone of firmness and resolution. “I have not concealed from you that my resources are small—that indeed they are so limited as to be unly saficient for oxe, and would constitute privation if not poverty for two. But I have now the hope of odtaining diplomatic employment from King Louis Philippe’s government. The recent change in the French Ministry has brought into power an old and devoted friend of my father’s; and I believe there- fore that I shall not sow have to ask a favour in vain. Tell me then, Constance—tell me, my well- beloved, will yoa consent to become mine if I suc- ceed in obtaining » poet which shall guarantee me the means of maintaining you in comfort, if not in | { hemently than he was wont to speak; “ you alarm splendour f” that you were other than I believe you to be, we should part at once—never to meet again! And if I could not tear forth this love from the depths of my soul, I would rather suffer it to devour my heart im secret than let it hurry me on into and error. Moreover, you have dealt candidly with me in respect to your circamstancee——” “And yet again you hesitate, Constance f” said as if about to give utterance to something which she neverthelees trembled to speak. “Oh! I will be candid with you—I will be candid with you *” rejoined Constance. “You have asked me how long these stealthy interviews are to con- tinue? and you know, indeed you have more than hinted, that the only way to annihilate the necessity thereof is by our marriage. Now,” continued Con- ‘stance, bending down her looks and speaking in a low tremulous tone, “amongst the various things which my mother has at different times let drop concerning you, there is one allegation on which I ‘have never touched before—which I have never even hinted to you--and to which I would not allude, however distantly, because I dared not so far shock your feelings———” ** Speak, speak, Constance! be frank and candid !” said the Marquis: but his own voice was now trem- bling as if with and suspense, and the arm that encircled the maiden’s waist was trembling likewise. : “Oh! I dare not—no, I dare not proceed far- ther!” murmured Constance, mond bursting into tears, as a feeling of deep despondency suddenly seized upon her: for indeed it struck her that the matter to which she was thus alluding did not altogether involve a wanton calumny. , ‘Constance !” exclaimed the Marquis, more ve- COMME MOO | (CO