"And yet you would give the hand of Marguerite to a man without name, without fortune--and what is more, to a man who is banished."

"You are mistaken, madam; I would give Marguerite to the man she loves.

I would give Marguerite not to the banished Lusignan, but to the Baron Anatole de Lusignan, his majesty's governor of the Island of Gaudaloupe--there is his commission also." The marchioness looked at the parchment, and saw that in this instance, as in the former one, Paul had uttered but the truth.

"Yes, I acknowledge it," she replied, "these will satisfy the ambition of Emanuel, and confer happiness on Marguerite."

"And at the same time, secures your tranquillity madam; for Emanuel will join his regiment, and Marguerite will follow her husband. You will then remain here alone, as you have, alas! so frequently desired."

The marchioness sighed.

"Is not this all you desire, or have I deceived myself," continued Paul.

"But," said the marchioness, "how can I recall the promise given to the Baron de Lectoure?"

"The marquis is dead, madam," replied Paul; "is not the death of a husband and a father a sufficient cause for the adjournment of a marriage?"

The marchioness, without replying, seated herself in the arm-chair, took a pen and paper, wrote a few lines, folded the letter, and putting on the address the name of the Baron de Lectoure, she rang the bell for the servant. After waiting a few moments, during which time, both Paul and herself remained silent, a servant came into the room.

"In two hours from this time, you will deliver this to the Baron de Lectoure," said the Marchioness. The servant took the letter and withdrew.

"And now," continued the marchioness, looking at Paul, "now sir, that you have done justice to the innocent, it remains to you to pardon the guilty. You have papers which prove your birth, you are the elder--at all events, in the eyes of the law. The fortunes of Emanuel and Marguerite are yours by right. What do you require in exchange for these papers?"

Paul took them from his pocket, and showing them to the marchioness, said, "Here are the doc.u.ments, look at them--they are the letters you wrote to my poor father--look here, they are moistened by my tears, for I read them last night, while watching by Achard's corpse." Then approaching the fire-place, he held them over the flaming wood, saying, "permit me even but once to call you mother! call me but once your son, and----"

"Can it be possible!" exclaimed the marchioness, rising.

"You speak of name, of fortune," continued Paul, with an expression of profound melancholy; "what need have I of them. I have by my own sword gained a rank which few men of my age have ever attained--I have acquired a name which is p.r.o.nounced with blessings by one nation, andi with terror by another. I could, did it so please me, ama.s.s a fortune, worthy of being bequeathed to a king. What, then, are your name your fortune, and your rank, to me, if you have nothing else to offer me--if you do not give me that which I have incessantly, and in every position of my life most yearned for--that which I have not the power to create--which G.o.d had granted to me, but which misfortune wrested from me--that which you alone can restore to me--a mother!"

"My son!" exclaimed the marchioness, overcome at length, by his tears, and supplicating accent, "my son! my son! my son!"

"Ah!" exclaimed Paul, letting the papers fall into the flames, which speedily consumed them, "ah! that missed appellation has at length escaped your lips--that tender name so long desired, and which I have so unceasingly prayed to hear addressed to me. Merciful heaven! I thank thee."

The marchioness had fallen back into her chair, and Paul had thrown himself upon his knees, his head leaning upon her bosom. At length the marchioness gently raised him.

"Look at me!" she said; "for twenty years, this is the first tear that has ever escaped my eyelids, give me your hand!"--she placed it upon her heart--"for twenty years this is the first feeling of happiness with which my heart has palpitated. Come to my arms! For twenty years this is the first caress I have either given or received. These twenty years have doubtless been my expiation, since G.o.d now pardons me, for he has restored to me the power of weeping, of feeling joy, and has permitted me to embrace my son. Thanks to G-od! and thanks to thee, my son!"

"My mother!" cried Paul, "my beloved mother!"

"And I trembled at the thoughts of seeing you again--I trembled when I did see you--I knew not--I could not have imagined that such feelings still existed in my heart. Oh! I bless thee! I bless thee!"

At that moment, the tolling of the chapel bell was heard: the marchioness shuddered. The funeral hour had arrived. The bodies of the n.o.ble Marquis d'Auray and that of the poor man Achard, were about to be returned to earth at the same moment.

"This hour must be consecrated to prayer," said the marchioness: "I must now leave you."

"I must sail to-morrow, my mother," said Paul; "shall I not once more see you?"

"Oh! yes, yes," replied the marchioness, "we must meet again."

"Well, then, my mother, this evening I shall be at the park gate. There is a spot which is sacred to me, and to which I must pay a last visit.

I shall expect to meet you there. It is on that spot, my mother, that we should say farewell."

"I will be there," said the marchioness.

"Here, my mother, here," said Paul, "take these commissions: the one for Emanuel, and the other for the husband of Marguerite. Let the happiness of your children be conferred by yourself. Believe me, mother, you have bestowed more on me than I on them."

The marchioness retired to shut herself up in her oratory. Paul left the castle, and proceeded toward the hut of the fisherman.

CHAPTER XIX.--THE FAREWELL.

Hark! she has bless'd her son--I bid ye witness, Ye listening heavens--thou circ.u.mambient air; The ocean sighs it back--and with the murmur Bustle the happy leaves.

All nature breathes Aloud---aloft--to the Great Parent's ear, The blessing of the mother on her child.

ON approaching the fisherman's hut, the place appointed with Lectoure, Paul perceived Lusignan and Walter, who were waiting for him.

Precisely at the hour agreed, Lectoure appeared on horseback; he had been obliged to find his way as he best could, for he had no guide, and his own servant was as much a stranger as himself in that part of the country. On seeing him at a distance the young men came out of the hut.

The baron instantly put his horse into a gallop, to hasten to them. When within a few paces of them he alighted from his horse, and threw the rein to his servant.

"I trust you will pardon me, gentlemen," said he, "that I should have approached you thus alone, like a forsaken orphan; but the hour selected by that gentleman," he added, raising his hat to Paul, who returned the salutation, "was precisely that fixed upon for the funeral obsequies of the marquis; I have therefore left Emanuel to fulfil the duties of a son, and have come here without a second, trusting that I had to deal with an adversary generous enough to procure some friend of his own to aid me in this dilemma."

"We are entirely at your service, baron," replied Paul; "here are two friends of mine. Select which you please, and he who shall be honored by your choice, will instantly become yours."

"I have no preference, I swear to you," said Lectoure; "please to designate which of these two gentlemen you may desire should reader me this service."

"Walter," said Paul, "be so good as to officiate as second to the baron."

The lieutenant a.s.sented; the two adversaries again bowed to each other.

"And now, sir," continued Paul, "permit me, before our respective seconds, to address a few words to you, not of apology, but explanation."

"At your own pleasure, sir, replied Lectoure.

"When I uttered the words which have been the cause of your coming hither, the events which have since occurred at the castle were hidden in the womb of time, and these events might have entailed the misery of a whole family. You, sir, had on your side Madame d'Auray, Emanuel, and the Marquis--Marguerite had but me alone. Every chance was, therefore, in your favor. It was for this reason that I addressed myself directly to you, for had I fallen by your hand from circ.u.mstances which must for ever remain hidden to you, Marguerite could not have married you. If I had killed you, the case would have been still more simplified, and requires no commentary.

"This exordium is really most logical, sir," replied the baron, smiling, and tapping his boots with his riding-whip; "let us proceed, if you please, to the main body of the discourse." |

"Now," continued Paul, bowing in sign of acquiescence, "every circ.u.mstance has changed; the marquis is dead, Emanuel has received his commission, the marchioness renounces your alliance, honorable as it may be, and Marguerite marries the Baron Anatole de Lusignan, who, for that reason, I did not name your second."

"Ah! ah!" exclaimed Lectoure, "then that is the true meaning of the note which a servant delivered to me at the moment I was about to leave the castle. I had the simplicity to imagine that it was merely an adjournment. It appears that it was a dismissal in due form. 'Tis well, sir, and now to the peroration."

"It will be as simple and frank as the explanation, sir. I did not know you--I had no desire to know you; chance threw us in presence of each other, and with opposing interests--hence our collision. Then, as I have before told you, mistrusting fate, I wished in some measure to make sure of a result. But now affairs have become so altered that either my death or yours would be altogether useless, and would merely add bloodshed to the winding up of this drama; and tell me candidly, sir, do you thank it would be worth while to risk our lives to so little purpose?"

"I might, perhaps, agree with you in opinion, sir, had I not performed so long a journey," replied Lectoure: "Not having the honor to espouse Mademoiselle Marguerite d'Auray, I should desire, at least, to have the honor of crossing swords with you. It shall not be said that I have travelled all the way from Paris into Brittany for nothing. I am at your orders, sir," continued Lectoure, drawing his sword, and with it saluting his adversary.

"At your good pleasure, sir," replied Paul, and replying to the salutation in the same manner.