THE ORPHAN OF THE RHINE
PART 20
Chapter 9
Whither should I fly?
I've done no harm! But I remember now
I'm in this earthly world, where to do harm
Is often laudable, to do good, sometimes
Accounted dangerous folly; why then, alas!
Do I put up this womanly defence
To say I've done no harm? what mean
These faces?
--SHAKESPEARE
Laurette
arose with the first blush of early morning, and not daring to quit the
apartment, sat pensively by the side of her bed, meditating upon a train of
anticipated evils, which it was impossible either to conquer or dispel. The
melancholy sensation which the conversation of the preceding evening had
excited, having obtained a transient respite by repose, returned to her waking
faculties with severer poignancy, and grief of the most corrosive nature
overwhelmed her heart.
Enrico,
suffering for her offences, was incessantly presented to her tortured
imagination. She perused his letter again and again, endeavouring, though
without success, to inform herself of the occasion of his absence, and still
more of his unaccountable silence.
A strange
and fatal presage told her they should meet no more; she pressed the paper to
her bosom, sighed, and wetted it with her tears, and then breathing a prayer
for his preservation, arose from the bed on which she had been sitting, and
attempted, in the contemplation of the variegated scenery which was exhibited
from her window, to abstract her thoughts from those agonizing reflections that
could no longer be endured.
The
morning was chill, and the sun shot only a pale and uncertain ray, yet it was
peaceful and serene; and as none of the inhabitants of the castle were visible,
she descended into the balcony, and gazed upon the tranquil face of the heavens
with a devout and tender emotion.
'The
season, like her fortunes, had fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf'; yet,
though the glow of maturity was past, some remains of vegetation appeared
groves of fir, laurel, and other evergreen shrubs, were thinly scattered upon
the hills that inclosed the walls of the mansion, whilst the spires of distant
convents, seen only from the woods when divested of their honours, added
grandeur and beauty to the landscape.
All was
serene and gentle; yet tinged with the melancholy that assailed her bosom, all
appeared desolate and mournful. With a pensive and dejected air she leaned over
the rails of the balcony, endeavouring to find some single object that might
fix her attention, and soften the acute pangs of piercing reflection; but the
woods, the rocks, and the mountains were too familiar to her eye to have the
wished-for effect, and, except the low warblings of the autumnal songsters, no
sound, not even the pipe of the goatherd, broke upon the stillness of the
morning.
Finding no
possibility of soothing herself into a transient forgetfulness of her present
sorrows, or of softening the recollection of those hours now fled for
ever--hours, in which she had enjoyed happiness as exquisite as pure, she
yielded to the softness that oppressed her feelings, sometimes pronouncing the name
of Enrico in accents so tremulous that she was scarcely conscious of having
uttered it, and at others that of Madame Chamont, the amiable guide of her
inexperience, whose ill-starred destiny she still severely, though secretly,
lamented.
Resolved
not to quit her room without the express orders of the Marchese, she attempted
to amuse herself with sketching some of the finest features of the landscape
before her; but enervated by affliction, her trembling hand was unable to
direct the pencil; she endeavoured to read, but her attention wandered from the
subject, and she was finally compelled to resign every former source of
gratification, because they had lost their accustomed power.
The
picture, which seemed to have led to some fatal discovery, still hung in her
bosom. She often drew it from its place, and gazed mournfully upon the sweet
expressive face, and having no doubt but it was her mother, and from what had
involuntarily escaped the lips of the Marchese, that it was the Contessa della
Caro, though he positively denied that it was the portrait of her unknown
parent.
But
however the practice of guilt and hypocrisy may enable a man to wear the mask
of falsehood so successfully as to deceive the greater part of the world,
events for which he is totally unprepared, frequently, by their suddenness, may
surprise him into confession. The language of nature is indelibly engraven on
the human countenance, and however the slave of vice and insincerity may hope
to seclude it from the eagle eye of Truth, there are moments when the mask of
dissimulation will drop, and the unfortunate being who has taken refuge under
so weak a subterfuge, if not totally abandoned to irremediable guilt, will be covered
with the blushes of shame and dishonour.
The
Marchese, for the moment off his guard by his own inadvertency, betrayed a
secret which the wealth of the world could not have wrested from him; for
though his selfish love of pleasure was unbounded, and his schemes for the
means of obtaining it were deep and unsearchable, reputation was the leading
principle of his mind, the soul of his existence, and none but the immediate
victims of his cruelty were thoroughly acquainted with his excesses.
When Laurette
considered the various inconsistences of the Marchese's conduct, her candid and
inexperienced mind found it difficult to analyse his character: one moment he
was solicitous to please, the next haughty and reserved; his countenance now
beaming with tenderness, and lighted up by gaiety and animation; the next
instant, if not meeting with that attentive regard which he considered as his
due, darkened with anger, vexation, and disappointment.
Had no
prior attachment removed a marriage with so capricious a tyrant almost beyond
the bounds of possibility, she would have instantly rejected him; for her mind
was too pure and unambitious to barter the treasures of contentment for wealth
or precedence, and to forsake the substance of happiness for the shadow; though
she was too prudent to enter into a matrimonial engagement, even to save
herself from the present evils of her destiny, till there appeared a
probability of effecting it without involving the object of her tenderest
attachment in new and severe difficulties.
Laurette
had remained the greater part of the day alone in her apartment, without
receiving any orders to leave it; in which time no one intruded upon her
retirement, except the servant who conveyed her food, of whom she ventured to
enquire if the Marchese was below, and whether any thing had been mentioned
relative to herself.
The young
woman informed her, with many symptoms of compassion, that her Lord had been,
for the last half hour, in private conversation with Paoli; that his thoughts
seemed to be employed on some important concern, as he scarce partook of a
morsel at dinner, and as soon as it was removed, called again for his steward,
in whose society he had spent some hours in the morning, and whose presence
appeared more than usually necessary.
Conceiving
herself to be the subject of their discourse, Laurette answered only with a
sigh; and not doubting but that some new misery was preparing for her,
endeavoured to arm her mind with a sufficient portion of fortitude to sustain
it with serenity.
Next to
the hated marriage with which she had been threatened, nothing seemed so
dreadful to her terrified imagination as a removal, without the knowledge of
Enrico, to a remote and dreary solitude; yet more than ever convinced, that if
she persisted in her resolution of rejecting his proposals, this, or some other
situation not less hopeless, would be selected for her, she once half resolved
to attempt an escape from the castle, and to endeavour to gain admission into a
convent; but the little chance of success which this method of proceeding
offered to maturer reflection, prevented her from putting it into practice.
Could she be so fortunate as to elude the vigilance of her haughty protector,
the Argus-eyed Paoli would detect her design before it was carried into
execution; and even was it possible that she should so far succeed as to gain
some religious retirement, few Superiors, she feared, were sufficiently
disinterested to receive a poor unpatronized female, however unhappy her
situation, without a friend to speak in her behalf, or the possession of any
property by which she might be enabled to pay for her maintenance. And was she
to throw herself upon the compassion of strangers, of an humbler rank of life,
who would dare to admit her, and much less to harbour her, when the danger of
incurring the displeasure of the Marchese would be the price of their
hospitality? And even should any one be so blind to their immediate interests
as to listen to the soft pleadings of humanity, could she, wrapped in temporary
security, act so inconsistently with her own exalted sentiments, as to expose
such benevolence and refined generosity to his unbridled resentment?
These
considerations determined her to abandon the design, and to wait with humility
for the interposition of Providence in her behalf, in whom, she had been taught
early, to place an unlimited reliance.
'Why do I
tremble at the future,' cried the beautiful sufferer, with that firmness and
dignity inseparable from true greatness, 'when I know that there is an
Omnipotent Power who governs the world with wisdom and equity, and who
frequently turns the dark designs of the wicked from their original bias, to
the advantage of oppressed and unrepining innocence.
'Forgive
me, holy Saint,' resumed she, falling meekly upon her knees before a small
image of Saint Rosalie, 'forgive me if I have dared to murmur; and Oh! infuse
into my heart that pure and heavenly virtue which taught thee to endure
calamity with patience, and even with transport. Shall I presumptuously repine
when I look around, and, in the narrow sphere of my observation, see others
suffering the extreme of misery, and expect exemption from the common lot of
mortality?--No, let me rather endeavour to fortify my mind with those
invaluable principles of religion which were instilled into my heart, from the
earliest period of my existence, by my first and dearest friend. And may I, as
the only proof of gratitude I am enabled to bestow, cherish her inestimable
precepts as much as I revere her memory! and if she is already released from
the shackles of mortality, and is become the companion of angels, may she look
down with compassion upon her adopted child, strengthen her weak resolves, and
lead her, by secret inspiration, to that excelling and unassuming piety which
dignified her character!'
With a
mind elevated above the narrow boundaries of the earth, Laurette arose from her
knees, and walked again towards the lattice. The day was still fine, and her
feelings being somewhat tranquillized with these meek effusions of devotion,
she surveyed the placid face of Nature with a sensation of pleasure.
Knowing
that the Marchese, when in secret conference with his steward, frequently
remained some hours in his closet, she resolved to descend, by a private
stair-case, and, if she was fortunate enough to escape unobserved, to amuse
herself with a ramble through the grounds.
Having
executed her purpose unperceived by all, except the lower order of domestics,
she bent her steps towards the pavilion, and entering the banqueting-room,
seated herself upon a small settee that was placed under a canopy.
Every
thing remained the same as when she left it last, which was on the morning when
she parted with Enrico. The Marchese and the Signora had been there in the
interval, but nothing appeared to have been displaced. The leaves of music
still lay scattered upon the table, the lute lay neglected upon a corner of the
sofa, and her imagination could have almost portrayed the form of Enrico
sitting pensively in the place which he had so recently occupied. His looks,
his words, his attitudes, returned with all their pathetic interest to her
memory, and connected his idea with more than usual tenderness.
Till the
moment when she was taught to feel the most dreadful apprehensions for his
safety, she was not wholly acquainted with the extent of her attachment; she
had deluded herself into the suggestion, that she loved him only with the
affection of a sister, as the companion of her infantine felicities, and as the
son of her maternal friend. But now that danger was suspended over his head,
which threatened finally to crush him, she acknowledged a warmer and more
tender sentiment in his favour.
Unable to
continue long in a place, rendered too interesting by sadly pleasing
recollections, she reached the extent of the building, and found in the
apartment, beyond the room of state that she had quitted, a small pocket volume
of Italian miscellanies, which she remembered to have seen in the hand of
Enrico on the morning preceding his departure. She opened it with an emotion of
joy, and as his name, which was inserted in the blank leaf, met her eye,
resolved to avail herself of what she esteemed an inestimable treasure, by
securing it in her pocket.
Afraid of
being observed if she remained longer in her present situation, she would have
retreated by the way she had entered, but voices approaching the pavilion
prevented her design; and, before she had time to recover from the breathless
agitation of spirits this unexpected incident occasioned, she distinguished the
tones of the Marchese, and soon afterwards those of Paoli.
Alarmed
lest they should enter the apartment she occupied, and her inadvertency by
these means expose her to new evils, she endeavoured gently to open the door
leading into the shrubbery, in the hope that she might be able to secret
herself among the trees, till an opportunity offered to favour an escape. But
it was locked, and the key being removed, she was compelled to remain in the
pavilion carefully avoiding any noise which might lead to detection.
Though
Laurette could not descend to the meanness of voluntarily overhearing
conversation supposed to be private, there being only a thin partition wall
between the room she had chosen, and that occupied by the Marchese, it could
not easily be prevented, and she was obliged, however reluctantly, to submit to
what appeared unavoidable.
When
apparently in the most earnest discourse, they spoke low, as if afraid of being
overheard, though unconscious that any one was near; and some disjointed
sentences, which seemed to be of dreadful import, were occasionally
communicated to her ear.
Soon
afterwards she heard her own name hesitatingly pronounced, followed by
Enrico's; and curiosity triumphing over the nicer feelings of her mind, directed
her involuntarily towards the door.
A short
silence succeeded, which was at length broken by Paoli, who uttered something
in a low key which she could not clearly understand, and then exalting his
voice, he added--'You are well aware, my Lord, of the necessity of this
measure; why then do you hesitate to adopt the only possible means of ensuring
you safety and reputation? Some discovery fatal to your peace has been
made--her silence, as well as her indifference, confirms the justice of the
suspicion; she is treacherous, my Lord, and every thing is to be feared from
the artifice of a designing woman. That softness of character, which she
assumes at discretion, is it not worn as a veil to conceal the blackness of her
intentions? and is happiness to be obtained in a state of continual fear?'
'To what
would you advise me?' replied the Marchese, in a voice agitated with contending
passion; 'have I not already given orders for her removal; to what further
would you urge me?'
'To secure
your own safety beyond the reach of circumstance,' returned the steward; 'to
teach you to act consistently with those exalted ideas of independence, which
have hitherto aggrandized your character. Do you cease to remember, my Lord,
that self-preservation is one of the first laws of Nature, that it is wisely
interwoven with our existence for reasons too forcibly to be rejected, and
becomes the master-spring of all our actions? If a venomous insect assaults us,
do we not annihilate it? Who, but a maniac, would feel the sting of a serpent,
and not endeavour to release him self from its grasp?--Would any one, not
divested of reason, endanger his own life by listening to the plea of humanity?
If an assassin attacks us with the weapons of death, and we succeed in
disarming him, do we not instantly sheath the stiletto in his breast; do we
feel any thing of remorse or pity, when we behold it reeking with the blood of
an enemy? I need add no more, my Lord; you must assuredly understand me; there
are means to prevent the evils which threaten you--it is you that are to apply
them.'
'There are
means,' repeated the Marchese, 'but they are dreadful ones; yet, if it must be
done, let it be done quickly; I would feign not think of it again till it is
beyond recall. Let me be acquainted with the time and place, and then let the
subject drop for ever.'
'About
seven leagues from this spot,' continued Paoli, 'is a house every way fitted
for the purpose: it stands in a lonely and dreary forest, and is fenced out
from the civilized world by wild and almost inaccessible woods. These are
sometimes infested by banditti, but never with any other human being; the
beasts of the deserts are their only inhabitants, and scarcely a vestige of man
is to be found. Here Silence has fixed her abode, disturbed only at intervals
by the howling of the wolf, or the cry of the vulture. In such a situation
actions have no witnesses; these woods are no spies. You understand me, my
Lord?'
'I do,'
returned the Marchese, with seeming emotion; 'but the time, have you thought of
that?'
'Any time,
my Lord, to-morrow.'
'To-morrow!'
exclaimed the Marchese; 'Ah to-morrow, or tonight, it cannot be too soon. I
leave this business to you; but I command you, let me hear of it no more till
it is executed--I would fain escape from the recollection.'
They now
quitted the pavilion; and Laurette, anxious to hear the whole of the
conference, since she was certainly the subject of it, listened in hopes of
catching another sentence; but their voices, after being imperfectly heard from
the opposite side of the building, grew fainter, and were soon lost in
distance.
With
trembling limbs, that could scarcely support her agitated frame, she gained the
door of the pavilion, when a death-like faintness prevented her from
proceeding, and she was obliged to lean against one of the pillars of the
portico for support. Somewhat revived by the cool breeze, she looked fearfully
around, and being assured that the Marchese and Paoli were returned to the
castle, began to reflect upon the dangers with which she was surrounded, and to
consider if there was any possibility of eluding them.
Death, in
its most terrifying form, was presented to her affrighted imagination; and
being convinced that, if she continued longer in the power of her persecutors,
it would be inevitable, she determined to attempt an escape. Fear gave new
swiftness to her motions, and with rapidity, almost incredible, she ran, or
rather flew to the small arched door, which was usually unfastened, and was the
direct road from the castle. But this being locked, hope, the only balm of
affliction, forsook her, and had she not felt the indispensible necessity of
actual exertion, this new disappointment would have overthrown her purpose. But
the certain danger of delay animated her resolves; and, however improbable it
appeared that she could effectuate an escape, unobserved, from the principal
entrance, she ventured to make a similar attempt. But here also she was denied
admittance; and being unable either to proceed or to return, in a state of
inconceivable suffering she threw herself upon a grassy acclivity, under the
shade of a larch, and endeavoured to reflect upon some probable means of
avoiding the horrors of her destiny. But she was unable to direct her thoughts
to any point that was likely to lead to preservation; the gate of mercy seemed
to be closed against her, and the knife of the assassin ready to be plunged
into her innocent and unoffending bosom.
As Paoli,
for what cause she was incapable of ascertaining, appeared to be a more formidable
enemy than even the Marchese himself, who seemed, from the conversation in the
pavilion, to have betrayed some symptoms of remorse and pity, she once half
resolved to throw herself at the feet of her haughty lover, to convince him, if
possible, that she was innocent of the crimes alledged against her; and that no
attempt, on her part, to investigate circumstances intended for concealment,
had justly rendered her an object of resentment. But the knowledge of his
disposition, which she had already obtained, was sufficient to dismiss the
forlorn hope which had been recently conveyed to her heart. For even was she
allowed to see the Marchese, which was an indulgence the wary steward was not
likely to grant, lest it should unfix the wavering purpose of his Lord, there
appeared but a small degree of probability in the supposition that she would be
enabled to interest his compassion, without making another sacrifice more
dreadful to her than that of life itself.
No
prospect of effecting her safety by her own efforts, nor any human assistance
appearing, she could not acquire resolution to stir from the place; but
continued to sit, with her pale cheek resting upon her still whiter arm, till
the whole scene was involved in almost total darkness, without her having fixed
upon any plan that was likely to lead to security.
The chill
winds of the east now blew cold from the mountains, and scattered the few
remaining leaves from the half-desolated branches, whilst scarcely sensible of
existence, she continued to muse upon what she had heard with undescribable
anguish, till a deep and hollow knell, proceeding from a conventual church at
an inconsiderable distance from the castle, at length recalled her to
consciousness. She started--it was the bell of death; and seemed, to her
weakened and almost deranged faculties, to foretell her own immediate
dissolution. Pale and breathless as a statue, she clasped her hands eagerly
together, and uttering a deep convulsive sigh, proceeded from the place.
Voices
were now heard approaching towards the tree she had quitted, and a pale
uncertain light was dimly seen through a grove of dark firs which led nearly to
the spot. In the next moment she perceived two men, apparently in pursuit of
her, bearing torches, whom she soon discovered to be Paoli and Ambrose. She was
not long unobserved; and the former accosting her in a rough voice, demanded
whither she had been, and what had induced her to ramble so far at that late
and perilous hour? Being in capable of framing a reply, he seized her by the
arm with the fury of a barbarian, and finding from the livid paleness of her
countenance that she was near fainting, commanded Ambrose to assist in
supporting her. In this manner she was conveyed to the castle, more dead than
alive, and soon afterwards into a kind of garret, never before occupied by any
of the family, and far removed from her former apartment. To this place she was
carried by Paoli, who, having seated her upon an ancient leather settee, which
was placed at the extremity of the room, left her a lamp, and retired, not
forgetting the precaution of fastening the door, lest his dark designs should
be frustrated.
No doubt
now remained in the bosom of Laurette but that the desolate apartment to which
she was conveyed by her inexorable enemy, was to witness the perpetration of
his bloody designs; and that the wretch who was hired to commit the execrable
deed, was to take the advantage of night and of silence, the hour when all but
herself were resigned to the influence of repose. Her meek, her inoffensive
life, was given into the hands of an inhuman monster, a wretch incapable of
pity, dead to every principle of benevolence and virtue. He had appointed the
morrow for the execution of his villainy, in a dreary and unfrequented forest;
but as she was unable to learn the result of the conversation, from not having
heard the whole of it, he seemed to have yielded to the request of the
Marchese, and meant to execute his purpose instantaneously.
Though
Laurette's apprehensions of death were too terrible to be sustained with
uniform fortitude, the sufferings of Enrico when he should be informed of her
destiny, was a reflection more difficult to be endured; and this, aided by the
probability of the persecutions of the Marchese being extended to him, should
one victim be insufficient for the gratification of his resentment, completed
the number of melancholy sensations that pained and corroded her heart.
The more
she endeavoured to unravel the mystery that had involved her in such a series
of calamities, the more inexplicable it appeared; and being incapable of
investigating the subject with the minute attention it required, it seemed,
from a cursory survey, to be the effect of some deep-laid scheme, formed by the
malicious disposition of Paoli, for the accomplishment of her destruction,
rather than the result of a combination of casual occurrences, as she had
formerly imagined; since something had been evidently laid to her charge which
no part of her conduct could justify.
A thousand
times she blamed the weakness, the cowardice which prevented her from availing
herself of the many opportunities that had offered themselves of obtaining
another interview with the Monk. But this was beyond recall, and she was soon
going to expiate this error, the only one she ever remembered to have
committed, with her blood.
It was now
past midnight, and though she was at too great a distance from the inhabited
part of the castle to hear what was passing below, she had reason to believe
that all were retired to their beds.
A deep and
mournful stillness seemed to reign throughout the mansion, and being in hourly
expectation of her murderer, she betook herself to prayer, that she might
prepare her mind, as much as possible, for the awful change that awaited her,
by soliciting the protection of Heaven in the moments of dissolution, which she
was well assured could bestow comfort even in the agonies of death, and teach
her to sustain them with dignity.
As soon as
her plaintive orisons were concluded, she took the volume of poems from her
pocket which she had found in the pavilion, and connecting with it the idea of
Enrico, bathed it with tears newly come to her relief, and then opening it,
accidentally met with one of the beautiful sonnets of Petrarch, composed after
the death of Laura. Not daring to trust herself with the perusal of a poem
whose subject was so destructive to fortitude, she instantly closed it, and
taking the fatal picture from her bosom, whose saint-like countenance so finely
imaged her own, she pressed it to her lips, and breathing an eternal adieu,
replaced it in her bosom; and then throwing herself upon the bed, endeavoured
to await, with something like resignation, the doom which she considered as
inevitable.
As the
morning advanced, her fears gradually subsided. If that desolate apartment was
intended for her death-room, the bloody deed, she believed, would have been
executed in the silence of the night; and with no small degree of consolation
she beheld the first dawn of early day peep through the high lattices of her
prison.
Somewhat
re-assured by this unexpected clemency, and nearly exhausted with fatigue, she
yielded for a short time to the sweet influence of sleep; but her slumbers were
broken and disturbed, and dreadful foreboding visions terrified her fancy.
She
thought she saw Enrico with a wild unsettled look, haggard countenance, and
every symptom of suffering, dart into a forest, whither she was conveyed for
the purpose of being massacred, who, after many ineffectual efforts to
accomplish her release, was obliged to resign her to her murderer. She was then
conducted through unfrequented woods, followed by Enrico, till they had reached
a place still more dreary than the last, when the assassin drawing a stiletto
from beneath his cloak, which he had previously concealed, gave her the mortal
stab; then, as if not sufficiently glutted with the sight before him, he drew
the instrument from her bosom, yet reeking with her blood, and plunged it into
the heart of Enrico.
This
horrible dream, occasioned by the excessive agitation of her spirits, had such
an effect upon her mind, that, uttering a faint scream, she started wildly from
the bed, and saw, by the dusky light which the narrow casement admitted, a tall
figure, whose stature her imagination heightened to a being of gigantic size,
standing by her side, apparently watching her as she slept. Not having courage
to cast her eyes again towards that part of the chamber where they had met the
object of her terror, to be convinced that it was not an illusion, she uttered
a deep and dreadful scream, and again fell senseless on the bed.
No means
being employed to recall her to life, she remained in this state of
insensibility till she found herself in the arms of the steward, who had
already conveyed her, assisted by Ambrose, beyond the walls of the castle.
Paoli
having mounted a mule that was in readiness at the outer gate, commanded
Laurette to be placed behind him, and ordering her to be tied to the animal, to
prevent her from effecting an escape, hurried from the place; when he had
somewhat relaxed from the pace with which he had set out, she made a gentle,
but hopeless, attempt to interest his compassion.
'Oh save
me! save me!' cried she, weeping, 'if ever you have known what it is to suffer,
or have felt the soft touches of sympathy; if ever you have considered the
value of existence, or have trembled at the thoughts of losing it.'
'To what
do you allude?' replied Paoli, sternly; 'what reason have you to indulge
yourself in fanciful conjectures, and what is it that you fear?'
'Alas! I
fear every thing,' returned Laurette, mournfully; 'and it is you only that can
save me.'
'Is there
any thing so very terrible in a removal from the castle,' replied Paoli,
angrily--'a place that you entered so reluctantly; are you never to be
pleased?'
'Ah! but I
know--' cried the fair sufferer, weeping.
'What do
you know?' interrupted the steward, turning round fiercely upon his saddle;
'and what is it that you apprehend since you know it to be the will of the Marchese?'
'Ah! but
to be conveyed, I know not whither; to be carried into a dreary wood, and to
die; to have the rights of burial denied me, and to be left a prey to the
wolves of the desert--have I deserved all this? and can I reflect upon it
without fear?'
'Banish
these ridiculous suspicions,' returned Paoli, with surprise, 'who has told you
all this? who has imagined it for you? or what cause have you to indulge in
these improbable surmises?'
'No one
has informed me of my danger,' replied Laurette, tremulously; 'Alas! I had no
friend left in the castle to inform me of it. It was myself only that heard it
in the pavilion, when you was in conversation with the Marchese.'
'And what
demon,' interrupted the steward, 'has instructed you in the art of overhearing
secret conferences? what did you hear? tell me instantly, as you value your
safety.'
In hopes
of being able to excite his compassion, Laurette acquainted him with the
circumstance of her having been in the pavilion previous to their arrival, and
of the fruitless attempts she had made to leave it, that she might not be
obliged to overhear conversation intended to be secret. Then disguising some part
of the discourse, lest it should irritate him the more, she related what she
had heard.
Some
symptoms of confusion appeared in Paoli's countenance at the recital, though he
positively denied that it had any reference to herself; and after endeavouring
to convince her that no harm would befall her, he sunk again into his
accustomed reserve; whilst Laurette, with a heart palpitating with terror, was
compelled to proceed on her journey.
To be continued
