THE MYSTERIES OE PARIS.
came to me and said: 'In order that for the future
scenes like those of yesterday shall not be repeated I
declare to you, as soon as the time of my mourning has
expired, I shall marry Madame Roland. You will
henceforth have to treat her with the respect due to
my wife. For private reasons, it is necessary that you
«hould be married before me; the fortune of your
mother, which is more than a million, is your dowry
From this day I shall actively employ-myself to pro-
cure you a suitable marriage, by accepting proposi-
tions that have already been made to me on this sub-
ject. The persistence with which you attack, in spite
of my admonitions, a person who is so dear to me, shows
me the strength of your attachment for me. Madame
Roland despises these attacks; but I will not suffer that
such conduct shall be renewed before strangers in my
own house. In future, you will not enter or remain in
the saloon, except when Madame Roland or myself are
there alone,' After this last conversation, I lived still
more isolated. I only saw my father at the hours of
repast; my life was so sad, that I awaited with impa-
tience the moment when my father would propose to
me a match, which I intended to accept, no matter
with whom. Madame Roland having refrained from
speaking ill of my mother, revenged herself otherwise-
to exasperate me, she made use of a thousand things'
that had belonged to her; her arm-chair, her tapestry-
frame, the books cf her private library, even to a screen
that I had embroidered for her, on which was her
cipher. This woman polluted everything." "Oh' I
conceive the horror that these profanations must have
caused you." " I had no one to whom I could confide
my sorrows; yet I received a proof of interest which
touched me, and which ought to- have enlightened me
as tothe future: since the day I had treated Madame
Roland so harshly before two -witnesses, I saw no one
One clay, to my great surprise, M. Dorral, the notary of
whom I have spoken, came to seek me in the park, where
I walked daily. ' Mademoiselle 1' said he. ' 1 am afraid
lhatthe count should see me; read this letter, and
burn it afterward; it contains something of importance
to vou.'   And he disappeared.
',! In this letter he told me that it was in agitation to
¦marry me to M. le Marquis d'Harville; I was assured
of the good qualities of M. d'Harville; he was young-
very rich, of a fine mind, and agreeable person. And
yet the families of two young persons, to whom he had
been successively engaged, had suddenly broken the
projected marriage. The notary could not tell me the
yeason of this rupture, but he believed it his duty to in-
form me of it. The two young persons spoken of were
daughters, one of M. de Beauregard, peer of France
the other of Lord Boltrop. M. Dorral confided all this
to me, because that my father, very impatient to con-
clude my marriage, appeared to attach no importance
to these-facts."
Chapter IV.—Continuation of the Story.
"In effect," said'Rocloiphe, after some moments of re-
flection, " I remember now that your husband, in the
interval of a year, communicated to me the two-pro-
jected marriages, which, about to be concluded, had
been broken off, as he wrote me, on some discussions
of moment."
"Madame d'Harville smiled bitterly, and answered:
"You will know the truth directly, Monseigneur
After haying read the letter of the old notary I felt
as much'curiosity as inquietude. Who was 1VL d'Har- '
J'ule? Sly father had never spoken of him. Soon
Madame Roland, to my great astonishment set out
tor Paris. Her absence was to last eight days at far-
thest; yet my father showed much grief at this
separation; his temper became more sour; his cold-
ness towards me was redoubled. One day 1 asked
Jinn how he was: 'I am suffering, and it is your
fault.' 'My fault, my. father?' ' Certainly 1 You
Know how much I am habituated to tho society of
Madame Roland, yet this admirable woman, whom you
have outraged, makes this journey, which withdraws
lier from me, for your interest alone.' This interest
of Madame Roland alarmed me; I had a vague
suspicion that it regarded my marriage. I leave
you to imagine, Monseigneur, the joy of my father
at the return of my future stepmother. The next
aay he sent forme; he was alone with her. 'I have,'
said he to me, ' for a long time thought of your estab-
lishment. Your mourning will be finished in a month.
To-morrow M, le Marquis d'Harville will arrive here; a
young man, très distingue, very rich, and in everything
capable of securing your happiness. He has seen you
in society; he ardently desires this union; all the pre-
liminaries are arranged. It will then absolutely de-
pend on you to be married within six weeks. If, on
the contrary, from a caprice that I will not force you,
you should refuse this offer, almost unhoped-for, I
will marry, according to my intention, as soon as the
time of my mourning is over. In this latter case, I
snust say to you, your presence in my house will only
oe agreeable if you promise to show to my wife the
tenderness and respect she deserves.' ' I comprehend,
my father. If I do not marry M. d'Harville you will
be married; and then, for you and for madame.it
would no longer be undesirable if I should retire to the
Sacre Cœur P   ' Right!' answered he. coldly."
'Ah! it is no longer weakness: it is cruelty!" cried
Sodolphe.
"Do you know, Monseigneur, w-hat has always pre-
vented me from entertaining against my father any
resentment? - It is that a kind of foresight tells me
that some day he will pay, dearly pay, for his blind
passion to Madame Roland. And, 'Dieu merci!' this
day has not yet come."
"And did you say nothing to him of what the old
Botary had told you in his letter concerning M. d'Har-
ville?"
"Yes, Monseigneur. That very day I begged my
lather to grant me a private interview. ' I have no se-
crets for Madame Roland; you can speak before her,'
lie answered. I remained silent. He said severely:
_Once more I tell you I have no secrets for Madame
TRoland. Explain yourself, then, clearly. ' ' If you will
permit me, my father, Iwill wait until you are alone.'
Madame Roland arose and went out. ' Now you are
satisfied!'said he tome; 'well! speak.' 'Ifeel no re-
luctance for the union you propose to me, my father:
only I have heard that M. d'Harville has twice been on
the point of being married-----'   ' Well, well !' said he,
interrupting me; 'I know it! These ruptures have
taken place in consequence of some difficulties in the
settlements—the conduct of M. d'Harville has been
beyond censure. If you have no other objection than
this, you may consider yourself married, and happily
married—for I only wish for your happiness.' "
. Doubtless Madame Roland was delighted at; this
union}"
45
taAel,'SMedl Yes Monseigneur," said Clemenee, bit-
yA' f2 muciWeighted 1 for this union was her
work. She gave the first idea of it to my father. She
knew the true reason of the rupture of the first two
engagements of M. d'Harville-that was the cause"!
her wishing me to espouse him." " But for what end?"
«,x7 ïed ÎÏ^TfS8 herself on me, in wedding me
thus to a frightful lot."   "But your father»"
,.„„=„ iiveid hf Madame Poland, he believed that the
reasons he had assigned were the true ones "
Whata horrible plot! But this mysterious reason'"
• l1 !. y,°u d"'ectly, Monseigneur. M. d'Harville
arrived at Aubiers; lus manners, his conversation iiis
figure pleased me: he seemed kind, good, but slightly
melancholy I remarked in him. a contrast which as-
tonished, yet was agreeable to me; his mind was richly
Cultivated.   Ins   fm-tiiric   om.ui.l.   l.,-..   u:...i.   ..,,..1.  ,       J
cultivated, his fortune enviable, his birth illustrioii!
and yet sometimes his countenance, ordinarily ener-
getic and resolute, expressed a kind of timidity almost
tearful—a dejection, a distrust of himself which
touched me much. I liked also to see him show so
much kindness as he did to an old valet de chambre
who had been with him from his boyhood, and who
alone waited on him. Some time after his arrival M
d Haryille remained two days in his room. My father
wished to see him. The old servant opposed it, pre-
tending that his master's head was so much affected
that he could not see anyone. When M. d'Harville
made his appearance again, I found him very pale
very much changed. He seemed to be annoyed if anv
one spoke of his illness. As I became better acquaint-
ed with him, I discovered in him many agreeable quali-
ties. He had so many reasons to be happy, that I gave
him credit for moderation in his happiness. The time
ot our marriage concluded upon, he anticipated the
least of my wishes in our future projects. If some-
times I asked him tlie cause" of his melancholy he
spoke to me of his father, his mother, who would have
been proud to see him married according to his wishes
and hopes. , I should have had bad taste not to receive
reasons that were so flattering to me. M d'Harville
imagined how I had lived until then with Madame Ro-
land and my father, although the latter, pleased with
my jntended marriage, which advanced his own
showed me great affection. In several conversations
M. d'Harville made me feel, with much tact and re-
serve, that he loved me Still more on account of my
past sorrows. I thought I ought on this subject to in-
form him that my father proposed to marry again ; and
as I spoke to him of the change that this union would
have on my fortune, he did not let me finish, and gave
me proofs of the most noble disinterestedness; the
families to whom he had been on the point of being
allied must be. very sordid, thought I then, to have any
difficulties with him."
"Just so I have ever found him," said Rodolphe;
' filled with delicacy, affection, and generosity; but
did you never speak to him of these engagements?"
I avow to you, Monseigneur, seeing him so devoted,
so good, several times this question came to my lips';
but soon, from fear even of wounding this devotion
this goodness. I did not dare to approach the subject.
Ihe nearer the day of our marriage approached, the
more he spoke of his happiness. Yet two or three
times 1 saw him overwhelmed with sadness; one day
he cast his eyes upon me; I saw a tear; he seemed
oppressed; one would have said that he wished but to
confide a secret to me. The recollection of the broken
engagements came to my mind. I acknowledged I
was afraid. I felt a presentiment that perhaps it was
a question of the happiness of my whole life; but I
was so situated at home that I surmounted my fears
"The witnesses of M. d'Harville, M. de Lucenay and
M. de Saint Remy, arrived at Aubiers some days be-
fore my marriage; my nearest relations were alone
invited. We were to start for Paris immediately after
mass. I did not feel any love for M. d'Harville, but I
was interested in him; his character inspired me with
esteem. Except for the event which followed this fatal
union, a more tender sentiment would doubtless have
attached me to him forever. We were married." At
these words Madame d'Harville became pale;' her
resolution appeared to abandon her. Then she con-
tinued: "As soon as we were married, my father
pressed me tenderly inhis arms. Madame Roland also
embraced me. I could not, before so many people,
prevent this new hypocrisy; with her dry and wliite
hand she squeezed my hand so as to give me pain, and
whispered in a soft, perfidious voice, these words that
.1 shall never forget: 'Think sometimes of me in the
midst of your happiness; for it is I who have made
this marriage.' Alasl I was far from comprehending
the true sense of these words. Our marriage had taken
place at eleven o'clock; we immediately got into the
carriage, attended by my maid and the old valet de
chambre of M. d'Harville. We travelled so rapidly
that we were to arrive at Paris before ten o'clock at
night.
" You comprehend then, Monseigneur, the feelings
with which I returned to Paris to that city where my
mother had died scarcely a year before. We arrived at
the Hotel d'Harville."
The emotion of the young woman was redoubled; her
cheeks were covered with a burning red, and she added,
in a heart-rending tone:
"It is necessary that you should know all; if not, I
should appear to you to be too despicable. Well," con-
tinued she, with desperate resolution, " I was conducted
to my apartment—I was left alone—M. d'Harville re-
joined me. Notwithstanding his protestations of ten-
derness, I wept bitterly. But soon my husband seized
my arm with a force sufficient to break it, uttering a
dreadful cry. I tried in vain to escape from his iron
grasp. I implored his pity—he heard me no longer; his
face was contracted with the most violent convulsions;
his eyes rolled in their orbits with a rapidity that par-
alyzed me; his contorted mouth was filled with a
bloody foam; his hand still held me fast; I made one
more effort; his stiffened fingers at length released
their grasp, and I fainted, while M. d'Harville was still
struggling in the paroxysms of this frightful attack.
Such was my ' nuit de noces,' Monseigneur. Such was
the vengeance of Madame Roland." "Unfortunate
woman !" said Rodolphe, quite overcome. " I compre-
hend—epilepsy.   Ah! it is frightful."
"And this is not all," added Clemenee. "Oh fatal
night, forever accursed. My child, the poor little angel,
has inherited this fearful maladyl" " Your child also !
How?" " Her (pallor—her weakness! It is this, mon
Dieu! it is this: and the physicians think that the dis-
ease is incurable, because it is hereditary."
Madame d'Harville concealed her face in her hands;
overcome by this mournful story, she had not the
strength to utter a word.
Rodolphe also remained silent.
Chapter V.—Charity.
, Rodolphe blamed M. d'Harville much, but he prom-
ised himself to endeavor to excuse him in the eves of
Clemenee, although well convinced, after her sad reve-
herheàrt              mar1uis was forever alienated from
Thought  succeeding thought,   he  said to himself,
t HTOJf d I' I„have *Lept m7selt away fr°m a woman
,lf"t,' and who perhaps, has for me a secret 'pen-
chant Either from the unoccupied state of her
thoughts, or from commiseration, she has just escaoed
the loss of honor and life for a fool whom she thought
unhappy. If, instead of absenting myself from her I
had surrounded her with the attentions of love and
respect, my reserve would have been such that her
reputation would not have received the slightest stain-
the suspicions of her husband would never have been
awakened, while at this moment she is almost at the
mercy of the silliness of M. Charles Robert, and he
will be, I tear, so much the more indiscreet as he has
the .less reason to be. And, besides, who knows now if
notwithstanding the perils she has run, the heart of
Madame d'Harville will rest always unoccupied? All
return towards her husband is henceforth impossible
Young, handsome, with a character sympathizing with
^llTVÎ0IS?er forher. "«'hat dangers! what obstacles I
1 or M. d Harville, what anguish, what sorrow! What
a fate is his!"
Clemenee, leaning on her hand, her eyes wet with
tears, her cheeks burning with confusion, avoided the
looks of Rodolphe, so much had this revelation cost
her.
"Ah, now," said Rodolphe, "I comprehend the
cause of the sadness of M. d'Harville, a sadness I could
not penetrate.   I comprehend his regret-----"   "His
regret 1" cried Clemenee; "say rather his remorse
Monseigneur; for never has crime been more coolly
meditated." "A crime, Madame!" "And what is it, then,
Monseigneur, to bind to himself by indissoluble ties, a
young girl who confides in his honor, when he knows
he is subject to a malady which inspires fear and dis-
gust? What is it, then, to surely destine an unfortu-
SS? -,, t0 the same disease? What forced M
d Harvilfe to make two victims? A blind insensate
passion 1 No! he found my birth, my fortune myself
convenient. He wished to make a suitable marriage
because a bachelor's life had become tiresome, without
doubt. ¦'    " Madame, pity at least!"
"Pity! Do you know who deserves my pity» It is
my daughter. Poor victim of this odious union how
many nights, how- many days have I passed near her!
how many bitter tears have I shed over her mournful
lot!"
"But her father suffers the samehorrible fate!"
" But it is her father who has condemned her to a
sickly infancy, to a withered childhood, and, if she
lives, to a life of retirement and sorrow; for she shall
never many. Oh, no! I love her too well to expose
her some day to weep over her infant as I weep over
her. I have suffered too much from this treason to
render me culpable, or an accomplice of a similar
act!"
"Oh! you are right; the vengeance of your step-
mother is horrible. Patience! perhaps, in your turn,
you will be revenged!" said Rodolphe.
"What do you mean to say, Monseigneur?" asked
Clemenee, astonished at the inflection of his voice
"I have almost always had the haripiness to see pun-
ished, oh! cruelly punished, the wicked that I have
knowu," added he, in atone that made Clemenee trem-
ble. ' 'But the next morning what did your husband say »"
' He avowed, with strange naivete, that the families to
whom he was about to be united had discovered the
secret of his malady, and broke the projected alliances.
Thus, after having been twice repulsed, he has again—
oh, this is too infamous! And yet, he is what is called
in society a man of honor and probity 1"
" You, always so good, you are cruell"
" I am cruel, because I have been shamefully de-'
ceived. M. d'Harville knew I was kind; why did he
not at once address himself to my kindness in telling me
the truth?"
" You would have refused him." " That would con-
demn him, Monseigneur ; his conduct was unworthy if
he felt this fear. "   " But he loved you 1"
" If he loved me, should he have sacrificed me to
his egotism? Mon Dieu! I was so tormented, I was so
anxious to leave my father's house, that if he had been
frank, perhaps he would have touched me by the pic-
ture of his sufferings, of the solitude to which a fearful
and fatal malady had consigned him. Yes. seeing him
so upright, so unhappy, perhaps I should not have had
the courage to refuse him; and, if I had thus taken the
sacred engagement to submit to the consequences of
my devotion, I should valiantly have kept my promise;
but to compel my interest and pity, by first placing me
in his power, and to require this interest, this pity, in
the name of my duty as a wife—he who has betrayed
his duties as an honest man—it is at once wicked and
cowardly! Now, Monseigneur, judge of my life! judge
of my cruel deceptions ! I had faith in the honesty of
M. d'Harville, and he has most unworthily deceived
me. His sad and timid melancholy had interested me,
and this melancholy, which he said was caused by
pious recollection, was only the consciousness of his
incurable infirmity." " But, in fine, was he a stranger,
your enemy, the sight of his sufferings ought to soften
your anger; your heart is noble and generous."
"But can I calm these sufferings? If my voice could
be heard, if a grateful look could reply to my atten-
tions! But no! oh! you do not know, my Lord, how
frightful it is to see a man tear himself like a wild
beast, notice nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing, and
only come out of this frensy to fall into a kind of fear-
ful dejection. When my daughter has one of these
attacks, I am almost wild ; my mind is distracted. I
kiss, weeping, her poor little arms, stiffened by the
convulsions which destroy her.   But she is my child__
my child! and when I see her suffer thus, I curse a
thousand times more her father. When the spasms
are over, my irritation against my husband becomes
less; then—yes—then I pity him; to my aversion
succeeds a sentiment of sad commiseration. But, in
fine, have I married at seventeen only to experience
these alternations of hatred and sorrowful commisera-
tion? to weep over .an unfortunate child, who I shall,
perhaps, not preserver'
" I cannot express to you, Madame, how much your
story has affected me; from the death of your mother
until the birth of your daughter, how many devouring
t
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