"I have seen nothing of all this in Pauline, but there's no such thing as calculating all the intricacies of a woman's heart. I've given up ever since Emily's labyrinthian course in refusing a man whom she dearly loved."
"Perhaps she had no idea of such a termination to his introduction to the family; and probably is not aware of the state of her own feelings."
I determined, however, to sound her upon the subject before I met Eugene again. During the evening, I made an excuse for calling her to my room, that I would read her Joseph's letter, after which I desired some conversation with her. "Here comes Frank's proof," I said to myself as a rosy hue mantled to her very brow; but she immediately said, she would run to her room for her crotcheting, and then return.
"I don't know," said I, when she had taken her seat, "as you remember much of your cousin; you have not seen him for a number of years."
"Oh, yes, mamma! don't you recollect the visit he made us before he came to France?"
"I had indeed forgotten it, my love; but he is soon to be here," and I read her the letter. She said nothing, and I proceeded to talk of Eugene. She raised her eyes at once, as if much interested. "You have now had sufficient opportunity to become acquainted with him; are you still pleased that he is to be one of us?"
"Certainly, mamma. I love him very much, and should be disappointed if anything should occur to prevent it. Do you know of anything?" she asked eagerly.
"No," I answered, fully assured of Eugene's success if it rested with her.
This morning, the dear fellow came in at an unusually early hour, and requested me to accompany him. He tried not to look at Pauline, for fear he should be violating his promise to me. I pointed to the time-piece, showing him it was an hour earlier than common, and he made rather a blundering excuse. I hastened, however, to my room, and the Doctor followed me to the stairs, saying in a whisper, "do go quick, and put the poor soul out of misery. Don't you see how he is suffering? I know how to feel for him."
As I came down equipped for the walk, Pauline said in an arch tone, "how long are you intending to be so exclusive in your walks?"
Eugene started toward her, and began to say something, but stopped very much confused, and I hurried him away. I need not tell you what I said, indeed I don't remember. It is sufficient that he was more than satisfied with the permission to ask her to return his love, and then wait until we should be willing for them to marry. He cut short our walk, and turned back to the house. As we reached the door, I looked up to see a group of heads making themselves very merry at our expense. But I took it very calmly, and walked in, requesting Pauline to take my place. She called Nelly; but I told her Nelly must practise her music.
It was rather more than an hour before they returned. The Doctor was watching for them with no little impatience, and curiosity. Pauline came in leaning upon her lover's arm, who looked perfectly delighted, and walked directly across the room, kissing me, and then her father.
Frank was astonished, and said almost audibly, "pretty cool, that! I never could have believed it."
Eugene was too much excited to keep still, and calling her to the door, begged her to go with him to his father. But she preferred to postpone it until another day. Soon after he left, I went to my room, and Pauline soon followed. "Well, my love," I said, "I suppose I hardly need ask you what answer you gave Eugene, he looked so happy."
"Yes, mamma, I told him I loved him very much, but that I thought I was too young to engage myself; and I had never thought of him in that light."
"And was he satisfied?"
"Yes, mamma, he thanked me many times, and said he should try to make me very happy." Pauline sat down, and her eyes grew dreamy, so I left her to her meditations and went below.
Tuesday, March 4th.
Joseph came two days ago, accompanied by a young lady, Mademoiselle Vinet, or Adele, as Joseph calls her. He went directly with her to her uncle's, who lives about forty leagues from here, and then returned to this place. We were much rejoiced to see our dear cousin. He has proved all that his parents could wish. I was very glad to hear him say that he hopes to be able to return to the United States nearly as soon as we do. He longs for home.
Joseph accompanied the Doctor and myself in a walk, and communicated to us some very sad intelligence. About three months ago, a servant from one of the hotels in Paris called at his office requesting him to go and see a young woman who was sick. Wondering not a little who she could be, he went, and was shown up one flight of stairs after another until he reached a most dreary and desolate apartment, destitute of every comfort; and there, upon a miserable pallet, he beheld, to his surprise, his once beautiful cousin Fidelia Schuyler. She was anxiously expecting him, and exceedingly overcome by his presence and kindness. He wished to remove her to a more comfortable and respectable apartment, to provide her a good nurse, and to do everything in his power for her relief.
But she said, "I have only a few hours to live. Even now I am dying. All I ask is, that you will remain near me while I live."
Joseph was affected even to tears as he related the heart-rending agony of Fidelia, while she reviewed the last few years of her life. "Ever since I left your house, years ago, though I have lived a gay life, in the midst of fashion and luxury," she said, "I have never known happiness, for I have lived a life of sin. I am known here as Mrs. Arnold, having been his companion ever since my husband, incited almost to madness by my wicked conduct, abandoned me. For three weeks, William has not been near me. Leaving me only a few dollars, he deserted me; and since his departure I have been removed to this garret, and have pawned almost every article of my clothing and of jewelry to procure for myself even the necessaries of life. Do you remember," she asked, "the wicked attempt I made to stir up jealousy and strife between Frank and his young wife? Oh! how I hated her, when I saw that with his whole soul he observed her every movement and word! He worshipped the very ground on which she trod. But I have suffered the keenest remorse for my conduct. I have been constantly tortured with jealousy since I lived with William, and with fear lest he should leave me to die alone in a strange land."
Several times Joseph tried to soothe and comfort her as she lay panting for breath, and sinking farther back upon her pillows. But she could talk of nothing else. "Oh!" said she, "if I had borne with my husband as I have had to bear with William, how happy we might have been! I have been obliged to curb my temper, and to be a slave to one who has indeed proved to be a hard master."
Joseph endeavored to point her to the Saviour. At first, she was unwilling to hear a word on the subject, and begged him not to waste his breath; but at length, as he earnestly pointed her to the Lamb of God, able, willing and ready to save to the uttermost all who come unto God by him, she burst into tears, and even besought him to pray with her. He did so; and after remaining with her about three hours, he went out and obtained a good woman to take care of her so long as she lived. He supposed from her appearance that she was not so near her end as she imagined. He made his arrangements to return and to watch with her in company with her nurse during the night. After an hour he returned to her room, and was surprised at the alteration which had taken place. She was evidently dying.
Now her whole life stood out before her, and she trembled at the idea of appearing in the presence of a holy God. Joseph prayed with her repeatedly. He wept as he implored her to cast her burden of sin and fear upon the Saviour. She listened as for her life, but could only cry out "too late!—too late!!" This dreadful lament she continued until near midnight, when Joseph read to her a few passages from the Bible, on the abounding of divine mercy toward the chief of sinners, and renewed his exhortation to her to repent and believe, saying, "turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die?"
"Oh! If I could live—only one hour—more!"—and as the words were on her quivering lips, her countenance changed, her eyes were fixed, her spirit departed!
Wednesday, March 5th.
I am really pained by Pauline's conduct toward her cousin. She shuns him as much as possible. He feels it too. He always manifested so much interest in her; but she avails herself of every excuse to walk with Eugene, and avoids seeing Joseph. I can perceive that he is grieved, but though he often gazes at her with a sad, inquiring expression, he does not speak. I have never known her to be rude; but I felt it my duty to speak with her to-day upon the subject. I am afraid I spoke too sternly, for she immediately burst into tears. She made no excuse, only saying, "I can't help it, mamma."
"Your cousin," I said, "has not deserved such treatment. He has always, since you were a baby, taken a great interest in you;" and I related his kindness in taking her to ride on horseback, and many other events, which I was surprised to find she remembered.
But still she said nothing; and only cried the more. I don't know what to make of her.
"Sometimes deep feeling hides itself in silence."
But I think she has had too much excitement of late, notwithstanding she appeared so calm. When the bell rang for tea, she begged me to excuse her from going down, and to tell Eugene, when he called, that she was not able to go with him to his father as he had proposed.
"Are you ill, my dear," I asked.
"I have a very bad head-ache, which will be well by morning."
Joseph went out this morning early for a walk, and returned just as I was called to breakfast. Pauline was in the room, and he went directly to her, expressing his pleasure at seeing her down again. He took her hand in his, and said, "I am deeply pained by seeing that you have forgotten all your former friendship for me." He then assured her, she should always have a warm friend in him.
Notwithstanding I had thought her wrong, I really pitied the poor girl's confusion. She did not once raise her eyes; but blushed painfully as she withdrew her hand when he had ceased speaking. I pitied Joseph, too. He came to me soon after breakfast, and asked me to walk with him, when he immediately entered upon the subject, saying he had never been so disappointed in a young person, so artless and frank as she used to be. He then asked if Eugene were a suitable companion for her, fearing it was his influence that had so changed her for the worse.
I assured him it was not. Then feeling that from his long friendship for us, he had a right to be treated with confidence, I told him in what relation they stood to each other. Though I could see plainly that he was displeased, I commenced at their singular introduction, and told him all that had passed between Colonel Clifford and the Doctor. He listened with the profoundest interest, but did not interrupt me until I had done.
"How did you account for the agitation of Colonel Clifford?" he asked.
"Oh! a thousand ways," I replied. "He has been an invalid for many years; and her sudden appearance would account for it in a great measure."
"Perhaps so," he answered in a doubting tone; "but he evidently supposed her to be a near friend."
"Yes," said I, "there is no accounting for the freaks of nature in these close resemblances. I should be struck any where by her resemblance to Frank; yet you know there is no connection."
"She must have a singular countenance," he replied, "I noticed yesterday a strong likeness to young Clifford. Does she know of the circumstances connected with her early history?"
"Not a word of it."
"Nor Clifford?"
"No."
"Then, my dear cousin, I tell you frankly, I think in this instance you and the Doctor have erred—certainly you have not acted with your usual frankness."
I made many excuses which had been satisfactory to my own mind. He said no more, but only shook his head.
When we received Joseph's letter, I thought him the same light-hearted, merry fellow as of old; but I find he has grown very grave. I was a little troubled at what he said, and on conversing with Frank, I find that he is of the same opinion, that we ought at least to communicate the circumstances to Colonel Clifford, if we do not choose to tell Pauline. But Frank says since talking with Mr. Percival, and finding that he had no other child, he felt relieved of all doubt in relation to their connection. But though the thought of it makes me almost sick, I intend to-morrow to do what I know will give exquisite pain to Pauline, by telling her she is my child only by adoption.
Saturday, March 8th.
If my poor head will allow, I will try to give you an account of the events of the last three days. But I have suffered so much I really shrink from recurring to the subject.
In pursuance of my resolution to make the painful disclosure to Pauline, I made necessary arrangements to be free from interruption, as I feared the dear child's feelings would overcome her; and as I was far from intending that Nelly or Frank should know it at present, I did not wish unnecessarily to excite their curiosity. If the dear child were to know it at all, I preferred she should hear it first from me; and having procured the locket and package, I called her to my room, and went through the story as if I were relating the history of another person, and as briefly as justice to my subject would allow; but my great agitation, which I could not avoid becoming apparent, must have made her suspect that I referred to herself. She looked me full in the face, her eyes more and more dilated until she turned deadly pale. I became frightened that she did not give way to her feelings, and stopped, when she said in the most heart-broken tone I ever heard, "Then I am not your Pauline, mamma?" and leaned her head heavily on her hand.
I pressed her to my heart, and told her that she never was dearer to me than at present; that she was my first, and I had almost said, my dearest child.
But this has been a dreadful shock to the poor girl, who seems now to feel that she has no claim upon us. I talked with her a long time, telling her that I had never intended she should know of this; but that her father thought it dishonorable not to tell her or Eugene; and that I felt she ought to hear it from me.
"I think it would have killed me," she replied, "to have heard it even from father." After a moment she added mournfully, "may I still call you mamma?" when her pent up feelings burst forth with such violence as I have never witnessed. She wept and sobbed until her whole frame shook with emotion.
"My love, my own Pauline, you will break my heart if you do so. Our love is the same; it can undergo no change. My affection for you has been so selfish, that it has been my only fear with regard to you, that some one would claim you as their child; or as has happened, that some one would win your love from your mother."
"Oh, mamma," said she joyfully, "I will give him up. I understood it was your wish. Indeed I told Eugene I did not wish him to consider it an engagement. We are too young."
"Dearest Pauline, I only told you to show you how strong was my affection for you."
After two hours, during which time I had but partially succeeded in calming her excited feelings, I showed her the locket, which affected her exceedingly, as also the letter from her mother to the servant. She held the tiny robe in her hand, while her tears fell hot and fast upon it. I told her that on no account would I allow Nelly and Franky to be made aware of what had passed.
"I shall tell Eugene?" she said inquiringly.
"If you think it best, love."
"Of course, I only meant whether you or I should tell him. He asked what I considered strange questions the second time I saw him. But I thought it would only pain you to hear them, so I did not repeat what he said. He asked if I had ever been abroad before. I told him "no." He then asked if I were nearly connected with this family, when I laughed and told him, 'my resemblance to father was proof of that fact.' He apologized, and said he had only asked me to satisfy his father." She took the locket, putting the chain around her neck, and bidding me good night, left me.
But it was a sleepless night to both of us. The questions of Eugene, to satisfy his father,—the doubts of Joseph were constantly recurring to me. Frank comforted me by saying I had done right in telling her what I had. After midnight I crept softly to her room, shading the lamp with my hand, and found her eyes wide open. She had thrown her arm over her sleeping sister, and had vainly tried to sleep.
"I have been trying to think who I am, mamma," said she in a sad voice.
"You are my own darling, Pauline," I said, kissing her again and again.
"She looks happy and kind," alluding to the picture, "but how could she give me up so?"
I begged her to try to sleep, and returned to my bed to make the same effort. The next morning she did not go down to breakfast, merely took a cup of coffee in her room; but begged me to let her know when Eugene came in. I did so, when she instantly came down to him equipped for a walk.
I attempted to remonstrate, fearing she was not well enough; but she said, "please, mamma," in so sad a voice, I could say no more.
It was nearly noon. Joseph had two or three times volunteered to go in search of Pauline, for whom I felt great anxiety, when a man came running, breathless with speed, begging me to go to Colonel Clifford. He was dying.
I was on my way in a moment, Joseph attending me to the door. How can I describe to you what I saw? In order to make it intelligible, I must relate what the Doctor and Pauline afterwards told me. As soon as they started on their walk, she communicated to Eugene the circumstances I had related to her; and insisted that he should, without delay, make them known to his father, saying, "perhaps he will withdraw his consent when he hears that I am a foundling."
Eugene spurned the idea, as unworthy either of him or his father, and protested that he only loved her the better. He earnestly implored her to go with him, to which she reluctantly consented. He found the Doctor by the bed side, and leaving his beloved in the next room, he went in. Having requested the Doctor to remain, he went on to tell his father briefly that Pauline was only an adopted child of Dr. Lenox, and that she would not consent to their betrothal until he were made aware of the circumstances, and had given his consent.
"Tell her, my son, that can make no difference in our feelings. Bring her to me, I will tell her so." Eugene led her in; but no sooner did he see her, than he started forward as if to take her in his arms, and then with a loud scream fell back upon the pillows.
The Doctor and Eugene sprang forward in affright to raise him, and threw water in his face, when he gasped for breath, and pointing his thin finger to where Pauline stood, tried to speak, but for a moment was unable. "Eugene," at length he gasped out, "she is your sister, Inez," and fainted.
Pauline, intensely surprised, and agitated, darted forward, and kissed the face, brow and lips of the unconscious man, crying, "Oh! father, bless me before you die."
When he opened his eyes, her sweet voice was pleading for a blessing. A heavenly smile lit up his face, as he said, "Imogen, my own Imogen, I do bless thee, sweet wife!" He thought her his lost Imogen. But he soon knew her, and called her his beloved daughter Inez, whom he now saw for the first time. She turned from him to Eugene, who sat bitterly weeping with his head buried in his dying father's pillow; and putting her arms tenderly about his neck, said, "Be comforted, dear Eugene, you have gained a sister."
The Doctor administered a cordial to the Colonel, who he saw was fast failing; and had sent for me.
When I entered the room, the dying man was passionately kissing the little miniature contained in the locket; and from that, as well as his instant recognition of the writing of his wife in the letter, there is no longer any doubt that she is his child.
He requested the Doctor to open a pocket book, and take out a blank envelope. Opening this, he showed some of the writing of Imogen, which exactly compared with the other. Again, and again blessing his long lost child, and bidding his children love each other as brother and sister, he requested to be left alone with the Doctor; when he told him where to find the packet directed to his son, to be left in his care. He expressed renewedly his thanks that these disclosures had been brought to light in season to prevent so unnatural a marriage. He gave some directions, rendered necessary by the wonderful discovery. He then said, calmly, "I have now done with earth," and requested the Doctor to call his children to see him die.
Eugene threw himself upon the bed in an agony of grief. "My soul cleaveth unto thee, my son," said the dying man. And again mistaking Pauline for his beloved wife, he made an effort to reach her, exclaiming, "I come, my Imogen—I—come!"
Scarcely had the last words ceased to echo through the room, when the spirit of Colonel Clifford joined his companion in the world above.
Thursday, March 13th.
The remains of our deceased friend have been laid by the side of her whom he so tenderly loved, to rest until the morning of the resurrection. The arrangements for keeping the sacred place from intrusion are completed, and we are only waiting the arrival of the monument, which the Doctor has ordered from Rome, before we take leave of our respected friend, Mr. Percival, and depart for Paris.
Friday, March 14th.
To-day Joseph received a letter from Monsieur Vinet in reply to one he wrote, stating the time of our leaving for Paris. He writes that he will accompany Adele to Nice a day or two before that time, as she has a strong desire to become acquainted with persons of whom she has heard so much from her friend, Monsieur Morgan. For a few days past, I have noticed that Pauline remained more in the room when Joseph was conversing with the Doctor, and when thinking herself unnoticed, her attention became absorbed, and her eyes flashed, while the color came and went, giving her beautiful countenance a most bewitching variety of expression.
But if cousin happened to turn his eye in that direction, though the rich bloom on her cheek might assume a deeper tinge, yet the long silky fringes instantly drooped over her tell-tale eyes. I am sometimes almost vexed with Joseph. If he took half the pains to win her confidence that he did formerly, this reserve and coolness might be exchanged for the most delightful friendship. I wonder if he ever thinks of his request when she was a baby, that I would train her for him. If he does, it is only to laugh at the follies of his youth. But I suppose what Frank suspects may be true; that he is attached to Adele. She will be here shortly, and we shall see.
Tuesday, March 18th.
This morning Franky, who is full of mischief, put his hand slyly into Joseph's pocket and pulled out a letter. Cousin was busily reading, and did not notice the theft until the young rogue put on his father's glasses, and crossing the room to place himself in an elevated position, began to read aloud. Pauline, though trying to restrain her mirth, yet shook her head; but as I recognized the letter as the one from Monsieur Vinet, and Joseph had read it aloud, I thought I would not spoil Master Franky's sport. The young gentleman is by no means an expert at deciphering a fine hand, and though the letter was written in English, failed to make sense. He therefore turned to the postscript, and elevating his voice to arrest attention, began, "Beloved friend,—The time seems very long since we parted, and I know you will be pleased to hear from your friend Adele"—
At the sound of that name, Joseph started, and with a quick glance around the room, snatched the letter from Franky, saying, "didn't you know it was very improper to read letters not directed to yourself?"
"I wouldn't have read it, Joseph, if I had known 'twas a love letter."
"Pshaw," said cousin, looking very much annoyed as he saw us laughing at his expense.
Nelly, who is a great favorite, went and put her arms around her cousin's neck, saying, "They shan't laugh, Joseph, you shall have just as many letters as you please, and nobody but you and I shall read them. Dear Jo," she asked in a whisper, "Is she a darling? Shall I love her, when she is my cousin?"
Joseph started to his feet. "Who has put such nonsense into your head? Coz," he continued, turning to me, "where did Frank get hold of that letter?"
"He must answer for himself," I replied. As I looked up from my sewing, I saw that Pauline had left the room. After due confession from the delinquent, and a suitable shaking from Joseph, by way of reproof, which made the house ring with his merry laughter, cousin continued his reading for half an hour, when he started up, saying he would go and meet the Doctor, who was at Mr. Percival's.
At that instant Franky returned to the parlor, with a very dolorous expression upon his countenance. "Mamma," he exclaimed, "Pauline is crying as if her heart would break, and she won't tell me what's the matter with her, though I've asked her ever so many times."
This was so unusual an occurrence that I started to my feet to go to her, when Eugene threw down his pencil, (he was drawing a sketch of the house where his mother was born,) and said, "let me go, mamma. Please let me try my skill in soothing her grief."
I reluctantly resumed my seat. Joseph also replaced his hat in the hall, and stood looking from the window. "We must hasten our departure," said I. "Pauline is growing very nervous, which cannot be wondered at. Joseph," said I, addressing him, "I almost regret having followed your advice, to tell her she was not my own child. She grows thinner and paler every day."
For a moment, Joseph remained silent, and I was almost vexed that he was not more interested for Pauline, when he replied, in an unnatural voice, "Cora, I hardly think you are aware what you say. Would you have had her marry her brother?"
His tone conveyed such bitter reproof that my eyes filled with tears. For the first time, he turned from the window, and looked at me. I saw, with surprise, that he was very pale. He approached, holding out his hand, "forgive me, cousin; I spoke harshly; but wouldn't it be better for you to go to Pauline? She may not like to have Eugene witness her grief."
"Why?" I asked. "She is very fond of her brother."
He walked quickly across the floor. "You forget," said he in a hoarse voice, "how lately she loved him as her future husband. I have seen the struggle in her mind, to overcome such an affection, or rather to change it to the calm, though deep affection of a sister."
I looked at Joseph earnestly, as he walked back and forth across the room, with knitted brow and closely shut lips, and tried to discover the cause of his agitation. At length he stopped before me, and said, "will you go to her?"
"Yes," I replied, laying aside my work. As I went above, I heard him leave the house.
When I entered the school-room, I found Pauline sitting with her head resting on her brother's shoulder, while his arm was around her. She had ceased weeping, but still looked very sad. "Mamma," said Eugene, "I've been telling her how very naughty it is for her to feel sorrow, and not allow me to share it with her. She won't even tell me what makes her weep." Pauline put her handkerchief quickly to her face to hide the tears which were streaming unbidden down her cheeks. I motioned to him to leave her with me. He kissed her tenderly and went below. I then led the weeping girl into my own room, and having fastened the door, I sat by her side, and begged her to tell me what had afflicted her.
But after talking with her for nearly half an hour, I was no wiser than at first. I could only get from her the confession that she was very unhappy, and wished she were safely at home in Crawford. I hinted to her what I suspected, that she found it difficult to change the nature of her affection for her brother so suddenly. She looked up quickly, as she replied, "Mamma, I was deceived as to the nature of my love for him. I never could have married Eugene; but he is very dear to me as a brother."
Hearing the outer door open, she sprang upon her feet, painfully embarrassed, and was going hastily from the room, but returned, and said in a low voice, "Please, mamma, say nothing of this to any one; I will endeavor to be cheerful."
When I went below, Frank had returned, and soon Joseph came in, and seating himself near the window, commenced reading in the book which had so much interested him when Franky stole his letter. I drew my husband to a retired part of the room, and told him I wished to leave Nice as soon as possible for the sake of Pauline.
After many questions on his part, and many replies on mine, I told him what she said with regard to Eugene. "I think she speaks truly there," exclaimed Frank eagerly. "I am convinced she never loved him. I mean as a suitor. I was almost sure of it at the time. She ought to be very thankful it has turned out so well for her."
"She is so," I replied. "She says, he is a very dear brother."
Here Joseph threw down his book, and taking his hat walked away from the house as if his very life depended upon his speed. The Doctor laughed heartily, as he exclaimed, "what an odd fellow Joseph is! I wonder what started him off on such a race. See there," he continued, approaching the window, "he is almost out of sight."
Pauline begged to be excused from coming down to tea; but stole quietly in as we were sitting talking in the moonlight. I hope she will feel better in the morning.
Wednesday, March 19th.
We were seated at the breakfast table this morning, when Ruth entered, bringing an exquisite bouquet, and saying with an expressive grin, "Here, Misse Pauline, dis bunch posies for you."
"Who brought them?" was eagerly asked by several voices. Franky took a French leave of the company and rushed down the street after the boy who had left them at the door. But he could not overtake him, and returned to join in the curiosity expressed on all sides, to know the donor of so tasteful a gift.
Ruth was questioned again and again, and asked to recollect if there was no message. But she kept firmly to her original story; "He laugh and say, he told, bring dat Misse Pauline; 'pears like he mighty pleased heself."
The bouquet was passed from one to another and was much admired. Joseph said, "whoever sent it might think himself well paid if he knew what a sensation it has caused."
When Pauline came to dinner she had selected a bright scarlet verbina with a few queen leaves and twined them around her dark tresses, which gave quite a glow to her pale countenance. I saw cousin look very earnestly at her as she was seated opposite him at table. The color deepened as she met his gaze, and this greatly added to her beauty.
Nelly has just run up from the parlor for me to go below. Monsieur Vinet has come with Adele. Now we shall leave Nice in a very few days.
Thursday, March 20th.
We are all of us charmed with Adele. She said she had heard Monsieur Morgan speak of us so often, she felt as if she were acquainted with us. When her countenance is in repose, which to be sure is very seldom, there is nothing about it to attract attention. But the moment she speaks, her whole face lights up, and there is a wonderful play of the features, which are ever changing their expression. She has handsome hair and eyes. She wears her hair in quite a unique style, being parted smoothly off her brow, and after being gathered, into a knot behind is worn like a coronet around her head. She is very graceful and fascinating; and we consider her an agreeable addition to our party.
When we came down to breakfast this morning, a vase was standing by Pauline's plate filled with flowers still fresh with the dew. As I stooped over them to inhale their fragrance, I saw a card among the leaves with the words "For the lovely Pauline, with the best wishes of a friend." The penmanship was delicate, like that of a lady; but we did not recognize it.
When Nelly explained the mystery connected with the flowers to Adele, she was quite enthusiastic upon the subject, and said gayly: "Oh! I do so love a mystery. It is so romantic. It is charming!" But she was unwearied in her efforts to unravel it. She first charged Eugene with being the donor, which charge he stoutly denied. Then she shook her finger at Joseph. "Ah, monsieur, you are the one. Now I'll call you to account for this piece of coquetry."
But Joseph only looked annoyed and said, "I have not left the house this morning."
After all had expressed an opinion, Pauline exclaimed, "I know who sent it."
"Who? who?" questioned Adele and Nelly, both at once.
"Mr. Percival, dear Mr. Percival," she answered with enthusiasm. I happened to meet Joseph's eye, which very much resembled the Joseph I knew in B——; but he instantly looked down and bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Saturday, March 22d.
The last two days have been spent by the young people in visiting for the last time all the favorite haunts and places of interest. Pauline's conduct is an enigma to me. Sometimes she appears very cheerful, and often when with Adele, I have heard her musical laugh ring through the house like a sweet toned bell; but it is a forced laugh, and is almost always followed by great sadness. To-day her appearance pleased me better than it had for a long time. I thought her more natural. But this evening she is worse than ever. From what Nelly told me to-night, I fear this state of her spirits is somewhat connected with Joseph. During their frequent rambles, Pauline has always clung closely to her brother's arm before they left the house, to prevent the possibility of walking with her cousin. But to-night I noticed that when they returned, Adele accompanied Eugene, and his sister had taken Joseph's arm, while Franky held his cousin by the hand. They were talking quite cheerfully as they approached the house. I thought Joseph gazed down upon his companion with something of the reverence with which he regarded her in former years.
But after tea, Pauline happened to go with Nelly into the school-room, and found Joseph sitting by the window with Adele. To use Nelly's words, "Cousin Joe was holding her hand in his, and she was crying. She said, 'oh! Monsieur, I can't indeed! I can't bear such treatment.' I was just going," Nelly continued, "to ask her what was the matter, but Pauline pulled me away."
"Where is Pauline?" I asked.
"She is in her room, mamma." I went to her door, but found it locked. This must not go on so. I am glad we are to leave here Monday morning.
Paris, Monday, March 31st.
The Doctor, Joseph and Eugene are planning excursions enough to last for a month. Adele, who resides with her uncle in this city, has promised to accompany the young people to all its places of interest. Indeed she has already begun to do so. Her uncle, who is also her guardian, is one of the firm where Joseph is a partner; and it is thus she has become acquainted with him. I have noticed that since Pauline saw Adele weeping in the school-room with Joseph, she has avoided her cousin more assiduously than ever. I am intending to renew some of my former acquaintances, while the others are sight-seeing.
Evening.
Pauline's bouquets have followed her to Paris. This evening she received a magnificent one. She said, "I am now fully convinced father procured them for me." I looked quickly at Frank, who only smiled.
"Oh! papa," said Pauline, throwing her arms about his neck with a natural burst of feeling, "I thank you so much. How very, very kind," and she kissed him affectionately. But the next moment with a convulsive sob she sank back into her chair and wept bitterly.
Joseph flew to her side, and leaning forward said, "Dear Pauline, how can I comfort you?"
Her father sent the children from the room, and took her tenderly on his knee, where, drawing her head to his breast, he whispered, "Pauline, my own dear child, cannot you tell your father the cause of your grief?"
I sat by her side while Joseph walked the room, stopping ever and anon as if about to speak, and then checking himself with difficulty. After a short time Pauline became more composed, so that she could speak, and she raised her eyes mournfully to her father's face as she said, "I forgot you were not my father, and I was so happy."
We were all much affected at the deep sadness of her tone, and Frank said, "Let us all forget it, my daughter. Your father loves you truly and tenderly;" and he pressed her in his arms as she lay like a child, hiding her face in his bosom.
Joseph could restrain himself no longer, but rushed forward and stooping down, took her unresisting hand. "Pauline, dearest Pauline, I cannot forget it, for the hour I learned that Eugene was your brother, was the happiest of my life. Won't you look at me, dearest, to show you forgive me?"
But the weeping girl clung to her father, while she absolutely shook with emotion.
Just at this moment, Adele burst into the room with very evident marks of excitement. Her eyes were much inflamed, and bore signs of excessive weeping. She walked quickly up to Joseph, and requested to see him alone.
Though evidently much annoyed, he led her into the next apartment, where we heard their voices in earnest conversation for a short time; then she wept aloud, and I could hear Joseph try to soothe her, and beg her to compose herself. Soon after, he left with her in the carriage which brought her to our hotel.
Frank looked much perplexed, and almost stern. Pauline wept so violently he feared the effect upon her. She sobbed out, "Oh, papa!" and pressed her hand to her heart. It was nearly an hour before we succeeded in getting the poor child to her chamber, and when I left her she promised to try to sleep. The Doctor is determined to wait for Joseph, and demand an explanation of his conduct, and as I am too excited to sleep, I have employed myself in writing.
Tuesday, April 1st.
After sitting up to receive Joseph, who occupies rooms at our hotel, until after two this morning, Frank retired to bed. I have rarely seen him more displeased. He says Joseph has trifled with Pauline's affections. I did not know what to think. I never saw anything in his conduct which led me to suppose he loved her.
We were dressing for breakfast when a servant brought the Doctor a note. It was from cousin, begging to see him as soon as possible. Frank followed the servant, instead of sending an answer; and you can easily imagine I awaited his return with no little impatience.
At length I went to see if Pauline were awake, and to my astonishment found her up and dressed. Her countenance was pensive; but she tried to smile as she came forward for her morning kiss.
We were hardly seated before her father knocked and begged me to accompany Pauline to the parlor. He appeared so pleased, I could easily see that Joseph had been able to explain his conduct satisfactorily. When we entered the parlor, Joseph came quickly forward to meet us. Pauline shrank back as if she wished to avoid the meeting; but Joseph spoke a few words in her ear. What they were, I have not been able to find out; but there must have been some kind of a charm about them, for the dear girl started and gazed earnestly at him, when she seemed to feel satisfied, and artlessly put her hand in his. After pressing the dear little treasure again and again to his lips, he led her forward to where I sat looking on with astonishment. "Cousin Cora," said he to me, "fifteen years ago I asked the hand of your daughter. Your husband has just now made me very happy by giving his consent. Will you give me yours?"
"You are making a very bold request," I replied, as I drew the blushing girl nearer to me. "What say you, my daughter, shall we encourage such a suit?" "Just as you please, mamma."
"No, my love, not just as I please. You must speak for yourself." Joseph had thrown himself on one knee before us, and having made a prisoner of her little hand, he poured out all the story of his love—the agony he had experienced when he visited Nice and found her affianced to Eugene, and the many, many doubts and fears he had felt on account of her cold manner toward him.
The poor girl trembled excessively, and when he ceased, seemed absolutely unable to reply. He started to his feet and said, "O! Pauline, beloved of my soul, can you, will you accept my love?"
Making a great effort, she said in a very low voice, "I do love you, dear Joseph." I could hardly distinguish the words; but I suppose the old saying is true, "for lovers' eyes are sharp to see and lovers' ears to hear," for the loving Joseph appeared fully to hear and appreciate her meaning, and was by no means sparing of his thanks on the occasion. I took the first opportunity to leave the room, though Pauline was almost frightened at the ardor of her lover, and clung to my dress, as I attempted to pass her.
The Doctor has explained to me what appeared strange in the conduct of our cousin, especially as connected with Adele. Her history I will give you in a few words. She was left when a child to the guardianship of her uncle. Being quite an heiress, he wished her to make what he called a great match. But Mademoiselle, whose wishes had never been crossed—whose slightest whim had been law to the whole household, had fallen in love with a young man whose only inheritance was a heart full of warm and generous impulses, united to a strength of determined purpose, which would in the end surmount all obstacles in his path, to riches and honor. All the wealth of his affections he had lavished upon the charming Adele, and she fully reciprocated the attachment. But Monsieur Vinet, her guardian, was very much enraged when the young and ardent lover asked the hand of his niece, and positively refused his consent. It was this which had caused him to send her for a time to his brother near Nice, in the hope that absence would dissolve their foolish fondness. Joseph had been made a confidant by each of the parties; and it was a letter addressed to him by Monsieur Couvier that had so distressed Adele while at Nice. It was a short postscript in relation to this subject which had so much disturbed cousin, when Franky commenced reading the letter aloud.
The crisis of her troubles which had occurred at a time so unfortunate for poor Pauline, was caused in the following manner. Adele, driven almost to despair by the inflexibility of her guardian, determined to make an appeal to him in her own behalf. She had thrown herself at his feet, and with all the enthusiasm of her impulsive nature, had begged his consent to her union with the one she loved. She offered to give up to him all her property, and in everything else, to be all that he could desire. Monsieur Vinet really loved his niece after his own fashion, and could not be made to understand why she should prefer a man so poorly endowed by fortune, to one who, though of doubtful morals, and questionable virtue, yet was of noble birth and princely estate.
Having sued in vain for his consent, and being in her violent grief wholly unmindful of appearances, she had driven to our hotel to beg Joseph to intercede for her. I need not stop to detail all that followed. Suffice it to say that his influence, added to the distressing agony of Adele which she took no pains to control or to conceal, at length prevailed, and Joseph had the pleasure before he left them of feeling that he had been the means of securing happiness to two otherwise distracted hearts.
Wednesday, April 2d.
This morning the mystery connected with the bouquets has been revealed. After receiving her morning gift from the hands of the servant, Pauline gracefully went to her father, and thanked him for giving her so much pleasure.
Frank looked archly at Joseph, who quickly dropped his eyes, to conceal the look of merriment which begins to show itself. "Thank you, my daughter," Frank said, returning the kiss, "but I rather think you've bestowed it on the wrong person."
Pauline started, while a beautiful rosy hue spread all over her face, and gave one eager glance at her lover.
I saw it was with great difficulty that Joseph restrained himself from pressing her to his heart; but he bent lovingly over her little hand, and said something in a low, yet impassioned voice. If he intended to drive away her blushes, he was unfortunate in his choice of words, for they only deepened.
My husband and I have been talking over the whole of this novel courtship from beginning to end, and I feel quite humbled as I am obliged to come to the conclusion that, while Joseph for fifteen years has never wavered in his affection for Pauline, who, he says, first awakened him to a sense of his responsibility as a man and a Christian, I, who have always prided myself upon my shrewdness in matters of the heart, have been blind as a bat. We expect to be with you on the twenty-second instant.