By the time Laura had completed the perusal of these poems, Rosalie reappeared: and the arch smile which the pretty lady’s-maid wore, seemed to indicate that success had crowned the task that had been entrusted to her.

“What tidings have you for me?” asked Laura.

“I think, mademoiselle, that you may safely reckon upon beholding Mr. Charles Hatfield, together with two or three of his comrades in the Grand Duke’s suite, in the Champs Elysées between four and five o’clock. But do not wait to ask me my reasons for giving you this assurance,” added Rosalie, hastily: “it is nearly three o’clock, mademoiselle—and you must think of your toilette.”

“Excellent Rosalie!” ejaculated Laura: “how deeply I am indebted to you for your proceedings in my behalf!”

Thus speaking, she repaired to her bed-chamber, whither the French abigail followed; and then the toilette commenced.

At about a quarter to four o’clock, Laura emerged from her private apartment, and descended to her carriage which was waiting for her. The equipage then moved rapidly away towards the Champs Elysées.

Glorious was the afternoon—and queen-like in her beauty was Laura Mortimer!

Contrary to her usual custom, she had her hair dressed in ringlets, which in a luxuriant shower framed her splendid countenance. There was a flush of health, heightened by her own heart’s emotions, on either cheek: but, by the admirable control which she was enabled to exercise over her features, her countenance was serene, and her eyes shone not with a lustre unmellowed by feminine softness. She reclined back in her carriage, in a species of half-voluptuous lassitude and abandonment; but every change of posture was characterised with an elegance of motion that might be denominated poetic.

The equipage and its appointments were in the best possible taste; and the liveries of the coachman and attendant footman were plain and neat, not glaring and obtrusive. Altogether, the “turn-out” was that which a well-bred person, who knew the distinction between elegant simplicity and gaudy ostentation, was likely to possess.

The principal drive in the Champs Elysées was crowded to excess: seldom was there seen such a quantity of carriages or such a number of gentlemen on horseback. The foot-ways were likewise thronged with loungers and with ladies enjoying the afternoon’s promenade.

Laura’s carriage speedily fell into the line of vehicles proceeding in the same direction;—and now its progress was slow. This was just what she wished: for not only was the multitude enabled to obtain a better view of her—but she likewise had more leisure to watch for the appearance of him whom she expected to behold amidst the gay throng. Thus both her vanity and her convenience were successfully consulted at the same time.

Her patience was not put to a very lengthy nor severe test: for, scarcely had her carriage reached the mid-way point in the splendid avenue, when her keen glance signalled out the object of her thoughts from amidst the loungers on foot. Yes—there indeed was Charles Hatfield—proceeding at a short distance in advance of the carriage, and in the same direction. The critical moment was now almost at hand—and, though Laura’s countenance still maintained its serenity, her heart palpitated with violence. While, too, she seemed to be reclining back in her carriage with a graceful ease which we might almost denominate an elegant languor,—and while she now more completely shaded herself with her parasol,—her eyes were fixed steadily and even intently in one direction.

“Yes—he has two friends with him,” she said to herself: “they are all three in plain clothes—or rather, in mourning—doubtless for the father-in-law of their illustrious master.”

Scarcely had these thoughts flashed through Laura’s brain, when Charles and his two companions stopped—turned round—and gazed up and down the avenue for a few moments: then they interchanged some observations, and pursued their way.

Charles had not noticed Laura;—but she had caught more than a partial glimpse of his face. During the quarter of a minute that her eyes were fixed upon him, she had as it were devoured him with that earnest gaze. It was not love,—no—-and it was not hate; but it was a species of ravenous longing to decypher his thoughts through the medium of his countenance. And she saw that he was pale and pensive—but also strikingly handsome: indeed, at that moment Laura fancied his manly beauty had never before seemed so perfect in her eyes—and it was with difficulty that she repressed the sigh which rose almost to her lips.

A few minutes elapsed—and still the procession of carriages moved on in the broad straight road; and the tide of loungers on foot rolled along the pathway. The distance between Laura and the object of her thoughts was gradually diminishing; and almost immediately her carriage would overtake him and his companions. Again they turned—these three gentlemen—and looked up and down; and this time Laura rapidly scanned Hatfield’s two friends. They were also young men of fine figure and attractive looks: natives of Castelcicala, they had the dark Italian complexion and the fine Italian eyes;—and as they wore moustaches, their appearance was more military than that of Charles. But they were not so handsome as he;—at least Laura thought so—and she was doubtless right.

The critical moment was now at hand: the carriage overtook Hatfield and his Italian companions—and it was just passing them, when Laura perceived that she was suddenly recognised by her husband. He started—stopped short—and kept his eyes fixed upon her, as if doubting their evidence; while his two friends, excited by his strange manner, looked also in the same direction and at the same object; and their gaze was likewise rivetted immediately upon the beauteous woman whose transcendent charms they naturally supposed to have produced such an effect on their companion. With a glance keen and rapid as lightning, Laura perceived that she was the idol of attention on the part of her husband and his two Italian friends, though the latter dreamt not that she was even known by name to Charles Hatfield: and while the eyes of all three were thus intently fixed upon her, her parasol suddenly escaped from her hand and fell within a few paces of the young men,—unobserved by the footman standing behind the carriage.

Of the two Castelcicalan officers, one was taller and more classically handsome than the other: and it was he that now darted forward to snatch up the parasol and restore it to its charming owner. So admirably had Laura managed the dropping of the parasol, that it had all the appearance of an accident to every one who observed the circumstance—save Charles Hatfield: and, quickly as the powder explodes after the match has been applied to it, did the conviction flash to his brain that the occurrence was intentional on the part of Laura. Al the same instant it struck him that never—never before had she appeared so marvellously beautiful—never so transcendently lovely as she now was,—with the flush of a gentle excitement upon her cheeks—her hair dressed in a style that he most admired—her pearly teeth partly revealed between the roses of her lips—her toilette so elegant and chaste, and setting off her splendid form to its greatest advantage—and her attitude so classically graceful, as she leant forward to receive the parasol that the handsome Castelcicalan now restored to her, after having carefully brushed off the dust with his white cambric handkerchief.

A thousand—thousand conflicting thoughts passed through the brain of Charles Hatfield during the few seconds that had elapsed from the escape of the parasol from her hand until its restoration by the Italian:—he saw his wife more beautiful than ever he had conceived her to be even when he was accustomed to worship her image—he remembered the witchery of her ways and the melting music of her voice—the joys he had experienced in her arms on the marriage night rushed to his mind—and as his eyes dwelt perforce upon the rich contours of her bust, he recollected that his head had been pillowed and his hand had wandered voluptuously there!

At the moment that Laura dropped her parasol, the carriage stopped, and she affected to perceive Charles Hatfield for the first time; and for a single instant she appeared struck by surprise and uncertain how to act:—then, immediately afterwards, she averted her eyes from him, and bent them on the handsome Castelcicalan who had sprung forward to recover the parasol. She purposely composed her countenance and modelled her behaviour, so that her husband should be left in a state of utter uncertainty and bewilderment as to what was passing in her mind, at least in regard to himself:—but when the Italian approached the carriage, took off his hat, and with a low bow, presented the parasol which he had so gallantly dusted with his cambric handkerchief, Laura bestowed so sweet a smile and so tender a look on the handsome foreigner, that the direst rage which jealousy can know was excited in a moment in the breast of Charles Hatfield.

A rapid glance—unseen even by her husband himself—made Laura aware of the effect produced upon him by her deportment towards the Castelcicalan; and the joy of a proud triumph filled her heart.

“I thank you, sir,” she said in French to the Italian gentleman;—for she had already learnt more than enough of the language to be enabled to give utterance to that common phrase;—and, as she spoke, she again smiled sweetly, though not in a manner which might be construed into indelicate encouragement.

Her husband caught the words that were addressed to the handsome foreigner, and also marked the smile that accompanied them; and, as the music of that voice flowed upon his ear, and the witchery of that smile met his gaze, his countenance became absolutely livid with the emotions that rent his soul.

“Beautiful lady,” said the Castelcicalan, enchanted by the condescending manner of the lovely woman, who was agreeably surprised and much delighted to hear him address her with the utmost facility in the English language,—“you have deigned to thank me for a thing so trivial that I am ashamed to merit your notice upon so slight a ground. Would that an opportunity could arise for so humble an individual as myself to perform some deed that might deserve your approval—and win your gratitude,” added the Italian, sinking his voice to a low tone.

“I know not, signor,” replied Laura, satisfying herself with another rapid glance that Charles Hatfield was still gazing with jealous fury upon this scene,—“I know not, signor,” she said, with all the witchery of tone and manner that she could summon to her aid, “how I can sufficiently thank you for the courteous behaviour which you demonstrate towards me. At the same time, I need scarcely be astonished at such chivalrous gallantry on your part—for, if I mistake not, you belong to that fine Italian clime which I shortly intend to visit.”

The young Castelcicalan gazed with the enthusiasm of adoration up into the enchanting countenance that was bending over him; and he felt as if he could have cheerfully consented to yield up the ten last years of his life to purchase the enjoyment of pressing his lips to the small plump mouth which looked redder than the rose moistened with the dew of morning.

“Oh! is it possible,” he exclaimed, in a joyous tone, “that you purpose to honour my native land with your presence! Be assured, lady,” he continued, “that if you visit Montoni, the Castelcicalan capital, you will become the object of a perfect idolatry.”

“Then should I do well to remain in France, signor—rather than lead your nation into such a crime,” said Laura, laughing gaily: and the rapid glance which she darted towards her husband convinced her that he was enduring the torments of the damned—torments which were increasing in proportion as she seemed to grow on more friendly terms with the young Italian officer.

“I should be wretched indeed, beauteous lady,” said he, in reply to her last observation, “did I think that any inconsiderate remark from my lips could deter you from carrying into effect a purpose already settled in your mind. Neither,” he added, with a sigh, “am I vain enough to suppose myself to be of sufficient importance to sway you in one way or another.”

“Nor am I vain enough to take in any sense save as a compliment the flattering observation you made just now relative to the reception I might expect at Montoni;”—and as Laura uttered these words, she cast down her eyes and blushed slightly.

The dialogue between the Castelcicalan and herself had been carried on in a low tone, and was therefore totally inaudible to the other Italian and Charles Hatfield, who were gazing, but with very different feelings, on the lovely woman. Neither had the conversation occupied one tenth part of the time which we have consumed in detailing it;—and in the interval, the carriages originally behind that of Laura, had passed hers by, so that the stoppage of her equipage caused no obstruction. The tide of pedestrian loungers was likewise still flowing on—there being nothing singular nor unusual in the fact of a gentleman on foot paying his respects to a lady who rode in her carriage.

But while the multitude, generally, saw naught peculiar in the scene which we are describing, it was nevertheless one of deep interest. By the carriage door stood the young Castelcicalan officer, his heart throbbing with the ineffable emotions which the wondrous beauty of Laura had excited, as it were by the wave of an enchanter’s wand;—in the vehicle itself sate the syren—bending forward towards that handsome foreigner as if she were already interested in him, though in reality she experienced not the slightest sensual feeling in his favour—other considerations occupying her thoughts:—at a little distance stood the other Italian officer, gazing upon her with an admiration which he could not conceal, and envying his comrade the privilege which a lucky accident had given him to address the houri;—and there also was Charles Hatfield—ghastly pale, his limbs trembling convulsively, and his lips white and quivering with rage.

Yes: terrible—terrible were the feelings which Laura’s husband experienced for the six or eight minutes that this scene lasted. There was a woman whose beauty excited universal admiration,—a woman in all the splendour of female loveliness;—and this woman was his wife—his own wedded wife,—a wife whom he could rush forward and claim in a moment, if he chose! And that woman was now coquetting before his eyes—coquetting with a studied purpose to annoy him. Oh! he could understand it all,—the means which had been adopted to induce him and his two companions to proceed to the Champs Elysées at that hour—the pretended accident of the parasol—and the smiles and tender looks which Laura now bestowed upon one who was entirely a stranger to her:—yes—all, all was now clear to Charles Hatfield,—and he was on the point of springing forward—not to catch Laura to his breast and claim her as his spouse—but to upbraid and expose her,—when he suddenly recollected that a portion of the agreement entered into between his father and her, was to the effect that she likewise was to be secure against molestation or recognition on his part, as well as he on hers. This reminiscence compelled the unhappy young man to restrain his feelings; and as he was forced to subdue his ire, his jealousy only became the more painful, because it required a vent of some kind or another. He writhed—he positively writhed before her eyes;—and now he was humiliated as well as tortured to such an intolerable degree!

Laura had cast down her looks and had called up a blush to her smooth cheeks, when she made to the handsome Castelcicalan the remark that we have last recorded: but almost immediately afterwards she raised her countenance again, and smiling with an archness so enchantingly sweet that it would have moved the rigid features of an octogenarian anchorite to admiration, she said: “At all events, signor, should I visit Montoni in the course of this summer, my stay would be very short—for I purpose to become a great traveller, and to travel very rapidly also. To-morrow I set out for Vienna.”

“Vienna!” repeated the Castelcicalan, in astonishment. “Surely Paris possesses greater attractions than the cold, dull, formal Austrian capital?”

“Oh! of that I must judge for myself,” exclaimed Laura, laughing—at the same time showing by her manner that she thought their conversation had lasted long enough.

The young Italian was too well-bred to attempt to detain her: but it was nevertheless with evident reluctance that he stepped back from the carriage-door and raised his hat in farewell salutation. Laura inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgment of his courtesy, and the vehicle drove on rapidly, the way before it being now comparatively clear.

Oh! what triumph was in her heart, as she threw herself back in the carriage and reflected upon all the incidents of the scene that had just occurred,—a scene which had not occupied ten minutes, and which had nevertheless stirred up so many and such varied feelings! Her vanity had been gratified by the homage paid to her beauty; and her malignity had for the time been assuaged by the contemplation of the almost mortal agonies endured by her husband. She had asserted the empire of her charms over even the very heart that ought to cherish hatred against her: she had inspired with the maddest jealousy the soul that was bound to think of her with loathing and abhorrence. She felt all the pride of a woman wielding a sceptre more despotic than that of a queen,—a sceptre which was as a magic wand in her hand, casting spells upon even those who detested, as well as those who admired her!

CHAPTER CLXIII.
LAURA AND ROSALIE.

Yes—it was a great triumph for Laura Mortimer,—a triumph all the greater, inasmuch as she knew that the agitation and rage of her husband could not speedily pass away; and that, when his friends had leisure to observe his emotions and seek an explanation, he would not dare to afford them any!

She had, moreover, made statements to the young Castelcicalan which he would doubtless repeat to Charles Hatfield, whom they were well calculated to mystify relative to her future proceedings; for the reader scarcely requires to be told that she had not the slightest intention to repair to Vienna nor to visit Italy.

In every respect she had ample reason to be well satisfied with the results of the scheme she had devised in the morning and so effectually carried out in the afternoon,—a scheme so wild and having so many thousand chances against its success, that none save the intrepid, resolute, far-seeing Laura could have possibly hoped to conduct it to a triumphant issue.

Having proceeded to the end of the avenue, she ordered the coachman to retrace his way and return home;—but she was not destined to reach the Rue Monthabor without experiencing another adventure, which may for the moment seem trivial, but which was nevertheless destined to exercise no mean amount of influence upon her future career.

As the carriage was emerging from the Champs Elysées, two gentlemen on horseback, just entering the fashionable lounge, were about to pass by, when one of them, recognising Laura, suddenly pulled up and made her a low bow. She immediately ordered the carriage to stop; for it was her courteous and obliging friend the professor of music, who had thus saluted her—and she was anxious to express to him the delight she had experienced from a perusal of the translations he had sent to her the preceding evening. After the exchange of the usual complimentary remarks, the professor, turning towards his companion, said, “My lord, permit me to introduce you to one of my fair pupils—my fairest pupil, I should rather observe,” he added, in a good-tempered manner: “Miss Laura Mortimer—the Marquis of Delmour.”

Laura was startled for an instant at finding her music-master in such aristocratic society; and as she inclined gracefully in acknowledgment of the nobleman’s courteous salutation, she observed that his lordship was an elderly, if not actually an old man, but that his countenance was far from disagreeable.

A brief conversation ensued; and although the marquis had no opportunity of speaking more than a dozen words, and even those on common topic Laura nevertheless saw enough of him to be convinced that his manners were of polished elegance, and that his disposition was frank and unassuming.

It was not therefore without emotions of secret pleasure that she heard herself thus addressed by the professor of music:—

“Miss Mortimer, his lordship, and myself, are old acquaintances, and he permits me to call him my friend. His lordship will honour my humble abode with his presence, to-morrow, evening: there will be a musical soirée of the same unpretending kind as that which you yourself graced with your company the evening before last. My wife will doubtless send you the formal card; but may I in a less ceremonial fashion, solicit you to favour us with your presence?”

Laura signified the pleasure she should experience in accepting the invitation; and all the time she was listening to the professor and replying to him, she had the agreeable consciousness that the marquis was gazing upon her with an admiration which he could not repress. She however affected not to be in the slightest degree aware that she was undergoing such an impassioned survey; and when she turned towards his lordship to make the parting bow, it was with the formal reserve and yet graceful dignity of a lady to whom a stranger has only just been introduced.

The carriage rolled on in one direction—the horsemen pursued their way in another;—and while the Marquis of Delmour was putting innumerable questions to his friend relative to the houri whom they had thus met, Laura was on her side resolving that Rosalie should without delay institute all possible inquiries respecting the position, fortune, and character of that nobleman.

We should here remind the reader that the professor of music was a man eminent in his special sphere, of high respectability, and great moral worth; and, moreover, he was a native of a country where talent is prized and looked up to, instead of being merely tolerated and looked down upon. It is not, therefore, extraordinary if we find him moving in the best society, and having his entertainments attended by the elite of the residents or visitors in the gay city of Paris.

On her return home to her splendid apartments in the Rue Monthabor, Laura was immediately waited upon by her lady’s-maid; and while the mistress was changing her attire in preparation for dinner, the dependant explained the means by which she had induced Charles Hatfield and the two Italian officers in the suite of the Grand Duke to repair to the Champs Elysées in company, and at the hour specified by Laura.

“When you first mentioned your desire to me this morning, mademoiselle,” began Rosalie, “I must confess that I was somewhat embarrassed how to accomplish the scheme; although I did not despair. But when I saw the paragraph in the paper, and ascertained the hotel at which the Grand Duke and his suite had taken up their temporary abode, I suddenly remembered that a day or two ago I met a young woman who had formerly been my fellow-servant, and that she was now filling a situation in that very hotel. This circumstance inspired me with a hope of success; and we Frenchwomen look upon an intrigue as being as good as carried successfully out, when it affords a hope to encourage us. Therefore did I promise you so confidently; and I lost no time in proceeding to the hotel. I soon found my friend, who is a chamber-maid there; and I told her just sufficient—without, however, mentioning your name or even alluding to you, mademoiselle—to induce her to afford me her assistance. Some of the officers of the Grand Duke’s suite were lounging in the court-yard of the hotel at the time; and my friend pointed them out to me one by one, naming each as she proceeded. I resolved to choose the two youngest and handsomest to be Mr. Charles Hatfield’s companions, mademoiselle; because,” continued Rosalie, with an arch smile, “I tolerably well understood the entire nature of the project which you had in contemplation.”

“You are marvellously sharp-witted and keen-sighted, Rosalie,” said Laura, laughing good-humouredly. “But pray proceed. What step did you adopt next, after having thus passed the Grand Duke’s suite in a review of which they were however unconscious?”

“I must confess, mademoiselle,” resumed Rosalie, “that I was somewhat puzzled how to act. But suddenly an idea struck me; and, however ridiculous the plan may now appear to you, your own lips can proclaim whether it succeeded or not. In fact, I calculated upon the romantic disposition which the Italians are known to possess; and I also reflected that as Mr. Charles Hatfield, whom I likewise saw at the hotel (though he saw not me) appeared pensive and thoughtful, he would embark in any adventure that promised to wean his thoughts from their melancholy mood, and that offered some excitement of a novel character. I accordingly penned a note, addressed to Mr. Charles Hatfield, Captain Barthelma, and Lieutenant Di Ponta——”

“What is the name of the taller and handsomer of the two officers who accompanied Charles?” asked Laura, with a slight kindling of sensual feeling as she recalled to mind the pleasing features of the Italian who had picked up her parasol, and with whom she had exchanged the few complimentary observations already recorded.

“That one is Captain Barthelma,” answered Rosalie.

“Proceed,” said Laura. “You were telling me that you penned a note——”

“To the three gentlemen collectively,” added the lady’s-maid;—“and, as nearly as I can remember, the contents ran thus:—‘To Mr. Charles Hatfield, Captain Barthelma, and Lieutenant Di Ponta, an unhappy Spanish refugee ventures to address himself, having certain excellent reasons for being well aware that they will not refuse to listen to his sad tale, and interest themselves in his behalf. But as he is an object of suspicion to the French government, he dares not make his appearance at the hotel where a prince, who is known to be the redresser of wrongs, has taken up his abode. He will therefore walk this afternoon, from four to five, on the right hand of the central avenue of the Champs Elysées; and if the three gentlemen to whom he now addresses his humble but earnest application, will be at the place and time appointed, the unhappy writer of this petition will make himself known to them—will explain his business frankly—and will indicate the means by which he can be restored to wealth and happiness. Those means consist in one word which it will be for His Sovereign Highness the Grand Duke to speak, and which can only be spoken at the instigation of the three gentlemen to whom this letter is addressed.’”

“Upon my word, I give you credit for your stratagem!” exclaimed Laura, laughing heartily. “I have no doubt that Charles sees through it now: but he will not dare to give any explanations to his friends,” she added, in a musing tone. “They will imagine that they have been duped by some humorous person—and he will affect to fall into the same way of thinking.”

“Or else the two Italian gentlemen will suppose that the poor refugee was prevented, by some misadventure, from keeping the appointment,” observed Rosalie, now giving way to her mirth to such a degree that the tears came into her eyes.

“Well—make an end of your story,” said Laura, who had nearly completed her toilette; for, although she expected no one that evening, she nevertheless made it a rule to dress herself with the utmost care in case of a visit on the part of any of those persons whose acquaintance she had recently formed.

“I have little more to tell you, mademoiselle, responded Rosalie. “My friend, the chambermaid, left the note, which was duly sealed and properly addressed to the three gentlemen, upon the table of Captain Barthelma’s private apartment; and soon afterwards that officer went to his room. I waited at the hotel in the hope of ascertaining the effect that the billet would produce; and in a short time the captain returned in haste to his companions, who were still lounging in the court-yard—some of them giving directions to their grooms, and others smoking cigars. From the window of my friend’s chamber, I beheld Captain Barthelma draw Mr. Charles Hatfield and Lieutenant Di Ponta aside, and show them the letter. They evidently perused it with great attention; and I felt assured by their manner that they treated the affair seriously. I now requested my friend to hurry down stairs, and traverse the yard as if in pursuance of her avocations—but to pass as near the little group as possible, and endeavour to catch any remarks that they might be exchanging at the moment. This she did; and she heard quite enough to convince her that the appointment would be kept. I then retraced my way homeward, and was happy in being able to give you the assurance, mademoiselle, that your wishes would be fully gratified so far as the result depended upon me.”

“You are a good girl, Rosalie,” said Laura; “and I shall not be unmindful of the service you have thus rendered me. But I now require your aid in another matter——”

“Speak, my dear lady: I am entirely at your disposal,” observed the dependant, who, in proportion as she obtained a farther insight into the character of her mistress, felt the more certain of reaping a fine harvest of rewards, bribes, and hush-money.

“There is in Paris at this moment an English nobleman concerning whom I am desirous that you should obtain as much information as you can possibly glean, without creating any suspicion or in any way compromising me. I allude to the Marquis of Delmour,” continued Laura: “but I know not where he is residing; nor can I offer the least suggestion to guide you in instituting your inquiries.”

“Leave all that to me, mademoiselle,” said Rosalie.

“There is no time to be lost,” observed Laura, “this evening, or in the course of to-morrow, must I have the information which I seek.”

“I am not in the habit of letting the grass grow beneath my feet,” replied the French dependant, with an arch smile. “The moment you have sat down to dinner, mademoiselle, I will sally forth; and should I not return until a somewhat late hour——”

“No matter,” interrupted Laura: “I shall know that you are employed in my interests. Unless, indeed,” she added, laughing, “you possess a lover whose company may prove more agreeable to you than the task with which I have entrusted you.”

“I have no lover in Paris—at present, mademoiselle,” observed Rosalie.

“Then you admit that you have had a lover in your life-time?” said Laura.

“Oh! certainly, mademoiselle,” exclaimed the pretty Frenchwoman: “and—to speak candidly—I could not without some trouble reckon the number of those who have proclaimed themselves my admirers.”

“The name of your lovers is Legion, then?” cried Laura, again laughing: but it was the natural sensuality of her disposition which impelled her thus to interrogate her servant;—for a licentious woman experiences a voluptuous enjoyment in learning that another is as amorously inclined or as downright abandoned as herself. And now that Laura’s spite against Charles Hatfield was for the time appeased, and she had leisure to ponder upon the handsome countenance and elegant figure of Captain Barthelma, her imagination was becoming inflamed, and wanton ideas and aspirations rose up in her brain.

“Oh! mademoiselle,” exclaimed Rosalie, with an archness of expression that made her countenance particularly interesting at the moment; “you must think me very vain and very silly for having made the remark which fell so inconsiderately from my lips!”

“Not at all,” observed Laura: “you are pretty enough to have captivated many hearts. And now tell me, my dear girl—have you passed through such an ordeal without leaving your virtue behind? Be frank and candid: I wish to know you thoroughly, that I may determine how far I can trust you.”

“I dare say, mademoiselle, that you can form a tolerably accurate guess in that respect,” said Rosalie, in a low tone and with a blushing countenance. “Were I to tell you that I am pure and chaste, you would not believe me, mademoiselle—and—and, you would be right.”

“Suppose, then, that you had suddenly conceived a great fancy for a very handsome young man, Rosalie?” said Laura, her bosom heaving voluptuously as she gradually approached the aim and object of the present conversation.

“I should take care to let him perceive that if he chose to solicit, it would not be in vain,” answered Rosalie, who already comprehended that her mistress was not giving the discourse this turn without some definite end in view.

“And you would be deeply grateful,” continued Laura, in a low but significant tone, “to any friend who might assist you in the management of the intrigue?”

“Decidedly, mademoiselle” replied the Frenchwoman: “the more so that I myself should delight in rendering my aid when and where the services of so humble a being as I am could prove available.”

“Those services may be made available this very evening,” said Laura, a voluptuous glow spreading over her fine countenance, while her eyes became soft and melting in expression. “You must aid me, Rosalie, in gratifying an ardent longing which has sprung up within my bosom during the last few minutes, and which I may vainly struggle to subdue. But the intrigue requires so much delicate management——”

“I can anticipate all you would say, mademoiselle,” interrupted Rosalie: then, in a significant tone, she added, “Captain Barthelma is decidedly one of the handsomest men I ever saw in my life.”

“You have conjectured rightly,” said Laura; “you have penetrated my thoughts! Can you—will you serve me in the gratification of this caprice of mine? But, remember—I must not be compromised in respect to a living soul save Barthelma and yourself.”

“You know, mademoiselle, that you can trust to my fidelity, my sagacity, and my prudence,” said Rosalie. “At what hour shall the handsome Italian visit you?”

“At nine—this evening,” answered Laura: then referring to her watch, she added, “It is already six—and you have plenty of work upon your hands!”

“I will neglect nothing,” observed the lady’s-maid, in a tone of confidence. “Would it not be prudent to send the cook out of the way for the evening? For as the men-servants are on board-wages and sleep elsewhere, and the cook is therefore the only dependant who could possibly observe your proceedings, mademoiselle——”

“I leave all this to you, Rosalie,” interrupted Laura;—“and now we have nothing more to say to each other for the present. Order the dinner to be served up at once—and then must you hasten to fulfil the commissions with which you are charged.”

Having thus given her parting instructions, Laura repaired to the dining-room, where an elegant repast was speedily spread upon the table; and a glass of sparkling champagne soon enhanced the brilliancy of the voluptuous woman’s eyes, and heightened the rich glow that suffused her countenance.

When the meal was over, a choice dessert was served up; and Laura was now left alone.

She was almost sorry that she had gone so far in respect to the intrigue which was to bring the handsome Castelcicalan to her arms: she had admitted Rosalie too deeply into her confidence—placed herself too completely in the power of her dependant. Even while she was conversing with the wily Frenchwoman, she perceived and felt all this;—but her sensuality triumphed over her prudence—her lascivious temperament carried her on with a force which she could not resist, much less subdue.

“And, after all,” she now reasoned to herself, “wherefore should I not follow my inclinations in this respect? I am free to act according to the impulse of my passions and the prompting of my desires. The night that I passed with Charles—that one night of love and bliss—has revived those ardent longings, those burning thoughts that demand gratification. Besides, Rosalie will be trustworthy so long as she is well paid; and I shall take care to keep her purse well filled. Sooner or later she must have obtained a complete insight into my character: why not, then, at once as well as hereafter? And the more firmly I bind her to my interests, the less shall I need the services of my crafty, selfish old mother. Would that I could manage my affairs and execute my plans without my parent’s aid altogether! And who knows but that even this consummation may be reached? Something tells me that the Marquis of Delmour and I shall yet be more intimately acquainted. He is old—but that is of little consequence. Wealth and a proud position are my aims—and I care not by what means they are acquired. Oh! the happiness of possessing such beauty as that wherewith I am endowed,—a beauty which can never fail to crown me with triumph in all my schemes!—in all my projects!”

She now regarded her watch, and discovered that it was eight o’clock.

“In another hour he will be here,” she thought within herself; and her bosom heaved voluptuously. “Yes—in another hour that handsome Italian will be in my presence—at least, if Rosalie fulfil her task with her wonted sagacity and prudence. What will he think of me? Oh! let him entertain any opinion that he may: I will bind him to secrecy by the most solemn oaths—and I read enough in his countenance to convince me that he is a man of honour!”

In this strain did the lovely but wanton creature pursue her reflections, until it was nearly nine o’clock.

She then rose from her seat, and repaired to the kitchen, which was on the same floor as her suite of apartments. The cook was not there; and Laura was consequently satisfied that Rosalie had not forgotten the precaution herself had suggested.

The syren now proceeded to the drawing-room, where with her own fair hands she arranged wine, fruits, and cakes upon the table. She then drew the curtains over the window, lighted the wax candles upon the mantel, and scattered drops of delicious perfume upon the carpet and the drapery.

Scarcely were these preparations completed, when the bell of the outer door of the suite rang as if pulled by a somewhat impatient hand; and Laura hastened to answer the summons.

She opened the door—and Captain Barthelma, the handsome Castelcicalan, appeared upon the threshold.

“Is it possible that this can be true!” he exclaimed, his joy amounting to a delirious excitement as his eyes fell upon the heroine of the afternoon’s adventure in the Champs Elysées.

Laura smiled archly as she placed her finger upon her lip to impose silence, at least until he should have entered her abode; and, having closed the door carefully, she conducted him into the drawing-room.

CHAPTER CLXIV.
LAURA’S AMOUR.

Seating herself upon the sofa, Laura motioned the Italian to place himself by her side—an invitation which he obeyed with a species of enthusiastic alacrity. But all the time he was unable to take his eyes off her—as if he still doubted whether it were indeed a fact that his good fortune had conducted him into the presence of her whose image had never once been absent from his mind since he first beheld her that afternoon in the Champs Elysées.

“Is it possible?” he again ejaculated, after a few minutes’ silence. “The young woman promised me that if I were discreet, I might expect the happiness of meeting you—yes, you, sweetest lady—again: but I confess that I doubted her—and I came that I might not throw away a chance of felicity, rather than in the sanguine hope of attaining it.”

“And, when you have leisure for reflection” said Laura, casting down her eyes and blushing, “you will despise me for my imprudence—my indelicacy of conduct in thus sending to invite a stranger to visit me.”

“Adorable woman!” exclaimed the impassioned Italian; “I shall think of you with gratitude—with devotion—with love,—and never lightly. Oh! be assured of that!”—and, seizing her hand, he conveyed it to his lips, and covered it with kisses.

“Nevertheless, you must be surprised at my boldness in directing my servant to seek you, and to make this appointment with you,” pursued Laura, her bosom heaving so as almost to burst from its confinement, as she felt the warm mouth of the Castelcicalan glued to the hand which she did not attempt to withdraw.

“I am only surprised at my own happiness,” observed the young officer. “Sweetest Laura—for I now know your name—tell me how I have thus been deemed worthy of a favour of which a prince might envy me the enjoyment!”

“An accident threw us together for a few minutes this afternoon,” said Laura; “and I was struck by your personal appearance—your manners—your conversation——”

“And, oh! how profoundly was I impressed by the magic of your beauty, Laura!” interrupted the ardent Italian; “how earnestly I longed to hear once more the music of that melodious voice—to look again into the depths of those magnificent eyes—to contemplate that glorious countenance—that admirable form;—and now—oh! now the desire is realised—and no human language has words powerful enough to convey to you an idea of the happiness which I experience at this moment!”

As he thus spoke he threw his arms around her waist, and drew her towards him.

“Charming creature!” he exclaimed, after a few moments’ pause, during which he gazed upon her with a rapture which can only be conceived and not explained: “how can I make thee comprehend the extent of my love—my adoration—my worship? I have travelled much—have seen beauties of all climes and of all varieties of loveliness;—but never did mine eyes settle upon one so transcendently charming as thou! When I parted from thee this afternoon in the Champs Elysées, it was as if I were tearing myself away from some one whom I had loved all my life, and whom I was never to see again. I was a second Adam, expelled from another Eden! And now—now, I behold thee once more—I am seated in thy presence—thou smilest upon me——oh! it is heaven—it is heaven!”—and, as if in a transport of fury—so impassioned was his soul—he drew her still closer towards him, and literally seizing her head with both his hands, glued his lips to hers—sucking in her very breath.

Intoxicated with sensual happiness, Laura offered no resistance to the ardour of the handsome young man; but ere she completely yielded herself up to him, she remembered that something was due to prudence as well as to the delights of love.

Accordingly, withdrawing herself from his embrace, though still permitting his arm to encircle her waist, she said, “I can refuse you nothing; but first swear, by all you deem most sacred, that you will never betray me!”

“Never—never!” ejaculated Barthelma; “I take God to witness that my lips shall never breathe a word injurious to your honour! On the contrary,” he cried, in a tone of deep sincerity, “should I ever hear a man speak lightly of you, I will provoke him to a duel that shall terminate only in the death of one—if not both; and should a woman dare to mention your name irreverently, I will even fabricate a tale injurious to her honour, that I may avenge you!”

“Thanks—a thousand thanks, my generous friend!” murmured Laura, one of her white hands playing with the long, dark, curling hair of the Castelcicalan. “But may you not—in an unguarded moment—when carousing, perhaps, with your brother-officers,—may you not inadvertently allude to the adventure which happened to you in Paris, and then be unconsciously drawn out—under the influence of wine—to make revelations which will prove the ruin—the utter ruin—of the weak, but confiding woman who trusts so much to your honour this night?”

“May my tongue blister—may lightnings strike me—may I be cast down a corpse at the feet of those to whom I ever open my lips to speak irreverently or ungratefully of thee!” exclaimed the Italian, with a terrible energy. “No—my adored Laura! you have not the slightest ground for apprehensions of that nature. I am a man of honour—and I would rather shed the last drop of my blood to serve thee, than raise a finger to harm thee. Beautiful creature—adorable woman! who that possesses a spark of human feeling, could do aught to bring a tear into thine eye or chase away the smile from thy lips? I am thy slave, Laura—and I rejoice in wearing the chains which thy magic loveliness has cast around me!”

In this impassioned strain did the Italian pour forth his adoration; and, as Laura gazed upon him with eyes swimming in very wantonness, she thought that he was far more handsome than she had fancied him to be in the afternoon, or even when he had first appeared before her that evening.

He, too, on his part, found the syren a thousand times more witching—more beauteous—more attractive than she had seemed in her carriage; and yet even then he had been ready to fall down and worship her. Now he beheld her in a light evening toilette—with naked neck and naked arms,—no scarf—not even the most transparent gauze veiling her shoulders of alabaster whiteness,—and with her hair dressed in massive curls, instead of hyperion ringlets;—now, too, he could perceive, by the undulations of her attire, that her limbs were turned with a symmetry that was elegant and yet robust—admirable in shape, though full in their proportions.

“I thank you most sincerely for the assurances of secrecy which you have given me,” said Laura, in the sweetest, most melting cadence of her delicious voice; “likewise for the chivalrous professions with which you have coupled them. You declare yourself to be my slave,” she added; “but it will be for this night only!”

And she hid her countenance on his breast, as if ashamed of the invitation which her words implied—an invitation that welcomed him at her abode until the morning!

“In one sense I understand you, my charmer,” he said, kissing her beauteous head as it lay reclining on his bosom; “and that alone ought to be happiness sufficient for me! But I am greedy—I am covetous; and I demand more! Listen, adored Laura—grant me your patience for a few minutes.”

She raised her head, and gazed tenderly up into his animated countenance as he spoke.

“I am not a rich man,” he continued; “but I possess a competency—nay, a handsome competency; and I care not how soon I abandon the service of even so good and excellent a prince as his Sovereign Highness—in order to devote myself wholly and solely to you. I know not who you are—I only know that you are the loveliest creature on the face of God’s earth, and that your name is Laura Mortimer. Neither do I seek to know more. But I am ready and anxious to join my fortunes with yours—to marry you, if you will accept me as your husband,—or to become your slave—your menial! Tell me not, then, that we must part to-morrow: oh! let me remain with you, my charming Laura, until death shall separate us!”

“It cannot be, my handsome Barthelma!” murmured Laura. “But let me call you by your Christian name——”

“Lorenzo,” said the Castelcicalan.

“You are, then, my handsome Lorenzo for this night—and for this night only,” continued Laura, throwing her warm, plump, exquisitely modelled arms about his neck, and pressing her lips to his glowing cheek.

“Cruel—cruel Laura!” he exclaimed, returning the ardent caress.

“Oh! would that circumstances permitted——”

“No circumstances can separate us, if you should decide that we are to remain together,” interrupted the Castelcicalan, in an impassioned tone.

“Alas! you know not——”

“If you are already a wife, I will kill your husband,” cried Lorenzo, again speaking with vehement abruptness: “If you are engaged to wed one whom you dislike, I will dare him to wrest you from my arms;—and if you have relations—father or brothers—whom you imagine yourself bound to consult, you may rest well assured that in preferring my love to that of kith and kin you will be receiving the purest gold in exchange for comparative dross.”

“Dear Lorenzo, I must seal your eloquent lips with kisses,” said Laura, with an arch playfulness that was also full of wantonness: “yes—I must seal those red, moist lips,” she murmured, after having pressed her mouth to his; “or you will persuade me to give an affirmative answer to your endearing solicitations—and that would only be to record a promise to-night which I most break to-morrow.”

“Are you, then, my angel, the mistress of some man on whose wealth you are dependent, or in whose power circumstances have placed you?” demanded the impassioned Italian, with more fervid frankness than considerate delicacy.

“I am not—I never was—and I never shall be a pensioned mistress, Lorenzo!” answered Laura, her manner becoming suddenly haughty.

“Pardon me—Oh! I implore you to pardon me, my angel!” exclaimed the young officer, straining her to his chest. “Not for worlds would I offend you—not even to save my soul from perdition would I wrong you by word or deed! Tell me, Laura—tell me—Laura—tell me—am I forgiven?”

She raised her countenance towards his own, and when their lips met she sealed his pardon with a long, burning kiss.

“And now,” she said, “do not ask me again to do that which is impossible. I cannot marry you, although I am not married—I cannot be your mistress, although I am not the mistress of another—I cannot hold out any hope to you, although I am pledged to none other.”

“You are as enigmatical as you are charming—you are as mysterious as you are beautiful!” exclaimed Lorenzo, contemplating his fair companion with the most enthusiastic rapture.

“And it is not now for you to mar the pleasure which we enjoy in each other’s society, by seeking to render me less enigmatical or less mysterious,” observed the syren. “At the same time I cannot be otherwise than flattered by the proposals you have made to me, and the generous manner in which you have expressed yourself in my behalf. Come—let us drink a glass of champagne to enhance the happiness of the moment, and drown careful reflections.”

“Be it so, my charmer,” said Lorenzo: “and if I no more torment you with my entreaties—if I resolve to content myself with the amount of bliss which you have promised me,—nevertheless, my dearest—ever dearest Laura, I shall take leave of you to-morrow morning with the fervent hope that we shall shortly meet again. You told me this afternoon that you proposed to visit Montoni in the course of the ensuing autumn——”

“Yes—I have no doubt that I shall be enabled to fulfil that promise,” interrupted Laura, by way of changing the topic of discourse. “And now that you have given me to understand that you will not revive the useless but flattering, and, in some sense, agreeable proposals you made me just now, let us think only of the enjoyment of the present.”

“It shall be as you say, my angel,” returned Lorenzo; and he forthwith filled a glass with sparkling champagne, which he handed to his fair companion.

She quaffed it at a draught, and a flood of light seemed to suffuse her entire countenance, and render her eyes brilliant as diamonds: her lips, too, moist with the generous juice, acquired a deeper red—and her bosom panted with amorous longings.

Lorenzo beheld the effects of the rich fluid, and hastened to fill the glass again: then, ere he drained it of its contents, he studiously placed to his lips the side which Laura’s mouth had touched.

“You had two friends with you this afternoon in the Champs Elysées?” said the syren, interrogatively, when they were once more seated, half-embraced in each other’s arms, upon the sofa.

“Yes: one was a fellow-countryman of mine—the other a native of your land, my beloved,” answered Lorenzo. “But I must tell you the singular adventure that occurred to us: and, indeed,” he added, with a smile, “I am deeply indebted to a certain anonymous correspondent—for had it not been through him, I should not have this day visited the scene where I was fortunate enough to encounter you.”

“A singular adventure!” exclaimed Laura, with an admirable affectation of the most ingenuous curiosity.

“Judge for yourself, my angel,” replied Lorenzo then, taking Rosalie’s letter from his pocket, he handed it to Laura, who, consuming with strong desires though she were, could scarcely suppress a laugh as she perused the billet, with the contents of which she was already so well acquainted.

“And did you see the poor man who addressed you and your friends in this wild, romantic style?” she asked, restoring him the note.

“He did not make his appearance,” responded Barthelma. “But even if that letter were the production of some mischievous wag, or of a crazy person, I could not possibly feel otherwise than rejoiced at having been made the dupe of either a humourist or a madman: for, as I just now observed, the anonymous letter led to my meeting with you.”

And, as he spoke, he smoothed down her glossy, luxuriant hair with his open palm.

“But doubtless your two companions found more difficulty in consoling themselves for the disappointment?” said Laura.

“Faith! dear lady,” exclaimed Lorenzo, “they spoke but little on the subject: for, to tell you the truth, your beauty had not failed to produce a very sensible effect on them as well as upon myself.”

“Flatterer!” cried Laura, playfully caressing the handsome Italian.

“Oh! you know that you are lovely—transcendently lovely!” he exclaimed, in an ardent tone; “and you can well believe me when I assure you that my two friends escaped not the magic influence of your charms. But how different were the effects thus produced! Di Ponta—that is the name of my fellow-countryman—was enthusiastic and rapturous in your praise; whereas Charles Hatfield—the Englishman—became gloomy, morose, and sullen——”

“A singular effect for the good looks of a woman to produce!” cried Laura, laughing—while her heart beat with the joy of a proud triumph.

“Such, nevertheless, was the case in this instance, my angel,” said Lorenzo. “I do firmly believe that Hatfield was jealous of me in being the happy mortal who perceived the loss of your parasol, and had the honour of restoring it;—yes—jealous, dear lady, because that happy accident introduced me to your notice, and privileged me to address you.”

“Your English friend must be a very weak-minded young man,” observed Laura; “and I am truly delighted that it was not he whose acquaintance I was destined to make this day.”

“Nevertheless, he is very handsome,” said Lorenzo, gazing upon the syren with a playful affectation of jealousy.

“Not so handsome as you, my Barthelma,” replied Laura, with simulated enthusiasm; and, in order to dispel the partial coldness which a digression from amorous topics had allowed to creep over her, she cast her arms around Lorenzo’s neck and fastened her lips to his.

Then the blood began once more to circulate like lightning in her veins,—and her voluptuous bosom panted against the young Italian’s chest.

Here shall we leave the amorous pair; for, after a little tender dalliance and another glass of the exciting juice of Epernay, they retired to the chamber whose portal we must not pass to follow them.

At eight o’clock in the morning Lorenzo Barthelma took his departure; and shortly afterwards Rosalie entered Laura’s room.

The Frenchwoman, who was as discreet as she was an adept at intrigue, wore the usual calm and respectful expression of countenance; and not even by a sly smile nor an arch look did she appear as if she devoted a thought to the manner in which her mistress had passed the night.

“Did the captain depart unperceived?” inquired Laura, who, although she had given no instructions to that effect, was nevertheless well assured that her intelligent abigail had superintended the egress of the handsome Italian.

“Entirely unobserved, mademoiselle,” was the answer. “I amused the porter and his wife in their lodge for a few minutes while Captain Barthelma slipped out into the street. Three persons alone are acquainted with last night’s adventure,—you, the captain, and myself.”

“Good!” exclaimed Laura: then, drawing aside the curtain of the bed in which she was voluptuously pillowed, she said, “And now, my dear Rosalie, give me an account of your proceedings relative to the Marquis of Delmour.”

“I have learnt but a few facts, mademoiselle,” was the reply: “those, however, are of some importance. He is enormously rich—very generous—bears an excellent character——”

“Is he married?” demanded Laura, hastily.

“Yes: but he has been living apart from his wife for many years;—and respecting the cause of their separation, there is a great mystery which not even his best friends can penetrate, and into which, therefore, a casual inquirer like myself could not obtain the least insight.”

“And this is all you could ascertain concerning him?” said Laura, interrogatively. “Did you not think of asking if he had any family by his wife?”

“I did not forget to make that inquiry, mademoiselle,” answered Rosalie; “and I was assured that his lordship is childless.”

“You are a good and faithful creature,” observed Laura; “and your services will prove invaluable to me. That purse which lies on the toilette-table, contains no insignificant sum in gold. It is yours—a recompense for the work of yesterday. But as you now know more of me than you did before, and as in a few short hours I permitted you to obtain a deeper reading of my secret soul than you could possibly have acquired, had I shut myself up in a studied reserve, it is as well that you should understand me thoroughly. I mean this, Rosalie—that I can be a good friend, or an implacable enemy—”

“I shall never provoke your enmity, mademoiselle,” observed the abigail.

“I do not think you will, Rosalie,” resumed Laura: “but, as I said ere now, it is as well that you should comprehend my character in all its details—in all its phases. You will benefit yourself by serving me faithfully: you would only injure yourself by playing me false. When once I have said upon this subject all that I mean to say, I shall not again refer to it: but the better we understand each other, the more permanent will be our connexion. Reckon, then, on my friendship so long as you deserve it;—deceive me, and I will risk my very life to be avenged.”

“Oh! mademoiselle,” exclaimed Rosalie, absolutely frightened by the vehemence with which her mistress spoke,—“have I done anything to render you suspicious of me?”

“On the contrary,” said Laura, with a smile; “you have done all you could to serve me—and you see that I have not forgotten to reward you. But within the last twelve or eighteen hours I have permitted you to read all the weaknesses of my soul—and now it is requisite that you should understand its strength: I have made you my confident—but I deemed it prudent to convince you that I know how to punish treachery. That is all, Rosalie: I have no more to say upon the subject;—and now, let me see your pretty face cheer up and wear a smile.”

The Frenchwoman was reassured by these last words; and, finding that her mistress had only intended to give her a salutary warning, and not to upbraid her for any actual misconduct, she speedily recovered her wonted gaiety and good spirits.