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Valerie

by Frederick Marryat · English · Gutenberg #23952 · 562,271 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Valerie

Author: Frederick Marryat

Engraver: W. Wright-Nooth

Illustrator: D. Downing


        
Release date: December 21, 2007 [eBook #23952]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23952

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VALERIE ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Valerie, by Captain Marryat.

________________________________________________________________________
This book was the last one that Marryat was working on in his last days.
It is unusual for him in that the story concerned the life of a lady,
whereas he normally wrote about the rough-and-tumble of life aboard
ship.  There is a preface which explains more about the way in which
this book was conceived and written.  It was completed by someone whom I
think may well have been Marryat's wife.

There are some interesting episodes, particularly the way in which the
young Lionel is raised from being a junior servant to regain an estate
which is rightfully his.

What is not so easy to cope with these days is the quantity of reported
speech in the last few chapters.  But try it, and see how you get on.

________________________________________________________________________
VALERIE, BY CAPTAIN MARRYAT.



PREFACE.

On August 10, 1845, Marryat wrote to Mrs S., a lady for whom, to the
time of his death, he retained the highest sentiments of friendship and
esteem:--

"I really wish you would write your confessions, I will publish them.  I
have a beautiful opening in some memoranda I have made of the early life
of a Frenchwoman, that is, up to the age of seventeen, when she is cast
adrift upon the world, and I would work it all up together.  Let us
commence, and divide the tin; it is better than doing nothing.  I have
been helping Ainsworth in the _New Monthly_, and I told him that I had
commenced a work called _Mademoiselle Virginie_, which he might perhaps
have.  Without my knowing it, he has announced its coming forth; but it
does not follow that he is to have it, nevertheless, and indeed he now
wishes me to continue one" (_The Privateersman_) "that I have already
begun in the magazine."

However, Mrs S., with whom at one time Washington Irving also wished to
collaborate, declined the offer; and _Mademoiselle Virginie_ was
ultimately published in the _New Monthly_ under the title of _Valerie_.
The first eleven chapters appeared in the magazine 1846, 1847, and the
remaining pages were added--according to _The Life and Letters of
Captain Marryat_--by another hand, when it came out in book form.

There are two special features in _Valerie_, beyond its actual merits,
that inevitably excite our attention.  It is Marryat's last work, and
the only one in which the interest centres entirely on women.  For this
reason, and from the eighteenth century flavour in some of its
characters, the book inevitably recalls Miss Burney and her little-read
_The Wanderer_, in which, as in _Valerie_, a proud and sensitive girl is
thrown on the world, and discovers--by bitter experience as governess,
companion, and music mistress--the sneer that lurks beneath the smile of
fashion and prosperity.

The subject is well handled, on the old familiar lines, and supplies the
groundwork of an eminently readable story, peopled by many life-like
"humours" and an attractive, spirited heroine.  The adventures of
_Valerie_ are various and well-sustained; her bearing throughout secures
the reader's sympathy, and he is conscious of a genuine pleasure in her
ultimate prosperity and happiness.

_Valerie, an autobiography_, is here reprinted from the first edition in
two volumes.  Henry Colburn, 1849.

R.B.J.

After Marryat's death a fragment of a story for the "Juvenile Library"
was found in his desk, and has been published in the _Life and Letters_
by Florence Marryat.  It describes the experience of a man who, like
Marryat himself, was compelled by the failure of speculations to live in
the country and manage his own estate.  It was projected "because few
young people have any knowledge of farming, and there are no books
written by which any knowledge of it may be imparted to children."
Marryat himself was not a very successful farmer, but probably his
theory was in advance of his practice.



CHAPTER ONE.

I have titled these pages with nothing more than my baptismal name.  If
the reader finds sufficient interest in them to read to the end, he will
discover the position that I am in, after an eventful life.  I shall,
however, not trespass upon his time by making many introductory remarks;
but commence at once with my birth, parentage, and education.  This is
necessary, as although the two first are, perhaps, of little comparative
consequence, still the latter is of importance, as it will prepare the
reader for many events in my after-life.  I may add, that much depends
upon birth and parentage; at all events, it is necessary to complete a
perfect picture.  Let me, therefore, begin at the beginning.

I was born in France.  My father, who was of the _ancienne noblesse_ of
France, by a younger branch of the best blood, and was a most splendid
specimen of the outward man, was the son of an old officer, and an
officer himself in the army of Napoleon.  In the conquest of Italy, he
had served in the ranks, and continuing to follow Napoleon through all
his campaigns, had arrived to the grade of captain of cavalry.  He had
distinguished himself on many occasions, was a favourite of the
Emperor's, wore the cross of the Legion of Honour, and was considered in
a fair way to rapid promotion, when he committed a great error.  During
the time that his squadron was occupying a small German town, situated
on the river Erbach, called Deux Ponts, he saw my mother, fell
desperately in love, and married.  There was some excuse for him, for a
more beautiful woman than my mother I never beheld; moreover, she was
highly talented, and a most perfect musician; of a good family, and with
a dower by no means contemptible.

The reader may say that, in marrying such a woman, my father could
hardly be said to have committed a very great error.  This is true, the
error was not in marrying, but in allowing his wife's influence over him
to stop his future advancement.  He wished to leave her with her father
and mother until the campaign was over.  She refused to be left, and he
yielded to her wishes.  Now, Napoleon had no objection to his officers
being married, but a very great dislike to their wives accompanying the
army; and this was the fault which my father committed, and which lost
him the favour of his general.  My mother was too beautiful a woman not
to be noticed, and immediately inquired about, and the knowledge soon
came to Napoleon's ears, and militated against my father's future
advancement.

During the first year of their marriage, my eldest brother, Auguste, was
born, and shortly afterwards my mother promised an increase to the
family, which was the occasion of great satisfaction to my father, who
now that he had been married more than a year, would at times look at my
mother, and, beautiful as she was, calculate in his mind whether the
possession of her was indemnification sufficient for the loss of the
brigade which she had cost him.

To account for my father's satisfaction, I must acquaint the reader with
circumstances which are not very well known.  As I before observed,
Napoleon had no objection to marriage, because he required men for his
army; and because he required men, and not women, he thought very poorly
of a married couple who produced a plurality of girls.  If, on the
contrary, a woman presented her husband with six or seven boys, if he
was an officer in the army, he was certain of a pension for life.  Now,
as my mother had commenced with a boy, and it is well known that there
is every chance of a woman continuing to produce the sex which first
makes its appearance, she was much complimented and congratulated by the
officers when she so soon gave signs of an increase, and they prophesied
that she would, by her fruitfulness, in a few years obtain a pension for
her husband.  My father hoped so, and thought that if he had lost the
brigade, he would be indemnified by the pension.  My mother was certain
of it; and declared it was a boy.

But prophesies, hopes, and declarations, were all falsified and
overthrown by my unfortunate appearance.  The disappointment of my
father was great; but he bore it like a man.  My mother was not only
disappointed, but indignant.  She felt mortified after all her
declarations, that I should have appeared and disproved them.  She was a
woman of violent temper, a discovery which my father made too late.  To
me, as the cause of her humiliation and disappointment, she took an
aversion, which only increased as I grew up, and which, as will be
hereafter shown, was the main spring of all my vicissitudes in
after-life.

Surely, there is an error in asserting that there is no feeling so
strong as maternal love.  How often do we witness instances like mine,
in which disappointed vanity, ambition, or interest, have changed this
love into deadly hate!

My father, who felt the inconvenience of my mother accompanying him on
forced marches, and who, perhaps, being disappointed in his hopes of a
pension, thought that he might as well recover the Emperor's favour, and
look for the brigade, now proposed that my mother should return with her
two children to her parents.  This my mother, who had always gained the
upper-hand, positively refused to accede to.  She did, however, allow me
and my brother Auguste to be sent to her parents' care at Deux Ponts,
and there we remained while my father followed the fortunes of the
Emperor, and my mother followed the fortunes of my father.  I have
little or no recollection of my maternal grandfather and grandmother.  I
remember that I lived with them, as I remained there with my brother
till I was seven years old, at which period my paternal grandmother
offered to receive my brother and me, and take charge of our education.
This offer was accepted, and we both went to Luneville where she
resided.

I have said that my paternal grandmother offered to receive us, and not
my paternal grandfather, who was still alive.  Such was the case; as,
could he have had his own way, he would not have allowed us to come to
Luneville, for he had a great dislike to children; but my grandmother
had property of her own, independent of her husband, and she insisted
upon our coming.  Very often, after we had been received into her house,
I would hear remonstrance on his part relative to the expense of keeping
us, and the reply of my grandmother, which would be, "_Eh bien, Monsieur
Chatenoeuf, c'est mon argent que je depense_."  I must describe Monsieur
Chatenoeuf.  As I before stated, he had been an officer in the French
army; but had now retired upon his pension, with the rank of major, and
decorated with the Legion of Honour.  At the time that I first saw him,
he was a tall, elegant old man, with hair as white as silver.  I heard
it said, that when young he was considered one of the bravest and
handsomest officers in the French army.  He was very quiet in his
manners, spoke very little, and took a large quantity of snuff.  He was
egotistic to excess, attending wholly to himself and his own comforts,
and it was because the noise of children interfered with his comfort,
that he disliked them so much.  We saw little of him, and cared less.
If I came into his room when he was alone, he promised me a good
whipping, I therefore avoided him as much as I could; the association
was not pleasant.

Luneville is a beautiful town in the Department of Meurthe.  The castle,
or rather palace, is a very splendid and spacious building, in which
formerly the Dukes of Lorraine held their court.  It was afterwards
inhabited by King Stanislaus, who founded a military school, a library
and a hospital.  The palace was a square building, with a handsome
facade facing the town, and in front of it there was a fountain.  There
was a large square in the centre of the palace, and behind it an
extensive garden, which was well kept up and carefully attended to.  One
side of the palace was occupied by the officers of the regiments
quartered in Luneville; the opposite side, by the soldiery; and the
remainder of the building was appropriated to the reception of old
retired officers who had been pensioned.  It was in this beautiful
building, that my grandfather and grandmother were established for the
remainder of their lives.  Except the Tuileries, I know of no palace in
France equal to that of Luneville.  Here it was that, at seven years
old, I took up my quarters; and it is from that period that I have
always dated my existence.

I have described my grandfather and my residence, but now I must
introduce my grandmother; my dear, excellent, grandmother, whom I loved
so much when she was living, and whose memory I shall ever revere.  In
person she was rather diminutive, but, although sixty years of age, she
still retained her figure, which was remarkably pretty, and she was as
straight as an arrow.  Never had age pressed more lightly upon the human
frame; for, strange to say, her hair was black as jet, and fell down to
her knees.  It was considered a great curiosity, and she was not a
little proud of it, for there was not a grey hair to be seen.  Although
she had lost many of her teeth, her skin was not wrinkled, but had a
freshness most remarkable in a person so advanced in years.  Her mind
was as young as her body; she was very witty and coquettish, and the
officers living in the palace were continually in her apartments,
preferring her company to that of younger women.  Partial to children,
she would join in all our sports, and sit down to play "hunt the
slipper," with us and our young companions.  But with all her vivacity,
she was a strictly moral and religious woman.  She could be lenient to
indiscretion and carelessness, but any deviation from truth and honesty
on the part of my brother or myself, was certain to be visited with
severe punishment.  She argued, that there could be no virtue, where
there was deceit, which she considered as the hot-bed from which every
vice would spring out spontaneously; that truth was the basis of all
that was good and noble, and that every other branch of education was,
comparatively speaking, of no importance, and, without truth, of no
value.  She was right.

My brother and I were both sent to day-schools.  The maid Catherine
always took me to school after breakfast, and came to fetch me home
about four o'clock in the afternoon.  Those were happy times.  With what
joy I used to return to the palace, bounding into my grandmother's
apartment on the ground floor, sometimes to frighten her, leaping in at
the window and dropping at her feet, the old lady scolding and laughing
at the same time.  My grandmother was, as I observed, religious, but she
was not a devotee.  The great object was to instil into me a love of
truth, and in this she was indefatigable.  When I did wrong, it was not
the fault I had committed which caused her concern; it was the fear that
I should deny it, which worried and alarmed her.  To prevent this, the
old lady had a curious method--she dreamed for my benefit.  If I had
done wrong, and she suspected me, she would not accuse me until she had
made such inquiries as convinced her that I was the guilty person; and
then, perhaps, the next morning, she would say, as I stood by her side:
"Valerie, I had a dream last night; I can't get it out of my head.  I
dreamt that my little girl had forgotten her promise to me, and when she
went to the store-room had eaten a large piece of the cake."

She would fix her eyes upon me as she narrated the events of her dream,
and, as she proceeded, my face would be covered with blushes, and my
eyes cast down in confusion; I dared not look at her, and by the time
that she had finished, I was down on my knees, with my face buried in
her lap.  If my offence was great, I had to say my prayers, and implore
the Divine forgiveness, and was sent to prison, that is, locked up for a
few hours in my bedroom.  Catherine, the maid, had been many years with
my grandmother, and was, to a certain degree, a privileged person; at
all events, she considered herself warranted in giving her opinion, and
grumbling as much as she pleased, and such was invariably the case
whenever I was locked up.  "_Toujours en prison, cette pauvre petite_.
It is too bad, madam; you must let her out."  My grandmother would
quietly reply, "Catherine, you are a good woman, but you understand
nothing about the education of children."  Sometimes, however, she
obtained the key from my grandmother, and I was released sooner than was
originally intended.

The fact is, that being put in prison was a very heavy punishment, as it
invariably took place in the evenings, after my return from school, so
that I lost my play-hours.  There were a great many officers with their
wives located in the palace, and, of course, no want of playmates.  The
girls used to go to the bosquet, which adjoined the gardens of the
palace, collect flowers, and make a garland, which they hung on a rope
stretched across the court-yard of the palace.  As the day closed in,
the party from each house, or apartments rather, brought out a lantern,
and having thus illuminated our ballroom by subscription, the boys and
girls danced the "_ronde_," and other games, until it was bedtime.  As
the window of my bedroom looked out upon the court, whenever I was put
into prison, I had the mortification of witnessing all these joyous
games, without being permitted to join in them.

To prove the effect of my grandmother's system of dreaming upon me, I
will narrate a circumstance which occurred.  My grandfather had a landed
property about four miles from Luneville.  A portion of this land was
let to a farmer, and the remainder he farmed on his own account, and the
produce was consumed in the house-keeping.  From this farm we received
milk, butter, cheese, all kinds of fruit, and indeed everything which a
farm produces.  In that part of France they have a method of melting
down and clarifying butter for winter use, instead of salting it.  This
not only preserves it, but, to most people, makes it more palatable; at
all events I can answer for myself, for I was inordinately fond of it.
There were eighteen or twenty jars of it in the store-room, which were
used up in rotation.  I dared not take any out of the jar in use, as I
should be certain to be discovered; so I went to the last jar, and by my
repeated assaults upon it, it was nearly empty before my grandmother
discovered it.  As usual, she had a dream.  She commenced with counting
over the number of jars of butter; and how she opened such a one, and it
was full; and then the next, and it was full; but before her dream was
half over, and while she was still a long way from the jar which I had
despoiled, I was on my knees, telling her the end of the dream, of my
own accord, for I could not bear the suspense of having all the jars
examined.  From that time, I generally made a full confession before the
dream was ended.

But when I was about nine years old, I was guilty of a very heavy
offence, which I shall narrate, on account of the peculiar punishment
which I received, and which might be advantageously pursued by the
parents of the present day, who may happen to cast their eyes over these
memoirs.  It was the custom for the children of the officers who lived
in the palace, that is, the girls, to club together occasionally, that
they might have a little _fete_ in the garden of the palace.  It was a
sort of pic-nic, to which every one contributed; some would bring cakes,
some fruit; some would bring money (a few sous) to purchase bon-bons, or
anything else which might be agreed upon.

On those occasions, my grandmother invariably gave me fruit, a very
liberal allowance of apples and pears, from the store-room; for we had
plenty from the orchard of the farm.  But one day, one of the elder
girls told me that they had plenty of fruit, and that I must bring some
money.  I asked my grandmother, but she refused me; and then this girl
proposed that I should steal some from my grandfather.  I objected; but
she ridiculed my objections, and pressed me until she overcame my
scruples, and I consented.  But when I left her after she had obtained
my promise, I was in a sad state.  I knew it was wicked to steal, and
the girl had taken care to point out to me how wicked it was to break a
promise.  I did not know what to do: all that evening I was in such a
state of feverish excitement, that my grandmother was quite astonished.
The fact was, that I was ashamed to retract my promise, and yet I
trembled at the deed that I was about to do.  I went into my room and
got into bed.  I remained awake; and about midnight I got up, and
creeping softly into my grandfather's room, I went to his clothes, which
were on a chair, and rifled his pockets of--two sous!

Having effected my purpose, I retired stealthily, and gained my own
room.  What my feelings were when I was again in bed I cannot well
describe--they were horrible--I could not shut my eyes for the remainder
of the night and the next morning I made my appearance, haggard, pale,
and trembling.  It proved, however, that my grandfather who was awake,
had witnessed the theft in silence, and informed my grandmother of it.
Before I went to school, my grandmother called me in to her, for I had
avoided her.

"Come here, Valerie," said she, "I have had a dream--a most dreadful
dream--it was about a little girl, who, in the middle of the night,
crept into her grandfather's room--"

I could bear no more.  I threw myself on the floor, and, in agony,
screamed out--

"Yes, grandmamma, and stole two sous."

A paroxysm of tears followed the confession, and for more than an hour I
remained on the floor, hiding my face and sobbing.  My grandmother
allowed me to remain there--she was very much annoyed--I had committed a
crime of the first magnitude--my punishment was severe.  I was locked up
in my room for ten days: but this was the smallest portion of the
punishment: every visitor that came in, I was sent for, and on my making
my appearance, my grandmother would take me by the hand, and leading me
up, would formally present me to the visitors.

"Permettez, madame (ou monsieur), que je vous presente Mademoiselle
Valerie, qui est enfermee dans sa chambre, pour avoir vole deux sous de
son grand-pere."

Oh! the shame, the mortification that I felt.  This would take place at
least ten times a day; and each succeeding presentation was followed by
a burst of tears, as I was again led back to my chamber.  Severe as this
punishment was, the effect of it was excellent.  I would have endured
martyrdom, after what I had gone through, before I would have taken what
was not my own.  It was a painful, but a judicious, and most radical
cure.

For five years I remained under the care of this most estimable woman,
and, under her guidance, had become a truthful and religious girl; and I
may conscientiously add, that I was as innocent as a lamb--but a change
was at hand.  The Emperor had been hurled from his throne, and was shut
up on a barren rock, and soon great alterations were made in the French
army.  My father's regiment of huzzars had been disbanded, and he was
now appointed to a dragoon regiment, which was ordered to Luneville.  He
arrived with my mother and a numerous family, she having presented him
with seven more children; so that, with Auguste and me, he had now nine
children.  I may as well here observe that my mother continued to add
yearly to the family, till she had fourteen in all, and out of these
there were seven boys; so that, had the Emperor remained on the throne
of France, my father would certainly have secured the pension.

The arrival of my family was a source both of pleasure and pain to me.
I was most anxious to see all my brothers and sisters, and my heart
yearned towards my father and mother, although I had no recollection of
them; but I was fearful that I should be removed from my grandmother's
care, and she was equally alarmed at the chance of our separation.
Unfortunately for me, it turned out as we had anticipated.  My mother
was anything but gracious to my grandmother, notwithstanding the
obligations she was under to her, and very soon took an opportunity of
quarrelling with her.  The cause of the quarrel was very absurd, and
proved that it was predetermined on the part of my mother.  My
grandmother had some curious old carved furniture, which my mother
coveted, and requested my grandmother to let her have it.  This my
grandmother would not consent to, and my mother took offence at her
refusal.  I and my brother were immediately ordered home, my mother
asserting that we had been both very badly brought up; and this was all
the thanks that my grandmother received for her kindness to us, and
defraying all our expenses for five years.  I had not been at home more
than a week, when my father's regiment was ordered to Nance; but, during
this short period, I had sufficient to convince me that I should be very
miserable.  My mother's dislike to me, which I have referred to before,
now assumed the character of positive hatred, and I was very
ill-treated.  I was employed as a servant, and as nurse to the younger
children; and hardly a day passed without my feeling the weight of her
hand.  We set off for Nance, and I thought my heart would break as I
quitted the arms of my grandmother, who wept over me.  My father was
very willing to leave me with my grandmother, who promised to leave her
property to me; but this offer in my favour enraged my mother still
more; she declared that I should not remain; and my father had long
succumbed to her termagant disposition, and yielded implicit obedience
to her authority.  It was lamentable to see such a fine soldierlike man
afraid even to speak before this woman; but he was completely under her
thraldom, and never dared to contradict.

As soon as we were settled in the barracks at Nance, my mother commenced
her system of persecution in downright earnest.  I had to make all the
beds, wash the children, carry out the baby, and do every menial office
for my brothers and sisters, who were encouraged to order me about.  I
had very good clothes, which had been provided me by my grandmother;
they were all taken away, and altered for my younger sisters; but what
was still more mortifying, all my sisters had lessons in music, dancing,
and other accomplishments, from various masters, whose instructions I
was not permitted to take advantage of, although there would have been
no addition to the expense.

"Oh! my father," cried I, "why is this?--what have I done?--am not I
your daughter--your eldest daughter?"

"I will speak to your mother," replied he.

And he did venture to do so; but by so doing, he raised up such a
tempest, that he was glad to drop the subject, and apologise for an act
of justice.  Poor man! he could do no more than pity me.

I well remember my feelings at that time.  I felt that I could love my
mother, love her dearly, if she would have allowed me so to do.  I had
tried to obtain her good-will, but I received nothing in return but
blows, and at last I became so alarmed when in her presence that I
almost lost my reason.  My ears were boxed till I could not recollect
where I was, and I became stupefied with fear.  All I thought of, all my
anxiety, at last, was to get out of the room where my mother was.  My
terror was so great that her voice made me tremble, and at the sight of
her I caught my breath and gasped from alarm.  My brother Auguste was
very nearly as much an object of dislike to my mother as I was, chiefly
because he had been brought up by my grandmother, and moreover because
he would take my part.

The great favourite of my mother was my second brother Nicolas; he was a
wonderful musician, could play upon any instrument and the most
difficult music at sight.  This talent endeared him to my mother, who
was herself a first-rate musician.  He was permitted to order me about
just as he pleased, and if I did not please him, to beat me without
mercy, and very often my mother would fly at me and assist him.  But
Auguste took my part, and Nicolas received very severe chastisement from
him, but this did not help me; on the contrary, if Auguste interfered in
my behalf, my mother would pounce upon me, and I may say that I was
stunned with her blows.  Auguste appealed to his father, but he dared
not interfere.  He was coward enough to sit by and see his daughter
treated in this way without remonstrance; and, in a short time, I was
fast approaching to what my mother declared me to be--a perfect idiot.

I trust that my own sex will not think me a renegade when I say, that,
if ever there was a proof that woman was intended by the Creator to be
subject to man, it is, that once place power in the hands of woman, and
there is not one out of a hundred who will not abuse it.  We hear much
of the rights of woman, and their wrongs; but this is certain, that in a
family, as in a State, there can be no divided rule--no equality.  One
must be master, and no family is so badly managed, or so badly brought
up, as where the law of nature is reversed, and we contemplate that most
despicable of all _lusi naturae_--a hen-pecked husband.  To proceed, the
consequence of my mother's treatment, was to undermine in me all the
precepts of my worthy grandmother.  I was a slave; and a slave under the
continual influence of fear cannot be honest.  The fear of punishment
produced deceit to avoid it.  Even my brother Auguste, from his regard
and pity for me, would fall into the same error.  "Valerie," he would
say, running out to me as I was coming home with my little brother in my
arms, "your mother will beat you on your return.  You must say so and
so."  This so and so was, of course, an untruth; and, in consequence, my
fibs were so awkward, and accompanied by so much hesitation and
blushing, that I was invariably found out, and then punished for what I
did not deserve to be; and when my mother obtained such triumphant proof
against me, she did not fail to make the most of it with my father, who,
by degrees, began to consider that my treatment was merited, and that I
was a bad and deceitful child.

My only happiness was to be out in the open air, away from my mother's
presence, and this was only to be obtained when I was ordered out with
my little brother Pierre, whom I had to carry as soon as I had done the
household work.  If Pierre was fractious, my mother would order me out
of the house with him immediately.  This I knew, and I used to pinch the
poor child to make him cry, that I might gain my object, and be sent
away; so that to duplicity I added cruelty.  Six months before this, had
any one told me that I ever would be guilty of such a thing, with what
indignation I should have denied it!

Although my mother flattered herself that it was only in her own
domestic circle that her unnatural conduct towards me was known, such
was not the case, and the treatment which I received from her was the
occasion of much sympathy on the part of the officers and their wives,
who were quartered in the barracks.  Some of them ventured to
remonstrate with my father for his consenting to it; but although he was
cowed by a woman, he had no fear of men, and as he told them candidly
that any future interference in his domestic concerns must be answered
by the sword, no more was said to him on the subject.  Strange, that a
man should risk his life with such indifference, rather than remedy an
evil, and yet be under such thraldom to a woman!--that one who was
always distinguished in action as the most forward and the most brave,
should be a trembling coward before an imperious wife!  But this is a
world of sad contradictions.

There was a lady in the barracks, wife to one of the superior officers,
who was very partial to me.  She had a daughter, a very sweet girl, who
was also named Valerie.  When I could escape from the house, I used to
be constantly with them; and when I saw my name-sake caressing and
caressed, in the arms of her mother, as I was sitting by on a stool, the
tears would run down at the thoughts that such pleasure was debarred
from me.

"Why do you cry, Valerie?"

"Oh! madam, why have I not a mother like your Valerie?  Why am I to be
beat instead of being caressed and fondled like her?  What have I
done?--But she is not my mother--I'm sure she cannot be--I will never
believe it!"

And such had really become my conviction, and in consequence I never
would address her by the title of mother.  This my mother perceived, and
it only added to her ill-will.  Only permit any one feeling or passion
to master you--allow it to increase by never being in the slightest
degree checked, and it is horrible to what an excess it will carry you.
About this time, my mother proved the truth of the above observation, by
saying to me, as she struck me to the ground--

"I'll kill you," cried she; and then, catching her breath, said in a
low, determined tone, "Oh!  I only wish that I dared."



CHAPTER TWO.

One day, a short time after this, I was walking out as usual with my
little brother Pierre in my arms; I was deep in thought; in imagination
I was at Luneville with my dear grandmother, when my foot slipped and I
fell.  In trying to save my brother I hurt myself very much, and he,
poor child, was unfortunately very much hurt as well as myself.  He
cried and moaned piteously, and I did all that I could to console him,
but he was in too much pain to be comforted.  I remained out for an hour
or two, not daring to go home, but the evening was closing in and I
returned at last.  The child, who could not yet speak, still moaned and
cried, and I told the truth as to the cause of it.  My mother flew at
me, and I received such chastisement that I could be patient no longer,
and I pushed my mother from me; I was felled to the ground and left
there bleeding profusely.

After a time I rose up and crawled to bed.  I reflected upon all I had
suffered, and made up my mind that I would no longer remain under my
father's roof.  At daybreak I dressed myself, hastened out of the
barracks, and set off for Luneville, which was fifteen miles distant.  I
had gained about half the way when I was met by a soldier of the
regiment who had once been our servant.  I tried to avoid him, but he
recognised me.  I then begged him not to interfere with me, and told him
that I was running away to my grandmother's.  Jacques, for that was his
name, replied that I was right, and that he would say nothing about it.

"But, mademoiselle," continued he, "you will be tired before you get to
Luneville, and may have a chance of a conveyance if you have money to
pay for it."

He then slipped a five-franc piece into my hand, and left me to pursue
my way.  I continued my journey, and at last arrived at the farm
belonging to my grandfather, which I have before mentioned, as being
about four miles from the town.  I was afraid to go direct to Luneville,
on account of my grandfather, who, I knew from motives of parsimony,
would be unwilling to receive me.  I told my history to the farmer's
wife, showing her my face covered with bruises and scars, and entreated
her to go to my grandmother's and tell her where I was.  She put me to
bed, and the next morning set off for Luneville, and acquainted my
grandmother with the circumstances.  The old lady immediately ordered
her _char-a-banc_ and drove out for me.  There was proof positive of my
mother's cruelty, and the good old woman shed tears over me when she had
pulled off the humble blue cotton dress which I wore and examined my
wounds and bruises.  When we arrived at Luneville, we met with much
opposition from my grandfather, but my grandmother was resolute.

"Since you object to my receiving her in the house," said she, "at all
events you cannot prevent my doing my duty towards her, and doing as I
please with my own money.  I shall, therefore, send her to school and
pay her expenses."

As soon as new clothes could be made for me, I was sent to the best
_pension_ in Luneville.  Shortly afterwards my father arrived; he had
been despatched by my mother to reclaim me and bring me back with him,
but he found the tide too strong against him, and my grandmother
threatened to appeal to the authorities and make an exposure; this he
knew would be a serious injury to his character, and he was therefore
compelled to go back without me, and I remained a year and a half at the
_pension_, very happy and improving very fast in my education and my
personal appearance.

But I was not destined to be so happy long.  True it was, that during
this year and a half of tranquillity and happiness, the feelings created
by my mother's treatment had softened down, and all animosity had long
been discarded, but I was too happy to want to return home again.  At
the expiration of this year and a half, my father's regiment was again
ordered to shift their quarters to a small town, the name of which I now
forget, but Luneville lay in their route.  My mother had for some time
ceased to importune my father about my return.  The fact was, that she
had been so coldly treated by the other ladies at Nance, in consequence
of her behaviour to me, that she did not think it advisable; but now
that they were about to remove, she insisted upon my father taking me
with him, promising that I should be well-treated, and have the same
instruction as my sisters; in fact, she promised everything;
acknowledging to my grandmother that she had been too hasty to me, and
was very sorry for it.  Even my brother Auguste thought that she was now
sincere, and my father, my brother, and even my dear grandmother,
persuaded me to consent.  My mother was now very kind and affectionate
towards me, and as I really wanted to love her, I left the _pension_ and
accompanied the family to their new quarters.

But this was all treachery on the part of my mother.  Regardless of my
advantage, as she had shown herself on every occasion, she had played
her part that she might have an opportunity of discharging an
accumulated debt of revenge, which had been heaped up in consequence of
the slights she had received from other people on account of her
treatment of me.  We had hardly been settled in our new abode, before my
mother burst out again with a virulence which exceeded all her former
cruelty.  But I was no longer the frightened victim that I had been; I
complained to my father, and insisted upon justice; but that was
useless.  My brother Auguste now took my part in defiance of his father,
and it was one scene of continual family discord.  I had made many
friends, and used to remain at their houses all day.  As for doing
household work, notwithstanding her blows, I refused it.  One morning my
mother was chastising me severely, when my brother Auguste, who was
dressed in his hussar uniform, came in and hastened to my assistance,
interposing himself between us.  My mother's rage was beyond all bounds.

"Wretch," cried she, "would you strike your mother?"

"No," replied he, "but I will protect my sister.  You barbarous woman,
why do you not kill her at once, it would be a kindness?"

It was after this scene that I resolved that I would again return to
Luneville.  I did not confide my intentions to anyone, not even to
Auguste.  There was a great difficulty in getting out of the front door
without being perceived, and my bundle would have created suspicion; by
the back of the house the only exit was through a barred window.  I was
then fourteen years old but very slight in figure.  I tried if my head
would pass through the bars, and succeeding, I soon forced my body
through, and seizing my bundle, made all haste to the diligence office.
I found that it was about to start for Luneville, which was more than
half a day's journey distant.  I got in very quickly, and the conducteur
knowing me, thought that all was right, and the diligence drove off.

There were two people in the coupe with me, an officer and his wife;
before we had proceeded far they asked me where I was going, I replied
to my grandmother's at Luneville.  Thinking it, however, strange that I
should be unaccompanied, they questioned, until they extracted the whole
history from me.  The lady wished me to come to her on a visit, but the
husband, more prudent, said that I was better under the care of my
grandmother.

About mid-day we stopped to change horses at an auberge called the Louis
d'Or, about a quarter of a mile from Luneville.  Here I alighted without
offering any explanation to the conducteur; but as he knew me and my
grandmother well, that was of no consequence.  My reason for alighting
was, that the diligence would have put me down at the front of the
palace, where I was certain to meet my grandfather, who passed the major
portion of the day there, basking on one of the seats, and I was afraid
to see him until I had communicated with my grandmother.  I had an uncle
in the town, and I had been very intimate with my cousin Marie, who was
a pretty, kind-hearted girl, and I resolved that I would go there, and
beg her to go to my grandmother.  The difficulty was, how to get to the
house without passing the front of the palace, or even the bridge across
the river.  At last I decided that I would walk down by the river side
until I was opposite to the bosquet, which adjoined the garden of the
palace, and there wait till it was low water, when I knew that the river
could be forded, as I had often seen others do so.

When I arrived opposite to the bosquet I sat down on my bundle, by the
banks of the river for two or three hours, watching the long feathery
weeds at the bottom, which moved gently from one side to the other with
the current of the stream.  As soon as it was low water, I pulled off my
shoes and stockings, put them into my bundle, and raising my petticoats,
I gained the opposite shore without difficulty.  I then replaced my
shoes and stockings, crossed the bosquet, and gained my uncle's house.
My uncle was not at home, but I told my story and showed my bruises to
Marie, who immediately put on her bonnet and went to my grandmother.
That night I was again installed in my own little bedroom, and most
gratefully did I pray before I went to sleep.

This time my grandmother took more decided steps.  She went to the
commandant of the town, taking me with her, pointing out the treatment
which I had received, and claiming his protection; she stated that she
had educated me and brought me up, and that she had a claim upon me.  My
mother's treatment of me was so notorious, that the commandant
immediately decided that my grandmother had a right to detain me; and
when my father came a day or two after to take me back, he was ordered
home by the commandant, with a severe rebuke, and the assurance that I
should not return to a father who could permit such cruelty and
injustice.

I was now once more happy; but as I remained in the house, my
grandfather was continually vexing my grandmother on my account;
nevertheless, I remained there more than a year, during which I learnt a
great deal, particularly lace-work and fine embroidery, at which I
became very expert.  But now there was another opposition raised, which
was on the part of my uncle, who joined my grandfather in annoying the
old lady.  The fact was, that when I was not there, my grandmother was
very kind and generous to my cousin Marie, who certainly deserved it;
but now that I was again with her, all her presents and expenses were
lavished upon me, and poor Marie was neglected.

My uncle was not pleased at this; he joined my grandfather, and they
pointed out that I was now more than fifteen, and my mother dare not
beat me, and as my father was continually writing for me to return, it
was her duty not to oppose.  Between the two, my poor grandmother was so
annoyed and perplexed that she hardly knew what to do.  They made her
miserable, and at last they worried her into consenting that I should
return to my family which had now removed to Colmar.  I did not know
this.  It was my grandmother's birthday.  I had worked for her a
beautiful sachet in lace and embroidery, which, with a large bouquet, I
brought to her as a present.  The old lady folded me in her arms and
burst into tears.  She then told me that we must part, and that I must
return to my father's.  Had a dagger been thrust to my heart, I could
not have received more anguish.

"Yes, dear Valerie," continued she, "you must leave me to-morrow; I can
no longer prevent it.  I have not the health and spirits that I had.  I
am growing old--very old."

I did not remonstrate or try to make her alter her decision.  I knew how
much she had been annoyed and worried for my sake, and I felt that I
would bear everything for hers.  I cried bitterly.  The next morning my
father made his appearance and embraced me with great affection.  He was
much pleased with my personal improvement.  I was now fast budding into
womanhood, although I had the feelings of a mere child.  I bade farewell
to my grandmother, and also to my grandfather, whom I never saw again,
as he died three months after I quitted Luneville.

I trust my readers will not think that I dwell too long upon this
portion of my life.  I do it because I consider it is necessary they
should know in what manner I was brought up, and also the cause of my
leaving my family, as I afterwards did.  If I had stated merely that I
could not agree with my mother who treated me cruelly, they might have
imagined that I was not warranted, in a moment of irritation, in taking
such a decided step; but when they learn that my persecutions were
renewed the moment that I was again in my mother's power, and that
nothing could conquer her inveteracy against me, neither time, nor
absence, nor submission on my part, nor remonstrance from others; not
even a regard for her own character, nor the loss of her friends and
acquaintances, they will then acknowledge that I could have done no
otherwise, unless I preferred being in daily risk of my life.  On my
arrival at Colmar, my mother received me graciously, but her politeness
did not last long.  I now gave a new cause of offence--one that a woman,
proud of her beauty and jealous of its decay, does not easily forgive.
I was admired and paid great attention to by the officers, much more
attention than she received herself.

"M.  Chatenoeuf," the officers would say, "you have begotten a daughter
much handsomer than yourself."  My mother considered this as a polite
way to avoid saying that I was much handsomer than she was.  If she
thought so, she did herself a great injustice, for I could not be
compared to what she was, when she was of my age.  She was even then a
most splendid matron.  But I had youth in my favour, which is more than
half the battle.  At all events, the remarks and attentions of the
officers aroused my mother's spleen, and she was more harsh in language
than ever, although I admit that it was but seldom that she resorted to
blows.

I recollect that one day, when I was not supposed to be in hearing, one
of the officers said to another, "Ma foi, elle est jolie--elle a besoin
de deux ans, et elle sera parfaite."  So childish and innocent was I at
that time, that I could not imagine what they meant.

"Why was I to be two years older?"  I thought, and puzzled over it till
I fell fast asleep.  The attentions of the officers, and the flattery he
received from them on my account, appeared to have more effect on my
father than I could have imagined.  Perhaps he felt that I was somebody
to be proud of, and his vanity gave him that courage to oppose my
mother, which his paternal feelings had not roused.  I recollect one
instance particularly.  There was a great ceremony to be performed in
the church, no less than the christening of the two new bells, previous
to their being hoisted up in the belfry.  The officers told my father
that I must be present, and on his return home he stated to my mother
his intention of taking me with him on the following day to see the
ceremony.

"She can't go--she has no clothes fit to wear," cried my mother.

"Why has she not, madame?" replied my father, sternly.  "Let her have
some ready for to-morrow, and without fail."

My mother perceived that my father was not to be trifled with, and
therefore thought proper to acquiesce.  Pity it was that he did not use
his authority a little more, after he had discovered that he could
regain it if he pleased.

On the following day I accompanied my father, who was one of the
officers on duty in the interior of the church, and as he stood in
advance of his men, I remained at his side, and of course had a very
complete view of the whole ceremony.  I was very neatly-dressed, and my
father received many compliments upon my appearance.  At last the
ceremony began.  The church was lined with troops to keep back the
crowd, and the procession entered the church, the bishop walking under a
canopy, attended by the priests, then the banners, and pretty children,
dressed as angels, tossing frankincense from silver censers.  The two
bells were in the centre of the church, both of them dressed in white
petticoats, which covered them completely, ornamented with ribbons, and
a garland of flowers upon the head of each--if I may so designate their
tops.  The godmothers, dressed in white as on baptismal ceremonies, and
the godfathers in court suits, stood on each side.  They had been
selected from the _elite_ of the families in the town.  The organ and
the military band relieved each other until the service commenced.  The
bishop read the formula; the godmothers and godfathers gave the
customary security; the holy water was sprinkled over the bells, and
thus were they regularly baptised.  One was named Eulalie and the other
Lucile.  It was a very pretty ceremony, and I should have liked to have
been present at their "_premiere communion_" if it ever took place.

My English readers may consider this as a piece of mummery.  At the time
I did not.  As a good Catholic, which I was at that time, and a pretty
Frenchwoman, I thought that nothing could be more correct than the
_decoration des belles_.  I believe that it has always been the custom
to name bells--to consecrate them most certainly--and if we call to mind
what an important part they perform in our religion, I do not wonder at
it.  By being consecrated, they receive the rites of the church.  Why,
therefore, should they not receive the same rites in baptism?  But why
baptise them?  Because they speak to us in many ways, and with their
loud tongues express the feelings, and make known the duties imposed
upon us.  Is there cause for the nation to rejoice, their merry notes
proclaim it from afar; in solemn tones they summon us to the house of
prayer, to the lifting of the Host, and to the blessing of the priest;
and it is their mournful notes which announce to us that one of our
generation has been summoned away, and has quitted this transitory
abode.  Their offices are Christian offices, and therefore are they
received into the church.



CHAPTER THREE.

An elder sister of my mother's resided at Colmar, and I passed most of
my time with her during our stay.  When my father's regiment was ordered
to Paris, this lady requested that I might remain with her; but my
mother refused, telling her sister that she could not, conscientiously
as a mother, allow any of her daughters to quit her care for any worldly
advantage.  That this was mere hypocrisy, the reader will imagine;
indeed, it was fully proved so to be in two hours afterwards, by my
mother telling my father that if her sister had offered to take Clara,
my second sister, she would have consented.  The fact was, that the old
lady had promised to dower me very handsomely (for she was rich), and my
mother could not bear any good fortune to come to me.

We passed through Luneville on our road to Paris, and I saw my dear
grandmother for the last time.  She requested that I might be left with
her, making the same offer as she did before, of leaving me all her
property at her death, but my mother would not listen to any
solicitation.  Now as our family was now fourteen in number, she surely
might, in either of the above instances, have well spared me, and it
would have been a relief to my father; but this is certain, she would
not spare me, although she never disguised her dislike, and would, if
she had dared, have treated me as she had formerly done.  I was very
anxious to stay with my dear grandmother.  She had altered very much
since my grandfather's death, and was evidently breaking up fast; but my
mother was inexorable.  We continued our route, and arrived at Paris,
where we took up our quarters in the barracks close to the Boulevards.

My mother was as harsh as ever, and now recommenced her boxes of the
ear--which during the time we were at Colmar had but seldom been
applied.  In all my troubles I never was without friends.  I now made an
acquaintance with the wife of the colonel of the regiment who joined us
at Paris.  She had no children.  I imparted all my troubles to her, and
she used to console me.  She was a very religious woman, and as I had
been brought up in the same way by my grandmother, she was pleased to
find piety in one so young, and became much attached to me.  She had a
sister, a widow of large fortune, who lived in the Rue St Honore, a very
pleasant, lively woman, but very sarcastic when she pleased, and not
caring what she said if her feelings prompted her.  I constantly met her
at the colonel's house, and she invited me to come and see her at her
own, but I knew that my mother would not permit me, so I did not ask.
As the colonel was my father's superior officer, all attempts to break
off my intimacy with her which my mother made, were unavailing, and I
passed as usual all my time in any other house except my home.

I have now to record but two more beatings.  The reader may think that I
have recorded enough already, but as these were the two last, and they
were peculiar, I must beg him to allow me so to do.  The first beating
was given me for the following cause: A very gentlemanlike young officer
in the regiment was very particular in his attentions to me.  I liked
his company, but my thoughts had never been directed towards marriage,
for I was too childish and innocent.  One morning it appeared that he
proposed to my father, who immediately gave his consent, provided that I
was agreeable, and this he ventured to do without consulting my mother.
Perhaps he thought it a good opportunity to remove me from my mother's
persecution.  At all events when he made known to her what he had done,
and requested her to sound me on the subject, she was in no pleasant
humour.  When she did so, my reply was (he being a very
dark-complexioned man, although well-featured), "Non, maman, je ne veux
pas.  Il est trop noir."

To my astonishment, my mother flew at me, and I received such an
avalanche of boxes on the ears for this reply, that I was glad to make
my escape as fast as I could, and locked myself up in my own room.  Now
I really believe that I was almost a single instance of a young lady
having her ears well boxed for refusing to marry a man that she did not
care for--but such was my fate.

The treatment I received in this instance got wind in the barracks, and
my cause was warmly taken up by every one.  Finding myself thus
supported, I one day ventured to refuse to do a very menial and
unpleasant office, and for this refusal I received the second beating.
It was the last certainly, but it was the most severe, for my mother
caught up a hearth-brush, and struck me for several minutes such a
succession of severe blows, that my face was so disfigured that I was
hardly to be recognised, my head cut open in several places, and the
blood pouring down me in every direction.  At last she left me for dead
on the floor.  After a time I recovered my recollection, and when I did
so, I sprang away from the servants who had been supporting me, and with
my hair flying in the wind, and my face and dress streaming with blood,
I ran across the barrack-yard to the colonel's house, and entering the
room in which she was sitting with her sister, sank at her feet, choking
with the blood which poured out of my mouth.

"Who is it?" exclaimed she, springing up in horror and amazement.

"Valerie--pauvre Valerie," moaned I, with my face on the floor.

They raised me up, sent for the servants, took me into a bedroom, and
sent for the surgeon of the regiment, who lived in the barracks.  As
soon as I was somewhat recovered, I told them that it was my mother's
treatment; and I became so excited, that as soon as the surgeon had left
the house, I cried, "Never, madam, will I again enter my father's house;
never while I live--if you do not protect me--or if nobody else will--if
you send me back again, I will throw myself in the Seine.  I swear it as
I kneel."

"What is to be done, sister?" said the colonel's wife.

"I will see.  At all events, Valerie, I will keep you here a few days
till something can be arranged.  It is now quite dark, and you shall
stay here, and sleep on this bed."

"Or the bed of the river," replied I; "I care not if it were that, for I
should not rise up to misery.  I have made a vow, and I repeat, that I
never will enter my father's house again."

"My dear Valerie," said the colonel's wife, in a soothing tone.

"Leave her to me, sister," said the other, who was busy arranging my
hair now that my wounds had stopped bleeding, "I will talk to her.  The
colonel will be home directly, and you must receive him."

Madame Allarde, for that was the colonel's wife's name, left the room.
As soon as she was gone, Madame d'Albret, her sister, said to me,
"Valerie, I fear that what you have said you will adhere to, and you
will throw yourself into the river."

"Yes, if I am taken back again," replied I.  "I hope God will forgive
me, but I feel I shall, for my mind is overthrown, and I am not sane at
times."

"My poor child, you may go back again to your father's house, because my
sister and her husband, in their position, cannot prevent it, but
believe me, you shall not remain there.  As long as I have a home to
offer, you shall never want one; but you must listen to me.  I wish to
serve you and to punish your unnatural mother, and I will do so, but
Valerie, you must well weigh circumstances before you decide; I say that
I can offer you a home, but recollect life is uncertain, and if it
pleases God to summon me, you will have a home no longer.  What will you
do then?--for you will never be able to return to your father's house."

"You are very kind, madam," replied I, "but my resolution is formed, and
I will work for my daily bread in any way that I can, rather than
return.  Put me but in the way of doing that, and I will for ever bless
you."

"You shall never work for your bread while I live, Valerie, but if I
die, you will have to do something for your own support, and recollect
how friendless you will be, and so young."

"Can I be more friendless than I am at home, madame?" said I, shaking my
head, mournfully.

"Your father deserves punishment for his want of moral courage as well
as your mother," replied Madame d'Albret.  "You had better go to bed
now, and to-morrow give me your decision."

"To-morrow will make no change, madame," answered I, "but I fear that
there is no chance of my escape.  To-morrow my father will arrive for me
as usual, and--but I have said it.  You may preserve my life, madame,
but how I know not," and I threw myself down on the bed in despair.



CHAPTER FOUR.

About an hour afterwards Madame d'Albret, who had left me on the bed
while she went down to her sister, came up again, and spoke to me, but
from weakness occasioned by the loss of blood and from excitement, I
talked for many minutes in the most incoherent manner, and Madame
d'Albret was seriously alarmed.  In the meantime the colonel had come
home, and his wife explained what had happened.  She led him up to my
room just at the time that I was raving.  He took the candle, and looked
at my swelled features, and said, "I should not have recognised the poor
girl.  Mort de ma vie! but this is infamous, and Monsieur de Chatenoeuf
is a contemptible coward.  I will see him to-morrow morning."

The colonel and his wife then left the room.  By this time I had
recovered from my paroxysm.  Madame d'Albret came to me, and putting her
face close to mine, said, "Valerie."

"Yes, madame," replied I.

"Are you more composed now?  Do you think that you could listen to me?"

"Yes, madame, and thankfully," replied I.

"Well, then, my plan is this.  I am sure that the colonel will take you
home to-morrow.  Let him do so; in the morning I will tell you how to
behave.  To-morrow night you shall escape, and I will be with a _fiacre_
at the corner of the street ready to receive you.  I will take you to my
house, and no one, not even my sister, shall know that you are with me.
They will believe that you have thrown yourself into the Seine, and as
the regiment is ordered to Lyons, and will leave in ten days or a
fortnight, there will be no chance, if you are concealed till their
departure, of their knowing that you are alive."

"Thank you, thank you, madame, you know not how happy you have made me,"
replied I, pressing my hand to my heart, which throbbed painfully with
joy.  "God bless you, Madame d'Albret.  Oh, how I shall pray for you,
kind Madame d'Albret!"

Madame d'Albret shed tears over me after I had done speaking, and then
wishing me good-night, told me that she would see me in the morning, and
let me know what was going on, and then give me further directions for
my conduct.  She then left me, and I tried to go to sleep, but I was in
too much pain.  Once I did slumber, and dreamt that my mother was
beating me again.  I screamed with the pain that the blows gave me and
awoke.  I slept no more that night.  At daylight I rose, and, as may be
supposed, the first thing that I did was to look into the glass.  I was
terrified; my face was swelled so that my features were hardly
distinguishable; one eye was closed up, and the blood had oozed out
through the handkerchief which had been tied round my head by the
surgeon.  I was, indeed, an object.  The servant brought me up some
coffee, which I drank, and then remained till the colonel's wife came up
to me.

It was the first and only time that I ever beheld that good woman angry.
She called from the top of the stairs for her husband to come up; he
did so, looked at me, said nothing, but went down again.  About
half-an-hour afterwards Madame d'Albret and the surgeon came up
together.  The latter was interrogated by her as to the effects of the
injuries I had received, and after examination, he replied, that
although it would take some days for the inflammation and marks of the
blows to go away, yet he did not consider that eventually I should be in
any way disfigured.  This gave me great pleasure, as I suspect it would
have done any other pretty girl in my situation.  Madame d'Albret waited
till the surgeon was gone, and then gave me some further instructions,
which I obeyed to the letter.  She also brought me a black veil in case
I had not one of my own.  She then left me, saying, that the colonel had
sent for my father, and that she wished to be present at the interview.

My father came, and the colonel, after stating the treatment which I had
received, loaded him with reproaches; told him his conduct was that of a
coward to allow his wife to be guilty of such cruelty towards his child.
Then he sent Madame d'Albret to bring me down; when I entered, my
father started back with surprise; he had answered the colonel
haughtily, but when he beheld the condition I was in, he said, "Colonel,
you are right; I deserve all you have said and even more, but now do me
the favour to accompany me home.  Come, Valerie, my poor child, your
father begs your pardon."

As my father took my hand to lead me away, Madame d'Albret said to the
colonel, "My dear Allarde, do you not incur a heavy responsibility in
allowing that girl to go back again?  You know what she said yesterday."

"Yes, ma chere, I have been told by your sister, but it was said in a
state of excitement, and I have no doubt that kindness will remove all
such ideas.  Monsieur de Chatenoeuf, I am at your orders."

I never said a word during all this interview.  Madame d'Albret tied the
black veil round my head and let it fall to conceal my features, and I
was led home by my father accompanied by the colonel.  We went into the
room where my mother was sitting.  My father lifted the veil from my
face.

"Madame," said my father, in a severe tone, "do you see the condition to
which your barbarity has reduced this poor girl?  I have brought
Monsieur Allarde here to tell you before him, that your conduct has been
infamous, and that mine has been unpardonable in not having protected
her from your cruelty; but I now tell you, that you have bent the bow
till it has broken, and your power in this house is ended for ever."

My mother was so much astonished at this severe rebuke before witnesses,
that she remained with her mouth open and her eyes staring.  At last she
gave a sort of chuckling laugh.

"Madame, I am in earnest," continued my father, "and you shall find that
in future I command here.  To your room, madame, immediately!"

The last word was pronounced in a voice of thunder.  My mother rose, and
as she retired, burst into a passionate flood of tears.  The colonel
then took his leave, saying to my father.

"Tenez-vous la."

My father remained a quarter of an hour with me, consoling me and
blaming himself, and promising that in future he would see me done
justice to.  I heard him without reply.  The tears started in my eyes at
his kind expressions, but I felt there was no security for his adhering
to all he promised, and I trembled as I thought so.  He left me and went
out.  My mother, who had been watching, as soon as she saw that he had
left the house, hastened downstairs from her room, and came into the one
where I was sitting alone.

"So, mademoiselle," said she, panting, and apparently striving to
contain herself, "my power in this house is gone for ever, and all
through you.  Ha, ha, ha! we shall see, we shall see.  D'ye hear me,
creature?" continued she, with her clenched hand close to my face.  "No,
not yet," said she, after a pause, and then she left the room.

If my father's kindness had somewhat staggered my resolution, this
conduct of my mother's confirmed it.  I felt that she was right in what
she said, and that in a month she would regain her sway, and drive me to
desperation.  During the whole of that day I made no reply to anything
that was said to me by my brothers and sisters, who came in by stealth
to see me.  In this I followed the advice of Madame d'Albret, and at the
same time my own feelings and inclinations.  The servants who offered me
dinner, and coaxed me to take some nourishment, could not get any answer
from me, and at last one of them, who was a kind-hearted girl, burst out
into tears, crying that mademoiselle was _folle_.  My father did not
come home to dinner; my mother remained in her room till he came in in
the evening, and then he went up to her.  It wanted but half-an-hour of
the time that I had agreed to meet Madame d'Albret.  I waited that time,
during which I heard sounds of high altercation above stairs.  I was
quite alone, for my mother had prevented the children coming to me, and
as the clock struck, I dropped my veil over my face and quietly walking
out of the house, made for the rendezvous agreed.

I found the _fiacre_ with Madame d'Albret waiting for me, and stepping
into it, I was in a few minutes safely lodged in her splendid
comfortable apartments.  Madame d'Albret put me in a little cabinet
inside of her own room, so that no one, except one servant whom she
could trust, knew of my being on the premises.  There I was left to
recover from my bruises, and regain, if possible, my good looks.  On the
following day she repaired to the barracks, and remained with her sister
till the evening, when she returned, and came up to me.

"All has happened as I wished," said she, as she took off her bonnet;
"you are nowhere to be found, and they have not the least suspicion that
you are here.  When you were first missed, they thought you had returned
to the colonel's, and your father did not think it advisable to make
inquiry until the next morning, when to his surprise he learnt that you
had never been there.  The dismounted hussar, who was sentry during the
evening, was then examined; and he replied, that about half-past eight
o'clock, a young person, who by her figure he presumed to be
Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf, had gone out of the gates, but that she had a
thick veil over her face, and he could not see it.  When your father and
the colonel had interrogated the man and dismissed him, my poor sister
burst into tears and said, `Alas! alas! then she has kept her word, and
has thrown herself into the Seine.  Oh, Monsieur Allarde, my sister said
you would incur a heavy responsibility by sending that poor girl back,
and now it has proved but too true: poor dear Valerie!'  Your father and
the colonel were almost as much distressed as my sister, and it was just
at that time that I came in.

"`Sister,' cried Madame Allarde to me, `Valerie has left the barracks.'

"`What!' exclaimed I, `When? oh my fear was too true!' said I, clasping
my hands and then taking out my handkerchief, I covered my face and
sobbed.  I tell you, Valerie, that nothing but my affection for you
would have induced me to be so deceitful, but under the circumstances I
hope I was justified.  My assumed grief and distress quite removed any
suspicion of your being here, and shortly afterwards the colonel made a
sign to your father, and they both left the barracks; I have no doubt
they went down to the Morgue, to ascertain if their fears had already
been proved correct."

"What is the Morgue, madame?" said I.

"Do you not know, my child?  It is a small building by the side of the
Seine, where all bodies which are found in the river are laid out for
the examination of the friends of those who are missing.  Below the
bridges there is a large strong net laid across, which receives all the
bodies as they are swept away by the tide; that is, it receives many, if
not most of them, but some are never found again."

Madame Allarde did not fail to return to the barracks on the next day,
and found that a general excitement prevailed, not only among the
officers but the men.  My supposed suicide had been made known.  My
father had visited the Morgue a second time, and the police had been on
the search without success.  My mother dared not even show herself at
the window of her apartments, and found herself avoided even by her own
children.  As for my father, he was half mad, and never met her but to
load her with reproaches, and to curse his own folly in having so long
submitted to her imperious will.

"At all events, one good has arisen from your supposed death, Valerie,"
said Madame d'Albret, "which is, that your father has completely resumed
his authority, and I do not think will ever yield it up again."

"My poor father," replied I, shedding tears, "I feel for him."

"He is certainly to be pitied," replied Madame d'Albret, "but it is his
own conscience which must be his greatest tormentor.  He was selfish
enough not to feel for you during your years of persecution, and rather
than have his own comforts invaded by domestic brawls for a short
period, he allowed you to be sacrificed.  But observe, Valerie, if you
have still a wish to return to your parents, it is not too late.  The
regiment does not leave Paris till next Thursday."

"Oh, no, no," cried I, "my mother would kill me; don't mention that
again, madame," continued I, trembling.

"I will not, my child, for to tell you the truth, you would not appear
in so favourable a light, if you were now to return.  You have caused
much grief to my sister and husband, and they would not receive you with
cordiality after having thus trifled with their feelings.  It would also
be a victory for your mother; and I doubt not but that in a short time
she would again recover that power which for the present she has lost.
You never can be happy in your family after what has passed, and I think
that what has been done is for the best.  Your father can well spare one
child out of fourteen, having little more than a long sword for their
support.  Your supposed death will be the cause of your father retaining
his lawful authority, and preventing any of the remaining children
receiving such injustice as you have done; and remorse will check, if it
does not humanise your mother, and I trust that the latter will be the
case.  I had well weighed all this in my mind, my dear Valerie, before I
made the proposal, and I consider still that for your sake and for the
sake of others, it is better that you should be the sacrifice.
Nevertheless, I repeat, consult your own feelings, and if you repent the
step which you have taken, there is yet time for you to return."

"My dear madame, return I never will, unless I am taken by force.  All I
feel is, that I should like that my father's bitter anguish was assuaged
by his knowledge of my being still in existence."

"And so should I, Valerie, were it possible that the communication could
be made, and the same happy results be arrived at; but that cannot be,
unless it should please Heaven to summon your mother, and then you might
safely inform your father of your existence."

"You are right, madame."

"Yes, I think I am, Valerie; for, after all, your father duly deserves
his severe penance, which is, to visit the Morgue every day; but painful
as is the remedy, it is necessary for the cure."

"Yes, madame," replied I, sobbing, "all you say is true, but still I
cannot help weeping and pitying my poor father; not that it alters my
determination, but I cannot command my feelings."

"Your feelings do you honour, Valerie, and I do not blame you for your
grief.  Do not, however, indulge it to excess, for that is turning a
virtue into a failing."

There were still three days remaining previous to the departure of the
regiment for Lyons.  I was sorely distressed during this time.  I
pictured to myself my father's remorse, and would gladly have hastened
to the barracks and thrown myself into his arms, but my mother's image
rose before me, and her last words, "We shall see if my power is gone
for ever," rung in my ears; her clenched hand was apparently close to my
face, and then my resolution remained fixed.  The swelling of my
features had now subsided, and I had in some degree recovered my good
looks; still my eye and cheeks were tinged black and yellow in various
places, and the cuts on my head not quite healed.  However, I was
satisfied that the surgeon of the regiment was correct in his assertion
that I should not be the least disfigured by the treatment which I had
received.

"I have news for you," said Madame d'Albret, as she returned from the
barracks, where she had been to see her sister off on her journey.
"Your brother, Auguste, who you know has been away, has returned to
rejoin his regiment, but has since obtained his rank in another, which
is stationed at Brest."

"Why has he done so, madame? do you know? have you seen him?"

"Yes; he was at the colonel's; he stated that he could not remain in the
regiment if his mother continued with his father; that he should never
be able after what had happened to treat his mother with common
courtesy, still less with the duty of a son, and therefore he preferred
leaving the regiment."

"And my father, madame?"

"Your father allows him to act as he pleases; indeed, he feels the force
of what your brother says, and so does my brother-in-law, who has given
his assent, as commanding officer, to your brother's exchange.  Auguste
laments you very much, and the poor fellow looks very ill.  I think he
has done right, although it is a severe blow to your mother; but for her
I have no compassion."

"My mother never liked Auguste, madame."

"No, I believe that; but what annoys her is the cause of his leaving his
regiment, as it is open condemnation of her conduct."

"Yes, I can understand that feeling on her part," replied I.

"Well, Valerie, I did not return until the regiment was gone and the
barracks cleared.  You know the commandant always goes the last.  I saw
my sister safe off, and now I am here to tell you that you are no longer
a prisoner, but may make yourself comfortable by roving through my
apartments.  But the first affair which we must take in hand is your
wardrobe.  I am rich enough to furnish you, so that shall be seen to
immediately.  And, Valerie dear, let me now say once for all, what I do
not intend to repeat in words, but I hope to prove by my actions.  Look
upon me as your mother, for I have not taken you away from your family
without the resolution of supplying, as far as I can, not the mother you
have lost, but the mother which in your dreams you have fancied.  I love
you, my child, for you are deserving of love.  Treat me, therefore, with
that unlimited confidence and affection which your young and pure heart
yearns to pour out."

"Bless you, madame, bless you," cried I, bursting into tears, and
burying my face in her lap; "I feel that now I have a mother."



CHAPTER FIVE.

For several days I remained quiet in the little ante-chamber, during
which Madame d'Albret had been busy every morning driving in her
carriage, and ordering me a wardrobe; and as the various articles came
in, I was as much surprised as I was pleased at the taste which had been
shown, and the expense which must have been incurred.

"My dear madame," cried I, as each parcel was opened, "these are much
too good for me; recollect I am but a poor soldier's daughter."

"You were so," replied Madame d'Albret; "but you forget," continued she,
kissing my forehead, "that the poor soldier's daughter was drowned in
the Seine, and you are now the _protegee_ of Madame d'Albret.  I have
already mentioned to all my friends that I expect a young cousin from
Gascony, whom I have adopted, having no children of my own.  Your own
name is noble, and you may safely retain it, as there are no want of
Chatenoeufs in Gascony, and there have been former alliances between
them and the d'Albrets.  I have no doubt that if I were to refer back to
family records, that I could prove you to be a cousin, some three
hundred times removed, and that is quite enough.  As soon as you are
quite well, and I think in a week all vestiges of your ill-treatment
will be effaced, we will go down to my chateau for a few months, and we
will return to Paris in the season.  Has Madame Paon been here?"

"Yes, my dear madame, she has, and has taken my measure for the dresses;
but don't scold me.  I must cry a little, for I am so happy and so
grateful.  My heart will burst if I do not.  Bless you, bless you, dear
madame; little did I think before I saw you, that I should ever cry for
joy."

Madame d'Albret embraced me with much affection, and allowed me to give
vent to my feelings, which I did, bedewing her hands with my tears.  A
week afterwards, everything was ready, and we set off for the chateau in
Brittany, travelling in Madame d'Albret's post-chariot with an _avant
courier_, and without regard to expense.

And now I must make the reader somewhat better acquainted with my kind
protectress.  I little thought at the time that she offered me her
protection, that she was a personage of such consequence, but the fact
was, that her sister having made a very inferior match to her own, she,
out of delicacy, while the Colonel and his wife were at Paris, avoided
anything like state in paying them a visit, and I supposed that she was
much in the same rank and society as they were; but such was not the
case.

Madame d'Albret had married into one of the highest and most noble
families of France.  Her husband had died three years after their
marriage, and having no children, had left her a large revenue entirely
at her own disposal during her life, and wishing her to marry again, had
the property entailed upon her children if she had any, if not, after
her death, it was to go to a distant brand of the d'Albret family.  I
was informed that her income amounted to 60,000 livres per annum,
besides her chateau in the country, and the hotel in the Rue St Honore,
which belonged to her, although she only occupied a portion of it.  Her
husband had now been dead more than ten years, and Madame d'Albret had
not been persuaded by her numerous suitors to marry again.  She was
still handsome, about thirty-four years of age, and I hardly need say,
was in the very best society in Paris.  Such was the person who came to
the barracks in so unassuming a manner, and whose protection I was so
fortunate as to obtain.

I could dwell long upon the happy days that I passed at the chateau.
There was no want of society, and the _reunions_ were charming; and
being in the country, I was allowed to join them, having been formally
introduced by Madame d'Albret to all her visitors, as her cousin.  My
time was fully occupied.  Madame d'Albret, perceiving that I had great
talent for music and a fine voice, had procured me good masters, and
wishing to prove my gratitude by attention, I was indefatigable, and
made so rapid a progress, that my masters were surprised.  Music and
embroidery, at which I had before mentioned I was very expert, were my
only occupations--and on the latter my talents were exerted to please
Madame d'Albret, by offering her each piece as they were successively
taken from the frame.  So far from wishing to return to Paris, I was
unhappy at the idea of leaving the chateau.  Indeed, if the reader will
recall what I have narrated of my former life, he will at once perceive
that I could but be in a state of perfect happiness.

Until I was received by Madame d'Albret, I had lived a life of
persecution, and had not known kindness.  Fear was the passion which had
been acted upon, and which, I may say, had crushed both mind and body:
now all was kindness and love.  Praise, which I had never before
received, was now lavished upon me, and I felt my energies and talents
roused, and developing themselves in a way that astonished myself.  I
had not known what I was, or what I was capable of.  I had had no
confidence in myself, and I had believed myself to be almost as
incapable as my mother would have persuaded me, and everybody else.
This sudden change of treatment had a most surprising effect.  In the
course of a few months I had grown nearly three inches taller, and not
only my figure, but my features, had become so improved, that, although
not vain, it was impossible for me not to believe what every one said,
and what my glass told me, that I was very handsome, and that I should
make a great sensation when I was introduced at Paris.  But although I
believed this, I felt no desire.  I was too happy as I was, and would
not have exchanged the kindness of Madame d'Albret for the best husband
that France could produce; and when anything was mentioned by ladies who
visited Madame d'Albret, to that effect, and they talked about my future
establishment, my reply invariably was, "_Je ne veux pas_."  I had
always expressed my regrets that we should be obliged to go to Paris for
the season, and Madame d'Albret, who of course had no wish to part with
me so soon, and who felt that I was still young enough to remain for
some years single, made me very happy by telling me that she did not
intend to stay long in the capital, and that although I should appear at
her parties, she did not intend that I should be much at public places.
And so it proved; we went to Paris, and the best masters were procured
for me, but I did not go out with Madame d'Albret, except occasionally,
in her morning drives, and once or twice to the Opera and theatres.  My
music occupied the major portion of my time, and having expressed a wish
to learn English, I had a good master; but I had another resource from
an intimacy having arisen between me and Madame Paon, whom, I believe, I
have before mentioned as the first milliner in Paris.

This intimacy was brought about in the following manner.  Being very
clever with my needle, and having a great taste for dress, I used to
amuse myself at the chateau with inventing something new, not for
myself, but for Madame d'Albret, and very often surprised and pleased
her by making alterations or additions to her dresses, which were always
admired, and declared to be in the best taste.  On our arrival at Paris,
Madame Paon was visited of course, that the new fashions might be
ascertained, and she immediately remarked and admired my little
inventions.  I was therefore consulted whenever a new dress was to be
made for Madame d'Albret, and as Madame Paon was a very lady-like and
superior person, of a decayed, but good family, we soon became very
intimate.  We had been at Paris about two months, when one morning
Madame Paon observed to Madame d'Albret, that as I was learning English
it would not be a bad plan if Madame d'Albret was to drop me at her
establishment when she took her morning airing, as she had two highly
respectable English _modistes_ in her employ, who she found were
necessary for her English customers, and that I should learn more
English by an hour's conversation with them than a master could supply.
Madame d'Albret agreed with her, I was pleased at the idea, and
consequently three or four mornings in the week were passed at Madame
Paon's.

But the reader must be introduced to the establishment of Madame Paon,
or he may imagine that it was too condescending for a young lady in my
position to visit at a milliner's.  Madame Paon was the first milliner
at Paris, and as is generally the case, was on the most intimate terms
with all the ladies.  She made for the court, and, indeed, for every
lady to whom she could dedicate her time, as it was almost a favour to
be permitted to be one of her customers.  Her establishment was in the
Rue St Honore, I forget the name of the hotel, but it was one of the
largest.

The suite of apartments were magnificent.  You passed from one room to
another, each displaying every variety of rich and graceful costume.  In
every room were demoiselles well-dressed to attend to the customers, and
everything bespoke a degree of taste and elegance quite unparalleled.
At last you arrived at the reception-room of madame, which was spacious
and most superbly furnished.  There were no men in the establishment
except in one room, called the Comptoir, in which were six clerks at
their desks.  When I add that Madame Paon was elegant in her manners,
and handsome in her person, very tall and majestic, that she was rich,
kept several servants, a handsome carriage, and had a _maison de
campagne_, to which she retired every Saturday afternoon, the reader may
acknowledge that she was a person whom Madame d'Albret might permit me
to visit.

This intimacy soon became very great.  There was a certain degree of
_eclat_ at my being so constantly in the house, and, moreover, as I had
a decided taste for dress, I often brought forward some new invention
which was not only approved of, but a source of profit to Madame Paon.
Everything was submitted to my judgment as Madame Paon more than once
observed, "What a first-rate _modiste_ you would make, mademoiselle;
but, unfortunately for the fashions, there is no chance of your being so
employed."

At last the Paris season was nearly over, and truly glad was I when
Madame d'Albret mentioned the day of our departure.  I had very much
improved in my music and my English during our residence at Paris.  I
had not been out except to small parties, and had no wish whatever to go
out at all.  I was satisfied with Madame d'Albret's company, and had no
wish to leave her.  I may say that I was truly happy, and my countenance
was radiant, and proved that I was so.  My thoughts would occasionally
revert to my father and my brother Auguste, and make me melancholy for
the time, but I felt that all was for the best, and I built castles, in
which I imagined my suddenly breaking in upon them, throwing myself in
my father's arms, and requesting him to share the wealth and luxury with
which I fancied myself to be endowed.

I was now nearly eighteen years old.  I had been one year under the
protection of Madame d'Albret, and the old dowagers who visited us at
the chateau were incessantly pointing out to Madame d'Albret that it was
time to look out for an establishment for me.  Madame d'Albret was, to a
certain degree, of their opinion, but she did not wish to part with me,
and I was resolute in my determination not to leave her.  I had no wish
to be married; I had reflected much upon the subject; the few married
lives I had witnessed were not to my taste.  I had seen my kind-hearted
amiable grandmother thwarted by a penurious husband; I had witnessed my
father under the control of a revengeful woman; and when I beheld, as I
did every day, the peace and happiness in the establishment of Madame
d'Albret as a single woman, I felt certain that marriage was a lottery
in which there were thousands of blanks to one prize.  When, therefore,
any of Madame d'Albret's acquaintances brought up the subject, when they
left the room I earnestly implored Madame d'Albret not to be influenced
by their remarks, as I had made up my mind to remain single, and that
all I asked was to remain with her and prove my gratitude.

"I believe you, Valerie," replied Madame d'Albret, "but I should not be
doing my duty if I permitted you to act upon your own feelings.  A girl
like you was not intended by Heaven to pine away in celibacy, but to
adorn the station in life in which she is placed.  At the same time, I
will not press the matter, but if an advantageous offer were to be made,
I shall then consider it my duty to exert my influence with you to make
you change your mind, but, at the same time, I will never use anything
more than persuasion.  I am too happy with you as a companion to wish to
part with you, but, at the same time, I should be very selfish if I did
not give you up when your own interest told me that such was my duty."

"Well, madame, I thank Heaven that I have no fortune, and that will, I
trust, be a bar to any proposals from the interested gentleman of the
present day."

"That may not save you, Valerie," replied Madame d'Albret, laughing,
"gentlemen may be satisfied with expectancies; nay, it is possible that
one may be found who may be satisfied with your own pretty self, and ask
no more."

"I rather think not, madame," replied I.  "You have too good an opinion
of me, and must not expect others to view me with your partial eyes; all
I can say is, that if such a gentleman could be found, his
disinterestedness would make me think more highly of him than I do of
the sex at present, although not sufficiently well to wish me to change
my present condition."

"Well, well, we shall see," replied Madame d'Albret, "the carriage is at
the door, so bring me my bonnet and cashmere."

A few weeks after our return to the chateau, a Monsieur de G--, of an
old family in Brittany, who had been for the last two years in England,
returned to his father's house, and called upon Madame d'Albret.  She
had known him from childhood, and received him most cordially.  I must
describe him fully, as he played no small part in my little drama.  He
was, I should think, nearly thirty years of age, small in person but
elegantly made, with a very handsome but rather effeminate face.  His
address and manners were perfect.  He was very witty, and apparently
very amiable.  His deportment towards our sex was certainly most
fascinating--so tender and so respectful.  I certainly never had before
seen so polished a man.  He sang well, and played upon several
instruments; drew, caricatured--indeed, he did everything well that he
attempted to do; I hardly need say that with such qualifications, and
being so old a friend, that he was gladly welcomed by Madame d'Albret,
and became a daily visitor at the chateau.  I was soon intimate with him
and partial to his company, but nothing more; indeed, his attentions to
Madame d'Albret were quite as great as to me, and there was nothing to
permit any one to suppose that he was paying his court either to her or
to me.  Madame d'Albret thought otherwise, because we sang together, and
because he talked to me in English, and she as well as others rallied me
in consequence.

After two months had passed away, Monsieur de G--was supposed to be
paying his attentions more particularly to me, and I thought so myself;
Madame d'Albret certainly did, and gave him every opportunity.  He was
the heir to a large property, and did not require money with his wife.
About this time, an English lady of the name of Bathurst who was
travelling with a niece, a little girl about fourteen years old, had
accepted an invitation from Monsieur de G--'s father, to pass a week
with them at their chateau, which was about five miles from that of
Madame d'Albret, and this lady was introduced.  She was apparently very
amiable, and certainly very _distinguee_ in her manners, and we saw a
great deal of her as she was a great favourite with Madame d'Albret.

A few weeks after the introduction of this English lady, I was one day
on the terrace alone, when I was accosted by Monsieur de G--.  After a
remark or two upon the beauty of the autumnal flowers, he observed, "How
different are the customs of two great nations, with but a few leagues
of water between them--I refer to the French and the English.  You would
be surprised to see how great they are if you were ever to go to
England--in none, perhaps, more so than in the affairs of the heart.  In
France we do not consult the wishes or the feelings of the young lady,
we apply to her parents, and if the match is considered equally
advantageous, the young lady is told to prepare herself for changing her
condition.  In England the very reverse is the case; we apply to the
young lady, gain her affections, and when certain of them, we then
request the sanction of those who are her guardians.  Which do you think
is the most natural and satisfactory, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?"

"I have been brought up in France, Monsieur de G--, and I prefer the
mode of France; our parents and our guardians are the people most able
to decide upon the propriety of a match, and I think that until that
point is ascertained, no affections should be engaged, as, should the
marriage not be considered advisable, much pain and disappointment will
be prevented."

"In some instances, I grant that such may be the case," replied he; "but
still, is it not treating your sex like slaves to permit no love before
marriage? and is it agreeable for ours, that we lead to the altar a
person who may consent from a sense of duty, without having the least
regard for her husband; nay, perhaps feeling an aversion?"

"I do not think that any kind parents would force their child to marry a
man for whom she felt an aversion," replied I; "and if there is not much
love before marriage, there may be a great deal after; but the fact is,
it is a subject upon which I am not able, nor do I wish to give my
opinion."

"As you disagree with me, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf," replied he, "I
fear you will not be pleased at my courting you in the English fashion;
and previous to addressing myself to Madame d'Albret, making known to
you my sincere regard for you, and my humble hopes that I am not
indifferent to you."

"I will answer you very plainly, Monsieur de G--; and perhaps it is as
well you have taken this unusual step, as it will save you the trouble
of making any application to Madame d'Albret.  Flattered as I am by your
compliment, I beg to decline the honour you propose, and now that you
know my feelings, you will of course not be so ungenerous as to make any
application to Madame d'Albret."

"Certainly, mademoiselle," replied he, with great pique, "but on one
condition, which is, that you will promise me that you will not mention
to Madame d'Albret what has now passed between us."

"That I willingly promise, Monsieur de G--, as I may consider it as your
secret."

"And I trust," continued he, "that you will not discard me from your
friendship, but receive me as before."

"I shall always be happy to receive the friends of Madame d'Albret,"
replied I, "and now I wish you a good-morning."

I went to my own room and reflected upon what had passed.  I was angry
with Monsieur de G--for what I considered the unwarrantable liberty he
had taken, the greater as he must have known my utter dependence upon
Madame D'Albret; and how unlikely it was that I would form any such
engagement without her knowledge and sanction.  That I had no love for
Monsieur de G--was certain, although I was pleased with his company and
conversation.  I was sorry on reflection that I had given my promise not
to mention what had passed, but having made the promise, although
hastily, I resolved to adhere to it.

I took it for granted that he would gradually withdraw himself, and that
we should see little more of him; but in this I was mistaken; he was as
frequent in his visits as before, dividing his attentions between Madame
d'Albret and me.  This annoyed me, and I avoided him as much as I could,
and the consequence was, that he was oftener with Madame d'Albret than
with me.  At first when Madame d'Albret perceived this, she appeared to
be vexed, as she had evidently set her mind upon the match, and expected
daily to receive a formal proposal from him in my behalf; but gradually,
why I know not, it gave her no further concern, and I was permitted to
leave the room, and do as I pleased without being subjected to any
remarks.

Such was the state of affairs when the Paris season drew near.  Madame
Bathurst had been induced to remain in Brittany, and was continually
with us.  She had often asked me to come over to England, and pass a few
weeks with them, and I had jokingly replied that I would.  One morning
Madame d'Albret said to me--

"My dear Valerie, Madame Bathurst has again requested me to allow you to
go to England with her.  Now if you think that you would like to pass a
short time with her, instead of remaining at Paris during the season, I
really have no objection, if it would give you pleasure."

"My dear madame, I was only joking when I said so."

"Well, you have made Madame Bathurst think you were in earnest, my
dear," replied she; "and I thought so too, and have this morning
promised that you shall go with her.  I thought you would perfect
yourself in English, and it would be a good opportunity of relieving you
for a short time of your constant attendance upon me; so, my dear
Valerie, I advise you to go.  It will amuse you, and a little change
will do you good: besides, my dear, I perceive that the attentions of
Monsieur de G--are not agreeable to you, and it is as well to break it
off by a short absence."

"I shall not dispute your wishes, madame," replied I, mournfully, for my
heart misgave me, why I knew not, "but if I do go, it will be to oblige
you, and not because I really wish it."

"My dear Valerie, I think it will be for the best, and therefore you
will oblige me.  I have promised for you, and I should be sorry to have
to recall my promise--so consent, my dear, and I will write to Madame
Bathurst, that she may be prepared to receive you."

"Certainly, madame," replied I, "your wishes will ever be a law to me:"
and so saying, I left the room, and going to my own chamber, I threw
myself down on the bed, and wept bitterly without knowing why.

About ten days after this, Madame Bathurst called for me to take me to
the chateau of Monsieur de G--'s father, where I was to remain till the
next morning, when we were to post to Paris.  It was with great pain
that I quitted Madame d'Albret, but her kindness to me appeared to have
increased rather than diminished, after the proposal of our short
separation.  "God bless you, my dear Valerie," she said, "you must write
to me twice a week; I shall be most impatient for your return."  I
parted from her with many tears, and did not leave off weeping till we
arrived at the chateau, at which Madame Bathurst resided.

I was received with formal politeness by the old gentleman, and Monsieur
de G--, who was also at home, and in an excessive gay humour.  "Alas,
mademoiselle," cried he, "what a desert you will leave behind you!  It
is too cruel, this travelling mania on your part.  We never shall see
you again."

There was so much irony in his face as he said this, that I hardly knew
what to make of it; but it made me feel anxious and dissatisfied.  I
would have given much to have abandoned the journey, but Madame
d'Albret's wishes were a law to me.  To avoid reflection, which was
painful, I talked with Caroline, the niece of Madame Bathurst, and as we
were to set off at daylight, we retired early.  The following morning we
set off, and in due time arrived at Paris, where we remained but one
day, and then proceeded to Boulogne, where we embarked.

It was now November, and half-way across the Channel we were enveloped
in a fog, and it was with difficulty that we made the harbour.  We set
off for London, the fog continued during the whole day, and on our
arrival at the suburbs it was thicker than ever, and the horses were led
through the streets by people carrying flambeaux.  I had heard that
England was a _triste pays_, and I thought it so indeed.  At last I
observed to Madame Bathurst, "Est-ce qu'il n'y a jamais de soleil dans
ce pays, madame?"

"Oh, yes," replied she, laughing, "and a very beautiful sun too."

The next day we set off for Madame Bathurst's country seat, to pass the
Christmas.  Before we were three miles out of London, the fog had
disappeared, the sun shone out brilliantly, and the branches of the
leafless trees covered with rime, glittered like diamond wands, as we
flew past them.  What with the change in the weather, and the rapid
motion produced by the four English post-horses, I thought England
beautiful; but I must say that the first two days were a trial, the more
so as I was very despondent from having quitted Madame d'Albret.  I was
delighted with Madame Bathurst's country seat, the well-arranged
gardens, the conservatories, the neatness displayed in every thing so
different from France, the cleanness of the house and furniture; the
London carpets over the whole of the rooms and staircases, were, in my
opinion, great improvements; but I cared little for the society, which I
found not only dull, but it appeared to me to be selfish.  I found a
lively companion in Caroline, and we sat up in a little boudoir, where
we were never interrupted.  Here I practised my music, and at Madame
Bathurst's request, spoke alternately English and French with my little
companion, for our mutual improvement.

I had written twice to Madame d'Albret, and had received one very kind
answer; but no mention was made of my return, although it was at first
arranged that my visit was to be three weeks or a month.  A fortnight
after my arrival at Fairfield, I received a second letter from Madame
d'Albret, kind as usual, but stating, to my great grief, that she was
not well, having had an attack on her chest from having taken a violent
cold.  I answered the letter immediately, requesting that I might be
permitted to return home and nurse her, for I felt very uneasy.  For
three weeks, during which I had no reply, I was in a state of great
anxiety and distress, as I imagined that Madame d'Albret must have been
too ill to write, and I was in a fever of suspense.  At last I received
a letter from her, stating that she had been very ill, and that she had
been recommended by the physicians to go to the south of France for the
winter.  At the same time, as she could not put off her departure, she
wrote to Madame Bathurst, requesting, if not inconvenient, that she
would allow my visit to be extended till the spring, at which season she
expected to return to Paris.  Madame Bathurst read her letter to me, and
stated how happy she should be for me to remain.  I could do no
otherwise but thank her, although I was truly miserable.  I wrote to
Madame d'Albret, and stated what my feelings were; but as she had, by
what was said in her letter, already left for the south of France, I
knew that my letter would arrive too late to enable her to alter her
determination.  All I requested was, that she would give me continual
intelligence of her health.

I was, however, much consoled in my distress by the kindness of Madame
Bathurst, and affectionate manners of her niece Caroline, who was my
constant companion.  There was a great deal of company not only
visiting, but staying in the house; but although there was much company,
there was very little society.  Horses, dogs, guns, were the amusements
of the gentlemen during the day.  In the evening we saw little of them,
as they seldom left the dinner-table before Caroline and I had retired
to our rooms; and the ladies appeared to me to be all afraid of each
other, and to be constantly on the reserve.

Christmas had passed, and I had not heard again from Madame d'Albret,
which was a source of great vexation and many bitter tears.  I fancied
her dying in the south of France, without anyone to take care of her.  I
often spoke to Madame Bathurst on the subject, who offered all the
excuses that she could devise, but I thought at the same time appeared
to be very grave, and unwilling to continue the conversation.  At last I
thought of Madame Paon, and I wrote to her, inquiring whether she knew
how Madame d'Albret was, detailing to her how I had come to England, and
how Madame D'Albret had been seriously indisposed, stating my fears from
not having received any reply to my last letters.  The day after I had
written to Madame Paon, Caroline, who was sitting with me in the
boudoir, observed, "I heard Mrs Corbet say to my aunt that she had seen
Madame d'Albret at Paris about ten days ago."

"Impossible!" replied I; "she is in the south of France."

"So I understood," replied Caroline; "but she did say so, and my aunt
immediately sent me out of the room on a message.  I am sure it was to
get rid of me, that she might talk to Mrs Corbet."

"What can this mean?" exclaimed I.  "Oh, my heart forebodes evil!
Excuse me, Caroline, but I feel very miserable;" and I laid my face down
on the table, covering it with my hands, and tears trickled fast through
my fingers.

"Speak to my aunt," said Caroline, consolingly; "do not cry, Valerie, it
may be all a mistake."

"I will at once speak to Madame Bathurst," said I, raising my head, "it
will be the best plan."

I went into my room, bathed my eyes, and then sought Madame Bathurst,
whom I found in the conservatory, giving directions to the gardener.
After a time she took my arm and we walked down the terrace.

"Madame Bathurst," said I, "I have been made very miserable by Caroline
stating that Mrs Corbet had told you that she met Madame d'Albret at
Paris.  How can this be?"

"I cannot imagine more than yourself, my dear Valerie," replied Madame
Bathurst, "except that Mrs Corbet was mistaken."

"Do you think it was Madame?"

"I cannot say, Valerie, but I have written to Paris to ascertain the
fact, which is to me incomprehensible.  A few days will let us into the
truth; I cannot believe it--indeed, if it were true, I shall consider
that Madame d'Albret has treated me ill, for much as I am pleased to
have you here, she has not been candid with me in proposing that you
should remain the winter, upon the plea of her being obliged to go to
the south, when she is still at Paris.  I cannot understand it, and
until confirmed, I will not believe it.  Mrs Corbet is not an
acquaintance of hers, and may, therefore, be mistaken."

"She must be, madame," replied I; "still it is strange that I do not
hear from her.  I am fearful something is wrong, and what it can be, I
cannot surmise."

"Let us talk no more about it, my dear Valerie.  A few days will decide
the point."

A few days did decide the point, for I received an answer from Madame
Paon, in which she said:--

"My dear Mademoiselle Chatenoeuf,--You may imagine my surprise at
receiving your letter, and I fear you must prepare yourself for
unpleasant intelligence.  Madame d'Albret is in Paris, and has never
been in the south of France that I have heard.  When she first called, I
inquired after you.  The reply was that you were on a visit to a lady in
England; that you had left her; that you had a _manie pour
l'Angleterre_; and so saying, she shrugged up her shoulders.  I was
about to inquire more particularly, but she cut the conversation short
by asking to see a new pelisse, and I perceived at once that there was
something wrong, but what I could not comprehend.  I did not see her
till four or five weeks afterwards, when she called, accompanied by a
Monsieur de G--, a person well known in Paris, where he bears a very
indifferent character, as a desperate gambler, and a man of very bad
disposition concealed under a very polished exterior; but his character
is better known in England, which country, I am told, he was obliged to
quit in consequence of some gaming transaction anything but honourable.
I again made inquiries after you, and this time the reply was given by
Monsieur de G--, who replied that you were an _ingrate_, and your name
must not be in future mentioned by anyone to Madame d'Albret.

"The handsome face of Monsieur de G--, was changed to that of a demon
when he made this remark, and fully proved to me the truth of the report
that he was a person of very bad disposition.  Madame d'Albret made no
remark, except that she should be careful how she ever engaged a
_demoiselle de compagnie_ again.  I was struck at this remark from her,
as I always considered that you were (and indeed I know you were at one
time), viewed in a very different light, and I was quite mystified.
About a fortnight afterwards Madame d'Albret called upon me and
announced her intended marriage to Monsieur de G--, and requested me to
make her wedding dresses.  Here the whole mystery was out, but why,
because she marries Monsieur de G--, you should lose her protection, and
why Monsieur de G--should be so inveterate against you, is more than I
can tell.  I have now, my dear mademoiselle, given you a detail of all I
know, and shall be most happy to hear from you if you will please to
write to me, etcetera, etcetera.

"Emile Paon, nee Merce."

Here was a solution of the whole mystery.  I read the letter and fell
back on the sofa, gasping for breath.  It was some time before I could
recover myself.  I was alone in my bedroom, my head and eyes swimming;
but I staggered to the washing-stand, and obtained some water.  It was
half-an-hour before I could recall my astonished senses, and then
everything appeared as clear to me as if it had been revealed.  Monsieur
de G--'s double attentions; his spiteful look at my refusal; his
occupying himself wholly with Madame d'Albret after I refused him; her
wishing to get rid of me, by sending me to England with Madame Bathurst,
and her subsequent false and evasive conduct.  Monsieur de G--had had
his revenge, and gained his point at the same time.  He had obtained the
wealth of Madame d'Albret to squander at the gaming-table, and had
contrived, by some means or another, to ruin me in her good opinion.  I
perceived at once that all was lost, and when I considered the
awkwardness of my position, I was almost in despair.



CHAPTER SIX.

As I continued for more than an hour on the sofa, gloomily passing in
review my short career, my present position, and occasionally venturing
a surmise upon the future, a feeling which I had not had before,--one
which had hitherto been latent--pride, gradually was awakened in my
bosom, and as it was aroused, it sustained me.  I have before observed
that fear had been my predominating feeling till I had quitted my
parents, love and gratitude had succeeded it, but now, smarting under
injustice, pride, and, with pride, many less worthy passions, were
summoned up, and I appeared in the course of two short hours to be
another being.  I felt confidence in myself, my eyes were opened all at
once as it were to the heartlessness of the world; the more I considered
the almost hopeless condition in which I was in, the more my energy was
roused.  I sat down on the sofa a confiding, clinging girl.  I rose up a
resolute, clear-sighted woman.

I reflected, and had made up my mind that Madame d'Albret would never
forgive one whom she had injured as she had me.  She had induced me to
break off all family and parental ties (such as they were), she had made
me wholly dependent upon her, and had now cast me off in a cruel and
heartless manner.  She had used deceit because she knew that she could
not justify her conduct.  She had raised calumnies against me, accusing
me of ingratitude, as an excuse for her own conduct.  Anything like a
reconciliation therefore was impossible, and any assistance from her I
was determined not to accept.

Besides, was she not married to Monsieur de G--, whom pique at my
refusal had made my enemy, and who had, in all probability, as he
pressed his own suit, perceived the necessity, independent of the
gratification it afforded him to be my ruin, of removing me as a serious
obstacle to Madame d'Albret's contracting a new alliance?  From that
quarter, therefore, there was nothing to be expected or hoped for, even
if it were desired.  And what was my position with Madame Bathurst?  On
a visit!  At the termination of which I was houseless.

That Madame Bathurst would probably offer me a temporary asylum, for she
would hardly turn me out of doors, I felt convinced; but my new-born
pride revolted at the idea of dependence upon one on whom I had no claim
whatever.  What, then, was to be done?  I examined my capital.  I was
handsome, but that was of no use to me; the insidious conduct of
Monsieur de G--had raised to positive dislike the indifference that I
felt for his sex, and I had no inclination to make a market of my
personal advantages.  I could sing and play well.  I spoke French and
English, and understood Italian.  I could embroider the work well with
my needle.  Such were my capabilities, my stock-in-trade with which to
commence the world; I was, therefore, competent to a certain degree to
give lessons in music and in French, or to take a governess's place, or
to become a modiste.

I thought of Madame Paon, but when I reflected in what manner I had
visited her, the respect and homage, I may say, which had been offered
up to me, and how different my reception and treatment would be if I
entered the establishment as one of themselves, the reflection was too
mortifying, and I determined that if I were driven to such an employment
for my livelihood, it should be where I was not known.  After much
consideration, I decided that I would see Madame Bathurst, make known to
her my intentions, and ask her assistance and recommendation to procure
me a situation.  I arranged my hair, removed all traces of my late
agitation, and went down to her.  I found her alone, and asking her
whether she could spare me a few minutes of her time, I handed to her
the letter which I had received from Madame Paon, and then made her
acquainted with that portion of my history with which she had been
unacquainted.  As I spoke my courage revived, and my voice became firm--
I felt that I was no longer a girl.

"Madame Bathurst, I have confided this to you, because you will agree
with me that there can be nothing more between Madame d'Albret and me,
for even if she made an offer, I would never accept it.  I am now in a
very false position, owing to her conduct.  I am here on a visit,
supposed by you to be the _protegee_ of that lady, and a person of some
consequence.  Her protection has been taken away from me, and I am now a
beggar, with nothing but my talents for my future support.  I explain
this to you frankly, because I cannot think of remaining as your
visitor; and if I do not ask too much, all that I wish of your
friendship is, that you will give me such a recommendation as you think
I deserve, by which I may obtain the means of future livelihood."

"My dear Valerie," replied Madame Bathurst, "I will not hurt your
feelings.  It is a heavy blow, and I am glad to perceive, that instead
of being crashed by it, you appear to rise.  I have heard of Madame
d'Albret's marriage, and the deceit which she has been practising
evidently to get rid of you.  Not many days ago I wrote to her, pointing
out the variance between what she stated in her letters, and her actual
position, and requesting to know what was to be done relative to you.
Her answer I have received this day.  She states that you have cruelly
deceived her; that at the very time that you professed the utmost
gratitude and affection, you were slandering her and laughing at her
behind her back, particularly to Monsieur de G--, to whom she is now
married; and that, however she might be inclined to forgive and overlook
your conduct herself, that Monsieur de G--is resolute, and determined
that you never shall come again under his roof.  She has, therefore,
transmitted a billet of 500 francs to enable you to return to your
father's house."

"Then," replied I, "it is as I suspected; Monsieur de G--is the cause of
all."

"Why did you trust him, Valerie, or rather why were you so imprudent,
and I must add, ungrateful, to speak of Madame d'Albret as you did."

"And you believe it, Madame Bathurst, you believe that I did so?  I can
only say that if such is your belief, the sooner we part the better."

I then told her what I had omitted in my narrative, how I had refused
Monsieur de G--, and explaining his character, showed that he had acted
thus out of interest and revenge.

"I believe it all now, Valerie, and I must beg your pardon for having
supposed that you had been ungrateful.  This explanation relieves me,
and enables me to make you the offer which I had thought of doing, had I
not been checked by this calumny against you.  I say, therefore, for the
present, my dear Valerie, remain here.  You are quite equal to be
governess to Caroline, but I prefer you should remain with me more as a
friend than as a governess.  I say this, because I fear you will be too
proud to remain as a dependent, without making yourself useful.  You
know that I did intend to take a governess for Caroline as soon as we
went to London.  I will now take you if you will consent, and shall feel
the obligation on my side, as I shall not only have retained a capable
person, but shall also not lose a dear young friend."

"I thank you for the offer, my dear madame," replied I, rising and
courtseying; "I trust, however, that you will allow me a little time for
reflection before I decide.  You must admit that this is a most critical
epoch in my life, and I must not make one false step if it is possible
to prevent it."

"Certainly," replied Madame Bathurst, "certainly.  You are right,
Valerie, in reflecting well before you decide; but I must say that you
are rather haughty in your manner towards me."

"I may have been, my dear Madame Bathurst, but if so, take my excuses.
Recollect the Valerie of yesterday, who was your visitor and young
friend, is not the Valerie of to-day!" and with these words I took up
the cheque for 500 francs which Madame Bathurst had laid on the table,
left the room, and returned to my own apartment.

I returned to my room, and was glad to be once more alone, for although
I bore up well under the circumstances, still the compressed excitement
was wearying to the frame.  I had resolved to accept the offer of Madame
Bathurst at the time that she made it, but I did not choose to appear to
jump at it, as she probably expected that I would.  I felt no confidence
in anyone but my own self after the treatment of Madame d'Albret, and I
considered that Madame Bathurst would probably dismiss me as soon as my
services were no longer required, with as little ceremony as had Madame
d'Albret.  That I was capable of taking charge of and instructing
Caroline, I knew well, and that Madame Bathurst would not easily procure
a governess so capable in singing and music as myself.  There would be
consequently no obligation, and I resolved that I would reject her terms
if they were not favourable.  I had some money, for I had spent but a
small portion of twenty sovereigns which Madame d'Albret had given me in
a purse when I quitted her.  I had therefore the means of subsistence
for some little time, should I not come to terms with Madame Bathurst.

After an hour's reflection, I sat down and wrote a letter to Madame
Paon, stating what had occurred, and my determination to obtain my own
livelihood, and adding that as I was not sure whether I should accept of
Madame Bathurst's offer, I wished her to give me a letter of
introduction to some French acquaintance of hers in London, as I was an
utter stranger to everything, and without advice, should probably be
cheated in every way.  As soon as this letter was finished I commenced
another to Madame d'Albret, which was in the following words:--

"My dear Madame,

"Yes, I will still say my dear madame, for although you will never hear
of me again, you are still dear to me, more dear perhaps than you were,
when I considered you my patroness and my more than mother.  And why
so,--because when those we love are in misfortune, when those who have
benefited us are likely to soon want succour themselves, it is then the
time that we should pour out our gratitude and love.  I do not consider
it your fault, my dear Madame d'Albret, that you have been deceived by a
base hypocrite, who wears so captivating a mask; I do not blame you that
you have been persuaded by him that I have slandered and behaved
ungratefully to you.  You have been blinded by your own feelings towards
him and by his consummate art.  I am also to blame for not having
communicated to you that _he_ made me a proposal of marriage but a short
time previous to my departure, and which I indignantly rejected, because
he had taken such an unusual step without any previous communication
with you on the subject--not that I would have accepted him, even if you
had wished it, for I knew how false and unworthy he was considered to
be.  I should have told you, my dear madame, of this offer of marriage
on his part, but he requested me as a favour not to mention it to you,
and I did not then know that he was a ruined man, a desperate gambler,
and that he had been obliged to quit this country for dishonourable
practices at the gaming-table, as you may easily discover to be true;
for even Madame Paon can give you all the necessary information.  And
into this man's hands have you fallen, my dear Madame d'Albret.  Alas,
how you are to be pitied! my heart bleeds for you, and I fear that a few
months will suffice to prove to you the truth of what I now write.  That
I am a sufferer by the conduct of Monsieur de G--is true.  I have lost a
kind patroness, an indulgent mother, and am now left to obtain my own
livelihood how I can.  All my visions, all my dreams of happiness with
you, all my wishes of proving my gratitude and love for your kindness
have vanished, and here I am, young, alone, and unprotected.  But I
think not of myself; at all events I am free--I am not chained to such a
person as Monsieur de G--, and it is of you, and all that you will have
to suffer, that my thoughts and heart are full.  I return you the cheque
for 500 francs--I cannot take the money.  You are married to Monsieur de
G--, and I can accept nothing from one who has made you believe that
Valerie could be calumnious and ungrateful.  Adieu, my dear madame; I
shall pray for you, and weep over your misfortunes.

"Yours ever gratefully,

"Valerie de Chatenoeuf."

That there was a mixed feeling in this letter, I confess.  As I said in
it, I really pitied Madame d'Albret and forgave her her unkindness; but
I sought revenge upon Monsieur de G--, and in seeking that, I planted
daggers into the heart of Madame d'Albret; but I did not at the time
that I wrote reflect upon this.  What I wished to do was to vindicate
myself, and that I could not do without exposing Monsieur de G--, and
exposing him in his true colours was, of course, awakening Madame
d'Albret to her position sooner than she would have been, and filling
her mind with doubts and jealousy.  That this was not kind, I felt when
I had perused what I had written previous to folding the letter, but I
felt no inclination to alter it, probably because I had not quite so
wholly forgiven Madame d'Albret as I thought that I had.  Be it as it
may, the letter was sealed and despatched by that night's post, as well
as that written to Madame Paon.

I had now only to arrange with Madame Bathurst, and I went down into the
drawing-room where I found her alone.  "I have considered, my dear
Madame Bathurst," said I, "your kind proposal.  I certainly have had a
little struggle to get over, as you must admit that it is not pleasant
to sink from a visitor in a family into a dependent, as I must in future
be, if I remain with you, but the advantages of being with a person whom
I respect as much as I do you, and of having charge of a young person to
whom I am so attached as I am to Caroline, have decided me on accepting
your offer.  May I know then, what may be the terms upon which I am
received as governess?"

"Valerie, I feel that this is all pride," replied Madame Bathurst, "but
still it is not disreputable pride, and though I shall yield to it, I
would have made no terms, but retained you as a dear friend, my purse
and everything in the house at your command, and I hoped that you would
have allowed me so to do; but as you will not, I have only to say that I
should have expected to pay any governess whom I might have retained for
Caroline, a salary of 100 pounds per annum, and that I offer you the
same."

"It is more than sufficient, my dear madame," replied I, "and I accept
your offer if you will take me on trial for six months."

"Valerie, you make me laugh, and make me angry at the same time, but I
can bear much from you now, for you have had a heavy blow, my poor
child.  Now let's say no more on the subject; all is settled, and the
arrangement will remain a secret, unless you publish it yourself."

"I certainly shall make no secret of it, Madame Bathurst; I should be
sorry to show false colours, and be supposed by your friends to be
otherwise than what I really am.  I have done nothing that I ought to be
ashamed of, and I abhor deceit.  Whatever may be my position in life, I
trust that I shall never disgrace the name that I bear, and I am not the
first of a noble name who has had a reverse in fortune."

How strange that I now, for the first time in my life, began to feel
pride in my family name.  I presume because when we have lost almost
everything, we cherish more that which remains to us.  From the time
that Madame Bathurst had first known me till the last twenty-four hours,
not a symptom of pride had ever been discovered in me.  As the
_protegee_ and adopted daughter of Madame d'Albret, with brilliant
prospects, I was all humility--now a dependent, with a salary of 100
pounds per annum, Valerie was as proud as Lucifer himself.  Madame
Bathurst perceived this, and I must do her the justice to say, that she
was very guarded in her conduct towards me.  She felt sympathy for me,
and treated me with more kindness, and, I may say, with more respect
than she did when I was her visitor and her equal.

The next day I informed Caroline of the change in my prospects, and of
my having accepted the office of governess--that was to say, on a six
months' trial.  I pointed out to her that it would now be my duty to see
that she did not neglect her studies, and that I was determined to do
justice to Madame Bathurst's confidence reposed in me.  Caroline, who
was of a very amiable and sweet disposition, replied, "That she should
always look upon me as her friend and companion, and from her love for
me, would do everything I wished," and she kept her word.

The reader will agree with me, that it was impossible for any one to
have been lowered down in position more gently than I was in this
instance.  The servants never knew that I had accepted the offer of
governess, for I was invariably called Valerie by Madame Bathurst and
her niece, and was treated as I was before when a visitor to the house.
I bestowed much time upon Caroline, and taught myself daily, that I
might be more able to teach her.  I went back to the elements in
everything, that I might be more capable of instructing, and Caroline
made rapid progress in music, and promised to have, in a few years, a
very fine voice.  We went to town for the season, but I avoided company
as much as possible--so much so, that Madame Bathurst complained of it.

"Valerie, you do wrong not to make your appearance.  You retire in such
a way that people naturally put questions to me, and ask if you are the
governess, or what you are."

"I wish them to do so, my dear madame, and I want you to reply frankly.
I am the governess, and do not like anything like concealment."

"But I cannot admit that you are what may be called a governess,
Valerie.  You are a young friend staying with me, who instructs my
niece."

"That is what a governess ought to be," replied I, "a young friend who
instructs your children."

"I grant it," replied Madame Bathurst; "but I fear if you were to take
the situation in another family, you would find that a governess is not
generally so considered or so treated.  I do not know any class of
people, who are more to be pitied than these young people who enter
families as governesses; not considered good enough for the
drawing-room, they are too good for the kitchen; they are treated with
_hauteur_ by the master and mistress, and only admitted, or suffered for
a time to be in their company; by the servants they are considered as
not having claims to those attentions and civilities, for which they are
paid and fed; because receiving salaries, or `wages like themselves,' as
they assert, they are not entitled in their opinion to be attended upon.
Thus are they, in most houses, neglected by all parties.  Unhappy
themselves, they cause ill-will and dissension, and more servants are
dismissed, or given warning, on account of the governesses, than from
any other cause.  In the drawing-room they are a check upon
conversation; in the school-room, if they do their duty, they are the
cause of discontent, pouting and tears; like the bat, they are neither
bird nor beast, and they flit about the house like ill-omens; they lose
the light-heartedness and spring of youth; become sour from continual
vexation and annoyance, and their lives are miserable, tedious, and full
of repining.  I tell you this candidly; it is a harsh picture, but I
fear too true a one.  With me I trust you will be happy, but you will
run a great risk if you were to change and go into another family."

"I have heard as much before, my dear madame," replied I; "but your
considerate kindness has made me forget it.  I can only say that it will
be a melancholy day when I am forced to quit your roof."

Visitors announced, interrupted the conversation.  I have before
mentioned the talent I had for dress, and the kindness of Madame
Bathurst, induced me to exert all that I possessed in her favour.  Every
one was pleased, and expressed admiration at the peculiar elegance of
her attire, and asked who was the _modiste_ she employed, and Madame
Bathurst never failed to ascribe all the merit to me.

Time passed on rapidly, and the season was nearly over.  Madame Bathurst
had explained to her most intimate friends the alteration which had
taken place in my prospects, and that I remained with her more as a
companion than in any other capacity.  This procured me consideration
and respect, and I very often had invitations to parties; but I
invariably refused; except, occasionally, accepting a seat in the box at
the Opera and French plays I was content to remain quiet.

Madame Paon had, as I requested, sent me a letter of introduction to a
friend of hers, a Monsieur Gironac, who lived in Leicester Square.  He
was a married man, without family.  He obtained his livelihood by giving
lessons on the flute, on the guitar, and in teaching French during the
day, and at night was engaged as second violin in the orchestra of the
Opera House; so that he had many strings to his bow, besides those of
his fiddle.  His wife, a pretty little lively woman, taught young ladies
to make flowers in wax, and mended lace in the evenings.  They were a
very amiable and amusing couple, always at good-natured warfare with
each other, and sparring all day long, from the time they met until they
parted.  Their battles were the most comical and amusing I ever
witnessed, and generally ended in roars of laughter.  They received me
with the greatest kindness and consideration, treating me with great
respect, until our extreme intimacy no longer required it, and our
friendship increased more than it could have done from Caroline
expressing a wish to learn to model flowers, and becoming the pupil of
Madame Gironac.  Such was the state of affairs when the London season
was over, and we once more returned to the country.

The time flew away rapidly.  Madame Bathurst treated me with kindness
and respect, Caroline with affection, and I was again quite happy and
contented.  I was earnest in my endeavours to improve Caroline, and
moreover had the satisfaction to feel and hear it acknowledged that my
attempts were not thrown away.  I looked forward to remaining at least
till Caroline's education was complete, which it could not be under two
or three years, and feeling security for such a period I gave myself
little thought of the future, when a circumstance occurred which put an
end to all my calculations.

I have stated that Caroline was the niece of Madame Bathurst; she was
the daughter of a younger sister who had contracted an unfortunate
marriage, having eloped with a young man who had not a shilling that he
could call his own, and whose whole dependence was upon an uncle,
without a family.  This imprudent match had, however, raised the
indignation of his relative, who from that moment told him he was to
expect nothing from him either before or after his death.  The
consequence was that Madame Bathurst's sister and husband were in a
state of great distress, until Madame Bathurst, by exerting herself in
his behalf, procured for him a situation of 300 pounds per annum in the
Excise.  Upon this sum, and the occasional presents of Madame Bathurst,
they contrived to live, but having two boys and a girl to educate,
Madame Bathurst took charge of the latter, who was Caroline, promising
that she would either establish her in life, or leave her a sufficiency
at her death.  Madame Bathurst had a very large jointure, and could well
afford to save up every year for Caroline, which she had done ever since
she had taken charge of her, at seven years old.  At the time that I
have been speaking of, it appeared that the uncle of the father of
Caroline died, and notwithstanding his threat bequeathed to his nephew
the whole of his large property, by which he became even more wealthy
than Madame Bathurst.  The consequence was that Madame Bathurst received
a letter announcing this intelligence, and winding up with a
notification that Caroline was to be immediately taken back to her
father's house.  In the letter--which I read, for Madame Bathurst, who
was in great distress, handed it to me, observing at the time, "This
concerns you as well as me and Caroline."--There were not any
expressions of gratitude for the great kindness which they had received
from her hands; it was an unkind, unfeeling letter, and I was disgusted
when I had gone through it.

"Is this all the return that you receive for what you have done for your
sister and her husband?" observed I; "the more I see of this world, the
more I hate it."

"It is indeed most selfish and unfeeling," replied Madame Bathurst:
"Caroline has been so long with me, that I have looked upon her as my
own child, and now she is to be torn from me, without the least
consideration of my feelings.  It is very cruel and very ungrateful."

Madame Bathurst, after this remark, rose and left the room.  As I
afterwards discovered, she replied to the letter, pointing out how long
she had had charge of Caroline, and now considered her as her daughter,
and requesting her parents to allow her to return to her after she paid
them a visit; pointing out how unkind and ungrateful it was of them to
take her away, now that their circumstances were altered, and how very
painful it would be for her if they did so.  To this appeal on her part
she received a most insulting answer, in which she was requested to make
out an account of the expenses incurred for the education and
maintenance of her niece, that they might be reimbursed forthwith.  On
this occasion, for the first time, I saw Madame Bathurst really angry,
and certainly not without good cause.  She sent for Caroline, who as yet
had only been informed that her father and mother had succeeded to a
large inheritance, and put the letter into her hands with a copy of her
own, requesting that she would read them, watching her countenance with
the severest scrutiny as she complied with the injunction, as if to
discover if she inherited the ingratitude of her parents.  Such was not
the case, for poor Caroline sunk, covered her face with her hands, and
then rushing to Madame Bathurst, fell on her knees before her, and
burying her face in her aunt's lap, cried as if her heart would break.
After a few minutes, Madame Bathurst raised up her niece, and kissed
her, saying, "I am satisfied; my dear Caroline at least is not
ungrateful.  Now, my child, you must do your duty and obey your
parents--as we must part, the sooner we part the better.  Valerie, will
you see that everything is ready for Caroline's going away to-morrow
morning?"

Saying this, Madame Bathurst disengaged herself from Caroline and
quitted the room.  It was a long while before I could reason the poor
girl into anything like composure.  I could not help agreeing with her
that the conduct of her parents was most ungracious towards Madame
Bathurst, but at the same time I pointed out to her how natural it was,
that having but one daughter, her parents should wish for her return to
their own care; that the resigning her to Madame Bathurst must have been
a severe trial to them, and that it could only be from consulting her
advantage that they could have consented to it; but notwithstanding all
that I could urge, Caroline's indignation against her parents, of whom
she knew but little, was very great, and her dislike to return home as
strong.  However, there was no help for it as Madame Bathurst had
decided that she was to go, and I persuaded her to come with me and
prepare her clothes ready for packing up.  We did not meet at dinner
that day, Madame Bathurst sending an excuse that she was too much out of
spirits to leave her room; Caroline and I were equally so, and we
remained where we were.  In the evening, Madame Bathurst sent for me; I
found her in bed and looking very ill.

"Valerie," said she, "I wish Caroline to start early to-morrow morning,
that, as you accompany her, you may be able to return here before night.
I shall not be able to see her to-morrow morning.  I must, therefore,
bid her farewell this night; bring her here, and the sooner it is over
the better."

I went for Caroline, and a bitter parting it was; I hardly know which of
the three cried the most, but after half-an-hour Madame Bathurst signed
to me to take Caroline away, which I did, and afterwards put her into
bed as soon as I could.  Having remained with her till she had sobbed
herself to sleep, I went down to the servants and gave Madame Bathurst's
directions for the next morning, and then retired myself.  Worn out as I
was with such a day of anxiety and distress, I could not close my eyes
for some time, reflecting upon what might be the issue of this breaking
up of the connection to myself.  I had been engaged as governess to
Caroline, and I could not well expect that Madame Bathurst would wish to
retain me now that Caroline was removed from her care; neither, indeed,
would my pride permit me to accept such an offer if made, as I should
become a mere dependent on her bounty, with no services to offer in
return.  That I must leave Madame Bathurst was certain, and that I must
look out for some other situation.  I took it for granted that Madame
Bathurst would not permit me to leave immediately, but allow me a short
time to look out for a suitable situation; but whether I should decide
upon taking the situation of a governess after what Madame Bathurst had
told me, or what situation I should seek was the cause of much thought
and indecision.  At last I could make no mind up, and decided that I
would trust to Providence, and having so far come to a conclusion, I
fell asleep.

After an early breakfast, I set off in the carriage with Caroline in
charge, and before noon, we arrived at her father's house.  The servants
dressed in very gaudy liveries, ushered us into the library, where we
found her father and mother waiting to receive her.  A first glance
satisfied me that they were swelled with pride at the change in their
fortunes.  Caroline was not received with great cordiality.  There was a
stiffness on the part of her parents which would have checked any
feelings of affection on her part, had she been inclined to show them,
which I was sorry to perceive she did not; indeed, her feelings appeared
rather those of resentment for the conduct they had shown to her aunt.
After the salutation of meeting, Caroline sat down on a sofa, opposite
to her father and mother.  I remained standing, and when the pause took
place I said, "I was deputed by Madame Bathurst to convey your daughter
safe to you, and as soon as the horses are baited, I am to return home."

"Who may this person be, Caroline?" demanded her mother.

"I must apologise to Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf for not having
introduced her," replied Caroline, blushing with annoyance.  "She is a
very dear friend of mine and my aunt's."

"Latterly I have been the governess of your daughter, madame," said I.

"Oh!" said the lady.  "Will somebody ring the bell?"

I presumed by this somebody it was intended to convey to me that I was
to perform that office; but as they had not had the common civility to
ask me to take a chair I took no notice.

"Will you ring the bell, my dear," said the lady to her husband.

The gentleman complied; and when the servant entered the lady said,
"Show the governess into the small breakfast-room, and tell the coachman
to put up his horses and bait them.  He must be round again in an hour."

The man stood with the door in his hand waiting for me to follow him.
Not a little indignant, I turned to Caroline, and said to her, "I had
better wish you good-bye now."

"Yes, indeed, Valerie, you had," replied Caroline rising from the sofa,
"for I am ashamed to look you in the face, after such treatment as you
have received.  Will you," continued she, with great spirit, "accept my
apology for the behaviour of my parents towards one who is of a much
higher family, and much higher breeding than they can boast of."

"Hush!  Caroline," said I; "recollect--"

"I do recollect, and shall continue to recollect, the insults to my dear
aunt in the first place, and now the insult to you, my dear Valerie,"
retorted Caroline, who then put her arms round my neck and kissed me
several times; having so done she darted from me, threw herself on the
sofa and burst into tears, while I hastened to follow the servant, to
escape from such an unpleasant scene.

I was shown into a small room, where I remained some little time,
thinking how true were Madame Bathurst's observations as to what I might
expect in the position of a governess, when a servant came in, and in a
condescending manner asked if I did not wish to have some lunch.  I
replied in the negative.

"You can have a glass of wine if you choose," continued he.

"You may leave the room," I replied, calmly, "I wish for nothing."

The man went out, slamming the door, and I was again alone.  I reflected
upon the scene I had just been witness to, and I own that I was
surprised at Caroline's conduct, who had always appeared so mild and
amiable; but the fact appeared to me to be, that when parents give up
their children to the care of another, they surrender at the same time
all those feelings which should exist between parent and child to the
party who undertakes the charge of them.  The respect and love which by
nature belonged to them were now transferred to her aunt, to whom
Caroline was always obedient and attached.  The insult to me was
resented by Caroline as if it had been offered by perfect strangers to
her; Caroline not feeling herself at all checked by filial duty.  There
appeared to be little prospect of any addition to the happiness of
either of the parties by the return of Caroline to her father's house,
and how it would end I could not surmise.

At last my reverie was interrupted by the servant coming in and telling
me that the carriage was at the door.  I immediately followed him and
set off on my return, during which I resolved that I would not leave my
own expectations any longer in doubt, but come immediately to an
understanding with Madame Bathurst.

As it was late when I arrived, I did not see Madame Bathurst that
evening, but she came down to breakfast the next morning, when I
informed her of all that had occurred at her sister's, and the
unceremonious manner in which I had been treated, and having done so, I
then observed, that of course I did not expect to remain with her now
that Caroline was gone, and begged she would give me her advice and
assistance in procuring another situation.

"At all events, do not be in a hurry, Valerie," replied Madame Bathurst;
"I trust you will not refuse to be my visitor until you are suited to
your liking.  I will not ask you to stay with me, as I know you will
refuse, and I do not pay unnecessary compliments.  And yet, why should
you not?  I know you well, and am attached to you.  I shall feel the
loss of Caroline severely.  Why not remain?"

"Many thanks, my dear madame," replied I, "for your kind wishes and
expressions, but you know my resolution has been made to earn my own
livelihood."

"I know that; but a resolution may be altered when circumstances demand
it.  Madame d'Albret was no more related to you than I am, and yet you
accepted her offer."

"I did, madame," replied I, bitterly, "and you know the result.  I would
have staked my life upon her sincerity and affection, and yet how was I
cast away?  With every feeling of gratitude, my dear madame, I cannot
accept your offer, for I never will put myself in a similar position a
second time."

"You do not pay me a very great compliment by that remark, Valerie,"
said Madame Bathurst somewhat harshly.

"Indeed, my dear madame, I should be sorry if anything I have said
should annoy one who has been so kind and considerate to me as you have
been; but I know that I should be miserable and unhappy if not
independent, and I never can risk a second shock, like that I received
from the conduct of Madame d'Albret.  I entreat as a favour that you
will not continue the subject."

"Well, Valerie, I will not; perhaps had I been treated as you have been,
I might feel the same.  What then do you propose to seek?  Is it the
situation of a governess?"

"Anything in preference, my dear madame; I was sufficiently humiliated
yesterday.  I should prefer that of a lady's-maid, although I hope not
to descend quite so low."

"There are so few situations for a person educated as you have been.
There is a companion for a lady, which I believe is anything but
pleasant.  There is that of amanuensis, but it is seldom required.  You
might certainly go out and give lessons in music, and singing, and in
the French language; but there are so many French masters and
mistresses, and for music and singing a master is always preferred, why,
I do not exactly know.  However, I think something may be done when we
go to town, but till then all that we can do is to talk the matter over.
Perhaps something may turn up when we least expect it.  I will,
however, now that I know your decision, make every inquiry, and give you
all the assistance in my power."

I expressed my thanks and gratitude, and the conversation ended.

I did not, however, trust altogether to Madame Bathurst.  I wrote a
letter to my acquaintance, Madame Gironac, in Leicester Square, stating
what had occurred, and what my ideas and intentions were, requesting her
to give me her advice and opinion as to the best plan I could follow.
In a few days I received from her the following reply, which I insert as
characteristic of the party.

"My dear Mademoiselle,

"Your letter gave great pain to me; and as for my husband, he was quite
furious, and declared that he would not live a minute longer in such an
abominable world.  However, to oblige me, he has not yet made away with
himself.  It really is dreadful to see a young lady-like you in such an
awkward position, from the weakness and follies of others; but we must
submit to what the _bon Dieu_ disposes, and when things come to the
worst, hope that a change will take place, as any change must then be
for the better.  I have consulted my husband about what you propose, but
he negatives everything.  He says you are too good for a governess;
would be thrown away as a companion to a lady; that you must not be seen
in a cab, going about giving lessons--in fact, he will listen to nothing
except that you must come and live with us.  I can only say, my dear
mademoiselle, that I join in the latter request, and that it would make
me perfectly happy, and that the honour and pleasure of your company
would be more than a compensation.  Still, it is but a poor home to
offer to you, but at all events one that you might condescend to take
advantage of rather than remain to be mortified by those who think, as
they do in this country, that money is everything.  Do, pray, then come
to us, if you feel inclined, and then we can talk over things quietly,
and wait upon Providence.  My husband has now hardly time to eat his
dinner, he has so many pupils of one kind and the other; and I am happy
to say that I have also most of my time occupied; and if it pleases God
to continue us in good health, we hope to be able to put by a little
money for a rainy day, as they say in this country, where it is always
raining.  Assure yourself, my dear mademoiselle, of our love, respect,
consideration.

"Annette Gironac."

We went to town earlier than usual, Madame Bathurst feeling lonely in
the country after the departure of Caroline, from whom she had not
received a line since her quitting her.  This of course was to be
ascribed to her parents, who thus returned all Madame Bathurst's
kindness, as soon as they no longer required her assistance.  I know not
how it was, but gradually a sort of coolness had arisen between Madame
Bathurst and me.  Whether it was that she was displeased at my refusing
her offer to remain with her, or thought proper to wean herself from one
who was so soon to quit her, I know not.  I did nothing to give offence:
I was more quiet and subdued, perhaps, than before, because I had become
more reflective; but I could not accuse myself of any fault or error,
that I was aware of.

We had been about a week in London, when an old acquaintance of Madame
Bathurst's, who had just returned from Italy, where she had resided for
two years, called upon her.  Her name was Lady R--: she was the widow of
a baronet, not in very opulent circumstances, although with a
sufficiency to hire, if not keep, a carriage.  She was, moreover, an
authoress, having written two or three novels, not very good I was told,
but still, emanating from the pen of a lady, they were well paid.  She
was very eccentric, and rather amusing.  When a woman says everything
that comes into her head, out of a great deal of chaff there will drop
some few grains of wheat; and so sometimes, more by accident than
otherwise, she said what is called a good thing.  Now, a good thing is
repeated, while all the nonsense is forgotten; and Lady R--was
considered a wit as well as an authoress.  She was a tall woman; I
should think very near, if not past, fifty years of age, with the
remains of beauty in her countenance: apparently, she was strong and
healthy, as she walked with a spring, and was lively and quick in all
her motions.

"Cara mia," exclaimed she, as she was announced, running up to Madame
Bathurst, "and how have you been all this while--my biennial absence in
the land of poetry--in which I have laid up such stores of beauteous
images and ideas in my mind, that I shall make them last me during my
life.  Have you read my last?  It's surprising, every one says, and
proves the effect of climate on composition--quite new--an Italian story
of thrilling interest.  And you have something new here, I perceive,"
continued she, turning to me; "not only new, but beautiful--introduce
me: I am an enthusiast in the sublime and beautiful.  Is she any
relation?  No relation!--Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf!--what a pretty name
for a novel.  I should like to borrow it, and paint the original from
nature.  Will you sit for your likeness?"

That Lady R--allowed no one to talk but herself was evident.  Madame
Bathurst, who knew her well, allowed her to run on; and I, not much
valuing the dose of flattery so unceremoniously bestowed upon me, took
an opportunity, when Lady R--turned round to whisper something to Madame
Bathurst, to make my escape from the room.  The following morning,
Madame Bathurst said to me, "Valerie, Lady R--was very much pleased with
your appearance when she made her visit yesterday; and as she told me,
after you had left the room, that she wanted just such a person as
yourself as a companion and amanuensis, I thought it right to say that
you were looking out for something of the kind, and that you were
remaining under my protection until you could procure it.  We had more
conversation on the subject, and she said before she left, that she
would write to me on the subject.  Her note has just been put into my
hands; you can read it.  She offers you a salary of one hundred pounds
per annum, all your expenses paid, except your dress.  As far as salary
goes, I think her terms liberal.  And now, as to Lady R--.  My opinion
of her is in few words.  You saw her yesterday, and I never knew her
otherwise; never more or less rational.  She is an oddity; but she is
good-natured; and, I am told, more liberal and charitable than many
others who can afford it better.  Now you know all I can tell you about
her, and you must decide for yourself.  Here is her note; you need not
give me an answer till to-morrow morning."

I made one or two observations, and then left the room.  The note was
very kind, certainly, but it was as flighty as her manners.  I hastened
to my own bedchamber, and sat down to reflect.  I felt that I was not
exactly comfortable with Madame Bathurst, and certainly was anxious to
be independent; but still, I could not exactly make up my mind to accept
the offer of Lady R--.  She was so different from those I had been
accustomed to live with.  I was still deliberating, when Mrs Bathurst's
maid came into my room, telling me it was time to change my dress for
dinner.  As she was assisting me, she said, "And so, Miss Chatenoeuf,
you are about to quit us, I find.  I am so sorry--first, Miss Caroline--
now you.  I hoped you would stay with us, and I should soon have become
an expert milliner under your directions."

"Who told you, Mason, that I was going to leave you?"

"Mrs Bathurst told me so, and not a quarter of an hour ago," replied
the woman.

"Well," replied I, "she told you truly, Mason; such is the case;" for
this information of Mason's decided me upon accepting the offer of Lady
R--; for Madame Bathurst, it appeared to me, had certainly decided it
for me, by making such a premature communication to her servant.

The reader may suppose, that when I made this discovery, I felt little
pain at the idea of parting with Madame Bathurst; and the following
morning I coolly announced my intention of accepting the offer of Lady
R--.  Madame Bathurst looked at me very hard, as if surprised at not
hearing from me any regrets at leaving her, and expressions of gratitude
for all favours; but I could not express what I really did not feel at
the time.  Afterwards I thought that I had been wrong, as, to a certain
degree, I was under obligations to her; not that I think, had she been
ever so inclined to get rid of me, she could have well turned me out of
the house, although I had been foisted upon her in such a way by Madame
d'Albret.  Still I was under obligations to her, and should have
expressed myself so, if it had not been for the communication made to me
by the maid, which proved that her expressions to me were not sincere.

"Well, then," replied Madame Bathurst, at last, "I will write to Lady
R--immediately.  I presume I may say that you are at her commands as
soon as she can receive you."

"Yes, madame, at an hour's notice," replied I.

"You really appear as if you were anxious to quit me, mademoiselle,"
said Madame Bathurst, biting her lip.

"I certainly am," replied I.  "You informed Mason that I was to go,
previous to having my decision; and therefore I gladly withdraw myself
from the company of those who have made up their minds to get rid of
me."

"I certainly did tell Mason that there was a prospect of your quitting
me," replied Madame Bathurst, colouring up; "but--however, it's no use
entering into an investigation of what I really said, or catechising my
maid: one thing is clear, we have been mutually disappointed with each
other, and therefore it perhaps is better that we should part.  I
believe that I am in your debt, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf.  Have you
reckoned how long you have been with me?"

"I have reckoned the time that I instructed Caroline."

"_Miss_ Caroline, if you please, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf."

"Well, then, madame, Miss Caroline, since you wish it; it is five months
and two weeks," replied I, rising from my chair.

"You may sit down, mademoiselle, while I make the calculation," said
Madame Bathurst.

"It is too great an honour for a Chatenoeuf to sit in your presence,"
replied I, quietly, remaining on my feet.

Madame Bathurst made no reply, but calculating the sum of money due to
me on a sheet of note paper, handed it to me and begged me to see if it
was correct.

"I have no doubt of it, madame," replied I, looking at it and then
laying it down on the desk before her.

Madame Bathurst put the sum in bank-notes and sovereigns down before me,
and said, "Do me the favour to count it, and see if it is correct;" and
then rising, said, "your wishes will be complied with by my servants as
usual, mademoiselle, as long as you remain under my roof.  I wish you
farewell."

The last words were accompanied with a low courtesy, and she then
quitted the room.

I replied with a salute as formal as her own, and mortified at the
treatment I had received, I sat down, and a few tears escaped, but my
pride came to my assistance, and I soon recovered myself.

This scene was, however, another proof to me of what I must in future
expect; and it had the effect of hardening me and blunting my feelings.
"_Miss_ Caroline!" said I to myself, "when the _protegee_ of Madame
d'Albret, and the visitor of Madame Bathurst, it was Caroline and dear
Valerie.  She might have allowed me to quit her without pointing out to
me in so marked a manner how our relative positions have been changed.
However, I thank you, Madame Bathurst; what obligations I may have been
under to you are now cancelled, and I need not regret the weight of them
as I might have done.  Ah!  Madame d'Albret, you took me from my home
that I might not be buffeted by my mother, and now you have abandoned me
to be buffeted by the whole world; well, be it so, I will fight my way,
nevertheless;" and as I left the room to pack up my trunks, I felt my
courage rise from this very attempt on the part of Madame Bathurst to
humiliate me.

The letter of Madame Bathurst to Lady R--, brought the latter to the
house that afternoon.  I was up in my room when I was informed by the
servants that she waited below to see me.  When I entered she was alone,
Madame Bathurst having gone out in her carriage, and as soon as she saw
me, she rushed into my arms almost, taking me by both hands, and saying
how happy she was that she had acquired such a treasure as a friend and
companion; wished to know whether I could not come with her immediately,
as her carriage was at the door, and went on for nearly ten minutes
without a check, asking fifty questions, and not permitting me to answer
one.  At last I was able to reply to the most important, which was, that
I would be happy to come to her on the following morning, if she would
send for me.  She insisted that I should come to breakfast, and I
acceded to her request, as Madame Bathurst, who was not an early riser,
would not be down at the hour mentioned, and I wished to leave the house
without seeing her again, after our formal adieux.  Having arranged
this, she appeared to be in a great hurry to be off, and skipped out of
the room before I could ring the bell to order her carriage.

I completed my preparations for departure, and had some dinner brought
into my own room, sending down an excuse for not joining Madame
Bathurst, stating that I had a bad headache, which was true enough.  The
next morning, long before Madame Bathurst was up, I was driven to Baker
Street, Portman Square, where Lady R--resided.  I found her ladyship in
her _robe de chambre_.

"Well," said she, "this is delightful.  My wishes are crowned at last.
I have passed a night of uncertainty, rolling about between hopes and
fears, as people always do when they have so much at stake.  Let me show
you your room."

I found a very well-furnished apartment prepared for me, looking out
upon the street.

"See, you have a front view," she said, "not extensive, but still you
can rise early and moralise.  You can see London wake up.  First, the
drowsy policeman; the tired cabman and more tired horse after a night of
motion, seeking the stable and repose; the housemaid, half awake,
dragging on her clothes; the kitchen-wench washing from the steps the
dirt of yesterday; the milkmaid's falsetto and the dustman's bass; the
baker's boys, the early post delivery, and thus from units to tens, and
from tens to tens of thousands, and London stirs again.  There is poetry
in that, and now let us down to breakfast.  I always breakfast in my
_robe de chambre_; you must do the same, that is if you like the
fashion.  Where's the page?"

Lady R--rang the bell of the sitting-room, which she called a boudoir,
and a lad of fourteen, in a blue blouse and leather belt made his
appearance.

"Lionel, breakfast in a moment.  Vanish, before the leviathan can swim a
league--bring up hot rolls and butter."

"Yes, my lady," replied the lad, pertly, "I'll be up again before the
chap can swim a hundred yards," and he shot out of the room in a second.

"There's virtue in that boy, he has wit enough for a prime minister or a
clown at Astley's.  I picked him up by a mere chance; he is one of my
models."

What her ladyship meant by models I could not imagine, but I soon found
out; the return of the lad with breakfast put an end to her talking for
the time being.  When we had finished, the page was again summoned.

"Now then, Lionel, do your spiriting gently."

"I know," said the boy, "I'm not to smash the cups and saucers as I did
yesterday."

The lad collected the breakfast things on a tray with great rapidity,
and disappeared with such a sudden turn round, that I fully anticipated
he would add to yesterday's damage before he was down the stairs.

As soon as he was gone, Lady R--coming up to me, said, "And now let me
have a good look at you, and then I shall be content for some time.
Yes, I was not mistaken, you are a perfect model, and must be my future
heroine.  Yours is just the beauty that I required.  There, that will
do, now sit down and let us converse.  I often have wanted a companion.
As for an amanuensis that is only a nominal task, I write as fast as
most people, and I cannot follow my ideas, let me scribble for life, as
I may say; and as for my writing being illegible, that's the
compositor's concern not mine.  It's his business to make it out, and
therefore I never have mine copied.  But I wanted a beautiful companion
and friend--I wouldn't have an ugly one for the world, she would do me
as much harm as you will do me service."

"I am sure I hardly know how I am to do you service, Lady R--, if I do
not write for you."

"I daresay not, but when I tell you that I am more than repaid by
looking at you when I feel inclined, you will acknowledge that you do me
service; but we will not enter into metaphysics or psychological
questions just now, it shall all be explained by-and-bye.  And now the
first service I ask of you is at once to leap over the dull fortnight of
gradual approaching, which at last ends in intimacy.  I have ever held
it to be a proof of the suspiciousness of our natures and unworthy.  You
must allow me to call you Valerie at once, and I must entreat of you to
call me Sempronia.  Your name is delightful, fit for a first-class
heroine.  My real baptismal name is one that I have abjured, and if my
godfathers and godmothers did give it to me, I throw it back to them
with contempt.  What do you think it was?--Barbara.  Barbara, indeed.
`My mother had a _maid_ called Barbara,' Shakespeare says, and such a
name should be associated with brooms and yellow soap.  Call me
Sempronia from this time forward, and you confer a favour on me.  And
now I must write a little, so take a book and a seat on the sofa, for,
at the opening of this chapter my heroine is exactly in that position,
`in maiden meditation, fancy free.'"



CHAPTER SEVEN.

Lady R--sat down before her writing materials, and I took my seat on the
sofa, as she had requested, and was soon occupied with my reading.  I
perceived that, as she wrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off
her paper, and fixed them upon me.  I presumed that she was describing
me, and I was correct in my idea, for, in about half-an-hour, she threw
down her pen, and cried:

"There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a heroine that I
ever drew!  Listen."

And her ladyship read to me a most flattering description of my sweet
person, couched in very high-flown language.

"I think, Lady R--," said I, when she had finished, "that you are more
indebted to your own imagination than to reality in drawing my
portrait."

"Not so, not so, my dear Valerie.  I may have done you justice, but
certainly not more.  There is nothing like having the living subject to
write from.  It is the same as painting or drawing, it only can be true
when drawn from nature; in fact, what is writing but painting with the
pen?"

As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in with a letter
on a waiter, and hearing her observation, as he handed the letter, he
impudently observed:

"Here's somebody been painting your name on the outside of this paper;
and as there's 7 pence to pay, I think it's rather dear for such a
smudge."

"You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel," replied Lady R--:
"the contents may be worth pounds.  It is not prepossessing, I grant, in
its superscription, but may, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wear a
precious jewel in its head.  That was a vulgar error of former days,
Lionel, which Shakespeare has taken advantage of."

"Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a fine rate," replied the boy, as
Lady R--opened the letter and read it.

"You may go, Lionel," said she, putting the letter down.

"I just wanted to know, now that you've opened your toad, if you have
found the jewel, or whether it's a vulgar error?"

"It's a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel," replied her ladyship,
"and concerns you; it is from the shoemaker at Brighton, who requests me
to pay him eighteen shillings for a pair of boots ordered by you, and
not paid for."

"Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough; but it's impossible
for me always to recollect my own affairs, I am so busy with looking
after yours."

"Well, but now you are reminded of them, Lionel, you had better give me
the money, and I will send it to him."

At this moment Lady R--stooped from her chair to pick up her
handkerchief.  There were some sovereigns lying on the desk, and the
lad, winking his eye at me, took one up, and, as Lady R--rose up, held
it out to her in silence.

"That's right, Lionel," said Lady R--; "I like honesty."

"Yes, madame," replied the impudent rogue, very demurely; "like most
people who tell their own stories, I was born of honest, but poor
parents."

"I believe your parents were honest; and now, Lionel, to reward you, I
shall pay for your boots, and you may keep your sovereign."

"Thank your ladyship," replied the lad.  "I forgot to say that the cook
is outside for orders."

Lady R--rose, and went out of the room; and Mr Lionel, laughing at me,
put the sovereign down with the others.

"Now, I call that real honesty.  You saw me borrow it, and now you see
me pay it."

"Yes; but suppose her ladyship had not given you the sovereign, how
would it have been then?" said I.

"I should have paid her very honestly," replied he.  "If I wished to
cheat her, or rob her, I might do so all day long.  She leaves her money
about everywhere, and never knows what she has; besides, if I wanted to
steal, I should not do so with those bright eyes of yours looking at me
all the time."

"You are a very saucy boy," replied I, more amused than angry.

"It's all from reading, and it's not my fault, for her ladyship makes me
read, and I never yet read any book about old times in which the pages
were not saucy; but I've no time to talk just now--my spoons are not
clean yet," so saying he quitted the room.

I did not know whether I ought to inform her ladyship of this freak of
her page's; but, as the money was returned, I thought I had better say
nothing for the present.  I soon found out that the lad was correct in
asserting that she was careless of her money, and that, if he chose, he
might pilfer without chance of discovery; and, moreover, that he really
was a good and honest lad, only full of mischief and very impudent;
owing, however, to Lady R--'s treatment of him, for she rather
encouraged his impudence than otherwise.  He was certainly a very
clever, witty boy, and a very quick servant; so quick, indeed, at his
work, that it almost appeared as if he never had anything to do, and he
had plenty of time for reading, which he was very fond of.

Lady R--returned, and resumed her writing.

"You sing, do you not?  I think Mrs Bathurst told me you were very
harmonious.  Now, Valerie, do me a favour: I want to hear a voice
carolling some melodious ditty.  I shall describe it so much better, if
I really heard you sing.  I do like reality; of course, you must sing
without music, for my country girl cannot be crossing the mead with a
piano in one hand, and a pail of water in the other."

"I should think not," replied I, laughing; "but am not I too near?"

"Yes, rather; I should prefer it on the stairs, or on the first floor
landing, but I could not be so rude as to send you out of the room."

"But I will go without sending," replied I; and I did so, and having
arrived at my station, I sang a little French refrain, which I thought
would answer her ladyship's purpose.  On my return her ladyship was
writing furiously, and did not appear to notice my entrance.  I took my
seat quietly, and in about ten minutes she again threw down the pen,
exclaiming:

"I never wrote so effective a chapter!  Valerie, you are more precious
to me than fine gold; and as Shylock said of his ring, `I would not
change thee for a wilderness of monkeys.'  I make the quotation as
expressive of your value.  It was so kind-hearted of you to comply with
my wish.  You don't know an author's feelings.  You have no idea how our
self-love is flattered by success, and that we value a good passage in
our works more than anything else in existence.  Now, you have so kindly
administered to my ruling passion twice in one morning, that I love you
exceedingly.  I daresay you think me very odd, and people say that I am
so; I may ask you to do many odd things for me, but I shall never ask
you to do what a lady may not do, or what would be incorrect for you to
do, or for me to propose; that you may depend upon, Valerie: and now I
close my manuscript for the present, being well satisfied with the day's
work."

Lady R--rang the bell, and on Lionel making his appearance, she desired
him to take away her writing materials, put her money into her purse--if
he knew where the purse was--and then asked him what were her
engagements for the evening.

"I know _we_ have an engagement," replied the boy; "I can't recollect
it, but I shall find it in the drawing-room."

He went out, and in a minute returned.

"I have found it, my lady," said he.  "Here's the ticket; Mrs Allwood,
at home, nine o'clock."

"Mrs Allwood, my dear Valerie, is a literary lady, and her parties are
very agreeable."

The page looked at me from behind Lady R--'s chair, and shook his head
in dissent.

"Shall we go?" continued Lady R--.

"If you please, madame," replied I.

"Well, then, we will take a drive before dinner, and the evening after
dinner shall be dedicated to the feast of reason and the flow of soul.
Dear me, how I have inked my fingers, I must go upstairs and wash them."

As soon as Lady R--left the room, Master Lionel began.

"Feast of reason and flow of soul; I don't like such entertainment.
Give me a good supper and plenty of champagne."

"Why, what matter can it make to you?" said I, laughing.

"It matters a good deal.  I object to literary parties," replied he.
"In the first place, for one respectable carriage driving up to the
door, there are twenty cabs and jarveys, so that the company isn't so
good; and then at parties, when there is a good supper, I get my share
of it in the kitchen.  You don't think we are idle down below.  I have
been to Mrs Allwood's twice, and there's no supper, nothing but feast
of reason, which remains upstairs, and they're welcome to my share of
it.  As for the drink, it's negus and cherry-water; nothing else, and if
the flow of soul is not better than such stuff, they may have my share
of that also.  No music, no dancing, nothing but buzz, buzz, buzz.
Won't you feel it stupid!"

"Why, one would think you had been upstairs instead of down, Lionel."

"Of course I am.  They press all who have liveries into the service, and
I hand the cakes about rather than kick for hours at the legs of the
kitchen-table.  I hear all that's said just as well as the company, and
I've often thought I could have given a better answer than I've heard
some of your great literaries.  When I hand the cakes to-night, take
them I point out to you: they'll be the best."

"Why, how can you tell?"

"Because I try them all before I come in the room."

"You ought to be ashamed to acknowledge it."

"All comes of reading, miss," replied he.  "I read that in former times
great people, kings and princes and so on, always had their victuals
tasted first, lest there should be poison in them: so I taste upon that
principle, and I have been half-poisoned sometimes at these cheap
parties, but I'm getting cunning, and when I meet a suspicious-looking
piece of pastry, I leave it for the company; but I can't wait to talk
any longer, miss, I must give coachman his orders."

"I never asked you to talk, Mr Lionel," said I.

"No, you didn't, but still I know you like to hear me: you can't deny
that.  Now to use my lady's style, I am to tell the coachman to put a
girdle round the park in forty minutes;" so saying, the lad vanished, as
he usually did, in a second.

The lad was certainly right when he said that I did like to hear him
talk, for he amused me so much, that I forgave his impudence and
familiarity.  Shortly afterwards, we went out in the carriage, and
having driven two or three times round the park, returned home to
dinner.  At ten o'clock, we went to Mrs Allwood's party.  I was
introduced to a great many great literary stars, whom I had never before
heard of; but the person who attracted the most attention was a Russian
Count, who had had his ears and nose cut off by the Turks.  It certainly
did not add to his beauty, however it might have to his interest.
However, Lionel was right.  It was a very stupid party to me: all
talking at once and constantly on the move to find fresh listeners; it
_was_ all buzz, buzz, buzz, and I was glad when the carriage was
announced.  Such were the events of the first day which I passed under
the roof of Lady R--.

Indeed, this first day may be taken as a sample of most others, and a
month passed rapidly away.  Each day, however, was marked with some
peculiar eccentricity on her part, but these diverted me.  I was often
requested to do strange things in my position as a model, but with all
her oddities Lady R--was a gentlewoman in manner and in feeling, and
what I should certainly have refused to anyone else, I did for her
without reluctance.  I now called her Sempronia, as she requested, and,
moreover, I became very intimate with Master Lionel, who would be
intimate, whether or no, and who, like Lady R--, was a source of great
amusement.  At times, when I was alone and communed with myself, I could
not help surveying my peculiar position.  I was engaged at a large
salary--for what? to look handsome, to put myself in attitudes, and to
do nothing.  This was not flattering to my talents (such as I had), but
still I was treated with kindness and confidence; was the companion of
her ladyship; was introduced and taken to all the parties to which she
was asked, and never made to feel my dependence.  I had already imbibed
a strong friendship for Lady R--, and I was, therefore, content to
remain.  One morning she said to me, "My dear Valerie, do me the favour
to tighten the laces of my stays."

She was, as usual, writing in her dressing-gown.

"Oh, tighter yet; as tight as you can draw them.  That will do nicely."

"Why you can hardly breathe, Sempronia."

"But I can write, my dear child, and, as I before observed, the mind and
the body influence each other.  I am about to write a strictly moral
dialogue, and I never could do it unless I am strait-laced.  Now I feel
fit for the wife of Cato and of Rome."

A few days afterwards she amused me still more.  After writing about
half-an-hour, she threw down her pen--

"I never can do it; come upstairs, my dear Valerie, and help me off with
my stays.  I must be _a l'abandon_."

I followed her, and having removed these impediments we returned to the
boudoir.

"There," said she, sitting down, "I think I shall manage it now: I feel
as if I could."

"Manage what?" inquired I.

"My dear, I am about to write a love scene, very warm and impassioned,
and I could not do it, confined as I was.  Now that I am loose, I can
give loose to the reins of my imagination, and delineate with the arrow
of Cupid's self.  My heroine is reclining, with her hand on her cheek;
put yourself in that attitude, my dear dear Valerie, as if you were
meditating upon the prolonged absence of one dear to you.  Exactly--
beautiful--true to nature--but I forgot, a page enters--don't move, I'll
ring the bell."

Lionel answered quickly, as usual.

"Here, Lionel, I want you to play the page."

"I've no time for play, my lady; I'm page in earnest.  There's all the
knives to clean."

"Never mind the knives just now.  Observe, Lionel, you are supposed to
be sent a message to that lovely girl, who is sitting absorbed in a soft
reverie.  You enter her presence unperceived, and are struck with her
beauty; you lean against a tree, in a careless but graceful attitude,
with your eyes fixed upon her lovely features.  Now lean against the
door, as I have described, and then I shall be able to write."

I could not help smiling at the absurdity of this scene, the more so as
Lionel, just passing his fingers through his hair, and then pulling up
his shirt collar, took his position, saying, "Now, Miss Valerie, we'll
see who performs best: I think you will be sooner tired of sitting than
I shall be of looking at you."

"Excellent, Lionel!--exactly the position that I wished," said Lady R--,
scribbling as fast as she could; "that stare of yours is true to
nature--Cymon and Iphigenia--a perfect tableau!--don't move, I beg; I
only require ten minutes."

I looked up at Master Lionel, and he made such a grimace, that I could
hardly keep my countenance, and I did not exactly feel satisfied at thus
performing, as it were, with a servant; but still, that servant was
Lionel, who was very unlike other servants.  In ten minutes, as
promised, we were released, much to my satisfaction.  Lionel went off to
clean his knives, and I took up my book, and really when I perceived the
delight of Lady R--, at what she called her success, I no longer felt
anything like annoyance at having complied with her wishes.

One morning, when Lady R--had walked out, and the page Lionel was in the
room, I entered into conversation with him, and asked how it was that he
had been so much better educated than were lads in his position in
general?

"That's a question that I often ask myself, Miss Valerie," replied he,
"as they say in some autobiographies.  The first recollection I have of
myself was finding myself walking two-and-two, in a suit of
pepper-and-salt, along with about twenty other very little boys, at a
cheap preparatory school, kept by the Misses Wiggins.  There I
remained--nobody came to see me: other boys talked of their papas and
mammas--I had none to talk about: they went home at the holidays, and
brought back toys and plum-cakes; I enjoyed my holidays alone, scraping
holes in the gravel, for want of better employment, between my meals,
and perhaps not opening my mouth, or hearing the sound of my own voice,
more than three or four times in the twenty-four hours.  As I had plenty
of time for reflection during the vacations, as I grew bigger I began to
imagine that somehow or another I must have had a father and mother,
like the other boys, and began to make very impertinent (as I was told)
inquiries about them.  The Misses Wiggins gave me a good wigging, as
they call it, for my unwarranted curiosity, pointing out the indelicacy
of entering upon such subjects, and thus was my mouth stopped.

"At last I grew up too big for the school, and was not to be managed by
two old maids, and I presume it was through their representations that I
was at last honoured by a visit from an old housekeeper, a woman above
fifty, whom I never saw before.  I ventured to put the forbidden
questions to her, and she replied that I had neither father nor mother,
that they were both dead, and that I was educated by the kindness of a
great lady, whose dependents they had been, and that the great lady
would call and see me perhaps, or if she did not, would send for me and
do something for me.  Well, about four years ago (I was then twelve
years old, I was told, but my idea is that I am older than they say), I
was sent for by Lady R--, and at first I was dressed in a turban and red
jacket, and sat on the floor.  I was told that I was to be her page, and
I liked it very much, as I did nothing but run messages and read books,
which I was very fond of; and Lady R--took some pains with me; but as I
grew bigger, so did I fall off from my high estate, and by degrees
descended from the drawing-room to the kitchen.

"My finery was not renewed; at first I had a plain suit and did my work
under the footman, and two years ago, when the footman was sent away,
rather than be under the orders of another, I volunteered to do the
work, which I have done ever since, and now receive high wages, and wear
sugar-loaf buttons, as you perceive.  Now, Miss Valerie, that's all I
know of _myself_; but I suspect that Lady R--knows more; still it may be
that what the old woman told me was correct, and that I was the child of
one of her favourite dependents, and was educated by her in the manner
that I was, for you know how many odd things she does."

"What is your other name, Lionel?"

"Bedingfield, I am told, is my name," replied he.

"Have you ever spoken to Lady R--," inquired I, "relative to your
parents?"

"I once did; but she said they were Sir Richard's people, not hers (that
is, her father's, the late baronet's), and that she knew nothing about
them, except that my father was a steward or bailiff to him in the
country, and that he had left directions that she should do something
for me.  Her ladyship did not appear to be inclined to talk about them
much, and sent me away as soon as she had told me what I now repeat to
you; however, I have found out something since that--but there's her
ladyship's knock"--so saying, Lionel vanished.

Soon after her ladyship's return, Madame Gironac, who had called upon me
two or three times, was announced.  I went out of the room, and when I
met her in the dining-parlour, she told me that she had brought some of
her imitations of flowers on wax, to show them to her ladyship.  I
immediately went up, and asked Lady R--if she would like to see them, to
which proposal she assented.  When Madame Gironac displayed her
performances, which were very natural and beautiful, her ladyship was
delighted, and purchased several of them, after which I again went
downstairs, and had a long conversation with my warm-hearted little
friend.

"I don't like this situation of yours, mademoiselle," said she, "nor
does my husband.  Now I was thinking, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, that
it would not be a bad plan if you were to learn how to make those
flowers.  I will teach you for nothing; and I will teach you what I
never teach my pupils, which is how to prepare the wax, and a great many
other little secrets which are worth knowing."

"I shall be very glad to learn, my dear madame," replied I, "but I can
afford to pay you for your time and trouble, and must insist upon doing
so; if not, I will not be your pupil."

"Well, well, we must not quarrel about that.  I know that no one likes
to be under an obligation, especially one like you--but learn you must--
so let us arrange for the lessons."

I did so; and from that day until I quitted Lady R--

I applied myself so assiduously to the art, that, with the unreserved
communications of Madame Gironac, I became a proficient, and could equal
her own performances--Madame Gironac declared that I excelled her,
because I had more taste--but to return.

After I had parted with Madame Gironac, I went upstairs, and found Lady
R--sitting at the table, looking at the purchases she had made.

"My dear Valerie," cried she, "you don't know how you have obliged me by
introducing that little woman and her flowers.  What a delightful and
elegant employment for a heroine to undertake--so lady-like!  I have
determined that mine shall support herself by imitating flowers in wax.
I am just at the point of placing her in embarrassed circumstances, and
did not well know how she was to gain her livelihood, but, thanks to
you, that is selected, and in a most charming and satisfactory manner.
It is so hard to associate poverty with clean hands."

About a fortnight afterwards, after some other conversation, Lady R--
said, "My dear Valerie, I have a surprise for you.  The season is nearly
over, and, what is more important, my third volume will be complete in a
fortnight.  Last night as I was wooing Somnus in vain, an idea came into
my head.  I proposed going to pass the autumn at Brighton, as you know,
but last night I made up my mind that we would go over the water; but
whether it is to be Havre, or Dieppe, or Paris, or anywhere else I
cannot say, but certainly La Belle France.  How do you like the idea?  I
think of making a sort of sentimental journey.  We will seek adventures.
Shall we go like Rosamond and Celia?  I with `gallant curtal axe,'
dressed as a youth.  Shall we be mad, Valerie?  What say you?"

I hardly knew what to say.  Lady R--appeared to have a most unusual
freak in her head, and to be a little more odd than usual.  Now I had no
wish to go to France, as I might fall in with people whom I did not wish
to see; and moreover, from what I had heard of her ladyship's adventures
in Italy, I was convinced that she was one of many, I may say, who fancy
that they may do as they please out of their own country, and I
certainly did not wish to figure in her train; I therefore replied, "I
know my own country well, Lady R--, and there cannot be a less eligible
one for a masquerade.  We should meet with too many _desagremens_, if
unprotected by male society, and our journey would be anything but
sentimental.  But if you do go to France, does Lionel accompany you?"

"Well, I do not know, but I should like him to learn the language.  I
think I shall take him.  He is a clever boy."

"Very," replied I; "where did you pick him up?"

"He is a son of my late father's"--(`a son of--' exclaimed I)--"tenant,
or something I was going to say," continued Lady R--, colouring; "but I
could not recollect exactly what the man was.  Bailiff, I think.  I know
nothing about his father, but he was recommended to me by Sir Richard
before he died."

"Recommended as a servant?" replied I; "he appears to me to be too good
for so menial a position."

"I have made him above his position, Valerie; not that he was
recommended as a servant, but recommended to my care.  Perhaps some day
I may be able to do more for him.  You know that we are to go to Lady
G--'s ball to-night.  It will be a very brilliant affair.  She gives but
one during the season, and she always does the thing in good style.
Bless me, how late it is!  The carriage will be round in two minutes;
I've a round of visits to pay."

"Will you excuse me?  I have promised to take a lesson of Madame
Gironac."

"Very true; then I must enter upon my melancholy task alone.  What can
be so absurd as a rational and immortal soul going about distributing
pasteboard!"

We went to Lady G--'s ball, which was very splendid.  I had been
dancing, for although I was not considered probably good enough among
the young aristocrats to be made a partner for life, as a partner in a
waltz or quadrille I was rather in request, for the odium of governess
had not yet been attached to my name, having never figured in that
capacity in the metropolis, where I was unknown.  I had but a short time
taken my seat by Lady R--, when the latter sprang off in a great hurry,
after what I could not tell, and her place was immediately occupied by a
lady, who I immediately recognised as a Lady M--, who had, with her
daughters, composed a portion of the company at Madame Bathurst's
country seat.

"Have you forgotten me, Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf?" said Lady M--,
extending her hand.

"No, my lady, I am glad to see you looking so well.  I hope your
daughters are also quite well?"

"Thank you; they look very well in the evening, but rather pale in the
morning.  It is a terrible thing a London season, very trying to the
constitution, but what can we do?  We must be out and be seen
everywhere, or we lose caste--so many balls and parties every night.
The fact is, that if girls are not married during the three first
seasons after they come out, their chance is almost hopeless, for all
the freshness and charm of youth, which are so appetising to the other
sex, are almost gone.  No constitution can withstand the fatigue.  I've
often compared our young ladies to the carriage horses--they are both
worked to death during the season, and then turned out to grass in the
country to recover themselves, and come up fresh for the next winter.
It really is a horrible life, but girls must be got off.  I wish mine
were, for what with fatigue and anxiety I'm worn to a shadow.  Come,
Mademoiselle de Chatenoeuf, let us go into the next room.  It is cooler,
and we shall be more quiet; take my arm: perhaps we shall meet the
girls."

I accepted her ladyship's invitation, and we went into the next room,
and took a seat upon a sofa in a recess.

"Here we can talk without being overheard," said Lady M--; "and now, my
dear young lady, I know that you have left Madame Bathurst, but why I do
not know.  Is it a secret?"

"No, my lady; when Caroline went away I was of no further use, and
therefore I did not wish to remain.  You may perhaps know that I went to
Madame Bathurst's on a visit, and that an unforeseen change of
circumstances induced me to remain for some time as instructress to her
niece."

"I heard something of that sort, a kind of friendly arrangement, at
which Madame Bathurst had good cause to be content.  I'm sure I should
have been, had I been so fortunate; and now you are residing with Lady
R--, may I inquire, without presuming too much, in what capacity you are
with Lady R--."

"I went there as an amanuensis, but I have never written a line.  Lady
R--is pleased to consider me as a companion, and I must say that she has
behaved to me with great kindness and consideration."

"I have no doubt of it," replied Lady M--; "but still it appears to me
(excuse the liberty I take, or ascribe it to a feeling of good-will),
that your position with Lady R--is not quite what those who have an
interest in you would wish.  Everyone knows how odd she is, to say the
least of it, and you may not be perhaps aware, that occasionally her
tongue outruns her discretion.  In your presence she of course is on her
guard, for she is really good-natured, and would not willingly offend
anyone or hurt their feelings, but when led away by her desire to shine
in company, she is very indiscreet.  I have been told that at Mrs W--'s
dinner-party the other day, to which you were not invited, on your name
being brought up, she called you her charming model, I think was the
phrase; and on an explanation being demanded of the term, she said you
stood for her heroines, putting yourself in postures and positions while
she drew from nature, as she termed it; and that, moreover, on being
complimented on the idea, and some of the young men offering, or rather
intimating, that they would be delighted to stand or kneel at your feet,
as the hero of the tale, she replied that she had no occasion for their
services, as she had a page or footman, I forget which, who did that
portion of the work.  Surely this cannot be true, my dear Mademoiselle
de Chatenoeuf?"

Oh! how my blood boiled when I heard this.

How far it was true, the reader already knows; but the manner in which
it was conveyed by Lady M--, quite horrified me.  I coloured up to the
temples, and replied, "Lady M--, that Lady R--has very often, when I
have been sitting, and she has been writing, told me that she was taking
me as a model for her heroine, is very true, but I have considered it as
a mere whim of hers, knowing how very eccentric she is.  I little
thought from my having good-naturedly yielded to her caprice, that I
should have been so mortified as I have been by what you have
communicated to me.  That she must have been indiscreet, is certain, for
it was known only to herself and me."

"And the footman."

"Footman, my lady?  There is a boy--a sort of page there."

"Exactly; a lad of fifteen or sixteen, a precocious, pert boy, who is
much indulged by Lady R--, and, if report says true, is nearer related
to her than she is willing to acknowledge.  Did you never observe that
there is a strong likeness?"

"Good heavens, my lady, you surprise me."

"And, I fear, have also annoyed you; but," continued Lady M--, laying
her hand on mine, "I thought it kinder to let you know your peculiar
position than to sneer and ridicule, as others do, behind your back.
This is a sad world in one respect; if there is any scandal or false
report spread against us, it is known to everyone but ourselves.  We
cannot find, but rarely, a friend who is so really our friend as to tell
us of it.  The poison is allowed to circulate without the power being
given to us of applying an antidote--so hollow is friendship in this
world.  My dear mademoiselle, I have done otherwise; whether you thank
me for it or not, I cannot tell; perhaps not, for those who communicate
unpleasant intelligence, are seldom looked kindly upon."

"Lady M--," replied I, "I do thank you most heartily.  I do consider
that you have acted a friendly part.  That I have been dreadfully
shocked and mortified, I admit," continued I, wiping away the tears that
forced their passage; "but I shall not give an opportunity for future
unjust insinuations or remarks, as I have made up my mind that I shall
leave Lady R--as soon as possible."

"My dear mademoiselle, I did not venture to make you acquainted with
what I knew would, to a person of your sensitive mind, be the cause of
your quitting the protection of Lady R--without having considered
whether an equivalent could not be offered to you; and I am happy to say
that I can offer you a home, and I trust comfort and consideration, if
you will accept of them.  The fact is, that had I known that you had any
idea of quitting Madame Bathurst, I should have made the offer then--now
I do so with all sincerity;--but at present you are agitated and
annoyed, and I will say no more.  If I send the carriage for you
to-morrow at two o'clock, will you do me the favour to come and see me?
I would call upon you, but of course the presence of Lady R--would be a
check to our free converse.  Say, my dear, will you come?"

I replied in the affirmative, and Lady M--then rose, and giving me her
arm, we walked back to the bench which I had left, where I found Lady
R--in a hot dispute with a member of Parliament.  I sat down by her
unnoticed, and Lady M--having smiled an adieu, I was left to my own
reflections, which were anything but agreeable.  My head ached
dreadfully, and I looked so ill that Lady R--'s warm antagonist
perceived it, and pointed it out to her, saying, "Your _protegee_ is not
well, I fear, Lady R--."

I replied to Lady R--, "that I had a violent headache, and wished to get
home if it were possible."

She immediately consented, and showed great concern.  As soon as we were
home, I need hardly say, that I hastened to my room.

I sat down and 

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