Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
Rose D'Albret; or, Troublous Times.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
France -- History -- Henry IV, 1589-1610 -- Fiction
The next instant, she laid her large thin hand upon them with a firm
and heavy pressure; and the poor girl, starting up with a short
scream, stood before her, with face and lips as white as those of
death, eyes gazing with astonishment and fear, and limbs as motionless
as if she had been turned into stone.
"What is this, Helen de la Tremblade?" said the Marchioness de
Chazeul, in a sharp and ringing tone; "What is this, girl? Answer me
this moment."
"Oh, Madam, pardon me! pardon me!" cried the poor girl, falling at her
feet.
"Pardon you?" said the lady, with a bitter look; "I will first see
what I have to pardon;" and she began to gather up the letters.
"Oh no! no! no!" exclaimed the other, starting on her feet again, and
endeavouring to snatch them away. "You must not--no you must not!
Do with me what you will; but do not read those. They are mine,
Madam,--they are mine alone!"
But the Marchioness thrust her rudely back, till she reeled to the
other side of the room, at the same time crying, "How now, jade!
Yours? I will read every word. Sit down upon that stool, and move a
step if you dare.--But I will secure you!" and, first gathering up the
letters, she turned to the door, locked it, and walking back to the
table laid the key upon it, while she drew a seat facing the poor
culprit, and repeated, "Sit down, this instant!"
The unhappy girl obeyed, and covered her face, now crimson, with her
trembling hands; and Madame de Chazeul drawing the lamp nearer to her,
began to read the letter which lay at the top, commenting, as she
proceeded, in a low hoarse voice, like the croak of a raven towards
the approach of day. "Ha!" she said, as she went on, "Chazeul's hand!
Good! I might have divined this. 'Eternal love and passion!'--Fool!
There's nothing eternal but folly."
Farther on, however, she seemed to find matter which occupied her more
deeply; for her muttered words ceased, her brow put on a still heavier
frown, and her small black eyes flashed with double fierceness. "How?
how?" she cried, after nearly finishing the letter; "and is it so?
What need I more? This is enough in conscience--Oh, base girl! But I
will see more--I will see more!" and she turned to another page.
When she had read some way farther, she laid the letter down again
upon the table, and gazed at it sternly for several moments, with
thoughts evidently busy afar; and then turning to the poor girl, who
sat with her face still covered with her hands, she said, "Come
hither!"
The girl obeyed with slow, trembling, and uncertain steps, not daring
to raise her eyes. When she was near, however, she once more sank upon
her knees before the harsh and heartless woman in whose power she was,
and lifted her hands as if in the act of supplication; but for several
moments her lips refused their office, and no sound of voice was
heard. At length when she did speak it was only to say, "Forgive me,
oh forgive me!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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