Adventure stories; London (England) -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Plague -- Fiction
“There was one, in particular, possessed of even more devouring
curiosity than the rest, a certain young countess of miraculous beauty,
whom I need not describe, since you have her very image in Leoline.
The Marquis de Montmorenci, of a somewhat inflammable nature, loved her
almost as much as he had done my mother, and she accepted him, and they
were married. She may have loved him (I see no reason why she should
not), but still to this day I think it was more to discover the secret
of La Masque than from any other cause. I loved my beautiful new mother
too well to let her find it out; although from the day she entered our
house as a bride, until that on which she lay on her deathbed, her whole
aim, day and night, was its discovery. There seemed to be a fatality
about my father's wives; for the beautiful Honorine lived scarcely
longer than her predecessor, and she died, leaving three children--all
born at one time--you know them well, and one of them you love. To my
care she intrusted them on her deathbed, and she could have scarcely
intrusted them to worse; for, though I liked her, I most decidedly
disliked them. They were lovely children--their lovely mother's image;
and they were named Hubert, Leoline, and Honorine, or, as you knew her,
Miranda. Even my father did not seem to care for them much, not even
as much as he cared for me; and when he lay on his deathbed, one year
later, I was left, young as I was, their sole guardian, and trustee of
all his wealth. That wealth was not fairly divided--one-half being left
to me and the other half to be shared equally between them; but, in my
wicked ambition, I was not satisfied even with that. Some of my father's
fierce and cruel nature I inherited; and I resolved to be clear of these
three stumbling-blocks, and recompense myself for my other misfortunes
by every indulgence boundless riches could bestow. So, secretly, and in
the night, I left my home, with an old and trusty servant, known to you
as Prudence, and my unfortunate, little brother and sisters. Strange
to say, Prudence was attached to one of them, and to neither of the
rest--that one was Leoline, whom she resolved to keep and care for, and
neither she nor I minded what became of the other two.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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