CHAPTER CLXXXIII.

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT AND A DREADED ARRIVAL.

The moment Laura heard the outer door close behind the Marquis of

Delmour, she exclaimed aloud, “I have triumphed! I have triumphed!

He is in my power--he fell at my feet--he said, ‘_Laura, I adore

you!_’--and the proof of his utter credulity is here--here!”

Thus speaking, she clutched the draught for sixty thousand

pounds--devoured it with her eyes--and then secured it in her

writing-desk.

“Yes: sixty thousand pounds!” she murmured to herself, as she resumed

her voluptuously reclining position upon the ottoman;--“sixty thousand

pounds--gained with but little trouble and in a short time! It would

scarcely matter if I never touched another piece of gold from his

purse; for I am now independent of him--of the hated Hatfields--of

all the world! But I will not abandon my doating English Marquis in a

hurry: I will not cast aside a nobleman who is so generous--so rich--so

confiding! No--no: he will be worth two hundred thousand pounds to

me;--and then--yes--_then_, I may espouse a peer of high title! My

fortune is assured--my destiny is within the range of prophecy. I have

taken a tremendous step this evening: an hour has seen me grow suddenly

rich--already the possessor of sixty thousand pounds! Thanks to this

more than human beauty of mine--thanks to that witchery of manner which

I know so well how to assume--and thanks also to that fascinating

influence wherewith I can invest my language at will, the Marquis

has become my slave. Thus does the strong-minded--the resolute--the

intellectual man succumb to woman, when she dazzles him with her

loveliness and bewilders him with her guile. Sixty thousand pounds now

own me as their mistress! ’Tis glorious to possess great wealth: but

’tis an elysian happiness--a burning joy--a proud triumph to feel that

I am released from the thraldom of those Hatfields--or rather from

a state of dependence upon the father of him whom I lately loved so

well! And my mother, too--my selfish, intriguing, deceitful old mother,

who has ever hoped to make a profitable market of my charms, and hold

despotic sway over me at the same time,--she is no longer necessary to

me--and I may in a moment assert my independence should she dare to

attempt to tyrannise again. The mad old fool! to fancy that she will

succeed in discovering Torrens,--or, even if she did, to hope that

she could compel him to disgorge the treasures which he has perilled

his life here and his soul hereafter to gain! She will return to me

penniless--totally dependent upon me; and I shall allow her a small

income on condition that she locates herself in some obscure spot,

whence her machinations and her intrigues cannot reach me. Not for

worlds would I have her fastened to my apron-strings in London--that

London whither I am about to return, and where I may yet hope to punish

that Mr. Hatfield who for a time so savagely triumphed over me! No--my

mother must be forced into seclusion; her notoriety of character would

ruin me. Constantly incurring the chance of being discovered as the

Mrs. Slingsby of former years--certain to be recognised as the Mrs.

Fitzhardinge who was arrested on suspicion of being concerned in

the murder of the old miser--and having evidently entered into some

intrigue which has brought her under the notice of the Marquis of

Delmour, she can no longer be allowed to associate with me! _Her_ day

has gone by--_mine_ has scarcely begun.”

[Illustration]

Laura--the beauteous, wanton,unprincipled Laura--had reached this point

in her musings, when she was startled by an unusually violent ringing

at the front door bell; and in a few moments a gentleman burst into the

room, his impatience having urged him to cast away all ceremony and

dispense with the introductory agency of Rosalie, who had uttered an

ejaculation of surprise on beholding him.

“Captain Barthelma!” cried Laura, in an astonishment which even

surpassed that of her abigail.

“Yes--my angel: It is I!” exclaimed the enthusiastic young Italian, as,

bounding towards Laura, he caught her in his arms.

His lips were instantaneously fastened to her ripe mouth; and,

remembering the night of love and pleasure which she had passed with

him, she experienced no vexation at his sudden and most unexpected

appearance.

“Can you pardon me for this intrusion?” he demanded, at length

loosening her from his embrace, but seating himself closely by her side

on the ottoman and taking her hands in his own; “can you pardon me, I

ask, adorable woman?” he repeated, gazing upon her in boundless and

passionate admiration.

“It seems that it were useless to be offended with you,” she replied,

smiling with voluptuous sweetness.

“Oh! then you will not upbraid me--you will not reproach me with having

broken the solemn promise that I made you to depart and seek to see

you no more in Paris?” he exclaimed. “But even if you were inclined to

be angry, Laura, it could not in justice be upon me that your wrath

would fall. You must blame your own matchless beauty--you must take

all the fault unto yourself. I feel that I cannot live without you.

Ever since we parted, my brain has been in a ceaseless ferment--my soul

a prey to incessant excitement. By day and by night has your lovely

image been before me: by day and by night have I fancied that I heard

your voice pouring forth the most eloquent music:--I have dreamt that

your lips, breathing odours and bathed with sweets, were pressed to

mine:--and your looks, beaming love, and happiness, and joy, have ever

been fixed on mine! Oh! my imagination has maintained me in a condition

of such pleasing pain that I have been in a species of restless

elysium,--a giddy and sometimes agonising whirl, although the scene was

paradise! At length I could endure this state no longer: and when at a

considerable distance from Paris, on the road to Italy, I suddenly and

secretly quitted the service of the Grand Duke----”

“Oh! what madness--what insanity!” exclaimed Laura, grieved that the

handsome young Castelcicalan should have made so deep a sacrifice for

her--inasmuch as his generous devotion had not only flattered her

pride, but also touched her soul.

“It may be madness--it may be insanity,” repeated Lorenzo Barthelma,

with impassioned warmth: “but those words must in that case be taken

only as other terms for the deepest--sincerest--and most ardent

devotion. Were I a beggar on the face of the earth, I should have acted

in the same manner; because I should have come to you--I should have

thrown myself at your feet--I should have implored you to render me

happy,--and in return I should have toiled from morning to night to

make up for the deficiency of my means.”

“Generous Lorenzo!” exclaimed Laura, speaking with more sincerity than

had characterised her words for years.

“Ah! then you are somewhat touched by my devotion, angelic woman!”

cried the handsome young officer, drawing her still more closely

towards him, and passing his arm round her slender waist. “But happily

I am no pauper--fortunately I am _not_ dependent upon my own exertions.

When I was with you before, my adorable Laura, I told you that I

possessed a competency; and I then offered to link my destinies with

yours for ever. Now my circumstances have materially altered--and

I rejoice in the fact! For the French papers of this day contain

intelligence of the death of my cousin, the Count of Carignano, at

Montoni; and by that unexpected event I have succeeded alike to his

title and his princely revenues.”

“Oh! my beloved Lorenzo,” exclaimed Laura, now giving way to all

that tenderness towards him which was really in accordance with her

inclinations, but which her more selfish interests would have prompted

her to subdue and stifle had not this last announcement met her ear:

“Oh! my beloved Lorenzo,” she cried, pressing closer to him, so that

he could feel her bosom throbbing like the undulations of a mighty

tide--for she was now powerfully excited, alike morally and sensually:

“how can I reward--how recompense this generosity on your part?”

“By becoming my wife--yes, my wife, Laura--if you will,” returned the

enraptured young man. “For you know not how I love you--how intense is

the passion with which you have inspired me. I am blind and deaf to

all--everything, save your beauties and your witching voice. If you be

the greatest profligate the world ever saw, I care not--so madly do I

love you.”

“And when this delirium shall have passed away, Lorenzo,” murmured

Laura, concealing her burning countenance on his breast, “you will

repent the rashness which induced you to wed with one who had so easily

abandoned herself to you when a complete stranger--and whom--whom--you

knew to be unchaste even then!” she added, her voice becoming

touchingly low and tremulously plaintive.

“To suspect even for an instant that I should ever repent of making you

my wife, Laura, is to doubt my love,” said the Count of Carignano--for

such we may now call him; “and _that_ wounds me to the very soul!

’Tis sufficient for me to know that you are an angel of beauty--and

I reck not if you are a demoness in character. But _that_ I am sure

is impossible. Your loveliness may have led you into temptations,

and your temperament may have induced you to yield: but that you are

generous--good--amiable, I am convinced, Laura;--and that you will

prove faithful to one who places all his own happiness in you, and who

will study incessantly to promote yours--oh! of that I am well assured

also. Say, then, my adored one--can you consent to become the Countess

of Carignano, with a revenue of twelve thousand a year?”

“Not for the dross--oh! not for the despicable dross,” murmured Laura,

scarcely able to restrain her joy within reasonable bounds, and induce

her suitor to believe that no selfish interests were mixed up with the

motives for that assent which she was about to give,--“not for vile and

sordid gold, Lorenzo, do I respond in the affirmative to the generous

proposal that you have now made to me--because I myself am possessed

of a fortune of sixty thousand pounds: but it is because I love

you--yes--I love you, my handsome Lorenzo----”

“Say no more, Laura--beloved Laura!” interrupted the impassioned young

nobleman, straining her to his breast: then fondly--oh! how fondly

did he gaze upon her--upon _her_, that guileful woman--reading the

reflection of his own voluptuous feelings in her fine large eyes, and

then bestowing upon her the most ardent caresses.

Several minutes passed away,--minutes that glided by with rapid and

silent wings;--and the handsome pair scarcely noticed that a single

second had elapsed since last they spoke.

“Tell me, my sweet Laura,” at length said the Count, toying with the

glossy and fragrant tresses of her hair,--“tell me what meant certain

words which you addressed to me on that evening when I was first

blessed with your kindness. You declared that you could not marry me,

although you were not married--that you could not be my mistress,

although you were not the mistress of another--and that you could not

hold out any hope to me, although you were pledged to no other man.”

“That language, apparently so mysterious, is easily explained,”

said Laura, forcing a deep blush into her cheeks as she spoke, and

winding one of her snow-white and naked arms round her lover’s neck,

so that the contact of the firm warm flesh against his cheek sent

the blood rushing through his veins in boiling currents. “I had

abandoned myself to you in a moment of caprice--no, of weakness--of

passion, which I could not subdue: I had yielded to an invincible

impulse, not knowing its nature, and not waiting to ask myself the

question. But when you had been with me a short time, I felt that

I could love you--yes--deeply, tenderly love you; and as I fancied

that, even though you protested the contrary, you could entertain no

lasting affection for me, but on the other hand would soon regret

any hastily and rashly-formed connexion, I was resolved not to place

my own heart in jeopardy, nor incur the risk of loving well and then

sustaining a cruel disappointment. For I feared that you addressed

me in an impassioned tone only because you were labouring under the

delirium of passing excitement and strong though evanescent feelings.

Thus was it, then--for my own sake--that I spoke mysteriously to you,

in order to convince you of the necessity of seeing me no more. But

now, my Lorenzo--now, that you have had several days to reflect upon

the proposal which you then made me--now that I have received such

unequivocal proofs of your love, and that I no longer fear lest you

should be acting in obedience to a sudden impulse,--oh! now, I say, I

can hesitate no longer--and I will become your wife!”

The Count of Carignano drank in the delicious poison of her words

until his very soul was intoxicated; and loving so well as did this

generous-hearted, confiding young man, he paused not for an instant to

demand of himself whether he were loving wisely. But he was contented

to risk all and everything,--happiness--honour--fame--and name,--in

this marriage upon which he had set his mind:--he longed--he burnt--he

craved to possess Laura altogether--to have her to himself;--and he

felt jealous of all the rest of the world until the nuptial knot should

have been tied. It is in this humour and in such a temperament that

the highest peer will marry an actress, who would jump at an offer to

become his pensioned mistress for a few hundreds a-year.

And Laura--what was passing in her mind? The readers may easily

conceive: and yet, lest there should be one or two of imaginations so

opaque as not to be able to divine her thoughts, we will describe them

as succinctly as possible.

She had run down the institution of marriage when in conversation with

the Marquis of Delmour, because she knew that he was already bound in

matrimonial bonds, and that _she_ therefore could not become his wife.

The result was that she was enabled to consent to become his mistress

with much less apparent violation of decency, and without the risk of

shocking his feelings. And his mistress she would have become, as she

indeed promised, had not the arrival of the Count of Carignano turned

her thoughts into an entirely new channel, and placed her interests

altogether in a new light. From the moment that he announced his title

and his wealth, Laura resolved to throw the poor Marquis of Delmour

overboard and accept the proposals of the Italian nobleman.

In fact, Fortune appeared to favour Laura marvellously. Ere now she had

beholden a coronet at the end of a vista of some years: in her musings,

she had said, “The Marquis will be worth two hundred thousand pounds

to me: and _then_ I may espouse a peer of high title!” Such was her

ambitious speculation previously to the arrival of Lorenzo: and now,

since he had come, she no longer need pass through the apprenticeship

of mistress to one nobleman in order to become the wife of another.

No--a coronet was within her grasp: a few days--a few hours might

behold her Countess of Carignano,--with a husband of whom she could not

but be proud, and not with an animated corpse bound to her side.

Here was another triumph for Laura--another cause of glorification

in the possession of those matchless charms which thus captivated so

hastily and triumphed so effectually. Within a few short weeks she

had seen Charles Hatfield--the Marquis of Delmour--and the Count of

Carignano at her feet. The first and last had enjoyed her favours: the

second was in anticipation of them--and, in that anticipation, had paid

sixty thousand pounds. To the first she was wedded--and their marriage

was a secret: to the last she had consented to be allied--and their

union would be proclaimed to all the world!

Oh! associated with all these reflections, were triumphs--glorious

triumphs for Laura Mortimer; and as those thoughts rushed through her

mind, as she lay half embraced in the arms of the fond and doting

Italian nobleman, the delicious rosiness of animation spread over her

cheeks, and kindred fires flashed from under her long silken lashes.

“How beautiful art thou, my adored one!” exclaimed Carignano, as

he contemplated the glorious loveliness of her looks: and then he

pressed his lips to that mouth which was so voluptuously formed, and

which rather resembled a luscious fruit than anything belonging to

human shape. “Oh! how I long to call thee mine--to know that thou art

indissolubly linked to me! But say--tell me--when shall this happy,

happy union take place?--when wilt thou accompany me to the altar?”

“Let us depart for England without delay, my dearest Lorenzo,” murmured

Laura, lavishing upon him the most tender caresses; “and there--in

London--our marriage can be celebrated immediately after our arrival.

Have you any tie--and business on hand to retain you in Paris?”

“None in the world,” was the answer: “and even if I had, everything

should give place to the accomplishment of my felicity and the

fulfilment of your wishes.”

“Then let us take our departure as early as convenient to-morrow

morning,” said Laura.

“And we shall not separate in the meantime?” observed the young Count,

straining the syren to his breast.

She murmured a favourable reply; and, after some minutes of tender

dalliance, she hastened to give her servants the necessary instructions

relative to the preparations for her departure.

A delicate supper was then served up; and the sparkling champagne made

the eyes of the lovers flash more brightly, and enhanced the rich

carnation glow of their countenances.

The time-piece struck eleven; and they were about to retire to rest,

when Rosalie hastily entered the room, and approaching Laura, said in

an under tone, “_Mademoiselle_, your mother has this moment arrived.

I told her that you were engaged--and she awaits your presence in the

breakfast-parlour.”

“It is my mother, dear Lorenzo,” Laura observed to the Count, who had

not overheard the abigail’s communication: “but her arrival will not

in any way interfere with our arrangements,” she hastened to add,

perceiving that the young nobleman’s countenance suddenly expressed

apprehension.

“And yet you yourself appear to be but little pleased at this

occurrence, dearest Laura,” he whispered, gazing fondly upon her.

“I could have wished it were otherwise,” she responded: “but no matter.

There is nothing to fear: I am independent of my mother. Have patience

for ten minutes--and I will return to you.”

With these words, she pressed his hand tenderly and then hurried from

the apartment--the discreet Rosalie having already retired the moment

she had delivered her message.

Laura hastened to the breakfast-parlour; and there she found her

mother, whose garments indicated that she had just arrived in Paris

after a journey in an open vehicle and on a dusty road.