THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 2170, 26 September 1895, Page 39

THE NOVELIST.

[Now First Published.]

WHEN GREEK MEETS GKEEK.

A TALE OF LOVE AND WAR.

By JOSEPH HATTON.

[All Rights Reserved.]

Chapter XII. At the Chateau de Louvot. ORE than once the Dachess de L'juv6t had drawn to her receptions advanced members of the National Assembly. General Lafaydttfl bad been one of her constant friends. The Duke had eveu toleratod the Arat-rican hevo, who tstill retained a friendly intercourse with the Count de Fournier, although they had long ceased to be in political sympathy with each other. The Duke generally found business or pleasure elßCwhere when the Dachesa crowded her country house with summer guests or her town quarters with Pariuian society, She had not been born in the purple, as the Duke had. Her origin had linked the bourgeoise o£ trade with the cordon bleu. Sne had been a beauty in her time, and married the Duke for wealth and station, he taking her in a freak of passion, which soon came to an end. They tolorated each other — loved each other, the Duke called it — for a month or two, and then both discovered separate individual amusements and occupations ; but they were united in a bincere devotion to their only child, Muthilde.

It was more for the sake, of Mathilde than to faliefj her own inclinations that the DncHeifl had cultivated certain prominent leaders of the democracy of Paris, though she waa more at home with members of the National Assembly and their wives than ever she had been with the high noblesse. Mathilde was &vtiue descendant of the De Louvet family, her pride somewhat tempered by the democratic icfluetc*s of the times. She was not what the vulgar world callß beautiful, a model for a painter— neither a Venus nor a Galatea ; but she waa a iweet womanly creature, tall, graceful, with an intellectual face, five eyee, a gracious carriage, and an amiable disposition. The expression of her face was not always alike ; there was nothing monotonous in it. Conventional beauty ia a known quantity ; you note its eyebrows, its chiselled nose, its shell-like ears, the contour of its neck, the perfect curves of its coral lips, and so on ; but the beauty that lasts has a good deal to do with the brain that is behind the pretty face and the heart that beats in the white bosom. Mathilde de Louvet waß uns ff acted, Bincere, and French in all those little unnameable charms that have given lessons to all nationalities. Her complexion was unusually fair and rosy for a Frenchwoman ; otherwise ehe possessed the De Louvet characteristics — the oval face, short upper lip, delicately rounded chin, well-formed moutb, and a dignified repose of manner. She loved the young Count de Fournier, but had a keen sense of the duty she owed to her parents, and it Is quite possible that had they been united In pressing upon her the suit of the Deputy Grebauval she might have sacrificed her feelings and inclination upon the altar of obedience ; nor would this have been an unusual thiDg in France, where to this day parents consider they have the right to select husbands for their daughters. But Mathilde was encouraged in her refusal of Grebauval by her father's objection to such a match, and also by a sentiment of family pride. For the hour together Mathilde on thi3 fatal August day had sat looking out from her window over the broad country stretohi ing away to the Seine and the woods and

meadows of Oourbevoie beyond, with its an reaped fields of yellow corn, Ita browning forest trees, and its bright blue sky. Up to the very morning which was to usher in the sweet hour of her betrothal to the man she loved ber mother had urged postponement, predicting some terrible denouement of the ooremonial. The Duchess had not dared to be frank with her daughter or the Duke touching the more than vague warnings of Grebauval, St. Just, and other I wire-pullers of the Assembly. Bhe had intrigued with both parties, King's men and people's men, and at one time bad nearly succeeded in negotiating a league for the King with more than one democratic leader. Ohabot and Baziro had aB good aB promised their allegiance, aad I she had, through a trusted fiicnd, approached Danton ; but nothing she could cay or do would touch Grebauval ; what hold Bhe had UPOn him was through her daughter, and this only went to the extent of procuring privileges for the family and encouragement in the Bccsptance of the Duchess's social invitalions among certain of the notable revolutionary leaders of the time. The Duchess might have done much if she had been rs clever as she was ingenious. For a time she succeeded in bringing together many of the more moderate men of both parties, with their ladies, each willing to make concessions ; but the Duke moisted upon his own rights and the wish of Mathilde to confirm the betrothal of their daughter, and to make the occasion memorable and worthy of the two houses of De Louvet and Da Fournier. Madame la Duchesse had been compelled to acoept the situation. The invitations had been insued before the inmrrcctionary movement might be said to have actively broken out in Paris; otherwise it is probable that even the Duke himself might have admitted that the time for the betrothal, or at least the very publlo manner of it, was ill-chosen. Many of his friends had been faithful to their promises to be present, and the Duchess had been allowed a cortain margin of license in regard to bar own politically mixed circle. It was significant of the rapid march of events, however, that while several of the Duke's Dearest neighbours had emigrated since the notification of the reception at the Chateau de Louvel had been issued, ODly two or three of tbe persons who had been hopeful to see some accommodation between the King and his opponents had driven into tbe comtyard of the Chateau at the invited hour. These were not of first-class importance, and were half suspected by the Duchess to be spies rather than friendly guestp. It looked as if all her influence with the members of the Assembly— Girondists and Jacobins— had suddenly died out, though there wore plenty of reasonable excuses why any one of them should have been unable to leave his duties on that eventful day, for had they not been sitting and deliberating morning, noon, and night. While the Da Louvets were receiving their guests, the King and Queen, accompanied by the Dauphin, had left the palace to Beck protection with the National Assembly. Poor, brave Queen, linked with a King who found within him no impulse to respond to her heroic spirit, but only the resignation of the martyr ! " I would rather be nailed to the walls of the palace than leave it I " she had said, but nothing would move the King. 11 Are you prepared, madame," said Roederer, " to take upon yourself the responsibility of the death of the King, of yourself, of your children, and of all who are identified with you ? " No one replied. If the Queen's voioe had been raised in response it would have been " death rather than retreat " ; but she wa3 silent. Her courage was one thing, her devotion and duty to the King another. " Let us go," said M. Monijoye. " Honour commands it; the safety of the State requires it ; let us go forthwith." The mob robbed the Qaeen of her purse on the way, and from first to last the entire story of the downfall of the throne is gullied, not alone by the cruel tragedy of ifc, but with everything that is sordid and mean. This was no time for Assembly men— for Jacobins or Girondists— to be visitors out-, aide the barriers of Paris. Grebanval.much as he was personally exercised in connection with the affair at the Chateau de Louvbt, did not venture forth until after the deputation from the new municipality had appeared at the bar demanding that their powers ehould be confirmed, the King dethroned, and a National Convention convoked ; and it was not without difficulty that he and his military escort had made their way through the Champs Ely sees, where the massacre of the flying Swiss was active, and ghouls of both sexes were already maltreating and plundering the bodies of the dead. It is hard to conceive that within a mile or two of theße scenes of riot and slaughter there should be a sweet and quiet oountry, a calmly-flowing river, pleasant gardens, and homesteads in tbe midst of growing crops. Both the Duke and Duchees took occasion, now and then, to leave the arrivirjg company, hoping to console Mathilde for the absence of De Fournier, which began to be alarming, the more so that several guests brought disquieting reports of new and grave troubles in Paris, stern messengers of the truth of which were already mounting for Neuilly and the well-known Chateau that mado the view from a bend of road beyond the Lion dOr impressive with ancient towers and fine old timber. " He is dotained on iome business of the King," said the Dake, kissing Mathilde ceremoniously as was his want. " They say his Majesty has at last asserted his royal authority." " But where is his messenger ? " " Did you expect a messenger, my love ? " "Surely," said the girl, looking up pitifully into the steadfast eyes of her father, who took out hia snuffbox and walked to the end of the room and back again to tU,e window where Mathilde was standing. " It rray have been a sudden service," he remarked, as much to himself as Mathilde. "It is possible the King ha 3 taken possession of the Assembly and placed the President under arrest — so it is whispered." " There was the young man Ellicott — he should have come by hia own impulse of devotion," she answered, all the natural bloom gone out of her cheeks and her voice trembling with emotion,

"He may be here any moment," said the Duko, brushing the snuff from his em- | broidered vest. 11 If the King is in danger or if Le is In triumph," she said, " Henri is in peril, and Ellicott too, his dangerous service discovered by the agents of Grebauval. I am overwhelmed with apprehension." "Be comforted," was all the Duke could say in reply — " be comforted ; I will eend your raothtr to you." " My mother has no comforting words for mo," tbe girl wearily replied. " She loves you, Mathilde. Would that i her heart beat as truly in other ways. Au revolr." Tho Duke, in his velvet breeches and silk stockings and hia powdered wig (despite the scarcity of flour and the famine price of corn), tapped his snuffbox thoughtfully and sighed as he returned to the terrace of the principal salon o£ the Chateau, where a gAilydressed company was eating bonbons, sipping syrups, and bandying about the latest scraps of news, the Duchess in their midst, apparently the merriest of them all, almost youthfully alert in her movements, despite her stiff corset and high-heeled shoes. 11 Go to Mathilde," said the Duke in a whisper, as he passed to welcome an old friend who had driven over in state from Sfc. Germain. " Oh, my dear," said the Duches3, flinging herself into a chair, "I am well nigh driven mad." " What tidings have you received then?" asked Mathildo. 11 Everything— nothing — the air is full of rumours." None of my friends are here to deny or confirm them." "And Henri?" " Not a word about him from anyene." " And the girl, Bruyset 7 " " Should have been here this morning," said tbe Duobcss ; "no tidings of her by word or writing. My dear, we are lost 1 " She rocked hersolt to and fro in her chair, and wiped her eyes, not, however, in her mental distraction forgetting to do so with due regard to her facial make-up— slight as, it is only fair to say, it was — that gave brilliancy to an otherwise dull complexion. Ab her mother gave way to her feelings Mathilde repressed her own. 11 Let us bear our misfortunes, whatever they may be, with patienoe, trusting in God," said Mathilde. " Many who trusted in God havo lost their lives," said the Duchess with an angry gesture. " And hare found their reward in Heaven." " I prefer a reward on earth," 6aid the Duchess. " Mother 1 " exclaimod Mathilde, kneeling at the Dnohes&'s feet, and laying her head upon her knees — "mother, you are in despair ; what is it ? " " Oh, if you had only been advised by me," said the Duchess; "even now it is not too late." " Too late for what ? " asked the girl, rising to her feet. She knew too well what her mother was about to say. " To take the hand of Monsieur Grobauval. He loves you better than ever a legitimate De Fournier knows bow to love." " Mother I " exclaimed Mathilde. " Marry Grebauval and you confer a favour ; marry Da Fournier and he honours yon; marry Grebauval and you win bis eternal gratitude ; no De Fournier was ever true to his wife." " Mother 1 " said Mathilde, her long white hands covering her ears. 41 To Grsbanval it would be a love-mateh — I'll awear it. He is as fine a figuro as the other, his estate is not impoverished, he is rich in specio too— nay, I will apeak, if it is for the last time— rich and powerful, can protect you, oan save us all from misery — great God ! perhaps from the scaffold 1 - who knows ? Think of It ! Only think of It I" " Mother, you wrong yourself and mo ; you wrong my father, and you wrong Henri. Dear mother, don't break my heart." " Your heart I " said the Duchess, rising from the chair in which she had been rooking herself backwards and forwards, to the disarrangement of her toilet. " You talk like some bourgeoiso shop girl who prefers Franchise, the hairdresser, to Jacques, tbe baker. Your heart, indeed I In your station marriage is a matter of state, of family, of business, to use the most practical phrase ; it is a contract between two patties who bricg value on each side. Grebauval brings money, power, the good name of a statesman, the prospective % authoiity of a ruler — who knows 1 " "Ob, mother!" was still all that Mathilde could say. If she bad said more probably the Dacbess might have said less. " Your father is running his head into the lion's mouth ; his obstinacy — his duty to the King, he calls it — means death unless he seta out for the frontier at once ; nothing will make him move, and there is only one man in Paris who can save him, who can defend our property from the wolves of the faubourg ; that man is the Deputy " Grebauval 1 " " Mother, forgive me, I cannot listen to you." " Cannot listen to me I " said the Duchess, shaking out her fan and posing in an attitude of defiance whioh became her well, for she was a fine woman, with a well-poised head, a figure straight as a Diana, and mobile featuros that responded to every emotion. " You cannot listen to me 1 " " I said cannot, mother," replied Mathilde, the colour coming suddenly back into her fair face. " I will not I " " Very well, mademoiselle," said the Duchess, " then go your own way to perdition 1 " But she had no sooner uttered the unmotherly malediction than Bhe burst into tears, and fluDg herself into her daughter's arms, exclaiming between her sobs : "My dear, I didn't mean what I said I But, oh 1 my poor child, we are surely lost I What j will become of us ? " A hurried knock at the door brought back the Duchess's self-possession. She withdrew from her daughter's arms, wiped her eye*, disappeared behind the screen of Mathilda's boudoir for a moment, and returned ready to meet tbe g&ze of her waiting woman, who brought a message from the Duke. " Will madame la Duchesee be pleased lo roturn to the salon! It Is Monsieur lo

Depute Grevaubal who has arrived, with Captain Marcy, of the National Guard." "I will attend the Duke immediately/ eaid tha Duchess, with an assumed air o! perfect self-poseestion. " Merci 1 madame ; I shall ?ay bo," replied the woman, retiring 1 , but not without a curious glance at Hathilde. " Courage, my child," said the Dachew, " courage 1 " kissing her on both cheok», and taking a last survey of herself before she left the room.