<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2><h3><SPAN name="div2_08">THE HOUR OF HAPPINESS.</SPAN></h3>
<br/>
<p class="normal">At the levée of the King, on the succeeding morning, the young Count
de Morseiul was permitted to appear for a few minutes. The monarch was
evidently in haste, having somewhat broken in on his matutinal habits
in consequence of the late hour at which he had retired on the night
before.</p>
<p class="normal">"They tell me you have a favour to ask, Monsieur de Morseiul," said
the King. "I hope it is not a very great one, for I have slept so well
and am in such haste, that, perhaps, I might grant it, whether it were
right or wrong."</p>
<p class="normal">"It is merely, Sire," replied the Count, "to ask your gracious
permission to proceed to Paris this morning, in order to visit
Mademoiselle de Marly. Not knowing when it may be your royal pleasure
to grant me the longer audience which you promised for some future
time, I did not choose to absent myself from Versailles without your
majesty's consent."</p>
<p class="normal">Louis smiled graciously, for no such tokens of deference were lost
upon him. "Most assuredly," he said, "you have my full permission: and
now I think of it--Bontems," he continued, turning to one of his
<i>valets de chamber</i>, "bring me that casket that is in the little
cabinet below--now I think of it, the number of our ladies last night
fell short at the lottery, and there was a prize of a pair of diamond
earrings left. I had intended to have given them to La belle Clémence;
but, somehow," he added, with a smile, "she did not appear in the
room. Perhaps, however, you know more of that than I do, Monsieur de
Morseiul!--Oh, here is Bontems--give me the casket."</p>
<p class="normal">Taking out of the small ebony box which was now presented to him, a
little case, containing a very handsome pair of diamond ear-rings, the
King placed it in the hands of the young Count, saying, "There,
Monsieur de Morseiul, be my messenger to the fair lady. Give her those
jewels from the King; and tell her, that I hope ere long she will be
qualified to draw prizes in some not very distant lottery by appearing
as one of the married ladies of our court. She has tortured all our
gallant gentlemen's hearts too long, and we will not suffer our
subjects to be thus ill treated. Do you stay in Paris all day,
Monsieur de Morseiul, or do you come here to witness the new opera?"</p>
<p class="normal">"I did not propose to do either, Sire," replied the Count: "I had, in
fact, engaged myself to pass another pleasant evening at the house of
Monsieur de Meaux."</p>
<p class="normal">"Indeed!" said the King, evidently well pleased. "That is all as it
should be. I cannot but think, Monsieur de Morseiul, that if you pass
many more evenings so well, either you will convert Monsieur de
Meaux--which God forbid, or Monsieur de Meaux will convert you--which
God grant."</p>
<p class="normal">The Count bowed gravely; and, as the King turned to speak with some
one else who was giving him a part of his dress, the young nobleman
took it as a permission to retire; and, mounting his horse, which had
been kept ready saddled, he made the best of his way towards the
capital.</p>
<p class="normal">That gay world, with its continual motion, was as animated then as
now. Though the abode of the court was at Versailles, yet the distance
was too small to make the portion of the population absolutely
withdrawn from the metropolis at all important while all the other
great bodies of the kingdom assembled, or were represented there.
Thousands on thousands were hurrying through the streets; the same
trades and occupations were going on then as now, with only this
difference, that, at that period, luxury, and industry, and every
productive art had reached, if not its highest, at least its most
flourishing point; and all things presented, even down to the aspect
of the city itself, that hollow splendour, that tinselled
magnificence, that artificial excitement, that insecure prosperity,
the falseness of all and each of which had afterwards to be proved,
and which entailed a long period of fresh errors, bitter repentance,
and terrible atonement.</p>
<p class="normal">But through the gay crowd the Count de Morseiul passed on, noticing it
little, if at all. He was urged on his way by the strongest of all
human impulses, by love--first, ardent, pure, sincere, love--all the
more deep, all the more intense, all the more over-powering, because
he had not felt it at that earlier period, while the animal triumphs
over the mental in almost all the affections of man. His heart and his
spirit had lost nothing of their freshness to counterbalance the
vigour and the power they had obtained, and at the age of seven or
eight and twenty he loved with all the vehemence and ardour of a boy,
while he felt with all the permanence and energy of manhood.</p>
<p class="normal">Though contrary, perhaps, to the rules and etiquettes of French life
at that period, he took advantage both of the message with which he
was charged from the King, and the sort of independence which Clémence
de Marly had established for herself, to ask for her instead of either
the Duke or the Duchess. He was not, indeed, without a hope that he
should find her alone, and that hope was realised. She had expected
him, and expected him early; and, perhaps, the good Duchess de Rouvré
herself had fancied that such might be the case, and, remembering the
warm affections of her own days, had abstained from presenting herself
in the little saloon where Clémence de Marly had usually established
her abode during their residence in Paris.</p>
<p class="normal">Had Albert of Morseiul entertained one doubt of the affection of
Clémence de Marly, that doubt must have vanished in a moment--must
have vanished at the look with which she rose to meet him. It was all
brightness--it was all happiness. The blood mounted, it is true, into
her cheeks, and into her temples; her beautiful lips trembled
slightly, and her breath came fast; but the bright and radiant smile
was not to be mistaken. The sparkling of the eyes spoke what words
could not speak; and, though her tongue for a moment refused its
office, the smile that played around the lips was eloquent of all that
the heart felt.</p>
<p class="normal">Not contented with the hand she gave, Albert of Morseiul took the
other also; and not contented with the thrilling touch of those small
hands, he threw his arms around her, and pressed her to his heart; and
not contented--for love is the greatest of encroachers--with that dear
embrace, he made his lips tell the tale of their own joy to hers, and
once and again he tasted the happiness that none had ever tasted
before: and then, as if asking pardon for the rashness of his love, he
pressed another kiss upon her fair hand, and leading her back to her
seat, took his place beside her.</p>
<p class="normal">Fearful that he should forget, he almost immediately gave her the
jewels that the King had sent. But what were jewels to Clémence de
Marly at that moment? He told her, also, the message the King had
given, especially that part which noted her absence from the room
where the lottery had been drawn.</p>
<p class="normal">"I would not have given those ten minutes," she replied eagerly, "for
all the jewels in his crown."</p>
<p class="normal">They then forgot the King, the court, and every thing but each other,
and spent the moments of the next half hour in the joy, in the
surpassing joy, of telling and feeling the happiness that each
conferred upon the other.</p>
<p class="normal">Oh! those bright sunny hours of early love, of love in its purity
and its truth, and its sincerity--of love, stripped of all that is
evil, or low, or corrupt, and retaining but of earth sufficient to
make it harmonise with earthly creatures like ourselves--full of
affection--full of eager fire, but affection as unselfish as human
nature will admit, and fire derived from heaven itself! How shall ye
ever be replaced in after life? What tone shall ever supply the sound
of that master chord after its vibrations have once ceased?</p>
<p class="normal">As the time wore on, however, and Albert of Morseiul remembered that
there were many things on which it was necessary to speak at once to
Clémence de Marly, the slight cloud of care came back upon his brow,
and reading the sign of thought in a moment, she herself led the way,
by saying,--</p>
<p class="normal">"But we must not forget, dear Albert, there is much to be thought of.
We are spending our time in dreaming over our love, when we have to
think of many more painful points in our situation. We have spoken of
all that concerns our intercourse with each other; but of your
situation at the court I am ignorant; and am not only ignorant of the
cause, but astonished to find, that when I expected the most
disastrous results, you are in high favour with the King, and
apparently have all at your command."</p>
<p class="normal">"Not so, dear Clémence--alas! it is not so," replied the Count; "the
prosperity of my situation is as hollow as a courtier's heart--as
fickle as any of the other smiles of fortune."</p>
<p class="normal">Before he could go on, however, to explain to her the real position in
which he stood, Madame de Rouvré entered the room, and was delighted
at seeing one whom she had always esteemed and loved. She might have
remained long, but Clémence, with the manner which she was so much
accustomed to assume, half playful, half peremptory, took up the
little case of ear-rings from the table, saying, "See what the King
has sent me! and now, dear Duchess, you shall go away, and leave me to
talk with my lover. It is so new a thing for me to have an
acknowledged lover, and one, too, that I don't despise, that I have
not half tired myself with my new plaything. Am not I a very saucy
demoiselle?" she added, kissing the Duchess, who was retiring with
laughing obedience. "But take the diamonds, and examine them at your
leisure. They will serve to amuse you in the absence of your
Clémence."</p>
<p class="normal">"If I were a lover now," said the Duchess smiling, "I should say
something about their not being half as bright as your eyes, Clémence.
But words vary in their value so much, that what would be very smart
and pleasant from a young man, is altogether worthless on the lips of
an old woman. Let me see you before you go, Count. It is not fair that
saucy girl should carry you off altogether."</p>
<p class="normal">"Now, now, Albert," said Clémence, as soon as the Duchess was gone,
"tell me before we are interrupted again."</p>
<p class="normal">The Count took up the tale then with his last day's sojourn in
Brittany, and went on to detail minutely every thing that had occurred
since his arrival in the capital; and, as he told her, her cheek grew
somewhat paler till, in the end, she exclaimed, "It is all as bad as
it can be. You will never change your faith, Albert."</p>
<p class="normal">"Could you love me, Clémence," he asked, "if I did?"</p>
<p class="normal">She put her hand before her eyes for a moment, then placed one of them
in his, and replied, "I should love you ever, Albert, with a woman's
love, unchangeable and fixed. But I could not esteem you, as I would
fain esteem him that I must love."</p>
<p class="normal">"So thought I," replied the Count, "so judged I of my Clémence; and
all that now remains to be thought of is, how is this to end, and what
is to be our conduct to make the end as happy to ourselves as may be?"</p>
<p class="normal">"Alas!" replied Clémence, "I can answer neither question. The
probability is that all must end badly, that your determination not to
yield your religion to any inducements must soon be known; for depend
upon it, Albert, they will press you on the subject more closely every
day; and you are not made to conceal what you feel. The greater the
expectations of your conversion have been, the more terrible will be
the anger that your adherence to your own faith will produce; and
depend upon it, the Prince de Marsillac takes a wrong view of the
question; for it matters not whether this affair have passed away, or
be revived against you,--power never yet wanted a pretext to draw the
sword of persecution. Neither, Albert, can my change of faith be long
concealed. I cannot insult God by the mockery of faith in things,
regarding which my mind was long doubtful, but which I am now well
assured, and thoroughly convinced, are false. In this you are in a
better situation than myself, for you can but be accused of holding
fast to the faith that you have ever professed: me they will accuse of
falling into heresy with my eyes open. Perhaps they will add that I
have done so for your love."</p>
<p class="normal">"Then, dear Clémence," he replied, "the only path for us is the path
of flight, speedy and rapid flight. I have already secured for us
competence in another land; wealth I cannot secure, but competence is
surely all that either you or I require."</p>
<p class="normal">"All, all," replied Clémence; "poverty with you, Albert, would be
enough. But the time, and the manner of our flight, must be left to
you. The distance between Paris and the frontier is so small, that we
bad better effect it now, and not wait for any contingency. If you can
find means to withdraw yourself from the court, I will find means to
join you any where within two or three miles' journey of the capital.
But write to me the place, the hour, and the time; and, as we love
each other, Albert, and by the faith that we both hold, and for which
we are both prepared to sacrifice so much, I will not fail you."</p>
<p class="normal">"What if it should be to-morrow?" demanded the Count.</p>
<p class="normal">Clémence gazed at him for a moment with some agitation. "Even if it
should be tomorrow," she said at length, "even if it should be
to-morrow, I will come. But oh, Albert," she added, leaning her head
upon his shoulder, "I am weaker, more cowardly, more womanly than I
thought. I would fain have it a day later: I would fain procrastinate
even by a day. But never mind, never mind, Albert; should it be
necessary, should you judge it right, should you think it requisite
for your safety, let it be to-morrow."</p>
<p class="normal">"I cannot yet judge," replied the Count; "I think, I trust that it
will not be so soon. I only put the question to make you aware that
such a thing is possible, barely possible. In all probability the King
will give me longer time. He cannot suppose that the work of
conversion will take place by a miracle. I do not wish to play a
double game with them, even in the least, Clémence, nor suffer them to
believe that there is a chance even of my changing, when there is
none; but still I would fain, for your sake as well as mine, delay a
day or two."</p>
<p class="normal">"Delays are dangerous, even to an old proverb," said Clémence; but ere
she could conclude her sentence the Duc de Rouvré entered the room;
and not choosing, or perhaps not having spirits at the moment to act
towards him as she had done towards the Duchess, Clémence suffered the
conversation to drop, and proceeded with him and her lover to the
saloon of Madame.</p>
<p class="normal">In that saloon there appeared a number of persons, amongst whom were
several that the Count de Morseiul knew slightly; but the beams of
royal favour having fallen upon him with their full light during the
night before, all those who had any knowledge of him were of course
eager to improve such an acquaintance, and vied with each other in
smiles and looks of pleasure on his appearance. Amongst others was the
Chevalier de Rohan, whom we have noticed as forming one of the train
of suitors who had followed Clémence de Marly to Poitiers; but he was
now satisfied, apparently, that not even any fortunate accident could
give the bright prize to him, and he merely bowed to her on her
entrance, with the air of a worshipper at the shrine of an idol, while
he grasped the hand of his successful rival, and declared himself
delighted to see him.</p>
<p class="normal">After remaining there for some time longer lingering in the sunshine
of the looks of her he loved, the Count prepared to take his
departure, especially as several other persons had been added to the
circle, and their society fell as a weight and an incumbrance upon him
when his whole thoughts were of Clémence de Marly. He had taken his
leave and reached the door of the apartment, when, starting up with
the ear-rings in her hand, she exclaimed--</p>
<p class="normal">"Stay, stay, Monsieur de Morseiul, I forgot to send my thanks to the
King. Pray tell him," she added, advancing across the room to speak
with the Count in a lower tone, "Pray tell him how grateful I am to
his Majesty for his kind remembrance; and remember," she said, in a
voice that could be heard by no one but himself, "to-morrow, should it
be needful:--I am firmer now."</p>
<p class="normal">Albert of Morseiul dared not speak all that he felt, with the language
of the lips; but the eyes of her lover thanked Clémence de Marly
sufficiently: and he, on his part, left her with feelings which the
bustle and the crowd of the thronged capital struggled with and
oppressed.</p>
<p class="normal">He rode quick, then, in order to make his way out of the city as fast
as possible; but ere he had passed the gate, he was overtaken by the
Chevalier de Rohan, who came up to his side, saying, "I am delighted
to have overtaken you, my dear Count. Such a companion on this long
dry tiresome journey to Versailles is, indeed, a delight; and I wished
also particularly to speak to you regarding a scheme of mine, which, I
trust, may bring me better days."</p>
<p class="normal">Now, the society of the Chevalier de Rohan, though his family was one
of the highest in France, and though he held an important place at the
court, was neither very agreeable nor very reputable; and the Count,
therefore, replied briefly, "I fear that, as I shall stop at several
places, it will not be in my power to accompany you, Monsieur le
Chevalier; but any thing I can do to serve you will give me pleasure."</p>
<p class="normal">"Why, the fact is," replied the Chevalier, "that I was very
unfortunate last night at play, and wished to ask if you would lend me
a small sum till I receive my appointments from the King. If you are
kind enough to do so, I doubt not before two days are over to recover
all that I have lost, and ten times more, for I discovered the
fortunate number last night when it was too late."</p>
<p class="normal">A faint and melancholy smile came over the Count's face, at the
picture of human weakness that his companion's words displayed; and as
the Chevalier was somewhat celebrated for borrowing without repaying,
he asked what was the sum he required.</p>
<p class="normal">"Oh, a hundred Louis will be quite enough," replied the Chevalier, not
encouraged to ask more by his companion's tone.</p>
<p class="normal">"Well, Monsieur de Rohan," said the Count, "I have not the sum with
me, but I will send it to you on my arrival at Versailles, if that
will be time enough."</p>
<p class="normal">"Quite! quite!" replied de Rohan; "any time before the tables are
open."</p>
<p class="normal">"Indeed, indeed! my good friend," said the Count, "I wish you would
abandon such fatal habits; and, satisfied with having lost so much,
live upon the income you have, without ruining yourself by trying to
make it greater. However, I will send the money, and do with it what
you will."</p>
<p class="normal">"You are a prude! you are a prude!" cried De Rohan, putting spurs to
his horse; "but I will tell you something more in your own way when we
meet again."</p>
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