Buch lesen: «Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)», Seite 27

The insolent demeanor of the fellow; his ruffian assurance, the evidence of a power that he might wield at will – became at last intolerable. Linton saw this “shadow on his path” wherever he wandered. The evil was insupportable from the very fact that it occupied his thoughts when great and momentous events required them. It was like the paroxysm of some painful disease, that came at moments when health and calm of spirit were most wanted. To feel this, to recognize it thoroughly, and to resolve to overcome it, were, with Linton, the work of a moment. “His hour is come,” said he, at length; “the company at La Morgue to-morrow shall be graced by a guest of my inviting.”

Although to a mind prolific in schemes of villany the manner of the crime could offer no difficulty, strange enough, his nature revolted against being himself the agent of the guilt It was not fear, for he was a man of nerve and courage, and was, besides, certain to be better armed than his adversary. It was not pity, nor any feeling that bordered on pity, deterred him; it was some instinctive shrinking from an act of ruffianism; it was the blood of a man of birth that curdled at the thought of that which his mind associated with criminals of the lowest class, – the conventional feeling of Honor surpassing all the dictates of common Humanity.

Nothing short of the pressing emergency of the hour could have overcome these scruples, but Keane’s insolence was now in itself enough to compromise him, and Linton saw that but one remedy remained, and that it could not be deferred. Constant habits of intercourse with men of a dangerous class in the Faubourgs and the Cite gave the excuse for the boating excursion at night. The skiff was hired by Keane himself, who took up Linton at a point remote from where he started, and thus no clew could be traced to the person who accompanied him. The remainder is in the reader’s memory, and now we pursue our story.

The surgeon who examined Keane’s wound not only pronounced it inevitably fatal, but that the result must rapidly ensue. No time was, therefore, to be lost in obtaining the fullest revelations of the dying man, and also in taking the promptest measures to secure the guilty party.

The authorities of the British Embassy lent a willing aid to Cashel in this matter, and an express was at once despatched to London for the assistance of a police force, with the necessary warrant for Linton’s arrest Meanwhile Keane was watched with the narrowest vigilance; and so secretly was everything done, that his very existence was unknown beyond the precincts of the room he inhabited.

CHAPTER XXXV. THE “BANK OF ROUGE ET NOIR”

Vice has its own ambitions.

Morton.

It was already nigh daybreak. The “bank” had long since been closed, and none remained of Rica’s guests save the most inveterate gamblers, who were now assembled in a small room in a secret part of the establishment, presided over by the host himself.

The persons here met were no bad representatives of the “play world,” of which they formed an important part. They were men, many of them of the highest rank, who had no other object or pursuit in life than play! Mingling to a certain extent in public life, they performed before the world their various parts as soldiers, statesmen, courtiers, or ambassadors; their thoughts meanwhile travelled but one solitary track. The only field in which their ambition ranged was the green cloth of the rouge et noir table. As soldiers they would have lost a battle with more fortitude than as gamblers they would lose a bet. As statesmen they would have risked the fate of a kingdom to secure a good “martingale” at play. Men of highest breeding, in society, abounding in all the graces that adorn intercourse; here they were taciturn, reserved, almost morose, never suffering their attention to wander for an instant from that engrossing theme where gain and loss contended.

Into this society, noiseless and still as stifled feelings and repressed emotions could make it, Linton entered; a full dress replacing the clothes he so lately wore, not a trace of unusual agitation on his features, he seemed in every respect the easy man of fashion for which the world took him.

A slight nod, a familiar motion of the hand, were all the greetings which passed between him and such of his acquaintances as deigned to raise their heads from the game. Linton perceived at once that the play was high, nor did he need to cast a look at the mountain of gold, the coinage of every European nation, to know that the “bank” was a winner. The chief player was a young noble of the king’s household, the Duke de Marsac, a man of originally immense fortune, the greater part of which he had already squandered at play. His full dress of the Court, for he had dined the day before at the royal table, contrasted strangely with the haggard expression of his features, while his powdered hair hung in stray and dishevelled masses over his temples, – even his deep lace ruffles, which in his agitation he had torn to very rags, – all bespoke the abandonment of the loser. Linton, who always passed for a mere frequenter of the house, unconnected with its interests in any way, saw at a glance that a perfectly quiet demeanor was imperatively necessary; that not a word should be uttered, not a syllable let fall, which should break the spell of that enchantment that was luring on the gambler to his ruin.

No man was more master of the hundred little artifices by which the spectator – “the gallery” is the play phrase – can arouse the hopes and stimulate the expectations of the losing player. He knew to perfection when to back the unlucky gambler, and how to throw out those half-muttered words of encouragement so dear and precious to the loser’s heart. But if he knew all this well, he also knew that there are times when these interferences become impertinent, and when the intense excitement of the game will not admit of the distraction of sympathy. Linton, therefore, was silent; he took his seat behind the chair of one of his intimates, and watched the table attentively.

At the close of a game wherein fortune vacillated for a long time, the Duke lost above a hundred thousand francs, – a kind of pause, like a truce, seemed to intervene, and Rica sat with the cards before him, not making preparations for a new deal.

“Fortune is too decidedly your enemy this evening, my Lord Duke; I am really ashamed to see you lose thus continuously.”

“There is a certain Château de Marlier, which belongs to me, near St. Germain,” said the Duke. “It has been valued, with its grounds, at upwards of seven hundred thousand francs; are you disposed to advance so much upon it?”

“As loan or purchase?” asked Rica.

“Whichever you prefer. If the choice were mine, I should say as a loan.”

“Parbleu! it is a beautiful spot,” said one of the players. “It was formerly a hunting-seat of Louis XIV.”

“You are quite correct, sir,” said the Duke. “It was a present from that monarch to my grandfather, and possesses, amongst its other advantages, the privilege of giving the owner a ducal coronet. If any man be weak enough in these days to care for the distinction, he can be Duke de Marlier on easy terms.”

“Take him,” whispered Linton in Rica’s ear. “I accept the venture as my own.”

“Were I to accept this offer, my Lord Duke,” said Rica, “am I to understand that no mortgages nor charges of any kind are in existence against this property?”

“It is perfectly unencumbered,” said the Duke, calmly. “There are some half-dozen pictures – a Velasquez or two amongst them – which I should reserve as my own; but everything else would belong to the purchaser.”

“The cost of transferring property in France is considerable, I believe, and there is some difficulty respecting the right of foreigners to inherit,” said Rica, again.

“Take him, I say; the risk is mine,” whispered Linton, whose impatience at the other’s caution became each moment stronger.

“Do you accept, Monsieur de Rica?” said the Duke, pushing back his chair from the table, as though about to rise, “or is there to be an armistice for the present?”

“It would be ungenerous, my Lord Duke, to refuse you anything in my power to grant,” said Rica, obsequiously. “As a high-spirited but unfortunate player – ”

“Let not this weigh with you, sir,” said the Duke, proudly; “the chances are that I leave my estate behind me on this table. That is the only consideration for you to entertain.”

“Take him at once; it will be too late soon,” whispered Linton again.

“I agree, my Lord,” said Rica, with a slight sigh, as if yielding in opposition to his inclination. “When is the money to be forthcoming?”

“Now, sir. Here, upon this spot; here, where, before I rise, I am determined to have my revenge.”

“The bank always closes at daybreak,” said Rica, gravely.

“Upon this occasion it will not,” said the Duke, with an air of command.

“Be it so, my Lord Duke; you shall have everything as you wish it. I only call these gentlemen to witness that this proceeding is contrary to my desire, and must form no precedent for the future.”

“Few will be found to ask for such concession,” said the Duke, tartly. “Let us have no more trifling, but begin.”

“I back the Duke,” said Linton, opening his pocket-book, and taking out a roll of bank-notes. “Whatever I have touched to-night has gone luckily with me, and I am sure to bring him good fortune.”

“If I might ask a favor, Monsieur,” said the Duke, “it would be to leave me to deal single-handed with my destiny.”

“As you please, my Lord,” said Linton, gayly. “If you will not accept me as ally, you must have me as adversary. Charley, make room for me beside you,” continued he, addressing a man whose haggard cheek and deep sunken eye could scarcely recall the features of Lord Charles Frobisher.

“He’s in for it,” muttered Frobisher, as Linton seated himself at his side.

“We shall see,” said Linton, calmly, arranging his notebook before him. Meanwhile, Rica was busily engaged in counting out to the Duke the heavy sum of the purchase. This occupied a considerable time, during which Linton amused the others with a running fire of that gossipry which goes the round of Parisian society, and takes in the world of politics, of literature, of art, and of morals. The eventful period was full of rumors, and none knew better than Linton how to exalt some into certainty, and degrade others into mere absurdity. “If the bank wins,” said he, laughingly, at the close of some observation on the condition of parties, “our friend Rica will be the last Duke in Europe.”

“Bah!” said an officer of the Royal Guard, “grape and canister are just as effectual as ever they were; there is nothing to be apprehended from the mob. Two battalions of infantry and a squadron of hussars will carry the ‘ordinances,’ if the ministry but give the order.”

“I wish they would begin the game,” said Frobisher, querulously, for he took no interest in any topic but that of play.

“Has any one given orders that the doors shall be close-barred and locked?” said another. “The police will be here presently.”

“What should bring the police here, sir?” said Linton, turning suddenly towards the speaker with a look of almost insolent defiance.

“They are making perquisitions everywhere the last few days,” said the youth, abashed by the tone and manner of the question.

“Ah! so they are – very true. I beg your pardon,” cried Linton, affecting a smile. “We are so intent upon our game here, that one actually forgets what is occurring in the greater game that is playing without.”

“If there ‘s to be no more play I ‘m off to bed,” yawned Frobisher, as he stretched himself along the chairs. A group had meanwhile gathered round a table where refreshments and wine were laid out, and were invigorating themselves for the coming campaign.

“I remember the last séance with closed doors I assisted at,” said a handsome middle-aged man, with a gray moustache, and short-cut gray hair, “was in the stable at Fontainebleau. We played for seventeen hours, and when we separated we discovered that the Empire was at an end, and the Emperor departed!”

“We might do something of the same kind now, Blancharde,” said another; “it would be no difficult matter, I fancy, to play an old dynasty out and a new one in at this moment.”

“Hush, Rozlan! Marsac is not one ‘of us,’” whispered the former, cautiously.

“He ‘s going the shortest way to become so, notwithstanding. Nothing enlarges the sphere of political vision like being ruined! One always becomes liberal, in the political sense, when it is impossible to be so in any other!”

The chatting now turned on the events that were then impending, a great diversity of opinion existing as to whether the King would insist upon carrying the “ordinances,” and a still wider divergence as to what result would follow. During this discussion, Frobisher’s impatience went beyond all control, and at last he rose, declaring that he would remain no longer.

“You forget that the doors are locked for twenty-four hours, sir,” said another, “and neither can any one leave or enter the room before that time.”

“We are more sacred than a privy council or a chapter of the knights of St. Louis,” said Rozlan.

“Now then to see who is the next Duc de Marlier!” whispered Linton in Rica’s ear. “Let us begin.”

“One word with you, Linton,” whispered Rica; “don’t bet high, it distracts my attention, – make a mere game of amusement, for this will be a hard struggle, and it must be the last.”

“So I perceive,” rejoined Linton; “events are coming fast; we must be off ere the tide overtake us.”

“The game, the game!” cried Frobisher, striking the table with his rake.

“And Maritaña?” whispered Linton, holding Rica by the arm.

The other grew lividly pale, and his lip quivered as he said, “Is this the time, Linton – ”

“It is the very time,” rejoined the other, determinedly, “and I will have my answer now. You cannot equivocate with me.”

“I do not seek to do so. I have told you always what I tell you still – I cannot coerce her.”

“There will be no need; this dukedom will do the business. I know her well – better than you do. See, they are watching us yonder. Say the word at once – it is agreed.”

“Hear me, Linton – ”

“I ‘ll hear nothing; save the one word ‘agreed.’”

“Let me but explain – ”

“There is nothing to explain. The betrothal you allude to is, as none knows better than yourself, an idle ceremony; and if she loves the fellow, so much the more urgent are the reasons for my request. Be quick, I say.”

“If she consent – ”

“She shall. My Lord Duke, a thousand pardons, I beg, for this delay; but Rica has been tormenting me these ten minutes by the refusal of a petty favor. He is become reasonable at last; and now for the combat!”

The party seated themselves like men about to witness an exciting event; and although each had his venture on the game, the Duke was the great object of interest, and speculation was high as to how the struggle was to end.

It is no part of our object to follow the changing fortunes of that long contest, nor watch the vacillating chances which alternately elevated to hope and lowered to very desperation. Before the day began to dawn, every player, save the Duke, had ceased to bet. Some, worn out and exhausted, had sunk to sleep upon the rich ottomans; others, drinking deep of champagne, seemed anxious to forget everything. Frobisher, utterly ruined, sat in the same place at the table, mechanically marking the game, on which he had no longer a stake, and muttering exclamations of joy or disappointment at imaginary gains and losses, for he still fancied that he was betting large sums, and participating in all the varying emotions of a gambler’s life.

The luck of the bank continued. Play how he would, boldly “back the color,” or try to suit the fitful fortunes of the game, the Duke went on losing.

Were such an ordeal one to evoke admiration, it could scarcely be withheld from him, who, with an unwearied brain and unbroken temper, sat patiently there, fighting foot to foot, contesting every inch of ground, and even in defeat, preserving the calm equanimity of his high breeding.

Behind his chair stood Linton, – a flush of triumph on his cheek as he continued to behold the undeviating course of luck that attended the bank, “Another deal like that,” muttered he, “and I shall quarter the arms of Marlier with Linton.”

The words were scarcely uttered, when a deep sigh broke from the Duke – it was the first that had escaped him – and he buried his head between his hands. Rica looked over at Linton, and a slight, almost imperceptible, motion of his eyebrows signalled that the battle was nigh over.

“Well! how is the game? Am I betting? – what’s the color?” said the Duke, passing his clammy hand across his brow.

“I am waiting for you, my Lord Duke,” said Rica, obsequiously.

“I am ready – quite ready,” cried the other. “Am I the only player? I fancied that some others were betting. Where’s my Lord Charles? – ah! I see him. And Mr. Linton – is he gone?”

“He has just left the room, my Lord Duke. Will you excuse me if I follow him for an instant?” And at the same moment Rica arose, and left the chamber with hasty steps.

It was at the end of a long corridor, tapping gently at a door, Linton stood, as Rica came up.

“What! is’t over already?” said Linton, with a look of angry impatience.

“This is not fair, Linton!” said Rica, endeavoring to get nearest to the door.

“What is not fair?” said the other, imperiously. “You told me awhile ago that she must pronounce, herself, upon her own future. Well, I am willing to leave it to that issue.”

“But she is unfit to do so at present,” said Rica, entreat-ingly. “You know well how unsettled is her mind, and how wandering are her faculties. There are moments when she scarcely knows me– her father.”

“It is enough if she remember me,” said Linton, insolently. “Her intellects will recover – the cloud will pass away; and, if it should not, still – as my wife, it is an object I have set my heart on; and so, let me pass.”

“I cannot – I will not peril her chances of recovery by such a shock,” said Rica, firmly; then changing suddenly, he spoke in accents of deep feeling: “Remember, Linton, how I offered you her whom you acknowledged you preferred. I told you the means of coercion in my power, and pledged myself to use them. It was but two days since I discovered where they were; to-morrow we will go there together. I will claim her as my daughter; the laws of France are imperative in the matter. Mary Leicester shall be yours.”

“I care for her no longer,” said Linton, haughtily. “I doubt, indeed, if I ever cared for her; she is not one to suit my fortunes. Maritaña is, or at least may become so.”

“Be it so, but not now, Linton; the poor child’s reason is clouded.”

“When she hears she is a duchess,” said Linton, half sneeringly, “it will dispel the gloomy vapor.”

“I implore you – I entreat – on my knees I beg of you – ” said the distracted father, and, unable to utter more, he sank powerless at Linton’s feet; meanwhile the other opened the door, and, stepping noiselessly over the prostrate figure, entered the room.

CHAPTER XXXVI. ARREST OF LINTON

 
Like a bold criminal he stood,
Calm in his guilt
 

The Forger.

With firm step and head high, Linton entered a room where the dim half-light of the closed jalousies made each object indistinct. He halted for an instant, to cast a searching glance around, and then advanced to a door at the farthest end of the apartment; at this he tapped twice gently with his knuckles. He waited for an instant, and then repeated his summons. Still no answer, even though he rapped a third time, and louder than before. Linton now turned the handle noiselessly, and opened the door. For a moment or two he seemed uncertain whether to advance or retire; but his resolution was soon made, – he entered and closed the door behind him.

The chamber in which Linton now stood was smaller than the outer one, and equally shaded from the strong sunlight. His eyes were now, however, accustomed to the dusky half-light, and he was able to mark the costly furniture and splendid ornaments of the room. The walls were hung with rose-colored damask, over which a drapery of white lace was suspended, looped up at intervals to admit of small brackets of bronze, on which stood either “statuettes” or vases of rare “Sevres.” At a toilet-table in the middle of the room were laid out the articles of a lady’s dressing-case, but of such costly splendor that they seemed too gorgeous for use. Trinkets and jewellery of great value were scattered carelessly over the table, and an immense diamond cross glittered from the mother-o’-pearl frame of the looking-glass.

The half-open curtains at the end of the room showed a marble bath, into which the water flowed from a little cascade of imitation rustic, its tiny ripple murmuring in the still silence of the room. There was another sound, still softer and more musical than that, there, – the long-drawn breathing of a young girl, who, with her face upon her arm, lay asleep upon a sofa. With stealthy step and noiseless gesture, Linton approached and stood beside her. He was not one to be carried away by any enthusiasm of admiration, and yet he could not look upon the faultless symmetry of that form, the placid beauty of that face, on which a passing dream had left a lingering smile, and not feel deeply moved. In her speaking moments, her dark and flashing eyes often lent a character of haughty severity to her handsome features; now their dark lashes shrouded them, and the expression of the face was angelic in sweetness. The olive-darkness of her skin, too, was tempered by the half-light, while the slight tinge of color on her cheek might have vied with the petal of a rose. Linton drew a chair beside the sofa, and sat down. With folded arms, and head slightly bent forward, he watched her, while his fast-hurrying thoughts travelled miles and miles, – speculating, planning, contriving; meeting difficulties here, grasping advantages there, – playing over a game of life, and thinking if an adversary could find a flaw in it.

“She is worthy to be a duchess,” said he, as he gazed at her. “A duchess! and what more? – that is the question. Ah, these women, these women! if they but knew their power! If they but knew how all the boldest strivings of our intellects are as nothing compared to what their beauty can effect! Well, well; it is better that they should not. They are tyrants, even as it is, – petty tyrants, – to all who care for them; and he who does not is their master. That is the real power, – there the stronghold; and how they fear the man who takes his stand behind it! how they crouch and tremble before him! what fascinating graces do they reserve for him, that they would not bestow upon a lover! Is it that they only love where they fear? How beautiful she looks, and how calmly sweet! – it is the sleeping tigress, notwithstanding. And now to awake her: pity, too; that wearied mind wants repose, and the future gives but little promise of it.”

He bent down over her, till he almost touched the silken masses of her long dark hair, and, in a low, soft voice, said, —

“Maritaña! Maritaña!”

“No, no, no,” said she, in the low, muttering accents of sleep, “not here, – not here!”

“And why not here, dearest?” said he, catching at the words.

A faint shudder passed over her, and she gathered her shawl more closely around her.

“Hace mal tiempo, – the weather looks gloomy,” said she, in a faint voice.

“And if not here, Maritaña, where then?” said he, in a low tone.

“In our own deep forests, beneath the liana and the cedar; where the mimosa blossoms, and the acacia scents the air; where fountains are springing, and the glow-worm shines like a star in the dark grass. Oh, not here! not here!” cried she, plaintively.

“Then in Italy, Maritaña mia, where all that the tropics can boast is blended with whatever is beautiful. In art; where genius goes hand-in-hand with nature; and where life floats calmly on, like some smooth-flowing river, unruffled and unbroken.”

A faint, low sigh escaped her, and her lips parted with a smile of surpassing loveliness.

“Yes, dearest – there, with me, beside the blue waters of the Adriatic, or lost amid the chestnut forests of the Apennines. Think of those glorious cities, too, where the once great still live, enshrined by memory, in their own palace walls. Think of Venice – ”

The word was not well uttered, when, with a shrill scream, she started up and awoke.

“Who spoke to me of my shame? Who spoke of Venice?” cried she, in accents of wild terror.

“Be calm, Maritaña. It was a dream, – nothing but a dream,” said Linton, pressing her gently down again. “Do not think more of it.”

“Where am I?” said she, drawing a long breath.

“In your own dressing-room, dearest,” said he, in an accent of deep devotion.

“And you, sir? Why are you here? and by what right do you address me thus?”

“By no right,” said Linton, with a submissive deference which well became him. “I can plead nothing, save the devotion of a heart long since your own, and the good wishes of your father, Maritaña, who bade me speak to you.”

“I will not believe it, sir,” said she, proudly, as she arose and walked the room with stately step. “I know but too well the influence you wield over him, although I cannot tell how it is acquired. I have seen your counsels sway and your wishes guide him, when my entreaties were unheard and unheeded. Tell me nothing, then, of his permission.”

“Let me speak of that better reason, where my heart may plead, Maritaña. It was to offer you a share in my fortunes that I have come here, – to place at your feet whatever I possess in rank, in station, and in future hope; to place you where your beauty and your fascinations entitle you to shine, – a peeress of the Court of France; a duchess, of a name only second to royalty itself.”

The girl’s dark eyes grew darker, and her flushed cheek grew crimson, as with heaving bosom she listened. “A duchess!” murmured she, between her lips.

“La Duchesse de Marlier,” repeated Linton, slowly, while his keen eyes were riveted on her.

“And this real – not a pageant – not as that thing you made of me before?”

“La Duchesse de Marlier,” said Linton again, “knows of no rank above her own, save in the blood royal. Her château was the present of a king, – her grounds are worthy of such a donor.”

“And the Duke de Marlier,” said she, with a look of ineffable irony, “who is to play him? Is that part reserved for Mr. Linton?”

“Could he not look the character?” said Linton, putting on a smile of seeming good-humor, while his lip trembled with passion.

“Look it, – ay, that could he; and if looks would suffice, he could be all that his ambition aims at.”

“You doubt my sincerity, Maritafia,” said he, sorrowfully; “have I ever given you cause to do so?”

“Never,” cried she, impetuously: “I read you from the first hour I saw you. You never deceived me. My training has not been like that of others of my sex and age, amidst the good, the virtuous, and the pure. It was the corrupt, the base-born, and the abandoned offered their examples to my eyes; the ruined gambler, the beggared adventurer, —their lives were my daily study. How, then, should I not recognize one so worthy of them all?”

“This is less than fair, Maritafia; you bear me a grudge for having counselled that career wherein your triumphs were unbounded; and now you speak to me harshly for offering a station a princess might accept without a derogation.”

“Tell me not of my triumphs,” said she, passionately: “they were my shame! You corrupted me, by trifling with my ignorance of the world. I did not know then, as now I know, what were the prizes of that ambition I cherished! But you knew them; you speculated on them, as now you speculate upon others. Ay, blush for it; let your cheek glow, and sear your cold heart for the infamy! The coroneted duchess would have been a costlier merchandise than the wreathed dancer! Oh, shame upon you! shame upon you! Could you not be satisfied with your gambler’s cruelty, and ruin those who have manhood’s courage to sustain defeat, but that you should make your victim a poor, weak, motherless girl, whose unprotected life might have evoked even your pity?”

“I will supplicate no longer; upon you be it if the alternative be heavy. Hear me, young lady; it is by your father’s consent – nay, more, at his desire – that I make you the proffer of my name and rank. He is in my power, – not his fortune nor his future prospects, but his very life is in my hands. You shudder at having been a dancer; think of what you may be, – the daughter of a forçat, a galley-slave! If these be idle threats, ask himself; he will tell you if I speak truly. It is my ambition that you should share my title and my fortune. I mean to make your position one that the proudest would envy; reject my offer if you will, but never reproach me with what your own blind folly has accomplished.”

Maritaña stood with clasped hands, and eyes wildly staring on vacancy, as Linton, in a voice broken with passion, uttered these words, —

“I will not press you now, Maritaña; you shall have to-night to think over all I have said; to-morrow you will give me your answer.”

“To-morrow?” muttered she, after him.

“Who is there?” said Linton, as a low, faint knock was heard at the door. It was repeated, and Linton approached and opened the door. A slight gesture of the hand was all that he could perceive in the half-light; but he understood it, and passed out, closing the door noiselessly behind him.

“Well?” said Rica, as he grasped the other’s arm; “well?”

“Well?” echoed Linton, peevishly. “She is in her most insolent of moods, and affects to think that all the splendor I have offered her is but the twin of the mock magnificence of the stage. She is a fool, but she’ll think better of it, or she must be taught to do so.”

Rica sighed heavily, but made no answer; at last he said, —

“It is over with the Duke, and he bears it well.”