Rose glanced anxiously at her brother; his face was
much graver than she had expected to see it, but his
answer relieved her from all suspense.
“You are quite right, love, to speak as you
did,” he said, gently. Then, turning to
Lomaque, he added, in a firmer voice, “It shall
be done!”
Two days after the traveling-carriage described by
Lomaque had passed the diligence on the road to Paris,
Madame Danville sat in the drawing-room of an apartment
in the Rue de Grenelle, handsomely dressed for driving
out. After consulting a large gold watch that
hung at her side, and finding that it wanted a quarter
of an hour only to two o’clock, she rang her
hand-bell, and said to the maid-servant who answered
the summons, “I have five minutes to spare.
Send Dubois here with my chocolate.”
The old man made his appearance with great alacrity.
After handing the cup of chocolate to his mistress,
he ventured to use the privilege of talking, to which
his long and faithful services entitled him, and paid
the old lady a compliment. “I am rejoiced
to see madame looking so young and in such good spirits
this morning,” he said, with a low bow and a
mild, deferential smile.
“I think I have some reason for being in good
spirits on the day when my son’s marriage-contract
is to be signed,” said Madame Danville, with
a gracious nod of the head. “Ha, Dubois,
I shall live yet to see him with a patent of nobility
in his hand. The mob has done its worst; the
end of this infamous revolution is not far off; our
order will have its turn again soon, and then who
will have such a chance at court as my son? He
is noble already through his mother, he will then
be noble also through his wife. Yes, yes; let
that coarse-mannered, passionate, old soldier-father
of hers be as unnaturally republican as he pleases,
he has inherited a name which will help my son to a
peerage! The Vicomte D’Anville (D with an
apostrophe, Dubois, you understand?), the Vicomte
D’Anville—how prettily it sounds!”
“Charmingly, madame—charmingly.
Ah! this second marriage of my young master’s
begins under much better auspices than the first.”
The remark was an unfortunate one. Madame Danville
frowned portentously, and rose in a great hurry from
her chair.
“Are your wits failing you, you old fool?”
she exclaimed, indignantly. “What do you
mean by referring to such a subject as that, on this
day, of all others? You are always harping on
those two wretched people who were guillotined, as
if you thought I could have saved their lives.
Were you not present when my son and I met, after
the time of the Terror? Did you not hear my first
words to him, when he told me of the catastrophe?
Were they not ’Charles, I love you; but if I
thought you had let those two unfortunates, who risked
themselves to save me, die without risking your life
in return to save them, I would break my heart rather
