He took the letter that she held out to him, and, opening it, he read,--"You said that I did not love you--perhaps this was but a test to prove my love.I am ready to fly with you to-night.I shall lose all, but it will be for your sake.Reflect, Norbert; there is yet time, but to-morrow it will be too late."These were the words that Mademoiselle de Laurebourg had had the courage to pen, which to the former lover were full of the most thrilling eloquence.The usually bold, firm writing of Diana was, in the letter before him, confused and almost illegible, showing the writer's frame of mind.There were blurs and blisters upon the paper as though tears had fallen upon it, perhaps because the writing had been made purposely irregular and drops of water are an excellent substitute for tears.
"Does she really love me?" murmured he.
He hesitated; yes, he absolutely hesitated, impressed by the idea that for him she was ready to sacrifice position and honor, that he had but to raise his finger and she was his, and that in the space of a couple of hours she might be the companion of his flight to some far-distant land.His pulse throbbed madly, and he could scarcely draw his breath, when some fifty paces down the road he caught sight of the figure of a man; it was his father.This was the second time that the Duke by his mere presence had spread the web of Diana's temptations and allurements.
"Never!" exclaimed Norbert, with such fire and energy that the girl fell back a pace."Never! no, never!" and crushing up the letter, he dashed it upon the ground, from whence Francoise picked it up as he ran forward to meet his father.The Duke had recovered from his attack as far as the mere fact of his life not having been sacrificed; he could walk, sleep, eat and drink as he had formerly done.He could look at the laborers in the fields or the horses in the stables, but five minutes afterwards he had no recollection of what he heard or saw.The sudden loss of his father's aid would have caused Norbert much embarrassment had it not been for the shrewdness and sagacity of M.de Puymandour, who had assisted him greatly.But all these arrangements which had to be made had necessarily delayed the wedding.
But it came at last; M.de Puymandour took absolute possession of him, and after the unhappy young man had passed a sleepless night, he was allowed no time for reflection.At eleven o'clock he entered the carriage, and was driven fast to the Mayor's office, and from thence to the chapel, and by twelve o'clock all was finished and he fettered for life.A little before dinner the Viscount de Mussidan came to offer his congratulations, and gained them at the same time for himself by announcing his speedy union with Mademoiselle Diana de Laurebourg.
Five days later the newly married pair took possession of their mansion at Champdoce.Hampered with a wife whom he had never affected to love, and whose tearful face was a constant reproach to him, and with a father who was an utter imbecile, the thoughts of suicide more than once crossed Norbert's brain.One day a servant informed Norbert that his father refused to get up.A doctor was sent for, and he declared that the Duke was in a highly critical condition.A violent reaction had taken place, and all day the invalid was in a state of intense excitement.The power of speech, which he had almost entirely lost, seemed to have returned to him in a miraculous manner; at length, however, he became delirious, and Norbert dismissed the servants who had been watching by his father's bed, lest in the incoherent ravings of the invalid, the words "Parricide" or "Poison"should break forth.At eleven o'clock he grew calmer, and slept a little, when all at once he started up in bed, exclaiming: "Come here, Norbert," and Jean, who had remained by his old master's side, ran up to the bed and was much startled at the sight.The Duke had entirely recovered his former appearance.His eyes flashed, and his lips trembled, as they always did when he was greatly excited.
"Pardon, father; pardon," cried Norbert, falling upon his knees.
The Duke softly stretched out his hand."I was mad with family pride,"said he; "and God punished me.My son, I forgive you."Norbert's sobs broke the stillness of the chamber.
"My son, I renounce my ideas," continued the Duke."I do not desire you to wed Mademoiselle de Puymandour if you feel that you cannot love her.""Father," answered Norbert, "I have obeyed your wishes, and she is now my wife."A gleam of terrible anguish passed over the Duke's countenance; he raised his hands as though to shield his eyes from some grizzly spectre, and in tones of heartrending agony exclaimed: "Too late! Too late!"He fell back in terrible convulsions, and in a moment was dead.If, as has been often asserted, the veil of the hereafter is torn asunder, then the Duke de Champdoce had a glimpse into a terrible future.
