Upon the day of her wedding she was dazzling in her beauty, and her face was radiant with happiness; but it was a mere mask, which she had put on to conceal her real feelings.She knew that many curious eyes were fixed on her as she left the chapel; and the crowd formed a line for her to pass through.She saw many a glance of dislike cast upon her; but a more severe blow awaited her, for on her arrival at the Chateau de Mussidan, to which she was driven directly after the ceremony, the first person she met was Montlouis, who came forward to welcome her.Bold and self-possessed as she was, the slight of this man startled her, and a bright flush passed across her face.
Fortunately Montlouis had had time to prepare himself for this meeting, and his face showed no token of recognition.But though his salutation was of the most respectful description, Madame de Mussidan thought she saw in his eyes that ironical expression of contempt which she had more than once seen in Daumon's face.
"That man must not, shall not, stay here," she murmured to herself.
It was easy enough for her to ask her husband to dismiss Montlouis from his employ, but it was a dangerous step to take; and her easiest course was to defer the dismissal of the secretary until some really good pretext offered itself.Nor was this pretext long in presenting itself; for Octave was by no means satisfied with the young man's conduct.Montlouis who had been full of zeal while in Paris, had renewed his /liaison/, on his return to Mussidan, with the girl with whom he had been formerly entangled at Poitiers.This, of course, could not be permitted to go on, and an explosion was clearly to be expected; but what Diana dreaded most was the accidental development of some unseen chance.
After she had been married some two weeks, when Octave proposed in the afternoon that they should go for a walk, she agreed.Her preparations were soon completed, and they started off, blithe and lively as children on a holiday ramble.As they loitered in a wooded path, they heard a dog barking in the cover.It was Bruno, who rushed out, and, standing on his hind legs, endeavored to lick Diana's face.
"Help, help, Octave!" she exclaimed, and her husband, springing to her side, drove away the animal.
"Were you very much alarmed, dearest?" asked he.
"Yes," answered she faintly; "I was almost frightened to death.""I do not think that he would do you any harm," remarked Octave.
"No matter; make him go away"; and as she spoke she struck at him with her parasol.But the dog never for a moment supposed that Diana was in earnest, and, supposing that she intended to play with him, as she had often done before, began to gambol round her, barking joyously the whole time.
"But this dog evidently knows you, Diana," observed the Viscount.
"Know me? Impossible!" and as she spoke Bruno ran up and licked her hand."If he does, his memory is better than mine; at any rate, I am half afraid of him.Come, Octave, let us go."They turned away, and Octave would have forgotten all about the occurrence had not Bruno, delighted at having found an old acquaintance, persisted in following them.
"This is strange," exclaimed the Viscount, "very strange indeed.Look here, my man," said he, addressing a peasant, who was engaged in clipping a hedge by the roadside, "do you know whose dog this is?""Yes, my lord, it belongs to the young Duke of Champdoce.""Of course," answered Diana, "I have often seen the dog at the Widow Rouleau's, and have occasionally given it a piece of bread.He was always with Francoise, who ran off with that man Daumon.Oh, yes, Iknow him now; here, Bruno, here!"
The dog rushed to her, and, stooping down, she caressed him, thus hoping to conceal her tell-tale face.
Octave drew his wife's arm within his without another word.A strange feeling of doubt had arisen in his mind.Diana, too, was much disturbed, and abused herself mentally for having been so weak and cowardly.Why had she not at once confessed that she knew the dog? Had she said at once, "Why, that is Bruno, the Duke of Champdoce's dog,"her husband would have thought no more about the matter; but her own folly had made much of a merely trivial incident.
