CHAPTER XLVI.
The Prince de Soubise stood at the window of the library of Applethorpealone; for Edward had made an excuse to leave him, not thinking himselfbound to play the host in a house which was not his, nor to act as theentertainer of a man whom he had some good cause, as he thought, todislike. Soubise was then past forty, however, and he did not--as indeedwho does in middle life?--look upon trifles with the serious view whichone takes of them in earlier years. "Hasty and quick in quarrel" appliesto small as well as great things; and Heaven knows how much patience weacquire each day by the mere habit of endurance. He received the youngman's apology in good part, then; and, while Edward Langdale went tospeak to every old servant and then to change his travel-stained dress,he stood, as I have said, at the window and gazed forth upon a scene tobe viewed in no other country under the sky,--a home scene of Englishlife. It is probably of no age, of no time; for it is an impress of themind and character of the people. But I must not dwell upon it. Thechapter of descriptions has gone by. Soubise gazed out, compared thatwhich was before his eyes with that on which they might have rested inhis own country, admired what he saw, and perhaps, in the despondingmood which certainly then affected him, felt sorry that France had notso calm, so peaceful, and so happy a look as an English country-village.
After he had continued gazing for some ten minutes, upon the road beforehim appeared an elderly man upon a fine stout horse, with clerical hatand cassock turned up, and a servant following him on a still betterbeast. They both rode fast; and, though the first sat his steed somewhatafter the fashion of a sack of wheat, it was clear that the saddle wasquite familiar to him, and the slouching shoulders and negligent airwere more the consequences of perfect ease and habit than ofawkwardness. The servant pulled back the gate: his master dashedthrough, and in a moment after Dr. Winthorne was at the door.
The old footman ran forth to give him entrance, and a few words passed,of which Soubise only heard the words, "Ned come back? Tell the dearfellow to come down. A stranger? Well, we must see strangers." And thedoor of the library opened.
Dr. Winthorne gazed at Soubise, and the prince at him, without any signof recognition as they approached each other. But suddenly the reverendgentleman stopped, exclaiming, "God bless me! Monsieur Soubise! On mylife, sir, I am glad to see you. When did you come over? How fares itwith you? You are older by a good deal, but you look well. I amright?--surely the Prince de Soubise?"
"The same, my good old friend," said the prince. "I am not surprised youdoubt, for I feel I am much changed. It is ten long years since we met,and with me they have been stormy years."
"So I have heard," said the good doctor, "though news travels but slowlyin our poor country. But I have watched your noble struggles as closelyas I could; and I have felt great interest in them all, thoughyou--every one of you--made great mistakes. And now Rochelle is lost.God help us! It is a sad case; but she could hold out no longer; andthat Mayor Guiton is a noble man."
"He is indeed," said Soubise; "and his character has risen in my opinionby what has been told me by a young gentleman who came hither withme----"
"Odds-my-life!" cried the old doctor, "my boy Ned!--Ned Langdale! I mustgo, prince,--I must go and hug him. Sir, he is as fine a youth as everlived, and ought to be a great man. God send he may escape it! But Ihave not seen him yet. Excuse me: I will be back in a minute. Makeyourself at home; make yourself at home. All shall be prepared for youbefore you can say Amen."
With this somewhat unconnected speech, Dr. Winthorne left the room, andin a few minutes returned with Edward Langdale, who allowed himself tobe introduced to the prince with cold ceremony. "He says," observed Dr.Winthorne, "that somehow you have not treated him well. But we will talkof that after supper. Every thing should be explained between allpeople; but no explanation should take place fasting. The humors arethen in a bad condition; and, as there is no chance in my house ofpeople heating them by potations, we will just calmly regulate them bywholesome food and moderate drink, and then have a clear understanding."
"I am perfectly unconscious----" said the prince; but the doctor cut himshort, exclaiming, "After supper, after supper, my lord! Your apartmentsare quite ready. Let me conduct you."
The old clergyman and the Protestant prince retired from the room, andDr. Winthorne was nearly half an hour absent. When he returned, however,he shook Edward once more warmly by the hand, saying, "Why, Ned, my boy,you are grown quite a man. Heaven show us mercy! you have a beard an elllong. But now tell me all that has happened to you. As to this manup-stairs, he is a good man, a very good man,--hasty, but noble andgenerous, steady in his friend-ships, true to his cause. There is somemistake between you and him. He says your brother Richard wrote to him,or visited him, or something, and he might have treated him with someindignity; but he never saw or heard of you in his life till last night,when he met you at an inn."
Edward smiled, saying, "He must have a short memory."
"Well, well," said Dr. Winthorne, "we will have it all after supper. Nowtell me every thing you have done and seen and suffered; for I doubt notyou have suffered too, my poor boy. We shall have plenty of time if thisprince takes as long to bedizen himself as he used to do. He was amighty fop in other years; but he has a more soldier-like look now.Well, Ned, give me the whole story."
Edward Langdale willingly enough related succinctly what had befallenhim since he parted from the good doctor nearly two years before. Therewas a good deal, indeed, he did not tell, for he knew that theexplanations required would be too long for the limited space beforehim. Indeed, before even the abbreviated narrative was brought to aclose, the Prince de Soubise joined them, and they retired into anotherchamber to supper.
The meal passed over in great cheerfulness; the wine was good, and ofthat quality which parsons loved in those days, but all partookmoderately; and as soon as the servants had withdrawn--for supper atthat period of the world's history was served with very nearly the sameforms as dinner in the present times--Soubise bowed his head to EdwardLangdale, saying, in not very good English, "There must be some mistakebetween us, sir. I should like to have it set right, for your father wasone of my dearest friends. We travelled long together with this worthyminister; and I wish much to remove any thing like coldness betweenmyself and his son."
"I really do not know, Monsieur de Soubise," replied Edward, in French,"what mistake there can be. But may I ask if in June of last year youdid not write a letter to your brother the Duc de Rohan, in which youstyled me an insolent varlet? The duke sent me the letter, and my eyes,I think, cannot have deceived me."
"No, no!" cried Soubise. "Stay; let me remember. I applied that term,"he continued, more slowly, "to Sir Richard Langdale, your father'seldest son, who, as I have been told and as I have still reason tobelieve, had robbed you of your property,--of your mother's as well asyour father's inheritance. To the latter he might have some claim: eventhat is doubtful. To the former he had none."
"Unfortunately, by the laws of this country he had," said Edward. "Butall this is past and over, and----"
"Stay, stay," said Soubise, interrupting him. "It is not all over yet:it is the very cause of my coming here. I was a witness, sir, to themarriage-contract--or settlement, as you call it here, Ibelieve--between your father and your mother, by which it was agreedthat all the property she possessed, not only at the time, but whichmight descend to her from her uncle, should belong to her and descend toher children. In his last letter, when he thought himself dying, goodold Clement Tournon informed me that this very property had been takenfrom you by him whom I may well call your base-born brother. Having doneall that I had to do, and been disappointed in all,--having seen thenoble Buckingham die at my feet, and borne the loss of Rochelle,--myfirst business was to come on here to see right done if it could bedone."
"There, Edward! there!" said Dr. Winthorne. "I told you he was noble andtrue."
"I doubted it not, my dear friend," replied Edward. "But still the wordshis Highness used were somewha
t galling."
"They never were applied to you, upon my honor," said the prince. "Asfar as I recollect now,--for it was a time of great hurry andconfusion,--I had heard that Richard Langdale, whose whole history Iknew as well as my daily service, was at the court of France solicitingsome place from his Majesty. My brother wrote to me, mentioning onlyMonsieur de Langdale. Probably it was to you he referred. Probably hewas deceived as well as myself, although he did not know so much of thecircumstances as I did. My cousin left his child with his dying breathto my charge, enjoining me strictly to have her educated in theProtestant faith, and never to suffer her to fall into the hands----"
"What!" exclaimed Dr. Winthorne, interrupting him,--"dear littleLucette? How is the sweet child? where is she? Oh that I could see heragain for an hour! for she was an angel. Do you remember, Edward, thatyou once had a little sister, and that when you were ill of fever shedisappeared?"
"Was that Lucette?" exclaimed Edward. "Remember her, my dear sir? Oh,yes! But how can that be? her death killed my mother, I think. Lucettemy sister!" And he gazed down upon the table with a bewildered mind anda chilly, painful feeling at the heart, such as he never had experiencedin life before. "I cannot comprehend," he added. "Lucette my sister! Mysister not dead!"
"No, no," said Dr. Winthorne. "Tell him all, my lord the prince. Lucetteis not your sister: she merely passed as such. Your father and yourmother took her in very early years to hide her from her Roman Catholicrelations in France, out of love and friendship for this noblegentleman. Those relations were powerful here as well as in theneighboring country; and at length they discovered where she was, butMonsieur de Soubise came over and removed her, first to the town ofBrixham, where she remained some years, and thence to France. I had someshare in all this, too. But you are mistaken, my son, about yourmother's death. She grieved to lose her little pet, and wept often andbitterly at her loss; but the origin of her illness was a terrible firewhich consumed your father's house when you were very young. Then,exposure and injuries received before she could escape sowed the seedsof that sad malady which, in this land of ours, like Death's gardener,culls the sweetest and most beautiful flowers to decorate the grave."
"Then she is not my sister?" exclaimed Edward. "She is not dead! ThankGod for that!"
It might be difficult for those who heard it to know which he thankedGod for most; and the exclamation produced a slight smile upon thecountenance of Dr. Winthorne.
"Methinks, prince," he said, "this young man must have met Lucettesince. You dog, you told me nothing of that."
But the Prince de Soubise was very grave. "Let us not talk of that partof the subject to-night," he said. "I fear there are painfulconclusions before us. But, Mr. Langdale, my friendship for your fatherand my deep gratitude to your saintly mother make me most anxious to seeyou reinstated in her fine property. Let us consult what can be done. Iam here ready to swear I signed the deed as witness with my own hand."
"That will not be sufficient," said Dr. Winthorne, with somewhat of asmile on his countenance. "In this land we shall require the deeditself. But let us ride over to-morrow to Buckley and see our old friendSykes, the hunch-backed attorney; for I cannot help thinking that heknows something more than he will tell me. For the last six months hehas been keeping up the place at his own expense; for I dare say youhave heard, Edward, that no one has known any thing of Sir Richard formore than twelve months. He draws no rents, sends over no orders. Hislawyer here has written and sent to Turin, but no intelligence whatevercan be procured; and many people think that he is dead."
"It is very strange," said the Prince de Soubise. "But I have no beliefin the report of his death. Most likely he is wandering somewhere, anddoes not wish the place of his abode to be known. He was always veryeccentric."
"Then you know him, my lord?" said Edward, who had not lately mingled inthe conversation; for some words which had fallen from Soubise hadsaddened him.
"I have not seen him for many years," replied the prince; "but even thenhe was as strange a boy as I ever saw. There was insanity in the familyof his mother, and some people thought that the child would grow up anidiot. It was not so, however. Though he was very strange, thisstrangeness never reached to madness. Fits of moody gloom would comeupon him, and he often would not speak a word for hours. If he did, itwould be with a bitter and supercilious tone, very extraordinary in amere child. Then, again, at times he would fly into the most violentfits of passion, and then sink into melancholy. The way I learned allthis is easily explained. At your father's request I took some charge ofhim after his mother's death in the convent; but his behavior became sobad that I had to relinquish the trust."
"You applied to him, a short time since," said Edward, "a somewhat hardand unpleasant expression. You said that you might almost call himbase-born. Is it too much to ask that you would give me some informationon that point?"
"I know not well how to explain," replied Soubise, looking downthoughtfully.
"His mother was a very light Italian woman, of a low, bad race. Yourfather married her, beyond doubt, before this child was born; but it wasonly just before, and that with half a dozen stilettos at his throat;for they caught him alone with her and forced the marriage. Almost assoon as it was over, he separated from her and she went into aconvent,--her relations spreading absurd stories that they had causedthe separation because your father was a Protestant. This gained themsome favor at the court of Rome, and one of them obtained advancement inthe Church, where, after leading a very dissolute life, he was struckwith remorse and retired into the most austere seclusion. This is nearlyall I know of the matter; but it was this knowledge of the young man'sbirth, character, and connections which made me use the term 'insolentvarlet' which gave you so much offence. I pledge you my honor, however,it was not intended for you; and I should not have applied it, probably,to him, had I not been in haste and irritated at the moment."
"Then I hope, my good lord," replied Edward, "that, as the expressionwas not applied to me, I may look upon all the sentiments andresolutions contained in that letter as unsaid also?"
"Do not press me to-night," said Soubise, very gravely. "I am afraid ifI speak now my reply will pain you. The house of Rohan is a proud house,and I have much to think of. Give me a few days for reflection, and Iwill meet you fairly. But in the mean time let us be friends. Yourfather was the companion of my youth and my most intimate associate;your mother, now a saint in heaven, was an angel upon earth; and I wouldfain have their son's regard."
As he spoke, he held out his hand to the young man, who took itrespectfully; and shortly after the prince retired to rest.
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