``Be that as it may, if Helene suffered, she never gave a sign of it.The marriage was celebrated with great pomp, and the world could only conjecture what she thought of the Vicomte.It was deemed on both sides a brilliant match.He had inherited vast estates, Ivry-le-Tour, Montmery, Les Saillantes, I know not what else.She was heiress to the Chateau de St.Gre with its wide lands, to the chateau and lands of the Cote Rouge in Normandy, to the hotel St.Gre in Paris.Monsieur le Vicomte was between forty and fifty at his marriage, and from what I have heard of him he had many of the virtues and many of the faults of his order.He was a bachelor, which does not mean that he had lacked consolations.He was reserved with his equals, and distant with others.He had served in the Guards, and did not lack courage.He dressed exquisitely, was inclined to the Polignac party, took his ease everywhere, had a knowledge of cards and courts, and little else.He was cheated by his stewards, refused to believe that the Revolution was serious, and would undoubtedly have been guillotined had the Vicomtesse not contrived to get him out of France in spite of himself.They went first to the Duke de Ligne, at Bel Oeil, and thence to Coblentz.He accepted a commission in the Austrian service, which is much to his credit, and Helene went with some friends to England.
There my letter reached her, and rather than be beholden to strangers or accept my money there, she came to us.
That is her story in brief, Messieurs.As for Monsieur le Vicomte, he admired his wife, as well he might, respected her for the way she served the gallants, but he made no pretence of loving her.One affair--a girl in the village of Montmery--had lasted.Helene was destined for higher things than may be found in Louisiana,''
said Monsieur de St.Gre, turning to Nick, ``but now that you are to carry away my treasure, Monsieur, I do not know what I should have done without her.''
``And has there been any news of the Vicomte of late?''
It was Nick who asked the question, after a little.
Monsieur de St.Gre looked at him in surprise.
``Eh, mon Dieu, have you not heard?'' he said.``C'est vrai, you have been with David.Did not the Vicomtesse mention it? But why should she? Monsieur le Vicomte died in Vienna.He had lived too well.''
``The Vicomte is dead?'' I said.
They both looked at me.Indeed, I should not have recognized my own voice.What my face betrayed, what my feelings were, I cannot say.My heart beat no faster, there was no tumult in my brain, and yet--my breath caught strangely.Something grew within me which is beyond the measure of speech, and so it was meant to be.
``I did not know this myself until Helene returned to Les Iles,'' Monsieur de St.Gre was saying to me.``The letter came to her the day after you were taken ill.It was from the Baron von Seckenbruck, at whose house the Vicomte died.She took it very calmly, for Helene is not a woman to pretend.How much better, after all, if she had married her Englishman for love! And she is much troubled now because, as she declares, she is dependent upon my bounty.That is my happiness, my consolation,''
the good man added simply, ``and her father, the Marquis, was kind to me when I was a young provincial and a stranger.God rest his soul!''
We were drawing near to Les Iles.The rains had come during my illness, and in the level evening light the forest of the shore was the tender green of spring.At length we saw the white wooden steps in the levee at the landing, and near them were three figures waiting.We glided nearer.One was Madame de St.Gre, another was Antoinette,--these I saw indeed.The other was Helene, and it seemed to me that her eyes met mine across the waters and drew them.Then we were at the landing.
I heard Madame de St.Gre's voice, and Antoinette's in welcome--I listened for another.I saw Nick running up the steps; in the impetuosity of his love he had seized Antoinette's hand in his, and she was the color of a red rose.Creole decorum forbade further advances.Andre and another lifted me out, and they gathered around me, --these kind people and devoted friends,--Antoinette calling me, with exquisite shyness, by name; Madame de St.Gre giving me a grave but gentle welcome, and asking anxiously how I stood the journey.Another took my hand, held it for the briefest space that has been marked out of time, and for that instant I looked into her eyes.
Life flowed back into me, and strength, and a joy not to be fathomed.I could have walked; but they bore me through the well-remembered vista, and the white gallery at the end of it was like the sight of home.The evening air was laden with the scent of the sweetest of all shrubs and flowers.
