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—and there also was Charles Hatfield—ghastly pale, his limbs
trembling convulsively, and his lips white and quivering with rage.

Yes: terrible—terrible were the feelings which Laura’s husband

experienced for the six or eight minutes that this scene lasted. There
was a woman whose beauty excited universal admiration,—a woman
in all the splendour of female loveliness;—and this woman was his
wife—his own wedded wife,—a wife whom he could rush forward
and claim in a moment, if he chose! And that woman was now
coquetting before his eyes—coquetting with a studied purpose to
annoy him. Oh! he could understand it all,—the means which had
been adopted to induce him and his two companions to proceed to
the Champs Elysées at that hour—the pretended accident of the
parasol—and the smiles and tender looks which Laura now bestowed
upon one who was entirely a stranger to her:—yes—all, all was now
clear to Charles Hatfield,—and he was on the point of springing
forward—not to catch Laura to his breast and claim her as his
spouse—but to upbraid and expose her,—when he suddenly
recollected that a portion of the agreement entered into between his
father and her, was to the effect that she likewise was to be secure
against molestation or recognition on his part, as well as he on hers.
This reminiscence compelled the unhappy young man to restrain his
feelings; and as he was forced to subdue his ire, his jealousy only
became the more painful, because it required a vent of some kind or
another. He writhed—he positively writhed before her eyes;—and
now he was humiliated as well as tortured to such an intolerable
degree!

Laura had cast down her looks and had called up a blush to her
smooth cheeks, when she made to the handsome Castelcicalan the
remark that we have last recorded: but almost immediately
afterwards she raised her countenance again, and smiling with an
archness so enchantingly sweet that it would have moved the rigid
features of an octogenarian anchorite to admiration, she said: “At all
events, signor, should I visit Montoni in the course of this summer,
my stay would be very short—for I purpose to become a great
traveller, and to travel very rapidly also. To-morrow I set out for
Vienna.”

“Vienna!” repeated the Castelcicalan, in astonishment. “Surely Paris

possesses greater attractions than the cold, dull, formal Austrian
capital?”

“Oh! of that I must judge for myself,” exclaimed Laura, laughing—at

the same time showing by her manner that she thought their
conversation had lasted long enough.

The young Italian was too well-bred to attempt to detain her: but it
was nevertheless with evident reluctance that he stepped back from
the carriage-door and raised his hat in farewell salutation. Laura
inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgment of his courtesy, and
the vehicle drove on rapidly, the way before it being now
comparatively clear.

Oh! what triumph was in her heart, as she threw herself back in the
carriage and reflected upon all the incidents of the scene that had
just occurred,—a scene which had not occupied ten minutes, and
which had nevertheless stirred up so many and such varied feelings!
Her vanity had been gratified by the homage paid to her beauty; and
her malignity had for the time been assuaged by the contemplation
of the almost mortal agonies endured by her husband. She had
asserted the empire of her charms over even the very heart that
ought to cherish hatred against her: she had inspired with the
maddest jealousy the soul that was bound to think of her with
loathing and abhorrence. She felt all the pride of a woman wielding
a sceptre more despotic than that of a queen,—a sceptre which was
as a magic wand in her hand, casting spells upon even those who
detested, as well as those who admired her!
 CHAPTER CLXIII.
LAURA AND ROSALIE.

Yes—it was a great triumph for Laura Mortimer,—a triumph all the
greater, inasmuch as she knew that the agitation and rage of her
husband could not speedily pass away; and that, when his friends
had leisure to observe his emotions and seek an explanation, he
would not dare to afford them any!
She had, moreover, made statements to the young Castelcicalan
which he would doubtless repeat to Charles Hatfield, whom they
were well calculated to mystify relative to her future proceedings; for
the reader scarcely requires to be told that she had not the slightest
intention to repair to Vienna nor to visit Italy.

In every respect she had ample reason to be well satisfied with the
results of the scheme she had devised in the morning and so
effectually carried out in the afternoon,—a scheme so wild and
having so many thousand chances against its success, that none
save the intrepid, resolute, far-seeing Laura could have possibly
hoped to conduct it to a triumphant issue.

Having proceeded to the end of the avenue, she ordered the

coachman to retrace his way and return home;—but she was not
destined to reach the Rue Monthabor without experiencing another
adventure, which may for the moment seem trivial, but which was
nevertheless destined to exercise no mean amount of influence upon
her future career.

As the carriage was emerging from the Champs Elysées, two

gentlemen on horseback, just entering the fashionable lounge, were
about to pass by, when one of them, recognising Laura, suddenly
pulled up and made her a low bow. She immediately ordered the
carriage to stop; for it was her courteous and obliging friend the
professor of music, who had thus saluted her—and she was anxious
to express to him the delight she had experienced from a perusal of
the translations he had sent to her the preceding evening. After the
exchange of the usual complimentary remarks, the professor, turning
towards his companion, said, “My lord, permit me to introduce you
to one of my fair pupils—my fairest pupil, I should rather observe,”
he added, in a good-tempered manner: “Miss Laura Mortimer—the
Marquis of Delmour.”

Laura was startled for an instant at finding her music-master in such

aristocratic society; and as she inclined gracefully in
acknowledgment of the nobleman’s courteous salutation, she
observed that his lordship was an elderly, if not actually an old man,
but that his countenance was far from disagreeable.

A brief conversation ensued; and although the marquis had no

opportunity of speaking more than a dozen words, and even those
on common topic Laura nevertheless saw enough of him to be
convinced that his manners were of polished elegance, and that his
disposition was frank and unassuming.
It was not therefore without emotions of secret pleasure that she
heard herself thus addressed by the professor of music:—

“Miss Mortimer, his lordship, and myself, are old acquaintances, and
he permits me to call him my friend. His lordship will honour my
humble abode with his presence, to-morrow, evening: there will be a
musical soirée of the same unpretending kind as that which you
yourself graced with your company the evening before last. My wife
will doubtless send you the formal card; but may I in a less
ceremonial fashion, solicit you to favour us with your presence?”

Laura signified the pleasure she should experience in accepting the

invitation; and all the time she was listening to the professor and
replying to him, she had the agreeable consciousness that the
marquis was gazing upon her with an admiration which he could not
repress. She however affected not to be in the slightest degree
aware that she was undergoing such an impassioned survey; and
when she turned towards his lordship to make the parting bow, it
was with the formal reserve and yet graceful dignity of a lady to
whom a stranger has only just been introduced.

The carriage rolled on in one direction—the horsemen pursued their

way in another;—and while the Marquis of Delmour was putting
innumerable questions to his friend relative to the houri whom they
had thus met, Laura was on her side resolving that Rosalie should
without delay institute all possible inquiries respecting the position,
fortune, and character of that nobleman.

We should here remind the reader that the professor of music was a
man eminent in his special sphere, of high respectability, and great
moral worth; and, moreover, he was a native of a country where
talent is prized and looked up to, instead of being merely tolerated
and looked down upon. It is not, therefore, extraordinary if we find
him moving in the best society, and having his entertainments
attended by the elite of the residents or visitors in the gay city of
Paris.
On her return home to her splendid apartments in the Rue
Monthabor, Laura was immediately waited upon by her lady’s-maid;
and while the mistress was changing her attire in preparation for
dinner, the dependant explained the means by which she had
induced Charles Hatfield and the two Italian officers in the suite of
the Grand Duke to repair to the Champs Elysées in company, and at
the hour specified by Laura.

“When you first mentioned your desire to me this morning,

mademoiselle,” began Rosalie, “I must confess that I was somewhat
embarrassed how to accomplish the scheme; although I did not
despair. But when I saw the paragraph in the paper, and ascertained
the hotel at which the Grand Duke and his suite had taken up their
temporary abode, I suddenly remembered that a day or two ago I
met a young woman who had formerly been my fellow-servant, and
that she was now filling a situation in that very hotel. This
circumstance inspired me with a hope of success; and we
Frenchwomen look upon an intrigue as being as good as carried
successfully out, when it affords a hope to encourage us. Therefore
did I promise you so confidently; and I lost no time in proceeding to
the hotel. I soon found my friend, who is a chamber-maid there; and
I told her just sufficient—without, however, mentioning your name or
even alluding to you, mademoiselle—to induce her to afford me her
assistance. Some of the officers of the Grand Duke’s suite were
lounging in the court-yard of the hotel at the time; and my friend
pointed them out to me one by one, naming each as she proceeded.
I resolved to choose the two youngest and handsomest to be Mr.
Charles Hatfield’s companions, mademoiselle; because,” continued
Rosalie, with an arch smile, “I tolerably well understood the entire
nature of the project which you had in contemplation.”

“You are marvellously sharp-witted and keen-sighted, Rosalie,” said

Laura, laughing good-humouredly. “But pray proceed. What step did
you adopt next, after having thus passed the Grand Duke’s suite in a
review of which they were however unconscious?”
“I must confess, mademoiselle,” resumed Rosalie, “that I was
somewhat puzzled how to act. But suddenly an idea struck me; and,
however ridiculous the plan may now appear to you, your own lips
can proclaim whether it succeeded or not. In fact, I calculated upon
the romantic disposition which the Italians are known to possess;
and I also reflected that as Mr. Charles Hatfield, whom I likewise saw
at the hotel (though he saw not me) appeared pensive and
thoughtful, he would embark in any adventure that promised to
wean his thoughts from their melancholy mood, and that offered
some excitement of a novel character. I accordingly penned a note,
addressed to Mr. Charles Hatfield, Captain Barthelma, and Lieutenant
Di Ponta——”

“What is the name of the taller and handsomer of the two officers
who accompanied Charles?” asked Laura, with a slight kindling of
sensual feeling as she recalled to mind the pleasing features of the
Italian who had picked up her parasol, and with whom she had
exchanged the few complimentary observations already recorded.

“That one is Captain Barthelma,” answered Rosalie.

“Proceed,” said Laura. “You were telling me that you penned a note
——”

“To the three gentlemen collectively,” added the lady’s-maid;—“and,

as nearly as I can remember, the contents ran thus:—‘To Mr. Charles
Hatfield, Captain Barthelma, and Lieutenant Di Ponta, an unhappy
Spanish refugee ventures to address himself, having certain excellent
reasons for being well aware that they will not refuse to listen to his
sad tale, and interest themselves in his behalf. But as he is an object
of suspicion to the French government, he dares not make his
appearance at the hotel where a prince, who is known to be the
redresser of wrongs, has taken up his abode. He will therefore walk
this afternoon, from four to five, on the right hand of the central
avenue of the Champs Elysées; and if the three gentlemen to whom
he now addresses his humble but earnest application, will be at the
place and time appointed, the unhappy writer of this petition will
make himself known to them—will explain his business frankly—and
will indicate the means by which he can be restored to wealth and
happiness. Those means consist in one word which it will be for His
Sovereign Highness the Grand Duke to speak, and which can only be
spoken at the instigation of the three gentlemen to whom this letter
is addressed.’”

“Upon my word, I give you credit for your stratagem!” exclaimed

Laura, laughing heartily. “I have no doubt that Charles sees through
it now: but he will not dare to give any explanations to his friends,”
she added, in a musing tone. “They will imagine that they have been
duped by some humorous person—and he will affect to fall into the
same way of thinking.”

“Or else the two Italian gentlemen will suppose that the poor
refugee was prevented, by some misadventure, from keeping the
appointment,” observed Rosalie, now giving way to her mirth to such
a degree that the tears came into her eyes.

“Well—make an end of your story,” said Laura, who had nearly

completed her toilette; for, although she expected no one that
evening, she nevertheless made it a rule to dress herself with the
utmost care in case of a visit on the part of any of those persons
whose acquaintance she had recently formed.

“I have little more to tell you, mademoiselle, responded Rosalie. “My

friend, the chambermaid, left the note, which was duly sealed and
properly addressed to the three gentlemen, upon the table of
Captain Barthelma’s private apartment; and soon afterwards that
officer went to his room. I waited at the hotel in the hope of
ascertaining the effect that the billet would produce; and in a short
time the captain returned in haste to his companions, who were still
lounging in the court-yard—some of them giving directions to their
grooms, and others smoking cigars. From the window of my friend’s
chamber, I beheld Captain Barthelma draw Mr. Charles Hatfield and
Lieutenant Di Ponta aside, and show them the letter. They evidently
perused it with great attention; and I felt assured by their manner
that they treated the affair seriously. I now requested my friend to
hurry down stairs, and traverse the yard as if in pursuance of her
avocations—but to pass as near the little group as possible, and
endeavour to catch any remarks that they might be exchanging at
the moment. This she did; and she heard quite enough to convince
her that the appointment would be kept. I then retraced my way
homeward, and was happy in being able to give you the assurance,
mademoiselle, that your wishes would be fully gratified so far as the
result depended upon me.”

“You are a good girl, Rosalie,” said Laura; “and I shall not be
unmindful of the service you have thus rendered me. But I now
require your aid in another matter——”

“Speak, my dear lady: I am entirely at your disposal,” observed the

dependant, who, in proportion as she obtained a farther insight into
the character of her mistress, felt the more certain of reaping a fine
harvest of rewards, bribes, and hush-money.

“There is in Paris at this moment an English nobleman concerning

whom I am desirous that you should obtain as much information as
you can possibly glean, without creating any suspicion or in any way
compromising me. I allude to the Marquis of Delmour,” continued
Laura: “but I know not where he is residing; nor can I offer the least
suggestion to guide you in instituting your inquiries.”

“Leave all that to me, mademoiselle,” said Rosalie.

“There is no time to be lost,” observed Laura, “this evening, or in the

course of to-morrow, must I have the information which I seek.”

“I am not in the habit of letting the grass grow beneath my feet,”

replied the French dependant, with an arch smile. “The moment you
have sat down to dinner, mademoiselle, I will sally forth; and should
I not return until a somewhat late hour——”
“No matter,” interrupted Laura: “I shall know that you are employed
in my interests. Unless, indeed,” she added, laughing, “you possess
a lover whose company may prove more agreeable to you than the
task with which I have entrusted you.”

“I have no lover in Paris—at present, mademoiselle,” observed

Rosalie.

“Then you admit that you have had a lover in your life-time?” said
Laura.

“Oh! certainly, mademoiselle,” exclaimed the pretty Frenchwoman:

“and—to speak candidly—I could not without some trouble reckon
the number of those who have proclaimed themselves my admirers.”

“The name of your lovers is Legion, then?” cried Laura, again

laughing: but it was the natural sensuality of her disposition which
impelled her thus to interrogate her servant;—for a licentious
woman experiences a voluptuous enjoyment in learning that another
is as amorously inclined or as downright abandoned as herself. And
now that Laura’s spite against Charles Hatfield was for the time
appeased, and she had leisure to ponder upon the handsome
countenance and elegant figure of Captain Barthelma, her
imagination was becoming inflamed, and wanton ideas and
aspirations rose up in her brain.

“Oh! mademoiselle,” exclaimed Rosalie, with an archness of

expression that made her countenance particularly interesting at the
moment; “you must think me very vain and very silly for having
made the remark which fell so inconsiderately from my lips!”

“Not at all,” observed Laura: “you are pretty enough to have

captivated many hearts. And now tell me, my dear girl—have you
passed through such an ordeal without leaving your virtue behind?
Be frank and candid: I wish to know you thoroughly, that I may
determine how far I can trust you.”
“I dare say, mademoiselle, that you can form a tolerably accurate
guess in that respect,” said Rosalie, in a low tone and with a
blushing countenance. “Were I to tell you that I am pure and chaste,
you would not believe me, mademoiselle—and—and, you would be
right.”

“Suppose, then, that you had suddenly conceived a great fancy for a
very handsome young man, Rosalie?” said Laura, her bosom heaving
voluptuously as she gradually approached the aim and object of the
present conversation.

“I should take care to let him perceive that if he chose to solicit, it

would not be in vain,” answered Rosalie, who already comprehended
that her mistress was not giving the discourse this turn without
some definite end in view.

“And you would be deeply grateful,” continued Laura, in a low but

significant tone, “to any friend who might assist you in the
management of the intrigue?”

“Decidedly, mademoiselle” replied the Frenchwoman: “the more so

that I myself should delight in rendering my aid when and where the
services of so humble a being as I am could prove available.”

“Those services may be made available this very evening,” said

Laura, a voluptuous glow spreading over her fine countenance, while
her eyes became soft and melting in expression. “You must aid me,
Rosalie, in gratifying an ardent longing which has sprung up within
my bosom during the last few minutes, and which I may vainly
struggle to subdue. But the intrigue requires so much delicate
management——”

“I can anticipate all you would say, mademoiselle,” interrupted

Rosalie: then, in a significant tone, she added, “Captain Barthelma is
decidedly one of the handsomest men I ever saw in my life.”
“You have conjectured rightly,” said Laura; “you have penetrated my
thoughts! Can you—will you serve me in the gratification of this
caprice of mine? But, remember—I must not be compromised in
respect to a living soul save Barthelma and yourself.”

“You know, mademoiselle, that you can trust to my fidelity, my

sagacity, and my prudence,” said Rosalie. “At what hour shall the
handsome Italian visit you?”

“At nine—this evening,” answered Laura: then referring to her watch,

she added, “It is already six—and you have plenty of work upon your
hands!”

“I will neglect nothing,” observed the lady’s-maid, in a tone of

confidence. “Would it not be prudent to send the cook out of the
way for the evening? For as the men-servants are on board-wages
and sleep elsewhere, and the cook is therefore the only dependant
who could possibly observe your proceedings, mademoiselle——”

“I leave all this to you, Rosalie,” interrupted Laura;—“and now we

have nothing more to say to each other for the present. Order the
dinner to be served up at once—and then must you hasten to fulfil
the commissions with which you are charged.”

Having thus given her parting instructions, Laura repaired to the

dining-room, where an elegant repast was speedily spread upon the
table; and a glass of sparkling champagne soon enhanced the
brilliancy of the voluptuous woman’s eyes, and heightened the rich
glow that suffused her countenance.

When the meal was over, a choice dessert was served up; and Laura
was now left alone.

She was almost sorry that she had gone so far in respect to the
intrigue which was to bring the handsome Castelcicalan to her arms:
she had admitted Rosalie too deeply into her confidence—placed
herself too completely in the power of her dependant. Even while
she was conversing with the wily Frenchwoman, she perceived and
felt all this;—but her sensuality triumphed over her prudence—her
lascivious temperament carried her on with a force which she could
not resist, much less subdue.

“And, after all,” she now reasoned to herself, “wherefore should I not
follow my inclinations in this respect? I am free to act according to
the impulse of my passions and the prompting of my desires. The
night that I passed with Charles—that one night of love and bliss—
has revived those ardent longings, those burning thoughts that
demand gratification. Besides, Rosalie will be trustworthy so long as
she is well paid; and I shall take care to keep her purse well filled.
Sooner or later she must have obtained a complete insight into my
character: why not, then, at once as well as hereafter? And the more
firmly I bind her to my interests, the less shall I need the services of
my crafty, selfish old mother. Would that I could manage my affairs
and execute my plans without my parent’s aid altogether! And who
knows but that even this consummation may be reached? Something
tells me that the Marquis of Delmour and I shall yet be more
intimately acquainted. He is old—but that is of little consequence.
Wealth and a proud position are my aims—and I care not by what
means they are acquired. Oh! the happiness of possessing such
beauty as that wherewith I am endowed,—a beauty which can never
fail to crown me with triumph in all my schemes!—in all my
projects!”

She now regarded her watch, and discovered that it was eight
o’clock.

“In another hour he will be here,” she thought within herself; and
her bosom heaved voluptuously. “Yes—in another hour that
handsome Italian will be in my presence—at least, if Rosalie fulfil her
task with her wonted sagacity and prudence. What will he think of
me? Oh! let him entertain any opinion that he may: I will bind him to
secrecy by the most solemn oaths—and I read enough in his
countenance to convince me that he is a man of honour!”
In this strain did the lovely but wanton creature pursue her
reflections, until it was nearly nine o’clock.

She then rose from her seat, and repaired to the kitchen, which was
on the same floor as her suite of apartments. The cook was not
there; and Laura was consequently satisfied that Rosalie had not
forgotten the precaution herself had suggested.

The syren now proceeded to the drawing-room, where with her own
fair hands she arranged wine, fruits, and cakes upon the table. She
then drew the curtains over the window, lighted the wax candles
upon the mantel, and scattered drops of delicious perfume upon the
carpet and the drapery.

Scarcely were these preparations completed, when the bell of the

outer door of the suite rang as if pulled by a somewhat impatient
hand; and Laura hastened to answer the summons.

She opened the door—and Captain Barthelma, the handsome

Castelcicalan, appeared upon the threshold.

“Is it possible that this can be true!” he exclaimed, his joy amounting
to a delirious excitement as his eyes fell upon the heroine of the
afternoon’s adventure in the Champs Elysées.

Laura smiled archly as she placed her finger upon her lip to impose
silence, at least until he should have entered her abode; and, having
closed the door carefully, she conducted him into the drawing-room.
 CHAPTER CLXIV.
LAURA’S AMOUR.

Seating herself upon the sofa, Laura motioned the Italian to place
himself by her side—an invitation which he obeyed with a species of
enthusiastic alacrity. But all the time he was unable to take his eyes
off her—as if he still doubted whether it were indeed a fact that his
good fortune had conducted him into the presence of her whose
image had never once been absent from his mind since he first
beheld her that afternoon in the Champs Elysées.

“Is it possible?” he again ejaculated, after a few minutes’ silence.

“The young woman promised me that if I were discreet, I might
expect the happiness of meeting you—yes, you, sweetest lady—
again: but I confess that I doubted her—and I came that I might not
throw away a chance of felicity, rather than in the sanguine hope of
attaining it.”

“And, when you have leisure for reflection” said Laura, casting down
her eyes and blushing, “you will despise me for my imprudence—my
indelicacy of conduct in thus sending to invite a stranger to visit me.”

“Adorable woman!” exclaimed the impassioned Italian; “I shall think

of you with gratitude—with devotion—with love,—and never lightly.
Oh! be assured of that!”—and, seizing her hand, he conveyed it to
his lips, and covered it with kisses.
“Nevertheless, you must be surprised at my boldness in directing my
servant to seek you, and to make this appointment with you,”
pursued Laura, her bosom heaving so as almost to burst from its
confinement, as she felt the warm mouth of the Castelcicalan glued
to the hand which she did not attempt to withdraw.

“I am only surprised at my own happiness,” observed the young

officer. “Sweetest Laura—for I now know your name—tell me how I
have thus been deemed worthy of a favour of which a prince might
envy me the enjoyment!”

“An accident threw us together for a few minutes this afternoon,”

said Laura; “and I was struck by your personal appearance—your
manners—your conversation——”

“And, oh! how profoundly was I impressed by the magic of your

beauty, Laura!” interrupted the ardent Italian; “how earnestly I
longed to hear once more the music of that melodious voice—to look
again into the depths of those magnificent eyes—to contemplate
that glorious countenance—that admirable form;—and now—oh!
now the desire is realised—and no human language has words
powerful enough to convey to you an idea of the happiness which I
experience at this moment!”

As he thus spoke he threw his arms around her waist, and drew her
towards him.

“Charming creature!” he exclaimed, after a few moments’ pause,

during which he gazed upon her with a rapture which can only be
conceived and not explained: “how can I make thee comprehend the
extent of my love—my adoration—my worship? I have travelled
much—have seen beauties of all climes and of all varieties of
loveliness;—but never did mine eyes settle upon one so
transcendently charming as thou! When I parted from thee this
afternoon in the Champs Elysées, it was as if I were tearing myself
away from some one whom I had loved all my life, and whom I was
never to see again. I was a second Adam, expelled from another
Eden! And now—now, I behold thee once more—I am seated in thy
presence—thou smilest upon me——oh! it is heaven—it is
heaven!”—and, as if in a transport of fury—so impassioned was his
soul—he drew her still closer towards him, and literally seizing her
head with both his hands, glued his lips to hers—sucking in her very
breath.

Intoxicated with sensual happiness, Laura offered no resistance to

the ardour of the handsome young man; but ere she completely
yielded herself up to him, she remembered that something was due
to prudence as well as to the delights of love.

Accordingly, withdrawing herself from his embrace, though still

permitting his arm to encircle her waist, she said, “I can refuse you
nothing; but first swear, by all you deem most sacred, that you will
never betray me!”

“Never—never!” ejaculated Barthelma; “I take God to witness that

my lips shall never breathe a word injurious to your honour! On the
contrary,” he cried, in a tone of deep sincerity, “should I ever hear a
man speak lightly of you, I will provoke him to a duel that shall
terminate only in the death of one—if not both; and should a woman
dare to mention your name irreverently, I will even fabricate a tale
injurious to her honour, that I may avenge you!”

“Thanks—a thousand thanks, my generous friend!” murmured Laura,

one of her white hands playing with the long, dark, curling hair of
the Castelcicalan. “But may you not—in an unguarded moment—
when carousing, perhaps, with your brother-officers,—may you not
inadvertently allude to the adventure which happened to you in
Paris, and then be unconsciously drawn out—under the influence of
wine—to make revelations which will prove the ruin—the utter ruin—
of the weak, but confiding woman who trusts so much to your
honour this night?”
“May my tongue blister—may lightnings strike me—may I be cast
down a corpse at the feet of those to whom I ever open my lips to
speak irreverently or ungratefully of thee!” exclaimed the Italian,
with a terrible energy. “No—my adored Laura! you have not the
slightest ground for apprehensions of that nature. I am a man of
honour—and I would rather shed the last drop of my blood to serve
thee, than raise a finger to harm thee. Beautiful creature—adorable
woman! who that possesses a spark of human feeling, could do
aught to bring a tear into thine eye or chase away the smile from thy
lips? I am thy slave, Laura—and I rejoice in wearing the chains
which thy magic loveliness has cast around me!”

In this impassioned strain did the Italian pour forth his adoration;
and, as Laura gazed upon him with eyes swimming in very
wantonness, she thought that he was far more handsome than she
had fancied him to be in the afternoon, or even when he had first
appeared before her that evening.

He, too, on his part, found the syren a thousand times more
witching—more beauteous—more attractive than she had seemed in
her carriage; and yet even then he had been ready to fall down and
worship her. Now he beheld her in a light evening toilette—with
naked neck and naked arms,—no scarf—not even the most
transparent gauze veiling her shoulders of alabaster whiteness,—and
with her hair dressed in massive curls, instead of hyperion ringlets;—
now, too, he could perceive, by the undulations of her attire, that
her limbs were turned with a symmetry that was elegant and yet
robust—admirable in shape, though full in their proportions.

“I thank you most sincerely for the assurances of secrecy which you
have given me,” said Laura, in the sweetest, most melting cadence
of her delicious voice; “likewise for the chivalrous professions with
which you have coupled them. You declare yourself to be my slave,”
she added; “but it will be for this night only!”
And she hid her countenance on his breast, as if ashamed of the
invitation which her words implied—an invitation that welcomed him
at her abode until the morning!

“In one sense I understand you, my charmer,” he said, kissing her

beauteous head as it lay reclining on his bosom; “and that alone
ought to be happiness sufficient for me! But I am greedy—I am
covetous; and I demand more! Listen, adored Laura—grant me your
patience for a few minutes.”

She raised her head, and gazed tenderly up into his animated
countenance as he spoke.

“I am not a rich man,” he continued; “but I possess a competency—

nay, a handsome competency; and I care not how soon I abandon
the service of even so good and excellent a prince as his Sovereign
Highness—in order to devote myself wholly and solely to you. I
know not who you are—I only know that you are the loveliest
creature on the face of God’s earth, and that your name is Laura
Mortimer. Neither do I seek to know more. But I am ready and
anxious to join my fortunes with yours—to marry you, if you will
accept me as your husband,—or to become your slave—your menial!
Tell me not, then, that we must part to-morrow: oh! let me remain
with you, my charming Laura, until death shall separate us!”

“It cannot be, my handsome Barthelma!” murmured Laura. “But let

me call you by your Christian name——”

“Lorenzo,” said the Castelcicalan.

“You are, then, my handsome Lorenzo for this night—and for this
night only,” continued Laura, throwing her warm, plump, exquisitely
modelled arms about his neck, and pressing her lips to his glowing
cheek.

“Cruel—cruel Laura!” he exclaimed, returning the ardent caress.

“Oh! would that circumstances permitted——”

“No circumstances can separate us, if you should decide that we are
to remain together,” interrupted the Castelcicalan, in an impassioned
tone.

“Alas! you know not——”

“If you are already a wife, I will kill your husband,” cried Lorenzo,
again speaking with vehement abruptness: “If you are engaged to
wed one whom you dislike, I will dare him to wrest you from my
arms;—and if you have relations—father or brothers—whom you
imagine yourself bound to consult, you may rest well assured that in
preferring my love to that of kith and kin you will be receiving the
purest gold in exchange for comparative dross.”

“Dear Lorenzo, I must seal your eloquent lips with kisses,” said
Laura, with an arch playfulness that was also full of wantonness:
“yes—I must seal those red, moist lips,” she murmured, after having
pressed her mouth to his; “or you will persuade me to give an
affirmative answer to your endearing solicitations—and that would
only be to record a promise to-night which I most break to-morrow.”

“Are you, then, my angel, the mistress of some man on whose

wealth you are dependent, or in whose power circumstances have
placed you?” demanded the impassioned Italian, with more fervid
frankness than considerate delicacy.

“I am not—I never was—and I never shall be a pensioned mistress,

Lorenzo!” answered Laura, her manner becoming suddenly haughty.

“Pardon me—Oh! I implore you to pardon me, my angel!” exclaimed

the young officer, straining her to his chest. “Not for worlds would I
offend you—not even to save my soul from perdition would I wrong
you by word or deed! Tell me, Laura—tell me—Laura—tell me—am I
forgiven?”
She raised her countenance towards his own, and when their lips
met she sealed his pardon with a long, burning kiss.

“And now,” she said, “do not ask me again to do that which is
impossible. I cannot marry you, although I am not married—I cannot
be your mistress, although I am not the mistress of another—I
cannot hold out any hope to you, although I am pledged to none
other.”

“You are as enigmatical as you are charming—you are as mysterious

as you are beautiful!” exclaimed Lorenzo, contemplating his fair
companion with the most enthusiastic rapture.

“And it is not now for you to mar the pleasure which we enjoy in
each other’s society, by seeking to render me less enigmatical or less
mysterious,” observed the syren. “At the same time I cannot be
otherwise than flattered by the proposals you have made to me, and
the generous manner in which you have expressed yourself in my
behalf. Come—let us drink a glass of champagne to enhance the
happiness of the moment, and drown careful reflections.”

“Be it so, my charmer,” said Lorenzo: “and if I no more torment you

with my entreaties—if I resolve to content myself with the amount of
bliss which you have promised me,—nevertheless, my dearest—ever
dearest Laura, I shall take leave of you to-morrow morning with the
fervent hope that we shall shortly meet again. You told me this
afternoon that you proposed to visit Montoni in the course of the
ensuing autumn——”

“Yes—I have no doubt that I shall be enabled to fulfil that promise,”

interrupted Laura, by way of changing the topic of discourse. “And
now that you have given me to understand that you will not revive
the useless but flattering, and, in some sense, agreeable proposals
you made me just now, let us think only of the enjoyment of the
present.”
“It shall be as you say, my angel,” returned Lorenzo; and he
forthwith filled a glass with sparkling champagne, which he handed
to his fair companion.

She quaffed it at a draught, and a flood of light seemed to suffuse

her entire countenance, and render her eyes brilliant as diamonds:
her lips, too, moist with the generous juice, acquired a deeper red—
and her bosom panted with amorous longings.

Lorenzo beheld the effects of the rich fluid, and hastened to fill the
glass again: then, ere he drained it of its contents, he studiously
placed to his lips the side which Laura’s mouth had touched.

“You had two friends with you this afternoon in the Champs
Elysées?” said the syren, interrogatively, when they were once more
seated, half-embraced in each other’s arms, upon the sofa.

“Yes: one was a fellow-countryman of mine—the other a native of

your land, my beloved,” answered Lorenzo. “But I must tell you the
singular adventure that occurred to us: and, indeed,” he added, with
a smile, “I am deeply indebted to a certain anonymous
correspondent—for had it not been through him, I should not have
this day visited the scene where I was fortunate enough to
encounter you.”

“A singular adventure!” exclaimed Laura, with an admirable

affectation of the most ingenuous curiosity.

“Judge for yourself, my angel,” replied Lorenzo then, taking Rosalie’s

letter from his pocket, he handed it to Laura, who, consuming with
strong desires though she were, could scarcely suppress a laugh as
she perused the billet, with the contents of which she was already so
well acquainted.

“And did you see the poor man who addressed you and your friends
in this wild, romantic style?” she asked, restoring him the note.
“He did not make his appearance,” responded Barthelma. “But even
if that letter were the production of some mischievous wag, or of a
crazy person, I could not possibly feel otherwise than rejoiced at
having been made the dupe of either a humourist or a madman: for,
as I just now observed, the anonymous letter led to my meeting
with you.”

And, as he spoke, he smoothed down her glossy, luxuriant hair with

his open palm.

“But doubtless your two companions found more difficulty in

consoling themselves for the disappointment?” said Laura.

“Faith! dear lady,” exclaimed Lorenzo, “they spoke but little on the
subject: for, to tell you the truth, your beauty had not failed to
produce a very sensible effect on them as well as upon myself.”

“Flatterer!” cried Laura, playfully caressing the handsome Italian.

“Oh! you know that you are lovely—transcendently lovely!” he

exclaimed, in an ardent tone; “and you can well believe me when I
assure you that my two friends escaped not the magic influence of
your charms. But how different were the effects thus produced! Di
Ponta—that is the name of my fellow-countryman—was enthusiastic
and rapturous in your praise; whereas Charles Hatfield—the
Englishman—became gloomy, morose, and sullen——”

“A singular effect for the good looks of a woman to produce!” cried

Laura, laughing—while her heart beat with the joy of a proud
triumph.

“Such, nevertheless, was the case in this instance, my angel,” said

Lorenzo. “I do firmly believe that Hatfield was jealous of me in being
the happy mortal who perceived the loss of your parasol, and had
the honour of restoring it;—yes—jealous, dear lady, because that
happy accident introduced me to your notice, and privileged me to
address you.”
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