The greatest blessing that could befal me, under such circumstances as I have described, was sleep procured by great corporeal exhaustion. I had not closed an eye the night before, I had slept but little on those that preceded it, and now a ride of forty miles, without having taken any sort of refreshment, had greatly wearied me. When I lay down to seek repose, then, I found it; and, though it was far from that sweet, calm slumber which I had known in former years, yet still it was a relief. The first part of the night I was tormented with dreams, and more than once I started up and found myself, ere I was well awake, laying my hand upon my sword, which I had cast down by my bedside on going to rest. Less disturbed repose, however, came with the morning; and, when I awoke, I found that the sun had risen more than an hour. I was glad that it was so, for my days were without object, and my waking hours were sure to be hours of pain.

Nevertheless, it must not be supposed that I abandoned myself weakly to thoughts which were only calculated to unnerve my mind, or that I determined purposely to cultivate the feelings which made life so bitter; far from it; I knew, indeed, that those thoughts and those feelings would engross my heart and mind, by whatever means or devices I might attempt to banish them; but, at the same time, I resolved to do all that lay within my power, to turn my attention to other things, and to occupy myself with studies and pursuits that might give me relief. I laid out many a plan for the day, so as, if possible, to leave not a moment vacant for regret and sorrow to intrude themselves upon me. In the first place, I thought I would read for a couple of hours; and then I would trace down the bank of the stream, to the spot where the unhappy Duchess de Villardin had perished; I would then ride out to Juvigny, and, seeing Jacques Marlot, would examine all that was passing on the estate, and by planning with him every improvement I could think of, would endeavour to furnish occupation for many succeeding days.

In my very first attempt, however, I found how foolish it was to make such calculations. There stood the little library which had been given to me by Father Ferdinand, and certainly it contained many a book which might have afforded matter for instruction, consolation, and amusement; but I took down one after another and attempted to read in vain. My eyes wandered over the lines, my hands turned the pages, I caught now and then the sense of a sentence or a paragraph; but, upon the whole, I was reading without understanding, and nine times out of ten I could not have told whether the words were French, or Latin, or Arabic. Fancying that it was something dry and dull in the nature of the good priest's selection which prevented me from attending, I went down to the great library, caused the windows to be thrown open, and chose whatever I thought was most likely to attract and please me: but it was still the same. Replacing the books, I determined not to attempt to read till my mind was more calm; and, in the meantime, by combining corporeal with mental occupation, to force my thoughts from the channel in which they were so strongly disposed to flow.

I now remembered that I had not seen my little page during the morning, and, on inquiry, found that he had gone out by daybreak, and had not yet returned.

He was probably gone to Juvigny, old Marguerite, who had been helping me in the library, observed; for when last he had been there with Father Ferdinand, she said, the boy had never been absent from that place. Indeed, he seemed as fond of that fellow Jacques Marlot, as if he were his own father--he might be so too, she added, for aught that ever she could discover. But the boy was a pretty boy, too, and not like that ugly cock-nosed scapegrace.

In despite of all my gloom, the spite of the old woman towards my poor acquaintance, Jacques Marlot, made me smile for a moment; and taking my hat, I ordered my horses to be ready in an hour, and walked out to the banks of the stream, in order to see whether the second occupation which I had laid out for myself would be attended with more success than the first. But my walk was in every respect a melancholy one, as, indeed, I might well have anticipated, had I allowed myself to judge as rationally of my own feelings and their associations as I should have done had the case been that of another. My first halt was at the spot where I had rescued poor Laura from the fatal stream that afterwards swept away her unhappy mother; and as I stood and gazed upon the river, I could not but think how much misery would have been saved us, had the dull and sullen water that rolled deep and dark before me taken us both for ever to its silent bosom. Memory, too, exerted all her power, and I could see before the mind's eye the dear girl I loved, in all the smiling happiness of infant joy, ran bounding on to meet me, as she had appeared the moment before she fell into the stream. I recalled, too, as vividly as if it had just passed, the heartfelt gladness with which I had grasped her fairy form in the midst of the waters, and the sort of triumphant joy with which I had held her up rescued towards those who watched us from the brink. I remembered it all as if it had been a thing of yesterday; but I remembered, at the same moment, my existing situation; and the bitter comment of the present on the past poured like a torrent upon my heart, and almost drowned out hope for ever.

I turned away, for in the state of my feelings I would rather have rested in spots, the associations of which were painful in themselves, than in those where happy memories formed a dreadful contrast with present misery. I turned away, then, and walked slowly on to the broken bridge, which remained still unrepaired, and was exactly in the state in which it had been left on the night of Madame de Villardin's death, except that a quantity of green mould, and many coloured lichens, had grown over the broken woodwork, telling how many years had past since the fall of the rest had taken place. Grief, however, finds matter to increase its own stores in everything; and when I thought of Madame de Villardin's unhappy fate, of her affection for her husband so terribly repaid, of his love for her proving a source of the bitterest anguish to himself, and of all the fearful scenes which I had witnessed and in which I had taken a part, I began to think--without feeling my own unhappiness relieved in the least by the belief--I began to think that the whole world, and every state and station in it, were full of misery to the overflowing--that each feeling, virtuous or vicious, was alike prolific of sorrow--and that the only happy being on the earth was the stoic or the anchorite, the pure egotist or the mindless fool.

If I went out gloomy, I returned home more gloomy still, and, mounting my horse, which was by this time prepared, I rode back to Juvigny, and entered the house which I had lent to Jacques Marlot. The good farmer was out, but Madame Marlot, who now presented the very best possible image of a bonne fermiÈre, adorned with fine white muslin, a profusion of lace, and manifold gold ornaments, received me at the gate, and gave me ocular proof of her husband's increasing prosperity. My visit had evidently been expected, and on inquiring for my little page, I was informed that he had been there since an early hour in the morning, but had gone out upon his rounds with Jacques Marlot, who would return with him directly.

The ci-devant printer was not long in making his appearance, and T soon found from his manner that little Clement had informed him that some events had lately occurred to render my mind not attuned to the pleasantries with which he was wont to treat me. He was consequently grave and calm, and though an occasional little drop of acid humour would mix with what he said, yet our conversation passed much as a matter of business; and highly approving of my intention of making improvements, he went over my two farms with me, pointing out all that he thought might be done. We thus planned a new road, and a number of plantations, and having provided employment for myself for several days in inspecting the progress of the workmen, I returned to Dumont, feeling that at all events I had found an occupation which would distract some of my thoughts from the more painful theme.

Day after day I returned to Juvigny, and carrying on several operations at one time, I had an opportunity of diversifying my amusement; thus waging a sort of incessant war against thought. As soon as I found that painful ideas were obtruding upon me, I changed my place at once, and went to the workmen engaged in some other undertaking; and, thanks to their blessed stupidity, I always discovered some matter to set right or some mistake to rectify. Thus passed my days for more than a fortnight, and though the long dull evenings were still terrible, yet the occupation of my thoughts during the hours of light was in itself a great relief. My little page, wild as the winds, left me almost entirely to myself, and although it had been a part of my plan to fill up my vacant time by pursuing the task of his education, yet my mind was not equal to it; and I soon found that I could not bend my thoughts to the subject with sufficient application, to do him any good or myself either. Thus from nightfall to midnight my hours were generally spent in walking up and down the great library, sometimes forcing myself to read for a few minutes, but generally giving full course to the thoughts which I contrived to avoid, more or less, during the day.

At length, however, a messenger arrived from the PrÉs VallÉe, bringing me letters, which again rendered every effort to occupy my mind perfectly vain. The first was from Monsieur de Villardin, and was full of the kindest and most affectionate language; but it went on to inform me that the Count de Laval had arrived at the chÂteau, and that his marriage was fixed for that day week. Feeling it necessary to inform me of the fact, and yet knowing that every word upon the subject was a dagger in my heart, Monsieur de Villardin wrote as briefly upon it as possible, simply telling me the bare facts, and then adding, "Laura is calm."

The next was a letter from Father Ferdinand, but it was more full, more interesting, and yet more painful. I give it, therefore, as it was, so far at least as translation can render it.

"My dear Son,

"Although Monsieur de Villardin has written to you himself, I feel it necessary to address you also as one who loves you sincerely, and whose wishes are all for your future welfare and happiness. In the first place, however, let me say, that although I doubt not you may think I outstepped my duty, and interfered, perhaps cruelly, in informing the Duke of the mutual affection which existed between Laura and yourself, yet I had an undoubted right to do so, founded on circumstances which you do not know, but which shall one day be explained to you. In other respects, some words that I once let drop, which might tend to encourage your passion, still rest upon my conscience; but my error in having spoken them is attributable in some degree to Monsieur de Villardin himself, who did not inform me, as he ought to have done at an earlier period, that he had promised the hand of his daughter to another.

"The future husband of Laura de Villardin is now here, and while I acknowledge my regret that in every respect he does not resemble yourself, yet he seems a noble and dignified man, with whom, I trust, she will find peace, if not happiness. The day of marriage is fixed for this day week, and beyond all doubt it will then take place. Laura is calm and composed, and her mind appears made up to her fate; but at the same time it is useless to dissemble that she suffers much. In speaking thus, my son, I have the utmost reliance on those good principles which I have marked with pleasure daily taking firmer root in your bosom; and on those generous feelings which I have often seen make you prefer the happiness of others to your own. I know that man can hardly love woman better than you love her who is now about to become the wife of another; and I believe that your love for her will not decay; but I believe at the same time that her tranquillity and peace of mind will ever be your first desire; and on this ground I entreat, I beseech, I command you never to see her after her marriage, till long years have calmed and softened feelings that are now too vehement for control. If, indeed, you do love her sincerely, such will be your course; and the blessing of a quiet conscience, and the knowledge of having acted nobly under the most trying circumstances, will follow such conduct, and cannot fail to assuage your grief.

"Ere long I shall again see you, at least, if you remain at Dumont; for as soon as the marriage is over, Monsieur de Villardin and all his family set out for Paris. On the same day I leave the PrÉs VallÉe for Rennes, where I shall spend but three days in necessary business, and will then join you. I hope to give you consolation, and at all events to be enabled to afford you some support under the bitter disappointment which you suffer. From these circumstances, and knowing how painful all the details must be to you, I shall not write again till we meet; and in the meantime may God bless and comfort you, and give you strength, and wisdom, and faith, to bear the dispensation of his will without murmurs or repining."

The effect of these letters upon my mind may be conceived. No occupation now took any hold upon my thoughts; and the whole of the next week was spent in wandering about in a state of despairing wretchedness, that made me almost think the use of my reason would abandon me. I read over and over again the letters which conveyed to me the intelligence of the near approach of my beloved Laura's marriage to another; and, instead of feeling soothed by the terms of affection and consolation which they contained, every word served but to irritate me, and to aggravate my grief. Cruel, cruel did it seem to me, to force the poor unhappy girl into an union from which her heart revolted, without giving her time even to prepare her mind by thought; or, by contemplation, to habituate her ideas to a change of situation and of duties which implied the sacrifice of her heart's first and strongest affection. Bitterly, in my own breast, did I upbraid Monsieur de Villardin for the haste with which he proceeded--bitterly also did I upbraid Father Ferdinand for not using all his influence to obtain, at least, a delay of some weeks or months.

From what had fallen from Monsieur de Villardin, when last I saw him, I had certainly anticipated that the marriage would take place much sooner than he had at first determined; but never did I think that only three short weeks would be allowed for Laura to cast me from her heart, and to summon resolution to plight her faith to another: and the agony of mind that I knew she would suffer, as may well be supposed, added not a little to my own. Often, often was I tempted to act now, as I most certainly should have acted in former years--to hasten to the PrÉs VallÉe, and, exerting all the influence that I possessed over her mind, to persuade her to escape from the trammels which they sought to impose upon her, and, uniting her fate to mine for ever, fly to some distant land, where we might spend the rest of our days in peace. But still a sense of honour and gratitude made me pause and doubt, till the fatal day at length arrived, and I saw the sun rise and set that was to seal my fate and hers for ever. As it sunk below the verge of the horizon, and the grey, deep night came on, the struggle between duty and passion was over, and nothing remained but despair. My heart was like a field of battle, from which a fierce and fearful strife had passed away, and had left behind nothing but mourning and death.

Shutting myself up in my own chamber, I cast myself down on my bed without undressing, and many an hour passed over my head, uncounted and unmarked, in a sort of dreary stupor, which was in everything the reverse of sleep; far from being a suspension of thought, it was the rushing of painful ideas through my brain, in such crowded multitudes, that all individual form and distinctness was lost. At length the faint grey light told me that it was dawn, and, springing from my bed, with an impulse that I could not resist, I woke the groom, and told him to saddle me my stoutest horse, determined to seek the PrÉs VallÉe. "They are all gone by this time," I thought; "the house is lonely and desolate like my own heart, and I may at least be permitted to see the spot where last she trode."

In a few minutes the horse was at the door, and the servants, gazing anxiously upon me, asked whether they might not accompany me? I replied, somewhat harshly, "No." And springing into the saddle, shook my bridle-rein, and galloped off towards Rennes. My gallant horse, which had borne me through many a battle-field, now carried me stoutly on, and, as if he felt the same eagerness which swelled in my own heart, slackened not his pace for many a mile. As I rode through the forest, I heard some distant voices, but my heart and my brain were both too full for me to give any attention to external objects, and the sounds fell upon my ear heard, but not noticed. About six miles more brought me to the first woods of the PrÉs VallÉe, and in a few moments, I was standing amongst the tall trees, and beside the lonely grave of turf, where Laura and myself had been accustomed to meet. I gazed sternly on the spot for a few moments, calling up all the memories which thronged around it, and torturing my own heart with every thought which could render my feelings more bitter. Tying my horse to a branch of a tree, I walked slowly on towards the house, expecting to find it nearly deserted; but I was surprised, when I approached the terrace, to see a number of grooms and servants, apparently busy in their usual occupations. The sight startled me, and, drawing rapidly back, I escaped through the garden, in order to regain my horse without being seen; for, unless the whole household had departed, to enter the PrÉs VallÉe at such a moment of course never crossed my thoughts.

I now passed quickly through the garden, and was turning towards the door at the other side, when I suddenly heard a low voice calling after me, "Hist--hist! Monsieur le Baron," and looking round, I beheld old Jerome, the major-domo, pursuing me as fast as his somewhat feeble limbs would permit. I turned towards him, and bade him follow to some place where we should not be observed; but he replied, "O, there is no fear here. They are all gone out, and will be too tired before their return to come walking in the garden."

There were a thousand questions that I could have wished to ask, but they died away upon my lips; and had not the old man been as eager to tell as I was to hear, I should have gained no tidings.

"You have heard the news, sir," he said, "you have heard the news?"

"I have heard nothing, Jerome," I replied, "excepting that the family was to quit the PrÉs VallÉe yesterday, which is the sole cause of my being here to-day."

"Well, then, you have not heard," continued the old man, with a smile of evident satisfaction brightening up his features, "you have not heard that the marriage is delayed, and Lise declares she is sure it will not take place at all."

I thought I should have fallen down dead at his feet, so sudden was the change from despair to hope; and now, being more anxious than ever to hear him to an end uninterrupted, I beckoned him out of the gardens, and leading the way towards the grave of the Count de Mesnil, in which direction I knew Monsieur de Villardin would not venture, I besought him to tell me all that had occurred. He began his story with a long tirade against my rival, whose person and deportment seemed equally to have fallen under the old man's disapprobation. I cut short his details, however, concerning the Count de Laval, telling him that I knew him, and that he need not describe him; and he then went on to relate the events which had occurred within the last week.

"Just five days ago," he said, "when we all thought the marriage was to take place as yesterday, Mademoiselle--as many of us had fancied she would--fell ill; and several physicians were sent for from Rennes. The two who came, I hear from Lise, declared that she was ill in body because she was ill in mind; and that Monsieur de Villardin or Father Ferdinand must be her physicians, as they could do nothing for her. Both the Duke and the Priest went to her immediately, and Lise was sent away, so that she heard nothing more. At length, however, it seems that she obtained permission to see the Count himself, and to tell him all she felt, for he was admitted to her chamber, and, while Lise stood at one end of the room, held a long conversation with our young lady at the other. What it was all about Lise did not hear, though she very well guessed: but, as the Count was going away, he said aloud, 'As you desire it, madam, I will certainly speak with the good Father, though I do not think he can tell me anything which I do not know before. But, at all events, rest satisfied that, after the confidence you have placed in me, I will do nothing ungenerous.'"

"From all this Lise augured well; but, what between agitation, and terror, and fatigue, my young lady fainted seven or eight times within the hour, after the Count had left her; and at length Lise was obliged to call the Duke and other people to her assistance, as she could not bring Mademoiselle to herself again; and for some time every one thought she was dead. As soon as she had recovered, she was told that, at the desire of the Count himself, the marriage would be put off for a month; and from that moment she began to get better rapidly. The same evening, I saw the Count walking with Father Ferdinand for nearly three hours; and I always thought that news had been sent to you, for I know that a messenger was despatched that night to Dumont, without the knowledge of Monsieur de Villardin."

"He never came!" I exclaimed. "I never saw him! I never heard of his arrival!"

"That is very strange," said the old man, "for he certainly went, and as certainly returned early yesterday morning. However, yesterday, Mademoiselle was quite well again; but all the preparations for the marriage have been done away. The Count seems very respectful and kind to my young lady. Lise, who knows better about it than any one, appears more happy, and every one thinks that the marriage will not take place at all. To-day, all went out early, with the carriage and a few horsemen, but they have not returned yet, though Monseigneur said that he would be back before noon, and it is now nearly three o'clock."

The relief that all these tidings gave me was almost too great to bear with any degree of firmness. I could have wept for very joy; and yet so strange, so unexpected, was the whole, that I scarcely dared suffer myself to entertain the hopes which good old Jerome was so anxious to supply. "The marriage," I thought, "might indeed be delayed; Laura's entreaties and illness might have obtained for her some compassion; but if the character which I had heard of the Count de Laval were correct, he was not a man to yield easily the hand of the richest heiress in France, or to suffer what he would consider her childish passion for another ultimately to break through the positive engagements which her father had entered into with himself." Such thoughts, of course, tended to calm my joy, and to moderate my expectations; but still the flame of hope was again lighted in my bosom, and infinite, indeed, was the change which had taken place in all my feelings since I had left Dumont at break of day.

Numberless, however, were still the questions which I had to ask of the old man; for the slightest particular, the most accidental trait, in the events which had occurred, was of course calculated to raise up or cast down my new-found hopes, and was in itself interesting from its connexion with the fate and happiness of Laura de Villardin. Thus, with slow and interrupted steps, we were proceeding in the direction which I have mentioned, sometimes pausing to ask a question or to receive a reply, sometimes stopping short to think over all I had heard, and to try to discover what was really the state of the case from the broken information which Jerome could alone afford me, when suddenly, a little way ere we reached the spot where I had left my charger, the sound of a horse's feet, coming rapidly down the neighbouring avenue, made me hasten behind some thick hawthorn bushes, to avoid observation. Jerome, however, remained where he was, and I could hear, from my place of concealment, the horse stop when it reached him, some hasty conversation take place, and then the voice of the old man calling me, for God's sake, to come up. I did so at once; and as I emerged from the trees, was not a little surprised to perceive that the person conversing with the old major-domo was a woman dressed in the habit of a Bretonne paysanne, and mounted on a good horse, which she had not quitted, but was speaking as she sat, with all the eager gesticulation of passion and energy. The next moment she turned towards myself, and what was my astonishment as she did so, to behold Suzette, the former maid of Madame de Villardin, and the wife of Gaspard de Belleville.