CHAPTER CLXXXII

.

LAURA MORTIMER’S NEW INTRIGUES.

We must now return to Laura Mortimer, whom we left in Paris, and of whom we have lost sight for some time.

It was in the evening of the fourth day after the incidents recorded in the preceding chapter, that Laura was seated in her handsome drawing-room, wrapped up in deep meditation.

Her thoughts were not, however, of a disagreeable nature;--for ever and anon the fire of triumph flashed from her fine eyes, and her rich moist lips were wreathed into a smile.

She held a book open in her hand; but her gaze was fixed upon the ceiling as she lay, rather than sate, on the voluptuous cushions of the purple velvet ottoman.

The windows were open, and a gentle evening breeze, which had succeeded the stifling heat of a Parisian summer-day, fanned her countenance and wantoned with the luxuriant ringlets that floated over her naked shoulders,--those shoulders so white, so plump, so exquisitely shaped!

The perfumes of choice flowers and the odour of ravishing oriental scents rendered the atmosphere fragrant: gold and silver fish were disporting in an immense crystal globe which stood upon a marble table between the casements--and two beautiful canaries were carolling in a superb cage suspended in one of those open windows.

On the table near which Laura was placed, stood several crystal dishes containing the finest fruit that the Parisian market could yield,--the luscious pine, the refreshing melon, strawberries of extraordinary size and exquisite flavour, cherries of the richest red, and mulberries of the deepest purple.

A bottle of champagne stood in a cooler filled with ice; and in the middle of the table was a superb nosegay of flowers.

The entire appearance of the room and its appointments was luxurious in the extreme,--comfort being combined with elegance, and the means of enjoyment distributed with taste;--while she--the mistress of the place--the presiding genius of the scene--was pillowed voluptuously upon the immense velvet cushions. So complete was the abandonment of her attitude, in her deep reverie, that she seemed ten hundred times more charming than when her artifice devised a thousand studied graces in order to effect a conquest and captivate a lover.

One of her naked arms, plump, white, and beautifully formed, lay across her person as the hand held the book, on which the eyes rested not, and against the dark binding of which the taper fingers were set off in the dazzling purity of their complexion and the rosy tint of the almond-shaped nails: the other arm hung down negligently--not quite straight, but gently rounded--the fingers of that hand playing mechanically with the ottoman’s golden fringe that swept the thick carpet. One of her legs lay stretched completely upon the ottoman: the other hung over the side, displaying the well-formed foot, the delicate ankle, and the robust swell of the calf. More voluptuously modelled than Venus, but with all the elegance attributed to the form of that fabled divinity,--handsome as Juno, without the stern imperiousness that characterised the queen of heaven,--and with that subdued nobility of demeanour which Diana, when out of sight of her attendant huntresses, might have been supposed to wear,--Laura Mortimer united in her own person the most fascinating of the charms belonging to the three principal goddesses of heathen worship.

But let us endeavour to ascertain the subject of her thoughts, as she lay thus wrapped up in a deep reverie.

“Fortune appears resolved to favour me, and I accept the auspicious omen with joy. The Marquis is in my power--is my slave--inextricably shackled by my silken chains! Four short days have been sufficient to accomplish this victory. When first introduced to him in the Champs Elysées, I saw that he regarded me with attention--nay, with admiration; and I that moment signalled him out as the man who is destined to place me in a proud position--to render me independent of Charles Hatfield’s hated father! The evening before last I met him for the second time: this was at the party given by my music-master. The nobleman was almost instantly by my side, as soon as I made my appearance; and I knew full well how to gain his favour. When handsome young men approached me, I received them coldly, and continued my discourse with the Marquis in a more animated and friendly style than before. I even hinted to him--or rather suffered him to believe that it was a relief to escape from the frivolities of the average run of conversation, in the indulgence of discourse on intellectual subjects. I saw that the old man was flattered--that he thought highly of me: in a word, I secured his esteem as I had already acquired his admiration. We sate next to each other at supper; and he lavished all his attentions upon me--attentions which I accepted with an air as if they came from a young and handsome gallant. The Marquis handed me to my carriage, and solicited permission to call. I signified an assent with an ingenuousness that could not possibly have seemed affected; and he squeezed my hand slightly as he bade me farewell. On the following afternoon he called: this was yesterday--and he remained a long time. Two hours passed--doubtless like two minutes to him: and I was completely triumphant. Never did I appear to such advantage: my glass told me that I was radiantly beautiful--and I could observe full well that my manner--my conversation--and the delicate artifices I called to aid, were pre-eminently successful. The old man was ready to fall upon his knees and worship me: he was in that humour when he would have laid his whole fortune at my feet. He appeared to be longing to throw his arms around my neck, and exclaim, ‘_Laura, I adore you!_’ But when I had excited him to the highest possible pitch, I suddenly directed his attention to some subject of comparative indifference; and thus did I play with his feelings during two long hours. He went away half crazy--dazzled, bewildered, not knowing what to think or how to act--intoxicated with sensual passions mingling with the purer sentiments of a profound admiration and a cordial esteem. Then this morning he called again, and I made him become my companion at luncheon. I affected to be rejoiced that he had thus unexpectedly dropped in, as I had previously felt low-spirited and dull. He seemed charmed that his presence was calculated to cheer me: It was a delicate compliment paid to his conversational powers--and he was flattered and pleased. Oh! how admirably did I wind myself, as it were, around him during the three hours that he remained with me this morning: how successfully did I insinuate myself, as one may say, into his very soul;--not seizing upon his heart by a sudden attack--but gaining possession of it by means the more sure because so stealthy,--not carrying that heart by storm--but gradually and imperceptibly enmeshing it in snares and toils whence it never can escape, so long as my real character shall remain a mystery to him. Yes--and this morning, too, was he not a thousand times on the point of falling upon his knees, and exclaiming,‘_Laura, I adore you!_’ But still I tantalised him--still I worked him up to the highest possible pitch of excitement, and then suddenly discouraged him by some word or gesture that threw a coldness on all I had before said, and which yet would admit of no positive interpretation so as to render him hopeless altogether. And now he is to return again--this evening,--to return, by his own solicitation;--and this evening--yes--this evening,” thought Laura, her lips wreathing into a smile of triumph,--“he _shall_ fall down at my feet and exclaim, ‘_Laura, I adore you!_’”

Thus ran the meditations of this dangerous woman,--so strong in the consciousness of her almost superhuman beauty--so confident in the power of her matchless charms and in the witchery of her guileful tongue!

“Yes--four days will have been sufficient to reduce the proud English noble to the condition of a captive kneeling at my feet.” she continued, in her silent but triumphant reverie. “What other woman in the world can thus effect a conquest with such amazing rapidity? The tigress hunts for her prey--pursuing the affrighted deer through bramble and through brake--by the margin of the lake in the depths of the forest--amidst the trackless mazes of the wild woods,--a long--tedious--and fatiguing chase, with the possibility of escape for the intended victim after all. But the boa-constrictor fixes its eyes upon its prey--fascinates it--renders it incapable of retreat--compels it even to advance nearer and nearer to its mouth--plays with it--tantalizes it--sets every feeling and every emotion into fluttering agitation--and even when about to gorge it, licks it over with his caresses. And thus do I secure my prey! I am the anaconda amongst women: none whom I choose to make my victim can escape from the influence of my witchery--the sphere of my fascination! With me it is no long, tedious, and wearisome chase: ’tis instantaneous capture and an easy triumph!”

And again the peculiar smile--half haughtiness, half sweetness--returned to the lips of the peerless beauty, who felt herself to be ten thousand times more powerful in the possession of her transcendent charms, than an Amazonian Queen clothed in armour of proof from head to heel.

Suddenly the bell at the outer door of her suite of apartments announced the coming of a visitor; and in a few moments the Marquis of Delmour was ushered into the room.

Laura had already assumed a sitting posture; and she now rose to receive the English nobleman.

“Good evening, charming Miss Mortimer,” said the Marquis, taking her hand and gently touching it with his lips: then, leading her to the ottoman, and placing himself at a short distance from her, he looked at her tenderly, observing, “You perceive that I am punctual to the hour at which I was to make my appearance according to the kind permission you granted me.”

“Your lordship is most generous thus to condescend to enliven an hour that would otherwise be passed in loneliness by me,” said Laura, bending upon him all the glory of her fine bright eyes and revealing the splendour of her brilliant teeth.

“Beautiful, intellectual, and agreeable as you are, Miss Mortimer,” observed the nobleman, “it is utterly impossible that you can feel yourself indebted to an old man like me for the recreation of a leisure hour. You would only need to throw open your drawing-rooms to the _élite_ of Paris,to be surrounded by admiring guests.”

“And what if I prefer an hour of intellectual conversation to an entire evening of empty formalities, ceremonial frivolities, and the inane routine of fashionable _réunions_?” asked Laura, with an affectation of candour which seemed most real--most natural.

“You possess a mind the strength and soundness of which surprise me,” exclaimed the Marquis of Delmour, enthusiastically. “How is it that, rich and beautiful, young and courted, as you are, you can have taken so just a view of the world,--that you have learnt to prefer solid enjoyments to artificial pleasures,--and that you can so well discriminate between the _real_ on which the gay and giddy close their eyes, and the _ideal_ or the _unreal_ which they so much worship?”

“You would ask me, my lord, I presume, wherefore I dislike that turmoil of fashionable life which brings one in contact with persons who flatter in a meaningless manner, and who believe that a woman is best pleased with him who most skilfully gilds his _pretty nothings_. It is, my lord, because I do not estimate the world according to the usual standard,--because I am not dazzled by outside glitter and external show. If an officer in the army be introduced to me, I am not captivated by his splendid epaulets and his waving plumes: I wait to hear his discourse before I form _my_ estimate of his character.”

“Then neither youth nor riches will prove the principal qualifications of him who shall be fortunate enough to win your hand?” said the Marquis, fixing his eyes in an impassioned manner upon the syren.

“Oh! you would speak to me upon the topic of marriage!” exclaimed Laura, laughing gaily. “To tell your lordship the truth, I should be sorry to surrender up my freedom beyond all possibility of release, to any man in existence.”

“What!” ejaculated the old nobleman: “do you mean me to infer that you will never marry?”

“I have more than half made up my mind to that resolution,” responded Laura, casting down her eyes and forcing a blush to her cheeks.

“Never marry!” cried the Marquis, in unfeigned surprise. “And what if you happened to fall in love with some fine, handsome, eligible young man?”

“In the first place it is by no means necessary that a man should be fine, handsome, or young for me to love him,” answered Laura, as if in the most ingenuous way in the world; “and when I _do_ love, it is not a whit the more imperious that the person or the priest should rivet my hand to that of the object of my affections. It is within the power of man to unite hands--and that is a mockery: but God alone can unite hearts--and that is a solemn and sacred compact that should be effected in the sight of heaven only.”

“I scarcely understand you, beautiful and mysterious being!” exclaimed the Marquis, drawing nearer to the syren, who did not appear to notice the movement.

“I am aware that some of my notions are not altogether in accordance with those of society in general,” observed Laura, with an affectation of reserve and diffidence: “but since the conversation has taken this turn, I do not hesitate to admit that I do hold peculiar opinions with respect to marriage.”

“You would have me understand, Miss Mortimer,” said the Marquis, “that were you to find your affections enchained by some deserving individual, you would not hesitate to join your destinies to his, without the intervention of the Church to cement the union.”

“Your lordship has interpreted my meaning in language so delicate as to be almost ambiguous,” observed Laura. “And yet why should the truth be thus wrapped up in verbiage? I do not entertain opinions which I am afraid to look in the face. God forbid! In a word, then, I would ten thousand times rather become the mistress of the man I loved, than the wife of him whom I abhorred;--and in loving the former, and with him loving me, is it not that union of hearts which, as I ere now said, should be effected only in the sight of heaven?”

“And have you ever yet loved?” asked the nobleman, in a tone of profound emotion, as he gazed long and ardently upon the splendid countenance whereon the light from the casements now fell with a Rembrandt effect, delineating the faultless profile against the obscurity that had already begun to occupy the end of the room most remote from the windows.

“Oh! my lord, that is a question which you can only ask me when we come to know each other better!” exclaimed Laura, after a few moments’ pause.

“And yet I already feel as if I had known you for as many years as our acquaintance numbers days,” said the Marquis. “Methought yesterday--and this morning too--that a species of intimacy--a kind of impromptu friendship had sprung up between us; and now you are somewhat cold towards me--your manner is not the same----”

“If I have been guilty of any want of courtesy towards your lordship, I should be truly--deeply grieved,” exclaimed Laura, surveying the nobleman with well affected astonishment at the accusation uttered against her.

“Oh! use not such chilling language, Laura--Miss Mortimer, I mean!” cried the old nobleman, half inclined to throw himself at her feet and implore her to take compassion upon him. “But I an mad--I am insane to appeal to you thus!” he continued, in a species of rage against himself. “How can I suppose that the society of an old man like me is agreeable to a young and beautiful creature such as you!--how can I give way to those glorious but fatal delusions that have occupied my brain for the last forty-eight hours! Oh! Miss Mortimer--would that I had never seen you!”

And the old nobleman, covering his face with his hands, literally sobbed like a youthful lover quarrelling with an adored mistress.

“My lord--my lord, what have I done to offend you?” demanded Laura, as if deeply excited; and, seizing his hands, she drew them away from his countenance, well aware that the contact of her soft and warm flesh would make the blood that age had partially chilled, circulate with speed and heat in his veins.

“If you had attempted my life,” replied the Marquis, with fervid emphasis, “I should rejoice at a deed that would elicit such kindness from you as you manifest towards me now!”

And thus speaking, he raised her hands to his lips and covered them with kisses.

“Tell me--how did I offend you?” she asked, in a voice that was melting and musical even to ravishment.

“Oh! let us think not of what has passed,” he exclaimed: “but bless me with the assurance that you can entertain a sentiment of friendship for the old man!”

“I would rather possess your friendship, my lord, than that of the handsomest and wealthiest young gentleman whom we met at the party the other evening,” responded the artful woman, still abandoning her hands to the Marquis. “Did you not observe that I was pleased with your attentions--that I refused to dance in order that I might remain seated next to you, and listening to your conversation--that when the gay moths of fashion approached me with their fulsome compliments, I exhibited signs of impatience, and by my coldness compelled them to retreat--that I gave no encouragement to them in any way----”

“Yes--yes,” interrupted the enraptured Marquis: “I noticed all _that_--and were I a young man I should have felt myself justified in addressing you in the language of passion--aye, of ardent and sincere affection. But--although such are indeed my sentiments towards you--I perceive all the folly and ridicule of daring to give utterance to them in your presence: yet God knows that I am ready to lay my fortune at your feet--and could I offer to place the coronet of a marchioness upon your brow----”

“Were you in the position to do so, I should refuse it,” said Laura, emphatically. “All the rest I might listen to----”

“Then you are aware that I am married?” interrupted the nobleman, fixing an earnest and enquiring gaze upon her beauteous countenance.

“Rumour declares as much,” replied Laura; “and it likewise avers that you are not happy in your matrimonial connexion. I pity you from the bottom of my heart--and I behold in the fact itself a new argument in support of my own peculiar tenets relative to marriage-ties;--for assuredly you are endowed with qualities calculated to render a woman happy--or I am deeply, deeply deceived.”

“Ah! It is a sad tale--and I dare not venture upon the narration now,” said the Marquis, with a profound sigh. “But should our acquaintance continue--as I ardently hope it may--I will some day give you the fullest and most ample explanations. And you yourself, charming creature--is there not some mystery attached to you? How happens it that at your age you should be so well acquainted with the world?--how is it that you seem free to follow the bent of your own inclinations, uncontrolled even by your mother? For rumour declares that you have a mother alive----”

“I am independent of her in a pecuniary point of view, my lord,” interrupted Laura; “and I am determined to consult my own ideas of happiness, instead of adopting the standard of enjoyment and pleasure established by the fashionable world.”

“Would to heavens that it lay in my power to ensure your happiness--or even to contribute to it!” exclaimed the Marquis, gazing upon her with admiration and ardent passion. “Long years have elapsed since I encountered any woman who inspired me with even half the interest that I feel in you; and it seems to me that I become young again when in your sweet society.”

“And, on my side,” answered Laura, casting down her eyes and assuming a bashful demeanour, “I do not hesitate to admit that I experience greater enjoyment from your conversation than from that of any other nobleman or gentleman with whom I am acquainted.”

“Just now, my sweet Miss Mortimer,” said the Marquis, approaching still nearer to her, and speaking in a tone that was low and tremulous with emotion,--“just now you declared that ‘_all the rest you might listen to_’----”

“And I do not attempt to revoke the admission that thus fell from my lips,” murmured the designing young woman, turning a glance of half-timidity and half-fondness upon the old nobleman, who, in spite of a strong and vigorous intellect, was rendered childish and plunged as it were into dotage by the fascinating--ravishing influence of the syren-enchantress.

“What am I to understand by those words?” he asked, in an ecstacy of delight. “Oh! is it possible that you can become something more to the old man than a mere acquaintance--something more than even a friend----”

“I could wish to retain your good opinion--your esteem for ever!” said Laura, now turning upon him a countenance radiant with hope and joy.

“It is scarcely possible--I am dreaming--’tis a delicious delusion--a heavenly vision!” murmured the Marquis in broken sentences,--for he was dazzled by the transcendant beauty of the houri who seemed to encourage him in the aspirations which he had formed.

“Is it, then, so extraordinary that I should have learnt to love one who is so kind--so generous-hearted--so intellectual as yourself?” asked Laura, leaning towards him so that her fragrant breath fanned his countenance and her forehead for an instant touched his own.

“Great heaven! Is it possible that so much happiness awaits me?” cried the Marquis, scarcely able to believe his eyes or his ears: then, after gazing upon her for a few instants with all the rapturous ardour of a youthful lover, he sank upon his knees before her, exclaiming, “_Laura, I adore you!_”

The designing woman’s triumph was complete: the Marquis was inextricably entangled in her snares;--and, throwing her arms around his neck, she murmured, “Oh! it is an honour as well as a joy to possess your love!”

Then the old man covered the charming young woman’s countenance with kisses; and for several minutes not a word was spoken between them. But at length the Marquis, who could scarcely believe that he had won a prize the possession of which all the noblest, handsomest, and wealthiest young men in Paris would envy him, began to speak upon the course which it would be prudent for them to adopt. Laura at once gave him to understand that she should experience no sentiment of shame in appearing as his mistress; and she undertook--as well indeed she might do--to reconcile her mother to this connexion which she had formed.

“Let us then return to England without delay,’ said the Marquis. “The business which has brought me to Paris is now in such a position that an agent may manage it for me. But tell me--is your mother dependent upon you?”

“Entirely,” answered Laura, anticipating the course which her noble lover was about to adopt.

“And your fortune is doubtless large?” he continued, interrogatively.

“It is not nearly so large as rumour has alleged,” was the reply. “Still it is a handsome competency for one person.”

“Then, as there shall be nothing having even the slightest appearance of selfishness in my attachment towards you, Laura,” resumed the nobleman, “you must immediately assign all your property to your mother; and I will at once--yea, at once--give you a proof of the boundless devotion with which you have inspired me. Permit me the use of your desk for a few moments.”

Laura rang the bell, and ordered Rosalie to bring writing materials; and when this was done, the marquis seated himself at the table and wrote something upon a sheet of paper. He next penned a letter, which he folded up, sealed, and addressed; and, turning towards Laura, he said, “This draught, beloved girl, is for the sum of sixty thousand pounds, payable at sight at my bankers’ in London. This letter, which you will have the kindness to send through the post to-morrow, is to advise them of the fact of such a cheque having been given, and to prepare them to meet it, so that there may be no hesitation in paying such a large amount. For it will be my joy and delight to enrich you, my dearest Laura; so that the old man may to some extent repay the immense obligation under which he is placed by the possession of such a heart as thine. I would not have you remain wealthy through your own resources: henceforth you must owe every thing to me--for if you cannot be my wife in name, you shall at least be the sharer of my fortune, as you have consented to be the partner of my destinies.”

“Your generosity, my dear Marquis, only binds me the more closely to you,” exclaimed Laura, lavishing upon the old man the most exciting and apparently fervent caresses. “At the same time permit me to remind you that there is nothing selfish in that affection which so suddenly sprang up in my bosom towards you: because I am no needy adventuress--no intriguing fortune-hunter,--and you are well aware that many a French nobleman would be proud to lay his title at my feet, were I disposed to decorate my brow with a coronet. My father--who, as you have doubtless heard, accumulated some money in India--left me well provided for; and that fortune I shall cheerfully abandon to my mother, preferring to remain dependent on yourself.”

“Ah! your father dwelt a long time in India!” exclaimed the Marquis, as if struck by a sudden idea. “Is it possible, then, that I could have encountered your mother in England? But, no--that woman could not have been the parent of such a lovely, charming creature as yourself!”

“To whom do you allude, my lord?” demanded Laura, now seized with the apprehension that her mother might be known to the wealthy lover whom she had succeeded in ensnaring, and whom she intended to fleece of the greater portion of his fortune.

“It was but a momentary thought--it exists no longer in my mind, dearest,” responded the nobleman, who, as he gazed upon the bright and splendid being before him, felt an ineffable disgust at having even for an instant associated her in any way with the loathsome old hag to whom he was alluding. “The fact is,” he continued, “I met a certain female in London--or rather, in the neighbourhood of London--a short time ago--indeed, just before I left England; and this woman bore the name of Mortimer.”

“It is not altogether an uncommon one,” observed Laura, maintaining an unruffled countenance, though her heart palpitated with continued apprehension.

“The singularity of the coincidence is that the female to whom I am alluding announces herself as the widow of a General-officer who had died in India,” resumed the Marquis.

“My lamented father was a merchant,” said Laura.

“Then of course there can be no identity in that case,” continued the nobleman. “Besides, having an intimate acquaintance with all military matters--as I myself held the post of Secretary at War many years ago, and have since taken a deep interest in that department--I am enabled to state that no General-officer of the name of Mortimer has recently died in India.”

“The woman, then, of whom you am speaking, was an impostress?” said Laura, interrogatively.

“I have little doubt of it,” answered the marquis. “But let us not dwell upon a subject so perfectly indifferent to us. We were talking of our plans. Will it suit you, dearest Laura, to quit Paris to-morrow, or the day after at latest?”

“To-morrow, if you will,” the young woman hastened to reply: for she now trembled lest her mother should suddenly return and perhaps prove, though unintentionally, a marplot to all the plans which her intriguing disposition had conceived.

“To-morrow, then, be it,” said the Marquis. “At noon I shall call for you in my travelling-chariot. We will return by easy stages to London; and, on our arrival in the English capital, the handsomest mansion that money can procure shall be fitted up with all possible speed for your abode.”

“I care not for a splendid dwelling in London itself,” replied Laura. “Rather let me have some beautiful and retired villa in the suburbs, where you can visit me at your leisure, and where we can pass the hours together without intrusion on the part of a host of visitors.”

“Your ideas on this subject concur with mine,” observed the Marquis, enchanted with the belief that Laura intended to retire from the fashionable world and devote herself wholly to him. “The seclusion of a charming villa will be delightful; and I think I can promise,” he added with a smile, “that the said villa will have more of my company than my town mansion. But I shall now take my departure--although with reluctance: it is however necessary for me to make certain preparations this evening, as I am to leave Paris thus unexpectedly to-morrow. For a few hours, then, my Laura, adieu--adieu!”

The old man embraced the young woman with the most unfeigned--unaffected fondness; and as his arms were cast about her neck, and he felt her bosom heaving against his chest, he longed to implore her to allow him to remain with her until the morning--for the dalliance and the toyings he had already enjoyed had inflamed his blood, and he aspired to be completely happy without delay. But he feared lest he should offend her by any manifestations of sensual longings; for he flattered himself that the connexion which had commenced between them had its origin in sentiment on her side. He accordingly withdrew--but reluctantly--from her embrace; and took his departure, promising to call for her punctually at noon on the following day.

## CHAPTER CLXXXIII.

AN UNEXPECTED VISIT AND A DREADED ARRIVAL.

The moment Laura heard the outer door close behind the Marquis of Delmour, she exclaimed aloud, “I have triumphed! I have triumphed! He is in my power--he fell at my feet--he said, ‘_Laura, I adore you!_’--and the proof of his utter credulity is here--here!”

Thus speaking, she clutched the draught for sixty thousand pounds--devoured it with her eyes--and then secured it in her writing-desk.

“Yes: sixty thousand pounds!” she murmured to herself, as she resumed her voluptuously reclining position upon the ottoman;--“sixty thousand pounds--gained with but little trouble and in a short time! It would scarcely matter if I never touched another piece of gold from his purse; for I am now independent of him--of the hated Hatfields--of all the world! But I will not abandon my doating English Marquis in a hurry: I will not cast aside a nobleman who is so generous--so rich--so confiding! No--no: he will be worth two hundred thousand pounds to me;--and then--yes--_then_, I may espouse a peer of high title! My fortune is assured--my destiny is within the range of prophecy. I have taken a tremendous step this evening: an hour has seen me grow suddenly rich--already the possessor of sixty thousand pounds! Thanks to this more than human beauty of mine--thanks to that witchery of manner which I know so well how to assume--and thanks also to that fascinating influence wherewith I can invest my language at will, the Marquis has become my slave. Thus does the strong-minded--the resolute--the intellectual man succumb to woman, when she dazzles him with her loveliness and bewilders him with her guile. Sixty thousand pounds now own me as their mistress! ’Tis glorious to possess great wealth: but ’tis an elysian happiness--a burning joy--a proud triumph to feel that I am released from the thraldom of those Hatfields--or rather from a state of dependence upon the father of him whom I lately loved so well! And my mother, too--my selfish, intriguing, deceitful old mother, who has ever hoped to make a profitable market of my charms, and hold despotic sway over me at the same time,--she is no longer necessary to me--and I may in a moment assert my independence should she dare to attempt to tyrannise again. The mad old fool! to fancy that she will succeed in discovering Torrens,--or, even if she did, to hope that she could compel him to disgorge the treasures which he has perilled his life here and his soul hereafter to gain! She will return to me penniless--totally dependent upon me; and I shall allow her a small income on condition that she locates herself in some obscure spot, whence her machinations and her intrigues cannot reach me. Not for worlds would I have her fastened to my apron-strings in London--that London whither I am about to return, and where I may yet hope to punish that Mr. Hatfield who for a time so savagely triumphed over me! No--my mother must be forced into seclusion; her notoriety of character would ruin me. Constantly incurring the chance of being discovered as the Mrs. Slingsby of former years--certain to be recognised as the Mrs. Fitzhardinge who was arrested on suspicion of being concerned in the murder of the old miser--and having evidently entered into some intrigue which has brought her under the notice of the Marquis of Delmour, she can no longer be allowed to associate with me! _Her_ day has gone by--_mine_ has scarcely begun.”

[Illustration]

Laura--the beauteous, wanton,unprincipled Laura--had reached this point in her musings, when she was startled by an unusually violent ringing at the front door bell; and in a few moments a gentleman burst into the room, his impatience having urged him to cast away all ceremony and dispense with the introductory agency of Rosalie, who had uttered an ejaculation of surprise on beholding him.

“Captain Barthelma!” cried Laura, in an astonishment which even surpassed that of her abigail.

“Yes--my angel: It is I!” exclaimed the enthusiastic young Italian, as, bounding towards Laura, he caught her in his arms.

His lips were instantaneously fastened to her ripe mouth; and, remembering the night of love and pleasure which she had passed with him, she experienced no vexation at his sudden and most unexpected appearance.

“Can you pardon me for this intrusion?” he demanded, at length loosening her from his embrace, but seating himself closely by her side on the ottoman and taking her hands in his own; “can you pardon me, I ask, adorable woman?” he repeated, gazing upon her in boundless and passionate admiration.

“It seems that it were useless to be offended with you,” she replied, smiling with voluptuous sweetness.

“Oh! then you will not upbraid me--you will not reproach me with having broken the solemn promise that I made you to depart and seek to see you no more in Paris?” he exclaimed. “But even if you were inclined to be angry, Laura, it could not in justice be upon me that your wrath would fall. You must blame your own matchless beauty--you must take all the fault unto yourself. I feel that I cannot live without you. Ever since we parted, my brain has been in a ceaseless ferment--my soul a prey to incessant excitement. By day and by night has your lovely image been before me: by day and by night have I fancied that I heard your voice pouring forth the most eloquent music:--I have dreamt that your lips, breathing odours and bathed with sweets, were pressed to mine:--and your looks, beaming love, and happiness, and joy, have ever been fixed on mine! Oh! my imagination has maintained me in a condition of such pleasing pain that I have been in a species of restless elysium,--a giddy and sometimes agonising whirl, although the scene was paradise! At length I could endure this state no longer: and when at a considerable distance from Paris, on the road to Italy, I suddenly and secretly quitted the service of the Grand Duke----”

“Oh! what madness--what insanity!” exclaimed Laura, grieved that the handsome young Castelcicalan should have made so deep a sacrifice for her--inasmuch as his generous devotion had not only flattered her pride, but also touched her soul.

“It may be madness--it may be insanity,” repeated Lorenzo Barthelma, with impassioned warmth: “but those words must in that case be taken only as other terms for the deepest--sincerest--and most ardent devotion. Were I a beggar on the face of the earth, I should have acted in the same manner; because I should have come to you--I should have thrown myself at your feet--I should have implored you to render me happy,--and in return I should have toiled from morning to night to make up for the deficiency of my means.”

“Generous Lorenzo!” exclaimed Laura, speaking with more sincerity than had characterised her words for years.

“Ah! then you are somewhat touched by my devotion, angelic woman!” cried the handsome young officer, drawing her still more closely towards him, and passing his arm round her slender waist. “But happily I am no pauper--fortunately I am _not_ dependent upon my own exertions. When I was with you before, my adorable Laura, I told you that I possessed a competency; and I then offered to link my destinies with yours for ever. Now my circumstances have materially altered--and I rejoice in the fact! For the French papers of this day contain intelligence of the death of my cousin, the Count of Carignano, at Montoni; and by that unexpected event I have succeeded alike to his title and his princely revenues.”

“Oh! my beloved Lorenzo,” exclaimed Laura, now giving way to all that tenderness towards him which was really in accordance with her inclinations, but which her more selfish interests would have prompted her to subdue and stifle had not this last announcement met her ear: “Oh! my beloved Lorenzo,” she cried, pressing closer to him, so that he could feel her bosom throbbing like the undulations of a mighty tide--for she was now powerfully excited, alike morally and sensually: “how can I reward--how recompense this generosity on your part?”

“By becoming my wife--yes, my wife, Laura--if you will,” returned the enraptured young man. “For you know not how I love you--how intense is the passion with which you have inspired me. I am blind and deaf to all--everything, save your beauties and your witching voice. If you be the greatest profligate the world ever saw, I care not--so madly do I love you.”

“And when this delirium shall have passed away, Lorenzo,” murmured Laura, concealing her burning countenance on his breast, “you will repent the rashness which induced you to wed with one who had so easily abandoned herself to you when a complete stranger--and whom--whom--you knew to be unchaste even then!” she added, her voice becoming touchingly low and tremulously plaintive.

“To suspect even for an instant that I should ever repent of making you my wife, Laura, is to doubt my love,” said the Count of Carignano--for such we may now call him; “and _that_ wounds me to the very soul! ’Tis sufficient for me to know that you are an angel of beauty--and I reck not if you are a demoness in character. But _that_ I am sure is impossible. Your loveliness may have led you into temptations, and your temperament may have induced you to yield: but that you are generous--good--amiable, I am convinced, Laura;--and that you will prove faithful to one who places all his own happiness in you, and who will study incessantly to promote yours--oh! of that I am well assured also. Say, then, my adored one--can you consent to become the Countess of Carignano, with a revenue of twelve thousand a year?”

“Not for the dross--oh! not for the despicable dross,” murmured Laura, scarcely able to restrain her joy within reasonable bounds, and induce her suitor to believe that no selfish interests were mixed up with the motives for that assent which she was about to give,--“not for vile and sordid gold, Lorenzo, do I respond in the affirmative to the generous proposal that you have now made to me--because I myself am possessed of a fortune of sixty thousand pounds: but it is because I love you--yes--I love you, my handsome Lorenzo----”

“Say no more, Laura--beloved Laura!” interrupted the impassioned young nobleman, straining her to his breast: then fondly--oh! how fondly did he gaze upon her--upon _her_, that guileful woman--reading the reflection of his own voluptuous feelings in her fine large eyes, and then bestowing upon her the most ardent caresses.

Several minutes passed away,--minutes that glided by with rapid and silent wings;--and the handsome pair scarcely noticed that a single second had elapsed since last they spoke.

“Tell me, my sweet Laura,” at length said the Count, toying with the glossy and fragrant tresses of her hair,--“tell me what meant certain words which you addressed to me on that evening when I was first blessed with your kindness. You declared that you could not marry me, although you were not married--that you could not be my mistress, although you were not the mistress of another--and that you could not hold out any hope to me, although you were pledged to no other man.”

“That language, apparently so mysterious, is easily explained,” said Laura, forcing a deep blush into her cheeks as she spoke, and winding one of her snow-white and naked arms round her lover’s neck, so that the contact of the firm warm flesh against his cheek sent the blood rushing through his veins in boiling currents. “I had abandoned myself to you in a moment of caprice--no, of weakness--of passion, which I could not subdue: I had yielded to an invincible impulse, not knowing its nature, and not waiting to ask myself the question. But when you had been with me a short time, I felt that I could love you--yes--deeply, tenderly love you; and as I fancied that, even though you protested the contrary, you could entertain no lasting affection for me, but on the other hand would soon regret any hastily and rashly-formed connexion, I was resolved not to place my own heart in jeopardy, nor incur the risk of loving well and then sustaining a cruel disappointment. For I feared that you addressed me in an impassioned tone only because you were labouring under the delirium of passing excitement and strong though evanescent feelings. Thus was it, then--for my own sake--that I spoke mysteriously to you, in order to convince you of the necessity of seeing me no more. But now, my Lorenzo--now, that you have had several days to reflect upon the proposal which you then made me--now that I have received such unequivocal proofs of your love, and that I no longer fear lest you should be acting in obedience to a sudden impulse,--oh! now, I say, I can hesitate no longer--and I will become your wife!”

The Count of Carignano drank in the delicious poison of her words until his very soul was intoxicated; and loving so well as did this generous-hearted, confiding young man, he paused not for an instant to demand of himself whether he were loving wisely. But he was contented to risk all and everything,--happiness--honour--fame--and name,--in this marriage upon which he had set his mind:--he longed--he burnt--he craved to possess Laura altogether--to have her to himself;--and he felt jealous of all the rest of the world until the nuptial knot should have been tied. It is in this humour and in such a temperament that the highest peer will marry an actress, who would jump at an offer to become his pensioned mistress for a few hundreds a-year.

And Laura--what was passing in her mind? The readers may easily conceive: and yet, lest there should be one or two of imaginations so opaque as not to be able to divine her thoughts, we will describe them as succinctly as possible.

She had run down the institution of marriage when in conversation with the Marquis of Delmour, because she knew that he was already bound in matrimonial bonds, and that _she_ therefore could not become his wife. The result was that she was enabled to consent to become his mistress with much less apparent violation of decency, and without the risk of shocking his feelings. And his mistress she would have become, as she indeed promised, had not the arrival of the Count of Carignano turned her thoughts into an entirely new channel, and placed her interests altogether in a new light. From the moment that he announced his title and his wealth, Laura resolved to throw the poor Marquis of Delmour overboard and accept the proposals of the Italian nobleman.

In fact, Fortune appeared to favour Laura marvellously. Ere now she had beholden a coronet at the end of a vista of some years: in her musings, she had said, “The Marquis will be worth two hundred thousand pounds to me: and _then_ I may espouse a peer of high title!” Such was her ambitious speculation previously to the arrival of Lorenzo: and now, since he had come, she no longer need pass through the apprenticeship of mistress to one nobleman in order to become the wife of another. No--a coronet was within her grasp: a few days--a few hours might behold her Countess of Carignano,--with a husband of whom she could not but be proud, and not with an animated corpse bound to her side.

Here was another triumph for Laura--another cause of glorification in the possession of those matchless charms which thus captivated so hastily and triumphed so effectually. Within a few short weeks she had seen Charles Hatfield--the Marquis of Delmour--and the Count of Carignano at her feet. The first and last had enjoyed her favours: the second was in anticipation of them--and, in that anticipation, had paid sixty thousand pounds. To the first she was wedded--and their marriage was a secret: to the last she had consented to be allied--and their union would be proclaimed to all the world!

Oh! associated with all these reflections, were triumphs--glorious triumphs for Laura Mortimer; and as those thoughts rushed through her mind, as she lay half embraced in the arms of the fond and doting Italian nobleman, the delicious rosiness of animation spread over her cheeks, and kindred fires flashed from under her long silken lashes.

“How beautiful art thou, my adored one!” exclaimed Carignano, as he contemplated the glorious loveliness of her looks: and then he pressed his lips to that mouth which was so voluptuously formed, and which rather resembled a luscious fruit than anything belonging to human shape. “Oh! how I long to call thee mine--to know that thou art indissolubly linked to me! But say--tell me--when shall this happy, happy union take place?--when wilt thou accompany me to the altar?”

“Let us depart for England without delay, my dearest Lorenzo,” murmured Laura, lavishing upon him the most tender caresses; “and there--in London--our marriage can be celebrated immediately after our arrival. Have you any tie--and business on hand to retain you in Paris?”

“None in the world,” was the answer: “and even if I had, everything should give place to the accomplishment of my felicity and the fulfilment of your wishes.”

“Then let us take our departure as early as convenient to-morrow morning,” said Laura.

“And we shall not separate in the meantime?” observed the young Count, straining the syren to his breast.

She murmured a favourable reply; and, after some minutes of tender dalliance, she hastened to give her servants the necessary instructions relative to the preparations for her departure.

A delicate supper was then served up; and the sparkling champagne made the eyes of the lovers flash more brightly, and enhanced the rich carnation glow of their countenances.

The time-piece struck eleven; and they were about to retire to rest, when Rosalie hastily entered the room, and approaching Laura, said in an under tone, “_Mademoiselle_, your mother has this moment arrived. I told her that you were engaged--and she awaits your presence in the breakfast-parlour.”

“It is my mother, dear Lorenzo,” Laura observed to the Count, who had not overheard the abigail’s communication: “but her arrival will not in any way interfere with our arrangements,” she hastened to add, perceiving that the young nobleman’s countenance suddenly expressed apprehension.

“And yet you yourself appear to be but little pleased at this occurrence, dearest Laura,” he whispered, gazing fondly upon her.

“I could have wished it were otherwise,” she responded: “but no matter. There is nothing to fear: I am independent of my mother. Have patience for ten minutes--and I will return to you.”

With these words, she pressed his hand tenderly and then hurried from the apartment--the discreet Rosalie having already retired the moment she had delivered her message.

Laura hastened to the breakfast-parlour; and there she found her mother, whose garments indicated that she had just arrived in Paris after a journey in an open vehicle and on a dusty road.

##