arrival on the French coast. He
sent a letter to this effect by the captain of the smuggler, when the
latter returned. We hoped to hear again; but week after week elapsed,
and there was no news of Clement. I had told Lord Ludlow, in Madame de
Crequy's presence, as he and I had arranged, of the note I had received
from her son, informing us of his landing in France. She heard, but she
took no notice, and evidently began to wonder that we did not mention any
further intelligence of him in the same manner before her; and daily I
began to fear that her pride would give way, and that she would
supplicate for news before I had any to give her.
"One morning, on my awakening, my maid told me that Madame de Crequy had
passed a wretched night, and had bidden Medlicott (whom, as understanding
French, and speaking it pretty well, though with that horrid German
accent, I had put about her) request that I would go to madame's room as
soon as I was dressed.
"I knew what was coming, and I trembled all the time they were doing my
hair, and otherwise arranging me. I was not encouraged by my lord's
speeches. He had heard the message, and kept declaring that he would
rather be shot than have to tell her that there was no news of her son;
and yet he said, every now and then, when I was at the lowest pitch of
uneasiness, that he never expected to hear again: that some day soon we
should see him walking in and introducing Mademoiselle de Crequy to us.
"However at last I was ready, and go I must.
"Her eyes were fixed on the door by which I entered. I went up to the
bedside. She was not rouged,—she had left it off now for several
days,—she no longer attempted to keep up the vain show of not feeling,
and loving, and fearing.
"For a moment or two she did not speak, and I was glad of the respite.
"'Clement?' she said at length, covering her mouth with a handkerchief
the minute she had spoken, that I might not see it quiver.
"'There has been no news since the first letter, saying how well the
voyage was performed, and how safely he had landed—near Dieppe, you
know,' I replied as cheerfully as possible. 'My lord does not expect
that we shall have another letter; he thinks that we shall see him soon.'
"There was no answer. As I looked, uncertain whether to do or say more,
she slowly turned herself in bed, and lay with her face to the wall; and,
as if that did not shut out the light of day and the busy, happy world
enough, she put out her trembling hands, and covered her face with her
handkerchief. There was no violence: hardly any sound.
"I told her what my lord had said about Clement's coming in some day, and
taking us all by surprise. I did not believe it myself, but it was just
possible,—and I had nothing else to say. Pity, to one who was striving
so hard to conceal her feelings, would have been impertinent. She let me
talk; but she did not reply. She knew that my words were vain and idle,
and had no root in my belief; as well as I did myself.
"I was very thankful when Medlicott came in with Madame's breakfast, and
gave me an excuse for leaving.
"But I think that conversation made me feel more anxious and impatient
than ever. I felt almost pledged to Madame de Crequy for the fulfilment
of the vision I had held out. She had taken entirely to her bed by this
time: not from illness, but because she had no hope within her to stir
her up to the effort of dressing. In the same way she hardly cared for
food. She had no appetite,—why eat to prolong a life of despair? But
she let Medlicott feed her, sooner than take the trouble of resisting.
"And so it went on,—for weeks, months—I could hardly count the time, it
seemed so long. Medlicott told me she noticed a preternatural
sensitiveness of ear in Madame de Crequy, induced by the habit of
listening silently for the slightest unusual sound in the house.
Medlicott was always a minute watcher of any one whom she cared about;
and, one day, she made me notice by a sign madame's acuteness of
sent a letter to this effect by the captain of the smuggler, when the
latter returned. We hoped to hear again; but week after week elapsed,
and there was no news of Clement. I had told Lord Ludlow, in Madame de
Crequy's presence, as he and I had arranged, of the note I had received
from her son, informing us of his landing in France. She heard, but she
took no notice, and evidently began to wonder that we did not mention any
further intelligence of him in the same manner before her; and daily I
began to fear that her pride would give way, and that she would
supplicate for news before I had any to give her.
"One morning, on my awakening, my maid told me that Madame de Crequy had
passed a wretched night, and had bidden Medlicott (whom, as understanding
French, and speaking it pretty well, though with that horrid German
accent, I had put about her) request that I would go to madame's room as
soon as I was dressed.
"I knew what was coming, and I trembled all the time they were doing my
hair, and otherwise arranging me. I was not encouraged by my lord's
speeches. He had heard the message, and kept declaring that he would
rather be shot than have to tell her that there was no news of her son;
and yet he said, every now and then, when I was at the lowest pitch of
uneasiness, that he never expected to hear again: that some day soon we
should see him walking in and introducing Mademoiselle de Crequy to us.
"However at last I was ready, and go I must.
"Her eyes were fixed on the door by which I entered. I went up to the
bedside. She was not rouged,—she had left it off now for several
days,—she no longer attempted to keep up the vain show of not feeling,
and loving, and fearing.
"For a moment or two she did not speak, and I was glad of the respite.
"'Clement?' she said at length, covering her mouth with a handkerchief
the minute she had spoken, that I might not see it quiver.
"'There has been no news since the first letter, saying how well the
voyage was performed, and how safely he had landed—near Dieppe, you
know,' I replied as cheerfully as possible. 'My lord does not expect
that we shall have another letter; he thinks that we shall see him soon.'
"There was no answer. As I looked, uncertain whether to do or say more,
she slowly turned herself in bed, and lay with her face to the wall; and,
as if that did not shut out the light of day and the busy, happy world
enough, she put out her trembling hands, and covered her face with her
handkerchief. There was no violence: hardly any sound.
"I told her what my lord had said about Clement's coming in some day, and
taking us all by surprise. I did not believe it myself, but it was just
possible,—and I had nothing else to say. Pity, to one who was striving
so hard to conceal her feelings, would have been impertinent. She let me
talk; but she did not reply. She knew that my words were vain and idle,
and had no root in my belief; as well as I did myself.
"I was very thankful when Medlicott came in with Madame's breakfast, and
gave me an excuse for leaving.
"But I think that conversation made me feel more anxious and impatient
than ever. I felt almost pledged to Madame de Crequy for the fulfilment
of the vision I had held out. She had taken entirely to her bed by this
time: not from illness, but because she had no hope within her to stir
her up to the effort of dressing. In the same way she hardly cared for
food. She had no appetite,—why eat to prolong a life of despair? But
she let Medlicott feed her, sooner than take the trouble of resisting.
"And so it went on,—for weeks, months—I could hardly count the time, it
seemed so long. Medlicott told me she noticed a preternatural
sensitiveness of ear in Madame de Crequy, induced by the habit of
listening silently for the slightest unusual sound in the house.
Medlicott was always a minute watcher of any one whom she cared about;
and, one day, she made me notice by a sign madame's acuteness of
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