LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 706, 23 September 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

—.—* A DILEMMA. ( Concluded.) After dinner, the gentlemen, none of them being English, followed the ladies out of the dining-room ; but on their way to the drawing-room, Mr Duhamel renewed Emile’s doubts of his sanity. ‘ Are you satisfied now, Monsieur de Bellechasse ? ’ said he, aside, ‘ or do you mean to keep up your comedy through another act? You might as well take me into your confidence, for you can’t deceive my eyes, you see.’ He trotted off', after this mysterious sentence, with such an intensely knowing expression of countenance, that the unfortunate messenger of evil tidings had almost fled from the house and its enchantments there and then. In his distress, he was suddenly aware of a pair of serious and lucent eyes regarding him. They were those of Miss Burton; and with a sort of gasp of relief he took deep into his mind the conviction that she, at any rate, was sane, and safe—neither bewitched nor bewitching. ‘ Bho knows what it means, and will tell me,’ he said to himself; but how to speak privately to her ? She was still good-humor-edly giving her attention to Marco, and Emile himself would have been the sport of perplexity for ever, rather than voluntarily desert the girl, who seemed tacitly to claim him. Mr Duhamel regarded the young people with looks of delight. He hovered round them, putting in a word now and then, and making Claire show off for her benefit, or the undoing, of the helpless victim. At last she was bidden to sing, and while she was turning over her songs, and calling upon Anne for advice, Emile found an opportunity of whispering to his companion. ‘ Ask what it means. You must lind out why they treated us in this way.’ Marco nodded; but Emile did not feel certain that he had understood; for many of the sayings which were most irritatingly problematical to him, had never reached the Italian’s consciousness at all. ' At last the evening was over, and the midsummer night’s dream was a more complete, more entrancing dream than ever. The two cavaliers walked slowly away I through the dewy darkness, and one of them kept his head turned till the very last I

possible moment towards the white-robed figure lingering at the window. She seemed a splendid angel newly drest, Save wings, for heaven, he repeated to himself; and then: Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. M. de Bellechasse prided himself greatly on his acquaintance with modern English poetry, but the appropriateness of his quotations did not trouble him. He came back to pi ose with a sigh, and a comfortable recollection that Marco would not understand him, and eagerly inquired; ‘Well, what does Miss Burton say V ‘ Says that you may be Eugene Bertaud.’ * What ? That lam ’ ‘ Eugene. That you perhaps pretend to be De Bellechasse. ‘ Good heavens! They are mad then ! Explain !’ ‘ In Italian, then ?’ ‘ As you will. ’ Marco then proceeded to state that Anne, questioned by him, had honestly told him the true state of the case. She had, perhaps, already began to suspect that her uncle was mistaken, for had she not reasons of her own to doubt his discernment ? She, upon the whole, believed Marco when he assured her that his companion was not Claire’s betrothed; but when he begged her to make Claire and her father understand, she positively refused. ‘ I should offend my uncle, and throw Claire into confusion and distress,’ she said. ‘ I strongly advise you and your friend to let the mistake go uncorrected for a little longer —that is, if Monsieur de Bellechasse admires Claire as much as he seems to do. * Admire her 1’ repeated Emile, when Marco had conscientiously reported this advice. ‘ I have admired plenty of women, but I never saw one like this. Wise Miss Burton; I will do as you bid me; but for how long ?’ ‘ Let the mistake go uncorrected,’ Anne had well said; but in saying so, she reckoned without her host. Mr Duhamel was far too proud of his discernment not to be impatient to force his future son-in-law to confess. The two young men were to be at Mr Duhamel’s in good times next morning. Both Claire and her father had willed it so; and Emile had been too weak to say ‘no.’ He had argued with himself that it was impossible for him to run away while they were in their present position, and propped by Anne’s advice, he meant to take all the good provided—and wait. But as he walked up to the house, his mind was still unsettled and uneasy. A harum-scarum by nature, and already fathoms deep in love, the temptation to play the role forced on him, w T as great indeed. Yet, on the other hand, he shrunk from defrauding at once the dead Eugene and Eugene’s betrothed. And finally, honor got the better, for the moment, of love. ‘I am going to compel them to believe the truth,’ he said to Castelli. * I shall have a fight with the old gentleman, and get it over. Poor girl!’ ‘Stupid old man,’ answered Marco, with his usual deliberateness. Mr Duhamel met them at the door, and Emile begged for a few minutes’ conversation, and was taken to the scene of their first meeting. ‘ Well, Monsieur de Bellechasse,’ Mr Duhamel began in great good-humor, without giving him time for a ■word, ‘ you have something particular to say to me ?’ ‘ I must beg you to believe me to-day’ Emile commenced, very earnestly. ‘ Yes, yes, my dear boy, of course’ ‘ What I told* you yesterday,’ he went on. 1 1 forgive you,’ said Mr Duhamel heartily. ‘ And so does Claire. We all know about it, you see.’ ‘ Will you tell her, then ? ’ Emile answered, beginning to believe that Mr Duhamel must know what he was talking about. ‘Let her understand that I had no intention of deceiving her’ ' Or, at anyrate, not much,’ interposed the other ; ‘ and quite innocently. But I hope you are satisfied now that she loves you ? ’ ‘ I believed that she loved Eugene’ ‘And that she likes Monsieur de Bellechasse, eh ? As you please. And you don’t dislike her 7 ’ ‘ I love her with all my soul,’ cried poor Emile in despair. ‘ But pray, listen’ ‘CUire! Claire 1’ cried Mr Duhamel; and before another word could be spoken, Claire, beautiful and bright as the summer morning, stood in the room. ‘He has confessed, my child,’ said her father, laughing ; ‘ and he says he finds you tolerable. So, what do you say ? ’ She said nothing ; but put out her pretty little hand, and Emile, for all the world, could not have put it away from him. ‘ Bravo ! bravo ! ’ chuckled Mr Duhamel. ‘ Did I not say so, Claire ? Did I not say so? ’ ‘ Dear Eugene,’ said Claire, ‘ why did you try to deceive us ? Was it for your own sake or mine ? ’ ‘ Did not I tell yon he was romantic ? ’ asked her father impatiently, ‘ You might have trusted me. Don’t you remember what I wrote to you ? ’ ‘ Could I forget it ? ’ Emile answered,—‘Oh, if I am to be cross-questioned, I shall be found out without fail, and just as I had given in,’ he thought with disgust. * What did I say ? ’ Claire went on. ‘ Was it not that I never had thought, and never would think of anybody but you ? ’ ‘You said that,’ Emile answered boldly, ‘ to Eugene ’ ‘And you answered,’ she went on. ‘ What ? ’ ‘ Why oppose her 7 She will not hear me,’ said Emile to himself. Then aloud: ‘ Did not my answer please you ? ’ _ ‘ Yes. But I want you to repeat it.’ When I have said a thing once I mean it always,’ he replied. ‘ But perhaps not this, because you had not seen me. Say it, if you mean it now.’ ‘ Heaven help me ! ’ thought Emile. ‘ But why should I have changed, Claire, since you are all, and more than all, I fancied ? ’ ‘ Oh, how obstinate you are ! ’ cried Claire, drawing her hand away from him. ‘ Papa, he will not say it, because he does not like me.’ ‘ Now you mean to quarrel, do you ? said Mr Duhamel, laughing. ‘ 1 see I must settle it. Give me your hand, Claire. Now, monsieur, do you care for this present I have here for you ? It is precious, and deserves to be valued.’ Claire, between anger, fear, and innocent love, was watching his face keenly—to hesitate for a moment, would be, he felt, to lose her for ever. ‘ Only give her to me,’ he answered; ‘ you shall never find me ungrateful. ’ ‘ Bravo I bravo ! ’ cried Mr Duhamel again, and in a trice was out of the room, calling Anne as he bustled into the drawingroom.

An arrival had taken place there dining his absence. Sir George Manners was sitting near Anne, and telling her how he had been able to get away from London last night instead of this morning. ‘ Ah, Sir George ! ’ cried Mr Duhamel, delighted to see him. ‘ Back again already ? I wish you joy, my dear sir—l wish you joy ! ’ * Thank you. And you are to be congratulated too, I hear ? ’ ‘Yes. I have just left them together to settle their own affairs. A line young man as one could find anywhere. Exactly what I always thought my dear old friend’s son would be.’ ‘ But rather whimsical, I should guess ? ’ * Ah, Anne has told you. Romantic, Sir George, romantic. These young people will be foolish. But he has confessed now, so we will say no more about it And about yourself, my good neighbor 7 ’ T find I am sure of the money, Mr Duhamel.’ ‘There now; I could have told yon beforehand what you would say. At Eugene’s age, for instance, the lady is everything, and the money nothing. At yours, men are wiser. Sure of the money, eh ? So much the better. The lady brings the money, so that’s all right. ’ ‘Not in my case, Mr Duhamel. You always warned me to expect my step-mother to defraud me. But for that, I should probably have tried to get a wife long ago.’ ‘Yes, of course I did. And I turned out ight, you see.’ No; quite right in the end. She quarrelled with her husband, and forgave me. Her death, about three weeks ago, has given me back all that my father left to her.’ Mr Duhamel gazed at his visitor with a face where dismay gradually gave way to congratulation. ‘ Well, well; 1 always said you would get nothing from her while she lived,’he said emphatically. ‘And so now you have got two fortunes ? ’ ‘ Only one. And I am reasonable enough to be satisfied.’ ‘But you said just now that you had made sure of your bride’s money ? ’ ‘No, Mr Duhamel; only of my father’s. As for my bride, I hope I am sure of lier, but I should like to have your consent. ’ ‘ My consent ? repeated Mr Duhamel, bewildered. ‘Yes, please, dear uncle,’ sail Anne, quietly coming to the side of her lover. ‘ What! Anne 1 Wha do you both mean ? ’ ‘ Uncle, you do not wish me to be an old maid ? ’ murmured Anne, smiling. ‘No child, no. Bless me!’ said Mr Duhamel, ‘who would ever have thought it? But she has ijo money at all to speak of ! ’ ‘Quite enough for me,’ answered Sir George ; ‘ thanks to my step mother.’ Mr Duhamel here left the pair and trotted back to the study, where Claire and Emile were entertaining one another. ‘ Come with me, young people,’ he said, ‘ and don’t fancy you’ve got all the love-making to yourselves. Ah, I did suspect it once.’ He led the way to the drawing-room, and announced cheerfully : ‘Hereis my son-in-law, Sir George—fairly caught at last, you see.’ ‘De Bellechasse ! ’ cried Sir George, as Emile came in with Claire ; ‘ are you here ? ‘Welcome to England ! ’ and while he shook hands, he looked expectantly for the appearance of Mr Duhamel’s son in law, Eugene. ‘De Bellechasse ! ’ repeated Mr Duhamel and Claire together. ‘ Certainly,’ answered Sir George. ‘ I did not know you were acquainted.’ ‘ But, my good fellow, this is Eugene Bertrand,’ asseverated Mr Duhamel. ‘ Mr Duhamel,’ answered Emile, ‘do me the justice to own that I never said so,’ ‘ You called yourself De Bellechasse, certainly,’ Mr Duhamel owned—‘for a whim.’ ‘ Was it for a whim that I was called De Bellechasse in Paris, Sir George ? ’ * I have no reason to think so. Your conduct has always been honourable and straightforward. But what does all this mean ? ’ Claire had left Emile’s side, and clung fast to her father’s arm ; both father and daughter looked confounded. It was Anne who came to the rescue. ‘ My dear uncle,’ she said, ‘ you have only made a slight mistake, and one easily mended. This gentleman is not your old friend’s son, but he seems very willing to act as if he were—why not let him 1 ’ ‘Yes,’ added Emile eagerly; ‘only try me, Mr Duhamel.—Claire, don’t, I beg of you, don’t send me away ! ’ Claire could not help smiling ; and Mr Duhamel saw a way out of his dilemma. ‘As you will, then,’ said he, suffering his good-humoured face to beam on the circle. ‘ But you are the only people I ever knew who were clever enough to mislead me.’