University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
D'ESTANG VILLE.

It was a beautiful morning, toward
the close of September, that our eyes
were first greeted with a view of D'Estang
Ville; and never had I beheld a
combination of nature and art so superbly
charming, so supremely enchanting.—
From our point of observation, a very
slight eminence, we saw a large, angular
mansion, with its porticoes, piazzas, colonades,
balconies, turrets, roofs, and
chimneys lifting itself above a level landscape,
in the centre of a charming grove,
and surrounded also by vines, and
flowers, and arbours, and statues, and
sparkling fountains, and winding walks,
that led from sunshine to shade, and
from shade into darker recesses, which,
from where we were, our gaze could
not penetrate. The mansion itself stood
back from the road some quarter of a
mile, and could be approached, in a direct
line, along a bowery footway, lined
with statuary, and banked with the
rarest, brightest and sweetest of flowers,
whose perfume regaled the olfactory
sense almost to satiety, and where all
the externals, including the gay plumed
warblers fluttering and singing among

the green branches overhead, made it
seem enchanted ground—or it could be
approached by a carriage road, scarcely
less delightful, which made a circuit from
one gate of the front enclosure to the
other, a distance of nearly a mile. In
the rear of the mansion was a group of
picturesque outbuildings, in the same
fancy style of Architecture, half embowered
in a level park, that stretched far,
far away, reminding me of the world-renowned
Elysian Fields. No description
can do justice to the scene, as it
burst upon our view under the rich light
of a morning sun shining through a soft,
clear, cloudless, atmosphere of cerulean
blue; and I must leave the reader to fill
out the picture with all he can imagine
of the beautiful, assuring him he is more
likely to fall short of, than to exceed,
the reality.

For ten minutes, to say the least, we
stood and gazed upon the bright landscape
before us, without speaking; and
then turning to me,

“What poet could dream of more?”
sighed Harley: “it ravishes the sight;
and, oh! to think that yonder lovely
retreat is the present abode of an angel
and a devil!”

“Had Eden been more than this, methinks
our first parents could not have
survived the loss,” returned I.

“With that and Viola, my Heaven
would begin on earth,” said Harley.

“With that and Clara, amen!”
thought I.

“Come,” pursued Harley, “while
we stand idly here, we accomplish nothing.
You know my plan—so let us
forward.”

“I fear you will find it less easy to
execute than you thought,” I rejoined;
“but I am yours to command.”

As we were about to descend to the
road, which ran along before us at the
distance of a hundred yards or so, our
attention was arrested by the appearance
of a horseman, who suddenly emerged
from among the trees near the mansion,
and advanced along the gravelled path
toward one of the gates at an easy canter.
We stopped to note his movements,
and as he drew nearer,

“How is it Harry—do my eyes de
ceive me—or is that D'Estang himself?”
said Harley.

“I would not be positive at this distance,”
I replied; “but I think it is the
Count.”

“If it is he, and he about to leave, in
so much are we fortunate,” replied my
friend.

The horseman rode down to the gate,
and after passing a few words with the
porter, who gave him exit, he dashed
away, and soon was out of sight.

“Come, Harry, now is our time.”

We took a short circuit, and came
round to the gate through which the
horseman had passed, with our boxes
slung under our arms, in the most approved
mode of pedestrian itinerancy.
As to Tom, by-the-way, we had thought
it advisable to leave him behind us at
our last stopping place.

A strong wall of masonry, about ten
feet in height, enclosed the grounds of
D'Estang Ville on every side; and
this wall, where it fronted on the road,
had three gates, with a porter's lodge
and tower to each, in which as regular
a watch was kept as if it were a fortified
place. Without permission of some
one of these sentries, therefore, no one
could enter or leave the grounds; and
to get this permit, as mere strolling
pedlers, we feared might be no easy
matter.

“Money is the Archimedean lever of
the present century,” said Harley, as
we discussed the matter on our way
thither; “and with a foothold by yon
gate, we will test its power.”

The porter, Harley at once perceived
was a Frenchman; and he addressed
him very politely, asking permission
for us to enter and offer our wares for
sale to such as we might find within,
either lord or dependant.

“His lordship has just ridden away,”
replied the man, “and it is against the
rules to admit strangers during his absence.”

“How long will his lordship be
away?” inquired my friend.

“Till to-morrow morning, doubtless.”

“Well, can you not give us a chance
to turn an honest penny?”

“I would like to oblige—but—”

“Here,” interrupted Harley, reaching
a gold coin through the wicket—
“say no more, my good fellow, but let
us pass.”

The man hesitated, looked at the
coin wistfully, rubbed his chin thoughtfully,
and finally said, as his fingers
closed upon it:

“Well, to oblige you, I will let you
in; but do not stay too long—for should
his lordship return and find you here,
I fear it would be the worse for all
of us.”

“Oh, we will not remain longer than
is necessary for our purpose,” replied
Harley, blandly, as we passed through
the gate, and set off for the mansion.
“How fortunate for us,” he added to
me, when out of ear-shot of the porter,
“that the Count is away! Ah!
Harry!—fate! fate! it favors us still.”

“But should the Count unexpectedly
return?” I suggested.

“Ah! should he, Harry — should
he—there is no telling what might be
the consequences. But we will hope
for the best, Harry, and we must improve
our time. If Viola is within that
mansion, I must see her; and oh! the
very thought of accomplishing my purpose,
makes me tremble! I feel we
are playing a bold, desperate game—
but then look at the stakes! If I win,
happiness and life—if I lose, misery
and perchance death. Harry, (and
Harley grasped my hand), you will
stand by me, let what will happen?”

“To the death, Morton.”

His fingers closed upon mine like a
vice.

“Thank you! thank you!” he said,
hurriedly, brushing away a tear. “You
are indeed a true friend, and I bless the
hour that brought us together. I may
be compelled to try you to the full ex.
tent of your generous offer—though I
hope not—I pray not. Oh! Harry,
you do not know my feelings at this
moment—you cannot realize the awful
conflict going on in my breast, between
hope and fear. But I must see Viola;
and if beneath yonder roof I will, or
they shall bear me hence a corpse.
Fail! fail! oh! I must not fail!—we
must not fail, Harry!—oh, great Heaven
grant we do not fail!”

Under any other circumstances, we
could not have passed through those
beautiful grounds, without stopping to
admire the green, shady, cooling groves
—the bright beds of flowers—the pellucid
fountains, sending up jets of silver
in the sunshine—the life-like statuary—
and the natural melody of a thousand
feathered warblers—the whole forming
a scene of beauty and enchantment rivalled
only by the magnificent homes
of foreign nobility; but now we had
other matters to occupy our thoughts,
and we only paid them the tribute of a
passing glance.

At length we reached a vine-covered
portico, and beheld, through the open
door, a lofty, magnificent hall, hung
round with paintings, and furnished in
a manner at once unique, sombre, and
grand. Harley rang the bell; and immediately
a French porter appeared,
dressed in livery, who, with an air of
surprise, eyed us from head to foot.

“We have called to show the lady
of this beautiful mansion some very
fine jewelry,” said Harley, tapping his
box, and touching his hat with an air
of respect.

“How do you know there is a lady
to show your wares to?” returned the
man, with a self-important air.

“Oh, I take it for granted that such
a palace as this is not without its queen.
Come, come—do not be too hard on us
poor fellows; we must live, you know,
as well as others. There, now, I see
a kindly look in your handsome face,
and I know you will procure us an interview
with your mistress.”

“You are out there, my jolly tinkers,”
replied the man, good-humoredly,
for he was very susceptible of
flattery. “You are out there, now,
about my mistress.”

“How so?”

“Because I have none.”

“Ha! no mistress?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? Ah! that implies you
are about to have.”

“Well, one cannot say what may

happen in that way, with a good-looking
master.”

“Very true. So, then, there is no
lady within the mansion?”

“I didn't say that,” replied the porter,
with a peculiar smile, that made
the heart of Harley beat violently—
though he mastered himself, so as outwardly
to appear calm and almost indifferent:
“I didn't say there was no
lady within; I only said I had no
mistress.”

“Yes, I see! good joke! capital!
ha, ha, ha!” rejoined Harley, affecting
to perceive no small amount of wit in
the other's remark, which tended not a
little to increase the man's favorable
opinion of ourselves. “Well, come,
now,” pursued Harley, “can you not
procure us an interview with this lady?
—doubtless she would like something
in our line.”

“Rather difficult to do, I'm afraid,”
answered the other.

“Oh, give me you for difficult undertakings—especially
when a lady is
concerned. I can see it in your eye,”
laughed Harley. “Come, try now, my
good fellow, and here is a trifle to com-pensate
you for your trouble?” and
my friend slipped a half-dollar into the
porter's hand.

“I see you understand your business,”
smiled the other. “Well, I
will do my best for you. I will see
Mistress Anne, who has charge of the
lady. Walk in, and amuse yourselves
with the paintings and curiosities here,
if you like, till I return.”

“Thank you! we will do so,” returned
Harley; and the porter departed,
leaving us to ourselves.

Under different circumstances, we
might have spent a day, agreeably, in
gazing upon the works of art which
that magnificent hall contained; but
now we scarcely bestowed upon them
a single glance.

“Do you think the lady in question
is Viola?” I whispered.

“My heart tells me so,” was the
reply.

After a painful suspense of some five
or ten minutes, the porter reappeared.

“Well?” said Harley.

“I saw Mistress Anne—but she is
in a bad humor, and I could do nothing
with her,” replied the porter.

“What did she say?”

“Why,” answered the other, hesitating,
“when I told her your business,
she said—but you musn't get offended
now!”

“Go on!”

“Why, she said the young lady was
not a going to be disturbed with any
such strolling vagabonds as pedlers.”

“Umph! she is complimentary, certainly,”
said Harley. “So the lady
herself is young, eh?”

“Yes and so beautiful!”

“And had she nothing to say in the
matter?”

“I didn't see her; we are not allowed:
all business with her must pass
through Mistress Anne.”

“Ah, indeed! Well, and who is this
lady you speak of that is so beautiful—
what is her name?” inquired my friend,
carelessly.

“Why, that's more than I can say,”
answered the porter, looking round him
mysteriously; “though I have heard,”
he added, in a low tone, “that she is
soon to become the wife of his lordship.”

“Aha! so-so! How long has she
been here?”

“Only two or three days; but not a
word of this to any one, or I may lose
my ears.”

“Ha! it is a secret, then?”

“Yes, my lord wouldn't have it
known; in fact, he don't like to have
any thing concerning any of his affairs
known; very secret in every thing is
his lordship.”

“Did the lady come here by herself?”

“Oh, no: her father came with her,
I believe.”

“Is he here now?”

“Can't say—have never seen him but
twice, and the last time was the day
after they arrived.”

“But you have seen the lady?”

“Once—only once. I stood in the
hall as she passed through, leaning on
a strange gentleman's arm, that I've
since heard was her father. Her veil

was a little aside, and I had a glimpse
of her face.”

“And have you only seen her that
once?”

“Only that once.”

“How is that?”

“She doesn't leave her apartments,
and we gentlemen are not allowed to
enter there.”

“Is she not a prisoner?”

“I don't know,” said the porter, again
looking cautiously round; “but some of
us think that may-be she's refractory,
and that his lordship is taming her.”

“Oho! I see!” returned Harley, with
a significant smile. “Well, I wish we
could see her—perhaps we could prevail
upon her to trade with us—she may
like our wares to amuse herself with.”

“Well, the thing can't be done without
the consent of Mistress Anne, and
that I'm satisfied I can't obtain.”

“And could we not see Mistress Anne,
whoever she is?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Very well,” said Harley, slipping
another silver coin into the hands of the
porter,—“pray procure us an interview
with Mistress Anne.”

“Follow me, then,” returned the latter.

He led the way to a broad flight of
winding stairs, which we ascended to
the second story, when, turning to the
right, we entered a narrow corridor,
which meandered through the mansion,
and conducted us to a sort of tower,
which was connected with the main
building by a narrow bridge that passed
over a portion of an inner court. This
tower, as for convenience I shall term
it, stood in the centre of a grass-plot—
which was itself completely surrounded
by the main buildings of the Ville—and
could only be entered, apparently, by
means of the bridge, which could be
raised by machinery at the pleasure of
the owner—so that a person confined
therein, could be made almost as safe a
prisoner, as in the castle-towers of the
olden time. I say this tower could only
apparently be entered and left by the
bridge in question—for there was in reality
a secret passage under ground,
which I shall have occasion to refer to
hereafter. There was no windows in
this tower below the second story; and
these, and those of the third story—for it
was three stories in height—were long
and narrow, resembling those I have
seen in a State's prison.

After crossing the draw-bridge, we
entered a circular apartment, furnished
in a style of magnificence I have seldom
seen equalled. A rich Turkey carpet
covered the floor, on which stood sofas,
ottomans, and centre-tables, loaded with
books and shells, and the walls were
adorned with full-length mirrors and exquisite
paintings. Here, on a sofa, with
a book in her hand, sat Mistress Anne,
as she was termed, bedecked with more
finery, in the way of silks and jewelry,
than was in good taste. Her hair and
eyes were very black, and the latter
shrewd and piercing in expression.
She was apparently about twenty years
of age, and many would term her beautiful;
but her features were too narrow
and pointed, her lips too thin and compressed,
her skin too pale, save where
art had bestowed a color, to come up to
my standard of female beauty.

On our entrance she looked up, in
surprise, threw down her book, rose
from her seat, and advancing to us with
a hasty step, exclaimed, in a quick,
sharp, angry tone:

“What means this intrusion of strangers?”

“Ah, Mistress Anne,” said the porter,
coaxingly, “these are the pedlers I was
speaking to you about.”

“Well, did I not tell you the young
lady would see no such strolling vagabonds?”
she indignantly and scornfully
rejoined, turning sharply upon our conductor,
her eyes flashing fire.

“But they asked to see you, and I
could hardly do less than grant them
that happiness,” replied the other, with
a sort of covert irony.

“And did your master tell you to do
this?” she demanded, almost fiercely,
crossing her arms on her breast, and bestowing
upon the porter a withering
look.

“No, his lordship didn't, but politeness
did,” returned the other.

“And think you, Pierre, politeness

will save you from his lordship's anger?”
she cried, with a contemptuous curl of
her thin lips.

“But surely, Mistress Anne, you will
not inform on me!” said Pierre, beginning
to grow alarmed for the first time.

“Won't I, though?” she rejoined:
“wait till he comes, and see.”

“Ah, Mistress Anne, now surely I
meant no harm,” pleaded the other,
turning pale.

“You meant no good, I'll be bound.
This is not the first time you have been
remiss in your duty; and come what
will of it, his lordship shall know of it.
What! force a couple of strolling vagabonds
upon my privacy, without my
leave! I am astonished at your audacity.
Go! get you hence! and take
these fellows with you—or you shall
learn, and that quickly, what it is to
brave my displeasure;” and she drew
herself up with queenly haughtiness.

“Say what you will of us, fair lady,”
interposed Harley, in a bland tone—
“but do not be too hard on Pierre, who
is far less to blame than we.”

“But he had no business to bring you
here without my consent,” said the indignant
damsel, turning to my friend,
and speaking in a modified tone.

“He may have done wrong in that,
fair lady,” replied Harley, in the same
bland, respectful manner; “but we were
so anxious to see you, that we hardly
gave him a choice.”

“Well, now that you do see me, pray
state your business!” returned the other,
in a tone greatly softened, showing that
the flattering term of “fair lady,” so
cleverly introduced, was not without its
effect upon one as vain as she was arrogant.

“I would prefer stating my business
to you alone, fair damsel,” rejoined
Harley, glancing significantly at the
porter.

“You may go, Pierre,” she said with
a courtly waive of her white arm and
hand.

“But, Mistress Anne, you will not
tell his lordship?” returned Pierre, hesitating.

“No—in compliment to these gentle
men, I will overlook this offence,” she
answered, graciously. “There, go!”

As the porter went out, Mistress Anne
threw herself upon a sofa, with an air,
saying;

“Seats, gentlemen.”

“I see Pierre has left the door slightly
ajar,” said Harley; “and with your
kind permission, ma'm'selle, I will close
it.”

“Certainly;” and Anne bowed a
gracious acquiescence.

The key was in the lock; and by a
dexterous movement, Harley shot the
bolt and withdrew it, without being perceived
by Anne.

She was a prisoner without knowing