University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.
THE HAPPY MEETING.

After passing a sleepless night, and hearing the clock strike six,
Jerome took from his table a book, and thus endeavored to pass away
the hours before breakfast-time. While thus engaged, a servant entered
and handed him a note. Hastily tearing it open, Jerome read as
follow:—

Who this gentleman was, and how he had found out his name and the
hotel at which he was stopping, were alike mysteries to Jerome. And
this note seemed to his puzzled brain like a challenge. “Satisfaction?”
He had not asked for satisfaction. However, he resolved to accept the
invitation, and, if need be, meet the worst. At any rate, this most
mysterious and complicated affair would be explained.

The clock on a neighboring church had scarcely finished striking
three when a servant announced to Jerome that a carriage had called
for him. In a few minutes, he was seated in a sumptuous barouche,
drawn by a pair of beautiful iron-grays, and rolling over a splendid
gravel road entirely shaded by trees, which appeared to have been the
accumulated growth of many centuries. The carriage soon stopped at
a low villa, which was completely embowered in trees.

Jerome alighted, and was shown into a superb room, with the walls
finely decorated with splendid tapestry, and the ceilings exquisitely
frescoed. The walls were hung with fine specimens from the hands of
the great Italian masters, and one by a German artist, representing a
beautiful monkish legend connected with the “Holy Catharine,” an
illustrious lady of Alexandria. High-backed chairs stood around the
room, rich curtains of crimson damask hung in folds on either side of
the window, and a beautiful, rich, Turkey carpet covered the floor. In
the centre of the room stood a table covered with books, in the midst
of which was a vase of fresh flowers, loading the atmosphere with their
odors. A faint light, together with the quiet of the hour, gave beauty
beyond description to the whole scene. A half-open door showed a fine
marble floor to an adjoining room, with pictures, statues, and antiquated
sofas, and flower-pots filled with rare plants of every kind and
description.

Jerome had scarcely run his eyes over the beauties of the room when
the elderly gentleman whom he had met on the previous evening made
his appearance, followed by the little boy, and introduced himself as
Mr. Devenant. A moment more and a lady, a beautiful brunette,
dressed in black, with long black curls hanging over her shoulders,
entered the room. Her dark, bright eyes flashed as she caught the first
sight of Jerome. The gentleman immediately arose on the entrance of
the lady, and Mr. Devenant was in the act of introducing the stranger
when he observed that Jerome had sunk back upon the sofa, in a faint
voice exclaiming,—

“It is she!”

After this, all was dark and dreary. How long he remained in this
condition, it was for others to tell. The lady knelt by his side and wept
and when he came to, he found himself stretched upon the sofa with his
boots off and his head resting upon a pillow. By his side sat the old

man, with the smelling-bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the
other, while the little boy stood at the foot of the sofa. As soon as
Jerome had so far recovered as to be able to speak, he said,—

“Where am I, and what does all this mean?”

“Wait awhile,” replied the old man, “and I will tell you all.”

After the lapse of some ten minutes, Jerome arose from the sofa, adjusted
his apparel, and said,—

“I am now ready to hear anything you have to say.”

“You were born in America?” said the old man.

“I was,” he replied.

“And you knew a girl named Clotelle,” continued the old man.

“Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other.”

“The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening was she,” said
Mr. Devenant.

Jerome was silent, but the fountain of mingled grief and joy stole out
from beneath his eyelashes, and glistened like pearls upon his ebony
cheeks.

At this juncture, the lady again entered the room. With an enthusiasm
that can be better imagined than described, Jerome sprang from the
sofa, and they rushed into each other's arms, to the great surprise of the
old gentleman and little Antoine, and to the amusement of the servants
who had crept up, one by one and were hid behind the doors or loitering
in the hall. When they had given vent to their feelings and sufficiently
recovered their presence of mind, they resumed their seats.

“How did you find out my name and address?” inquired Jerome.

“After you had left the grave-yard,” replied Clotelle, “our little boy
said, `Oh, mamma! if there ain't a book!” I opened the book, and saw
your name written in it, and also found a card of the Hotel de Leon.
Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was only a fancy of mine
that I had ever seen you before; but I was perfectly convinced that you
were my own dear Jerome.”

As she uttered the last words, tears—the sweet bright tears that love
alone can bring forth—bedewed her cheeks.

“Are you married?” now inquired Clotelle, with a palpitating heart
and trembling voice.

“No, I am not, and never have been,” was Jerome's reply.

“Then, thank God!” she exclaimed, in broken accents.

It was then that hope gleamed up amid the crushed and broken
flowers of her heart, and a bright flash darted forth like a sunbeam.

“Are you single now?” asked Jerome.

“Yes, I am,” was the answer.

“Then you will be mine after all?” said he with a smile.

Her dark, rich hair had partly come down, and hung still more loosely

over her shoulders than when she first appeared; and her eyes, now full
of animation and vivacity, and her sweet, harmonious, and well-modulated
voice, together with her modesty, self-possession, and engaging
manners, made Clotelle appear lovely beyond description. Although
past the age when men ought to think of matrimony, yet the scene before
Mr. Devenant brought vividly to his mind the time when he was
young and had a loving bosom companion living, and tears were wiped
from the old man's eyes. A new world seemed to unfold itself before
the eyes of the happy lovers, and they were completely absorbed in contemplating
the future. Furnished by nature with a disposition to study,
and a memory so retentive that all who knew her were surprised at the
ease with which she acquired her education and general information,
Clotelle might now be termed a most accomplished lady. After her
marriage with young Devenant, they proceeded to India, where the husband's
regiment was stationed. Soon after their arrival, however, a
battle was fought with the natives, in which several officers fell, among
whom was Captain Devenant. The father of the young captain being
there at the time, took his daughter-in-law and brought her back to
France, where they took up their abode at the old homestead.

Old Mr. Devenant was possessed of a large fortune, all of which he
intended for his daughter-in-law and her only child.

Although Clotelle had married young Devenant, she had not forgotten
her first love, and her father-in-law now willingly gave his consent to
her marriage with Jerome. Jerome felt that to possess the woman of
his love, even at that late hour, was compensation enough for the years
that he had been separated from her, and Clotelle wanted no better evidence
of his love for her than the fact of his having remained so long
unmarried. It was indeed a rare instance of devotion and constancy in
a man, and the young widow gratefully appreciated it.

It was late in the evening when Jerome led his intended bride to the
window, and the magnificent moonlight illuminated the countenance of
the lovely, Clotelle, while inward sunshine, emanating from a mind at
ease, and her own virtuous thoughts, gave brightness to her eyes and
made her appear a very angel. This was the first evening that Jerome
had been in her company since the night when, to effect his escape from
prison, she disguised herself in male attire. How different the scene
now. Free instead of slaves, wealthy instead of poor, and on the eve
of an event that seemed likely to result in a life of happiness to both.