The Marquess seated himself in a chair by the side of the sofa, which Sidonia had advanced to the middle of the room. Lord Monmouth was silent and very serious. Sidonia opened the window, and touched the brow of Lucretia with water. At this moment M. Villebecque and a surgeon entered the chamber.

"The brain cannot be affected, with that pulse," said the surgeon; "there is no fracture."

"How pale she is!" said Lord Monmouth, as if he were examining a picture.

"The colour seems to me to return," said Sidonia.

The surgeon applied some restoratives which he had brought with him. The face of the Marchioness showed signs of life; she stirred.

"She revives," said the surgeon.

The Marchioness breathed with some force; again; then half-opened her eyes, and then instantly closed them.

"If I could but get her to take this draught," said the surgeon.

"Stop! moisten her lips first," said Sidonia.

They placed the draught to her mouth; in a moment she put forth her hand as if to repress them, then opened her eyes again, and sighed.

"She is herself," said the surgeon.

"Lucretia!" said the Marquess.

"Sidonia!" said the Marchioness.

Lord Monmouth looked round to invite his friend to come forward.

"Lady Monmouth!" said Sidonia, in a gentle voice.

She started, rose a little on the sofa, stared around her. "Where am I?"

she exclaimed.

"With me," said the Marquess; and he bent forward to her, and took her hand.

"Sidonia!" she again exclaimed, in a voice of inquiry.

"Is here," said Lord Monmouth. "He carried you in after our accident."

"Accident! Why is he going to marry?"

The Marquess took a pinch of snuff.

There was an awkward pause in the chamber.

"I think now," said Sidonia to the surgeon, "that Lady Monmouth would take the draught."

She refused it.

"Try you, Sidonia," said the Marquess, rather dryly.

"You feel yourself again?" said Sidonia, advancing.

"Would I did not!" said the Marchioness, with an air of stupor. "What has happened? Why am I here? Are you married?"

"She wanders a little," said Sidonia.

The Marquess took another pinch of snuff.

"I could have borne even repulsion," said Lady Monmouth, in a voice of desolation, "but not for another!"

"M. Villebecque!" said the Marquess.

"My Lord?"

Lord Monmouth looked at him with that irresistible scrutiny which would daunt a galley-slave; and then, after a short pause, said, "The carriage should have arrived by this time. Let us get home."

CHAPTER VI.

After the conversation at dinner which we have noticed, the restless and disquieted Coningsby wandered about Paris, vainly seeking in the distraction of a great city some relief from the excitement of his mind.

His first resolution was immediately to depart for England; but when, on reflection, he was mindful that, after all, the a.s.sertion which had so agitated him might really be without foundation, in spite of many circ.u.mstances that to his regardful fancy seemed to accredit it, his firm resolution began to waver.

These were the first pangs of jealousy that Coningsby had ever experienced, and they revealed to him the immensity of the stake which he was hazarding on a most uncertain die.

The next morning he called in the Rue Rivoli, and was informed that the family were not at home. He was returning under the arcades, towards the Rue St. Florentin, when Sidonia pa.s.sed him in an opposite direction, on horseback, and at a rapid rate. Coningsby, who was not observed by him, could not resist a strange temptation to watch for a moment his progress. He saw him enter the court of the hotel where the Wallinger family were staying. Would he come forth immediately? No. Coningsby stood still and pale. Minute followed minute. Coningsby flattered himself that Sidonia was only speaking to the porter. Then he would fain believe Sidonia was writing a note. Then, crossing the street, he mounted by some steps the terrace of the Tuileries, nearly opposite the Hotel of the Minister of Finance, and watched the house. A quarter of an hour elapsed; Sidonia did not come forth. They were at home to him; only to him. Sick at heart, infinitely wretched, scarcely able to guide his steps, dreading even to meet an acquaintance, and almost feeling that his tongue would refuse the office of conversation, he contrived to reach his grandfather"s hotel, and was about to bury himself in his chamber, when on the staircase he met Flora.

Coningsby had not seen her for the last fortnight. Seeing her now, his heart smote him for his neglect, excusable as it really was. Any one else at this time he would have hurried by without a recognition, but the gentle and suffering Flora was too meek to be rudely treated by so kind a heart as Coningsby"s.

He looked at her; she was pale and agitated. Her step trembled, while she still hastened on.

"What is the matter?" inquired Coningsby.

"My Lord, the Marchioness, are in danger, thrown from their carriage."

Briefly she detailed to Coningsby all that had occurred; that M.

Villebecque had already repaired to them; that she herself only this moment had learned the intelligence that seemed to agitate her to the centre. Coningsby instantly turned with her; but they had scarcely emerged from the courtyard when the carriage approached that brought Lord and Lady Monmouth home. They followed it into the court. They were immediately at its door.

"All is right, Harry," said the Marquess, calm and grave.

Coningsby pressed his grandfather"s hand. Then he a.s.sisted Lucretia to alight.

"I am quite well," she said, "now."

"But you must lean on me, dearest Lady Monmouth," Coningsby said in a tone of tenderness, as he felt Lucretia almost sinking from him. And he supported her into the hall of the hotel.

Lord Monmouth had lingered behind. Flora crept up to him, and with unwonted boldness offered her arm to the Marquess. He looked at her with a glance of surprise, and then a softer expression, one indeed of an almost winning sweetness, which, though rare, was not a stranger to his countenance, melted his features, and taking the arm so humbly presented, he said,