We resume our narrative. Our readers, we trust,
will not have forgotten the condition in which we left
the lovely Marie de Berniere. Her reason had quite
returned to her in the space of the twenty-four hours
immediately following the mysterious fright from
which she had so singularly suffered; but her strength

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

was recovered much more slowly. For a long time
she remained an invalid. Her system had received
a shock against which her elasticity of mood offered
but feeble resistance. Meanwhile, her friends gathered
about her with fond solicitude. Among these, as a
matter of course, and most conspicuous, were Brandon
and his sister. These were constant in their attentions,
and deeply interested in the progress of her
recovery. Her physician, one of the most skilful in
that day and city, could afford her but little assistance.
It was the mind which had received the blow.
The sufferings of the body arose only from the ailments
of the soul. She herself felt this, and it was to her
priest, rather than her physician, that she looked for
succor chiefly. Father Paulo Roquetti was frequently
beside her couch. He was an Italian; a grave elderly
man, of mild, benevolent manners, and broad great
forehead, which had been smoothed quite as much by
thought and study as by the tonsure. He was a
learned man, a Jesuit, possessing a profound knowledge
of human nature, and with just the capacity to
try and fathom the most secret sources of mental excitation
and anxiety. Under his guidance, from her
childhood the spiritual guide in her mother's family,
the ardent nature of Marie de Berniere had become
greatly schooled and counselled. Her imagination,
eager and lively always, inclining however to religion,
had been tinctured somewhat with supersition, and
the will of the woman, which was in all other respects
strong and impulsive, was, where matters of faith and
the church were concerned, as easily persuaded and

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

pliant as could be wished by the most exacting of
spiritual fathers.

Paul Roquetti did not show himself very imperative
as a guide and teacher; but he was not the less powerful
because he did not seem greatly inclined to use
his authority. He was a profound master, who knew
how much safer it was to shape and to conduct, than
to endeavor to compel the mind; and he had long
since discovered that the temper, which only showed
itself stubborn under the opposition of another will,
might be rendered sufficiently ductile if persuaded that
it simply obeyed its own. His power over his flock
was prodigious, if for no other reason than because
he appeared to be so wholly unconscious that he possessed
any; and this secret, in connection with his
unquestionable resources of thought and knowledge,
left his authority almost without limit among the
more religious of his followers. Marie de Berniere
was one of those who most readily acknowledged his
influence. He had been to her a mild and indulgent
father, exhibiting a gentle sympathy which had won
her affections, and a patient judgment which had
schooled her conduct from the first hours of her girlhood.
If she had anything for which to reproach
him, it was that he had counselled obedience to those
commands of her mother, which had allied her to a
man whom she did not love, and subjected her to a
tyrant who could provoke no other feelings than
disgust and fear.

Her present condition naturally drew him to her
bedside, and he became very soon the counsellor to

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

whom she most deferred. We shall see the natural
reason for this hereafter. Her other friends gradually
withdrew, assured of her continued improvement,
while regretting that it should be so slow. There
were sufficient motives for Madame de Chateauneuve,
the sister of Frederick Brandon, lingering after all
the rest, in attendance upon her suffering friend. But
even she discovered, after a little while, that the unhappy
widow yielded only a reluctant ear to worldly
concerns, preferring altogether those of a solemn and
spiritual nature. She felt this apparent slight, but
had no reproaches. Her duty to her brother required
that she should not seem to perceive what she could
not help but feel. Her visits, in turn, became less
frequent, and it was only occasionally that she made
her appearance in the chamber of the invalid; and
this, too, quite as frequently in compliance with the
requisition of Frederick, as because of her own desires
or sense of duty.

Meanwhile, the little world of New Orleans was
full of reports in regard to the cause of terror which
had dismissed the guests at the bal masque of the
fair widow, in such “admired disorder.” Who was
the Egyptian, whose personation of my friend's costume
had enabled him to compass his affaire de cœur
with Madame de Berniere—who had visited her with
such a mortal fright, and had finally disappeared so
unaccountably? The town had its solution of all the
mystery, but, though it would not exactly anticipate
our own, we must forbear to give it. Enough, that a
most frightful story was in circulation, which furnished

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

equal material for scandal and supersition. I suppose
I heard the story quite as soon as anybody else,
and with much more disquiet than the crowd. I
had already broached the subject of the bal masque,
and the fright, to Frederick, but he either was unwilling
or unable to give me any clue to the mystery.
He had been permitted a private interview with
Madame de Berniere, yet neither that nor those which
his sister had enjoyed, had resulted in any discoveries.
The unhappy object of this mystery shrunk from all
explanation, and her health was quite too delicate to
permit even the least scrupulous curiosity to press the
inquiry upon her. But there had been long and undisturbed
conferences between herself and Father
Roquetti, and, in all probability, she had fully revealed
herself to him. It is certain that, for some
weeks after the affair, nothing was known, positively,
to Frederick Brandon or his sister, calculated to
satisfy their doubts or make them confident of their
knowledge.

In all this time, Frederick Brandon was sufficiently
miserable. I conversed with him frequently, anxious
to feel, yet without seeking to probe, the condition of
his mind. But his unwonted taciturnity spoke volumes,
when I remembered his character and disposition.
He had been latterly suffered to see Marie de
Berniere on several occasions, but for a brief space
only at every visit. At such periods there were always
other persons present; the priest, his own sister, or
some of her kinswomen. At these times her treatment
of Frederick had been distinguished by a marked

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

regard; though she spoke but little with him, and
then only on indifferent topics. Frequent sighs broke
from her during these interviews, and her eye perused
him always with fondness, and dwelt with a sad and
significant earnestness on the deep, devoted glances
which spoke from his. All this was enough to trouble
my friend; but his mind, if disturbed and unhappy,
was by no means disordered. It never once lost its
balance.

He said to me, returning one day from a visit to
the dwelling of Marie—

“I may as well confide to you, William, that I was
engaged to her. She consented, the very day of the
night of the bal masque, and in the very apartment
in which she received her fright. Since that time,
we have not once had an opportunity of speaking in
private together, and, hitherto, she has evidently
sought to avoid such an interview. At this juncture,
I dare not remonstrate against this. I must submit;
without complaint, or even expostulation. Her life is
quite too precious, and her condition too perilous, to
suffer me to annoy her by a reference to any exciting
matter. But, from what I see, my instincts persuade
me that she is preparing to free herself from our engagement.
I do not mean by this that she is at all
anxious to do so. On the contrary, it is no idle vanity
that assures me of the extreme reluctance with which
she will submit to what appears an inevitable necessity.
She will defer it for some time longer—to the very
last moment; and the very suspense—the anxiety—
this constant brooding over the one purpose—will

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

prolong her infirmity, and keep her suffering as well in
body as in mind. But that she is preparing to come
to this determination, I foresee; and I am strengthening
myself, as well as I can, against the shock.”

“But what has she said to lead you to this apprehension?”

“Not a syllable; but words are by no means necessary
in such cases. I see it in her looks, and feel it
as the consequence of her actions. My presence
brings her equally pain and pleasure. Her eyes fill
as I approach her, and she wrings my hand with the
grasp of one who takes a farewell. There are a
thousand indefinable things which enable one who
feels quickly and keenly, to understand; and that
which I tell you I believe, I almost feel that I know.”

“And you will submit to lose her?”

“I have not said that! But you will perceive that
her determination must be occasioned by the events
of that fatal night. Now it is important that we get
at a solution of that mystery. What my argument
will be, must depend upon her revelation; for which
I wait impatiently. It will come soon. If she loves
me truly and deeply, as I believe, she will tell me all.
This she will feel as due to me, and to herself, particularly,
for her own justification, if her purpose be
to discard me. But I have broached the subject to
you for a special reason. You spoke, yesterday, of
your purpose to return soon to Tennessee. This you
must not think of at present—not, at least, until my
affair is fully settled. I feel that I shall want you.
I have suspicions of foul play in this business, and I

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

need the assistance of a friend in whose fidelity I can
put every trust.”

“Foul play, Frederick! Whom do you suspect?”

“Not Marie, of course. But all these stories about
town, and which find supernatural solution of this
mystery, are pure absurdities. But they are not the
less credible among the greater number. It is understood,
of course, that this Egyptian is at the bottom
of the affair. To discover who he is, is the first important
matter. I take for granted that he is an
enemy of mine—most probably he is an admirer of
Marie. Do you remember his manner when we first
encountered him? His haughty carriage—scornful
gesture—the cold insolence of his tone—the dry
brevity of his answers—all full of defiance? These,
at the moment, struck me as evidence of hostility.”

“I remember! And you regard him as a rival?”

“Surely, what else? He has evidently a design
upon her, and it is equally apparent that he possesses
a strange power over her. What is this power, and
who is he? I have been vainly racking my brain for
an answer. I know the fate of all those who aspired
to her hand. She dismissed Bonneville; she slighted
and despised De Castries. Miravent was not more
fortunate. I can recall no more. None of these are
now in attendance upon her. Bonneville has gone
north, De Castries is in France, and Miravent visits
the house no longer.”

“May not one of the two former have returned?”

“I should have heard of it. It is more probable

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

that there is some new candidate in the field. And
yet, how any such could have wrought such results?”

“Could they have slandered you to her?”

“Very probably; yet I fear nothing from this
quarter. If they had, it would have provoked her
scorn—her indignation only—and not her terrors.
Besides, she would have instantly told me all. No,
no! There is something more than this. It is very
strange, certainly; but I shall soon hear from her,
and then I will fathom the mystery, if there be any,
so help me, Heaven!”

Here our conference ended for the time. The very
next day, my friend was summoned to an interview
with Marie de Berniere. We must reserve the rest
for another chapter.