A Mad Love, Charlotte Mary Brame [read this if txt] 📗

never agree."

Then the band began to play the quadrilles. Lord Chandos led Leone to her place. He thought to himself what cruel wrong it was on the part of fate, that the woman whom he had believed to be his wedded wife should be standing there, a visitor in the house which ought to have been her home.


CHAPTER XLVII.


THE COMPACT OF FRIENDSHIP.

The one set of quadrilles had been danced, and Leone said to herself that there was more pain than pleasure in it, when Lady Marion, with an unusual glow of animation on her face, came to Leone, who was sitting alone.

"Madame Vanira," she said, "it seems cruel to deprive others of the pleasure of your society, but I should like to talk to you. I have some pretty things which I have brought from Spain, which I should like to show you. Will it please you to leave the ballroom and come with me, or do you care for dancing?"

Leone smiled sadly; tragedy and comedy are always side by side, and it seemed to her, who had had so terrible a tragedy in her life, who stood face to face with so terrible a tragedy now, it seemed to her absurd that she should think of dancing.

"I would rather talk to you," she replied, "than do anything else." The two beautiful, graceful women left the ballroom together. Leone made some remark on the magnificence of the rooms as they passed, and Lady Chandos smiled.

"I am a very home-loving being myself. I prefer the pretty little morning-room where we take breakfast, and my own boudoir, to any other place in the house; they seem to be really one's own because no one else enters them. Come to my boudoir now, Madame Vanira, and I will show you a whole lot of pretty treasures that I brought from Spain."

"From Spain." She little knew how those words jarred even on Leone's heart. It was in Spain they had intrigued to take her husband from her, and while Lady Marion was collecting art treasures the peace and happiness of her life had been wrecked, her fair name blighted, her love slain. She wondered to herself at the strange turn of fate which had brought her into contact with the one woman in all the world that she felt she ought to have avoided. But there was no resisting Lady Marion when she chose to make herself irresistible. There was something childlike and graceful in the way in which she looked up to Madame Vanira, with an absolute worship of her genius, her voice, and her beauty. She laid her white hand on Leone's.

"You will think me a very gushing young lady, I fear, Madame Vanira, if I say how fervently I hope we shall always be friends; not in the common meaning of the words, but real, true, warm friends until we die. Have you ever made such a compact of friendship with any one?"

Leone's heart smote her, her face flushed.

"Yes," she replied; "I have once."

Lady Chandos looked up at her quickly.

"With a lady, I mean?"

"No," said Leone; "I have no lady friends; indeed, I have few friends of any kind, though I have many acquaintances."

Lady Marion's hand lingered caressingly on the white shoulder of Leone.

"Something draws me to you," she said; "and I cannot tell quite what it is. You are very beautiful, but it is not that; the beauty of a woman would never win me. It cannot be altogether your genius, though it is without peer. It is a strange feeling, one I can hardly explain--as though there was something sympathetic between us. You are not laughing at me, Madame Vanira?"

"No, I am not laughing," said Leone, with wondering eyes. How strange it was that Lance's wife, above all other women, should feel this curious, sympathetic friendship for her!

They entered the beautiful boudoir together, and Lady Marion, with pardonable pride, turned to her companion.

"Lord Chandos arranged this room for me himself. Have you heard the flattering, foolish name for me that the London people have invented? They call me the Queen of Blondes."

"That is a very pretty title," said Leone, "they call me a queen, the Queen of Song."

And the two women who were, each in her way, a "queen," smiled at each other.

"You see," continued Lady Chandos, "that my husband used to think there was nothing in the world but blondes. I have often told him if I bring a brunette here she is quite at a disadvantage; everything is blue, white, or silver."

Leone looked round the sumptuous room; the ceiling was painted by a master hand; all the story of Endymion was told there; the walls were superbly painted; the hangings were of blue velvet and blue silk, relieved by white lace; the carpet, of rich velvet pile, had a white ground with blue corn-flowers, so artistically grouped they looked as though they had fallen on the ground in picturesque confusion. The chairs and pretty couch were covered with velvet; a hundred little trifles that lay scattered over the place told that it was occupied by a lady of taste; books in beautiful bindings, exquisite drawings and photographs, a jeweled fan, a superb bouquet holder, flowers costly, beautiful, and fragrant; a room that was a fitting shrine for a goddess of beauty.

"My own room," said Lady Chandos, with a smile, as she closed the door; "and what a luxury it is, Madame Vanira--a room quite your own! Even when the house is full of visitors no one comes here but Lord Chandos; he always takes that chair near those flowers while he talks to me, and that is, I think, the happiest hour in the day. Sit down there yourself."

Leone took the chair, and Lady Chandos sat down on a footstool by her side. It was one of the most brilliant and picturesque pictures ever beheld; the gorgeous room, with its rich hangings, the beautiful, dark-eyed woman, with the Spanish face, her dress like softened sunbeams, the fire of her rubies like points of flame, her whole self lovely as a picture, and the fair Queen of Blondes, with the golden hair and white roses--a picture that would have made an artist's fortune.

"How pleasant this is," said Lady Chandos, "a few minutes' respite from the music and dancing! Do you love the quiet moments of your life, Madame Vanira?"

Leone looked down on the fair, lovely face with a deep sigh.

"No, I think not," she replied; "I like my stage life best."

Lady Chandos asked, in a half pitying tone:

"Why did you go on the stage? Did you always like it?"

And Leone answered, gravely:

"A great sorrow drove me there."

"A great sorrow? How strange! What sorrow could come to one so beautiful, so gifted as you?"

"A sorrow that crushed all the natural life in me," said Leone; "but we will not speak of it. I live more in my life on the stage than in my home life; that is desolate always."

She spoke unconsciously, and the heart of the fair woman who believed herself so entirely beloved warmed with pity and kindness to the one whose heart was so desolate.

"A great sorrow taught you to find comfort in an artificial life," she said, gently; "it would not do that to me."

And her white hand, on which the wedding-ring shone, caressed the beautiful white arm of Madame Vanira.

"What would it do to you?" asked Leone, slightly startled.

"A really great trouble," replied Lady Chandos, musingly, "what would it do for me? Kill me. I have known so little of it; I cannot indeed remember what could be called trouble."

"You have been singularly fortunate," said Leone, half enviously.

And the fair face of the Queen of Blondes grew troubled.

"Perhaps," she said, "all my troubles are to come. I should not like to believe that."

She was quite silent for some few minutes, then, with a sigh, she said:

"You have made me feel nervous, and I cannot tell why. What trouble could come to me? So far as I see, humanly speakingly, none. No money troubles could reach me; sickness would hardly be a trouble if those I loved were round me. Ah, well, that is common to every one." A look of startled intelligence came over her face. "I know one, and only one source of trouble," she said; "that would be if anything happened to Lord Chandos, to--to my husband; if he did not love me, or I lost him."

She sighed as she uttered the last words, and the heart of the gifted singer was touched by the noblest, kindest pity; she looked into the fair, flower-like face.

"You love your husband then?" she said, with a gentle, caressing voice.

"Love him," replied Lady Chandos, her whole soul flashing in her eyes--"love him? Ah, that seems to me a weak word! My husband is all the world, all life to me. It is strange that I should speak to you, a stranger, in this manner; but, as I told you before, my heart warms to you in some fashion that I do not myself understand. I am not like most people. I have so few to love. No father, no mother, no sisters, or brothers. I have no one in the wide world but my husband; he is more to me than most husbands are to most wives--he is everything."

Leone looked down on that fair, sweet face with loving eyes; the very depths of her soul were touched by those simple words; she prayed God that she might always remember them. There was infinite pathos in her voice and in her face when she said:

"You are very happy, then, with your husband, Lady Marion?"

"Yes, I am very happy," said the young wife, simply. "My husband loves me, I have no rivals, no jealousies, no annoyances; I may say I am perfectly happy."

"I pray God that you may always be so!" said Leone, gently.

And with an impulse she could not resist she bent down and kissed the sweet face.

Then Lady Chandos looked up.

"I am afraid," she said, "that our pleasant five minutes' chat is ended. We must go back to the ballroom. I am afraid all your admirers will be very angry with me, Madame Vanira."

"That is a matter of perfect indifference?" she replied. "I know you better, Lady Marion, for those five minutes spent here than I should have done during a century in ballrooms."

"And you promise that we shall always be friends," said the fair woman who called herself Lady Chandos.

"I promise, and I will keep my word," said the beautiful singer, who had believed herself to be his wife.

And with those words they parted.


CHAPTER XLVIII.


THE HUSBAND'S KISS.

Lady Marion never did anything by halves. It was seldom that her calm, quiet nature was stirred, but when that happened she felt more deeply, perhaps, than people who express their feelings with great ease and rapidity. She was amused herself at her own great liking for Madame Vanira; it was the second great love of her life; the first had been for her husband, this was the next. She talked of her incessantly, until even Lord Chandos wondered and asked how it was.

"I cannot tell," she replied; "I think I am infatuated. I am quite sure,