m.

CHAPTER XXXI. THE CHATEAU

The same day that De Beauvais left me, the Court took its departure
from Versailles. A sudden resolution of the Consul to visit the camp
at Boulogne, where he was to be accompanied by Madame Bonaparte, was
announced as the reason for this change; while a dark rumor ran that
some detected scheme for his assassination had induced his friends to
advise this step. Certain it was, the preparations were made with the
utmost speed, and in less than an hour after the despatch had arrived
from Paris, the Court was on its way back to the capital.

It was not without a sense of sadness that I watched the equipages as
they rolled one by one from beneath the deep colonnade, and traversed
the wide terrace, to disappear in the recesses of the dark forest. I
strained my eyes to catch even a passing look at one who to me had made
every walk and every alley a thing to love. But I could not see her; and
the last roll of the retiring wheels died away in the distance without
one friendly voice to say adieu, one smile at parting.

Though I had not participated in the festivities of the chateau, nor
even been noticed by any of the guests, the absence of its gay world,
the glitter of its brilliant cortege, the neighing steeds in all their
bright panoply, the clank of military music, the gorgeously dressed
ladies who strolled along its terraced walks, made the solitude that
followed appear dark and desolate indeed; and now, as I walked the
park, whose avenues at noonday were silent as at midnight, the desertion
imparted a melancholy feeling to my heart I could not explain. How often
had I stopped beneath that balcony, striving to distinguish the soft
tones of one gentle voice amid the buzz of conversation! How had I
watched the crowded promenade every evening upon the terrace, to see one
figure there among the rest! and when my eye had fallen upon her, how
has it followed and traced her as she went! And now I frequented each
spot where I had ever seen her,--pacing at sunset the very walk she used
to take, dwelling on each word she ever spoke to me. The chateau, too,
of which before I had not passed the door, I now revisited again and
again, lingering in each room where I thought she had been, and even
resting on the chairs, and calling up before me her image as though
present.

Thus passed over weeks and months. The summer glided into the mellow
autumn, and the autumn itself grew cold and chill, with gr