its of languor and her delicate health, she
could say that she had undertaken such a journey to be convinced with
her own eyes of a charge which, if true, would influence her daughter's
conduct and destiny--Mrs. Lyndsay did go to London--did see Gabrielle
Desmarets at her balcony--did see Darrell enter the house; and on her
return to Paris did, armed with this testimony, and with the letters
that led to it, so work upon her daughter's mind, that the next day the
Marquess of Montfort was accepted. But the year of Darrell's probation
was nearly expired; all delay would be dangerous--all explanations would
be fatal, and must be forestalled. Nor could a long courtship be
kept secret; Darrell might hear of it, and come over at once; and the
Marquess's ambitious kinsfolk would not fail to interfere if the news of
his intended marriage with a portionless cousin reached their ears. Lord
Montfort, who was awed by Carr, and extremely afraid of his grandmother,
was not less anxious for secrecy and expedition than Mrs. Lyndsay
herself.

Thus, then, Mrs. Lyndsay triumphed, and while her daughter was still
under the influence of an excitement which clouded her judgment, and
stung her into rashness of action as an escape from the torment of
reflection--thus were solemnised Caroline's unhappy and splendid
nuptials. The Marquess hired a villa in the delightful precincts of
Fontainebleau for his honeymoon; that moon was still young when the
Marquess said to himself, "I don't find that it produces honey." When he
had first been attracted towards Caroline, she was all life and joy--too
much of a child to pine for Darrell's absence, while credulously
confident of their future union--her spirits naturally wild and lively,
and the world, opening at her feet, so novel and so brilliant. This
fresh gaiety had amused the Marquess--he felt cheated when he found it
gone. Caroline might be gentle, docile, submissive; but those
virtues, though of higher quality than glad animal spirits, are not so
entertaining. His own exceeding sterility of mind and feeling was not
apparent till in the _tetes-a-tetes_ of conjugal life. A good-looking
young man, with a thoroughbred air, who rides well, dances well, and
holds his tongue, may, in all mixed societies, pass for a shy youth of
sensitive genius! But when he is your companion for life, and all to
yourself, and you find that, when he does talk, he has neither an idea
nor a sentiment--alas! alas for you, youn