In a Glass Darkly - J. Sheridan Le Fanu (great reads txt) 📗

and a pleasant moonlight over everything. I had entered more into my romance since my arrival, and this poetic light heightened the sentiment. What a drama, if she turned out to be the Count’s daughter, and in love with me! What a delightful⁠—tragedy, if she turned out to be the Count’s wife!

In this luxurious mood, I was accosted by a tall and very elegantly-made gentleman, who appeared to be about fifty. His air was courtly and graceful, and there was in his whole manner and appearance something so distinguished, that it was impossible not to suspect him of being a person of rank.

He had been standing upon the steps, looking out, like me, upon the moonlight effects that transformed, as it were, the objects and buildings in the little street. He accosted me, I say, with the politeness, at once easy and lofty, of a French nobleman of the old school. He asked me if I were not Mr. Beckett? I assented; and he immediately introduced himself as the Marquis d’Harmonville (this information he gave me in a low tone), and asked leave to present me with a letter from Lord R⁠⸺, who knew my father slightly, and had once done me, also, a trifling kindness.

This English peer, I may mention, stood very high in the political world, and was named as the most probable successor to the distinguished post of English Minister at Paris.

I received it with a low bow, and read:

“My Dear Beckett,

“I beg to introduce my very dear friend, the Marquis d’Harmonville, who will explain to you the nature of the services it may be in your power to render him and us.”

He went on to speak of the Marquis as a man whose great wealth, whose intimate relations with the old families, and whose legitimate influence with the court rendered him the fittest possible person for those friendly offices which, at the desire of his own sovereign, and of our government, he has so obligingly undertaken.

It added a great deal to my perplexity, when I read, further⁠—

“By the by, Walton was here yesterday, and told me that your seat was likely to be attacked; something, he says, is unquestionably going on at Domwell. You know there is an awkwardness in my meddling ever so cautiously. But I advise, if it is not very officious, your making Haxton look after it, and report immediately. I fear it is serious. I ought to have mentioned that, for reasons that you will see, when you have talked with him for five minutes, the Marquis⁠—with the concurrence of all our friends⁠—drops his title, for a few weeks, and is at present plain Monsieur Droqville.

“I am this moment going to town, and can say no more.

“Yours faithfully,

“R⁠⸺.”

I was utterly puzzled. I could scarcely boast of Lord ⸻’s acquaintance. I knew no one named Haxton, and, except my hatter, no one called Walton; and this peer wrote as if we were intimate friends! I looked at the back of the letter, and the mystery was solved. And now, to my consternation⁠—for I was plain Richard Beckett⁠—I read⁠—

“To George Stanhope Beckett, Esq., M.P.”

I looked with consternation in the face of the Marquis.

“What apology can I offer to Monsieur the Mar⁠—to Monsieur Droqville? It is true my name is Beckett⁠—it is true I am known, though very slightly to Lord R⁠⸺; but the letter was not intended for me. My name is Richard Beckett⁠—this is to Mr. Stanhope Beckett, the member for Shillingsworth. What can I say, or do, in this unfortunate situation? I can only give you my honour as a gentleman, that, for me, the letter, which I now return, shall remain as unviolated a secret as before I opened it. I am so shocked and grieved that such a mistake should have occurred!”

I dare say my honest vexation and good faith were pretty legibly written in my countenance; for the look of gloomy embarrassment which had for a moment settled on the face of the Marquis, brightened; he smiled, kindly, and extended his hand.

“I have not the least doubt that Monsieur Beckett will respect my little secret. As a mistake was destined to occur, I have reason to thank my good stars that it should have been with a gentleman of honour. Monsieur Beckett will permit me, I hope, to place his name among those of my friends?”

I thanked the Marquis very much for his kind expressions. He went on to say⁠—

“If, Monsieur, I can persuade you to visit me at Claironville, in Normandy, where I hope to see, on the 15th of August, a great many friends, whose acquaintance it might interest you to make, I shall be too happy.”

I thanked him, of course, very gratefully for his hospitality. He continued:

“I cannot, for the present, see my friends, for reasons which you may surmise, at my house in Paris. But Monsieur will be so good as to let me know the hotel he means to stay at in Paris; and he will find that although the Marquis d’Harmonville is not in town, that Monsieur Droqville will not lose sight of him.”

With many acknowledgments I gave him the information he desired.

“And in the meantime,” he continued, “if you think of any way in which Monsieur Droqville can be of use to you, our communication shall not be interrupted, and I shall so manage matters that you can easily let me know.”

I was very much flattered. The Marquis had, as we say, taken a fancy to me. Such likings at first sight often ripen into lasting friendships. To be sure it was just possible that the Marquis might think it prudent to keep the involuntary depository of a political secret, even so vague a one, in good humour.

Very graciously the Marquis took his leave, going up the stairs of the Belle Etoile.

I remained upon the steps, for a minute lost in speculation upon this new theme of