𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 ━ 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐋𝐞 𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐮

𝘼 𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

“THEN WE ARE to lose Madame la Comtesse, but I hope only for a few hours,” I said,
with a low bow.
“It may be that only, or it may be a few weeks. It was very unlucky his speaking to
me just now as he did. Do you now know me?”
“I assured her I did not.”
“You shall know me,” she said, “but not at present. We are older and better friends
than, perhaps, you suspect. I cannot yet declare myself. I shall in three weeks pass
your beautiful schloss, about which I have been making enquiries. I shall then look in
upon you for an hour or two, and renew a friendship which I never think of without a
thousand pleasant recollections. This moment a piece of news has reached me like a
thunderbolt. I must set out now, and travel by a devious route, nearly a hundred
miles, with all the dispatch I can possibly make. My perplexities multiply. I am only
deterred by the compulsory reserve I practice as to my name from making a very
singular request of you. My poor child has not quite recovered her strength.

Her horse fell with her, at a hunt which she had ridden out to witness, her nerves have not
yet recovered the shock, and our physician says that she must on no account exert
herself for some time to come. We came here, in consequence, by very easy stages —
hardly six leagues a day. I must now travel day and night, on a mission of life and
death — a mission the critical and momentous nature of which I shall be able to
explain to you when we meet, as I hope we shall, in a few weeks, without the
necessity of any concealment.”
She went on to make her petition, and it was in the tone of a person from whom
such a request amounted to conferring, rather than seeking a favor.

This was only in manner, and, as it seemed, quite unconsciously. Than the terms
in which it was expressed, nothing could be more deprecatory. It was simply that I
would consent to take charge of her daughter during her absence.
This was, all things considered, a strange, not to say, an audacious request. She in
some sort disarmed me, by stating and admitting everything that could be urged
against it, and throwing herself entirely upon my chivalry. At the same moment, by a
fatality that seems to have predetermined all that happened, my poor child came to
my side, and, in an undertone, besought me to invite her new friend, Millarca, to pay
us a visit. She had just been sounding her, and thought, if her mamma would allow
her, she would like it extremely.
At another time I should have told her to wait a little, until, at least, we knew who
they were. But I had not a moment to think in. The two ladies assailed me together,
and I must confess the refined and beautiful face of the young lady, about which there
was something extremely engaging, as well as the elegance and fire of high birth, determined me; and, quite overpowered, I submitted, and undertook, too easily, the
care of the young lady, whom her mother called Millarca.