“The pain in your heart!” repeated Roderick mimicking him. “But, come! come! I can pity you. I have been in love at least fifty times myself—so I know what it is.”
“But I am not in love,” remonstrated Edric.
“Denial is one of the most dangerous symptoms,” resumed Roderick, gravely. “Experienced physicians rarely think their patients really ill, till they are not conscious of it themselves. Let me feel your pulse.”
“Psha,” said Edric impatiently.
“Will you go then?” asked Roderick, laughing; and to avoid being farther tormented by his raillery, Edric hastily rose from his couch and declared himself ready to attend him. The injuries he had received, having been only flesh wounds inflicted with a sabre, had now nearly healed; and the only change they had produced in his appearance, had been to make him look more pale and interesting, one arm being supported by a sling, and a bandeau bound round his forehead. Pauline’s eyes sparkled when she saw him, in spite of her intended indifference; and she could not command her voice so entirely, but that its tremulous tone betrayed her inward agitation.
Edric’s eyes also involuntarily expressed his pleasure; whilst the gay laugh and arch look of Roderick told that he was perfectly aware of what was passing in the mind of each. Doctor Entwerfen, however, saw nothing of the kind, his mind being quite absorbed in the delightful contemplation of his own glory. He had been presented to M. de Mallet by Roderick, as “his friend and counsellor, the learned and justly celebrated Doctor Entwerfen;” and that moment seemed a sufficient reward for a whole life of misery, the doctor’s ecstasy upon the occasion being so unbounded, that he neither knew what he did nor what he said. Whilst Roderick had been speaking, indeed, he had been in perfect agony; stretching himself out on tiptoe, opening his hands and closing them again with every sentence, as though bursting with impatience to speak, that he might by his eloquence confirm the monarch’s eulogium, yet trembling every instant lest he should interrupt it.
M. de Mallet had been a dabbler in scientific experiments in his youth, and, pleased to find a person who could talk to him, and understand his ideas upon the subject, he soon drew the doctor on one side, leaving his younger friends to be entertained by his daughter.
The conversation which ensued may be easily imagined. Lovers are not famed for any eloquence but that of the eyes, and those of Edric and Pauline were sufficiently expressive, whilst the languor of indisposition, under which they were both suffering, shed a pleasing softness over their ideas very favourable to the development of the tender passion. Whilst Roderick, who notwithstanding his love for mischief was really good-natured, no longer tormented them with his raillery; and Edric so well improved his time, that when M. de Mallet had finished his conference with the doctor, and Roderick informed him of his in tention of leaving Seville upon the following day, after appointing him governor of the city, Pauline turned deathly pale, and every hope of happiness seemed to fly from her breast forever.
M. de Mallet, however, was not at all aware of his daughter’s anguish; and, thanking the king gratefully for the high honour conferred upon him, his fancy began to revel by anticipation in the delights of governorship; and in ten minutes he had arranged in his mind as many improvements and alterations as it would take fifty years to accomplish.
“Farewell!” continued Roderick: “I trust we shall meet again, if not here, at least in another and a better world. Permit me, lady!” continued he, slightly touching with his lips the pallid cheek of Pauline. “Tomorrow with the dawn we advance, and we have so much to do ere then, that we must deny ourselves the pleasure of again enjoying your society. Farewell, Governor! you will find the necessary papers to install you here,” (giving him a packet) “and the soldiers have orders to obey you as myself. Come, Edric.”
Edric advanced, and bowing, took the hand of Pauline and pressed it respectfully to his lips;—his heart was too full to speak. Pauline could scarcely restrain her tears, and shaking hands with the doctor, she hastily retired to a part of the tent enclosed for her use.
“My daughter is not well,” said M. de Mallet; “these scenes of blood and war are too much for her nerves; but she will soon recover when you have left us.”
“I doubt that,” murmured Roderick in a half whisper; and soon after the friends retired. Edric was not insensible to Pauline’s emotion; and as he more than suspected the cause, a pleasure unknown before throbbed in his bosom: his eyes sparkled, and his whole appearance presented so complete a contrast to his usual depression, that Roderick could not resist the temptation of again rallying him most unmercifully upon it. “Talk of medicine,” cried he, “there is no elixir like the magic of a pair of bright eyes. All the physicians in my camp can effect nothing like it. Nay, you need not blush so, Edric! I did not imagine you were so far gone as that.”
“I do not blush, that I am aware of,” returned Edric, somewhat peevishly; for he did not relish being teased; “at least, I am sure I have no occasion for blushing.”
“Well, then, don’t look so like a bashful maiden, disavowing her first attachment, with a ‘La, Pa! how can you think so!’—I did not suppose you were capable of such affectation.”
“I am not aware that I have been guilty of any.”
“Come, then, own the truth candidly—you love Mademoiselle de Mallet?”
“How can you think so?” replied Edric, blushing deeply in spite of his efforts to look composed.
“You are indifferent to her, then? Dear me I had no idea of it, I never was more completely deceived in my life! Well, if that’s the case, I will resume my first design of trying my own fortune.”
“How can you be so provoking?”
“Why
