The heroine so far of my own
story, I cannot yet voluntarily relinquish the privilege of sympathy, so
dear to the narrator of adventure, though I did, indeed, for a time
forget my own identity in the dark shadow, the mysterious crimes, the
unprecedented and speedy retributions that followed quickly on the heels
of guilt at Beauseincourt.
The picturesque old place, with its quaint French name and architecture
and antique furniture, did truly at first enchant my fancy (which
learned to shudder at its aspect later), as did, in the beginning, the
contiguous estates of "Bellevue" with its exquisite grounds, fountains,
and white-stuccoed mansion closely simulating the finest Italian marble.
Later, in accordance with the law of associations, this, too, became as
sorrowful in my sight as was the Hall of Vathek to those who mingled in
its mournful yet magnificent pageantry.
The denizens of this lonely abode were a most interesting couple. Still
young comparatively, virtually childless, and bearing the name (also a
Huguenot appellation) of "_Favraud_" the husband was bright,
intelligent, frivolous--the wife, an invalid of rare loveliness and
sweetness of character, who seldom emerged from her solitude. Both were
perfectly well bred.
These were relatives of Colonel La Vigne, whose son Walter was the
residuary legatee of Bellevue, with but one imbecile life, after that of
Madame Favraud, between him and enormous wealth.
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