The Champdoce Mystery | Page 8

thus?"
"Not at all, Marquis, you have suffered too deeply; but forgive me if I
say that you are foolish to despond so much over the future that lies
before you."
"Future!" repeated Norbert angrily, "what is the use of speaking to me
of the future, when I may be kept in this horrible servitude for the next
thirty years? My father is still hale and hearty."
"What of that? You will be of age soon, and then you will have full
right to claim your mother's fortune."
The extreme surprise displayed by Norbert at this intelligence
convinced the Counsellor that he was much more unsophisticated than
he had supposed him to be.

"A man," continued he, "can, when he attains his majority, dispose of
his inheritance as he thinks fit, and your mother's fortune will render
you independent of your father."
"But I should never dare to claim it; how could I venture to do so?"
"You need not make the application personally; your solicitor would
manage all that for you; but, of course, you must wait until you are of
age."
"But I cannot wait until then," said Norbert; "I must at once free myself
from this tyranny."
"Luckily there are ways."
"Do you really think so, Daumon?"
"Yes, and I will show you what is done every day. Nothing is more
common in noble families. Would you like to be a soldier?"
"No, I do not care for that, and yet----"
"That is your last resource, Marquis. First, then, we could lay a plaint
before the court."
"A plaint?"
"Certainly. Do you suppose that our laws do not provide for such a case
as a father exceeding the proper bounds of parental authority? Tell me,
has the Duke, your father, ever struck you?"
"Never once."
"Well, that is almost a pity. We will say that your father's property is
worth two millions, and yet you derive so slight a benefit from this that
you are known everywhere as the 'Young Savage of Champdoce'!"
Norbert started to his feet.

"Who dares speak of me like that?" said he furiously. "Tell me his
name."
This outburst of passion did not in the smallest degree discompose
Daumon.
"Your father has many enemies, Marquis," he resumed, "for his
manners are overbearing and exacting; but you have many friends, and
among them all you will find none more devoted than myself, humble
though my position may be. Many ladies of high rank take a great
interest in you. Only a day or two ago some persons were speaking of
you in the presence of Mademoiselle de Laurebourg, and she blushed
crimson at your name. Do you know Mademoiselle Diana?"
Norbert colored.
"Ah, I understand," replied Daumon. "And when you have broken the
fetters that now bind you, we shall see something one of these days.
And now--"
But at this moment Norbert's eyes caught a glimpse of the
old-fashioned cuckoo clock that hung on the wall in one corner of the
room. He started to his feet.
"Why, it is dinner-time!" said he. "What upon earth will my father
say?"
"What, does he keep you in such order as that?"
But, never heeding the sarcastic question of the Counsellor, Norbert
had regained his cart, and was driving off at full speed.
CHAPTER III.
A BOLD ADVENTURE.
Daumon had in no way exaggerated when he said that Norbert was
spoken of as the "Young Savage of Champdoce," though no one used

this appellation in an insulting form. Public opinion had changed
considerably regarding the Duke of Champdoce. The first time that he
had made his appearance, wearing wooden shoes and a leathern jacket,
every one had laughed, but this did not affect him at all, and in the end
people began to term his dogged obstinacy indomitable perseverance.
The gleam that shone from his hoarded millions imparted a brilliant
lustre to his shabby garments. Why should they waste their pity upon a
man who would eventually come into a gigantic fortune, and have the
means of gratifying all his desires?
Mothers, with daughters especially, took a great interest in the young
man, for to get a girl married to the "Young Savage of Champdoce"
would be a feat to be proud of; but unluckily his father watched him
with all the vigilance of a Spanish duenna. But there was a young girl
who had long since secretly formed a design of her own, and this
bold-hearted beauty was Diana de Laurebourg. It was with perfect
justice that she had received the name of the "Belle of Poitiers." She
was tall and very fair, with a dazzling complexion and masses of
lustrous hair; but her eyes gleamed with a suppressed fire, which
plainly showed the constitution of her nature. She had been brought up
in a convent,