Jack Hinton Part 62

'Ah, to be sure. _Pardieu_, they would say to-morrow that they had been omitted too, if they didn't appear.'

'What are we to do?' said her ladys.h.i.+p with energy. 'Grammont can be of no use here; for unfortunately these people are not French.'

'What then,' said I, 'is it some of the crowned heads who are the entertainers?'

'Oh, no! Indeed, I don't know who they are; nor do I know any one who does. The only fact of importance is that this is their third _fete_--the first two were the most brilliant things ever given in Paris; that the Emperor of Russia always dances there; that the King of Prussia makes his whist-party; that Blucher takes the head of one of the supper-tables; and, in a word, Talleyrand himself has employed more diplomacy to secure an extra ticket than he has often dispensed in carving out a new monarchy.'

My mother handed me a splendidly embossed card, as she spoke, upon which, in letters of pale burnished gold, were inscribed the following words: 'Madame de Roni, nee Ca.s.sidy de Kilmainham, prie honneur,' etc.

A burst of laughter at the absurdity of the t.i.tle stopped my reading further.

'She's an Italian, possibly,' said my mother.

'I should think not,' I replied; 'the "nee Ca.s.sidy de Kilmainham"

smacks of something nearer home. What think you of Ireland?'

'Ireland! Are these people Irish?' said she, starting with horror at the thought. 'I trust, my dear John, you would not think it proper to jest on such a subject.'

'My dear mother, I never heard of them before; the only thing that strikes me is the name. "Ca.s.sidy" is a.s.suredly more Milesian than Roman.'

'But she has birth--that's certain,' replied my mother proudly.

Not caring to argue the point, which after all resolved itself into the question that the lady was the child of somebody, and that somebody was called 'Ca.s.sidy,' I began to meditate on the singularity of such a phase in life as the entertainers of sovereigns, kaisers, kings, princes, archdukes, and amba.s.sadors being a person utterly unknown.

'But here's Grammont,' said my mother, as a gentle tap was heard at the door and the Count entered--the only change in his appearance since last I saw him being the addition of another cordon to his blue coat, and a certain springiness in his walk, which I afterwards remarked as common among all the returned _emigres_ at the restoration.

'Que diable faut il faire,' said the Count, entering, 'with this Madame de Roni? She refuses all the world. Ah, Jack, _mon cher_, how do you do?--safe and sound from all the perils of these terrible French, who cut you all to pieces in the Peninsula? But only think, _miladi_, no card for la d.u.c.h.esse de Tavenne; Madame de Givry left out! _Sapristi!_ I hope there is nothing against _ce pauvre_ Roi de Prusse.'

'Well, and here is John,' said my mother; 'what are we to do about him?'

My renewed disclaimer of any wish in the matter was cut short by a look of reproof, and I waited the whole discussion with patience.

'Never was there such a difficulty,' said the Count, musing. 'There is certainly nothing to be done through the worthy husband of Madame.

Dejoncourt and two or three more gave him a _diner en gourmand_ at Very's, to seduce him; and after his fifth flask of champagne he frankly confessed he was sorry he could not return their civilities as he wished. I 'll entertain you here, and have Blucher and Platon, Fouche, and any one else you like to meet you. I'll introduce you to old Prussia and the Czar whenever you please; you shall have permission to shoot at Fontainebleau any day you mention; but as to Madame de Roni, she is devilish exclusive. I really cannot manage that for you.'

'I wish you could prevail on yourself to be serious,' said my mother, in nowise pleased with the jocular spirit the Count's anecdote had excited.

'But here is Julia--what does she advise?'

As my mother spoke, the door opened, and my cousin appeared. Her figure had more of the roundness of womanhood, and her face, though paler, was fuller, and its expression had a.s.sumed a more decided character than when I last saw her. Her winning smile and her graceful carriage were all unchanged; and her low soft voice never struck me as more fascinating than when she held out her hand and said--

'My dear cousin, how happy it makes me to see you again!'

Her dark-blue eyes were tearful as she spoke, and her lip--that haughty lip--trembled. A strange wild thrill crept through my heart as I pressed her hand within both of mine--a vague feeling which I dared not suffer to dwell in my mind, and yet feared lest when it should depart that I had lost my chance of happiness. Yes, there are times when a man without the admixture of any c.o.xcombry in the feeling, without a particle of vanity--nay, with a deep sense of his own un worthiness--can ask himself, 'Does this woman like me?' And at such moments, if his own heart give not the ready answer, it were far better that he sought not the reply from his reason.

It was only when my mother asked, for the second time, what was to be done about John's ticket, that Julia seemed aware of the question--a slight, a very slight, curving of her lip showing the while the sense she entertained of such an inquiry after long years of separation; and at last, as if unable to repress the indignation of the moment, she said abruptly--

'But, of course, as we shall not think of going tonight----'

'We not go! Eh, _pardieu!_ why not?' said the Count.

'The Colonel below-stairs begs to say that he will call somewhat later,'

said the _femme de chambre_ at this juncture.

'The Colonel! Whom does she mean?'

'Oh, my friend O'Grady. Poor fellow! I have been forgetting him all this while. So allow me to join him, and well wait for your appearance in the drawing-room.'

'I remember him perfectly,' said my mother--'an agreeable person, I think. So take Julia and the Count with you, and I'll follow as soon as I can.'

Julia blushed deeply, and as suddenly grew pale again as my mother spoke. I knew that she had always treated my friend with hauteur and reserve, without any a.s.signable reason, and had long determined that when an opportunity arose I would endeavour to get rid of the unjust impression she had somehow conceived of my warmest, truest friend. This was not, however, the time for explanations; and I merely said, as I offered my arm--

'Poor O'Grady has been badly wounded; but I think he's now getting on favourably.'

She said something in reply, but the words were lost in the noise of descending the stairs. Just as we reached the landing I caught a glimpse of my friend issuing from the _porte cochere_, and only in time to call him by his name--

'Holloa, Phil! Don't go away.'

As he turned back towards the drawing-room, he cried out--

'It's only this instant, Jack, I remembered how very awkward it was of me to come here with you at this hour. You have, of course, so much to say and hear after your absence--'

The sight of my fair cousin cut short his speech, as she stood near the door with her hand out to receive him. As O'Grady took her taper fingers within his own, there was an air of cold distance in his manner that actually offended me. Bowing deeply, he said a few brief words in a tone of gravity and stiffness quite unusual with him; and then, turning to Grammont, he shook the Count's hand with a warmth and cordiality most markedly different. I only dared to glance at Julia; but as I did so I could mark an expression of haughty displeasure that settled on her brow, while her heightened colour made her turn away towards the window.

I was myself so much annoyed by the manner in which O'Grady had received advances which I had never seen made to any one before, that I was silent. Even Grammont saw the awkwardness of all parties so much in need of his intervention that he at once opened the whole negotiation of the ball to O'Grady, describing with a Frenchman's volubility and sarcasm the stratagems and devices which were employed to obtain invitations, the triumph of the successful, the despairing malice of the unfortunate--heightening his narrative by the mystery of the fair hostess, who, herself unknown and unheard of till now, was at this moment at the pinnacle of fas.h.i.+on, dictating the laws and distributing the honours of the beau monde to the greatest sovereigns of Europe.

'She is very beautiful, no doubt?' asked O'Grady.

'Oui, pas mal,' said Grammont, with that all-explaining shrug of the shoulders by which a foreigner conveys so much.

'Very rich, perhaps?'

'Millionaire!' said the Frenchman, in a tone of exultation that bespoke his full acquiescence in that surmise at least.

'And her rank?'

'Ah, I don't read riddles. All I know is, her house is the best thing at Paris; she has secured old Cambaceres' _chef de cuisine_; has bought up the groom of the chambers of the ex-Emperor; keeps an _estafette_ going on the Strasbourg road for _pates de foie gras_; and is on such terms with the sovereigns that she has their private bands to play at all her parties. Que voulez-vous?'

'Nothing more, indeed!' said O'Grady, laughing. 'Such admirable supremacy in the world of _bon ton_ it would be rank heresy to question further, and I no longer wonder at the active canva.s.s for her invitations.'

'Oui, parbleu!' said the Frenchman gaily. 'If Monsieur the Comte d'Artois does not exert himself, people will be more proud of a ticket to these b.a.l.l.s than of the Croix de St. Louis. For my own part, I think of wearing mine over the cordon.'

As he spoke, he flourished his card of invitation in the air, and displayed it in his bosom.

'Madame de Roni, nee Ca.s.sidy de Kilmainham,' said O'Grady, bursting into a perfect roar of laughter. 'This is glorious, Jack! Did you see this?'

'See! eh? to be sure; and what then?'

But O'Gradys mirth had burst all bounds, and he sat back in an arm-chair laughing immoderately. To all our questions he could give no other reply than renewed bursts of merriment, which, however enjoyed by himself, were very provoking to us.

'He knows her,' whispered Grammont in my ear; 'be a.s.sured he knows Madame.'