In the Days of My Youth: A Novel
Page 4
CHAPTER VII.
AT THE CHEVAL BLANC
My journey, even at this distance of time, appears to me like anenchanted dream. I observed, yet scarcely remembered, the scenes throughwhich I passed, so divided was I between the novelty of travelling andthe eagerness of anticipation. Provided with my letters of introduction,the sum of one hundred guineas, English, and the enthusiasm of twentyyears of age, I fancied myself endowed with an immortality of wealth andhappiness.
The Brighton coach passed through our town once a week; so I started forParis without having ever visited London, and took the route by Newhavenand Dieppe. Having left home on Tuesday morning, I reached Rouen in thecourse of the next day but one. At Rouen I stayed to dine and sleep, andso made my way to the _Cheval Blanc_, a grand hotel on the quay, where Iwas received by an aristocratic elderly waiter who sauntered out from aside office, surveyed me patronizingly, entered my name upon a card fora seat at the _table d'hote_, and, having rung a feeble little bell,sank exhausted upon a seat in the hall.
"To number seventeen, Marie," said this majestic personage, handing meover to a pretty little chambermaid who attended the summons. "And,Marie, on thy return, my child, bring me an absinthe."
We left this gentleman in a condition of ostentatious languor, and Mariedeposited me in a pretty room overlooking an exquisite little garden setround with beds of verbena and scarlet geranium, with a fountainsparkling in the midst. This garden was planted in what had once beenthe courtyard, of the building. The trees nodded and whispered, and thewindows at the opposite side of the quadrangle glittered like burnishedgold in the sunlight. I threw open the jalousies, plucked one of thewhite roses that clustered outside, and drank in with delight the sunnyperfumed air that played among the leaves, and scattered the waters ofthe fountain. I could not long rest thus, however. I longed to be outand about; so, as it was now no more than half-past three o'clock, andtwo good hours of the glorious midsummer afternoon yet remained to mebefore the hotel dinner-hour, I took my hat, and went out along thequays and streets of this beautiful and ancient Norman city.
Under the crumbling archways; through narrow alleys where the upperstories nearly met overhead, leaving only a bright strip of dazzling skybetween; past quaint old mansions, and sculptured fountains, and statelychurches hidden away in all kinds of strange forgotten nooks andcorners, I wandered, wondering and unwearied. I saw the statue of Jeanned'Arc; the chateau of Diane de Poitiers; the archway carved in oak wherethe founder of the city still, in rude effigy, presides; the museumrich in mediaeval relics; the market-place crowded with fruit-sellers andflower-girls in their high Norman caps. Above all, I saw the rare oldGothic Cathedral, with its wondrous wealth of antique sculpture; itsiron spire, destined, despite its traceried beauty, to everlastingincompleteness; its grass-grown buttresses, and crumbling pinnacles, andportals crowded with images of saints and kings. I went in. All wasgray, shadowy, vast; dusk with the rich gloom of painted windows; and sosilent that I scarcely dared disturb the echoes by my footsteps. Therestood in a corner near the door a triangular iron stand stuck full ofvotive tapers that flickered and sputtered and guttered dismally,shedding showers of penitential grease-drops on the paved floor below;and there was a very old peasant woman on her knees before the altar. Isat down on a stone bench and fell into a long study of the stainedoriel, the light o'erarching roof, and the long perspective of thepillared aisles. Presently the verger came out of the vestry-room,followed by two gentlemen. He was short and plump, with a loose blackgown, slender black legs, and a pointed nose--like a larger speciesof raven.
"_Bon jour, M'sieur_" croaked he, laying his head a little on one side,and surveying me with one glittering eye. "Will M'sieur be pleased tosee the treasury?"
"The treasury!" I repeated. "What is there to be seen in the treasury?"
"Nothing, sir, worth one son of an Englishman's money," said the tallerof the gentlemen. "Tinsel, paste, and dusty bones--all humbug andextortion."
Something in the scornful accent and the deep voice aroused thesuspicions of the verger, though the words were spoken in English.
"Our treasury, M'sieur," croaked he, more ravenly than ever, "isrich--rich in episcopal jewels; in relics--inestimable relics. Ticketstwo francs each."
Grateful, however, for the timely caution, I acknowledged mycountryman's courtesy by a bow, declined the proffered investment, andwent out again into the sunny streets.
At five o'clock I found myself installed near the head of an immenselylong dinner-table in the _salle a manger_ of the Cheval Blanc. The_salle a manger_ was a magnificent temple radiant with mirrors, andlustres, and panels painted in fresco. The dinner was an imposing rite,served with solemn ceremonies by ministering waiters. There were aboutthirty guests seated round, in august silence, most of them very smartlydressed, and nearly all English. A stout gentleman, with a little knobon the top of his bald head, a buff waistcoat, and a shirt amplyfrilled, sat opposite to me, flanked on either side by an elderlydaughter in green silk. On my left I was supported by a thin younggentleman with fair hair, and blue glasses. To my right stood a vacantchair, the occupant of which had not yet arrived; and at the head of thetable sat a spare pale man dressed all in black, who spoke to no one,kept his eyes fixed upon his plate, and was served by the waiters withespecial servility. The soup came and went in profound silence. Faintwhispers passed to and fro with the fish. It was not till the roast madeits appearance that anything like conversation broke the sacred silenceof the meal. At this point the owner of the vacant chair arrived, andtook his place beside me. I recognised him immediately. It was theEnglishman whom I had met in the Cathedral. We bowed, and presently hespoke to me. In the meantime, he had every forgone item of the dinnerserved to him as exactly as if he had not been late at table, and sippedhis soup with perfect deliberation while others were busy with thesweets. Our conversation began, of course, with the weather andthe place.
"Your first visit to Rouen, I suppose?" said he. "Beautiful old city, isit not? _Garcon_, a pint of Bordeaux-Leoville."
I modestly admitted that it was not only my first visit to Rouen, but myfirst to the Continent.
"Ah, you may go farther than Rouen, and fare worse," said he. "Do yousketch? No? That's a pity, for it's deliciously picturesque--though,for my own part, I am not enthusiastic about gutters and gables, and Iobject to a population composed exclusively of old women. I'm glad, bythe way, that I preserved you from wasting your time among the atrociouslumber of that so-called treasury."
"The treasury!" exclaimed my slim neighbor with the blue glasses. "Begyour p--p--pardon, sir, but are you speaking of the Cathedral treasury?Is it worth v--v--visiting?"
"Singularly so," replied he to my right. "One of the rarest collectionsof authentic curiosities in France. They have the snuff-box of Clovis,the great toe of Saint Helena, and the tongs with which St. Dunstan tookthe devil by the nose."
"Up--p--pon my word, now, that's curious," ejaculated the thin tourist,who had an impediment in his speech. "I must p--p--put that down. Dearme! the snuff-box of King Clovis! I must see these relics to-morrow."
"Be sure you ask for the great toe of St. Helena," said my right handcompanion, proceeding imperturbably with his dinner. "The saint had butone leg at the period of her martyrdom, and that great toe is unique."
"G--g--good gracious!" exclaimed the tourist, pulling out a giganticnote-book, and entering the fact upon the spot. "A saint with oneleg--and a lady, too! Wouldn't m--m--miss that for the world!"
I looked round, puzzled by the gravity of my new acquaintance.
"Is this all true?" I whispered. "You told me the treasury was ahumbug."
"And so it is."
"But the snuff-box of Clovis, and...."
"Pure inventions! The man's a muff, and on muffs I have no mercy. Do youstay long in Rouen?"
"No, I go on to Paris to-morrow. I wish I could remain longer."
"I am not sure that you would gain more from a long visit than from ashort one. Some places a
re like some women, charming, _en passant_, butintolerable upon close acquaintance. It is just so with Rouen. The placecontains no fine galleries, and no places of public entertainment; andthough exquisitely picturesque, is nothing more. One cannot always belooking at old houses, and admiring old churches. You will be delightedwith Paris."
"B--b--beautiful city," interposed the stammerer, eager to join ourconversation, whenever he could catch a word of it. "I'm going toP--P--Paris myself."
"Then, sir, I don't doubt you will do ample justice to its attractions,"observed my right-hand neighbor. "From the size of your note-book, andthe industry with which you accumulate useful information, I shouldpresume that you are a conscientious observer of all that is reconditeand curious."
"I as--p--pire to be so," replied the other, with a blush and a bow. "Im--m--mean to exhaust P--P--Paris. I'm going to write a b--b--book aboutit, when I get home."'
My friend to the right flashed one glance of silent scorn upon thefuture author, drained the last glass of his Bordeaux-Leoville, pushedhis chair impatiently back, and said:--"This place smells like akitchen. Will you come out, and have a cigar?"
So we rose, took our hats, and in a few moments were strolling under thelindens on the Quai de Corneille.
I, of course, had never smoked in my life; and, humiliating though itwas, found myself obliged to decline a "prime Havana," proffered in thedaintiest of embroidered cigar-cases. My companion looked as if hepitied me. "You'll soon learn," said he. "A man can't live in Pariswithout tobacco. Do you stay there many weeks?"
"Two years, at least," I replied, registering an inward resolution toconquer the difficulties of tobacco without delay. "I am going to studymedicine under an eminent French surgeon."
"Indeed! Well, you could not go to a better school, or embrace a noblerprofession. I used to think a soldier's life the grandest under heaven;but curing is a finer thing than killing, after all! What a deliciousevening, is it not? If one were only in Paris, now, or Vienna,...."
"What, Oscar Dalrymple!" exclaimed a voice close beside us. "I should assoon have expected to meet the great Panjandrum himself!"
"--With the little round button at top," added my companion, tossingaway the end of his cigar, and shaking hands heartily with thenew-comer. "By Jove, Frank, I'm glad to see you! What brings you here?"
"Business--confound it! And not pleasant business either. _A proces_which my father has instituted against a great manufacturing firm hereat Rouen, and of which I have to bear the brunt. And you?"
"And I, my dear fellow? Pshaw! what should I be but an idler in searchof amusement?"
"Is it true that you have sold out of the Enniskillens?"
"Unquestionably. Liberty is sweet; and who cares to carry a sword intime of peace? Not I, at all events."
While this brief greeting was going forward, I hung somewhat in therear, and amused myself by comparing the speakers. The new-comer wasrather below than above the middle height, fair-haired and boyish, witha smile full of mirth and an eye full of mischief. He looked about twoyears my senior. The other was much older--two or three and thirty, atthe least--dark, tall, powerful, finely built; his wavy hair clippedclose about his sun-burnt neck; a thick moustache of unusual length; anda chest that looked as if it would have withstood the shock of abattering-ram. Without being at all handsome, there was a look ofbrightness, and boldness, and gallantry about him that arrested one'sattention at first sight. I think I should have taken him for a soldier,had I not already gathered it from the last words of their conversation.
"Who is your friend?" I heard the new-comer whisper.
To which the other replied:--"Haven't the ghost of an idea."
Presently he took out his pocket-book, and handing me a card, said:--
"We are under the mutual disadvantage of all chance acquaintances. Myname is Dalrymple--Oscar Dalrymple, late of the Enniskillen Dragoons. Myfriend here is unknown to fame as Mr. Frank Sullivan; a young gentlemanwho has the good fortune to be younger partner in a firm of merchantprinces, and the bad taste to dislike his occupation."
How I blushed as I took Captain Dalrymple's card, and stammered out myown name in return! I had never possessed a card in my life, nor neededone, till this moment. I rather think that Captain Dalrymple guessedthese facts, for he shook hands with me at once, and put an end to myembarrassment by proposing that we should take a boat, and pull a mileor two up the river. The thing was no sooner said than done. There wereplenty of boats below the iron bridge; so we chose one of the cleanest,and jumped into it without any kind of reference to the owner, whoeverhe might be.
"_Batelier, Messieurs? Batelier_?" cried a dozen men at once, rushingdown to the water's edge.
But Dalrymple had already thrown off his coat, and seized the oars.
"_Batelier_, indeed!" laughed he, as with two or three powerful strokeshe carried us right into the middle, of the stream. "Trust an Oxford manfor employing any arms but his own, when a pair of sculls are inquestion!"
* * * * *
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ISLAND IN THE RIVER.
It was just eight o'clock when we started, with the twilight coming on.Our course lay up the river, with a strong current setting against us;so we made but little way, and enjoyed the tranquil beauty of theevening. The sky was pale and clear, somewhat greenish overhead anddeepening along the line of the horizon into amber and rose. Behind uslay the town with every brown spire articulated against the sky andevery vane glittering in the last glow that streamed up from the west.To our left rose a line of steep chalk cliffs, and before us lay theriver, winding away through meadow lands fringed with willows andpoplars, and interspersed with green islands wooded to the water's edge.Presently the last flush faded, and one large planet, splendid andsolitary, like the first poet of a dark century, emerged from thedeepening gray.
My companions were in high spirits. They jested; they laughed; theyhummed scraps of songs; they had a greeting for every boat that passed.By-and-by, we came to an island with a little landing-place where ascore or two of boats were moored against the alders by the water'sedge. A tall flag-staff gay with streamers peeped above the tree-tops,and a cheerful sound of piping and fiddling, mingled with the hum ofmany voices, came and went with the passing breeze. As Dalrymple restedon his oars to listen, a boat which we had outstripped some minutesbefore, shot past us to the landing-place, and its occupants, five innumber, alighted.
"Bet you ten to one that's a bridal party," said Mr. Sullivan.
"Say you so? Then suppose we follow, and have a look at the bride!"exclaimed his friend. "The place is a public garden."
The proposition was carried unanimously, and we landed, having firsttied the boat to a willow. We found the island laid out very prettily;intersected by numbers of little paths, with rustic seats here and thereamong the trees, and variegated lamps gleaming out amid the grass, likeparti-colored glow-worms. Following one of these paths, we camepresently to an open space, brilliantly lighted and crowded byholiday-makers. Here were refreshment stalls, and Russian swings, andqueer-looking merry-go-rounds, where each individual sat on a woodenhorse and went gravely round and round with a stick in his hand, tryingto knock off a ring from the top of a pole in the middle. Here, also,was a band in a gaily decorated orchestra; a circular area roped offfor dancers; a mysterious tent with a fortune-teller inside; alottery-stall resplendent with vases and knick-knacks, which nobody wasever known to win; in short, all kinds of attractions, stale enough, nodoubt, to my companions, but sufficiently novel and amusing to me.
We strolled about for some time among the stalls and promenaders andamused ourselves by criticising the company, which was composed almostentirely of peasants, soldiers, artisans in blue blouses and humbletradespeople. The younger women were mostly handsome, with high Normancaps, white kerchiefs and massive gold ear-rings. Many, in addition tothe ear-rings, wore a gold cross suspended round the neck by a piece ofblack velvet; and some had a brooch to match. Here, si
tting round atable under a tree, we came upon a family group, consisting of a littleplump, bald-headed _bourgeois_ with his wife and two children--the wifestout and rosy; the children noisy and authoritative. They werediscussing a dish of poached eggs and a bottle of red wine, to the musicof a polka close by.
"I should like to dance," said the little girl, drumming with her feetagainst the leg of the table, and eating an egg with her fingers. "I maydance presently with Phillippe, may I not, papa?"
"I won't dance," said Phillippe sulkily. "I want some oysters."
"Oysters, _mon enfant_! I have told you twice already that no one eatsoysters in July," observed his mother.
"I don't care for that," said Phillippe. "It's my _fete_ day, and UncleJacques said I was to have whatever I fancied; I want some oysters."
"Your Uncle Jacques did not know what an unreasonable boy you are,"replied the father angrily. "If you say another word about oysters, youshall not ride in the _manege_ to-night."
Phillippe thrust his fists into his eyes and began to roar--so we walkedaway.
In an arbor, a little further on, we saw two young people whisperingearnestly, and conscious of no eyes but each other's.
"A pair of lovers," said Sullivan.
"And a pair that seldom get the chance of meeting, if we may judge bytheir untasted omelette," replied Dalrymple. "But where's thebridal party?"
"Oh, we shall find them presently. You seem interested."
"I am. I mean to dance with the bride and make the bridegroom jealous."
We laughed and passed on, peeping into every arbor, observing everygroup, and turning to stare at every pretty girl we met. My own aptitudein the acquisition of these arts of gallantry astonished myself. Now, wepassed a couple of soldiers playing at dominoes; now a noisy party rounda table in the open air covered with bottles; now an arbor where half adozen young men and three or four girls were assembled round a bowl ofblazing punch. The girls were protesting they dare not drink it, butwere drinking it, nevertheless, with exceeding gusto.
"Grisettes and _commis voyageurs!_" said Dalrymple, contemptuously. "Letus go and look at the dancers."
We went on, and stood in the shelter of some trees near the orchestra.The players consisted of three violins, a clarionette and a big drum.The big drum was an enthusiastic performer. He belabored his instrumentas heartily as if it had been his worst enemy, but with so muchindependence of character that he never kept the same time as hisfellow-players for two minutes together. They were playing a polka forthe benefit of some twelve or fifteen couples, who were dancing with alltheir might in the space before the orchestra. On they came, round andround and never weary, two at a time--a mechanic and a grisette, arustic and a Normandy girl, a tall soldier and a short widow, a fattradesman and his wife, a couple of milliners assistants who preferreddancing together to not dancing at all, and so forth.
"How I wish somebody would ask me, _ma mere_!" said a coquettishbrunette, close by, with a sidelong glance at ourselves."
"You shall dance with your brother Paul, my dear, as soon as he comes,"replied her mother, a stout _bourgeoise_ with a green fan.
"But it is such dull work to dance with one's brother!" pouted thebrunette. "If it were one's cousin, even, it would be different."
Mr. Frank Sullivan flung away his cigar, and began buttoning up hisgloves.
"I'll take that damsel out immediately," said he. "A girl who objects todance with her brother deserves encouragement."
So away he went with his hat inclining jauntily on one side, and, havingobtained the mother's permission, whirled away with the pretty brunetteinto the very thickest of the throng.
"There they are!" said Dalrymple, suddenly. "There's the wedding party._Per Bacco_! but our little bride is charming!"
"And the bridegroom is a handsome specimen of rusticity."
"Yes--a genuine pastoral pair, like a Dresden china shepherd andshepherdess. See, the girl is looking up in his face--he shakes hishead. She is urging him to dance, and he refuses! Never mind, _mabelle_--you shall have your valse, and Corydon may be as cross ashe pleases!"
"Don't flatter yourself that she will displease Corydon to dance withyour lordship!" I said, laughingly.
"Pshaw! she would displease fifty Corydons if I chose to make her doso," said Dalrymple, with a smile of conscious power.
"True; but not on her wedding-day."
"Wedding-day or not, I beg to observe that in less than half an hour youwill see me whirling along with my arm round little Phillis's daintywaist. Now come and see how I do it."
He made his way through the crowd, and I, half curious, half abashed,went with him. The party was five in number, consisting of the bride andbridegroom, a rosy, middle-aged peasant woman, evidently the mother ofthe bride, and an elderly couple who looked like humble townsfolk, andwere probably related to one or other of the newly-married pair.Dalrymple opened the attack by stumbling against the mother, and thenoverwhelming her with elaborate apologies.
"In these crowded places, Madame," said he, in his fluent French, "oneis scarcely responsible for an impoliteness. I beg ten thousand pardons,however. I hope I have not hurt you?"
"_Ma foi!_ no, M'sieur. It would take more than that to hurt me!"
"Nor injured your dress, I trust, Madame?"
"_Ah, par exemple_! do I wear muslins or gauzes that they should notbear touching? No, no, no, M'sieur--thanking you all the same."
"You are very amiable, Madame, to say so."
"You are very polite, M'sieur, to think so much of a trifle."
"Nothing is a trifle, Madame, where a lady is concerned. At least, so weEnglishmen consider."
"Bah! M'sieur is not English?"
"Indeed, Madame, I am."
"_Mais, mon Dieu! c'est incroyable_. Suzette--brother Jacques--Andre, doyou hear this? M'sieur, here, swears that he is English, and yet hespeaks French like one of ourselves! Ah, what a fine thing learning is!"
"I may say with truth, Madame, that I never appreciate the advantages ofeducation so highly, as when they enable me to converse with ladies whoare not my own countrywomen," said Dalrymple, carrying on theconversation with as much studied politeness as if his interlocutor hadbeen a duchess. "But--excuse the observation--you are here, I imagine,upon a happy occasion?"
The mother laughed, and rubbed her hands.
"_Dame_! one may see that," replied she, "with one's eyes shut! Yes,M'sieur,--yes--their wedding-day, the dear children--their wedding-day!They've been betrothed these two years."
"The bride is very like you, Madame," said Dalrymple, gravely. "Youryounger sister, I presume?"
"_Ah, quel farceur_! He takes my daughter for my sister! Suzette, doyou hear this? M'sieur is killing me with laughter!"
And the good lady chuckled, and gasped, and wiped her eyes, and dealtDalrymple a playful push between the shoulders, which would have upsetthe balance of any less heavy dragoon.
"Your daughter, Madame!" said he. "Allow me to congratulate you. May Ialso be permitted to congratulate the bride?" And with this he took offhis hat to Suzette and shook hands with Andre, who looked notoverpleased, and proceeded to introduce me as his friend Monsieur BasilArbuthnot, "a young English gentleman, _tres distingue_"
The old lady then said her name was Madame Roquet, and that she rented asmall farm about a mile and a half from Rouen; that Suzette was her onlychild; and that she had lost her "blessed man" about eight years ago.She next introduced the elderly couple as her brother Jacques Robineauand his wife, and informed us that Jacques was a tailor, and had a shopopposite the church of St. Maclou, "_la bas_."
To judge of Monsieur Robineau's skill by his outward appearance, Ishould have said that he was professionally unsuccessful, and suppliedhis own wardrobe from the misfits returned by his customers. He wore awaistcoat which was considerably too long for him, trousers which wereconsiderably too short, and a green cloth coat with a high velvet collarwhich came up nearly to the tops of his ears. In respect of personalcharacteristics,
Monsieur Robineau and his wife were the most admirablecontrast imaginable. Monsieur Robineau was short; Madame Robineau wastall. Monsieur Robineau was as plump and rosy as a robin; MadameRobineau was pale and bony to behold. Monsieur Robineau looked the soulof good nature, ready to chirrup over his _grog-au-vin,_ to smoke a pipewith his neighbor, to cut a harmless joke or enjoy a harmless frolic, ascheerfully as any little tailor that ever lived; Madame Robineau, on thecontrary, preserved a dreadful dignity, and looked as if she could laughat nothing on this side of the grave. Not to consider the question toocuriously, I should have said, at first sight, that Monsieur Robineaustood in no little awe of his wife, and that Madame Robineau was thevery head and front of their domestic establishment.
It was wonderful and delightful to see how Captain Dalrymple placedhimself on the best of terms with all these good people--how he pattedRobineau on the back and complimented Madame, banished the cloud fromAndre's brow, and summoned a smile to the pretty cheek of Suzette. Onewould have thought he had known them for years already, so thoroughlywas he at home with every member of the wedding party.
Presently, he asked Suzette to dance. She blushed scarlet, and cast apretty appealing look at her husband and her mother. I could almostguess what she whispered to the former by the motion of her lips.
"Monsieur Andre will, I am sure, spare Madame for one gallop," saidDalrymple, with that kind of courtesy which accepts no denial. It wasquite another tone, quite another manner. It was no longer thepersuasive suavity of one who is desirous only to please, but thepoliteness of a gentleman to au inferior.
The cloud came back upon Andre's brow, and he hesitated; but MadameRoquet interposed.
"Spare her!" she exclaimed. "_Dame_! I should think so! She has neverleft his arm all day. Here, my child, give me your shawl while youdance, and bake care not to get too warm, for the evening air isdangerous."
And so Suzette took off her shawl, and Andre was silenced, andDalrymple, in less than the half hour, was actually whirling away withhis arm round little Phillis's dainty waist.
I am afraid that I proved a very indifferent _locum tenens_ for mybrilliant friend, and that the good people thought me exceedinglystupid. I tried to talk to them, but the language tripped me up at everyturn, and the right words never would come when they were wanted.Besides, I felt uneasy without knowing exactly why. I could not keepfrom watching Dalrymple and Suzette. I could not help noticing howclosely he held her; how he never ceased talking to her; and how thesmiles and blushes chased each other over her pretty face. That I shouldhave wit enough to observe these things proved that my education wasprogressing rapidly; but then, to be sure, I was studying under anaccomplished teacher.
They danced for a long time. So long, that Andre became uneasy, and myavailable French was quite exhausted. I was heartily glad when Dalrymplebrought back the little bride at last, flushed and panting, and (himselfas cool as a diplomatist) assisted her with her shawl and resigned herto the protection of her husband.
"Why hast thou danced so long with that big Englishman?" murmured Andre,discontentedly. "When _I_ asked thee, thou wast too tired, and now...."
"And now I am so happy to be near thee again," whispered Suzette.
Andre softened directly.
"But to dance for twenty minutes...." began he.
"Ah, but he danced so well, and I am so fond of waltzing, Andre!"
The cloud gathered again, and an impatient reply was coming, whenDalrymple opportunely invited the whole party to a bowl of punch in anadjoining arbor, and himself led the way with Madame Roquet. The arborwas vacant, a waiter was placing the chairs, and the punch was blazingin the bowl. It had evidently been ordered during one of the pauses inthe dance, that it might be ready to the moment--a little attentionwhich called forth exclamations of pleasure from both Madame Roquet andMonsieur Robineau, and touched with something like a gleam ofsatisfaction even the grim visage of Monsieur Robineau's wife.
Dalrymple took the head of the table, and stirred the punch into leapingtongues of blue flame till it looked like a miniature Vesuvius.
"What diabolical-looking stuff!" I exclaimed. "You might, to allappearance, be Lucifer's own cupbearer."
"A proof that it ought to be devilish good," replied Dalrymple, ladlingit out into the glasses. "Allow me, ladies and gentlemen, to propose thehealth, happiness, and prosperity of the bride and bridegroom. May theynever die, and may they be remembered for ever after!"
We all laughed as if this was the best joke we had heard in our lives,and Dalrymple filled the glasses up again.
"What, in the name of all that's mischievous, can have become ofSullivan?" said he to me. "I have not caught so much as a glimpse of himfor the last hour."
"When I last saw him, he was dancing."
"Yes, with a pretty little dark-eyed girl in a blue dress. By Jove! thatfellow will be getting into trouble if left to himself!"
"But the girl has her mother with her!"
"All the stronger probability of a scrimmage," replied Dalrymple,sipping his punch with a covert glance of salutation at Suzette.
"Shall I see if they are among the dancers?"
"Do--but make haste; for the punch is disappearing fast."
I left them, and went back to the platform where the indefatigablepublic was now engaged in the performance of quadrilles. Never, surely,were people so industrious in the pursuit of pleasure! They poussetted,bowed, curtsied, joined hands, and threaded the mysteries of everyfigure, as if their very lives depended on their agility.
"Look at Jean Thomas," said a young girl to her still younger companion."He dances like an angel!"
The one thus called upon to admire, looked at Jean Thomas, and sighed.
"He never asks me, by any chance," said she, sadly, "although his motherand mine are good neighbors. I suppose I don't dance well enough--ordress well enough," she added, glancing at her friend's gay shawl andcoquettish cap.
"He has danced with me twice this evening," said the first speakertriumphantly; "and he danced with me twice last Sunday at the Jardind'Armide. Elise says...."
Her voice dropped to a whisper, and I heard no more. It was a passingglimpse behind the curtain--a peep at one of the many dramas of reallife that are being played for ever around us. Here were all theelements of romance--love, admiration, vanity, envy. Here was a hero inhumble life--a lady-killer in his own little sphere. He dances with one,neglects another, and multiplies his conquests with all theheartlessness of a gentleman.
I wandered round the platform once or twice, scrutinizing the dancers,but without success. There was no sign of Sullivan, or of his partner,or of his partner's mother, the _bourgeoise_ with the green fan. I thenwent to the grotto of the fortune-teller, but it was full of noisyrustics; and thence to the lottery hall, where there were plenty ofplayers, but not those of whom I was in search.
"Wheel of fortune, Messieurs et Mesdames," said the young lady behindthe counter. "Only fifty centimes each. All prizes, and no blanks--tryyour fortune, _monsieur le capitaine!_ Put it once, _monsieur lecapitaine_; once for yourself, and once for madame. Only fifty centimeseach, and the certainty of winning!"
_Monsieur le capitaine_ was a great, rawboned corporal, with a prettylittle maid-servant on his arm. The flattery was not very delicate; butit succeeded. He threw down a franc. The wheel flew round, the paperswere drawn, and the corporal won a needle-case, and the maid-servant acigar-holder. In the midst of the laugh to which this distribution gaverise, I walked away in the direction of the refreshment stalls. Herewere parties supping substantially, dancers drinking orgeat andlemonade, and little knots of tradesmen and mechanics sipping beerridiculously out of wine-glasses to an accompaniment of cakes andsweet-biscuits. Still I could see no trace of Mr. Frank Sullivan.
At length I gave up the search in despair, and on my way backencountered Master Philippe leaning against a tree, and lookingexceedingly helpless and unwell.
"You ate too many eggs, Philippe," said his mother. "I told you so atthe time.
"
"It--it wasn't the eggs," faltered the wretched Philippe. "It was theRussian swing."
"And serve you rightly, too," said his father angrily. "I wish with allmy heart that you had had your favorite oysters as well!"
When I came back to the arbor, I found the little party immensely happy,and a fresh bowl of punch just placed upon the table. Andre was sittingnext to Suzette, as proud as a king. Madame Roquet, volubly convivial,was talking to every one. Madame Robineau was silently disposing of allthe biscuits and punch that came in her way. Monsieur Robineau, with hishat a little pushed back and his thumb in the arm-hole of his waistcoat,was telling a long story to which nobody listened; while Dalrymple,sitting on the other side of the bride, was gallantly doing the dutiesof entertainer.
He looked up--I shook my head, slipped back into my place, and listenedto the tangled threads of conversation going on around me.
"And so," said Monsieur Robineau, proceeding with his story, and staringdown into the bottom of his empty glass, "and so I said to myself,'Robineau, _mon ami_, take care. One honest man is better than tworogues; and if thou keepest thine eyes open, the devil himself standssmall chance of cheating thee!' So I buttoned up my coat--this very coatI have on now, only that I have re-lined and re-cuffed it since then,and changed the buttons for brass ones; and brass buttons for one'sholiday coat, you know, look so much more _comme il faut_--and said tothe landlord...."
"Another glass of punch, Monsieur Robineau," interrupted Dalrymple.
"Thank you, M'sieur, you are very good; well, as I was saying...."
"Ah, bah, brother Jacques!" exclaimed Madame Roquet, impatiently,"don't give us that old story of the miller and the gray colt, thisevening! We've all heard it a hundred times already. Sing us a songinstead, _mon ami_!"
"I shall be happy to sing, sister Marie," replied Monsieur Robineau,with somewhat husky dignity, "when I have finished my story. You mayhave heard the story before. So may Andre--so may Suzette--so may mywife. I admit it. But these gentlemen--these gentlemen who have neverheard it, and who have done me the honor...."
"Not to listen to a word of it," said Madame Robineau, sharply. "There,you are answered, husband. Drink your punch, and hold your tongue."
Monsieur Robineau waved his hand majestically, and assumed aParliamentary air.
"Madame Robineau," he said, getting more and more husky, "be so obligingas to wait till I ask for your advice. With regard to drinking my punch,I have drunk it--" and here he again stared down into the bottom of hisglass, which was again empty--"and with regard to holding my tongue,that is my business, and--and...."
"Monsieur Robineau," said Dalrymple, "allow me to offer you some morepunch."
"Not another drop, Jacques," said Madame, sternly. "You have had toomuch already."
Poor Monsieur Robineau, who had put out his glass to be refilled, pausedand looked helplessly at his wife.
"_Mon cher ange_,...." he began; but she shook her head inflexibly, andMonsieur Robineau submitted with the air of a man who knows that fromthe sentence of the supreme court there is no appeal.
"_Dame_!" whispered Madame Roquet, with a confidential attack upon myribs that gave me a pain in my side for half an hour after, "my brotherhas the heart of a rabbit. He gives way to her in everything--so muchthe worse for him. My blessed man, who was a saint of a husband, wouldhave broken the bowl over my ears if I had dared to interfere betweenhis glass and his mouth!"
Whereupon Madame Roquet filled her own glass and mine, and MadameRobineau, less indulgent to her husband than herself, followedour example.
Just at this moment, a confused hubbub of voices, and other soundsexpressive of a _fracas_, broke out in the direction of the trees behindthe orchestra. The dancers deserted their polka, the musicians stoppedfiddling, the noisy supper-party in the next arbor abandoned their coldchicken and salad, and everybody ran to the scene of action. Dalrymplewas on his feet in a moment; but Suzette held Andre back with both handsand implored him to stay.
"Some _mauvais sujets_, no doubt, who refuse to pay the score,"suggested Madame Roquet.
"Or Sullivan, who has got into one of his infernal scrapes," mutteredDalrymple, with a determined wrench at his moustache. "Come on, anyhow,and let us see what is the matter!"
So we snatched up our hats and ran out, just as Monsieur Robineau seizedthe opportunity to drink another tumbler of punch when his wife wasnot looking.
Following in the direction of the rest, we took one of the paths behindthe orchestra, and came upon a noisy crowd gathered round a woodensummer-house.
"It's a fight," said one.
"It's a pickpocket," said another.
"Bah! it's only a young fellow who has been making love to a girl,"exclaimed a third.
We forced our way through, and there we saw Mr. Frank Sullivan with hishat off, his arms crossed, and his back against the wall, presenting adauntless front to the gesticulations and threats of an exceedinglyenraged young man with red hair, who was abusing him furiously. Theamount of temper displayed by this young man was something unparalleled.He was angry in every one of his limbs. He stamped, he shook his fist,he shook his head. The very tips of his ears looked scarlet with rage.Every now and then he faced round to the spectators, and appealed tothem--or to a stout woman with a green fan, who was almost as red andangry as himself, and who always rushed forward when addressed, andshook the green fan in Sullivan's face.
"You are an aristocrat!" stormed the young man. "A pampered, insolentaristocrat! A dog of an Englishman! A _scelerat_! Don't suppose you areto trample upon us for nothing! We are Frenchmen, you beggarlyislander--Frenchmen, do you hear?"
A growl of sympathetic indignation ran through the crowd, and "_a basles aristocrats_--_a bas les Anglais_!" broke out here and there.
"In the devil's name, Sullivan," said Dalrymple, shouldering his way upto the object of these agreeable menaces, "what have you been after, tobring this storm about your ears?"
"Pshaw! nothing at all," replied he with a mocking laugh, and acontemptuous gesture. "I danced with a pretty girl, and treated her tochampagne afterwards. Her mother and brother hunted us out, and spoiledour flirtation. That's the whole story."
Something in the laugh and gesture--something, too, perhaps in thelanguage which they could not understand, appeared to give the lastaggravation to both of Sullivan's assailants. I saw the young man raisehis arm to strike--I saw Dalrymple fell him with a blow that would havestunned an ox--I saw the crowd close in, heard the storm break out onevery side, and, above it all, the deep, strong tones of Dalrymple'svoice, saying:--
"To the boat, boys! Follow me."
In another moment he had flung himself into the crowd, dealt one or twosounding blows to left and right, cleared a passage for himself and us,and sped away down one of the narrow walks leading to the river.Presently, having taken one or two turnings, none of which seemed tolead to the spot we sought, we came upon an open space full of piled-upbenches, pyramids of empty bottles, boxes, baskets, and all kinds oflumber. Here we paused to listen and take breath.
We had left the crowd behind us, but they were still within hearing.
"By Jove!" said Dalrymple, "I don't know which way to go. I believe weare on the wrong side of the island."
"And I believe they are after us," added Sullivan, peering into thebaskets. "By all that's fortunate, here are the fireworks! Has anybodygot a match? We'll take these with us, and go off in a blazeof triumph!"
The suggestion was no sooner made than adopted. We filled our hats andpockets with crackers and Catherine-wheels, piled the rest into onegreat heap, threw a dozen or so of lighted fusees into the midst ofthem, and just as the voices of our pursuers were growing momentarilylouder and nearer, darted away again down a fresh turning, and saw theriver gleaming at the end of it.
"Hurrah! here's a boat," shouted Sullivan, leaping into it, and we afterhim.
It was not our boat, but we did not care for that. Ours was at the otherside of the island, far enough away,
down by the landing-place. Just asDalrymple seized the oars, there burst forth a tremendous explosion. Acolumn of rockets shot up into the air, and instantly the place was aslight as day. Then a yell of discovery broke forth, and we were seenalmost as soon as we were fairly out of reach. We had secured the onlyboat on that side of the island, and three or four of Dalrymple'spowerful strokes had already carried us well into the middle of thestream. To let off our own store of fireworks--to pitch tokens of ourregard to our friends on the island in the shape of blazing crackers,which fell sputtering and fizzing into the water half-way between theboat and the shore--to stand up in the stern and bow politely--finally,to row away singing "God save the Queen" with all our might, were featsupon which we prided ourselves very considerably at the time, and therecollection of which afforded us infinite amusement all the way home.
That evening we all supped together at the Chaval Blane, and of what wedid or said after supper I have but a confused remembrance. I believethat I tried to smoke a cigar; and it is my impression that I made aspeech, in which I swore eternal friendship to both of my new friends;but the only circumstance about which I cannot be mistaken is that Iawoke next morning with the worst specimen of headache that had yet comewithin the limits of my experience.
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