humiliated, deserted mother goes out from her daughter's presence, hanging her
head. She put on the poor old bonnet, and had a walk that evening on the Champs
Elys?es with her little ones, and showed them Guignol. She gave a penny to
Guignol's man. It is my belief that she saw no more of the performance than her
husband had seen of the ballet the night previous, when Taglioni, and Noblet,
and Duvernay, danced before his hot eyes. But then, you see, the hot eyes had
been washed with a refreshing water since, which enabled them to view the world
much more cheerfully and brightly. Ah, gracious heaven, give us eyes to see our
own wrong, however dim age may make them; and knees not too stiff to kneel, in
spite of years, cramps, and rheumatism! That stricken old woman, then, treated
her children to the trivial comedy of Guignol. She did not cry out when the two
boys climbed up the trees of the Elysian Fields, though the guardians bade them
descend. She bought pink sticks of barley-sugar for the young ones. Withdrawing
the glistening sweetmeats from their lips, they pointed to Mrs. Hely's splendid
barouche as it rolled citywards from the Bois de Boulogne. The grey shades were
falling, and Auguste was in the act of ringing the first dinner bell at Madame
Smolensk's establishment, when Mrs. General Baynes returned to her lodgings.
Meanwhile, aunt MacWhirter had been to pay a visit to little Miss Charlotte, in
the new bonnet which the general, Charlotte's papa, had bought for her. This
elegant article had furnished a subject of pleasing conversation between niece
and aunt, who held each other in very kindly regard, and all the details of the
bonnet, the blue flowers, scarlet flowers, grapes, sheaves of corn, lace, were
examined and admired in detail. Charlotte remembered the dowdy old English thing
which aunt Mac wore when she went out? Charlotte did remember the bonnet, and
laughed when Mrs. Mac described how papa, in the hackney coach on their return
home, insisted upon taking the old wretch of a bonnet, and flinging it out of
the coach window into the road, where an old chiffonnier passing picked it up
with his iron hook, put it on his own head, and walked away grinning. I declare,
at the recital of this narrative, Charlotte laughed as pleasantly and happily as
in former days; and, no doubt, there were more kisses between this poor little
maid and her aunt.
Now, you will remark, that the general and his party, though they returned from
the Palais Royal in a hackney coach, went thither on foot, two and two?? viz.
Major MacWhirter leading, and giving his arm to Mrs. Bunch (who, I promise you,
knew the shops in the Palais Royal well), and the general following at some
distance, with his sister-in-law for a partner.
In that walk a conversation very important to Charlotte's interests took place
between her aunt and her father.
"Ah, Baynes! this is a sad business about dearest Char," Mrs. Mac broke out with
a sigh.
"It is indeed, Emily," says the general, with a very sad groan on his part.
"It goes to my heart to see you, Baynes; it goes to Mac's heart. We talked about
it ever so late last night. You were suffering dreadfully; and all the
brandypawnee in the world won't cure you, Charles."
"No, faith," says the general, with a dismal screw of the mouth. "You see,
Emily, to see that child suffer tears my heart out??by George, it does. She has
been the best child, and the most gentle, and the merriest, and the most
obedient, and I never had a word of fault to find with her; and??poo-ooh!" Here
the general's eyes, which have been winking with extreme rapidity, give way; and
at the signal pooh! there issue out from them two streams of that eye-water
which we have said is sometimes so good for the sight.
"My dear kind Charles, you were always a good creature," says Emily, patting the
arm on which hers rests. Meanwhile Major-General Baynes, C.B., puts his bamboo
cane under his disengaged arm, extracts from his hind pocket a fine large yellow
bandana pocket-handkerchief, and performs a prodigious loud obligato??just under
the spray of the Rond-point fountain, opposite the Bridge of the Invalides, over
which poor Philip has tramped many and many a day and night to see his little
maid.
"Have a care with your cane, then, old imbecile!" cries an approaching
foot-passenger, whom the general meets and charges with his iron ferule.
"Mille pardong, mosoo, je vous demande mille pardong," says the old man, quite
meekly.
"You are a good soul, Charles," the lady continues; "and my little Char is a
darling. You never would have done this of your own accord. Mercy! And see what
it was coming to: Mac only told me last night. You horrid, blood-thirsty
creature! Two challenges?? and dearest Mac as hot as pepper! Oh, Charles Baynes,
I tremble when I think of the danger from which you have all been rescued!
Suppose you brought home to Eliza??suppose dearest Mac brought home to me killed
by this arm on which I am leaning. Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful! We are sinners
all, that we are, Baynes!"
"I humbly ask pardon for having thought of a great crime. I ask pardon," says
the general, very pale and solemn.
"If you had killed dear Mac, would you ever have had rest again, Charles?"
"No; I think not. I should not deserve it," answers the contrite Baynes.
"You have a good heart. It was not you who did this. I know who it was. She
always had a dreadful temper. The way in which she used to torture our poor dear
Louisa who is dead, I can hardly forgive now, Baynes. Poor suffering angel!
Eliza was at her bed-side nagging and torturing her up to the very last day. Did
you ever see her with her nurses and servants in India? The way in which she
treated them was??"
"Don't say any more. I am aware of my wife's faults of temper. Heaven knows it
has made me suffer enough!" says the general, hanging his head down.
"Why, man??do you intend to give way to her altogether? I said to Mac last
night, 'Mac, does he intend to give way to her altogether? The Army List doesn't
contain the name of a braver man than Charles Baynes, and is my sister Eliza to
rule him entirely, Mac!' I said. No; if you stand up to Eliza, I know from
experience she will give way. We have had quarrels, scores and hundreds, as you
know, Baynes."
"Faith, I do," owns the general, with a sad smile on his countenance.
"And sometimes she has had the best and sometimes I have had the best, Baynes!
But I never yielded, as you do, without a fight for my own. No, never, Baynes!
And me and Mac are shocked, I tell you, fairly, when we see the way in which you
give up to her!"
"Come, come. I think you have told me often enough that I am henpecked," says
the general.
"And you give up not yourself only, Charles, but your dear, dear child??poor
little suffering love!"
"The young man's a beggar!" cries the general, biting his lips.
"What were you, what was Mac and me when we married? We hadn't much besides our
pay, had we? we rubbed on through bad weather and good, managing as best we
r /> could, loving each other, God be praised! And here we are, owing nobody
anything, and me going to have a new bonnet!" and she tossed up her head, and
gave her companion a good-natured look through her twinkling eyes.
"Emily, you have a good heart! that's the truth," says the general.
"And you have a good heart, Charles, as sure as my name's MacWhirter; and I want
you to act upon it, and I propose??"
"What?"
"Well, I propose that??" But now they have reached the Tuileries garden gates,
and pass through, and continue their conversation in the midst of such a hubbub
that we cannot overhear them. They cross the garden, and so make their way into
the Palais Royal, and the purchase of the bonnet takes place; and in the midst
of the excitement occasioned by that event, of course, all discussion of
domestic affairs becomes uninteresting.
But the gist of Baynes's talk with his sister-in-law may be divined from the
conversation which presently occurred between Charlotte and her aunt. Charlotte
did not come in to the public dinner. She was too weak for that; and "un bon
bouillon" and a wing of fowl were served to her in the private apartment, where
she had been reclining all day. At dessert, however, Mrs. MacWhirter took a fine
bunch of grapes and a plump rosy peach from the table, and carried them to the
little maid, and their interview may be described with sufficient accuracy,
though it passed without other witnesses.
From the outbreak on the night of quarrels, Charlotte knew that her aunt was her
friend. The glances of Mrs. MacWhirter's eyes, and the expression of her bonny,
homely face, told her sympathy to the girl. There were no pallors now, no angry
glances, no heartbeating. Miss Char could even make a little joke when her aunt
appeared, and say, "What beautiful grapes! Why, aunt, you must have taken them
out of the new bonnet!"
"You should have had the bird of paradise, too, dear, only I see you have not
eaten your chicken! She is a kind woman, Madame Smolensk. I like her. She gives
very nice dinners. I can't think how she does it for the money, I am sure!"
"She has been very, very kind to me; and I love her with all my heart!" cries
Charlotte.
"Poor darling! We have all our trials, and yours have begun, my love!"
"Yes, indeed, aunt!" whimpers the young person; upon which osculation possibly
takes place.
"My dear! when your papa took me to buy the bonnet, we had a long talk, and it
was about you."
"About me, aunt!" warbles Miss Charlotte.
"He would not take mamma; he would only go with me, alone. I knew he wanted to
say something about you; and what do you think it was? My dear, you have been
very much agitated here. You and your poor mamma are likely to disagree for some
time. She will drag you to those balls and fine parties, and bring you those
fine partners."
"Oh, I hate them!" cries Charlotte. Poor little Hely Walsingham, what had he
done to be hated?
"Well. It is not for me to speak of a mother to her own daughter. But you know
mamma has a way with her. She expects to be obeyed. She will give you no peace.
She will come back to her point again and again. You know how she speaks of some
one??a certain gentleman? If ever she sees him, she will be rude to him. Mamma
can be rude at times??that I must say of my own sister. As long as you remain
here??"
"Oh, aunt, aunt! Don't take me away, don't take me away!" cries Charlotte.
"My dearest, are you afraid of your old aunt, and your uncle Mac, who is so
kind, and has always loved you? Major MacWhirter has a will of his own, too,
though of course I make no allusions. We know how admirably somebody has behaved
to your family. Somebody who has been most ungratefully treated, though of
course I make no allusions. If you have given away your heart to your father's
greatest benefactor, do you suppose I and uncle Mac will quarrel with you? When
Eliza married Baynes (your father was a penniless subaltern then, my dear,??and
my sister was certainly neither a fortune nor a beauty), didn't she go dead
against the wishes of our father? Certainly she did! But she said she was of
age??that she was, and a great deal more, too??and she would do as she liked,
and she made Baynes marry her. Why should you be afraid of coming to us, love?
You are nearer somebody here, but can you see him? Your mamma will never let you
go out, but she will follow you like a shadow. You may write to him. Don't tell
me, child. Haven't I been young myself; and when there was a difficulty between
Mac and poor papa, didn't Mac write to me, though he hates letters, poor dear,
and certainly is a stick at them? And, though we were forbidden, had we not
twenty ways of telegraphing to each other? Law! your poor dear grandfather was
in such a rage with me once, when he found one, that he took down his great
buggy whip to me, a grown girl!"
Charlotte, who has plenty of humour, would have laughed at this confession some
other time, but now she was too much agitated by that invitation to quit Paris
which her aunt had just given her. Quit Paris? Lose the chance of seeing her
dearest friend, her protector? If he was not with her, was he not near her? Yes,
near her always! On that horrible night, when all was so desperate, did not her
champion burst forward to her rescue? Oh, the dearest and bravest! Oh, the
tender and true!
"You are not listening, you poor child!" said aunt Mac, surveying her niece with
looks of kindness. "Now listen to me once more. Whisper!" And sitting down on
the settee by Charlotte's side, aunt Emily first kissed the girl's round cheek,
and then whispered into her ear.
Never, I declare, was medicine so efficacious, or rapid of effect, as that
wondrous distilment which aunt Emily poured into her niece's ear! "Oh, you
goose!" she began by saying, and the rest of the charm she whispered into that
pearly little pink shell round which Miss Charlotte's soft, brown ringlets
clustered. Such a sweet blush rose straightway to the cheek! Such sweet lips
began to cry, "Oh, you dear, dear aunt," and then began to kiss aunt's kind
face, that, I declare, if I knew the spell, I would like to pronounce it right
off, with such a sweet young patient to practise on.
"When do we go? To-morrow, aunt, n'est-ce pas? Oh, I am quite strong! never felt
so well in my life! I'll go and pack up this instant," cries the young person.
"Doucement! Papa knows of the plan. Indeed, it was he who proposed it."
"Dearest, best father!" ejaculates Miss Charlotte.
"But mamma does not; and if you show yourself very eager, Charlotte, she may
object, you know. Heaven forbid that I should counsel dissimulation to a child;
but under the circumstances, my love?? At least I own what happened between Mac
and me. Law! I didn't care for papa's buggy whip! I knew it would not hurt; and
as for Baynes, I am sure he would not hurt a fly. Never was man more sorry for
what he has done. He told me so whilst we walked away from the bonnet-shop,
whilst he was carrying my old yellow. We met somebody
near the Bourse. How sad
he looked, and how handsome, too! I bowed to him and kissed my hand to him, that
is, the knob of my parasol. Papa couldn't shake hands with him, because of my
bonnet, you know, in the brown-paper bag. He has a grand beard, indeed! He
looked like a wounded lion. I said so to papa. And I said, 'It is you who wound
him, Charles Baynes!' 'I know that,' papa said. 'I have been thinking of it. I
can't sleep at night for thinking about it: and it makes me dee'd unhappy.' You
know what papa sometimes says? Dear me! You should have heard them, when Eliza
and I joined the army, years and years ago!"
For once, Charlotte Baynes was happy at her father's being unhappy. The little
maiden's heart had been wounded to think that her father could do his Charlotte
a wrong. Ah! take warning by him, ye greybeards; and however old and toothless,
if you have done wrong, own that you have done so; and sit down and say grace,
and mumble your humble pie!
The general, then, did not shake hands with Philip; but Major MacWhirter went up
in the most marked way, and gave the wounded lion his own paw, and said, "Mr.
Firmin. Glad to see you! If ever you come to Tours, mind, don't forget my wife
and me. Fine day. Little patient much better! Bon courage, as they say!"
I wonder what sort of a bungle Philip made of his correspondence with the Pall
Mall Gazette that night? Every man who lives by his pen, if by chance he looks
back at his writings of former years, lives in the past again. Our griefs, our
pleasures, our youth, our sorrows, our dear, dear friends, resuscitate. How we
tingle with shame over some of those fine passages! How dreary are those
disinterred jokes! It was Wednesday night, Philip was writing off at home, in
his inn, one of his grand tirades, dated "Paris, Thursday"??so as to be in time,
you understand, for the post of Saturday, when the little waiter comes and says,
winking, "Again that lady, Monsieur Philippe!"
"What lady?" asks our own intelligent correspondent.
"That old lady who came the other day; you know."
"C'est moi, mon ami!" cries Madame Smolensk's well-known grave voice. "Here is a
letter, d'abord. But that says nothing. It was written before the grande
nouvelle??the great news??the good news!"
"What good news?" asks the gentleman.
"In two days miss goes to Tours with her aunt and uncle??this good Macvirterre.
They have taken their places by the diligence of Lafitte and Caillard. They are
thy friends. Papa encourages her going. Here is their card of visit. Go thou
also; they will receive thee with open arms. What hast thou, my son?"
Philip looked dreadfully sad. An injured and unfortunate gentleman at New York
had drawn upon him, and he had paid away everything he had but four francs, and
he was living on credit until his next remittance arrived.
"Thou hast no money! I have thought of it. Behold of it! Let him wait??the
proprietor!" And she takes out a bank-note, which she puts in the young man's
hand.
"Tiens, il l'embrasse encor c'te vicille!" says the little knife-boy. "J'aimerai
pas ?a, moi, par examp!"
CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DEPARTMENTS OF SEINE, LOIRE, AND STYX (INF?RIEUR).
Our dear friend Mrs. Baynes was suffering under the influence of one of those
panics which sometimes seized her, and during which she remained her husband's
most obedient Eliza and vassal. When Baynes wore a certain expression of
countenance, we have said that his wife knew resistance to be useless. That
expression, I suppose, he assumed, when he announced Charlotte's departure to
her mother, and ordered Mrs. General Baynes to make the necessary preparations
for the girl. "She might stay some time with her aunt," Baynes stated. "A change
of air would do the child a great deal of good. Let everything necessary in the
shape of hats, bonnets, winter clothes, and so forth, be got ready." "Was Char,
then, to stay away so long?" asked Mrs. B. "She has been so happy here that you