CHAPTER XX.
_In Which Ferdinand Receives More than One Visit, and Finds That Adversity Has Not Quite Deprived Him of His Friends_.
IN THE mean time morning broke upon the unfortunate Ferdinand. Hehad forgotten his cares in sleep, and, when he woke, it was with somedifficulty that he recalled the unlucky incident of yesterday, andcould satisfy himself that he was indeed a prisoner. But the bars of hisbedroom window left him not very long in pleasing doubt.
His friend, the little waiter, soon made his appearance. 'Slept prettywell, sir? Same breakfast as yesterday, sir? Tongue and ham, sir?Perhaps you would like a kidney instead of a devil? It will be achange.'
'I have no appetite.'
'It will come, sir. You an't used to it. Nothing else to do here but toeat. Better try the kidney, sir. Is there anything you fancy?'
'I have made up my mind to go to gaol to-day.' 'Lord! sir, don't thinkof it. Something will turn up, sir, take my word.'
And sooth to say, the experienced waiter was not wrong. For bringingin the breakfast, followed by an underling with a great pomp of platedcovers, he informed Ferdinand with a chuckle, that a gentleman wasenquiring for him. 'Told you your friends would come, sir.'
The gentleman was introduced, and Ferdinand beheld Mr. Glastonbury.
'My dear Glastonbury,' said Ferdinand, scarcely daring to meet hisglance, 'this is very kind, and yet I wished to have saved you this.'
'My poor child,' said Glastonbury.
'Oh! my dear friend, it is all over. This is a more bitter moment foryou even than for me, kind friend. This is a terrible termination of allyour zeal and labours.'
'Nay!' said Glastonbury; 'let us not think of anything but the present.For what are you held in durance?'
'My dear Glastonbury, if it were only ten pounds, I could not permit youto pay it. So let us not talk of that. This must have happened sooneror later. It has come, and come unexpectedly: but it must be borne, likeall other calamities.'
'But you have friends, my Ferdinand.'
'Would that I had not! All that I wish now is that I were alone inthe world. If I could hope that my parents would leave me to myself, Ishould be comparatively easy. But when I think of them, and the injury Imust do them, it is hell, it is hell.'
'I wish you would tell me your exact situation,' said Mr. Glastonbury.
'Do not let us talk of it; does my father know of this?'
'Not yet.'
''Tis well; he may yet have a happy day. He will sell Armine.'
Glastonbury shook his head and sighed. 'Is it so bad?' he said.
'My dearest friend, if you will know the worst, take it. I am here fornearly three thousand pounds, and I owe at least ten more.'
'And they will not take bail?'
'Not for this debt; they cannot. It is a judgment debt, the only one.'
'And they gave you no notice?'
'None: they must have heard somehow or other that my infernal marriagewas off. They have all waited for that. And now that you see thataffairs are past remedy; let us talk of other topics, if you will beso kind as to remain half an hour in this dungeon. I shall quit itdirectly; I shall go to gaol at once.'
Poor Glastonbury, he did not like to go, and yet it was a mostmelancholy visit. What could they converse about? Conversation, excepton the interdicted subject of Ferdinand's affairs, seemed quite amockery. At last, Ferdinand said, 'Dear Glastonbury, do not stay here;it only makes us both unhappy. Send Louis with some clothes for me,and some books. I will let you know before I leave this place. Uponreflection, I shall not do so for two or three days, if I can stay aslong. See my lawyer; not that he will do anything; nor can I expect him;but he may as well call and see me. Adieu, dear friend.'
Glastonbury was about to retire, when Ferdinand called him back. 'Thisaffair should be kept quiet,' he said. 'I told Louis to say I was out oftown in Brook-street. I should be sorry were Miss Temple to hear of it,at least until after her marriage.'
Ferdinand was once more alone with the mirror, the loo-table, thehard sofa, the caricatures which he hated even worse than his host'sportrait, the Hebrew Bible, and the Racing Calendar. It seemed a yearthat he had been shut up in this apartment, instead of a day, he hadgrown so familiar with every object. And yet the visit of Glastonburyhad been an event, and he could not refrain from pondering over it. Aspunging-house seemed such a strange, such an unnatural scene, for sucha character. Ferdinand recalled to his memory the tower at Armine, andall its glades and groves, shining in the summer sun, and freshenedby the summer breeze. What a contrast to this dingy, confined, closedungeon! And was it possible that he had ever wandered at will in thatfair scene with a companion fairer? Such thoughts might well drive aman mad. With all his errors, and all his disposition at present notto extenuate them, Ferdinand Armine could not refrain from esteeminghimself unlucky. Perhaps it is more distressing to believe ourselvesunfortunate, than to recognise ourselves as imprudent.
A fond mistress or a faithful friend, either of these are greatblessings; and whatever may be one's scrapes in life, either of thesemay well be sources of consolation. Ferdinand had a fond mistress once,and had Henrietta Temple loved him, why, he might struggle with allthese calamities; but that sweet dream was past. As for friends, hehad none, at least he thought not. Not that he had to complain of humannature. He had experienced much kindness from mankind, and many were theservices he had received from kind acquaintances. With the recollectionof Catch, to say nothing of Bond Sharpe, and above all, Count Mirabel,fresh in his mind, he could not complain of his companions. Glastonburywas indeed a friend, but Ferdinand sighed for a friend of his ownage, knit to him by the same tastes and sympathies, and capable ofcomprehending all his secret feelings; a friend who could even whisperhope, and smile in a spunging-house.
The day wore away, the twilight shades were descending; Ferdinand becameevery moment more melancholy, when suddenly his constant ally, thewaiter, rushed into the room. 'My eye, sir, here is a regular nobenquiring for you. I told you it would be all right.'
'Who is it?'
'Here he is coming up.'
Ferdinand caught the triumphant tones of Mirabel on the staircase.
'Which is the room? Show me directly. Ah! Armine, _mon ami! mon cher!_Is this your friendship? To be in this cursed hole, and not send forme! _C'est une mauvaise plaisanterie_ to pretend we are friends! How areyou, good fellow, fine fellow, excellent Armine? If you were not hereI would quarrel with you. There, go away, man.' The waiter disappeared,and Count Mirabel seated himself on the hard sofa.
'My dear fellow,' continued the Count, twirling the prettiest cane inthe world, 'this is a _betise_ of you to be here and not send for me.Who has put you here?'
'My dear Mirabel, it is all up.'
'Pah! How much is it?'
'I tell you I am done up. It has got about that the marriage is off,and Morris and Levison have nabbed me for all the arrears of my cursedannuities.'
'But how much?'
'Between two and three thousand.'
The Count Mirabel gave a whistle.
'I brought five hundred, which I have. We must get the rest somehow orother.'
'My dear Mirabel, you are the most generous fellow in the world; but Ihave troubled my friends too much. Nothing will induce me to take a soufrom you. Besides, between ourselves, not my least mortification at thismoment is some 1,500L., which Bond Sharpe let me have the other day fornothing, through Catch.'
'Pah! I am sorry about that, though, because he would have lent us thismoney. I will ask Bevil.'
'I would sooner die.'
'I will ask him for myself.'
'It is impossible.'
'We will arrange it: I tell you who will do it for us. He is a goodfellow, and immensely rich: it is Fitzwarrene; he owes me greatfavours.'
'Dear Mirabel, I am delighted to see you. This is good and kind. I am sodamned dull here. It quite gladdens me to see you; but do not talk aboutmoney.'
'Here is 500L.; four oth
er fellows at 500L. we can manage it.'
'No more, no more! I beseech you.'
'But you cannot stop here. _Quel drole appartement!_ Before CharleyDoricourt was in Parliament he was always in this sort of houses, but Igot him out somehow or other; I managed it. Once I bought of the fellowfive hundred dozen of champagne.'
'A new way to pay old debts, certainly,' said Ferdinand.
'I tell you--have you dined?'
'I was going to; merely to have something to do.'
'I will stop and dine with you,' said the Count, ringing the bell, 'andwe will talk over affairs. Laugh, my friend; laugh, my Armine: this isonly a scene. This is life. What can we have for dinner, man? I shalldine here.'
'Gentleman's dinner is ordered, my lord; quite ready,' said the waiter.'Champagne in ice, my lord?'
'To be sure; everything that is good. _Mon cher_ Armine, we shall havesome fun.'
'Yes, my lord,' said the waiter, running down stairs. 'Dinner for bestdrawing-room directly; green-pea-soup, turbot, beefsteak, roast duck andboiled chicken, everything that is good, champagne in ice; two regularnobs!'
The dinner soon appeared, and the two friends seated themselves.
'Potage admirable!' said Count Mirabel. 'The best champagne I ever drankin my life. _Mon brave_, your health. This must be Charley's man, by thewine. I think we will have him up; he will lend us some money. Finestturbot I ever ate! I will give you some of the fins. Ah! you are glad tosee me, my Armine, you are glad to see your friend. _Encore_ champagne!Good Armine, excellent Armine! Keep up your spirits, I will manage thesefellows. You must take some bifteac. The most tender bifteac I evertasted! This is a fine dinner. _Encore un verre!_ Man, you may go; don'twait.'
'By Jove, Mirabel, I never was so glad to see anybody in my life. Now,you are a friend; I feel quite in spirits.'
'To be sure! always be in spirits. _C'est une betise_ not to be inspirits. Everything is sure to go well. You will see how I will managethese fellows, and I will come and dine with you every day until you areout: you shall not be here eight-and-forty hours. As I go home I willstop at Mitchell's and get you a novel by Paul de Kock. Have you everread Paul de Kock's books?'
'Never,' said Ferdinand.
'What a fortunate man to be arrested! Now you can read Paul de Kock!By Jove, you are the most lucky fellow I know. You see, you thoughtyourself very miserable in being arrested. 'Tis the finest thing in theworld, for now you will read _Mon Voisin Raymond_. There are always twosides to a case.'
'I am content to believe myself very lucky in having such a friend asyou,' said Ferdinand; 'but now as these things are cleared away, let ustalk over affairs. Have you seen Henrietta?'
'Of course, I see her every day.'
'I hope she will not know of my crash until she has married.'
'She will not, unless you tell her.'
'And when do you think she will be married?'
'When you please.'
'_Cher ami! point de moquerie!_'
'By Jove, I am quite serious,' exclaimed the Count. 'I am as certainthat you will marry her as that we are in this damned spunging-house.'
'Nonsense!'
'The very finest sense in the world. If you will not marry her, I willmyself, for I am resolved that good Montfort shall not. It shall neverbe said that I interfered without a result. Why, if she were to marryMontfort now, it would ruin my character. To marry Montfort after allmy trouble: dining with that good Temple, and opening the mind of thatlittle Grandison, and talking fine things to that good duchess; it wouldbe a failure.'
'What an odd fellow you are, Mirabel!' 'Of course! Would you have melike other people and not odd? We will drink _la belle Henriette!_Fill up! You will be my friend when you are married, eh? _Mon Armine,excellent garcon!_ How we shall laugh some day; and then this dinner,this dinner will be the best dinner we ever had!'
'But why do you think there is the slightest hope of Henrietta notmarrying Montfort?'
'Because my knowledge of human nature assures me that a young woman,very beautiful, very rich, with a very high spirit, and an onlydaughter, will never go and marry one man when she is in love withanother, and that other one, my dear fellow, like you. You are more sureof getting her because she is engaged.'
What a wonderful thing is a knowledge of human nature! thought Ferdinandto himself. The Count's knowledge of human nature is like my friend thewaiter's experience. One assures me that I am certain to marry a womanbecause she is engaged to another person, and the other, that it isquite clear my debts will be paid because they are so large! The Countremained with his friend until eleven o'clock, when everybody was lockedup. He invited himself to dine with him to-morrow, and promised thathe should have a whole collection of French novels before he awoke. Andassuring him over and over again that he looked upon him as the mostfortunate of all his friends, and that if he broke the bank at Crocky'sto-night, which he fancied he should, he would send him two or threethousand pounds; at the same time he shook him heartily by the hand,and descended the staircase of the spunging-house, humming _Vive laBagatelle_.