CHAPTER III. A YOUNG DUCHESS AND AN OLD FRIEND
Like a vast number of people who have passed years in retirement, LadyDorothea was marvellously disappointed with "the world" when she wentback to it. It was not at all the kind of thing she remembered, orat least fancied it to be. There were not the old gradations of classstrictly defined; there was not the old veneration for rank and station;"society" was invaded by hosts of unknown people, "names one had neverheard of." The great stars of fashion of her own day had long since set,and the new celebrities had never as much as heard of her. The greathouses of the Faubourg were there, it is true; but with reducedhouseholds and dimly lighted salons, they were but sorry representativesof the splendor her memory had invested them with.
Now the Martins were installed in one of the finest apartments of thefinest quarter in Paris. They were people of unquestionable station,they had ample means, lacked for none of the advantages which the worlddemands from those who seek its favors; and yet there they were, just asunknown, unvisited, and unsought after, as if they were the Joneses orthe Smiths, "out" for a month's pleasuring on the Continent.
A solitary invitation to the Embassy to dinner was not followed by anyother attention; and so they drove along the Boulevards and through theBois de Boulogne, and saw some thousands of gay, bright-costumed people,all eager for pleasure, all hurrying on to some scheme of amusement orenjoyment, while they returned moodily to their handsome quarter, asmuch excluded from all participation in what went on around them asthough they were natives of Hayti.
Martin sauntered down to the reading-room, hoping vainly to fall in withsome one he knew. He lounged listlessly along the bright streets, tilltheir very glare addled him; he stared at the thousand new inventions ofluxury and ease the world had discovered since he had last seen it, andthen he plodded gloomily homeward, to dine and listen to her Ladyship'sdiscontented criticism upon the tiresome place and the odious people whofilled it. Paris was, indeed, a deception and a snare to them! Sofar from finding it cheap, the expense of living--as they lived--wasconsiderably greater than at London. It was a city abounding inluxuries, but all costly. The details which are in England reserved fordays of parade and display, were here daily habits, and these were nowto be indulged in with all the gloom of solitude and isolation.
What wonder, then, if her Ladyship's temper was ruffled, and herequanimity unbalanced by such disappointments? In vain she perused thelist of arrivals to find out some distinguished acquaintance; in vainshe interrogated her son as to what was going on, and who were there.The Captain only frequented the club, and could best chronicle the namesthat were great at whist or illustrious at billiards.
"It surely cannot be the season here," cried she, one morning,peevishly, "for really there isn't a single person one has ever heard ofat Paris."
"And yet this is a strong catalogue," cried the Captain, with amalicious twinkle in his eye. "Here are two columns of somebodies,who were present at Madame de Luygnes' last night."
"You can always fill salons, if that be all," said she, angrily.
"Yes, but not with Tour du Pins, Tavannes, Rochefoucaulds, Howardsof Maiden, and Greys of Allington, besides such folk as Pahlen,Lichtenstein, Colonna, and so forth."
"How is it then, that one never sees them?" cried she, more eagerly.
"Say, rather, how is it one doesn't know them," cried Martin, "for herewe are seven weeks, and, except to that gorgeous fellow in the cockedhat at the porter's lodge, I have never exchanged a salute with a humanbeing."
"There are just three houses, they say, in all Paris, to one or other ofwhich one must be presented," said the Captain--"Madame de Luygnes, theDuchesse de Cour-celles, and Madame de Mirecourt."
"That Madame de Luygnes was your old mistress, was she not, MissHenderson?" asked Lady Dorothea, haughtily.
"Yes, my Lady," was the calm reply.
"And who are these other people?"
"The Duc de Mirecourt was married to 'Mademoiselle,' the daughter of theDuchesse de Luygnes."
"Have you heard or seen anything of them since you came here?" asked herLadyship.
"No, my Lady, except a hurried salute yesterday from a carriage as wedrove in. I just caught sight of the Duchesse as she waved her hand tome."
"Oh, I saw it. I returned the salutation, never suspecting it was meantfor _you_. And she was your companion--your dear friend--long ago?"
"Yes, my Lady," said Kate, bending down over her work, but showing inthe crimson flush that spread over her neck how the speech had touchedher.
"And you used to correspond, I think?" continued her Ladyship.
"We did so, my Lady."
"And she dropped it, of course, when she married,--she had other thingsto think of?"
"I 'm afraid, my Lady, the lapse was on _my_ side," said Kate, scarcelyrepressing a smile at her own hardihood.
"_Your_ side! Do you mean to say that you so far forgot what was dueto the station of the Duchesse de Mirecourt, that you left her letterunreplied to?"
"Not exactly, my Lady."
"Then, pray, what do you mean?"
Kate paused for a second or two, and then, in a very calm and collectedvoice, replied,--"I told the Duchesse, in my last letter, that I shouldwrite no more,--that my life was thrown in a wild, unfrequented region,where no incident broke the monotony, and that were I to continue ourcorrespondence, my letters must degenerate into a mere selfish record ofmy own sentiments, as unprofitable to read as ungraceful to write; andso I said good-bye--or _au revoir_, at least--till other scenes mightsuggest other thoughts."
"A most complimentary character of our Land of the West, certainly!I really was not aware before that Cro' Martin was regarded as an'oubliette.'"
Kate made no answer,--a silence which seemed rather to irritate thanappease her Ladyship.
"I hope you included the family in your dreary picture. I trust it wasnot a mere piece of what artists call still life, Miss Henderson?"
"No, my Lady," said she, with a deep sigh; but the tone and manner ofthe rejoinder were anything but apologetic.
"Now I call that as well done as anything one sees in Hyde Park," criedthe Captain, directing attention as he spoke to a very handsome chariotwhich had just driven up to the door. "They're inquiring for somebodyhere," continued he, as he watched the Chasseur as he came and went fromthe carriage to the house.
"There's a Grandee of Spain, or something of that kind, lives on thefourth floor, I think," said Martin, dryly.
"The Duchesse de Mirecourt, my Lady," said a servant, entering, "begs toknow if your Ladyship will receive her?"
Kate started at the words, and her color rose till her cheeks werecrimsoned.
"A visit, I suspect, rather for you than me, Miss Henderson," said LadyDorothea, in a half-whisper; and then turning to her servant, nodded heracquiescence.
"I 'm off," said Martin, rising suddenly to make his escape.
"And I too," said the Captain, as he made his exit by an opposite door.
The folding-doors of the apartment were at the same moment thrown wide,and the Duchess entered. Very young,--almost girlish, indeed,--shecombined in her appearance the charming freshness of youth with thatperfection of gracefulness which attaches to the higher classesof French society, and although handsome, more striking from thefascination of manner than for any traits of beauty. Courtesyingslightly, but deferentially, to Lady Dorothea, she apologized for herintrusion by the circumstance of having, the day before, caught sight ofher "dear governess and dear friend--" And as she reached thus far, thedeep-drawn breathing of another attracted her. She turned and saw Kate,who, pale as a statue, stood leaning on a chair. In an instant shewas in her arms, exclaiming, in a rapture of delight, "My dear, dearKate,--my more than sister! You would forgive me, madam," said she,addressing Lady Dorothea, "if you but knew what we were to each other.Is it not so, Kate?"
A faint tremulous motion of the lips--all colorless as they were--wasthe only reply to the speech; but the young Frenchwoman needed n
one, butturning to her Ladyship, poured forth with native volubility a story oftheir friendship, the graceful language in which she uttered it lendingthose choice phrases which never seem exaggerations of sentiment tillthey be translated into other tongues. Mingling her praises with halfreproaches, she drew a picture of Kate so flattering that Lady Dorotheacould not help a sense of shrinking terror that one should speak in suchterms of the governess.
"And now, dearest," added she, turning to Kate, "are we to see a greatdeal of each other? When can you come to me? Pardon me, madam, thisquestion should be addressed to you."
"Miss Henderson is my secretary, Madame la Duchesse; she is also mycompanion," said Lady Dorothea, haughtily; "but I can acknowledge claimswhich take date before my own. She shall be always at liberty when youwish for her."
"How kind, how good of you!" cried the Duchess. "I could have beencertain of that. I knew that my dear Kate must be loved by all aroundher. We have a little _fete_ on Wednesday at St. Germain. May I bespeakher for that day?"
"Her Ladyship suffers her generosity to trench upon her too far," saidKate, in a low voice. "I am in a manner necessary to her,--that is, myabsence would be inconvenient."
"But her Ladyship will doubtless be in the world herself that evening.There is a ball at the Duchesse de Sargance, and the Austrian Ministerhas something," rattled on the lively Duchess. "Paris is so gay justnow, so full of pleasant people, and all so eager for enjoyment. Don'tyou find it so, my Lady?"
"I go but little into society!" said Lady Dorothea, stiffly.
"How strange! and I--I cannot live without it. Even when we go to ourChateau at Roche-Mire I carry away with me all my friends who willconsent to come. We try to imitate that delightful life of your countryhouses, and make up that great family party which is the _beau ideal_ ofsocial enjoyment."
"And you like a country life, then?" asked her Ladyship.
"To be sure. I love the excursions on horseback, the forest drives, theevening walks in the trellised vines, the parties one makes to see athousand things one never looks at afterwards; the little dinners on thegrass, with all their disasters, and the moonlight drive homewards, halfjoyous, half romantic,--not to speak of that charming frankness by whichevery one makes confession of his besetting weakness, and each has somelittle secret episode of his own life to tell the others. All but Katehere," cried she, laughingly, "who never revealed anything."
"Madame la Duchesse will, I 'm sure, excuse my absence; she hasdoubtless many things she would like to say to her friend alone," saidLady Dorothea, rising and courtesying formally; and the young Duchessreturned the salutation with equal courtesy and respect.
"My dear, dear Kate," cried she, throwing her arms around her as thedoor closed after her Ladyship, "how I have longed for this moment,to tell you ten thousand things about myself and hear from you as manymore! And first, dearest, are you happy? for you look more serious, morethoughtful than you used,--and paler, too."
"Am I so?" asked Kate, faintly.
"Yes. When you're not speaking, your brows grow stern and your lipscompressed. Your features have not that dear repose, as Giorgevo used tocall it. Poor fellow! how much in love he was, and you 've never askedfor him!"
"I never thought of him!" said she, with a smile.
"Nor of Florian, Kate!"
"Nor even of him."
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"And yet that poor fellow was really in love,--nay, don't laugh, Kate,I know it. He gave up his career, everything he had in life,--he wasa Secretary of Legation, with good prospects,--all to win your favor,becoming a 'Carbonaro,' or a 'Montagnard,' or something or other thatswears to annihilate all kings and extirpate monarchy."
"And after that?" asked Kate, with more of interest.
"After that, ma chere, they sent him to the galleys; I forget exactlywhere, but I think it was in Sicily. And then there was that HungarianCount Nemescz, that wanted to kill somebody who picked up your bouquetout of the Grand Canal at Venice."
"And whom, strangely enough, I met and made acquaintance with inIreland. His name is Massingbred."
"Not the celebrity, surely,--the young politician who made such asensation by a first speech in Parliament t'other day? He's all the ragehere. Could it be him?"
"Possibly enough," said she, carelessly. "He had very good abilities,and knew it."
"He comes to us occasionally, but I scarcely have any acquaintance withhim. But this is not telling me of yourself, child. Who and what arethese people you are living with? Do they value my dear Kate as theyought? Are they worthy of having her amongst them?"
"I 'm afraid not," said Kate, with a smile. "They do not seem at allimpressed with the blessing they enjoy, and only treat me as one ofthemselves."
"But, seriously, child, are they as kind as they should be? That oldlady is, to my thinking, as austere as an Archduchess."
"I like her," said Kate; "that is, I like her cold, reserved manner,unbending as it is, which only demands the quiet duties of servitude,and neither asks nor wishes for affection. She admits me to nofriendship, but she exacts no attachment."
"And you like this?"
"I did not say I should like it from _you!_ said Kate, pressing the handshe held fervently to her lips, while her pale cheek grew faintly red.
"And you go into the world with her,--at least _her_ world?"
"She has none here. Too haughty for second-rate society, and unknown tothose who form the first class at Paris, she never goes out."
"But she would--she would like to do so?"
"I 'm sure she would."
"Then mamma shall visit her. You know she is everything here; her houseis the rendezvous of all the distinguished people, and, once seen in hersalons, my Lady--how do you call her?"
"Lady Dorothea Martin."
"I can't repeat it--but no matter--her Ladyship shall not want forattentions. Perhaps she would condescend to come to me on Wednesday?Dare I venture to ask her?"
Kate hesitated, and the Duchess quickly rejoined,--"No, dearest, you arequite right; it would be hazardous, too abrupt, too unceremonious. Youwill, however, be with us; and I long to present you to all my friends,and show them one to whom I owe so much, and ought to be indebted tofor far more. I 'll send for you early, that we may have a long morningtogether." And so saying, she arose to take leave.
"I feel as though I 'll scarcely believe I had seen you when you havegone," said Kate, earnestly. "I'll fancy it all a dream--or rather, thatmy life since we met has been one, and that we had never parted."
"Were we not very happy then, Kate?" said the Duchess, with a half-sigh;"happier, perhaps, than we may ever be again."
"_You_ must not say so, at all events," said Kate, once more embracingher. And they parted.
Kate arose and watched the splendid equipage as it drove away, and thenslowly returned to her place at the work-table. She did not, however,resume her embroidery, but sat deep in reflection, with her handsclasped before her.
"Poor fellow!" said she, at length, "a galley-slave, and Massingbred acelebrity! So much for honesty and truth in this good world of ours! Canit always go on thus? That is the question I'm curious to hear solved.A little time may, perhaps, reveal it!" So saying to herself, she leanedher head upon her hand, deep lost in thought.