"Yes and no, _chere_ Lady Esmondet; a dozen years or so ago, I was going through my stage fever, which most men take to in a natural sort of way, though I scorn to make it any excuse for my folly; for you, dear Lady Esmondet," he added with a weary sigh, "are aware I, above all men, should have given way to no such weakness, it was not that it bore any fascination for me, on the contrary, I was as one who never lays his opera gla.s.s aside; but, Old Time was leaning on his staff just then and everything went slow; so to make things more lively, I was persuaded by some men to go in with them into a new scheme, viz., lease a theatre; the woman who has just past then, a handsome young woman, was one of the actresses; I sold out at the close of one season, since, going very occasionally I have seen this woman, _la_ Tournette, act a few times. She has severed her connection or rather the management did with her some six or seven years ago. I know nothing of her life now; she is _outree_ in style and presuming to bow to me, especially in your company."

"Her bow was a feeler to find out where she is, in society, or out,"

said Lady Esmondet; "and," she continued, "we are to blame; we show her every day that the mighty G.o.d society accepts gold."

CHAPTER XXI.

LA BELLE VERNON.

The suite of apartments at the de Hauteville mansion in which the family received, were a scene of almost unrivalled splendour. The host, Monsieur Henri Eau Clair de Hauteville, as he stood beside Madame, receiving and welcoming their guests, being a very small and very pale, quiet-mannered man, was almost lost beside the large, handsome woman and merely bowed like a Chinese Mandarin, looking like a tired school-boy, who wanted to be in bed and tucked in comfortably.

"Poor little man, how refreshing the summons to supper will be," said Lady Esmondet, as they waited in the crush to go forward to the smile, bow, and contact of finger tips.

"See how Madame stands it all," remarked Lionel. "It's astonishing what vim gentle women can throw into fatiguing social demonstrations."

"The fragile creature knows society is large-eyed," said Vaura.

On our friends turning to leave the reception room, Eau Clair, the eldest son of the house, for whom, he having attained his majority, this entertainment was given in honour of, came towards them to welcome his mother's old friend, and to tell Miss Vernon of how glad he was at her return to Paris. (He had met Trevalyon before).

"I must congratulate you, my dear boy," said Lady Esmondet, "as well upon your coming of age as upon the brilliancy of the ball."

"_Je vous remercie_, Lady Esmondet; _mais_," he added, "I have just come from your Cambridge University, and shall speak in your tongue, which I like well."

Here some old friends came up, and several gay dancing men, Everly amongst them, and Vaura's programme was soon full. She tried to secure a few dances for rest, by this means to give a few minutes to chat with Lionel, but no one would allow it.

"Don't be cruel," said one.

"Your flower-face must go to the ball-room," said another.

"Take pity on us; we don't carry a bouquet," said a third.

"So we will that you are near," said another.

At last she was carried off by Eau Clair.

"How beautiful your ball-room is, Monsieur Eau Clair," said Vaura.

"What mult.i.tudes of flowers; how many green-houses have you laid bare?

There will not be one rose-bud in all Paris for the Marshal McMahon's _fete_, but that will not grieve you, a Bonapartist."

"Of this I am sure, Mlle. Vernon, if I have left him any roses they are not the sweetest, for well I know the beauteous b.u.t.terfly of to-day loves their sweet odour."

Dance succeeded dance, and all went merry as a marriage bell, to divine music by two of the most perfect bands in Paris; and now Everly claims his innings, and is happy.

"Have mercy on me, Sir Tilton," laughed Vaura, "and forgive me this dance (besides, we have another together), and you don't know how sweetly amiable I shall be, if you'll find me a seat beside Lady Esmondet."

"Consider yourself seated, and your martyred subject not far off, fair Mademoiselle."

They found Lady Esmondet with Mrs. Wingfield and Trevalyon in an ideal refreshment room.

"Glad you've found us, _ma chere_," said Lady Esmondet.

"I need not ask how you are enjoying the ball," remarked Trevalyon, "your eyes tell me."

"And they say true; how could it be otherwise Sir Knight? with music that thrills one, and a light foot treading a measure to the sweet notes," answered Vaura. "Is not this a charming room, Miss Vernon?

invisible music, birds and flowers; the Parisian is born for this kind of thing."

"It is just a poem, Capt. Trevalyon."

"And Bob Fudge in the flesh, brings us back to reality," said Mrs.

Wingfield; and following the direction of her eyes, they saw a very young man devouring with admiring glances, the delicacies around him.

"I am quite sure," laughed Vaura, "he will go through the bill of fare just as Moore's Bob, of one _pate_ of larks, just to tune up the throat; one's small limbs of chickens, done _en papillote_, one's erudite cutlets dressed all ways but plain, &c. Oh, dear, he fatigues one," she added gaily; "yes, an ice, Sir Tilton."

"Depend upon it," said Trevalyon laughing, "d.i.c.k will receive a letter from Bob, that, 'there's nothing like feeding.'"

Here Eau Clair joined them, having missed Vaura from the ball-room.

"Have you seen the Claytons this evening, Vaura?" enquired Lady Esmondet.

"Yes, G.o.d-mother mine, and dancing with vigour and a sublime indifference to time that was amusing."

"They exchanged partners with another Quakerish looking couple, and have been in the heat of the fight, ever since," said gay Mrs.

Wingfield.

"'Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, merrily danced the Quaker,'" sang Vaura.

Here a Spanish n.o.ble came up, and with a courtly bow, reminded Vaura that this was his waltz, and in animated chit-chat, they left the room.

"A handsome couple," said Mrs. Wingfield; "and I noticed the Spaniard has had two dances with _la belle_." News, not too utterly delightful to Trevalyon and Sir Tilton.

"The Marquis admires Miss Vernon, so mother says; and no man can find him at fault," said Eau Clair, rising, and leaving the little group.

"Would you, ladies, like to go to the ball-room?" asked Lionel, anxious to be near Vaura.

"Thank you, yes," answered Lady Esmondet, divining his motive.

"And will you take pity on me, and a risk on my waltzing powers?"

asked Sir Tilton of Mrs. Wingfield.

"I would not risk anything so important as a waltz, Sir Tilton; but as I have already tested your capabilities as a dancer away I go on your protecting arms."

"Or into them," laughed her partner, as entering the ball-room they went careering at full speed down the small s.p.a.ces.

"Beg pardon, Lord Lisleville," cried Sir Tilton, as he dashed against an ancient beau with a long rent-roll, who with his _fiancee_, a pretty little French girl, who had been trying to put him out of step in order to dance with her young Lochinvar. Sir Tilton, knowing the circ.u.mstances, pitied the little Parisienne who had been dolefully doing her duty all the evening; so determined to come to her aid, hence the collision, which throwing the n.o.ble lord almost on his back, sent his wig flying several yards off which the dancers swept with their trains. The gay _pet.i.te_ was wicked enough to put her handkerchief, not to her eyes, but to her mouth, to veil her smiles as she gave herself up to her young lover who had been eating his heart out all the evening. Lord Lisleville, with inward curses on Everly and his own temerity in attempting to dance on a waxed floor, with his gouty leg and bought curls, was a droll figure, as with his handkerchief tied over his head and his face a whirlpool of wrath, he was knocked hither and thither by the dancers in the vain attempt to recover his gay tresses.