There is no epidemic more catching than excitement. The fussy manner and feverish bustle of the people about you are sure, after a time, to communicate themselves to you—the very irritation they create being what the physicians call a predisposing cause. I became an illustration in point, as the hour of this ball drew nigh. At first I could not but wonder how in the midst of such stupendous events as were then taking place—in the heart of a city garrisoned by an enemy, with everything that could wound national pride and offend national honour—even French levity could raise itself to the enjoyment of fashionable frivolity; but by degrees the continual recurrence of the subject familiarised my mind to it» wearing off my first and more natural impressions, and at last I began, like my neighbours, not only to listen with patience, but even to join in the various discussions with animation and interest.
No sooner had the report gained currency that Lady Charlotte was in possession of blank invitations, than our hotel was besieged by half Paris—the unfortunate endeavouring, by every species of flattery and every imaginable stratagem, to obtain tickets; the lucky ones all anxious to find out the mystery of her ladyship's success, which at first seemed almost incredible. The various surmises, guesses, hints, allusions, and subterfuges which followed one another in rapid succession, as this motley mob of fashionables came and went, and went and came again, amused me considerably—the more so, perhaps, as the occasion called into full play all my cousin Julia's powers of flippant raillery and sarcasm, both of which she exercised without scruple, but never within range of discovery by any of her victims.
Everything gave way to the convenience of this splendid fête. The eight o'clock dinner was anticipated by full two hours; no other subject of conversation was ever broached by the company; and at nine the carriages were ordered to the door, it being wisely calculated that if we reached our destination at eleven we should esteem ourselves fortunate.
How often, as the dashing equipage whirls past to some scene of pleasure, where beauty and rank and riches await the sated votary of fashion, will the glare of the carriage-lamps fall upon the gloomy footway, where, wet and weary, some melancholy figure steals along with downcast head and plodding step, his thoughts turned ever to some accustomed scene of wretchedness, where want and misery, disease, neglect, decay, all herd together, and not even hope can enter! The poor man, startled, looks up; the rich one, lolling back upon his easy cushion, casts a downward glance; their eyes meet—it is but a second; there is no sympathy between them—the course of one lies north, the other south. Thus at each moment did my sad heart turn away from all the splendour of the preparation about me, to wonder with myself how even for an instant I could forget my own path in life, which, opening with every prospect of happiness, yet now offered not a hope for the future. Between these two alternate states the hours crept on. As I sat beside Julia in the carriage, I could not but mark that something weighed also on her spirits. More silent than usual, she replied, when spoken to, with effort; and more than once returned wrong answers to my mother, who talked away unceasingly of the ball and the guests.
It was near midnight when we drove into the large archway of the Hôtel de Rohan, where Madame de Roni held her court. Brilliantly lighted with lamps of various colours, the very equipages were made a part of the spectacle, as they shone in bright and changeful hues, reflected from gorgeous housings, gilded trappings, and costly liveries. A large, dark-coloured travelling-carriage, with a single pair of horses, stood in the corner of the court, the only thing to distinguish it being two mounted light dragoons who waited beside it, and a chasseur in green and gold uniform who stood at the door. This simple equipage belonged to the King of Prussia. Around on every side were splendidly appointed carriages, glittering with emblazonry and gilding, from which, as the guests descended and entered the marble vestibule, names of European celebrity were called out and repeated from voice to voiqe along the lofty corridors. Le Prince de Schwartzenberg, Count Pozzo di Borgo, Le Duc de Dal-berg, Milord Cathcart, Le Comte de Nesselrode, Monsieur Talleyrand de Perigord, with others equally noble and exalted, followed in rapid succession.
Our turn came at last; and as we reached the hall we found O'Grady waiting for our arrival.
'There 's no use in attempting to get forward for some time,' said he; 'so follow me, and I'll secure you a more comfortable place to wait in.'
As he spoke he passed through the hall, and, whispering a few words to a servant, a door was opened in the wainscot, admitting us to a small and neatly-fitted-up library, where a good fire and some easy-chairs awaited us.
'I see your surprise,' said O'Grady, as my mother looked about her with astonishment at his perfect acquaintance with the whole locality; 'but I can't explain—it's part of my secret. Meanwhile, Jack, I have another for your ear,' said he, in a low whisper, as he drew me aside into a corner. 'I have made a very singular discovery, Jack, to-day, and I have a notion it may lead to more. I met, by accident, at the Adjutant-General's table, the brother of a French officer whose life I saved at Nivelle; he remembered my name in a moment, and we became sworn friends. I accepted his offer of a seat in his carriage to this ball, and on the way he informed me that he was the chief of the secret police of Paris, whose business it is to watch all the doings of the regular police and report upon them to Fouché, whose spies are in every salon and at every dinner-table in the capital I have no time at present to repeat any of the extraordinary stories he told me of this horrible system; but just as we entered the courtyard of this hotel, our carriage was jammed up in the line and detained for some minutes. Guillemain suddenly let down the glass, and gave a low, peculiar whistle, which, if I had not been paying considerable attention to everything about him, might have escaped my notice. In about a minute after a man, with a hat slouched over his face, and a large cravat covering his mouth, approached the carriage. They conversed together for some time, and I could perceive that the new-comer spoke his French in a broken manner and with a foreign accent. By a slight movement of the horses one of the lamps threw the light full upon this man's face; I fixed my eyes rapidly on him, and recognised—whom, think you? But you'd never guess: no other than your old antagonist, Ulick Burke!'
'Ulick Burke! You must have been mistaken.'
'No, no. I knew him at once; the light rested on him for full five minutes, and I had time enough to scan every feature of his face. I could swear to the man now. He left us at last, and I watched him till he disappeared among the crowd of servants that filled the courtyard.'
'“That's one of your people,” said I carelessly, as Guillemain drew up the glass, and sat back in the carriage.
'“Yes, and a thorough scoundrel he is—capable of anything.”
'“He's not French,” said I, with the same indifference of manner I had feigned at first.
'Guillemain started as I spoke; and I half feared I had destroyed all by venturing too much. At length, after a short pause, he replied: “You're right, he's not French; but we have them of all nations—Poles, Swedes, Germans, Italians, Greeks. That fellow is English.”
'“Say Irish, rather,” said I, determining to risk all, to know all.
'“You know him, then?” said Guillemain hurriedly; “where did you see Fitzgerald?”
'“Fitzgerald!” said I, repeating the name after him; and then affecting disappointment, added, “That's not the name.”
'“Ha! I knew you were mistaken,” said Guillemain, with animation; “the fellow told me he defies recognition; and I certainly have tried him often among his countrymen, and he has never been detected. And yet he knows the English thoroughly and intimately. It was through him that I first found out these very people we are going to.”
'Here, Jack, he entered upon a long account of our worthy hosts, who with great wealth, great pretensions, and as great vulgarity came to Paris some weeks ago in that mighty flood of all sorts of people that flocked here since the peace. Their desire to be ranked among the fashionable entertainers of the day was soon reported to the minister of police, who, after considering how far such a house might be useful, where persons of all shades of political opinion might meet—friends of the Bourbons, Jacobites, Napoleonists, the men of '88, and the admirers of the old régime—measures were accordingly taken that their invitations should go out to the first persons in Paris, and, more still, should be accepted by them.
'While these worthy people are therefore distributing their hospitalities with all the good faith imaginable, their hotel is nothing more nor less than a cabinet de police, where Fouché and his agents are unravelling the intrigues of Paris, or weaving fresh ones for their own objects.'
'Infamous system! But how comes it, Phil, that they have never discovered their anomalous position?'
'What a question, Jack! Vulgar pretension is a triple shield that no eye can pierce; and as you know the parties——'
'Know them! no, I never heard of them before.' 'What, Jack! Is your memory so short-lived? And yet there was a pretty girl in the house who might have rested longer in your memory.'
The announcement of Lady Charlotte and my cousin's names by the servant at the foot of the stairs broke up our conference; and we had only time to join our party as we fell into that closely-wedged phalanx that wound its slow length up the spacious staircase. O'Grady's last words had excited my curiosity to the highest pitch; but as he preceded me with my mother on his arm, I was unable to ask for an explanation.
At last we reached the ante-chamber, from which a vista of salons suddenly broke upon the view; and although anticipating much, I had formed no conception whatever of the splendour of the scene before me. More brilliant than noonday itself, the room was a blaze of wax-lights; the ceilings of fretted gold and blue enamel glittered like a gorgeous firmament; the walls were covered with pictures in costly frames of Venetian taste. But the decorations, magnificent and princely as they were, were as nothing to that splendid crowd of jewelled dames and glittering nobles, of all that was distinguished in beauty, in rank, in military glory, or in the great contest of political life. Here were the greatest names of Europe—the kings and princes of the earth, the leaders of mighty armies, the generals of a hundred battles; here was the collective greatness of the world, all that can influence mankind—hereditary rank, military power, stupendous intellect, beauty, wealth—mixing in the vast vortex of fashionable dissipation, and plunging into all the excesses of voluptuous pleasure. The band of the Imperial Guard stationed near the staircase were playing with all the delicious softness of their national instrument—the Russian horn—a favourite mazurka of the emperor as we entered, and a partial silence reigned among the hundred listeners.
O'Grady conveyed my mother through the crowd to a seat, where, having placed my cousin beside her, he once more came near me.
'Jack,' whispered he, 'come a little this way.' He drew aside a curtain as he spoke, and we entered a boudoir, where a buffet of refreshments was placed. Here the scene was ludicrous in the extreme, from the incongruous mixture-of persons of so many nations and languages who were chatting away and hobnobbing to one another in all the dismembered phrases of every tongue in Europe; loud laughter, however, poured from one corner of the room, whither O'Grady directed his steps, still holding my arm. A group of Cossack officers in full scarlet costume, their loose trousers slashed with gold embroidery and thrust into wide boots of yellow leather, stood in a circle round a person whom we could not yet perceive, but who, we were enabled to discover, was exercising his powers of amusement for this semi-savage audience, whose wild shouts of laughter broke forth at every moment. We made our way at length through the crowd, and my eyes at last fell upon the figure within. I stared; I rubbed my eyes; I actually began to doubt my very senses, when suddenly turning his joyous face beaming with good-humour towards me, he held forth his hand and called out, 'Captain, my darling, the top of the morning to you. This beats Stephen's Green, doesn't it?'
'Mr. Paul Rooney!' said I.
'No, no! Monsieur de Roni, if you please,' said he, again breaking out into a fit of laughing. 'Lord help you, man, I've been christened since I came abroad. Let me present you to my friends.' Here Paul poked a tall Cossack in the ribs to attract his attention, and then pointing to me, said: 'This is Captain Hinton; his name's a poser—a cross between chincough and a house-key. Eh, old fellow?'
A Tartar grin was the reply to this very intelligible speech; but a bumper of champagne made everything comprehensible between them. Mr. Rooney's hilarity soon showed me that he had not forgotten his native habits, and was steadily bent upon drinking glass for glass with his company, even though they only came in detachments. With Bashkir chiefs, Pomeranian barons, Rhine graaf s, and Polish counts he seemed as intimate as though he had passed as much of his time in the Caucasus as the Four Courts, and was as familiar with the banks of the Don as ever he had been with those of the Dodder.
'And is it really our old friend Mrs. Paul who entertains this host of czars and princes?'
'Is it really only now that you've guessed it?' said O'Grady, as he carried me away with him through the salon. 'But I see Lady Charlotte is amongst her friends, and your cousin is dancing; so now let's make the most of our time. I say, Jack, your lady-mother scarcely supposes that her host is the same person she once called on for his bill. By Jove, what a discovery it would be to her! and the little girl she had such a horror of is now the belle of Paris. You remember Louisa Bellew, don't you? Seven thousand a year, my boy, and beauty worth double the money. But there she is, and how handsome!'
As he spoke, a lady passed us leaning on her partner's arm, her head turned slightly over her shoulder. I caught but one glance, and as I did so, the rushing torrent of blood that mounted to my face made my very brain grow dizzy. I knew not where I stood. I sprang forward to speak to her, and then became rooted to the ground. It was she, indeed, as beautiful as ever; her pale face wore the very look I had last seen the night I saved her from the flood.
'Did you observe her companion?' said O'Grady, who fortunately had not noticed my confusion. 'It was De Vere. I knew he was here; and I suspect I see his plans.'
'De Vere!' said I, starting. 'De Vere with Miss Bellew! Are you certain?'
'Quite certain; I seldom mistake a face, and his I can't forget. But here's Guillemain. I'll join you in a moment.'
So saying, O'Grady left my side, and I saw him take the arm of a small man in black, who was standing at a doorway. The rush of sensations that crowded on me as I stood there alone made me forget the time, and I knew not that O'Grady had been above half an hour away when he again came to my side.
'How the plot thickens, Hinton!' said he, in a low whisper. 'Only think, the villain Burke has actually made the hand and fortune of that lovely girl the price of obtaining secret information from De Vere of the proceedings of the British embassy. Guillemain did not confess this to me; but he spoke in such a way, that, with my knowledge of all the parties, I made out the clue.'
'Burke! but what influence has he over her?'
'None over her, but much over the Rooneys, whom, independent of threats about exposing their real condition in life, he has persuaded that such a marriage for their ward secures them in fashionable society for ever. This with Paul would do nothing; but Madame de Roni, as you know, sets a high price on such a treasure. Besides, he is in possession of some family secret about her mother, which he uses as a means of intimidation to Paul, who would rather die than hurt Miss Bellew's feelings. Now, Jack, De Vere only wants intellect to be as great a scoundrel as Master Ulick, so we must rescue this poor girl, come what will.'
'We must and we will,' said I, with a tone of eagerness that made O'Grady start.
'Not a moment is to be lost,' said he, after a brief pause. 'I 'll try what can be done with Guillemain.'
An opening of the crowd as he spoke compelled us to fall back, and as we did so I could perceive that an avenue was made along the room.
'One of the sovereigns,' whispered O'Grady.
I leaned forward, and perceived two aides-de-camp in green uniform, who were retreating step by step slowly before some persons farther back.
'The Emperor of Russia,' whispered a voice near me; and the same instant I saw the tall and fine-looking figure of Alexander, his broad massive forehead, and frank manly face turning from side to side as he acknowledged the salutations of the room. On his arm he supported a lady, whose nodding plumes waved in concert with every inclination of the Czar himself. Curious to see what royal personage shared thus with him the homage of the assembly, I stooped to catch a glance. The lady turned—our eyes met; a slight flush coloured her cheek as she quickly moved her head away. It was Mrs. Paul Rooney herself! Yes, she whom I had once seen with an effort subdue her pride of station when led in to dinner by some Irish attorney-general, or some going judge of assize, now leaned on the arm of an emperor, and divided with him the honours of the moment!
While O'Grady sought out his new friend, the minister of police, I went in search of my mother and Lady Julia, whom I found surrounded by a knot of their own acquaintances, actively engaged in surmises as to the lady of the house—her rank, fortune, and pretensions. For some time I could not but feel amused at the absurd assertions of many of the party, who affected to know all about Madame de Roni and her secret mission at Paris.
'My dear John,' said my mother in a whisper, 'you must find out all about her. Your friend, the Colonel, is evidently in the secret. Pray, now, don't forget it. But really you seem in a dream. There's Beulwitz paying Julia all the attention imaginable the entire evening, and you 've never gone near her. Apropos, have you seen this ward of Madame de Roni? She is very pretty, and they speak of her as a very suitable person.' (This phrase was a kind of cant with my mother and her set, which expressed in brief that a lady was enormously rich and a very desirable match for a man with nothing.) 'I forget her name.'
'Miss Bellew, perhaps,' said I, trembling lest any recollection of ever having heard it before should cross her mind.
'Yes, that's the name; somehow it seems familiar to me. Do you know her yet, for my friend Lady Middleton knows every one, and will introduce you?'
'Oh, I have the pleasure of being acquainted with her already,' said I, turning away to hide my confusion.
'That's quite proper,' said her ladyship encouragingly. 'But here she comes; I think you must introduce me, John.'
As my mother spoke, Louisa Bellew came up, leaning on a lady's arm. A moment's hesitation on my part would have only augmented the embarrassment which increased at every instant; so I stepped forward and pronounced her name. No sooner had the words 'Miss Bellew' escaped my lips than she turned round; her large full eyes were fixed upon me doubtingly for a second, and her face grew deep scarlet, and then as suddenly pale again. She made an effort to speak, but could not; a tottering weakness seemed to creep over her frame, and as she pressed her companion's arm closely I heard her mutter—'Oh, pray move on!'
'Lady Charlotte Hinton—'Miss Bellew,' said the lady at her side, who had paid no attention whatever to Louisa's agitated manner.
My mother smiled in her sweetest manner, while Miss Bellow's acknowledgments were made with the most distant coldness.
'My son had deemed himself fortunate enough to be known to you,' said Lady Charlotte.
Miss Bellew became pale as death; her very lips were bloodless, as with a voice tremulous with emotion, she replied—
'We were acquainted once, madam; but——'
What was to be the remainder of the speech I know not, for as the crowd moved on she passed with it, leaving me like one whose senses were forsaking him one by one. I could only hear my mother say, 'How very impertinent!' and then my brain became a chaos. A kind of wild reckless feeling, the savage longing that in moments of dark passion stirs within a man for some act of cruelty, some deed of vengeance, ran through my breast. I had been spurned, despised, disowned by her of whom through many a weary month my heart alone was full. I hurried away from the spot, my brain on fire. I saw nothing, I heeded nothing, of the bright looks and laughing faces that passed me; scornful pity and contempt for one so low as I was seemed to prevail in every face I looked at. A strange impulse to seek out Lord Dudley de Vere was uppermost in my mind; and as I turned on every side to find him, I felt my arm grasped tightly, and heard O'Grady's voice in my ear—
'Be calm, Jack, for heaven's sake! Your disturbed looks make every one stare at you.'
He drew me along with him through the crowd, and at length reached a card-room, where, except the players, no one was present.
'Come, my dear boy, I saw what has annoyed you.'
'You saw it!' said I, my eyeballs straining as I spoke.
'Yes, yes; and what signifies it? So very handsome a girl, and the expectation of a large fortune, must always have followers. But you know Lady Julia well enough——'
'Lady Julia!' repeated I, in amazement.
'Yes. I say you know her well enough to believe that Beulwitz is not exactly the person——'
A burst of laughter at his mistake broke from me at the moment; but so wild and discordant was it that O'Grady misconstrued its meaning, and went at some length to assure me that my cousin's affection for me was beyond my suspicion.
Stunned by my own overwhelming sorrow, I felt no inclination to undeceive him, and let him persist in his error without even a word of reply.
'Rouse yourself, Jack,' said he, at length. 'This depression is unworthy of you, had you even cause for grief. There's many a heart heavier than your own, my boy, where the lip is smiling this minute.'
There was a tone of deep affliction in the cadence of his voice as these words fell from him, and he turned away his head as he spoke. Then rallying in an instant, he added—
'Do you know, our dear friend Mrs. Paul has scarcely ventured to acknowledge me to-night, and I feel a kind of devilish spirit of vengeance working within me in consequence. To out me! I that trained her infant mind to greatness; that actually smuggled for her a contraband viceroy, and brought him alive into her dominions! What dire ingratitude! Come, what say you to champagne?'
He poured me out a large glassful as he spoke, and, filling his own, called out, laughing—
'Here, I give you a toast—“La Vendetta!” eh, Jack? Corsican vengeance on all who maltreat us!'
Glass after glass followed; and I felt my brain, instead of being excited, grow calmer, steadier; a firm and determined resolution usurped the flitting thoughts and wandering fancies of before.
'They're moving towards the supper-room,' said O'Grady, who for some time past had talked away, without my paying any attention to what he said.
As we descended the stairs, I heard my mother's carriage announced, and could just see her and my cousin handed to it by some Austrian officers as we entered the supper-room.
The incessant crash and din of the enormous banquet-ing-room, its crowd and heat, its gorgeous table-equipage and splendid guests, were scarce noticed by me as I followed O'Grady half mechanically towards the end of the room. For some time I remained stupidly unconscious of all around; and it was only after a very considerable time that I descried that immediately in front of where we stood Mrs. Paul Rooney was seated—the Emperor of Russia on her right, the King of Prussia on her left hand; Swartzenburg, Blucher, Talleyrand, Nesselrode, and many others equally distinguished occupying places along the board. Her jocund laugh and merry voice, indeed, first attracted my attention.
'By Jove! she does it admirably,' said O'Grady, who for full five minutes had been most critically employed scrutinising Mrs. Paul's manner. 'Do you remark the tact with which she graduates her attentions to the emperor and the king? And look at the hauteur of her bearing to old Blucher! But, hush! what's coming?'
A kind of suppressed murmur buzzed along the crowded room, which, subsiding into a dead silence, the Emperor Alexander rose, and addressing the guests in a few but well-chosen words in English, informed them he had received permission from their amiable and captivating hostess to propose a toast, and he took the opportunity with unqualified delight to give the health of 'the Prince Regent.' A perfect thunder of applause acknowledged this piece of gracious courtesy, and a 'hip! hip! hurrah!' which astonished the foreigners, shook the very roof. While the deafening shouts rose on every side, Mrs. Paul wrote a line with her pencil hastily on her card, and turning round gave it to a Cossack aide-de-camp of the emperor to deliver into Mr. Rooney's hands. Either from the excitement of the moment or his imperfect acquaintance with English, the unlucky Cossack turned for an explanation towards the first British officer near him, who happened to be O'Grady.
'What does this mean?' said he in French.
'Ah,' said Phil, looking at it, 'this is intended for that gentleman at the foot of the table. You see him yonder—he's laughing now. Come along, I'll pilot you towards him.'
Suspecting that O'Grady's politeness had some deeper motive than mere civility, I leaned over his shoulder and asked the reason of it.
'Look here,' said he, showing me the card as he spoke, on which was written the following words: 'Make the band play “God Save the King “; the emperor wishes it.'
'Come with us, Jack,' whispered O'Grady; 'we had better keep near the door.'
I followed them through the dense crowd, who were still cheering with all their might, and at last reached the end of the table, where Paul himself was amusing a select party of Tartar chiefs, Prussian colonels, Irish captains, and Hungarian nobles.
'Look here,' said Phil, showing me the card, which in his passage down the room he had contrived to alter, by rubbing out the first part and interpolating a passage of his own; making the whole run thus—
'Sing the “Cruiskeen Lawn”; the emperor wishes it.'
I had scarcely time to thrust my handkerchief to my mouth and prevent an outbreak of laughter, when I saw the Cossack officer present the card to Paul with a deep bow. Mr. Rooney read it—surveyed the bearer; read it again—rubbed his eyes, drew over a branch of wax-candles to inspect it better, and then, directing a look to the opposite extremity of the table, exchanged glances with his spouse, as if interrogating her intentions once more. A quick, sharp nod from Mrs. Paul decided the question thus tacitly asked; and Paul, clearing off a tumbler of sherry, muttered to himself, 'What the devil put the “Cruiskeen Lawn” into his Majesty's head I can't think; but I suppose there's no refusing.*
A very spirited tapping with the handle of his knife was now heard to mix with the other convivial sounds, and soon indeed to overtop them, as Paul, anxious to fulfil a royal behest, cleared his throat a couple of times, and called out, 'I'll do the best I can, your Majesty'; and at once struck up—
Here Paul quavered, and at last the pent-up mirth of the whole room could endure no more, but burst forth into one continuous shout of laughter, in which kings, dukes, ambassadors, and field-marshals joined as loudly as their neighbours. To hear the song was utterly impossible; and though from Mr. Paul's expanded cheeks and violent gesticulation it was evident he was in full chant, nothing could be heard save the scream of laughing which shook the building—an emotion certainly not the less difficult to repress, as Mrs. Paul, shaking her hand at him with passionate energy, called out—
'Oh, the baste! he thinks he's on circuit this minit!' As for myself, half choking and with sore sides, I never recovered till I reached the street, when O'Grady dragged me along, saying as he did so—
'We must reach home at once. Nothing but a strong alibi will save my character.'
I was not sorry when I heard the following morning that my mother would not appear before dinner-hour. I dreaded the chance of any allusion to Miss Bellow's name requiring explanation on my part; and the more so, as I myself was utterly lost in conjectures as to the reason of her singular reception of me.
Julia, too, appeared more out of spirits than usual She pleaded fatigue; but I could see that something lay heavily on her mind. She conversed with evident effort, and seemed to have a difficulty in recalling her faculties to the ordinary topics of the day. A thought struck me that perhaps De Vere's conduct might have given cause for her depression; and gradually I drew the conversation to the mention of his name, when I soon became undeceived on this point. She told me with perfect unconcern how my father had tracked out the whole line of his duplicity and calumny regarding me, and had followed the matter up by a representation to the duke at the head of the army, who immediately commanded his retirement from the Guards. Later on, his family influence had obtained his appointment as attaché to the embassy at Paris; but since their first rupture he had discontinued his visits, and now had ceased to be acknowledged by them when they met.
My cousin's melancholy not being then attributable to anything connected with De Vere, I set myself to work to ascertain whence it proceeded; and suddenly the thought struck me that perhaps my mother's surmise might have some foundation, and that Julia, feeling an affection for me, might have been hurt at my evident want of attention towards her since we met.
I have already begged of my reader to separate such suspicions from the coxcombry of the lady-killer, who deems every girl he meets his victim. If I did for a moment imagine that my cousin liked me, I did so with a stronger sense of my own unworthiness to merit her love than if I myself had sought her affection. I had felt her superiority to myself too early in life to outlive the memory of it as we grew older. The former feeling of dread which I entertained of Julia's sarcasm still lived within me, and I felt keenly that she who knew the weaknesses of the boy was little likely to forget them in reflecting over the failures of the man; and thus, if she did care for me, I well knew that her affection must be checkered by too many doubts and uncertainties to give it that character of abiding love which alone could bring happiness. I perceived clearly enough that she disliked O'Grady. Was it, then, that, being interested for me, she was grieved at my great intimacy with one she herself did not admire, and who evidently treated her with marked coldness and reserve?
Harassed with these suspicions, and annoyed that those I had hoped would regard each other as friends avoided every opportunity of intimacy, I strolled forth to walk alone, my mind brooding over dark and disagreeable images, and my brain full of plans all based upon disappointed hopes and blighted expectations. To my mother's invitation to dinner for that day O'Grady had returned an apology; he was engaged to his friend M. Guillemain, with whom he was also to pass the morning; so that I was absolutely without a companion.
When first I issued from the Place Vendôme, I resolved at all hazards to wait on the Rooneys, at once to see Miss Bellew, and seek an explanation, if possible, for her manner towards me. As I hastened on towards the Chaussée, however, I began to reflect on the impropriety of such a course, after the evident refusal she had given to any renewal of acquaintance. 'I did know Mr. Hinton,' were the words she used—words which, considering all that had passed between us, never could have been spoken lightly or without reason. A hundred vague conjectures as to the different ways in which my character and motives might have been slandered to her occupied me as I sauntered along. De Vere and Burke were both my enemies, and I had little doubt that with them originated the calumny from which I now was suffering; and as I turned over in my thoughts all the former passages of our hatred, I felt how gladly they would embrace the opportunity of wounding me where the injury would prove the keenest.
Without knowing it, I had actually reached the street where the Rooneys lived, and was within a few paces of their house. Strangely enough, the same scene I had so often smiled at before their house in Dublin was now enacting here—the great difference being, that instead of the lounging subs, of marching regiments, the swaggering cornets of dragoons, the overdressed and underbred crowds of would-be fashionables who then congregated before the windows or curvetted beneath the balcony, were now the generals of every foreign service, field-marshals glittering with orders, powdered diplomatists, cordoned political writers, savants from every country in Europe, and idlers whose bons mots and smart sayings were the delight of every dinner-table in the capital; all happy to have some neutral ground where the outposts of politics might be surveyed without compromise or danger, and where, amid the excellences of the table and the pleasures of society, intrigues could be fathomed or invented under the auspices of that excellent attorney's wife, who deemed herself meanwhile the great attraction of her courtly visitors and titled guests.
As I drew near the house I scarcely ventured to look towards the balcony, in which a number of well-dressed persons were now standing chatting together. One voice I soon recognised, and its every accent cut my very heart as I listened. It was Lord Dudley de Vere, talking in his usual tone of loud assumption. I could hear the same vacant laugh which had so often offended me; and I actually dreaded lest some chance allusion to myself might reach me where I stood. There must be something intensely powerful in the influence of the human voice, when its very cadence alone can elevate to rapture or sting to madness. Who has not felt the ecstasy of some one brief word from 'lips beloved,' after long years of absence; and who has not experienced the tumultuous conflict of angry passions that rise unbidden at the mere sound of speaking from those we like not? My heart burned within me as I thought of her who doubtless was then among that gay throng, and for whose amusement those powers of his lordship's wit were in all likelihood called forth; and I turned away in anger and in sorrow.
As the day wore on I could not face towards home. I felt I dare not meet the searching questions my mother was certain to ask me; nor could I endure the thought of mixing with a crowd of strangers, when my own spirits were hourly sinking. I dined alone at a small café in the Palais Royal, and sat moodily over my wine till past eleven o'clock. The stillness of the room startled me at length, and I looked up and found the tables deserted; a sleepy waiter lounged lazily on a bench, and the un-trimmed candles and disordered look of everything indicated that no other guests were then expected.
'Where have they gone to?' said I, curious to know what so suddenly had taken the crowd away.
'To Frescati's, monsieur,' said the waiter; 'the salon is filling fast by this time.'
A strange feeling of dislike to being alone had taken hold on me, and having inquired the way to the Rue Richelieu from the servant, I issued forth.
What a contrast to the dark and gloomy streets of Paris, with their irregular pavement, was the brilliantly lighted vestibule, with its marble pillars and spacious stair rising gracefully beyond it, which met my eyes as I entered Frescati's! Mingling with the crowd of persons who pressed their way along, I reached a large antechamber where several servants in rich liveries received the hats and canes of the visitors who thronged eagerly forward, their merry voices and gay laughter resounding through the arched roof.
As the wide doors were thrown open noiselessly, I was quite unprepared for the splendour of the scene. Here were not only officers of rank in all the gala of their brilliant uniforms, and civilians in full dress, shining in stars and decorations, but ladies also, with that perfection of toilette only known to Parisian women, their graceful figures scattered through the groups, or promenading slowly up and down, conversing in a low tone; while servants passed to and fro with champagne and fruit-ices on massive silver salvers, their noiseless gesture and quiet demeanour in perfect keeping with the hushed and tranquil look of all around. As I drew closer to the table I could mark that the stillness was even more remarkable; not a voice was heard but of the croupier of the table, as with ceaseless monotony he repeated: 'Faites le jeu, messieurs! Le jeu est fait. Noir perd, et couleur gagne.
Rouge perd, et la couleur——' The rattle of the rake and the chink of the gold followed, a low muttered 'Sacre!' being the only sound that mingled with them.
But I could mark, that, although the etiquette of ruin demanded this unbroken silence, passion worked in every feature there. On one side was an old man, his filmy eyes shaded by his hand from the strong glare of wax-lights, peering with eagerness and tremulous from age and excitement as the cards fell from the banker's hands, his blanched lips muttering each word after the croupier, and his wasted cheek quivering as the chances inclined against him. Here was a bold and manly face, flushed and heated, whose bloodshot eye ranged quickly over the board, while every now and then some effort to seem calm and smile would cross the features, and in its working show the dreadful struggle that was maintained within. And then again a beautiful girl, her dark eye dilated almost to a look of wild insanity, her lips parted, her cheeks marked with patches of white and red, and her fair hands clenched, while her bosom heaved and fell as though some pent-up agony was eating at her very heart.
At the end of the table was a vacant chair, beside which an officer in a Prussian uniform was standing, while before him was a small brass-clasped box. Curious to know what this meant, I turned to see to which of those about me I might venture to address a question, when suddenly my curiosity became satisfied without inquiry. A loud voice talking German with a rough accent, the heavy tramp of a cavalry boot clanking with large spurs, announced the approach of some one who cared little for the conventional silence of the rooms; and as the crowd opened I saw an old man in blue uniform, covered with stars, elbow his way towards the chair. His eyebrows of shaggy grey almost concealed his eyes as effectually as his heavy moustache did his mouth. He walked lame, and leaned on a stick, which, as he took his place in the chair, he placed unceremoniously on the table before him. The box, which was opened the moment he sat down, he now drew towards him, and plunging his hand into it drew forth a handful of napoleons, and, without waiting to count, he threw on the table, uttering in a thick guttural voice the one word 'Rouge.' The impassive coldness of the croupier as he pronounced his habitual exordium seemed to move the old man's impatience, as he rattled his fingers hurriedly among the gold and muttered some broken words of German between his teeth. The enormous sum he betted drew every eye towards his part of the table—of all which he seemed totally regardless, as he raked in his winnings, or frowned with a heavy lowering look as often as fortune turned against him. Marshal Blucher—for it was he—was an impassioned gambler, and needed not the excitement of the champagne, which he drank eagerly from time to time, to stimulate his passion for play.
As I turned from the rouge et noir table, I remarked that every now and then some person left the room by a small door, which, concealed by a mirror, had escaped my attention when I entered. On inquiry I found that this passage led to a secret part of the establishment, which only a certain set of players frequented, and where the tables were kept open during the entire day and night. Curious to see the interior of this den of greater iniquity, I presented myself at it, and on opening found myself in a narrow corridor, where a servant demanded my billet. Having informed him that I was merely there from motives of curiosity, I offered him a napoleon, which speedily satisfied his scruples. He conducted me to the end of the gallery, where, touching a spring, the door opened, and I found myself in a room considerably smaller than the salon, and, with the exception of being less brilliantly lighted, equally splendid in its decorations. Around on all sides were small partitions, like the cells in a London coffee-house, where tables were provided for parties to sup at. These were now unoccupied, the greater attraction of high play having drawn every one around the table, where the same monotonous sounds of the croupier's voice, the same patter of the cards, and the same clinking of the gold continued unceasingly. The silence of the salon was as nothing to the stillness that reigned here. Not a voice save the banker's was ever heard; each player placed his money on the red or black square of the table without speaking, and the massive rouleaus were passed backwards and forwards with no other sound save the noise of the rake. I remarked, too, that the stakes seemed far heavier; crumpled rolls of billets de banque were often thrown down, and from the muffled murmur of the banker I could hear such sums as 'seven thousand francs,' 'ten thousand francs,' called out.
It was some time before I could approach near enough to see the play; at last I edged my way to the front, and obtained a place behind the croupier's chair, where a good view of the table was presented to me. The different nations, with their different costumes, tongues, and expressions so strangely congregated, were a study that might have amused me for a long time, had not a chance word of English spoken close by me drawn off my attention.
Immediately in front, but with their backs towards me, sat two persons, who seemed, as was often the habit, to play in concert. A large heap of gold and notes lay before them, and several cards, marked with pin-holes to chronicle the run of the game, were scattered about. Unable to see their faces, I was struck by one singular but decisive mark of their difference in condition and rank. The hands of one were fair and delicate almost as a woman's—the blue veins circling clearly through them, and rings of great price and brilliancy glittering on the fingers; those of the other were coarse, brown-stained, and ill cared for—the sinewy fingers and strong bony knuckles denoting one accustomed to laborious exertions. It was strange that two persons, evidently so wide apart in their walks in life, should be thus associated; and feeling a greater interest from the chance phrase of English one of them had dropped, I watched them closely. By degrees I could mark that their difference in dress was no less conspicuous; for although the more humble was well and even fashionably attired, he had not the same distinctive marks which characterised his companion as a person of class and condition. While I looked, the pile of gold before them had gradually melted down to some few pieces; and as they bent down their heads over the cards, and concerted as to their play, it was clear that by their less frequent ventures they were becoming more cautious.
'No, no I' said he, who seemed to be the superior, 'I'll not risk it.'
'I say yes, yes!' muttered the other, in a deeper voice; 'the rouge can't go on for ever: it has passed eleven times.'
'I know,' said the former bitterly; 'and I have lost seventeen thousand francs.'
'You have lost!' retorted the other savagely, but in the same low tone; 'why not we? Am I for nothing in all this?'
'Come, come, Ulick, don't be in a passion!'
The name and the tone of the speaker startled me. I leaned forward; my very head reeled as I looked. It was Lord Dudley de Vere and Ulick Burke. The rush of passionate excitement that ran through me for a minute or two, to be thus thrown beside the two only enemies I had ever had, unnerved me so far that I could not collect myself. To call them forth at once, and charge them with their baseness towards me; to dare them openly, and denounce them before that crowded assembly—was my first rapid thought. But from this wild thrill of anger I was soon turned, as Burke's voice, elevated to a tone of passion, called out—
'Hold! I am going to bet!'
The banker stopped; the cards still rested in his hands.
'I say, sir, I will do it,' said Burke, turning to De Vere, whose cheek was now pale as death, and whose disordered and haggard air was increased by his having torn off his cravat and opened the collar of his shirt. 'I say I will; do you gainsay me?' continued he, laying on the words an accent of such contemptuous insolence that even De Vere's eye fired at it. 'Vingt mille francs, noir,' said Burke, placing his last billet on the table; and the words were scarce spoken when the banker cried out—
'Noir perd et passe.'
A horrible curse broke from Burke as he fixed his staring eyeballs on the outspread cards, and counted over the numbers to himself.
'You see, Burke,' said De Vere.
'Don't speak to me, now, damn you!' said the other, with clenched teeth.
De Vere pushed back his chair, and rising, moved through the crowd towards an open window. Burke sat with his head buried between his hands for some seconds, and then starting up at the banker s call, cried out—
'Dix mille, noir!'
A kind of half-suppressed laugh ran round the table at seeing that he had no funds while he still offered to bet. He threw his eyes upon the board, and then as quickly turned them on the players. One by one his dark look was bent on them, as if to search out some victim for his hate; but all were hushed. Many as reckless as himself were there, many as utterly ruined, but not one so lost to hope.
'Who laughed?' said he in French, while the thick veins of his forehead stood out like cordage; and then, as none answered to his challenge, he rose slowly, still scowling with the malignity of a demon.
'May I have your seat, monsieur?' said a dapper little Frenchman, with a smile and a bow, as Burke moved away.
'Yes, take it,' said he, as lifting the strong chair with one hand he dashed it upon the floor, smashing it to pieces with a crash that shook the room.
The crowd, which made way for him to pass out, as speedily closed again around the table, where the work of ruin still went forward. Not a passing glance was turned from the board to look after the beggared gambler.
The horrible indifference the players had shown to the sufferings of this wretched man so thoroughly disgusted me that I could no longer bear even to look on the game. The passion of play had shown itself to me now in all its most repulsive form, and I turned with abhorrence from the table.
My mind agitated by a number of emotions, and my heart now swelling with triumphant vengeance, now filled with pity for the sake of him who had ruined my fortunes for ever, I sat in one of the small boxes I have mentioned, which, dimly lighted, had not yet been sought by any of the players to sup in. A closely drawn curtain separated the little place I occupied from the adjoining one, where from time to time I heard the clink of glasses and the noise of champagne corks. At first I supposed that some other solitary individual had established himself there to enjoy his winnings or brood over his losses, when at last I could hear the low muttering of voices, which ere long I recognised as belonging to Burke and De Vere.
Burke, who evidently from his tone and manner possessed the mastery over his companion, no longer employed the insulting accents I had witnessed at the table; on the contrary, he condescended to flatter—affected to be delighted with De Vere's wit and sharpness, and more than once insinuated that with such an associate he cared little what tricks fortune played them, as, to use his own phrase, 'they were sure to come round.'
De Vere's voice, which I could only hear at rare intervals, told that he had drunk deeply, and that between wine and his losses a kind of reckless desperation had seized him, which gave to his manner and words a semblance of boldness which his real character lacked completely.
When I knew that Burke and De Vere were the persons near me, I rose to leave the spot; the fear of playing the eavesdropper forbade my remaining. But as I stood up, the mention of my name, uttered in a tone of vengeance by Burke, startled me, and I listened.
'Yes,' said he, striking his hand upon the table, and confirming his assertion with a horrible oath. 'Yes; for him and through him my uncle left me a beggar. But already I have had my revenge; though it shan't end there.'
'You don't mean to have him out again? Confound him, he's a devilish good shot; winged you already—eh?'
Burke, unmindful of the interruption, continued—
'It was I that told my uncle how this fellow was the nephew of the man who seduced his own wife. I worked upon the old man so that he left house and home, and wandered through the country, till mental irritation, acting on a broken frame, became fever, and then death.'
'Died—eh? Glorious nephew you are, by Jove! What next?'
'I'll tell you. I forged a letter in his handwriting to Louisa, written as if on his death-bed, commanding as his last prayer that she should never see Hinton again; or if by any accident they should meet, that she should not recognise him nor know him.'
'Devilish clever, that; egad, a better martingale than that you invented a while ago. I say, pass the wine! red fourteen times—wasn't it fourteen?—and if it had not been for your cursed obstinacy I'd have backed the red. See, fifty naps! one hundred, four, eight, sixteen, thirty-four, or six—which is it? Oh, confounded stupidity!'
'Come, come, Dudley! better luck another time. Louisa's eyes must have been too kindly bent on you, or you 'd have been more fortunate.'
'Eh, you think she likes me?—Capital champagne that!—I always thought she did from the first. That's what I call walking inside of Hinton. How he'll look! Ha! ha! ha!'
'Yes, how he'll look!' echoed Burke, endeavouring to join the laugh. 'But now one thing is yet wanting.'
'You mean those despatches,' replied De Vere suddenly. 'You always come back to that. Well, once for all, I say no!'
'Just hear me, Dudley! Nothing is easier; nothing incurs less risk.'
'Less risk! what do you mean? No risk for me to steal the papers of the embassy, and give them to you to hand over to that scoundrel at the head of the secret police? Devilish green I may be, but not so green as that, Master Burke!'
'Guillemain will give us forty thousand francs. Forty thousand! with half that, and your luck, De Vere, we'll break every bank in Paris. I know you don't wish to marry Louisa.'
'No; hang it, that's always the wind-up. Keep that for the last throw, eh?—There's heavy play there; see how silent they are.'
'Ay; and with forty thousand francs we might join them,' said Burke, as if musing; 'and so safely it may be done.'
'I say no!' replied De Vere resolutely.
'What do you fear? Is it me?'
'No, not you! I believe you are true enough. Your own neck will be in the rope too; so you'll say nothing. But I won't do it!—pass the champagne!—there's something so devilish blackguard in stealing a man's papers.'
Burke started, as if the tones of his companion's voice had stung him like an adder.
'Have you thought over your present condition?' said Burke firmly. 'You have not a guinea left; your debts in Paris alone, to my knowledge, are above forty thousand francs!'
'I'll never pay a franc of them—damned swindlers and Jew money-lenders!' was the cool reply.
'Might not some scrupulous moralist hint there was something blackguard in that?' said Burke, with slow and distinct articulation.
'What!' replied De Vere; 'do you come here to tutor me—a low-bred horse-jockey, a spy? Take off your hands, sir, or I'll alarm the room; let loose my collar!'
'Come, come, my lord, we 're both in fault,' said Burke, smothering his passion with a terrible effort; 'we of all men must not quarrel. Play is to us the air we breathe, the light we live in. Give me your hand.'
'Allow me to draw on my glove first,' said De Vere, in a tone of incomparable insolence.
'Champagne here!' said Burke to the waiter as he passed, and for some minutes neither spoke.
The clock chimed a quarter to two, and Burke started to his feet.
'I must be going,' said he hastily; 'I should have been at the Porte St. Martin by half-past one.'
'Salute the Jacobite Club, de ma part,' said De Vere, with an insulting laugh, 'and tell them to cut everybody's throat in Paris save old Lafitte's; he has promised to do a bill for me in the morning.'
'You 'll not need his kindness so soon,' replied Burke, 'if you are willing to take my advice. Forty thousand francs——'
'Would he make it sixty, think you?'
'Sixty!' said Burke, with animation; 'I'm not sure, but shall I say for sixty you 'll do it?'
'No, I don't mean that; I was only anxious to know if these confounded rigmaroles I have to copy sometimes could possibly interest any one to that amount.'
Burke tried to laugh, but the hollow chuckle sounded like the gulping of a smothering man.
'Laugh out!' said De Vere, whose voice became more and more indistinct as his courage became stronger; 'that muttering is so devilish like a spy, a rascally, low-bred——'
A heavy blow, a half-uttered cry, followed, and De Vere fell with a crash to the floor, his face and temples bathed with blood, while Burke, springing to the door, darted downstairs and gained the street before pursuit was thought of. A few of the less interested about the table assisted me to raise the fallen man, from whose nose and mouth the blood flowed freely. He was perfectly senseless, and evinced scarcely a sign of life as we carried him downstairs and placed him in a carriage.
'Where to?' said the coachman, as I stood beside the door.
'I hesitated for a second, and then said, 'No. 4 Place Vendôme.'