The Martins Of Cro' Martin Volume II Part 4

"I hope you included the family in your dreary picture. I trust it was not 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 of the rejoinder were anything but apologetic.

"Now I call that as well done as anything one sees in Hyde Park," cried the Captain, directing attention as he spoke to a very handsome chariot which had just driven up to the door. "They're inquiring for somebody here," continued he, as he watched the Cha.s.seur as he came and went from the carriage to the house.

"There's a Grandee of Spain, or something of that kind, lives on the fourth floor, I think," said Martin, dryly.

"The d.u.c.h.esse de Mirecourt, my Lady," said a servant, entering, "begs to know if your Ladyship will receive her?"

Kate started at the words, and her color rose till her cheeks were crimsoned.

"A visit, I suspect, rather for you than me, Miss Henderson," said Lady Dorothea, in a half-whisper; and then turning to her servant, nodded her acquiescence.

"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 d.u.c.h.ess entered. Very young,--almost girlish, indeed,--she combined in her appearance the charming freshness of youth with that perfection of gracefulness which attaches to the higher cla.s.ses of French society, and although handsome, more striking from the fascination of manner than for any traits of beauty. Courtesying slightly, but deferentially, to Lady Dorothea, she apologized for her intrusion by the circ.u.mstance of having, the day before, caught sight of her "dear governess and dear friend--" And as she reached thus far, the deep-drawn breathing of another attracted her. She turned and saw Kate, who, pale as a statue, stood leaning on a chair. In an instant she was in her arms, exclaiming, in a rapture of delight, "My dear, dear Kate,--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--was the only reply to the speech; but the young Frenchwoman needed none, but turning to her Ladyship, poured forth with native volubility a story of their friendship, the graceful language in which she uttered it lending those choice phrases which never seem exaggerations of sentiment till they be translated into other tongues. Mingling her praises with half reproaches, she drew a picture of Kate so flattering that Lady Dorothea could not help a sense of shrinking terror that one should speak in such terms of the governess.

"And now, dearest," added she, turning to Kate, "are we to see a great deal of each other? When can you come to me? Pardon me, madam, this question should be addressed to you."

"Miss Henderson is my secretary, Madame la d.u.c.h.esse; she is also my companion," said Lady Dorothea, haughtily; "but I can acknowledge claims which take date before my own. She shall be always at liberty when you wish for her."

"How kind, how good of you!" cried the d.u.c.h.ess. "I could have been certain of that. I knew that my dear Kate must be loved by all around her. We have a little _fete_ on Wednesday at St. Germain. May I bespeak her for that day?"

"Her Ladyship suffers her generosity to trench upon her too far," said Kate, in a low voice. "I am in a manner necessary to her,--that is, my absence would be inconvenient."

"But her Ladyship will doubtless be in the world herself that evening.

There is a ball at the d.u.c.h.esse de Sargance, and the Austrian Minister has something," rattled on the lively d.u.c.h.ess. "Paris is so gay just now, so full of pleasant people, and all so eager for enjoyment. Don't you 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 our Chateau at Roche-Mire I carry away with me all my friends who will consent to come. We try to imitate that delightful life of your country houses, and make up that great family party which is the _beau ideal_ of social enjoyment."

"And you like a country life, then?" asked her Ladyship.

"To be sure. I love the excursions on horseback, the forest drives, the evening walks in the trellised vines, the parties one makes to see a thousand things one never looks at afterwards; the little dinners on the gra.s.s, with all their disasters, and the moonlight drive homewards, half joyous, half romantic,--not to speak of that charming frankness by which every one makes confession of his besetting weakness, and each has some little secret episode of his own life to tell the others. All but Kate here," cried she, laughingly, "who never revealed anything."

"Madame la d.u.c.h.esse will, I 'm sure, excuse my absence; she has doubtless many things she would like to say to her friend alone," said Lady Dorothea, rising and courtesying formally; and the young d.u.c.h.ess returned the salutation with equal courtesy and respect.

"My dear, dear Kate," cried she, throwing her arms around her as the door closed after her Ladyship, "how I have longed for this moment, to tell you ten thousand things about myself and hear from you as many more! And first, dearest, are you happy? for you look more serious, more thoughtful than you used,--and paler, too."

"Am I so?" asked Kate, faintly.

"Yes. When you're not speaking, your brows grow stern and your lips compressed. Your features have not that dear repose, as Giorgevo used to call it. Poor fellow! how much in love he was, and you 've never asked for 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 was a Secretary of Legation, with good prospects,--all to win your favor, becoming a 'Carbonaro,' or a 'Montagnard,' or something or other that swears 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 exactly where, but I think it was in Sicily. And then there was that Hungarian Count Nemescz, that wanted to kill somebody who picked up your bouquet out of the Grand Ca.n.a.l at Venice."

"And whom, strangely enough, I met and made acquaintance with in Ireland. His name is Ma.s.singbred."

"Not the celebrity, surely,--the young politician who made such a sensation by a first speech in Parliament t'other day? He's all the rage here. 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 with him. But this is not telling me of yourself, child. Who and what are these people you are living with? Do they value my dear Kate as they ought? Are they worthy of having her amongst them?"

"I 'm afraid not," said Kate, with a smile. "They do not seem at all impressed with the blessing they enjoy, and only treat me as one of themselves."

"But, seriously, child, are they as kind as they should be? That old lady is, to my thinking, as austere as an Archd.u.c.h.ess."

"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 no friendship, but she exacts no attachment."

"And you like this?"

"I did not say I should like it from _you!_ said Kate, pressing the hand she 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 to those who form the first cla.s.s 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 house is the rendezvous of all the distinguished people, and, once seen in her salons, my Lady--how do you call her?"

"Lady Dorothea Martin."

"I can't repeat it--but no matter--her Ladyship shall not want for attentions. Perhaps she would condescend to come to me on Wednesday?

Dare I venture to ask her?"

Kate hesitated, and the d.u.c.h.ess quickly rejoined,--"No, dearest, you are quite right; it would be hazardous, too abrupt, too unceremonious. You will, 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 to for far more. I 'll send for you early, that we may have a long morning together." And so saying, she arose to take leave.

"I feel as though I 'll scarcely believe I had seen you when you have gone," said Kate, earnestly. "I'll fancy it all a dream--or rather, that my life since we met has been one, and that we had never parted."