The Rose of Old St. Louis Part 33

A shock ran through the whole a.s.sembly. No man dared look at his neighbor. This was nothing less than a declaration of war, and in the most insulting manner. Whether the proud representative of the haughtiest nation on the globe would receive such a rude insult to himself and his country calmly was very doubtful, and we all awaited Lord Whitworth's reply in trembling silence. With compressed lips and eyes that flashed in spite of himself, but with a calmness in marked contrast to Bonaparte's petulance, he replied:

"I am not prepared, sir, to speak on that subject; and I can only a.s.sure you, Citizen First Consul, that we wish for peace."

Bonaparte's frown grew darker, but he said no more; and with a curt nod, and almost a sneer on his lips, he withdrew at once into a small cabinet opening into the salon, leaving the rest of his guests without addressing a word to them, which I was told afterward was very unusual with him, and showed that his irritation must be very great.

An embarra.s.sed silence followed the First Consul's exit. I had been looking forward to this levee for weeks, but it promised to be a very uncomfortable occasion for me as well as for others. I had a great desire to speak to the British amba.s.sador and a.s.sure him of my sympathy, for none of the Frenchmen so much as dared to look at him, now that he was in disgrace, lest it be reported to the Consul, and they themselves fall under suspicion. But I feared it would be presumption in one so young and unknown, and I dreaded meeting the haughty British stare with which an Englishman petrifies one he considers unduly forward. Much to my relief, and indeed to the relief of the whole company, my uncle turned to him and began at once to talk in a most animated manner of the doings in the American Congress. That the relief was general was evident, for conversation was at once resumed, and with a gaiety that was somewhat feverish, I thought.

It was our turn now to pay our respects to Madame Bonaparte. I had been eager to meet her until I discovered the presence of Pelagie; but now it had suddenly become a trying ordeal to walk forward and salute madame, and perhaps stand talking to her a few moments, conscious that Pelagie's eyes, if they cared to, might be watching every movement.

Should I be awkward (as I feared I would under such a scrutiny), I was sure there would be the old mocking light in them I had so often seen, and dreaded to see, in St. Louis. I resolved not to glance at her once while I was going through my ordeal, lest she should prove my undoing; and I tried to think only of the charming woman who smiled bewitchingly when I made gallant speeches, and who tapped me with her fan in much the same playful fashion as Mistress Madison had tapped me with her jeweled snuff-box. Indeed, she reminded me much of the lovely Washington lady. Both had the same kind way of putting an awkward lad at his ease, and seeming to like him and be pleased with his speeches, especially if they savored a little of audacity. But Madame Bonaparte had not the dash and sparkle of Mistress Madison; instead, she had a lazy Southern fashion of speech and a wonderfully winning gentleness that I am not sure was not more charming than the gay brilliancy of the other.

She kept me talking to her longer than I had expected (or hoped for), and I began to see significant glances exchanged, while my color was steadily rising; and I was sure mademoiselle (if she looked at me at all), noting my shining curls, as yellow as the gold lace on my white satin court-dress, and my cheeks flaming like any girl's, was saying to herself with infinite scorn, "Pretty boy!"

I think Madame Bonaparte saw the significant glances also, for she said presently:

"You must meet the Comtesse de Baloit. She has just returned from your America, and you will have much in common to talk about."

And so I found myself bowing low over Pelagie's hand, and a moment later looking straight down into her lovely dark eyes, which looked straight up at mine with no hint of scorn in their shadowy depths, but only a great wonder, and a little of something else that set my pulses to beating like trip-hammers.

"I cannot understand, Monsieur," she said. "I shall have to ask you, as you asked me in Washington--how did you get here?"

"It was a lodestar drew me," I murmured.

But the warm light in her eyes changed quickly to proud disdain.

"I like not idle gallantries between old friends. Keep those for Madame Bonaparte. I saw they pleased her greatly, and that you were much flattered by their reception."

Could the Comtesse de Baloit be jealous? or was it the haughty Faubourg St. Germain scorning the parvenue of the Tuileries? I hoped it was the first, but in either case it behooved me to make quick _amende_.

"Forgive me, Comtesse," I said, as coldly as she had spoken, but in English, and so low that I hoped no listener could understand even if he knew the tongue. "It was true, but you could not know how true, and I have no right to tell you. I know well how great a distance lies between the proud Lady of France and a simple American gentleman.

Permit me to inform you, Comtesse, that I have been in Paris for more than a month with my uncle, Monsieur Barbe Marbois. And permit me to add, as a simple fact in which you may be interested or not, that this is the moment for which I have lived through that month--the moment when I should meet again the Comtesse de Baloit."

It had ever been the way with the little Pelagie in America to meet her hauteur with hauteur, but I was not sure it would work here, and I trembled inwardly while I spoke so calmly. But it did. Her lids dropped for a moment, and a soft color stole up to her temples. When she lifted her eyes again, there was a sweet, shy light in them.

"Monsieur," she said softly, in her pretty English, "why do you call me Comtesse? Have you forgotten?"

"Is it still to be Mademoiselle?" I cried eagerly, and had hard work not to pick her up in my arms and run away with her, so adorable was she in her sweet friendliness.

"Mademoiselle always, unless it is--" But then she broke off suddenly and turned a rosy red, and added quickly, with something of her old sauciness: "Never Comtesse, unless I am very, _very_ naughty."

My heart told me what she had meant to say, and I whispered proudly:

"Unless it is some day--Pelagie"; and I know my eyes told her all the rest I did not dare to say, for she looked away from me quickly, and I, glancing up, met a black scowl on the face of the chevalier, who, I knew, must have been watching this little by-play, though he could not have heard a word, such was the buzz and clatter of conversation about us. His face cleared instantly, and he stepped quickly forward with a forced smile and an extended hand.

"Permit me to greet an old friend," he said gaily. "When did you arrive in Paris?"

It would have been well for me if I could have swallowed my pride sufficiently to take his proffered hand; but it seemed to me the hand of a scoundrel and a dastard, and I could not bring myself to touch it. I pretended not to see it, and I hoped the chevalier and those who were looking on might be deceived into thinking I did not, as I answered politely enough:

"The Chevalier Le Moyne is very kind to welcome me so cordially to Paris."

And then, with a sudden recollection of our last encounter, and hoping to throw him off the track, I added:

"I have been in Paris but a short time; this is my first visit to the Tuileries."

But I had not deceived him. The black scowl returned quickly at my rejection of his proffered hand, and stretching himself to his full height, so as to be as near my ear as possible, he said between his teeth:

"It may be your first visit to the Tuileries, Monsieur; but, if I mistake not, you have been at St. Cloud before. If I had known you were in Paris I would have been at no loss to account for the mysterious horse and his rider. I suppose you have brought that accursed mare with you?"

I may have turned pale, for I saw black ruin yawn before me, but I answered steadily:

"I do not understand you, Monsieur. I beg you will explain."

"Diable! You understand well enough, Monsieur," he sneered, and turned and walked away with an exaggerated limp--it had been scarcely perceptible when he came to greet me.

I had little time to worry over this new peril that threatened, for my uncle came up to present me to more of the "court ladies," and I did my best to talk and be merry, while in the background of my thoughts I was trying to plan some way of escape from the meshes of the net I saw closing around me. Paris was no longer any place for me. I must tell my uncle at the first opportunity, and ask his help in getting away as quietly as possible to America; and at that thought, and that I was cutting myself off from ever seeing again the Comtesse de Baloit, I groaned inwardly, and could have cursed the reckless folly that had brought me to such a pa.s.s.

In the midst of my troubled thoughts I saw an officer approach the Comtesse de Baloit (for, no matter to whom I might be talking, the Comtesse was ever in my sight), bow low, and apparently deliver some message to her. I saw her turn to the lady who stood near her (the one with whom I had seen her driving, whose bearing was so stern and haughty, and who, I did not doubt, was the d.u.c.h.esse I had heard spoken of as desiring to marry her to the chevalier), and then the officer offered an arm to each of them and bore them away to the cabinet to which the First Consul had withdrawn.

I did not know why this should be cause for anxiety on my part, but none the less I felt anxious. When, a few minutes later, the same officer approached the Chevalier Le Moyne and delivered to him also a message, and the chevalier deliberately turned to me with a smile of triumph, and then followed the officer to the same cabinet, I felt doubly anxious. Indeed, so great had my anxiety become that it was almost impossible for me to keep up longer the semblance of gay converse with the witty beauties about me.

The chevalier's smile of triumph meant one of two things--either terrible for me, but one impossible to think of. It meant, "You see, now I have my chance to denounce you to the First Consul, and I shall use it"--which would mean nothing less than death for me; or, it meant, "You see, the First Consul is bringing his influence to bear upon my marriage with the Comtesse de Baloit; it is all arranged"--which would mean something far worse than death for me.

I was not surprised, therefore, and I was almost relieved when ten minutes later the officer touched me on the shoulder.

"The First Consul desires your presence in his cabinet, Monsieur," he said; and I turned and followed him, conscious that I was followed in turn by all eyes. There had been no surprise when first the comtesse and then the chevalier had been summoned, for every one thought he understood--the First Consul's powerful influence was to be brought to bear upon a recalcitrant maiden; and while some pitied, none doubted that the First Consul's influence would avail. But no one knew what connection I could have with the affair, and the first moment of startled surprise was followed by a murmur of curious surmises.

Amid that murmur I walked as one who goes to his execution; for from the moment the officer touched me upon the shoulder I had known what the chevalier's smile of triumph meant, and I knew that I was on my way to be accused and condemned, and, for aught I knew, marched off to instant execution under the eyes of the Comtesse de Baloit. As I pa.s.sed Monsieur Marbois, his eyes, filled with a startled alarm, met mine. I tried to rea.s.sure him with a smile, but I fear it was sorry work, for a sudden rush of remembrance of all his goodness to me overwhelmed me and came near to unmanning me.

Just inside the door of the cabinet the officer stopped, and motioned to me also to stay my steps. On whatever errand I had been sent for, it was evident that neither the First Consul nor any one else was quite ready for me. The Consul was seated, while on one side of him stood the chevalier, and on the other the d.u.c.h.esse and the Comtesse de Baloit; and that any man should remain seated in the presence of the comtesse filled me at once with a blind rage that ill prepared me to play my part in what was about to follow. The att.i.tude of the three struck me at once as significant: the d.u.c.h.esse complacent, with almost a smile upon her haughty features, and to the best of her ability beaming upon the First Consul; the chevalier eager, obsequious, fawning; the comtesse her head held proudly up, a little frown between her brows, her eyes flashing; impatience, annoyance, disdain expressed in every feature. The First Consul was speaking as we entered, and I thought his tones were meant to be persuasive; they were less rasping than I had often heard them.

"The estates are very great, Mademoiselle." (And again I was indignant that he should address her as Mademoiselle, a t.i.tle which I felt belonged to no man to use but to me. I knew, of course, that it was but the common usage,--that t.i.tles were not permitted in republican France,--but none the less I was angry.) "Your father was almost the richest man in France," he was saying. "Should I restore these estates to you, I must have some guaranty that they will be used for the welfare of the republic, and not against it. Citizen Le Moyne is such a guaranty. His sword is already pledged to the service of the republic, and to the Citizeness Le Moyne I will restore all the estates of her father."

A bright red spot burned in each of Pelagie's cheeks. I know not what she might have said (though she looked not as if she would meekly yield a.s.sent to this powerful plea), for at that moment the First Consul discovered our entrance and turned to the chevalier.

"Citizen Le Moyne," he said, "you asked us to send for this young man.

He is here. What has the nephew of Monsieur Marbois to do with this matter?"

A malicious smile played round the chevalier's lips.

"If you remember, Citizen First Consul," he said "I told you that at one time mademoiselle was not averse to my suit--that in all probability I would have won her hand in St. Louis, but that her mind was poisoned against me by malicious insinuations and fabrications, the work of a rival who desired to win her for himself?"

The chevalier waited for the Consul's reply, and he nodded curtly.

"Well?"

"Citizen First Consul, that rival is the nephew of Minister Marbois, and I have brought him here to ask him to renounce publicly all claims to the hand of the Citizeness de Baloit."

I saw a flash in the beautiful eyes, and a proud toss of the little head that I well knew meant, "He has no claim," and I hastened to speak.