Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume Ii Part 26

Anna Maria sat still, not uttering a word, and actually fearing by a gesture to encourage a commentary on her manner.

"Sometimes she 'll mope for hours," muttered he in my ear; "at others, she's furious,--there's no saying how it will turn. You wouldn't like a pipe? I forgot to ask you."

"And worse than all, sir," said the lady, as if no longer able to restrain her temper, "he is supposed to be a spy of the police. I heard it myself this morning."

"Eh, what!" exclaimed Bubbleton, jumping up in an ecstasy of delight. "A spy! By Jove! I knew it. Lord! what fellows they are, these French! not two days here yet, and they discovered I was no common man,--eh, Burke? Maybe I haven't frightened them, my boy. It's not every one would create such a sensation, let me tell you; I knew I'd do it."

Miss Bubbleton looked at him for an instant with a sneer of the most withering contempt, and then rising abruptly, left the room. But the general little cared for such evidences of her censure; he danced about the room, snapping his fingers, and chuckling with self-satisfaction, the thought of being believed to be a police spy giving him the most intense and heartfelt pleasure.

"She has moments, Tom, when she's downright clear; you 'd not think it, but sometimes she's actually shrewd. You saw how she hit upon that."

"Would that her brother was favored with some of these lucid intervals!"

was the thought that ran through my head at the moment; for I knew better than he did how needful a clearer brain and sharper faculties than his would be to escape the snares his folly and vanity were spreading around him.

"Shall we make a morning call at our friend the countess's, Tom?" said Bubbleton. "She told me she received every day about this hour."

I felt nowise disposed for the visit; and so, having engaged my friend to dine with me at the Luxembourg the next day, we parted.

As I sauntered homewards, I was surprised how difficult I found it to disabuse my mind of the absurd insinuations Bubbleton had thrown out against his sister's sanity; for, though well knowing his fondness for romance, and his taste for embellishment on every occasion, I. yet could not get rid of the impression that her oddity of manner might only be another feature of eccentricity, just as extravagant, but differing in its tendencies, as his own.

To a.s.sist him whose kindness to myself of old I never ceased to remember with grat.i.tude, was my firm resolve; but to ascertain his exact position was all-essential for this purpose, and I could not help saying, half aloud, "If I had but d.u.c.h.esne here now!"

"Speak of the devil, _mon ami!_" said he, drawing his arm within mine, while I was scarcely able to avoid a cry of astonishment. "Where do you dine to-day, Burke?" said he, in his quiet, easy tone.

"But where did you come from, d.u.c.h.esne? Are you long here?"

"Answer my question first. Can you dine with me?"

"To be sure; with pleasure."

"Then meet me at the corner of the Rue des Trois Tetes, at six o'clock, and I 'll be your guide afterwards. This is _my_ way now. _Au revoir_."

CHAPTER XVIII. THE MOISSON d'OR

When I arrived at the rendezvous, I found d.u.c.h.esne already awaiting me with a carriage, into which we stepped, and drove rapidly away.

"A man of your word, Burke; and, what is scarcely less valuable in the times we live in, a man of prudence too."

"As how the latter, may I ask?"

"You have not come in uniform, which is all the better where we are going; besides, it gives me the hope of presenting you to my respected aunt, the d.u.c.h.esse de Montserrat, who will take your black coat as a compliment to the whole Bourbon dynasty. You must come with me there, if it only be for half an hour. And now tell me, have you ever dined at the 'Moisson d'Or'?"

"Never; not even heard of the house."

"Well, then, you shall to-day. And meanwhile I may tell you, that although in a remote and little-visited quarter of Paris, it stands unrivalled for the excellence of its fare and the rare delicacy of its wines,--a reputation not of yesterday, but of some years' standing.

Nor is that the only thing remarkable about it, as I shall explain hereafter. But come! How are your friends at the Hotel Clichy? and how fares your suit with mademoiselle?"

"My suit? It never was such. You know, to the full as well as I do, my pretensions aspired not half so high."

"So much the better, and so much the worse. I mean the former for me, as I hate to have a friend for a rival; the latter for you, who ought to have learned by this time that a handsome girl and a million of francs are more easily won than a cross of the Legion or a colonel's epaulette."

"And are you serious, d.u.c.h.esne? Have you really intentions in that quarter?"

"_Morbleu!_ to be sure I have. It is for that I am here in Paris in the dog days; travelled one hundred and twenty leagues; ay, and more, too,--have brought with me my most aristocratic aunt, who never remembers in her life to have seen full-grown leaves in the Tuileries gardens. I knew what an ally she would be in the negotiation; and so I managed, through some friends in the bureau of the minister, to give her a rare fright about an estate of hers, which by some accident escaped confiscation in the Revolution, and which nothing but the greatest efforts on her part could now rescue from the fangs of the crown. You may be sure she is not particularly in love with the present Government on this score; but the trick secures her speaking more guardedly than she has the habit of doing, besides inducing her to make acquaintances nothing but such a threat would accomplish."

"You intend, then, she should know Madame de Lacostellerie?"

"Of course. I have already persuaded her that the Hotel Clichy is the pivot of all Paris, and that nothing but consummate tact and management on her part will succeed there."

"But I scarcely thought you cared for mademoiselle; and never dreamed of your proposing to marry her."

"Nor I, till about a week ago. However, my plans require money, and would not be enc.u.mbered by my having a wife. I see nothing better at the moment, and so my mind is soon made up. But here we are; this is our resting-place."

The "Moisson d'Or," although not known to me, was then the most celebrated place for dining in Paris. The habits of the house--for there was no _table d'hote_--required that everything should be ordered beforehand, and the parties all dined separately. The expensive habits and extravagant prices secured its frequenters from meeting the cla.s.s who usually dined at restaurants; and this gave it a vogue among the wealthy and t.i.tled, whose equipages now thronged the street, and filled the _porte cochere_. I had but time to recognize the face of one of the marshals and a minister of state, as we pushed our way through the court, and entered a small pavilion beyond it.

"I'll join you in an instant," said d.u.c.h.esne, as he left the room hastily after the waiter. In a couple of minutes he was back again.

"Come along; it's all right," said he. "I wish to show you a corner of the old house that only the privileged ever see, and we are fortunate in finding it unoccupied."

We recrossed the court, and mounted a large oak stair to a corridor, which conducted us, by three sides of a quadrangle, to a smaller stair, nearly perpendicular. At the top of this, a strong door, barred and padlocked, stood, which, being opened, led into a large and lofty _salon_, opening by three s.p.a.cious windows on a terrace that formed the roof of the building. Some citron and orange trees were disposed tastefully along this, and filled the room with their fragrance.

"Here, Antoine; let us be served here," said d.u.c.h.esne to the waiter; "I have already given orders about the dinner. And now, Burke, come out here. What think you of that view?"

Scarcely had I set foot on the terrace, when I started back in mingled admiration and amazement. Beneath us lay the great city, in the mellow light of an evening in September. Close--so close as actually to startle--was the large dome of the Invalides shining like a ball of molten gold, the great courtyard in front dotted with figures; beyond, again, was the Seine, the surface flashing and flickering in the sunlight,--I traced it along to the Pont Neuf; and then my eye rested on Notre-Dame, whose tall, dark towers stood out against the pinkish sky, while the deep-toned bell boomed through the still air. I turned towards the Tuileries, and could see the guard of honor in waiting for the Emperor's appearing. In the gardens, hundreds were pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing, or standing around the band which played in front of the pavilion. A tide of population poured across the bridges and down the streets, along which equipages and hors.e.m.e.n dashed impetuously onward.

There was all the life and stir of a mighty city, its sounds dulled by distance, but blended into one hoa.r.s.e din, like the far-off sea at night.

"You don't know, Burke, that this was a favorite resort of the courtiers of the last reign. The gay young Gardes du Corps, the gallant youths of the royal household, constantly dined here. The terrace we now stand on once held a party who came at the invitation of no less a personage than him whom men call Louis the Eighteenth. It was a freak of the time to p.r.o.nounce the Court dinners execrable: and they even go so far as to say that Marie Antoinette herself once planned a party here; but this I cannot vouch for."

At this moment d.u.c.h.esne was interrupted by the entrance of the waiters who came to serve the dinner. I had not a moment left to admire the beauty and richness of the antique silver dishes which covered the table, when a gentle tap at the door attracted my attention.

"Ha! Jacotot himself!" said d.u.c.h.esne, as, rising hastily, he advanced to meet the new arrival. He was a tall, thin old man, much stooped by years, but with an air and carriage distinctly well bred; his white hair, brushed rigidly back, fastened into a queue behind, and his lace "jabot" and ruffles, bespoke him as the remnant of a date long past. His coat was blue, of a shade somewhat lighter than is usually worn. He also wore large buckles in his shoes, whose brilliancy left no doubt of their real value. Bowing with great ceremony, he advanced slowly into the room.

"You are come to dine with us,--is it not so, Jacotot?" said d.u.c.h.esne, as he still held his hand.

"Excuse me, my dear chevalier; the Comte de Chambord and Edouard de Courcelles are below,--I have promised to join them."

"And is Courcelles here?"

"Yes," said the old man, with a timid glance towards where I sat, and a look as if imploring caution and reserve.

"Oh, fear nothing. And that reminds me I have not presented my friend and brother officer: Captain Burke,--Monsieur Jacotot. You may feel a.s.sured, Jacotot, I make no mistake in the friends I introduce here."

The old man gave a smile of pleasure; while, turning to me, he said,--

"He is discretion itself; and I am but too happy to make your acquaintance. And now, Chevalier, one word with you."

He retreated towards the door, holding d.u.c.h.esne's arm, and whispering as he went. d.u.c.h.esne's face, however, expressed his impatience as he spoke; and at last he said,--