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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18327-8.txt b/18327-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d968601 --- /dev/null +++ b/18327-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4542 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cockaynes in Paris, by Blanchard Jerrold + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cockaynes in Paris + 'Gone abroad' + +Author: Blanchard Jerrold + +Illustrator: Gustave Doré + +Release Date: May 6, 2006 [EBook #18327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS *** + + + + +Produced by Carlo Traverso, Janet Blenkinship, and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: MI LORD ANGLAIS AT MABILLE. + +_He is smiling, he is splendid, he is full of graceful enjoyment; on +the table are a few of the beverages he admires; but above all he adores +the ease of the French ladies in the dance._] + + + + +THE + +COCKAYNES IN PARIS + +OR + +"GONE ABROAD." + +BY + +BLANCHARD JERROLD. + +[Illustration] + +WITH SKETCHES BY + +GUSTAVE DORÉ, + +AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE ENGLISH ABROAD FROM A FRENCH POINT OF +VIEW. + + + + +LONDON: JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 & 75, PICCADILLY. + +[_All Rights Reserved._] + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The story of the Cockaynes was written some years ago,--in the days when +Paris was at her best and brightest; and the English quarter was +crowded; and the Emperor was at St. Cloud; and France appeared destined +to become the wealthiest and strongest country in the world. + +Where the Cockaynes carried their guide-books and opera-glasses, and +fell into raptures at every footstep, there are dismal ruins now. The +Vendôme Column is a stump, wreathed with a gigantic _immortelle_, and +capped with the tri-color. The Hall of the Marshals is a black hole. +Those noble rooms in which the first magistrate of the city of +Boulevards gave welcome to crowds of English guests, are destroyed. In +the name of Liberty some of the most precious art-work of modern days +has been fired. The Communists' defiling fingers have passed over the +canvas of Ingrès. Auber and Dumas have gone from the scene in the +saddest hour of their country's history. The Anglo-French alliance--that +surest rock of enduring peace--has been rent asunder, through the +timorous hesitation of English ministers, and the hardly disguised +Bourbon sympathies of English society. We are not welcome now in Paris, +as we were when I followed in the wake of the prying Cockaynes. My old +concierge is very cold in his greeting, and carries my valise to my +rooms sulkily. Jerome, my particular waiter at the Grand Café, no longer +deigns to discuss the news of the day with me. Good Monsieur Giraudet, +who could suggest the happiest little _menus_, when I went to his +admirable restaurant, and who kept the _Rappel_ for me, now bows +silently and sends an underling to see what the Englishman requires. + +It is a sad, and a woful change; and one of ominous import for our +children. Most woful to those of my countrymen who, like the reader's +humble servant, have passed a happy half-score of years in the +delightful society and the incomparable capital of the French people. + + BLANCHARD JERROLD. + + RUE DE ROME, PARIS, + _July_, 1871. + + + [Illustration] + + + + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. MRS. ROWE'S 13 + + II. HE'S HERE AGAIN! 30 + + III. MRS. ROWE'S COMPANY 39 + + IV. THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS 45 + + V. THE COCKAYNE FAMILY 62 + + VI. A "GRANDE OCCASION" 91 + + VII. OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN 104 + + VIII. "OH, YES!" AND "ALL RIGHT!" 111 + + IX. MISS CARRIE COCKAYNE TO MISS SHARP 122 + + X. "THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE" 129 + + XI. MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS 140 + + XII. MRS. DAKER 154 + + XIII. AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 174 + + XIV. THE CASTAWAY 192 + + XV. THE FIRST TO BE MARRIED 210 + + XVI. GATHERING A FEW THREADS 231 + + + [Illustration: MAMMA ANGLAISE. (_A French design._)] + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS. + + PAGE + MY LORD ANGLAIS AT MABILLE Frontispiece + + CROSSING THE CHANNEL--A SMOOTH PASSAGE 13 + + CROSSING THE CHANNEL--RATHER SQUALLY 14 + + ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY 16 + + PAPA AND THE DEAR BOYS 18 + + THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN 20 + + ON THE BOULEVARDS 42 + + A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES" 46 + + BEAUTY AND THE B---- 68 + + PALAIS DU LOUVRE.--THE ROAD TO THE BOIS 72 + + MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG 77 + + THE INFLEXIBLE "MEESSES ANGLAISES" 105 + + ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE DE LILAS--SHOCKING!! 109 + + SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK 114 + + JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE 118 + + FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH 125 + + THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS HOLDING ON + BY THE TAIL OF HER NEWFOUNDLAND 125 + + VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK.--COMPATRIOTS + MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION 126 + + A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN 147 + + EXCURSIONISTS AND EMIGRANTS 152 + + BOIS DE BOULOGNE 164 + + [Illustration: CROSSING THE CHANNEL--A SMOOTH PASSAGE] + + + + +THE + +COCKAYNES IN PARIS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +MRS. ROWE'S. + + +The story I have to tell is disjointed. I throw it out as I picked it +up. My duties, the nature of which is neither here nor there, have +borne me to various parts of Europe. I am a man, not with an +establishment--but with two portmanteaus. I have two hats in Paris and +two in London always. I have seen everything in both cities, and like +Paris, on the whole, best. There are many reasons, it seems to me, why +an Englishman who has the tastes of a duke and the means of a half-pay +major, should prefer the banks of the Seine to those of the Thames--even +with the new Embankment. Everybody affects a distinct and deep +knowledge of Paris in these times; and most people do know how to get +the dearest dinner Bignon can supply for their money; and to secure the +apartments which are let by the people of the West whom nature has +provided with an infinitesimal quantity of conscience. But there are now +crowds of English men and women who know their Paris well; men who never +dine in the restaurant of the stranger, and women who are equal to a +controversy with a French cook. These sons and daughters of Albion who +have transplanted themselves to French soil, can show good and true +reasons why they prefer the French to the English life. The wearying +comparative estimates of household expenses in Westbournia, and +household expenses in the Faubourg St. Honoré! One of the disadvantages +of living in Paris is the constant contact with the odious atmosphere of +comparisons. + +"Pray, sir--you have been in London lately--what did you pay for veal +cutlet?" + +[Illustration: CROSSING THE CHANNEL--RATHER SQUALLY.] + +The new arrivals are the keenest torments. "In London, where I have kept +house for over twenty years, and have had to endure every conceivable +development of servants' extortion, no cook ever demanded a supply of +white aprons yet." You explain for the hundredth time that it is the +custom in Paris. There are people who believe Kensington is the domestic +model of the civilized world, and travel only to prove at every stage +how far the rest of the universe is behind that favoured spot. He who +desires to see how narrow his countrymen and countrywomen can be abroad, +and how completely the mass of British travellers lay themselves open to +the charge of insularity, and an overweening estimate of themselves and +their native customs, should spend a few weeks in a Paris +boarding-house, somewhere in the Faubourg St. Honoré--if he would have +the full aroma of British conceit. The most surprising feature of the +English quarter of the French capital is the eccentricity of the English +visitors, as it strikes their own countrymen. I cannot find it in me to +blame Gallican caricaturists. The statuettes which enliven the bronze +shops; the gaunt figures which are in the chocolate establishments; the +prints in the windows under the Rivoli colonnade; the monsters with +fangs, red hair, and Glengarry caps, of Cham, and Doré, and Bertall, and +the female sticks with ringlets who pass in the terra-cotta show of the +Palais Royal for our countrywomen, have long ago ceased to warm my +indignation. All I can say now is, that the artists and modellers have +not travelled. They have studied the strange British apparitions which +disfigure the Boulevard des Italiens in the autumn, their knowledge of +our race is limited to the unfortunate selection of specimens who strut +about their streets, and--according to their light--they are not guilty +of outrageous exaggeration. I venture to assert that an Englishman will +meet more unpleasant samples of his countrymen and countrywomen in an +August day's walk in Paris, than he will come across during a month in +London. To begin with, we English treat Paris as though it were a back +garden, in which a person may lounge in his old clothes, or indulge his +fancy for the ugly and slovenly. Why, on broiling days, men and women +should sally forth from their hotel with a travelling-bag and an +opera-glass slung about their shoulders, passes my comprehension. +Conceive the condition of mind of that man who imagines that he is an +impressive presence when he is patrolling the Rue de la Paix with an +alpenstock in his hand! At home we are a plain, well-dressed, +well-behaved people, fully up in Art and Letters--that is, among our +educated classes, to any other nation--in most elegant studies before +all; but our travellers in France and Switzerland slander us, and the +"Paris in 10 hours" system has lowered Frenchmen's estimate of the +national character. The Exhibition of 1867, far from promoting the +brotherhood of the peoples, and hinting to the soldier that his vocation +was coming to an end, spread a dislike of Englishmen through Paris. It +attracted rough men from the North, and ill-bred men from the South, +whose swagger, and noise, and unceremonious manners in cafés and +restaurants chafed the polite Frenchman. They could not bring themselves +to salute the _dame de comptoir_, they were loud at the table d'hôte and +commanding in their airs to the waiter. In brief, the English mass +jarred upon their neighbours; and Frenchmen went the length of saying +that the two peoples--like relatives--would remain better friends apart. +The disadvantage is, beyond doubt, with us; since the _froissement_ was +produced by the British lack of that suavity which the French +cultivate--and which may be hollow, but is pleasant, and oils the wheels +of life. + +[Illustration: ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY. + +_From French designs._] + +Mrs. Rowe's was in the Rue--say the Rue Millevoye, so that we may not +interfere with possible vested interests. Was it respectable? Was it +genteel? Did good country families frequent it? Were all the comforts of +an English home to be had? Had Mrs. Grundy cast an approving eye into +every nook and corner? Of course there were Bibles in the bedrooms; and +you were not made to pay a franc for every cake of soap. Mrs. Rowe had +her tea direct from Twinings'. Twinings' tea she had drunk through her +better time, when Rowe had one of the finest houses in all Shepherd's +Bush, and come what might, Twinings' tea she would drink while she was +permitted to drink tea at all. Brown Windsor--no other soap for Mrs. +Rowe, if you please. People who wanted any of the fanciful soaps of +Rimmel or Piver must buy them. Brown Windsor was all she kept. Yes, she +was obliged to have Gruyère--and people did ask occasionally for +Roquefort; but her opinion was that the person who did not prefer a good +Cheshire to any other cheese, deserved to go without any. She had been +twenty-one years in Paris, and seven times only had she missed morning +service on Sundays. Hereupon, a particular history of each occasion, and +the superhuman difficulty which had bound Mrs. Rowe hand and foot to the +Rue Millevoye from eleven till one. She had a faithful note of a +beautiful sermon preached in the year 1850 by the Rev. John Bobbin, in +which he compared life to a boarding-house. He was staying with Mrs. +Howe at the time. He was an earnest worker in the true way; and she +distinctly saw her _salle-à-manger_ in his eye, when he enlarged on +the bounteous table spread by Nature, and the little that was needed +from man to secure all its blessings. + +[Illustration: PAPA & THE DEAR BOYS.] + +Mrs. Rowe took a maternal interest in me. I had made an economical +arrangement by which I secured a little room to myself throughout the +year, under the slates. I had many friends. I constantly arrived, +bringing new lodgers in my wake. For the house was quiet, well-ordered, +cheap, and tremendously respectable. I say, Mrs. Rowe took a maternal +interest in me--that is, she said so. There were ill-natured people who +had another description for her solicitude; but she had brought herself +to believe that she had an unselfish regard for your humble servant, +and that she was necessary to my comfort in the world, and I was pleased +at the innocent humbug. It afforded me excellent creature comforts; and +I was indebted to it for a constant welcome when I got to Paris--which +is something to the traveller. We cling to an old hotel, after we have +found the service bad, the cooking execrable, and the rooms dirty. It is +an ancient house, and the people know us, and have a cheery word and a +home look. + +[Illustration: THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN.] + +Many years were passed in the Rue Millevoye by Mrs. Rowe and her niece, +without more incident than the packing and unpacking of luggage, and +genteel disputes over items in the bills conducted with icy politeness +on both sides, and concluded by Mrs. Rowe invariably with the withering +observation, that it was the first remark of the kind which had ever +been made on one of her little notes. People usually came to a +settlement with complimentary expressions of surprise at the +extreme--almost reckless--moderation of her charges; and expressed +themselves as at a loss to understand how she could make it worth her +while to do so very much for so very little. The people who came and +went were alike in the mass. The reader is requested to bear in mind +that Mrs. Rowe had a connexion of her own. She was seldom angry; but +when an advertising agent made his way to her business parlour, and took +the liberty of submitting the value of a Western States paper as a +medium for making her establishment known, she confessed that the +impertinence was too much for her temper. Mrs. Rowe advertise! Mrs. Rowe +would just as soon throw herself off the Pont Neuf, or--miss church next +Sunday. + +"They don't come a second time!" Mrs. Rowe would say to me, with a +fierce compression of the lip, that might lead a nervous person to +imagine she made away with them in the cellars. + +When Mrs. Rowe took you into her confidence--a slow and tedious +admission--she was pleased, usually, to fortify your stock of knowledge +with a comprehensive view of her family connexions; intended to set the +Whytes of Battersea (from whom she derived, before the vulgar Park was +there) upon an eminence of glory, with a circle of cringing and +designing Rowes at the base. How she--Whyte on both sides, for her +father married his first cousin--ever came to marry Joshua Rowe, was +something her mother never understood to her dying day. She was +graciously open to consolation in the reflection that nobles and princes +had made humble matches before her; and particularly in this, that the +Prince Regent married Mrs. Fitzherbert. + +Lucy Rowe was favoured with these observations, heightened by occasional +hits at her own misfortune in that she was a Rowe, and could not boast +one thimbleful of Whyte blood in her veins. + +It was the almost daily care of Mrs. Rowe to impress the people with +whom her business brought her in contact, with the gulf that lay between +her and her niece; although, through the early and inexplicable +condescension of a Miss Harriet Whyte, of Battersea, they bore the same +name, Miss Rowe was no blood relation _whatever_. + +It was surprising to see how Lucy bore up under the misfortune. She was +not a Whyte, but she had lived beside one. Youth is so elastic! Lucy, +albeit she had the Rowe lip and nose, and, worse than all, the Rowe hair +(a warm auburn, which Mrs. Rowe described in one syllable, with a +picturesque and popular comparison comprehended in two), was daring +enough to meet the daylight, without showing the smallest signs of +giving way to melancholy. When new comers, as a common effort of +politeness, saw a strong likeness between Mrs. Rowe and her niece, the +representative of the Whytes of Battersea drew herself to her full +height, which was a trifle above her niece's shoulders, and +answered--"Oh dear, no, madam! It would be very strange if there were, +as there is not the slightest blood relationship between us." + +Lucy Rowe was about fifteen when I first saw her. A slender, +golden-haired, shy and quiet girl, much in bashful and sensitive +demeanour like her romantic namesake of "the untrodden ways." It is +quite true that she had no Whyte blood in her veins, and Mrs. Rowe could +most conscientiously declare that there was not the least resemblance +between them. The Whyte features were of a type which none would envy +the possessor, save as the stamp of the illustrious house of Battersea. +The House of Savoy is not attractive by reason of its faultless profile; +but there are persons of almost matchless grace who would exchange their +beauty for its blood. In her very early days, I have no doubt. Lucy Rowe +would have given her sweet blue eyes, her pouting lips, and pretty head +(just enough to fold lovingly between the palms of a man's hand), for +the square jaw and high cheek-bone of the Whytes. She felt very humble +when she contemplated the grandeur of her aunt's family, and very +grateful to her aunt who had stooped so far as to give her shelter when +she was left alone in the world. She kept the accounts, ran errands, +looked after the house linen, and made herself agreeable to the +boarders' children; but all this was the very least she could do to +express her humble thankfulness to the great lady-relative who had +befriended her, after having been good enough to commit the sacrifice of +marrying her uncle Joshua. + +Lucy sat many hours alone in the business parlour--an apartment not +decorated with the distinct view of imparting cheerfulness to the human +temperament. The mantelpiece was covered with files of bills. There were +rows of numbered keys against the wall. Mrs. Rowe's old desk--_style +Empire_ she said, when any visitor noticed the handsome ruin--stood in a +corner by the window, covered with account books, prospectuses and cards +of the establishment, and heaps of old newspapers. Another corner showed +heaps of folded linen, parcels left for boarders, umbrellas and sticks, +which had been forgotten by old customers (Mrs. Rowe called them +clients), and aunt's walking-boots. One corner was Lucy's, which she +occupied in conjunction with a little table, at which, from seven in the +morning until bedtime, she worked with pen or needle (it was provoking +she could not learn to ply both at one time), when she was not running +about the house, or nursing a boarder's baby. On the rare evenings when +her aunt could not find work of any description for her, Lucy was +requested to take the Bible from the shelf, and read a chapter aloud. +When her aunt went to sleep during the reading Lucy continued steadily, +knowing that the scion of the illustrious house of Whyte would wake +directly her voice ceased. + +Occasionally the clergyman would drop in; whereupon Lucy would hear much +improving discourse between her aunt and the reverend gentleman. Mrs. +Rowe poured all her griefs into the ear of the Reverend Horace +Mohun--griefs which she kept from the world. Before Lucy she spoke +freely--being accustomed to regard the timid girl as a child still, +whose mind could not gather the threads of her narrative. Lucy sate--not +listening, but hearing snatches of the mournful circumstances with which +Mrs. Rowe troubled Mr. Mohun. The reverend gentleman was a patient and +an attentive listener; and drank his tea and ate his toast (it was only +at Mrs. Rowe's he said he could ever get a good English round of toast), +shaking his head, or offering a consoling "dear, dear me!" as the +droning proceeded. Lucy was at work. If Mrs. Rowe caught her pausing she +would break her story to say--"If you have finished 42 account, put down +two candles to 10, and a foot-bath to 14." And Lucy--who seldom paused +because she had finished her task, as her aunt knew well--bent over the +table again, and was as content as she was weary. When she went up to +her bedroom (which the cook had peremptorily refused to occupy) she +prayed for good Aunt Rowe every night of her dull life, before she lay +upon her truckle bed to rest for the morrow's cheerful round of hard +duties. Was it likely that a child put thus into the harness of life, +would pass the talk of her aunt with Mr. Mohun as the idle wind? + +The mysteries which lay in the talk, and perplexed her, were cleared up +in due time. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HE'S HERE AGAIN! + + + "He has but stumbled in the path + Thou hast in weakness trod."--A. A. PROCTER. + +"He's here again, Mum." + +He was there at the servant's entrance to the highly respectable +boarding-house in the Rue Millevoye. It was five in the morning--a +winter's morning. + +Mrs. Rowe hastened from her room, behind the business parlour, in her +dressing-gown, her teeth chattering, and her eyes flashing the fire of +hate. The boarders sleeping upstairs would not have known the godly +landlady, who glided about the house by day, rubbing her hands and +hoping every soul under her roof was comfortable--or would at once +complain to her, who lived only to make people comfortable--bills being +but mere accidental accessories, fortuitously concurrent with the +arrival of a cab and the descent of luggage. + +"At the back door, mum, with his coat tucked over his ears, and such a +cold in his head. Shall I show him in?" + +"My life is a long misery, Jane," Mrs. Rowe said, under her voice. + +"La! mum, it's quite safe. I'm sure I shouldn't trouble much about +it--'specially in this country, as----" + +"Silence!" Mrs. Rowe hissed. The thorns in her cross consisted chiefly +of Jane's awkward attempts at consolation. "The villain is bent on my +ruin. A bad boy he was; a bad man he is. Show him in; and see that +François doesn't come here. Get some coffee yourself, Jane, and bring +it. Let the brute in." + +"You're hard upon him, mum, indeed you are. I'm sure he'd be a credit +to----" + +"Go, and hold your tongue. You presume, Jane, on the privileges of an +old servant." + +"Indeed I hope not, mum; but----" + +"Go!" + +Jane went to summon the early visitor; and was heard talking amiably to +him, as she led him to the bureau. "Now, you must be good, Mr. Charles, +to-day, and not stay more than a quarter of an hour. Don't talk loud, +like the last time; promise me. Missus means well--you know she does." + +With an impatient "All right" the stranger pushed into the business +parlour, and sharply closed the door. + +Mrs. Rowe stood, her knuckles firmly planted upon the closed desk, her +face rigidly set, to receive her visitor--keeping the table between him +and herself. He was advancing to take her hand. + +"Stand there," she said, with an authority he had not the courage to +defy. He stood there--abashed, or hesitating as to the way in which he +should enter upon his business. + +"Well!" Mrs. Rowe said, firmly and impatiently. + +Mr. Charles, stung by the manner, turned upon his victim. "Well!" he +jeered, "yes, and well again, Mrs. Rowe. Is it necessary for me to +explain myself? Do you think I have come to see _you_!" + +"I have no money at present; I wrote you so." + +"And I didn't believe you, and have come to fetch what you wouldn't +send. If you think I'm going into a corner to starve for your personal +satisfaction, you are very much mistaken. I'm surprised you don't +understand me better by this time." + +"You were a rascal, Charles, before you left school." + +"School! Pretty school! D--n it, don't blame me--woman!" + +Mrs. Rowe was alarmed by the outburst, lest it should wake some of the +boarders. + +"The Dean and his lady are sleeping overhead. If you don't respect me, +think----" + +"I'm not here to respect, or think about anybody. I'm cast alone into +the world--tossed into it; left to shift for myself, and to be ashamed +of myself; and I want a little help through it, and it's for you to give +it me, and give it me YOU SHALL." + +Mr. Charles held out his left hand, and slapped its open palm vehemently +with his right--pantomime to indicate the exact whereabouts he had +selected for the reception of Mrs. Rowe's money. + +"I told you I had no money. You'll drive me from this house by bringing +disgrace upon it." + +"That's very good," Mr. Charles said, with a cruel laugh. "That's a +capital joke." + +Jane entered with coffee. "That's right," she whispered, encouragingly +to Mr. Charles; "laugh and be cheerful, Mr. Charles, and make haste with +your coffee." + +The face of Mr. Charles blackened to night. He turned like a tiger upon +the servant. "Laugh and be cheerful?" he roared; and then he raised a +hoarse mock laugh, that moved Mrs. Rowe, in her agony of fear, to turn +the key in the lock of her desk. + +Shaking her hands wildly in the air, Jane left the room, and shut the +door. + +"You are an arrant coward, Charles," Mrs. Rowe hissed, leaning across +the table and shaking her head violently. + +Mr. Charles imitated her gesture, answering--"I am what heartless people +have made me. I have been dragged up under a cloud; made the scape-goat. +How often in the course of your hypocritical days have you wished me +dead? You hear I've a cough; but I cannot promise you it's a churchyard +one. I'm a nuisance; but I suppose I'm not responsible for my existence, +Mrs. Rowe. _I_ was not consulted." + +"Viper!" + +"And devil too, when needful: remember that." Mr. Charles moved round +the table in the direction of the desk. + +"Stand where you are. I would rather give you the clothes from my back +than touch you." Mrs. Rowe, as she stood still turning the lock of the +bureau, and keeping her angry eyes fixed upon the man, was the picture +of all the hate she expressed. + +She never took her eyes off him, nor did he quail, while she fumbled in +the drawer in which she kept money. The musical rattle of the gold smote +upon the ear of Mr. Charles. + +"Pretty sound," he said, with a smile of hate in his face; "but there is +crisp paper sounds sweeter. Mrs. Rowe, I'm not here for a couple of +yellow-boys. Do you hear that?" He banged the table, and advanced a +step. + +"You can't bleed a stone, miscreant." + +"Nay, but you can break it, Mrs. Rowe. I mean business to-day. The rarer +I make my visits the better for both of us." + +"I am quite of that opinion." + +"Then make it as long as you like; you know how." + +"Is this ever to end? Have you no shame? Charles, you will end with some +tragedy. A man who can play the part you are playing, must be ready for +crime!" + +Mr. Charles shook his head in impatient rage, and made another step +towards Mrs. Rowe. + +"Move nearer, and I wake the house, come what may." Mrs. Rowe's face +looked like one cut in grey stone. + +"What! and wake the Dean and his lady! What! affright the Reverend +Horace Mohun who counts Mrs. Rowe among the milk-white sheep of his +flock! No; Mrs. Rowe is too prudent a woman--Now." As he ended, she drew +forth a roll of notes. He made a clutch at them--and she started back. + +"Charles, it has come to that! Robber! It will be murder some day." + +"This day--by----" + +Mr. Charles looked the man to make his word good. + +Mrs. Rowe was amazed and terrified by the fiend she had conjured up in +the man. He seized the table, and looked a giant in the mighty +expression of his iron will. + +"Lay that roll upon the table--or I'll shiver it into a thousand +pieces--and then--and then----Am I to say more?" + +Mrs. Rowe fell into a chair. Mr. Charles was at her in an instant, and +had possession of the notes. The poor woman had swooned. + +He rang the bell--Jane appeared. + +"Look after her," said Mr. Charles, his eyes flaming, as they fell on +the unconscious figure of Mrs. Rowe. "But let me out, first." + +"You'll kill me with fright, that you will. What have you done to your +own----" + +"Mind your own business. A smell of salts'll put her right enough." + +Mr. Charles was gone. + +"And what a sweet gentleman he can be, when he likes," said Jane. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MRS. ROWE'S COMPANY. + + +I must be permitted to tell the rambling stories that ran parallel +during my experiences of Mrs. Rowe's establishment in my own +manner--filling up with what I guessed, all I heard from Lucy, or saw +for myself. Mr. Charles was a visitor at intervals who always arrived +when the house was quiet; and after whose visits Mrs. Rowe regularly +took to her room for the day, leaving the accounts and the keys wholly +to Lucy, and the kitchen to Jane--with strict injunctions to look after +the Reverend Horace Mohun's tea and his round of toast if he called--and +let him see the _Times_ before it went up to the general sitting-room. +On these days Lucy looked pale; and Jane called her "poor child" to me, +and begged me to say a few words of comfort to her, for she would listen +to me. + +What a fool Jane was! + +Visitors came and went. The serious, who inspected Paris as Mr. Redgrave +inspects a factory, or as the late Mr. Braidwood inspected a fire on the +morrow; who did the Louvre and called for bread-and-butter and tea on +the Boulevards at five. The new-rich, who would not have breakfasted +with the general company to save their vulgar little souls, threw their +money to the fleecing shopkeepers (who knew their _monde_), and +misbehaved themselves in all the most expensive ways possible. The jolly +ignorant, who were loud and unabashed in the sincerity and heartiness of +their enjoyment, and had more litres of brandy in their bedrooms than +the rest of the house, as Jane had it, "put together." The frugal, who +counted the lumps of sugar, found fault with the dinners, lived with the +fixed and savage determination to eat well up to the rate at which they +were paying for their board, and stole in, in the evening, with their +brandy hidden about them. Somehow, although there never was a house in +which more differences of opinion were held on nearly every question of +human interest, there was a surprising harmony of ideas as to French +brandy. A Boulogne excursion boat on its homeward journey hardly +contains more uncorked bottles of cognac, than were thrust in all kinds +of secret places in the bedrooms under Mrs. Rowe's roof. + +The hypocrisy and scandal which brandy produced in the general room were +occasionally very fierce, especially when whispers had travelled quietly +as the flies all over the house that one of the ladies had certainly, on +one occasion, revoked at cards--for one reason, and one only. Free +speculations would be cheerfully indulged in at other times on the exact +quantity the visitor who left yesterday had taken during his stay, and +the number of months which the charitable might give him to live. + +[Illustration: ON THE BOULEVARDS.] + +After the general brandy, in degree of interest, stood dress. The +shopping was prodigious. The carts of the Louvre, the Ville de Paris, +the Coin de Rue, and other famous houses of nouveautés were for ever +rattling to Mrs. Rowe's door. With a toss of the head a parcel from the +_Bon Marché_ was handed to its owner. Mrs. Jones must have come to +Paris with just one change--and such a change! Mrs. Tottenham had +nothing fit to wear. Mrs. Court must still be wearing out her +trousseau--and her youngest was three! Mrs. Rhode had no more taste, my +dear, than our cook. The men were not far behind--had looked out for +Captain Tottenham in the Army List; went to Galignani's expressly: not in +it, by Jove, sir! Court paid four shillings in the pound hardly two years +ago, and met him swelling it with his wife (deuced pretty creature!) +yesterday at Bignon's. Is quite up to Marennes oysters: wonder where he +could have heard of 'em. Rhode is a bore; plenty of money, very +good-natured; read a good deal--but can't the fellow come to table in +something better than those eternal plaid trousers? Bad enough in Lord +Brougham. Eccentricity _with_ the genius, galling enough; but without, +not to be borne, sir. Last night Jones was simply drunk, and got a wigging, +no doubt, when he found his room. He looks it all. + +We are an amiable people! + +Happily, I have forgotten the Joneses and the Tottenhams, and the Courts +and the Rhodes! The two "sets" who dwell in my memory--who are, I may +say, somewhat linked with my own life, and of whom I have something to +tell--were, as a visitor said of the fowls of Boulogne hotels--birds +apart. They crossed and re-crossed under Mrs. Rowe's roof until they +hooked together; and I was mixed up with them, until a tragedy and a +happy event made us part company. + +Now, so complicated are our treaties--offensive and defensive--that I +have to refer to my note-book, where I am likely to meet any one of +them, to see whether I am on speaking terms with the coming man or +woman as the case may be. + +I shall first introduce the Cockaynes as holding the greater "lengths" +on my stage. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS. + + +The morning after a bevy of "the blonde daughters of Albion" have +arrived in Paris, Pater--over the coffee (why is it impossible to get +such coffee in England?), the delicious bread, and the exquisite +butter--proceeds to expound his views of the manner in which the time of +the party should be spent. So was it with the Cockaynes, an intensely +British party. + +"My dears," said Mr. Cockayne, "we must husband our time. To-day I +propose we go, at eleven o'clock, to see the parade of the Guard in the +Rue de Rivoli; from there (we shall be close at hand) we can see the +Louvre; by two o'clock we will lunch in the Palais Royal. I think it's +at five the band plays in the Tuileries gardens; after the band----" + +"But, dear papa, we want to look at the shops!" interposes the gentle +Sophonisba. + +"The what, my dear? Here you are in the capital of the most polished +nation on the face of the earth, surrounded by beautiful monuments that +recall--that are, in fact----" + +"Well!" firmly observes Sophonisba's determined mamma; "you, Mr. +Cockayne, go, with your Murray's handbook, see all the antiquities, your +Raphaels and Rubens, and amuse yourself among the cobwebs of the Hôtel +Cluny; _we_ are not so clever--we poor women; and while you're rubbing +your nose against the marbles in the Louvre, we'll go and see the +shops." + +"We don't mind the parade and the band, but we might have a peep at just +a few of the shops near the hotel, before eleven," observes Sophonisba. + +Cockayne throws up his eyes, and laments the frivolity of women. He is +left with one daughter (who is a blue) to admire the proportions of the +Madeleine, to pass a rapturous hour in the square room of the Louvre, +and to examine St. Germain l'Auxerrois, while the frivolous part of his +household goes stoutly away, light-hearted and gay as humming-birds, to +have their first look at the shops. + +[Illustration: A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES." _So cold and natural they +might be mistaken for life_.] + +I happen to have seen the shops of many cities. I have peered into the +quaint, small-windowed shops of Copenhagen; I have passed under the +pendant tobacco leaves into the primitive cigar-shops of St. Sebastian; +I have hobbled, in furs, into the shops of Stockholm; I have been +compelled to take a look at the shops of London, Dublin, Edinburgh, +Liverpool, and a host of other places; but perfect shopping is to be +enjoyed in Paris only; and in the days gone by, the Palais Royal was the +centre of this paradise. Alas! the days of its glory are gone. The lines +of splendid boulevards, flanked with gorgeous shops and _cafés_; the +long arcades of the Rue de Rivoli; and, in fine, the leaning of all +that is fashionable, and lofty, and rich to the west, are the causes +which have brought the destruction of the Palais Royal. Time was when +that quaint old square--the Place-Royale in the Marais--was mighty +fashionable. It now lies in the neglected, industrious, factory-crowded +east--a kind of Parisian Bloomsbury Square, only infinitely more +picturesque, with its quaint, low colonnades. You see the fine Parisians +have travelled steadily westward, sloping slowly, like "the Great +Orion." They are making their way along the Champs-Elysées to the Avenue +de l'Impératrice; and are constructing white stone aristocratic suburbs. + +So the foreigners no longer make their way direct to the Palais Royal +now, on the morrow of their arrival in Paris. If they be at the Louvre, +they bend westward along the Rue de Rivoli, and by the Rue de la Paix, +to the brilliant boulevards. If they be in the Grand Hôtel, they issue +at once upon these famous boulevards, and the ladies are in a feminine +paradise at once. Why, exactly opposite to the Grand Hôtel is Rudolphi's +remarkable shop, packed artistically with his works of art--ay, and of +the most finished and cunning art--in oxidized silver. His shop is most +admirably adapted to the articles the effect of which he desires to +heighten. It is painted black and pointed with delicate gold threads. +The rich array of jewellery and the rare ecclesiastical ornaments stand +brightly out from the sombre case, and light the window. The precious +stones, the lapis lazuli, the malachite, obtain a new brilliance from +the rich neutral tints and shades of the chased dulled silver in which +they are held. + +Sophonisba, her mamma and sisters, are not at much trouble to decide the +period to which the bracelet, or the brooch, or the earring belongs. +"_Cinque cento_, my dear! I know nothing about that. I think it would +suit my complexion." + +"I confess to a more modern taste, Sophonisba. That is just the sort of +thing your father would like. Now, do look at those--sphinxes, don't +you call them--for a brooch. I think they're hideous. Did you ever see +such ears? I own, that diamond dew-drop lying in an enamel rose leaf, +which I saw, I think, in the Rue de la Paix, is more to my taste." + +And so the ladies stroll westward to the famous Giroux (where you can +buy, an it please you, toys at forty guineas each--babies that cry, and +call "mamma," and automata to whom the advancement of science and art +has given all the obnoxious faculties of an unruly child), or east to +the boulevards, which are known the wide world over, at least by name, +the Boulevards de la Madeleine, des Capucines, des Italiens, Montmartre. +These make up the heart and soul of Paris. Within the limits of these +gorgeous lines of shops and _cafés_ luxury has concentrated all her +blandishments and wiles. This is the earthly heaven of the Parisians. +Here all the celebrities air themselves. Here are the Opera stars, the +lights of literature, the chiefs of art, the dandies of the Jockey Club, +the prominent spendthrifts and eccentrics of the day. About four +o'clock in the afternoon all the known Paris figures are lounging upon +the asphaltum within this charmed space. Within this limit--where the +Frenchman deploys all his seductive, and vain, and frivolous airs; where +he wears his best clothes and his best manners; where he loves to be +seen, and observed, and saluted--the tradesmen of the capital have +installed establishments the costliness and elaborateness of which it is +hardly possible to exaggerate. The gilding and the mirrors, the marbles +and the bronze, the myriad lamps of every fantastic form, the quaint and +daring designs for shop fronts, the infinite arts employed to +"set off" goods, and the surprising, never-ceasing varieties of +art-manufacture--whether in chocolate or the popular Algerian +onyx--bewilder strangers. Does successful Mr. Brown, who, having doffed +the apron of trade, considers it due to himself to become--so far as +money can operate the strange transformation--a _fine fleur_; does he +desire also to make of plain, homely Mrs. Brown a leader of fashion and +a model of expensive elegance?--here are all the appliances and means in +abundance. Within these enchanted lines Madame B. may be made "beautiful +for ever!" Every appetite, every variety of whim, the cravings of the +gourmet and the dreams of the sybarite, may be gratified to the utmost. +A spendthrift might spend a handsome patrimony within these limits, nor, +at the end of his time, would he call to mind a taste he had not been +able to gratify. + +Sophonisba enters this charmed region of perfect shopping from the west. +Tahan's bronze shop, at the corner of the Rue de la Paix, marks (or did +mark) its western boundary. There are costly trifles in that window--as, +book cutters worth a library of books, and cigar-stands, ash-trays, +pen-trays, toothpick-holders (our neighbours are great in these), and +match, and glove, and lace, and jewel-boxes--of wicked price. Ladies are +not, however, very fond of bronze, as a rule. The great Maison de +Blanc--or White House--opposite, is more attractive, with its gigantic +architectural front, and its acres of the most expensive linens, +cambrics, &c. Ay, but close by Tahan is Boissier. Not to know Boissier +is to argue yourself unknown in Paris. He is the shining light of the +confectioner's art. Siraudin, of the Rue de la Paix, has set up a +dangerous opposition to him, under the patronage of a great duke, whose +duchess was one day treated like an ordinary mortal in Boissier's +establishment, but Boissier's clients (nobody has customers in Paris) +are, in the main, true to him; and his sweets pass the lips still of +nearly all the élégantes of the "centre of civilization." Peep into his +shop. Miss Sophonisba is within--_la belle insulaire!_--buying a bag +of _marrons glacés_, for which Boissier is renowned throughout +civilization. The shop is a miracle of taste. The white and gold are +worthy of Marie Antoinette's bedroom at St. Cloud--occupied, by the way, +by our English queen, when she was the guest of the French Emperor in +1855. The front of the shop is ornamented with rich and rare caskets. A +white kitten lies upon a rosy satin cushion; lift the kitten, and you +shall find that her bed is a _bon-bon_ box! + +"How very absurd!" exclaims Sophonisba's mamma, _bon-bon_ boxes not +being the particular direction which the extravagance of English ladies +takes. + +Close by the succulent establishment of M. Boissier, to whom every +dentist should lift his hat, is the doorway of Madame Laure. Sophonisba +sees a man in livery opening the door of what appears to be the entrance +to some quiet learned institution. She touches her mamma upon the arm, +and bids her pause. They had reached the threshold of a temple. Madame +Laure makes for the Empress. + +"Ah! to be sure, my child, so she does," Sophonisba's mamma replies. "I +remember. Very quiet-looking kind of place, isn't it?" It is impossible +to say what description of "loud" place had dwelt in the mind of +Sophonisba's mamma as the locale where the Empress Eugénie's milliner +"_made_" for her Majesty. Perhaps she hoped to see two _cent gardes_ +doing duty at the door of an or-molu paradise. + +At every step the ladies find new excitement. By the quiet door of +Madame Laure is the renowned Neapolitan Ice Establishment, well known to +most ladies who have been in Paris. Why should there not be a Neapolitan +ice _café_ like this in London? Ices we have, and we have Granger's; but +here is ice in every variety, from the solid "bombe"--which we strongly +recommend ladies to bear in mind next time--to the appetizing _Ponch à +la Romaine_! Again, sitting here on summer evenings, the lounger will +perceive dapper _bonnes_, or men-servants, going in and out with little +shapely white paper parcels which they hold daintily by the end. Madame +has rung for an ice, and this little parcel, which you might blow away, +contains it. Now, why should not a lady be able to ring for an ice--and +an exquisitely-flavoured Neapolitan ice--on the shores of "perfidious +Albion?" + +"I wish Papa were here," cries Sophonisba; "we should have ices." + +Sophonisba's mamma merely remarks that they are very unwholesome things. + +Hard by is Christofle's dazzling window, Christofle being the Elkington +of France. + +"Tut! it quite blinds one!" says the mamma of Sophonisba. Christofle's +window is startling. It is heaped to the top with a mound of plated +spoons and forks. They glitter in the light so fiercely that the eye +cannot bear to rest upon them. Impossible to pass M. Christofle without +paying a moment's attention to him. And now we pass the asphaltum of the +boulevard of boulevards--that known as "the Italiens." This is the apple +of the eye of Paris. + +"Now, my dears," says Sophonisba's mamma, "now we can really say that we +are in Paris." The shops claimed the ladies' attention one by one. They +passed with disdain the _cafés_ radiant with mirror and gold, where the +selfish men were drinking absinthe and playing at dominoes. It had +always been the creed of Sophonisba's mamma that men were selfish +creatures, and she had come to Paris only to see that she was right. +They passed on to Potel's. + +Potel's window is a sight that is of Paris Parisian. It is more imposing +than that of Chevet in the Palais Royal. In the first place Potel is on +"the Italiens." It is a daily store of all the rarest and richest +articles of food money can command for the discontented palate of man. +The truffled turkeys are the commonest of the articles. Everybody eats +truffled turkeys, must be the belief of Potel. If salmon could peer into +the future, and if they had any ambition, they would desire, after +death, to be artistically arrayed in fennel in the shop-window of Potel. +Would not the accommodating bird who builds an edible nest work with +redoubled ardour, if he could be assured that his house would be some +day removed to the great window on "the Italiens?" + +Happy the ortolans whom destiny puts into Potel's plate of honour! Most +fortunate of geese, whose liver is fattened by a slow fire to figure +presently here with the daintiest and noblest of viands! The pig who +hunts the truffle would have his reward could he know that presently the +fragrant vegetable would give flavour to his trotter! And is it not a +good quarter of an hour's amusement every afternoon to watch the +gourmets feasting their eyes on the day's fare? And the _gamins_ from +the poor quarters stare in also, and wonder what those black lumps are. + +Opposite Potel's is a shop, the like of which we have not, nor, we +verily believe, has any other city. It is the show-store of the +far-famed Algerian Onyx Company. The onyx is here in great superb +blocks, wedded with bronze of exquisite finish, or serving as background +to enamels of the most elaborate design. Within, the shop is crammed +with lamps, jardinières, and monumental marbles, all relieved by +bronzes, gold, and exotics. The smallest object would frighten a man of +moderate means, if he inquired its price. There is a flower shop not far +off, but it isn't a shop, it's a bower. It is close by a dram-shop, +where the cab-men of the stand opposite refresh the inner man. It +represents the British public-house. But what a quiet orderly place it +is! The kettle of punch--a silver one--is suspended over the counter. +The bottles are trim in rows; there are no vats of liquid; there is no +brawling; there are no beggars by the door--no drunkards within. It is +so quiet, albeit on the Boulevard, not one in a hundred of the +passers-by notice it. The lordly Café du Cardinal opposite is not more +orderly. + +Past chocolate shops, where splendidly-attired ladies preside; +wood-carving shops, printsellers, pastrycooks--where the savarins +are tricked out, and where _petit fours_ lie in a hundred +varieties--music-shops, bazaars, immense booksellers' windows; they who +are bent on a look at the shops reach a corner of the Grand Opera +Street, where the Emperor's tailor dwells. The attractions here are, as +a rule, a few gorgeous official costumes, or the laurel-embellished tail +coat of the academician. Still proceeding eastward, the shops are +various, and are all remarkable for their decoration and contents. There +is a shop where cots and flower-stands are the main articles for sale; +but such cots and such flower-stands! The cots are for Princes and the +flower-stands for Empresses. I saw the Empress Eugénie quietly issuing +from this very shop, one winter afternoon. + +Sophonisba's mother lingered a long time over the cots, and delighted +her mother-eye with the models of babies that were lying in them. One, +she remarked, was the very image of young Harry at home. + +And so on to "Barbédienne's," close by the well-known Vachette. + +Sophonisba, however, will not wait for our description of the renowned +Felix's establishment, where are the lightest hands for pastry, it is +said, in all France. When last we caught sight of the young lady, she +was _chez_ Felix, demolishing her second _baba!_ May it lie lightly on +her--! + +I humbly beg the pardon of Mademoiselle Sophonisba! + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE COCKAYNE FAMILY. + + +The Cockaynes deserve a few words of formal introduction to the reader, +since he is destined to make their better acquaintance. We have ventured +hitherto only to take a few discreet and distant glimpses at them, as we +found them loitering about the Boulevards on the morrow of their +appearance in Paris. Mr. Cockayne--having been very successful for many +years in the soap-boiling business, to the great discomfort and vexation +of the noses of his neighbours, and having amassed fortune enough to +keep himself and wife and his three blooming daughters among the _crême +de la crême_ of Clapham, and in the list of the elect of society, known +as carriage-people--he had given up the soap-boiling to his two sons, +and had made up his mind to enjoy his money, or rather so much of it as +Mrs. Cockayne might not require. It is true that every shilling of the +money had been made by Cockayne, that every penny-piece represented a +bit of soap which he had manufactured for the better cleansing of his +generation. But this highly honourable fact, to the credit of poor +Cockayne, albeit it was unpleasant to the nostrils of Mrs. C. when she +had skimmed some of the richest of the Clapham _crême_ into her +drawing-room, did not abate her resolve to put at least three farthings +of the penny into her pocket, for her uses and those of her simple and +innocent daughters. Mrs. Cockayne, being an economical woman, spent more +money on herself, her house, and her children than any lady within a +mile of Cockayne House. It is certain that she was an excellent mother +to her three daughters, for she reminded Cockayne every night +regularly--as regularly, he said, as he took his socks off--that if it +were not for her, she did not know what would become of the children. +She was quite sure their father wouldn't trouble his head about them. + +Perhaps Mrs. Cockayne was right. Cockayne had slaved in business only +thirty-five years out of the fifty-two he had passed in this vale of +tears, and had only lodged her at last in a brougham and pair. He might +have kept in harness another ten years, and set her up in a carriage and +four. She was sure he didn't know what to do with himself, now he had +retired. He was much better tempered when he went off to business by the +nine o'clock omnibus every morning; and before he had given himself such +ridiculous airs, and put himself on all kinds of committees he didn't +understand anything about, and taken to make himself disagreeable to his +neighbours in the vestry-hall, and moving what he called amendments and +riders, for the mere pleasure, she verily believed, of opposing +somebody, as he did everybody in his own house, and of hearing himself +talk. Does the reader perceive by this time the kind of lady Mrs. +Cockayne was, and what a comfort she must have been to her husband in +the autumn of his life? + +How he must have listened for what the novelists call "her every +footstep," and treasured her every syllable! It was mercifully ordained +that Mr. Cockayne should be a good-tempered, non-resisting man. When +Mrs. Cockayne was, as her sons pleasantly and respectfully phrased it, +"down upon the governor," the good man, like the flowers in the poem, +"dipped and rose, and turned to look at her." He sparkled while she +stormed. He smiled when the shafts of her sarcasm were thrown +point-blank at him. He was good-tempered before the storm began, while +it lasted, and when it was over. Mrs. Cockayne had the ingenuity to +pretend that Cockayne was the veriest tyrant behind people's backs; he +who, as a neighbour of his very expressively put the case, dared not +help himself to the fresh butter without having previously asked the +permission of his wife. Fate, in order to try the good-nature of +Timothy Cockayne to the utmost, had given him two daughters closely +resembling, in patient endurance and self-abnegation, their +irreproachable mamma. Sophonisba--at whom the reader has already had a +glimpse, and whom we last saw demolishing her second _baba_ at Felix's, +was the eldest daughter--and the second was Theodosia. There was a +third, Carrie; she was the blue, and was gentle and contented with +everything, like her father. + +The reader may now be prepared to learn that it was not Mr. Timothy +Cockayne, late of Lambeth, who had planned the family's journey to +Paris. Mrs. Cockayne had projected the expedition. Everybody went to +Paris now-a-days, and you looked so very stupid if you had to confess in +a drawing-room that you had never been. She was sure there was not +another family on Clapham Common, of their station, who had not been. +Besides, it would exercise the girls' French. If Mr. Cockayne could only +consent to tear himself away from board-meetings, and devote a little +time to his own flesh and blood. They would go alone, and not trouble +him, only what would their neighbours say to see them start off alone, +as though they'd nobody in the world to care a fig about them. At any +rate, they didn't want people to know they were neglected. Now Mr. +Cockayne had never had the most distant idea of leaving the ladies of +his family to go alone to Paris. But it pleased his wife to put the case +in this pleasant way, and he never interfered with her pleasures. He +wanted very much to see Paris again, for he had never been on the banks +of the Seine since 1840, when he made a flying visit to examine some new +patent soap-boiling apparatus. He was ordered about by both mother and +daughters, by boat and railway. He was reproached fifty times for his +manners in insisting on going the Dieppe route. He was loaded with +parcels and baskets and rugs, and was soundly rated all the way from the +railway station to the Grand Hôtel, on the Boulevard des Capucines, for +having permitted the Custom House officers to turn over Mrs. Cockayne's +boxes, as she said, "in the most impudent manner; but they saw she was +without protection." + +I have always been at a loss to discover why certain classes of English +travellers, who make their appearance in Paris during the excursion +season, persist in regarding the capital of France, or, as the Parisian +has it, "the centre of civilization," as a Margate without the sea. I +wonder what was floating in the head of Mr. Cockayne, when he bought a +flat cloth grey cap, and ordered a plaid sporting-suit from his +tailor's, and in this disguise proceeded to "do" Paris. In London Mr. +Cockayne was in the habit of dressing like any other respectable elderly +gentleman. He was going to the capital of a great nation, where people's +thoughts are not unfrequently given to the cares of the _toilette;_ +where, in short, gentlemen are every bit as severe in their dress as +they are in Pall Mall, or in a banking-house in Lombard Street. Now Mr. +Cockayne would as soon have thought of wearing that plaid +shooting-suit and that grey flat cap down Cheapside or Cornhill, as he +would have attempted to play at leap-frog in the underwriters' room at +Lloyd's. He had a notion, however, that he had done the "correct thing" +for foreign parts, and that he had made himself look as much a traveller +as Livingstone or Burton. Some strange dreams in the matter of dress had +possessed the mind of Mrs. Cockayne, and her daughters also. They were +in varieties of drab coloured dresses and cloaks; and the mother and the +three daughters, deeming bonnets, we suppose, to be eccentric head-gears +in Paris, wore dark brown hats all of one pattern, all ornamented with +voluminous blue veils, and all ready to Dantan's hand. The young ladies +had, moreover, velvet strings, that hung down from under their hats +behind, almost to their heels. It was thus arrayed that the party took +up their quarters at the Grand Hôtel, and opened their Continental +experiences. I have already accompanied Mrs. Cockayne, Sophonisba, and +Theodosia, on their first stroll along the Boulevards, and peeped into +a few shops with them. Mr. Cockayne was in the noble courtyard of the +Hôtel, waiting to receive them on their return, with Carrie sitting +close by him, intently reading a voluminous catalogue of the Louvre, on +which, according to Mrs. Cockayne, her liege lord had "wasted five +francs." Mr. Cockayne was all smiles. Mrs. Cockayne and her two elder +daughters were exhausted, and threw themselves into seats, and vowed +that Paris was the most tiring place on the face of the earth. + +[Illustration: BEAUTY & THE B----. _Normally a severe Excursionist_.] + +"My dear," said Mr. Cockayne, addressing his wife, "people find Paris +fatiguing because they walk about the streets all day, and give +themselves no rest. If we did the same thing at Clapham----" + +"There, that will do, Cockayne," the lady sharply answered. "I'm sure +I'm a great deal too tired to hear speeches. Order me some iced water. +You talk about French politeness, Cockayne. I think I never saw people +stare so much in the whole coarse of my life. And some boys in blue +pinafores actually laughed in our very faces. I know what _I_ should +have done to them, had _I_ been their mother. What was it they said, +Sophy, my dear?" + +"I didn't quite catch, mamma; these people talk so fast." + +"They seem to me," Mrs. Cockayne continued, "to jumble all their words +one into another." + +"That is because----" Mr. Cockayne was about to explain. + +"Now, pray, Mr. Cockayne, do leave your Mutual Improvement Society +behind, and give us a little relief while we are away. I say the people +jumble one word into another in the most ridiculous manner, and I +suppose I have ears, and Sophy has ears, and we are not quite lunatics +because we have not been staring our eyes out all the morning at things +we don't understand." + +Here Carrie, lifting her eyes from her book, said to her father-- + +"Papa dear, you remember that first Sculpture Hall, where the colossal +figures were; that was the Salle des Caryatides, and those gigantic +figures you admired so much were by Jean Goujon. Just think! It was in +this hall that Henry IV. celebrated his wedding with Marguerite de +Valois. Yes, and in this very room Molière used to act before the +Court." + +"Yes," Mrs. Cockayne interjected, pointing to Carrie's hands, "and in +that very room, I suppose, Miss Caroline Cockayne appeared with her +fingers out of her glove." + +"And where have you been all day, my dear?" Mr. Cockayne said, in his +blandest manner, to his wife. + +"We poor benighted creatures," responded Mrs. Cockayne, "have been--pray +don't laugh. Mr. Cockayne--looking at the shops, and very much amused we +have been, I can assure you, and we are going to look at them to-morrow, +and the day after, and the day after that." + +"With all my heart, my dear," said Mr. Cockayne, who was determined to +remain in the very best of tempers. "I hope you have been amused, that +is all." + +[Illustration: PALAIS DU LOUVRE.] + +[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE BOIS] + +"We have had a delightful day," said Sophonisba. + +"I am sure we have been into twenty shops," said Theodosia. + +"And I am sure," Mrs. Cockayne continued, "it is quite refreshing, after +the boorish manners of your London shopkeepers, to be waited upon by +these polite Frenchmen. They behave like noblemen." + +"Mamma has had fifty compliments paid to her in the course of the day, I +am certain," said Sophonisba. + +"I am very glad to hear it," said Sophonisba's papa. + +"Glad to hear it, and surprised also, I suppose, Mr. Cockayne! In London +twenty compliments have to last a lady her lifetime." + +"I don't know how it is," Theodosia observed, "but the tradespeople here +have a way of doing things that is enchanting. We went into an imition +jeweller's in the Rue Vivienne--and such imitations! I'll defy Mrs. +Sandhurst--and you know how ill-natured she is--to tell some earrings +and brooches we saw from real gold and jewels. Well, what do you think +was the sign of the shop, which was arranged more like a drawing-room +than a tradesman's place of business; why, it was called L'Ombre du Vrai +(the Shadow of Truth). Isn't it quite poetical?" + +Mr. Cockayne thought he saw his opportunity for an oratorical flourish. + +"It has been observed, my dear Theo," said he, dipping the fingers of +his right hand into the palm of his left, "by more than one acute +observer, that the mind of the race whose country we are now----" + +Here Mrs. Cockayne rapped sharply the marble table before her with the +end of her parasol, and said-- + +"Mr. Cockayne, have you ordered any dinner for us?" + +Mr. Cockayne meekly gave it up, and replied that he had secured places +for the party at the _table d'hôte_. + +Satisfied on this score, the matron proceeded to inform that person whom +in pleasant irony she called her lord and master, that she had set her +heart on a brooch of the loveliest design it had ever been her good +fortune to behold. + +"At the _L'Ombre_--what do you call it, my dear?" said the husband, +blandly. + +Mrs. Cockayne went through that stiffening process which ladies of +dignity call drawing themselves up. + +"You really surprise me, Mr. Cockayne. If you mean it as a joke, I would +have you know that people don't joke with their wives; and I should +think you ought to know by this time that I am not in the habit of +wearing imitation jewellery." + +"I ought," briefly responded Cockayne; and then he rapidly continued, in +order to ward off the fire he knew his smart rejoinder would provoke-- + +"Tell me where it was, my dear. Suppose we go and look at it together. I +saw myself some exquisite Greek compositions in the Rue de la Paix, +which both myself and Carrie admired immensely." + +"Greek fiddlesticks! I want no Greek, nor any other old-fashioned +ornaments, Mr. Cockayne. One would think you were married to the oldest +female inhabitant, by the way you talk; or that I had stepped out of the +Middle Ages; or that I and Sphinx were twins. But you must be so very +clever, with your elevation of the working-classes, and those prize +Robinson Crusoes you gave to the Ragged-school children--which you know +you got trade price." + +"Well, well," poor Cockayne feebly expostulated, "if it's not far, let +us go and see the brooch." + +"There, mamma!" cried both Sophonisba and Theodosia in one breath. +"Mind, the one with the three diamonds." + +[Illustration: MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG.] + +Mrs. Cockayne being of an exceedingly yielding temperament, allowed +herself to be mollified, and sailed out of the hotel, with the blue +veil hanging from her hat down her back, observing by the way that she +should like to box those impudent Frenchmen's ears who were lounging +about the doorway, and who, she was sure, were looking at her. Mr. +Cockayne was unfortunate enough to opine that his wife was mistaken, and +that the Frenchmen in question were not even looking in her direction. + +"Of course not, Mr. Cockayne," said the lady; "who would look at me, at +my time of life?" + +"Nonsense! I didn't mean that," said Mr. Cockayne, now a little gruffly, +for there was a limit even to _his_ patience. + +"It is difficult to tell what you mean. I don't think you know yourself, +half your time." + +Thus agreeably beguiling the way, the pair walked to the shop in the Rue +de la Paix, where the lady had seen a brooch entirely to her mind. It +was the large enamel rose-leaf, with three charming dew-drops in the +shape of brilliants. + +"They speak English, I hope," said Mr. Cockayne. "We ought to have +brought Sophonisba with us." + +"Sophonisba! much use _her_ French is in this place. She says their +French and the French she learnt at school are two perfectly different +things. So you may make up your mind that all those extras for languages +you paid for the children were so much money thrown away." + +"That's a consoling reflection, now the money's gone," quoth Mr. +Cockayne. + +They then entered the shop. A very dignified gentleman, with exquisitely +arranged beard and moustache, and dressed unexceptionably, made a +diplomatic bow to Mr. Cockayne and his wife. Cockayne, without ceremony, +plunged _in medias res_. He wanted to look at the rose-leaf with the +diamonds on it. The gentleman in black observed that it became English +ladies' complexion "à ravir." + +It occurred to Mr. Cockayne, as it has occurred to many Englishmen in +Paris, that he might make up for his ignorance of French by speaking in +a voice of thunder. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that the +French were a deaf nation, and that they talked a language which he did +not understand in order that he might bear their deafness in mind. For +once in her life Mrs. Cockayne held the same opinion as her husband. She +accordingly, on her side, made what observations she chose to address to +the dignified jeweller in her loudest voice. The jeweller smiled good +naturedly, and pattered his broken English in a subdued and deferential +tone. As Mr. Cockayne found that he did not get on very well, or make +his meaning as clear as crystal by bawling, and as he found that the +polite jeweller could jerk out a few broken phrases of English, the +bright idea struck him that he, Mr. Cockayne, late of Lambeth, would +make his meaning plainer than a pike-staff by speaking broken English +also. The jeweller was puzzled, but he was very patient; and as he kept +passing one bracelet after another over the arm of Mrs. Cockayne, quite +captivated that lady. + +"He seems to think we're going to buy all the shop," growled Cockayne. + +"How vulgar you are! Lambeth manners don't do in Paris. Mr. Cockayne." + +"But they seem to like Lambeth sovereigns, anyhow," was the aggravating +rejoinder. + +"If you're going to talk like that, I'll leave the shop, and not have +anything." + +This was a threat the lady did not carry out. She bore the enamel +rose-leaf--the leaf with the three diamonds, as her daughters had +affectionately reminded her--off in triumph, having promised that +delightful man, the jeweller, to return and have a look at the bracelets +another day. She was quite enchanted with the low bow the jeweller gave +her as he closed his handsome plate-glass door. He might have been a +duke or a prince, she said. + +"Or a footman," Mr. Cockayne added. "I don't call all that bowing and +scraping business." + +When Mr. and Mrs. Cockayne returned to the Grand Hôtel, they found their +daughters Sophonisba and Theodosia in a state of rapture. + +"Mamma, mamma!" cried Sophonisba, holding up a copy of _La France,_ an +evening paper, "you know that splendid shop we passed to-day, under the +colonnades by the Louvre Hôtel, where there was that deep blue _moire_ +you said you should so much like if you could afford it. Well, look +here, there is a '_Grande Occasion_' there!" and the enraptured girl +pointed to letters at least two inches high, printed across the sheet of +the newspaper. "Look! a 'Grande Occasion!'" + +"And pray what's that, Sophy?" Mrs. Cockayne asked. "What grand +occasion, I should like to know." + +"Dear me, mamma," Theodosia murmured, "it means an excellent +opportunity." + +"My dear," Mrs. Cockayne retorted severely to her child, "I didn't have +the advantage of lessons in French, at I don't know how many guineas a +quarter; nor, I believe, did your father; nor did we have occasion to +teach ourselves, like Miss Sharp." + +"Well, look here, mamma," Miss Sophonisba said, her eyes sparkling and +her fingers trembling as they ran down line after line of the +advertisement that covered the whole back sheet of the newspaper. "You +never saw such bargains. The prices are positively ridiculous. There are +silks, and laces, and muslins, and grenadines, and alpacas, and shawls, +and cloaks, and plain _sultanes_, and I don't know what, all at such +absurdly low prices that I think there must be some mistake about it." + +"Tut," Mr. Cockayne said; "one of those 'awful sacrifices' and bankrupt +stock sales, like those we see in London, and the bills of which are +thrown into the letter-box day after day." + +"You are quite mistaken, papa dear, indeed you are," Theodosia said; "we +have asked the person in the _Bureau_ down stairs, and she has told us +that these '_Grandes Occasions_' take place twice regularly every year, +and that people wait for them to make good bargains for their summer +things and for their winter things." + +The lady in the _Bureau_ was right. The prudent housewives of Paris take +advantage of these "_Grandes Occasions_" to make their summer and winter +purchases for the family. In the spring-time, when the great violet +trade of Paris brightens the corners of the streets, immense +advertisements appear in all the daily and weekly papers of Paris, +headed by gigantic letters that the fleetest runner may read, announcing +extraordinary exhibitions, great exhibitions, and unprecedented spring +shows. "Poor Jacques" offers 3000 cashmere shawls at twenty-seven francs +each, 2000 silk dresses at twenty-nine francs, and 1000 at thirty-nine +francs. "Little Saint Thomas," of the Rue du Bac, has 90,000 French +linos, 1000 "Jacquettes gentleman," 500 Zouaves, and 1000 dozen +cravats--all at extraordinary low prices. Poor Jacques draws public +attention to the "incomparable cheapness" of his immense operations: +while Little St. Thomas declares that his assortment of goods is of +"exceptional importance," and that he is selling his goods at a +cheapness _hors ligne_. For a nation that has twitted the English with +being a race of shop-keepers, our friends the Parisians who keep shops +are not wanting in devotion to their own commercial interests. Indeed, +there is a strong commercial sense in thousands of Parisians who have no +shutters to take down. Take for instance the poetical M. Alphonse Karr, +whose name has passed all over Europe as the charming author of A +Journey round my Garden. Nothing can be more engaging than the manner in +which M. Karr leads his readers about with him among his flowers and the +parasites of his garden. He falls into raptures over the petals of the +rose, and his eye brightens tenderly over the June fly. One would think +that this garden-traveller was a very ethereal personage, and that milk +and honey and a few sweet roots would satisfy his simple wants, and that +he had no more idea of trafficking in a market than a hard man of +business has in spending hours watching a beetle upon a leaf. But let +not the reader continue to labour under this grievous mistake. + +M. Karr is quite up to the market value of every bud that breaks within +the charmed circle of his garden at Nice. + +He cultivates the poetry for his books, but he does not neglect his +ledger. In the spring, when, according to Mr. Tennyson, "a fuller +crimson comes upon the robin's breast," and "young men's fancy lightly +turns to thoughts of love," M. Alphonse Karr, poet and florist, opens +his flower-shop. + +Carrie had taken up the newspaper which had moved the enthusiasm of her +elder sisters. Her eyes fell on the following advertisement:-- + + + "By an arrangement agreed upon, + M. ALPHONSE KARR, of Nice, + + sends direct, gratuitously, and post free, either a box containing + Herbes aux Turguoises, or a magnificent bouquet of Parma Violets, + to every person who, before the end of March, shall become a + subscriber to the monthly review entitled Life in the Country. A + specimen number will be sent on receipt of fifteen sous in postage + stamps." + +This is Alphonse Karr's magnificent spring assortment--his Grand +Occasion. + +"So you see, Mr. Cockayne," said his wife, "this Mr. Karr, whose book +about the garden--twaddle, _I_ call it--you used to think so very fine +and poetic, is just a market-gardener and nothing more. He is positively +an advertising tradesman." + +"Nothing more, mamma, I assure you," said Sophonisba. "I remember at +school that one of the French young ladies, Mademoiselle de la Rosière, +told me that when her sister was married, the bride and all the +bridesmaids had Alphonse Karr's _bouquets_. It seems that the mercenary +creature advertises to sell ball or wedding _bouquets_, which he manages +to send to Paris quite fresh in little boxes, for a pound apiece." + +"Do you hear that?" said Mrs. Cockayne, addressing her husband. "This is +your pet, sir, who was so fond of his beetles! Why, the man would sell +the nightingales out of his trees, if he could catch them, I've no +doubt." + +"The story is a little jarring, I confess," Pater said. "But after all, +why shouldn't he sell the flowers also, when he sells the pretty things +he writes about them?" + +"Upon my word, you're wonderful. You try to creep out of everything. But +what is that you were reading, my dear Sophonisba, about the _grande +occasion_ near the Louvre Hôtel? I dare say it's a great deal more +interesting than Mr. Karr and his violets. I haven't patience with your +papa's affectation. What was it we saw, my dear, in the Rue Saint +Honoré? The 'Butterfly's Chocolate'?" + +"Yes, mamma," Theodosia answered. "_Chocolat du Papillon_. Yes; and you +know, mamma, there was the linen-draper's with the sign _A la Pensée_. I +never heard such ridiculous nonsense." + +"Yes; and there was another, my dear," said Mrs. Cockayne, "'To the fine +Englishwoman,' or something of that sort." + +"Oh, those two or three shops, mamma," said Sophonisba, "dedicated _A +la belle Anglaise!_ Just think what people would say, walking along +Oxford Street, if they were to see over a hosier's shop, written in big, +flaring letters, 'To the beautiful Frenchwoman!" + +Mr. Cockayne laughed. Mrs. Cockayne saw nothing to laugh at. She +maintained that it was a fair way of putting the case. + +Mr. Cockayne said that he was not laughing at his wife, but at some much +more ridiculous signs which had come under his notice. + +"What do you say," he asked, "to a linen-draper's called the 'Siege of +Corinth?' or the 'Great Condé?' or the 'Good Devil'?" + +"What on earth has La Belle Jardinière got to do with cheap trowsers, +Mr. Cockayne?" his wife interrupted. "You forget your daughters are in +the room." + +"Well, my dear, the Moses of Paris call their establishment the Belle +Jardinière." + +"That's not half so absurd, papa dear," Sophonisba observed, "as +another cheap tailor's I have seen under the sign of the 'Docks de la +Violette.'" + +"I don't know, my dear; I thought when my friend Rhodes came back from +Paris, and told me he had worn a pair of the Belle Jardinières----" + +"Mr. Cockayne!" screamed his wife. + +"Well, unmentionables, my dear--I thought I should have died with +laughter." + +"Sophonisba, my dear, tell us what the paper says about that magnificent +shop under the Louvre colonnade; your father is forgetting himself." + +"Dear mamma," said Sophonisba, "it would take me an hour to read all;" +but she read the tit-bits. + +"My dears," said Mrs. Cockayne to her daughters, "it would be positively +a sin to miss such an opportunity." + +Mr. Cockayne took up the paper which Sophonisba had finished reading, +and running his eye over it, said, with a wicked curling of his lip-- + +"My dear Sophy, my dear child, here are a number of things you've not +read." + +Sophonisba tittered, and ejaculated--"Papa dear!" + +"We have heard quite enough," Mrs. Cockayne said, sternly; "and we'll go +to-morrow, directly after breakfast, and spend a nice morning looking +over the things." + +"But there are really two or three items, my dear, Sophy has forgotten. +There are a lot of articles with lace and pen work; and think of it, my +love, ten thousand ladies' chem----" + +Mrs. Cockayne started to her feet, and shrieked-- + +"Girls, leave the room!" + +"What a pity, my dear," the incorrigible Mr. Cockayne continued, in +spite of the unappeasable anger of Mrs. Cockayne--"what a pity the +_Magasins de Louvre_ were not established at the time of the celebrated +emigration of the ten thousand virgins; you see there would have been +just one apiece." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A "GRANDE OCCASION." + + +"Well, these Paris tradespeople are the most extraordinary persons in the +world," cried Sophonisba's mamma, and the absolute ruler of Mr. +Cockayne. "I confess I can't make them out. They beat me. My dear, they +are the most independent set I ever came across. They don't seem to care +whether you buy or you don't; and they ask double what they intend to +take." + +"What is the matter now, my dear?" Mr. Cockayne ventured, in an +unguarded moment, to ask, putting aside for a moment Mr. Bayle St. +John's scholarly book on the Louvre. + +"At any rate, Mr. Cockayne, we do humbly venture to hope that you will +be able to spare us an hour this morning to accompany us to the +_Magasins du Louvre_. We would not ask you, but we have been told the +crowd is so great that ladies alone would be torn to pieces." + +"I forget how many thousands a day, papa dear," Sophonisba mercifully +interposed, "but a good many, visit these wonderful shops. I confess I +never saw anything like even the outside of them. The inside must be +lovely." + +"I have no doubt they are, my dear," Mr. Cockayne observed. "They were +built about ten years ago. The foundations were----" + +"There," cried Mrs. Cockayne, rising, "there, your papa is off with his +lecture. I shall put on my bonnet." And Mrs. Cockayne swept grandly from +the room. + +Mrs. Cockayne re-entered the room with her bonnet on; determination was +painted on the lady's countenance. Cockayne should not escape this time. +He should be led off like a lamb to the slaughter. Were not the silks +marked at ridiculously low prices? Was not the shawl-room a sight more +than equal to anything to be seen in any other part of Paris? Was not +the folding department just as much a sight of Paris as that wretched +collection of lumber in the Hôtel Cluny? + +Some wives had only to hint to have; but that was not the case with the +hapless Mrs. Cockayne. She was sure nobody could be more economical than +she was, both for herself and the children, and that was her reward. She +had to undergo the most humiliating process of asking point-blank; even +when twenty or thirty thousand pairs of gloves were to be sold at prices +that were unheard of! Men were so stupid in their meanness! + +"Buy the shop," Mr. Cockayne angrily observed. + +Perhaps Mr. Cockayne would be pleased to inform his lawful wife and the +unfortunate children who were subjected by fate to his cruel +tyranny--perhaps he would inform them when it would be convenient for +him to take them home. His insults were more than his wife could bear. + +"What's the matter now?" asked the despairing Cockayne, rubbing his hat +with his coat-sleeve. + +"Mamma dear, papa is coming with us," Sophonisba expostulated. + +"Well, I suppose he is. It has not quite come to that yet, my dear. I am +prepared for anything, I believe; but your father will, I trust, not +make us the laughing-stock of the hotel." + +"I am ready," said Cockayne, grimly, between his teeth. + +"I am obliged, you see, children, to speak," icily responded the lady he +had sworn to love and cherish. "Hints are thrown away. I must suffer the +indignity for your sakes, of saying to your father, I shall want some +money for the purchases your mother wants to make for you. It is not the +least use going to this Grande Occasion, or whatever they call it, +empty-handed." + +"Will you allow me time to get change?" And Mr. Cockayne headed the +procession through the hotel court-yard to the Boulevards. + +"Walk with your father," the outraged lady said to Sophonisba. "It's +positively disgraceful, straggling out in this way. But I might have +known what it was likely to be before I left home." + +Mr. Cockayne, as was his wont, speedily re-assumed his equanimity, and +chatted pleasantly with Sophonisba as they walked along the Rue de la +Paix, across the Place Vendôme, into the Rue Castiglione. Mrs. Cockayne +followed with Theodosia; Carrie had begged to be left behind, to write a +long letter to her intellectual friend, Miss Sharp. + +Mr. Cockayne stopped before the door of Mr. John Arthur. + +"What on earth can your father want here?" said Mrs. Cockayne, pausing +at the door, while her husband had an interview with Mr. John Arthur +within. + +Theodosia, peering through the window, answered, "He is getting change, +mamma dear." + +"At last!" + +Mr. Cockayne issued radiant from Mr. John Arthur's establishment. + +"There," said he to his wife, in his heartiest voice; "there, my dear, +buy what you and the girls want." + +"I will do the best I can with it. Perhaps we can manage our shopping +without troubling you." + +"It's not the least trouble in the world," gaily said Cockayne, putting +that bright face of his on matters. + +"I thought you had some idea of going to the Museum of Artillery this +afternoon, to see whether or not you approved of the French guns." + +Mr. Cockayne laughed at the sarcasm, and again gave Sophonisba his arm, +and went under the colonnades of the Rue de Rivoli, wondering, by the +way, why people stared at him in his plaid suit, and at his daughter in +her brown hat and blue veil. Mrs. Cockayne wondered likewise. The French +were the rudest people on the face of the earth, and not the politest, +as they had the impudence to assert. + +When the party reached the colonnades of the Grand Hôtel du Louvre, they +found themselves in the midst of a busy scene. + +The _Magasins du Louvre_ stretch far under the Hôtel, from the Rue de +Rivoli to the Rue Saint-Honoré. Year after year has the stretching +process continued; but now the great company of linen drapers and +hosiers have all the space that can be spared them. The endless lines of +customers' carriages in the Rue Saint-Honoré and on the _Place_ opposite +Prince Napoleon's palace betoken the marvellous trade going on within. + +The father of the English family here turned his back upon the great +shop, and glancing towards the Louvre and the Church of Saint Germain +l'Auxerrois, exclaimed--"Marvellous scene! A sight not to be equalled in +the world. Yonder is the old church, the bell of which tolled the----" + +"You're making a laughing-stock of yourself," Mrs. Cockayne exclaims, +taking her husband firmly by the arm. "One would think you were an hotel +guide, or a walking handbook, or--or a beadle or showman. What do you +want to know about the massacre of St. Bartholomew now? There'll not be +a mantle or a pair of gloves left. Come in--do! You can go gesticulating +about the streets with Carrie to-morrow, if you choose; but do contrive +to behave like an ordinary mortal to-day." + +Mr. Cockayne resigned himself. He plunged into the magnificent shop. He +was dragged into the crowd that was defiling past the fifteen-sous +counter, where the goods lay in great tumbled masses on the floor and +upon the counter. He was surprised to see the shopmen standing upon the +counter, and, with marvellous rapidity, telling off the yards of the +cheap fabrics to the ladies and gentlemen who were pressing before them +in an unbroken line. Beyond were the packers. Beyond again, was the +office where payment was made, each person having a note or ticket, with +the article bought, showing the sum due. A grave official marshalled the +customer to the pay-place. There was wonderful order in the seeming +confusion. The admirable system of the establishment was equal to the +emergency. An idea of the continuous flow of the crowd past the silk +and mixed fabric counters may be got from the fact that many ladies +waited three and four hours for their turn to be served. One Parisian +lady told Mrs. Cockayne that, after waiting four hours in the crowd, she +had gone home to lunch, and had returned to try her fortune a second +time. + +Poor Cockayne! He was absolutely bewildered. His endeavours to steer the +"three daughters of Albion" who were under his charge, in the right +direction, were painful to witness. First he threaded corridors, then he +was in the carpet gallery, and now he was in the splendid, the palatial +shawl-hall, where elegant ladies were trying on shawls of costly fabric, +with that grace and quiet for which Parisians are unmatched. + +"This is superb! Oh, this is very, very fine!" cried the ladies. "How on +earth shall we find our way out?" + +Now they sailed among immensities of silk and satin waves. Now they were +encompassed with shawls; and now they were amid colonnades of rolls of +carpet. + +Mrs. Cockayne stayed here and there to make a purchase, by the help of +Sophonisba's French, which was a source of considerable embarrassment to +the shopmen. They smiled, but were very polite. + +"This is not a shop, it is a palace dedicated to trade," cried Cockayne. + +"Stuff and nonsense," was his answer; "take care of the parcels. Yon +know better, of course, than the people to whom it belongs." + +The Cockaynes found themselves borne by the endless stream of customers +into a vast and lofty gallery. Pater paused. + +"This is superb! It would have been impossible to realize----" + +"Don't be a fool, Cockayne," said his wife; "this is the lace +department. We must not go away without buying something." + +"Let us try," was saucily answered. + +Mrs. Cockayne immediately settled upon some Chantilly, and made her +lord, as she expressed it in her pretty way, "pay for his impudence." + +The silk gallery was as grand and bewildering as the lace department; +and here again were made some extraordinary bargains. + +Obliging officials directed the party to the first staircase on the +right, or to turn to the left, by the furnishing department. They made a +mistake, and found themselves in the _salons_ devoted to made linen, +where Mrs. Cockayne hoped her husband would not make his daughters blush +with what he considered to be (and he was much mistaken) witty +observations. He was to be serious and silent amid mountains of feminine +under linen. He was to ask no questions. + +In the Saint Honoré gallery--which is the furnishing department--Mr. +Cockayne was permitted to indulge in a few passing expressions of +wonder. He was hushed in the splendour of the shawl gallery--where all +is solid oak and glass and rich gold, and where the wearied traveller +through the exciting scene of a _Grande Occasion_ at the marvellous +shops of the Louvre, can get a little rest and quiet. + +"A wonderful place!" said Pater, as he emerged in the Rue de Rivoli, +exhausted. + +"And much more sensible than the place opposite," his wife replied, +pointing to the palace where the art treasures of Imperial France are +imperially housed. + +"_Grande Occasion!_" muttered Mr. Cockayne, when he reached the +hotel--"a grand opportunity for emptying one's pocket. The cheapness is +positively ruinous. I wonder whether there are any cheap white elephants +in Paris?" + +"White elephants, Cockayne! White fiddlesticks! I do really think, +girls, your father is gradually--mind, I say, _gradually--gradually_ +taking leave of his senses." + +"La! mamma," unfortunate Carrie interposed, raising her eyes from a +volume on Paris in the Middle Ages--"la! mamma, you know that in +India----" + +"Hold your tongue, Miss--of course I know--and if I didn't, it is not +for _you_ to teach me." + +Mr. Timothy Cockayne heaved a deep sigh and rang for his bill. + +He was to leave for London on the morrow--and his wife and daughters +were to find lodgings. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN. + + +I Introduce at this point--its proper date--Miss Carrie Cockayne's +letter to Miss Sharp:-- + + "Grand Hôtel, Paris. + +"DEAREST EMMY--They are all out shopping, so here's a long +letter. I haven't patience with the men. I am sure we have had enough +abuse in our own country, without travelling all the way to Paris for +it; and yet the first paper I take up in the reading saloon of the +hotel, contains a paragraph headed _Le Beau Sexe en Angleterre_. The +paragraph is violent. The writer wants to know what demon possesses the +Englishwomen at this moment. I might have been sure it was translated +from an English paper. The creature wants to know whether the furies +are let loose, and is very clever about Lucretia Borgia, and Mary +Manning, and Mary Newell! One would think English mothers were all going +to boil their children. This is just what has happened about everything +else. In certain English circles slang is talked: therefore women have +become coarse and vulgar. The Divorce Court has been a busy one of late; +and scandals have been 'going round' as the American ladies in this +hotel say; therefore there are to be no more virtuous mothers and +sisters presently. Upon my word, the audacity of this makes my blood +boil. Here the ladies paint, my dear, one and all. Why, the children in +the Tuileries gardens whisk their skirts, and ogle their boy playmates. +Vanity Fair at its height is here--I am not going to dispute it. Nor +will I say papa is quite in the wrong when he cries shame on some of the +costumes one meets on the Boulevards. My dear, short skirts and grey +hair do _not_ go well together. I cannot even bear to think of +grand-mamma showing her ankles and Hessian boots! But what vexes and +enrages me is the injustice of the sudden outcry. Where has the slang +come from? Pray who brought it into the drawing-room? How is it that +girls delight in stable-talk, and imitate men in their dress and +manners? We cannot deny that the domestic virtues have suffered in these +fast days, nor that wife and husband go different ways too much: but are +we to bear all the blame? Did _we_ build the clubs, I wonder? Did you or +I invent racing, and betting, and gambling? Do _you_ like being lonely, +as you are, my dear? When women go wrong, who leads the way? The pace is +very fast now, and we _do_ give more time to dress, and that sort of +thing than our mothers did. I own I'm a heavy hand at pastry, and mamma +is a light one. I couldn't tell you how many shirts papa has. I should +be puzzled to make my own dresses. I hate needlework. But are we +monsters for all this? Papa doesn't grumble _very_ much. He has his +pleasures, I'm sure. He dined out four times the week we came away. He +was at the Casino in the Rue St. Honoré last night, and came home with +such an account of it that I am quite posted up in the manners and +costumes of _ces dames_, yes, and the _lower_ class of them. The mean +creature who has been writing in the _Saturday Review_ gives us no +benefit of clergy. We have driven our brothers out into the night; we +have sent our lovers to Newmarket; we have implored our husbands (that +is, _we_ who have got husbands,) not to come home to dinner, because we +have more agreeable company which we have provided for ourselves. Girls +talk slang, I know--perhaps they taught their brothers! I suppose mamma +taught papa to describe a woman in the _Bois_ as 'no end of a swell,' +and when he is in the least put out to swear at her. + +[Illustration: THE INFLEXIBLE "MEESSES ANGLAISES." + +_They are not impressionable, but they will stoop to "field sports."_] + +"Now, my dear, shall I give you _my_ idea of the mischief? Papa thinks I +go about with my eyes shut; that I observe nothing--except the bonnet +shops. I say the paint, the chignons, the hoops, and the +morals--whatever they may be--start from here. My ears absolutely +tingled the first evening I spent here _en soirée_. Lovers! why the +married ladies hardly take the trouble to disguise their preferences. + +"I was at an embassy reception the other night. Papa said it was like a +green-room, only not half so amusing. They talked in one corner as +openly as you might speak of the Prince Imperial, about Mademoiselle +Schneider's child. There were women of the company whose _liaisons_ are +as well known as their faces, and yet they were _parfaitement bien +reçues_! Theresa is to be heard--or was to be heard till she went out of +fashion--in private salons, screaming her vulgar songs among the young +ladies. When I turn the corner just outside the hotel, what do I see in +one of the most fashionable print-shops? Why, three great Mabille prints +of the shockingly indecent description--with ladies and their +daughters looking at them. Those disagreeable pictures in the Burlington +Arcade are, my dearest Emmy, moral prints when compared with them. We +have imported all this. Paris is within ten hours and a half of London, +so we get French ways, as papa says, 'hot and hot.'" + +[Illustration: ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE DE LILAS.--SHOCKING!] + +"Who admires domestic women now? Tell an English _crévé_ that Miss Maria +is clever at a custard, and he will sneer at her. No. She must be witty, +pert; able to give him as good as he sends, as people say. Young Dumas +has done a very great deal of this harm; and he has made a fortune by +it. He has brought the Casino into the drawing-room, given _ces dames_ a +position in society, and made hundreds of young men ruin themselves for +the glory of being seen talking to a Cora Pearl. _Now_ what do you think +he has done. He has actually brought out a complete edition of his +pieces, with a preface, in which, Papa tells me, he plays the moralist. +He has unfolded all the vice--crowded the theatres to see a bad woman in +a consumption--painted the _demi-monde--with a purpose_! All the world +has laboured under the idea that the purpose was piles of gold. But now, +the locker being full, and the key turned, and in the young gentleman's +pocket, he dares to put himself in the robe of a professor, to say it +was not the money he cared about--it was the lesson. He is a reformer--a +worshipper of virtue! We shall have the author of _Jack Sheppard_ start +as a penologist soon. My dear, the cowardice of men when dealing with +poor women is bad enough; but it is not by half so repulsive as their +hypocrisy. Ugh! + +"Any news of the handsome Mr. Daker? It strikes me, dear Emmy, 'Uncle +Sharp' didn't send him up from Maidstone with a letter of introduction +to his niece for nothing. + + "Your affectionate friend, + "CARRIE C." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +"OH, YES!" AND "ALL RIGHT!" + + +Lucy was privileged to read the following:-- + + _Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Emily Sharp._ + + "Rue Millevoye, Paris. + +"MY DEAREST EMMY,--I should certainly not venture to offer any +remarks on taste to you, my love, under ordinary circumstances. But I am +provoked. I have passed a severe round of _soirées_ of every +description. Jaded with the fantastic activities of a fancy-dress +genteel riot, I have been compelled to respond to the intimation of the +Vicomtesse de Bois de Rose, that "_on sautera_". I have jumped with the +rest. I have half killed myself with _sirops, petit-fours_, those +microscopic caricatures of detestable British preparation--sandwiches +(pronounced _sonveetch_), _bouillon_, and chocolate, in the small hours; +ices in tropical heats; _foie-gras_ and champagne about two hours after +healthy bedtime, and tea like that which provoked old Lady Gargoyle to +kick over the tea-table in her boudoir--in her eightieth year, too. The +Gargoyles (I shall have much to tell you about them when we meet) were +always an energetic race; and I feel the blood tingling in me while my +eye wanders over the impertinences of the French chroniqueurs, when they +are pleased to be merry at the expense of _la vieille Angleterre_. I +hold I am right; am I not?--that when even a chroniqueur--that smallest +of literary minnows--undertakes to criticize a foreign nation, at least +the equal of his own, he should start with some knowledge of its +language, history, manners, and customs. But what do we find? The +profoundest ignorance of the rudiments of English. The special +correspondent sent to London by the _Figaro_ to be amusing on our darker +side, cannot spell the word theatre; but he is trenchant when dealing +with what he saw at the Adelphi _Theater_. How completely he must have +understood the dialogue, he who describes Webster as a _comique de +premier ordre!_ In the same paper the dramatic critic, after explaining +that at the rehearsals of _L'Abime_, the actors, who continually are +complaining that they are ordered off on the wrong side, are quieted +with the information that matters dramatic are managed in this way in +bizzare England--prints in a line apart, and by way of most humorous +comment, these words, 'English spoken here.' Conceive, my dear, an +English humorous writer interlarding his picture of a French incident +with the occasional interjection of _Parlez-vous Français?_ Yet the +comic writers of Paris imagine that they show wit when they pepper their +comments with disjointed, irrelevant, and misspelt ejaculations in our +vernacular. We have a friend here (we have made dozens) who has a cat +she calls To-be--the godfather being 'To-be or not to be! 'All right' +appears daily as a witticism; 'Oh, yes!' serves for the thousandth time +as a touch of humour. The reason is obvious. French critics are wholly +ignorant of our language. Very few of them have crossed the Channel, +even to obtain a Leicester Square idea of our dear England. But they are +not diffident on this account. They have never seen samples of the +Britisher--except on the Boulevards, or whistling in the cafés--where +our countrymen, I beg leave to say, do not shine; and these to them are +representations of our English society. Suppose we took our estimate of +French manners and culture from the small shopkeepers of the Quartier +St. Antoine! My protest is against those who judge us by our vulgar and +coarse types. The Manchester bully who lounges into the Café Anglais +with his hat on the back of his head; the woman who wears a hat and a +long blue veil, and shuffles in in the wake of the _malhonnête_ to whom +she is married; again, the boor who can speak only such French as 'moa +besoin' and 'j'avais faim,' represent English men and women just as +fairly as the rude, hoggish, French egg-and-poultry speculators +represent the great seigneurs of France. + +[Illustration: SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK.] + +"I say I have, by this time, more than a tolerable experience, not only +of French _salons_, but also of those over which foreign residents in +Paris preside. I have watched the American successes in Paris of this +season, which is now closing its gilded gates, dismissing the slaves of +pleasure to the bitter waters of the German springs and gaming-tables. I +have seen our people put aside for Madame de Lhuile de Petrole and the +great M. Caligula Shoddy. The beauties of the season have been +'calculating' and 'going round' in the best _salons_, and they have +themselves given some of the most successful entertainments we have had. +Dixie's land has been fairyland. Strange and gorgeous Princesses from +the East have entered mighty appearances. One has captivated the Prince, +said to be the handsomest man in Paris. Russian and Polish great ladies +have done the honours--according to the newspapers--with their +'habitual charm.' The Misses Bickers have had their beauties sung by a +chorus of chroniqueurs. Here the shoulders of ladies at a party are as +open to criticism as the ankles of a stage dancer. The beauties of our +blonde Misses have made whole bundles of goose-quills tremble. Paris +society is made up not even chiefly of Parisians; the rich of all +nations flock to us, and are content to pay a few hundred pounds per +month for a floor of glass and gilding. The Emperor has made a show +capital as a speculation. All Europe contributes to the grandeur of the +fashionable world of Paris. And suddenly what do we hear? + +"That we, whose blood is good enough for England; who _can_ speak a few +foreign languages in addition to our own; who know our neighbours by +having lived among them; who have travelled enough to learn that good +breeding is not confined to England or to France, are accused of having +destroyed the high tone of the Opera audiences in this city. We are good +enough, as to manners, for Her Majesty's Theatre, but not for the +Italiens. Tell Mrs. Sandhurst of this: she will be _so_ mad! + +"A few nights before La Patti left us, to degrade herself by warbling +her wood-notes in the ignorant ears of the Opera public whom Mr. Gye is +about to assemble, and on whom the leadership of Costa is thrown away, +an unfortunate incident happened at the Italiens. Patti had been +announced, and Mdlle. Harris appeared instead. Whereupon there was an +uproar that could not be stilled. La Patti wept; la Harris wept also. +Finally, the spoilt child appeared, like Niobe, all tears. Who created +the uproar? The French chroniqueur answers: a cosmopolitan audience--an +audience from the Grand Hôtel. He is good enough not to pick us out, but +we are included with the rest. The foreign residents have degraded the +Opera. The audience which greets Patti is a rabble compared with that +which listened to Sontag. 'The exquisite urbanity which is proverbially +French,' and which was apparent at the Italiens fifteen or twenty years +ago, has disappeared since Paris has become the world's railway +terminus. M. Emile Villars, who is so obliging as to make the +observation, proceeds to be very clever. Scratch the Russian, and you +know what you will find. I answer, a gentleman uninfluenced by a stale +proverb; we have a delightful specimen in this very house. M. Villars is +great at scratching, since his readers are recommended to grate +Peruvians and Javanese. Under the three articles, we are told, lies the +one barbarous material! The ladies of these are charming, seductive, +irresistible, but they want _ton_, and lack the delicacy of the _monde_. +We foreigners are too proud of our beauty and our dollars, have an +unquenchable thirst for pleasure, and we are socially daring. M. Villars +is funny in the fashion of his class. He says that we English-speaking +class of foreigners bear aloft a banner with the strange device 'All +right.' M. Villars proceeds to remark, 'We take from foreigners what we +should leave to them, their feet upon chairs, and their hats upon +their heads, as at the Italiens the other night.' He finds that a +cosmopolitan invasion has made French society less delicate, less +gallant, less polite. + +[Illustration: JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.] + +"We are to blame! Belgravia is not refined enough for the Avenue de +l'Impératrice. Clapham, I infer, would not be tolerated at Batignolles. +I repeat, I have gone through some arduous times here, in the midst of +the foreign invasion of polite society. I have scratched neither Russ, +nor German, nor Servian, nor Wallachian. But I must be permitted to +observe, that I have found their manners quite equal to any that were +native. Shall I go further, Emmy, and speak all my mind? There is a race +of the new-rich--of the recently honoured, here, who are French from +their shoe-rosettes to their chignons. They come direct from the Bourse, +and from the Pereire fortune-manufactory of the Place Vendôme. They +bring noise and extravagance, but not manners. I have seen many of my +countrymen in Parisian drawing-rooms, in the midst of Frenchmen, +Russians, Princes of various lands; and, do you know, I have not seen +anything _much_ better in the way of bearing, manners, and mental +culture and natural refinement than the English gentleman. I feel quite +positive that it is not he who has lowered the manners or morals of +Napoleon the Third's subjects. I am bold enough to think that a +probationary tour through some of our London drawing-rooms would do good +to the saucy young seigneurs I see leaning on the balcony of the Jockey +Club when we are driving past. + +"I will remind M. Villars that his proverb has been parodied, and that +it has been said, 'Scratch a Frenchman, and you find a dancing-master.' +But I know this proverb to be foolish; and I am candid and liberal +enough to say so. + +"I hope you are not too lonely, and don't keep too much to your room. +Now I know by experience what life in a boarding-house means. How must +you feel, dearest Emmy, alone! Je t'embrasse. How gets on the German? + +"We have such a specimen of the gandin here--the Vicomte de Gars. I +think John Catt had better make haste over. + + "Yours affectionately, + + "CARRIE." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + _Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Sharp._ + + "Rue Millevoye. + +"My dearest Emmy,--No answer from you? How unkind! But still I continue +to give you my ideas of the moment from this. What do we want? A writer +in one of the frivolous sheets which are called newspapers on this side +of the Channel, has been giving himself great airs; looking out of his +window, with two or three touches of his pen he dismisses the poor women +who pass under his balcony, and closes the casement with the conviction +that woman's rights and wrongs are put away for another generation. +Foolish women! They are plentiful enough, and they muster in fair +numbers at the Wauxhall meetings which have been going on here, to the +infinite amusement of the superior creatures who drink absinthe, smoke +cigars, and gamble, hours after we silly things have gone to bed. I am +not writing to deny woman's weakness, nor her vanity, nor the ridiculous +exhibition she makes of herself when she takes to "orating"--as the +Yankees say--and lecturing, and dressing herself up in her brother's +clothes. Do you think, my dear Emmy, there are many women foolish enough +to applaud Dr. Mary Walker because she dresses like an overgrown +school-girl, and shows her trousers? What is she like in society? +Neither man nor woman. But how many have imitated her? How many women in +England, France, and America have taken to the platform? One would think +that all womankind was in a state of revolution, and about to make a +general descent upon the tailors and tobacconists, turning over the +lords of the creation to the milliners and the baby-linen warehouses. +This is just the way men argue, and push themselves out of a +difficulty. This French philosophical pretender, who has been observing +us from his window (I can't imagine where he lives), describes one or +two social monstrosities--with false complexions, hair, figure,--and +morals; brazen in manner, defiant in walk--female intellectual +all-in-alls. His model drives, hunts, orates, passes resolutions, +dissects--in short does everything except attend to baby. This she +leaves to the husband. He takes the pap-bowl, and she shoulders the gun. +He looks out the linen while she sharpens her razors. The foolish public +laugh all along the boulevards, and say what a charming creature a woman +will be when she drives a locomotive, commands a frigate, and storms a +citadel! + +"Every time a meeting is convened at the Wauxhall to consider how the +amount of female starvation or misery may be reduced, the philosopher +throws his window open again, and grins while he caricatures, or rather +distorts and exaggerates to positive untruth. M. Gill gets fresh food. +The _chroniqueurs_ invent a series of absurdities, which didn't happen +yesterday, as they allege. I am out of patience when I see all this +mischievous misrepresentation, because I see that it is doing harm to a +very just and proper cause. We are arguing for more work for our poor +sisters who have neither father, husband, brother, nor fortune to depend +upon; and these French comic scribblers describe us as unsexed brawlers, +who want top-boots. I want no manly rights for women. I am content with +the old position, that her head should just reach the height of a man's +heart; but I do see where she is not well used--where she is left to +genteel dependence, and a life in the darkest corner of the +drawing-room, upon the chair with the unsafe leg, over the plate that is +cracked, in the bedroom where the visitor died of scarlet fever. + +[Illustration: FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH. + +_The faithful Bouledogue gazes with admiration at the performance of his +Mistress._] + +[Illustration: THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS HOLDING ON BY THE TAIL +OF HER NEWFOUNDLAND.] + +"She is not unsexed wearing her poor heart out against these bars; but +she would be a free, bright, instructed creature, helping her rich +sister, or a trusty counsellor when the children are ill. She would be +unsexed issuing railway tickets or managing a light business; but she is +truly womanly while she is helpless and a burden to others. + +"Foolish women! Yes, very stupid very often, but hardly in hoping that +the defenceless among us may be permitted to become, by fair womanly +exertion, independent. I am directed to observe how amusing the _Figaro_ +has been recently at our expense, hoping to obtain the suffrages of the +really thoughtless of our sex thereby. We are our own worst enemies and +well do you men know it. The frivolous are an immense host, and these +have reason to laugh at serious women who want to get a little justice +and teaching for their dependent sisters--not manly avocations, nor +masculine amusements. I go to the Wauxhall, my dear Emmy, not to help my +sex to unsex itself, but, I must repeat, to aid my poor sisters who want +to work, that, if left without the support of male kindred, they may +lead honourable, independent lives; to this end they must have certain +rights, and these, and no more, I advocate. + +[Illustration: VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK. + +_The Parent Flower and two lovely Buds._] + +[Illustration: COMPATRIOTS MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION. + +_Bar-maids in the English Department recognising a fellow-countryman._] + +"You see, the old story is told over again. We beg a little +independence; and we are answered with ancient jests. You are quite as +unjust, and not so amusing or clever in your injustice in England. They +have not imitated the medical students in St. James's Hall at this +Wauxhall. We have seen no such monstrous spectacle as a host of young +men hooting and yelling at one poor, weak, foolish little woman in black +pantalettes. Truly, you must be as tired of the comic view of the +question as you are ashamed of your medical students. I know what the +highly-educated English ladies think on the subject. They detest the +orating, blustering, strangely-costumed advocates of woman's rights; but +don't fall into the common error of believing that they are not earnest +about many of the points we have been discussing here, in the midst of +this mocking race. Depend upon it, we are not foolish enough--fond as +you men are of crying 'foolish women!'--to unsex ourselves. + +"The woman who wants to get into Parliament is, to my thinking, a +monster; and I would sentence her to stocking-mending for life. The +creature who appears before men in black pantalettes, and other +imitations of his dress, should be rigorously held clear of decent +houses, until she had learned how to dress herself modestly and +becomingly. The Missy who talked about eating her way to the bar, I +would doom to the perpetual duty of cooking chops for hungry lawyers' +clerks. + +"But you will have had enough of this. + +"Not a word? and you promised so many. Somebody has whispered a name to +me. It is Charles. Is that true? I will never forgive you. + + "Ever yours, + "CARRIE." + +Emmy never answered, poor girl! + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE." + + +Lucy Rowe would have been fast friends with Carrie Cockayne during their +stay in her aunt's house, had Mrs. Cockayne, on the one hand, permitted +her daughter to become intimate with anything so low as "the people of +the house," and had Mrs. Rowe, on the other, suffered her niece to +"forget her place." But they did approach each other, by an irresistible +affinity, and by the easy companionship of common tastes. While +Sophonisba engaged ardently in all the doings of the house, and was a +patient retailer of its scandals; and while Mrs. Cockayne was busy with +her evening whist, and morning "looks at the shops"--quiet and retiring +Theodosia managed to become seriously enamoured of the Vicomte de Gars, +who visited Mrs. Rowe's establishment, as the unexceptionable friend of +the Reverend Horace Mohun. + +The young Vicomte was a Protestant; of ancient family and limited means. +Where the living scions of the noble stock held their land, and went +forth over their acres from under the ancestral portcullis, was more +than even Mrs. Rowe had been able, with all her penetrating power in +scandal, to ascertain. But the young nobleman was Mr. Mohun's +friend--and that was enough. There had been reverses in the family. +Losses fall upon the noblest lines; and supposing the Count de Gars in +the wine trade--to speak broadly, in the Gironde--this was to his +honour. The great man struggling with the storms of fate, is a glad +picture always to noble minds. Some day he would issue from his cellars, +and don his knightly plume once more, and summon the vulgar intruders to +begone from the Château. + +As for Mrs. Cockayne, to deny that she was highly contented at the +family's intimacy with a Viscount, would be to falsify my little +fragmentary chain of histories. She wrote to her husband that she met +the very best society at Mrs. Rowe's, extolled the elegant manners and +enclosed the photograph of the Vicomte de Gars, and said she really +began to hope that she had persuaded "his lordship" to pay them a visit +in London. "Tell Mrs. Sandhurst, my dear Cockayne, that I am sure she +will like the Vicomte de Gars." + +The Vicomte de Gars was a little man, with long wristbands. Miss +Tayleure described him as all eye-glass and shirt-front. Comic artists +have often drawn the moon capering on spider-legs; a little filling out +would make the Vicomte very like the caricature. He was profound--in his +salutations, learned--in lace, witty--thanks to the _Figaro_. His +attentions to Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and to Madame her mother, were of +the most splendid and elaborate description. He left flowers for the +young lady early in the morning. + +It was very provoking that Theodosia had consented to be betrothed to +John Catt of Peckham. + +"Carrie, my dear," Mrs. Cockayne observed, having called her daughter to +her bedroom for a good lecture, "once for all, I WILL NOT have +you on such intimate terms with the people of the house. What on earth +can you be thinking about? I should have thought you would show more +pride. I am quite sure the Vicomte saw you yesterday when you were +sitting quite familiarly with Miss Rowe in the bureau. I WILL +NOT have it." + +"Mamma dear, Lucy Rowe is one of the most sensible and, at the same +time, best informed girls I ever knew; and her sentiments are everything +that could be desired." + +"I will not be answered, Carrie; mind that. I wonder you haven't more +pride. A chit like that, who keeps the hotel books, and gives out the +sugar." + +"Her father was----" + +"Never mind what her father was. What is she? I wonder you don't +propose to ask her home on a visit." + +"She would not disgrace----" + +This was too much for Mrs. Cockayne. She stamped her foot, and bore down +upon Carrie with a torrent of reasons why Miss Rowe should be held at a +distance. + +"You wouldn't find Theodosia behaving in such a manner. She understands +what's becoming. I dare say she's not so clever as you are----" + +"Dear mamma, this is cruel----" + +"Don't interrupt me. No, no; I see through most things. This Miss Howe +is always reading. I saw her just now with some novel, I've no doubt, +which she shouldn't read----" + +"It was Kingsley's----" + +"Hold your tongue, child. Yes, reading, and with a pen stuck behind her +ear." + +"She's so very lonely: and Mrs. Howe is so very severe with her." + +"I have no doubt it's quite necessary; there, go and dress for the +table d'hôte, and mind what I say." + +Poor Lucy wondered what on earth could have happened that Carrie +Cockayne avoided her: and what those furtive nods of the head and stolen +smiles at her could mean? On the other hand, how had she offended Mrs. +Cockayne? Happily, Mrs. Rowe was on Lucy's side; for it had pleased Mrs. +Cockayne to show her social superiority by extravagant coldness and +formality whenever she had occasion to address "the landlady." One thing +Mrs. Cockayne admitted she could NOT understand--viz., Why Jane +the servant took so much upon herself with her mistress; and what all +the mystery was about a Mr. Charles, who seemed to be a dark shadow, +kept somewhere as far as possible in the background of the house. + +Mrs. Rowe, on her side, was amply revenged for Mrs. Cockayne's airs of +superiority, when Mr. Cockayne arrived in the company of Mr. John Catt, +the betrothed love of Theodosia. + +"You must be mad, Mr. Cockayne," was his wife's greeting directly they +were alone--"raving mad to bring that vulgar fellow John Catt with you. +Didn't you get my letters?" + +"I did, my dear; and they brought me over, and John Catt with me. I, at +least, intend to act an honourable part." + +"Perhaps you will explain yourself, Mr. Cockayne." + +"I have travelled from Clapham for that purpose. Who the devil is this +Viscount de Gars, to begin with?" + +Mrs. Cockayne drew herself up to her full height, and looked through her +husband--or meant to look through him--but just then he was not to be +cowed even by Mrs. Cockayne. + +With provoking coolness and deliberation over the exact relative +quantities, Mr. Cockayne mixed himself a glass of grog from his brandy +flask; while he proceeded to inform his wife that Mr. John Catt, who had +been engaged, with their full consent, to their daughter, had, at his +instigation, travelled to Paris to understand what all this ridiculous +twaddle about Viscount de Gars meant. + +"You will spoil everything," Mrs. Cockayne gasped, "as usual." + +"I don't know, madam, that I am in the habit of spoiling anything; but +be very certain of this, that I shall not stand by and see my daughter +make a fool of a young man of undoubted integrity and of excellent +prospects, for the sake of one of these foreign adventurers who swarm +wherever foolish Englishwomen wake their appearance. I beg you will say +nothing, but let me observe for myself, and leave the young people to +come to an understanding by themselves." + +In common with many Englishmen of Timothy Cockayne's and John Catt's +class, Theodosia's father at once concluded that the poor polite little +Vicomte de Gars was an adventurer, and that his coronet was pasteboard, +and his shirt studs stolen. Mr. John Catt distinguished himself on his +arrival by loud calls for bottled beer, the wearing of his hat in the +sitting-room, and by the tobacco-fumes which he liberally diffused in +his wake. + +When the little Vicomte made his accustomed appearance in the +drawing-room, after the table d'hôte, he offered the Cockayne ladies his +profoundest bows, and was most reverential in his attitude to Mr. +Cockayne, who on his side was red and brusque. As neither Mr. nor Mrs. +Cockayne could speak a French word, and Mr. John Catt was not in a +position to help them, and was, moreover, inclined to the most +unfavourable conclusions on the French nobleman, the presentations were +on the English side of the most awkward description. The demoiselles +Cockayne "fell a giggling" to cover their confusion; and the party would +have made a ridiculous figure before all the boarders, had not the +Reverend Horace Mohun covered them with his blandness. + +Mr. John Catt was not well-mannered, but he was good-hearted and +stout-hearted. He was one of those rough young gentlemen who pride +themselves upon "having no nonsense about them." He was downright in all +things, even in love-making. He took, therefore, a very early +opportunity of asking his betrothed "what this all meant about Monsieur +de Gars?" and of observing, "She had only to say the word, and he was +ready to go." + +This was very brutal, and it is not in the least to be wondered at that +the young lady resented it. + +I am, as the reader will have perceived, only touching now and then upon +the histories of the people who passed through Mrs. Rowe's highly +respectable establishment while I was in the habit of putting up there. +This John Catt was told he was very cruel, and that he might go; Mrs. +Cockayne resolutely refused to give up the delights and advantages of +the society of the Vicomte de Gars; the foolish girl was--well, just as +foolish as her mamma; and finally, in a storm that shook the +boarding-house almost to its respectable foundations, the Cockayne +party broke up--not before the Vicomte and Miss Theodosia Cockayne had +had an explanation in the conservatory, and Mrs. Cockayne had invited +"his lordship" to London. + +I shall pick up the threads of all this presently. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS. + + +Poor girl! she was timid, frightened. I saw at once that the man with +whom she was, and who packed her feet up so carefully in the travelling +rug in her state cabin, was not of her class. She could not have been +daintier in mien and shape than she appeared. Hands round and white as +pearls, feet as pretty as ever stole from a man's hand to the stirrup; a +sweet wee face, that had innocence and heart in it. Country bred, I +thought: nested in some Kentish village: a childhood amid the hops: +familiar with buttermilk and home-baked bread. + +Who has not been blessed by looking upon such an English face: ruddy on +the cheek, and white and pink upon the brow and neck: the head poised +upon the shoulders with a wondrous delicacy? Such girls issue from +honest Englishmen's homes to gladden honeymoon cottages, and perpetuate +that which is virtuous and courageous in our Saxon race. She lay muffled +in shawls, pillowed upon a carpet-bag, softened with his fur coat, +frightened about the sea, and asking every few minutes whether we were +near the port. + +He fell into conversation with me before we were clear of Folkestone +harbour. He was a travelled man, accustomed to do his journeying +socially, and not in the surly, self-contained, and selfish manner of +our countrymen generally. I confess--and it is a boldness, knowing all I +do know now--that I was drawn towards Daker at the outset. He had a +winning manner--just that manner which puts you on a friendly footing +with a stranger before you have passed an hour in his company. He began, +as though it was quite natural that we should become acquainted, in the +tone your neighbour at dinner assumes, although you are unacquainted +with his name. We were on an exact level: gentlemen, beyond fear or +reproach. I repeat emphatically, I liked Daker's manner, for it was easy +and polished, and it had--which you don't often get with much +polish--warmth. I was attracted by his many attentions to his young +wife. Who could be near her, and not feel the chivalry in his soul warm +to such a woman? But Daker's attentions were idiosyncrasies. While he +was talking to me at the cabin-door, he saw the fur coat slip, and +readjusted it. He divined when she wanted to move. He fanned her; and +she sought his eyes incessantly with the deep pure blue of hers, and +slaked her ever-thirsty love with long, passionate gazing. She took no +notice of me: he was all her world. + +Daker was in an airy humour--a man I thought without guile or care, +passing away from England to happy connubial times along the enchanting +shores which the Mediterranean bathes. We fell, as fellow-travellers +generally do, upon old stories of the ways of the world we had seen. He +had taken wider ranges than my duties had ever entailed on me. + +Autumn was cooling to winter; it was early November when we met. + +"I have been," he said, "killing time and birds pleasantly enough in +Sussex." + +Mrs. Daker overheard him, and smiled. Then we shifted carelessly, as far +as I was concerned, away. He continued-- + +"And now we're off on the usual tramp. My wife wants a warm winter, and +so do I, for the matter of that." + +"Nice?" I asked. + +A very decided "no" was the answer. + +"I shall find some little sleepy Italian country-place, where we shall +lay up like dormice, and just give King Frost the go-by for once. Are +you bound south?" + +"Only to Paris--as prosaic a journey as any cotton-spinner could +desire." + +"Always plenty to be done in Paris," Daker said; "at least I have never +felt at a loss. But it's a bachelor's paradise." + +"And a wife's," I interposed. + +"Not a husband's, you think?" Daker asked, turning the end of his +moustache very tight. "I agree with you." + +"I have no experience; but I have an opinion, which I have been at some +pains to gather--French society spoils our simple English women." + +"Most decidedly," said Daker. + +"They are too simple and too affectionate for the artificial, +diplomatic--shall I say heartless?--society of the salons. Their ears +burn at first at the conversation. They are presented to people who +would barely be tolerated in the upper circles of South Bank, St. John's +Wood." + +"You are right; I know it well," said Daker, very earnestly, but +resuming his normal air of liveliness in an instant. "It's a bad +atmosphere, but decidedly amusing. The _esprit_ of a good salon is +delicious--nothing short of it. I like to bathe in it: it just suits me, +though I can't contribute much to it. We Englishmen are not alert enough +in mind to hold our own against our nimble neighbours. We shall never +fence, nor dance, nor rally one another as they can. We are men who +don't know how to be children. It's a great pity!" + +"I am not so sure of that," was the opinion I uttered. "We should lose +something deeper and better. We don't enjoy life--that is, the art of +living--as they do; but we reach deeper joys." + +Daker smiled, and protested playfully-- + +"We are running into a subject that would carry us far, if we would let +it. I only know I wish I were a Frenchman with all my heart, and I'm not +the first Englishman who has said so. Proud of one's country, and all +that sort of thing: plucky, strong, master race of the world. I know it. +But I have seen bitter life on that side"--pointing to the faint white +line of Dover--"and I have enjoyed myself immensely on that"--pointing +to the growing height of Cape Grisnez. + +I thought, as he spoke, that he must be an ungrateful fellow to say one +word against the country where he had found the sweet little lady whose +head was then pillowed upon his rough coat. I understood him afterwards. +He started a fresh conversation, after having made a tender survey of +the wraps and conveniences of Mrs. Daker, who followed him with the deep +eyes as he returned to my side with his open cigar-case, to offer me a +cheroot. + +"Do you know anything of Amiens?" he said. "Is it a large place--busy, +thriving?" + +I gave him my impression--a ten-year old one. + +"Not a place a man could lose himself in, evidently," he joked; "and +they've been mowed down rather smartly by the cholera since you were +there." + +I could not quite like the tone of this; and yet what tenderness was in +the man when he turned to his young wife! "St. Omer, Abbeville, +Montreuil, and the rest of the places on the line, are dreary holes, I +happen to know. You have been to Chantilly, of course?" + +[Illustration: A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN] + +I had lost a round sum of money in that delightful place, where our +ambassador was wont to refresh himself after his diplomatic labours and +ceremonials. + +"I know the place," Daker went on; "I know Chantilly well. It wakes up a +curious dream of the long ago in my mind." + +"And Enghien?" + +"_Comme ma poche._" Daker knew his Enghien well--and Enghien was +profoundly acquainted with Daker. Daker appeared to be a man not yet +over his thirtieth year. He was fair, full-blooded, with a bright grey +eye, a lithe shapely build, and distinguished in air and movement +withal. There were no marks upon his face; his eyes were frank and +direct; his speech was firm and of a cheery ring; and emotions seemed to +come and go in him as in an unused nature. Yet his conversation, free +as it was, and wholly unembarrassed, cast out frequent hints at a +copious history and an eventful one, in which he had acted a part. I +concluded he was no common man, and that, until now, the world had not +treated him over well; albeit he had just received ample compensation +for the past in the girlish wife who had crept to his side, and who, the +swiftest runner might have read, loved him with all her soul. We all +pride ourselves on our skill in reading the characters of our +fellow-creatures. A man will admit any dulness except that which closes +the hearts of others to him. I was convinced that I had read the +character of Daker before we touched the quay at Boulogne: he was a man +of fine and delicate nature, whom the world had hit; who had been cheery +under punishment; and who had at length got his rich reward in Mrs. +Daker. I repeat this confession, and to my cost; for it is necessary as +part explanation of what follows. + +My conversation with Daker was broken by the call of a sweet +voice--"Herbert!" We were crossing the bar at the entrance of Boulogne +harbour. The good ship rolled heavily, and Herbert was wanted! When the +passengers crowded to the side, pressing and jostling to effect an early +landing, and the fishwives were scrambling from the paddles to the deck, +I came upon Daker and his wife once more. She glanced shyly and not very +good-humouredly at me, and seemed to say, "It was you who diverted the +attention of my Herbert from me so long." + +"Good morning," Daker said, meaning that there was an end of our +fortuitous intercourse, and that he should be just as chatty and +familiar with any man who might happen to be in the same carriage with +him between Boulogne and Paris. I watched him hand his wife into a +basket phaeton, smooth her dress, arrange her little parcels, satisfy +her as to her dressing-case, and then seat himself triumphantly at her +side, and call gaily to the saturnine Boulounais upon the box, "Allez!" +I confess that a pang of jealousy shot through me. It has been observed +by La Rochefoucauld that it is astonishing how cheerfully we bear the +ills of others; he might well have added that, on the other hand, it is +remarkable how we fret over the happiness of our neighbours. I envied +Daker when I saw him drive away to the station with the gentle girl at +his side; I knew that she was nestling against him, and half her illness +was only an excuse to get nearer to his heart. Why should I envy him? +Could I have seen through his face into his heart at that moment I +should have thanked God, who made me of simpler mould--a lonely, but an +honourable man. + +We were on our way to Paris in due time. At Amiens, where we enjoyed the +usual twenty minutes' rest, Daker offered me a light. I saw him making +his way to the carriage in which his wife sat, with a basket of pears +and some _caramels_. The bell rang, and we all hurried to our seats. I +remarked that, at the point of starting, there was an unusual stir and +noise on the platform. _Messieurs les voyageurs_ were not complete; +somebody was missing from one of the carriages. The station-master and +the guard kept up a brisk and angry conversation, which ended in an +imperious wave of the hand to the engine-driver. + +The guard and the commissioner (who travels in the interest of the +general vagrant public from London to Paris, making himself generally +useful by the way) shrugged their shoulders and got to their places, and +we went forward to Creil. Here the carriages were all searched +carefully. A lady was inquiring for the gentleman. My French companions +laughed, and answered in their native light manner; and again we were +_en route_ for Paris. Past Chantilly and Enghien and St. Denis we flew, +to where the low line of the fortifications warned us to dust ourselves, +fold our newspapers, roll up our rugs, and tell one another that which +was obvious to all--that we were in the centre of civilization once +more. + +It was dark; and I was hungry, and out of humour, and impatient. I had +fallen in with unsympathetic companions. That half-hour in the +waiting-room, while the porters are arranging the luggage for +examination, is trying to most tempers. I am usually free from it; but +on this occasion I had some luggage belonging to a friend to look after. +I was waiting sulkily. + +Presently the guard, the travelling commissioner, and half-a-dozen more +in official costume, appeared, surrounding a lady, who was in deep +distress. Had I seen a gentleman--fair, &c., &c.? I turned and beheld +Mrs. Daker. She darted at me, and I can never forget the look which +accompanied the question-- + +"You were with my husband on the boat. Where is he?" + +He was not among the passengers who reached Paris. We telegraphed back +to Creil, and to Amiens. No English traveller, who had missed his train, +made answer. We questioned all the passengers in the waiting-room; one +had seen the _blonde_ Englishman buying pears at Amiens; this was all we +could hear. I say "we," because Mrs. + +[Illustration: EXCURSIONISTS & EMIGRANTS. _Sketches in Paris_] + +Daker at once fastened upon me: she implored my advice; she narrated all +that had passed between her husband and herself while the train was +waiting at Amiens. He had begged her not to stir--kind fellow that he +was--he had insisted upon fetching fruit and sweetmeats for her. I +calmed her fears, for they were exaggerated beyond all reason. He would +follow in the next train; I knew what Frenchmen were, and they would not +remark a single traveller, unless he had some strong peculiarity in his +appearance, and her husband had a travelled air which was cosmopolitan. +He spoke French like a Frenchman, she told me; and he had proved, on the +boat, that he was familiar with its idioms. I begged her to get her +luggage, go to her hotel, and leave me to watch and search. What hotel +were they to use? She knew nothing about it. Her husband hadn't told +her, for she was an utter stranger to Paris. I recommended the Windsor +(I thought it prudent not to say Mrs. Rowe's); and she was a child in my +hands. She looked even prettier in her distress than when her happy +eyes were beaming, as I first caught sight of them, upon Herbert Daker. +The tears trickled down her cheek; the little white hands shook like +flower bells in the wind. While the luggage was being searched +(fortunately she had the ticket in her reticule), I stood by and helped +her. + +"But surely, madam, this is not all!" I remarked, when her two boxes had +been lightly searched. She caught my meaning. Where was her husband's +portmanteau? + +"Mr. Baker's portmanteau was left behind at Boulogne--there was some +mistake; I don't know what exactly. I----" + +At this moment she marked an expression of anxiety in my face. She gave +a sharp scream, that vibrated through the gloomy hall and startled the +bystanders. "Was madame ill? Would she have some _eau sucrée?_" She had +fainted! and her head lay upon my arm! + +Unhappy little head, why stir again? + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MRS. DAKER. + + +"You must come, my dear fellow. You know, when I promise you a pleasant +evening I don't disappoint you. You'll meet everybody. You dine with me. +_Sole Joinville_, at Philippe's--best to be had, I think--and a bird. In +the cool, the Madrid for our coffee, and so gently back. I'll drop you +at your door--leave you for an hour to paint the lily, and then fetch +and take you. You shall not say me nay." + +I protested a little, but I was won. I had a couple of days to spend in +Paris, and, like a man on the wing, had no particular engagements. + +We met, my host and I, at the _Napolitain_. He knew everybody, and was +everybody's favourite. Cosmo Bertram, once guardsman, then fashionable +saunterer wherever society was gayest, quietly extravagant and +sentimentally dissipated, had, after much flitting about the sunny +centres of the Continent, settled down to Paris and a happy place in the +English society that has agglomerated in the west of Napoleon's capital. +Fortunately for his "little peace of mind"--as he described a shrewd, +worldly head--he was put down by the dowagers, after some sharp +discussions of his antecedents, as "no match." There was the orphan +daughter of a Baronet who had some hundred and twenty a year, and tastes +which she hoped one day to satisfy by annexing a creature wearing a hat, +and a pocket with ten times that sum. She had thought for a moment of +Cosmo Bertram when she had enjoyed her first half-hour of his amusing +rattle; but she had been quickly undeceived--Bertram could not have +added a chicken to her broth, a pair of gloves to her toilette; so she +shut up the thing she called a heart, for lack of some fitter name, and +cruised again through the ominous gold rings of her glasses round the +_salons_, and hoped the growing taste for travel might send her some one +for annexation at last. + +"We're jigging on pretty much as usual," Bertram said at Philippe's. +"Plenty of scandal and plenty of reason for it. The demand creates the +supply--is that sound political economy?" + +"I am surprised that political economy, together with an intimate +acquaintance with hydrostatics, are not exacted in these mad examination +days from a queen's messenger; but I am not bound not to be a fool in +political economy, so I elect to be one." + +"Chablis?" + +"Ay; and about ice?" + +"My dear Q. M., when you have had a headache, has it ever fallen to your +lot to be in the company of a pretty woman?" + +"Else had I been one of the most neglected of men." + +"Well, she has fetched the Eau-de-Cologne, bathed your manly brow, and +then blown her balmy breath over your temples. That sweet coolness, my +dear fellow, is my idea of the proper temperature for Chablis." + +"It's a great bit of luck to pounce upon you, Bertram, when a man has +only a few hours to spend in Paris, after a year or two's absence. +Nearly upon two years have passed since I was here. Yes, November, +'62--now August, '64." + +"In that time, my dear Q. M., reputations have been made and lost by the +hundred. I have had a score of eternal friendships. You can run through +the matrimonial gauntlet, from courtship to the Divorce Court, in that +time. We used to grieve for years: now we weep as we travel; shed tears, +as we cast grain, by machinery. Two years! Why, I have passed through +half-a-dozen worlds. My bosom friend of '62 wouldn't remember me if I +met him to-morrow. I met old Baron Desordres, who has made such a +brilliant _fiasco_ for everybody except himself, yesterday; I knew him +in '62 with poor little Bartle, who lent him a couple of thousands. +Bartle died last month. In '62 Desordres and Bartle were inseparable. I +said to the Baron yesterday, 'You know poor little Bartle is dead.' The +Baron, picking his teeth, murmured, turning over the leaves of his +memory, '_Bartel! Bartel!_ I remember--_un petit gros, vrai?_' and the +leaves of the Baron's memory were turned back, and Bartle was as much +forgotten in five minutes as the burnt end of a cigarette. I daresay his +sisters are gone as governesses for want of the thousands the Baron ate. +Two years! Two epochs!" + +"I suppose so. While the light burns, and the summer is on, the moths +come out. Tragedy, comedy, and farce elbow each other through the rooms. +I have seen very much myself, for bird of passage. I took part in a +strange incident when I passed through last time." + +"Tell your story, and drink your Roederer, my dear Q. M." + +"Story! I want to get at the story. I travelled with a man and his wife +from Folkestone to Paris. On the boat he was the most attentive of +husbands; at the terminus he had disappeared. Poor woman in tears; fell +into my arms, sir, by Jove!" + +"No story!" cried Bertram, winking at the floating air-beads in his +glass. "No story! my good, simple Q.M. Egad! what would you have? Pray +go on." + +"Go on! I've finished. I was off in the afternoon by the Marseilles +mail. Of course, I did my utmost to find the husband. She went to the +Windsor; I thought it would be quiet for her. I went to the police, paid +to have inquiries kept up in all the hotels; and lastly, put her in +communication with a good business man--Moffum, you know; and left her, +a wreck of one of the prettiest creatures I have ever seen." + +"What kind of fellow was the husband? You got his name, of course?" + +"Daker--Herbert Daker. Man of good family. A most agreeable, taking, +travelled companion; light and bright as----" + +"The light-hearted Janus of Lamb," Bertram interrupted, his words +dancing lightly as the beads in his glass. + +The association of Daker with Wainwright struck me sharply. For how +genial and accomplished a man was the criminal! a stranger +conglomeration of graces and sins never dwelt within one human breast. I +was started on wild speculations. + +"I've set you dreaming. You found no clue to a history?" + +"None. She had been married three months to Daker. She was a poor girl +left alone, with a few hundreds, I apprehend. She would not say much. A +runaway match, I concluded. Not a word about her family. When I left +Paris, after dinner, he had made no sign. She promised to write to me to +Constantinople. I gave her my address in town. I told her Arthur's here +would reach me. But not a word, my dear boy. That woman had the soul of +truth in voice and look, or I never read Eve's face yet." + +"Ha! ha!" Bertram laughed. "I wish I had not got beyond the risk of +being snared by the un-gloving of a hand. You only pass through, I live +in Paris." + +"Paris or London, a heart may be read, if you will only take the +trouble. I shall never hear, in all human probability, what has become +of Mrs. Daker, or her husband; she may be an intrigante, and he a +card-sharper now; all I know, and will swear, is that she loved that man +to distraction then, and it was a girl in love." + +"And he?" + +Bertram's suspicions seemed to be fixed on Daker, whom he had never +seen; although I had described his eminently prepossessing qualities. + +"I can't understand why you should suspect Daker of villany, as I see +you do, Bertram." + +"I tell you he was a most accomplished, prepossessing villain, my dear +Q.M. Your upper class villains are always prepossessing. Manners are as +necessary to them as a small hand to a pickpocket." + +"Sharp, but unfair--only partly true, like all sweeping generalizations. +I think, as I hope, that the wife found the husband, and that they are +nestling in some Italian retreat." + +"And never had the grace to write you a word! No, no, you say they had +manners. That, at any rate, then, is not the solution of the mystery." + +Bertram was right here. Then what had become of Mrs. Daker? Daker, if +alive, was a scoundrel, and one who had contrived to take care of +himself. But that sweet country face! Here was a heart that might break, +but would never harden. + +"Mystery it must and will remain, I suppose." + +"One of many," was Bertram's gay reply. "How they overload these matches +with sulphur!" + +He was lighting his cigar. His phaeton was at the door. A globule of +Chartreuse; a compliment for the _chef_, a bow to the _dame de +comptoir_, and we were on our way to the Bois, at a brisk trot, for the +great world had cleared off to act tragedy and comedy by the ocean +shore, or the invalid's well, or the gambler's green baize. + +Bertram--one of that great and flourishing class of whom Scandal says +"she doesn't know how they do it, or who pays for it"--albeit a bad +match, even for Miss Tayleure, was, as I have said, in good English and +French society, and drove his phaeton. He was saluted on his way along +the Champs Elysées and by the lake, by many, and by some ladies who were +still unaccountably lingering in Paris. A superb little Victoria passed. +Bertram raised his hat. + +"An Irish girl," he said, "of superb beauty." + +At the Madrid we met a few people we knew; and, driving home, Bertram +saluted Miss Tayleure, who was crawling round the lake with her twin +sister, and was provoked to be recognised by a man of fashion in a hack +vehicle in the month of August. + +[Illustration: BOIS DE BOULOGNE.] + +"Charming evening they're having," said Bertram: "taking out their +watches every two minutes to be quite sure they shall get back within +the hour and a half which they have made up their minds to afford. +Beastly position!" + +"What! living for appearances?" + +"Just so; with women especially. Their dodges are extraordinary. +Tayleure would cheapen a penny loaf, and run down the price of a box of +lucifer matches. There's a chance for you! She would be an economical +wife; but then, my dear fellow, she would spend all the savings on +herself. Her virtue is like Gibraltar!" + +"And would be safe as unintrenched tableland, I should think." + +"Hang it!" Bertram handsomely interposed, "let us drop poor Tayleure. +She believes that her hour of happiness has to be rung in yet; and she +is always craning out of the window to catch the first silver echoes of +the bells. The old gentlewoman is happy." + +"Suppose you tell me something about your Irish beauty," I suggested. + +"Quite a different story, my good Q.M. Wait till I get clear of this +clumsy fellow ahead. So, so, gently. Now, Miss Trefoil; the Trefoil is a +girl whose success I can understand perfectly. To begin with--the girl +is educated. In the second place, she is, beyond all dispute, a +beautiful woman. There is not another pair of violet eyes in all +Paris--I mean in the season--to be matched with hers. Milk and +roses--nothing more--for complexion: and _no_ paint; which makes her +light sisters--accomplished professors of the art of _maquillage_--hate +her. A foot!" Bertram kissed the tip of his glove, by way of +description. "A voice that seems to make the air rich about her." + +"Gently, Bertram. We must be careful how we approach your queen, I see." + +"Not a bit of it. I am telling you just what you would hear in any of +the clubs. She has a liberal nature, my boy, and loves nobody, that I +can find, in particular. What bewitches me in talking to her is a sort +of serious background. I hate a woman all surface as I hate a flat +house. The Trefoil--queer name, isn't it?--can put a tremor in her voice +suddenly. The Trefoil has memories--a fact: something which she doesn't +give to the world, generous as she is. It is the shade to her abounding +and sparkling passages of light. Only her deep art, I dare say; but +devilish pleasant and refreshing when you get tired of laughing--gives a +little repose to facial muscles. The Trefoil has decidedly made a +sensation. At the races she was as popular as the winner. She must have +got home with a chariot full of money. Of course, when she bet, she +won--or she didn't pay. A pot of money is to be made on that system: and +the women, bless 'em, how kindly they've taken to it!" + +This kind of improving discourse employed us to my gate. Bertram dropped +me to return for "the painted lily" in an hour. + +I am no squeamish man, or I should have passed a wretched life. The man +who is perpetually travelling must bear with him a pliant nature that +will adapt itself to any society, to various codes of morals, habits of +thought, rules of conduct, and varieties of temperament. I can make +myself at home in most places, but least in those regions which the +progress of civilization, or the progress of something, has established +in every capital of Europe, and to the description of which the younger +Dumas has devoted his genius. The atmosphere of the _demi-monde_ never +delighted me. I see why it charms; I guess why it has become the potent +rival of good society; the reason why men of genius, scholars, +statesmen, princes, and all the great of the earth take pleasure in it, +is not far to seek; silly women at home are to blame in great part. This +new state of the body social is very much to be regretted; but I am not +yet of those who think that good, decent society--the converse of +honourable men with honourable women--is come or coming to an end. I am +of the old-fashioned, who have always been better pleased and more +diverted with the society of ladies than with that of the free graces +who allow smoke and indulge in it, and who have wit but lack wisdom. I +was not in high glee at the prospect of accompanying Cosmo Bertram to +his free dancing party. + +They are all very much alike. The fifteen sous basket, to use Dumas' +fine illustration, in Paris, is very like the Vienna, the Berlin, or the +London basket. The ladies are beautiful, exquisitely dressed, vivacious, +and, early in the evening, well-mannered. At the outset you might think +yourself at your embassy; at the close you catch yourself hoping you +will get away safely. Shrill voices pipe in corners of the room. "_On +sautera!_" People are jumping with a vengeance. The paint is disturbed +upon your partner's face. Pretty lips speak ugly words. _Honi soit qui +mal y pense;_ but then the gentleman is between two and three wines, and +the lady is rallying him because he has sense enough left to be a +little modest. A couple sprawl in a waltz. A gentleman roars a toast. +The hostess prays for less noise. An altercation breaks out in the +antechamber. Two ladies exchange slaps on the face, and you thank madame +for a charming evening. + +The next morning you are besieged, at your club, for news about +Aspasia's reception. She did the honours _en souveraine_; but it is +really a pity she will not be less attentive to the champagne. +Everything would have gone off splendidly if that little _diablesse_ +Titi had not revived her feud with Fanchette. You are not surprised to +hear that Aspasia's goods were seized this morning. The duke must have +had more than enough of it by this time, and has, of course, discovered +that he has been the laughing-stock of his friends for a long time past. +Over the absinthe tripping commentary Aspasia sinks from the Chasusée +d'Antin to the porter's lodge. A little _crévé_ taps his teeth with the +end of his cane, blinks his tired, wicked eyes, like a monkey in the +sun, through his _pince-nez_, and opines, with a sharp relish, that +Aspasia is destined to sweep her five stories--well. + +Pah! What kind of discourse is all this for born and bred gentlemen to +hold in these days, when the portals of noble knowledge lie wide open, +and every man may grace his humanity with some special wisdom of his +own! + +Bertram, a ribbon in his buttonhole, and arrayed to justify his fame as +one of the best-dressed men in Paris, came in haste for me. + +"We are late, my dear Q.M. This is not carnival time, remember. We jump +early." + +The rooms were--but I cannot be at the pains of describing them. The +reader knows what Sévres and Aubusson, St. Gobain, Barbédienne, +Fourdinois, Jeanseline, Tahan, and the rest, can do for a first floor +within a stone's throw of the Boulevard des Italiens. The fashion in all +its most striking aspects is here. The presents lie thick as autumn +leaves. The bonne says you might fill a portmanteau with madame's fans. +Bertram is recognised by a dozen ladies at once. The lady of the house +receives me with the lowest curtsey. No ambassadress could be more +_gracieuse_. The toilettes are amazing. It is early, after all Bertram's +impatience. The state is that of a duchesse for the present. Bertram +leaves me and is lost in the crowd. The conversation is measured and +orderly. The dancing begins, and I figure in the quadrille of honour. I +am giving my partner--a dark-eyed, vivacious lady--an ice, when I am +tapped upon the shoulder by Cosmo Bertram. Bertram has a lady on his +arm. He turns to her, saying-- + +"Permit me to present my friend to you, Madame Trefoil----" + +"What! Mrs. Daker!" I cried. + +Mrs. Daker's still sweet eyes fell upon me; and she shook my hand; and +by her commanding calmness smothered my astonishment, so that the +bystanders should not see it. + +Later in the evening she said--passing me in the crowd--"Come and see +me." + +I did not--I could not--next morning, tell Lucy nor Mrs. Rowe. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER. + + +I had an unfortunate friend at Boulogne in the year 1865--then and many +years before. He lived on the ramparts in the upper town; had put on +that shabby military air, capped with a naval _couvre-chef_ (to use a +Paris street word that is expressive, as street words often are), which +distinguishes the British inhabitant of Boulogne-sur-mer; and was the +companion of a group of majors and skippers, sprinkled with commercial +men of erratic book-keeping tendencies. He had lost tone. He took me to +his club; nothing more than a taproom, reserved to himself and men with +whom he would not have exchanged a cigar light in London. The jokes were +bad and flat. A laid-up captain of an old London boat--sad old rascal +was he!--led the conversation. Who was drunk last night? How did the +Major get the key into the lock? Who paid for Todger's last go? "My +word," said I, to my friend, who had liquored himself out of one of the +snuggest civil berths I know, "how you can spend your time with those +blackguards, surpasses my comprehension." They amused him, he said. He +must drink with them, or play whist with another set, whose cards--he +emphatically added, giving me to understand much thereby--he did not +like. It was only for a short time, and he would be quit of them. This +was his day dream. My friend was always on the point of getting rid of +Boulogne; everything was just settled; and so, buoyed with a hope that +never staled, death caught him one summer's afternoon, in the Rue +Siblequin, and it was the bibulous sea captain and the very shady major +who shambled after him, when he was borne through those pretty _Petits +Arbres_ to the English section of the cemetery. Wrecks of many happy +families lie around him in that narrow field of rest; and passing +through on my state errands, I have thought once or twice, what sermons +indeed are there not in the headstones of Boulogne cemetery. + +I was with my poor friend in the December of 1865. I was on way home to +pass a cheery Christmas with my own people--a luxury which was not often +reserved for me--and he had persuaded me to give him a couple of days. +It would have been hard to refuse Hanger, who had been gazing across +Channel so many weary months, seeing friends off whither he might not +follow; and wondering when he should trip down the ladder, and bustle +with the steward in the cabin, and ask the sailors whether we shall have +a fine passage. To see men and women and children crowding home to their +English Christmas from every corner of Europe, and to be left behind to +eat plum-pudding in a back parlour of an imitation British tavern, with +an obsolete skipper, and a ruined military man, whose family blushed +whenever his name was mentioned, was trying. Hanger protested he had no +sentiment about Christmas, but he nearly wrung my hand off when he took +leave of me. + +It was while we were sauntering along the port, pushing hard against a +blustering northerly wind, and I was trying to get at the truth about +Hanger's affairs, advising him at every turn to grasp the bull by the +horns, adopt strong measures, look his creditors full in the face--the +common counsel people give their friends, but so seldom apply in their +own instance--that we were accosted by a man who had just landed from +the Folkestone boat. He wanted a place--yes, a cheap place--where they +spoke English and gave English fare. Hanger hastened to refer him to his +own British tavern, and, turning to me, said, "Must give Cross a good +turn--a useful fellow in an emergency." + +I returned with Hanger to the tavern, much against my will; but he +insisted I should not give myself airs, but consent to be his guest to +the extent of some bitter ale. Cross's new client was before a joint of +cold beef, on the merits of which, combined with pickled onions, pickled +by the identical hands of Mrs. Cross, Cross could not be prevailed upon +to be quiet. + +"Not a bad bit of beef," said the stranger, helping himself to a +prodigious slice. "Another pint of beer." + +Cross carried off the tankard, and returned, still muttering--"Not bad +beef, I should think not--nor bad ale neither. Had the beef over from +the old country." + +The stranger brought his fist with tremendous force upon the table, and +roared--"That's right, landlord; that's it; stick to that." + +Cross, thus encouraged, would have treated the company to a copious +dissertation on the merits of British fare, had not the company chorused +him down with--"Now Cross is off! Cross on beef! Cross on beer!" + +In a furious passion Cross left the room, rowing that he would be even +with "the captain" before the day was over. Hanger considered himself +bound to ask the stranger whether he was satisfied with his +recommendation. + +"Couldn't be better, thankee," the stranger answered; "but the landlord +doesn't seem to know much about the place. New comer, I suppose?" + +"Was forty years ago," the old captain said, looking round for a laugh; +"but he doesn't go out of the street once a month." + +"I asked him where Marquise was, and be hanged if he could tell me. I +want to know particularly." + +The major glanced at the captain, and the captain at a third companion. +Was somebody wanted? Who was hiding at Marquise? + +"Thought every fool knew that," the captain said, in the belief that he +had made a palpable hit. + +"Every fool who lives in these parts, leastwise," the stranger retorted. +"Perhaps you'll direct me?' + +"Now, look you here, sir," the captain was proceeding, leisurely +emphasizing each word with a puff of tobacco smoke. + +But the stranger would not be patient. He changed his tone, and +answered, fiercely-- + +"I'm in no mind for fun or chaff. I've got d----d serious business on +hand; and if you can tell me how to get to Marquise, tell me straight +off, and ha' done with it--and I shall be obliged to you." With this he +finished his second tankard of ale. + +Hanger, feeling some responsibility about the man he had introduced, +approached him with marked urbanity, and offered his services-- + +"I know Marquise and Wimille." + +"Wimille! that's it!" the stranger cried. "Right you are. That's my +direction. This is business. Yes, between Marquise and Wimille." + +"Precisely," Hanger continued, as we proceeded towards the door. + +I heard the major growl between his teeth in our rear--"Hanger's got him +well in tow." + +I should have been glad to show the man his way, and leave him to follow +it; but Hanger, who could not resist an adventure, drew me aside and +said--"We may as well drive to Marquise as anywhere else. We shall be +back easily for the _table d'hôte_." The expedition was not to my taste; +but I yielded. The stranger was glad of our company, for the reason, +which he bluntly explained, that we might be of some use to him; for the +place was not exactly at Marquise nor at Wimille. We hired a carriage, +and were soon clattering along the Calais road, muffled to our noses to +face the icy wind. + +The stranger soon communicated his name, saying, "My name is Reuben +Sharp, and I don't care who knows it. Ask who Reuben Sharp is at +Maidstone: they'll tell you." + +Reuben Sharp was a respectable farmer--it was not necessary for him to +tell us that. He was a man something over fifty: sharp eyes, round head, +ruddy face, short hair flaked with white, which he matted over his +forehead at intervals with a flaming bandanna; a voice built to call +across a field or two; limbs equal to any country work or sport. In +short, an individual as peculiar to England as her chalk cliffs. When he +found that we knew something--and more than something--of the +hunting-field, and that I knew his country, including Squire Lufton, to +say nothing of the Lion at Farningham (one of the sweetest and most +charming hostelries in all England), he took me to his heart, and told +me his mission and his grief. + +"I don't know how I shall meet him," Reuben Sharp said; "I'm not quite +certain about myself. The man I'm going to see--this Matthew +Glendore--has done me and mine a bitter wrong. The villain brought +dishonour on my family. I knew he was in difficulties when he came into +our parts, and took two rooms in Mother Gaselee's cottage. But he was a +gentleman, every inch of it, in appearance. A d--d good shot; rode well; +and--you know what fools girls are!" + +I could only listen: any question might prove a most indiscreet one. +Hanger was not quite so sensitive. "Fools!" he cried--"they are +answerable for more mischief in the world than all the men and children, +and the rest of the animal creation put together." + +"And yet no man's worth a woman's little finger, if you know what I +mean," Reuben Sharp went on, struggling manfully to get clear expression +for the tumult of painful feeling that was in him. "They don't know what +the world is; you cannot make 'em understand. The best fall into the +hands of the worst men. She was the best, and he was the worst: the +best, that she was. And I sent him to her, where she was living like an +honest woman, and learning to be a lady, in London." + +"And who is this Matthew Glendore, whom you are going to see?" + +"The worst of men--the basest; and he's on his death-bed! and I'm to +forgive him! I! + +"Where is she? where is she, Glendore? for I know you through your +disguise." + +We stared at the farmer while he raved, lit his cigar, and then, in the +torrent of his passion, let it out again. As we dipped to the hollow in +which Wimille lay, passing carts laden with iron ore, Sharp became more +excited. + +"We cannot be far off now. He's lying at one of the iron-masters' +houses, half a mile beyond this Wimille. Let's stop: I must have some +brandy-and-water." + +Hanger joyfully fell in with this proposition, vowing that he was +frozen, and really could not stand the cold without, unless he had +something warm within, any longer. We alighted at the village cabaret, +and drew near the sweet-smelling wood fire, from which the buxom +landlady drove two old men for our convenience. I protested they should +not be disturbed; but they went off shivering, as they begged us to do +them the honour of taking up their post in the chimney-corner. + +We threw our coats off, and the grog was brought. The woman produced a +little carafon of brandy. + +"Tell her to bring the bottle," Sharp shouted, impatiently. "Does she +take us to be school girls? Let the water be boiling. Ask her--Does she +know anything of this Matthew Glendore?" + +The farmer mixed himself a stiff glass of brandy-and-water, while he +watched Hanger questioning the landlady with many bows and smiles. + +"Plenty of palavering," Sharp muttered; then shouted--"Does she know the +scoundrel?" + +"One minute, my friend," Hanger mildly observed, meaning to convey to +Sharp that he was asking a favour of gentlemen, not roaring his order to +slaves. "Permit me to get the good woman's answers. Yes; she knows +Monsieur Glendore." + +"Mounseer Glendore! She knows no good of him." + +"On the contrary," mildly pursued Hanger, sipping his grog, and nicely +balancing it with sugar to his taste--"on the contrary, my good sir, +she says he is a brave fellow--what she calls a _brave garçon_." + +"Doesn't know him then, Mounseer Glendore! I wonder how many disguises +he has worn in his life--how many women he has trapped and ruined! Ask +her how long he has been here?" + +The landlady answered--"Two years about the middle of next month." + +"And he has never left this since?" Sharp went on, mixing himself by +this time a second glass of brandy-and-water. + +The landlady had never been a day without seeing him. He came to play +his game of dominoes in the evening frequently. The dominoes exasperated +the farmer. He would as soon see a man with crochet needles. + +"D--n him!" Sharp shouted; "just like him." + +I now ventured to interfere. Reuben Sharp was becoming violent with +passion inflamed by brandy. The landlady was certain poor Monsieur +Glendore would never rise from his bed again. I said to +Sharp--"Whatever the wrong may be this man has done you, Mr. Sharp, pray +remember he is dying. He is passing beyond your judgment." + +"Is he? Passing from my grip, is he? No--no--Herbert Daker." + +Sharp had sprung from his chair, and was shaking his fist in the air. + +"Daker! Herbert Daker!" I seized Reuben Sharp by the shoulder, and shook +him violently. "What do you know about Herbert Daker?" + +Sharp turned upon me a face shattered with rage, and hissed at me. "What +do I know about him? What do _you_ about him? Are you his friend?" + +"I am not: never will, nor can be," was my reply. Sharp wrung my hand +till it felt bloodless. "Herbert Daker is Matthew Glendore--Mounseer +Glendore. When did you meet him?" + +"On the Boulogne steamer, about three years ago, when he was crossing +with his wife." + +"Then!" Sharp exclaimed, and again he took a draught of +brandy-and-water. + +At this moment Hanger, who had been talking with the landlady, joined +us, and whispered--"Be calm, gentlemen; this is a time for calmness. +Glendore is at hand--in a little cottage on Monsieur Guibert's works. +Madame says if we wish to see him alive, we had better lose no time. The +clergyman from Boulogne arrived about an hour ago, and is with him now. +His wife!----" + +"His wife!" Sharp was now a pitiable spectacle. He finished his glass, +and caught Hanger by the collar of his coat--staring into his face to +get at all the truth. "Glendore's wife!" + +Hanger was as cool as man could be. He disengaged himself deliberately +from the farmer's grip, put the table between them, and went smoothly on +with the further observation he had to make! + +"I repeat, according to the landlady, whose word we have no reason to +doubt, his wife is with him--and his mother!" + +Sharp struck the table and roared that it was impossible. I stood in +hopeless bewilderment. + +"Would it be decent to intrude at such a moment?" + +"Decent!" Sharp was frantically endeavouring to button up his coat. + +"D--n it, decent! Which is the way? My girl--my poor girl!" + +"Show him," I contrived to say to Hanger, and he took the landlady's +directions, while I passed my arm through Reuben Sharp's. We stumbled +and blundered along in Hanger's footsteps, round muddy corners, past +heaps of yellow ore, Sharp muttering and cursing and gesticulating by +the way. We came suddenly to a halt at the little green door of a +four-roomed cottage. + +"Knock! knock!" Sharp shouted, pressing with his whole weight against +the door. "Let me see her!--the villain!--Mounseer Glendore!--No, no, +Herbert Daker!" + +The power of observation is at its quickest in moments of intense +excitement. I remember looking with the utmost calmness at Sharp's face +and figure, as he stood gasping before the door of Herbert Daker's +lodging. It was the head of a satyr in anger. + +"Daker--Herbert Daker!" Sharp cried. + +The door was suddenly thrown open, and an English clergyman, unruffled +and full of dignity, stood in the entrance. Sharp was a bold, untutored +man; but he dared not force his way past the priest. + +"Quiet, gentlemen--be quiet. Step in--but quiet--quiet." + +We were in the chamber of Matthew Glendore in a moment. A lady rose from +the bedside. Humble, and yet stately, a white face with red and swollen +eyelids, eyes with command in them. We were uncovered, and in an instant +wholly subdued. + +"My child--my girl!" Reuben Sharp moaned. + +The clergyman approached him, and laid his hand upon him. + +"Whom do you want?" + +"Mrs. Daker--my--" + +The pale lady, full of grief, advanced a step, and looking full in the +face of Reuben Sharp, said, "I, sir, am Mrs. Daker." + +I had never seen that lady before. + +"You!" Sharp shouted, shaking with rage. + +But the minister firmly laid his hand upon him now, saying, "Hush! in +the chamber of death! His mother is at his bedside; spare her." + +At this, a little figure with a ghastly face rose from the farther side +of the bed. + +"Mrs. Rowe!" I cried. + +She had not the power left to scream; and her head fell heavily upon the +pillow of the dying man. + +"Enough, enough!" the clergyman said with authority--closing the door of +the chamber wherein Herbert Daker, the "Mr. Charles" of the Rue +Millevoye, lay dead! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE CASTAWAY. + + +Cosmo Bertram was at a very low ebb. No horse. Had moved off to +Batignolles. Had not been asked to the Embassy for a twelvemonth. When +he ventured into the Tuileries gardens in the afternoon, it somehow +happened that the backs of the ladies' chairs were mostly turned towards +him. He was still dapper in appearance; but a close observer could see a +difference. Management was perceptible in his dress. He had no watch; +but the diamond remained on his finger--for the present; and yet society +had nothing seriously compromising to say against him. It was rumoured +that he had seen the interior of Clichy twice. So had Sir Ronald, who +was now the darling of the Faubourg; but then, note the difference. Sir +Ronald had re-issued with plenty of money--or credit, which to society +is the same thing; while poor Bertram had stolen down the hill by back +streets to Batignolles, where he had found a cheap nest, and whence he +trudged to his old haunts with a foolish notion that people would +believe his story about a flying visit to England, and accept his +translation to Batignolles as a sanitary precaution strongly recommended +by his physician. If society be not yet civilized enough to imitate the +savages, who kill the old members of the community, it has studied the +philosophy of the storks in Jutland, who get rid of their ailing, feeble +brother storks, at the fall of the year. Bertram was a bird to be pecked +to pieces, and driven away from the prosperous community, being no +longer prosperous. + +First among the sharp peckers was Miss Tayleure, who always had her +suspicions of Captain Bertram, although she was too good-natured to say +anything. The seasons had circled three or four times since she had had +the honour of being introduced to the gentleman, and yet the lady was +waiting to see what the improved facilities for travel might bring her +in the matrimonial line. She had, her dearest friends said, almost made +up her mind to marry into commerce. + +"Poor Tayleure!" one of the attachés said, at the Café Anglais, over his +Marennes oysters, after the opera; "doomed to pig-iron, I'm afraid. Must +do it. Can't carry on much longer. Another skein of false hair this +season, by Jove." + +In a society so charmingly constituted, the blows are dealt with an +impartial hand; and it is so mercifully arranged, that he who is +doubling his fist seldom feels the blow that is falling upon his own +back. It was a belief which consoled the poor Baronet's orphan through +her dreary time at the boarding-house--that, at least, she was free from +damaging comment. Her noble head was many inches out of water; the +conviction gave her superb confidence when she had to pass an opinion +on her neighbour. + +Two old friends of Cosmo Bertram are lounging in the garden of the +Imperial Club. + +"Hasn't old Tayleure got her knife into Bertram! Poor dear boy. It's all +up with him. Great pity. Was a capital fellow." + +"Don't you know the secret? The old girl had designs on Bertram when he +first turned up; and the Daker affair cast her plot to the winds. Mrs. +Daker, you remember, was at old Tayleure's place--Rue d'Angoulême!" + +"A pretty business that was. But who the deuce was Daker?" + +"Bad egg." + +The threads of this story lay in a tangle--in Paris, in Boulogne, and in +Kent! I never laboured hard to unravel them; but time took up the work, +and I was patient. Also, I was far away from its scenes, and only passed +through them at intervals--generally at express speed. It so happened, +however, that I was at hand when the crisis and the close came. + +Mrs. Daker was living in a handsome apartment when I called upon her on +the morrow of the ball. She wept passionately when she saw me. She +said--"I could have sunk to the earth when I saw you with Bertram--of +all men in the world." I could get no answers to my questions save that +she had heard no tidings of her husband, and that she had never had the +courage to write to her father. Plentiful tears and prayers that I would +forget her; and never, under any temptation, let her people, should I +come across them, know her assumed name, or her whereabouts. I pressed +as far as I could, but she shut her heart upon me, and hurried me away, +imploring me never to return, nor to speak about her to Cosmo Bertram. +"He will never talk about me," she added, with something like scorn, and +something very like disgust. + +I left Paris an hour or two after this interview; and when I next met +Bertram--at Baden, I think, in the following autumn--great as my +curiosity was, I respected Mrs. Baker's wish. He never touched upon the +subject; and, since I could not speak, and my suspicions affected him in +a most painful manner, I did not throw myself in his way, nor give him +an opportunity of following me up. Besides, he was in a very noisy, +reckless set, and was, I could perceive before I had talked to him ten +minutes, on the way to the utter bad. When I remembered our conversation +about Daker, his light, airy, unconcerned manner, and the consummate +deceit which effectually conveyed to me the idea that he had never heard +the name of Daker, I was inclined to turn upon him, and let him know I +was not altogether in the dark. Again, at the ball, he had carried off +the introduction to Mrs. Trefoil with masterly coolness, making me a +second time his dupe. Had we met much we should have quarrelled +desperately; for I recollected the innocent English face I had first +seen on the Boulogne boat, and the unhappy woman who had implored me +not to speak her name to him. The days follow one another and have no +resemblance, says the proverb. I passed away from Baden, and Bertram +passed out of my mind. I had not seen him again when I spent those +eventful few days at Boulogne with Hanger. + +Another year had gone, and I had often thought over the death scene of +Daker, and Sharp's trudges about Paris in search of his niece. I could +not help him, for I was homeward bound at the time, and shortly +afterwards was despatched to St. Petersburg. But I gave him letters. +There was one hope that lingered in the gloom of this miserable story; +perhaps Mrs. Daker had won the love of some honest man, and, emancipated +by Daker's deceit and death, might yet spend some happy days. And then +the figure of Cosmo Bertram would rise before me--and I knew he was not +the man to atone a fault or sin by a sacrifice. + +I was in Paris again at the end of 1866. I heard nothing, save that +Sharp had returned home, having tried in vain to find the child to whom +he had been a father since the death of his brother. He had identified +her as Mrs. Trefoil; he had discovered that shame had come upon her and +him; and he had made out the nature of the relations between his niece +and Captain Cosmo Bertram. But Captain Bertram was not in Paris; Mrs. +Trefoil had disappeared and left no sign. So many exciting stories float +about Paris in the course of a season, that such an event as the +appearance of a Kentish farmer in search of Mrs. Daker, afterwards Mrs. +Trefoil, and the connexion of Captain Bertram with her name, is food for +a few days only. This is a very quiet humdrum story, when it is compared +with the dramas of society, provincial and Parisian, which the _Gazette +des Tribunaux_ is constantly presenting to its readers. + +When I reached Paris it was forgotten. Miss Tayleure had moved off to +Tours--for economy some said; to break new ground, according to others. +There had been diplomatic changes. The English society had received +many accessions, and suffered many secessions. I went to my old haunts +and found new faces. I was met with a burst of passionate tears by Lucy +Rowe, end honest Jane, the servant. Mrs. Rowe was lying, with all her +secrets and plots, in Père Lachaise--to the grief, among others, of the +Reverend Horace Mohun, who would hardly be comforted by Lucy's handsome +continuance of the buttered toast and first look at the _Times_. Lucy, +bright and good Lucy, had become queen and mistress of the +boarding-house--albeit she had not a thimbleful of the blood of the +Whytes of Battersea in her veins. But of the Rue Millevoye presently. + +I came upon Bertram by accident by the Montmartre cemetery, whither I +had been with a friend to look at a new-made grave. As I have observed, +Bertram had reached a very low ebb. He avoided his old thoroughfares. He +had discovered that all the backs of the Tuileries chairs were towards +him. Miss Tayleure had had her revenge before she left. He had heard +that "the fellows were sorry for him," and that they were not anxious to +see him. The very waiters in his café knew that evil had befallen him, +and were less respectful than of old. No very damaging tales, as I have +said, were told against him; but it was made evident to him that Paris +society had had enough of him for the present, and that his comfortable +plan would be to move off. + +Cosmo Bertram had moved off accordingly; and when I met him at +Montmartre he had not been heard of for many months. I should have +pushed on, but he would not let me. A man in misfortune disarms your +resentment. When the friend who has been always bright and manly with +you, approaches with a humble manner, and his eyes say to you, while he +speaks, "Now is not the time to be hard," you give in. I parted with my +fellow-mourner, and joined Bertram, saying coldly--"We have not met, +Bertram, for many months--it seems years. What has happened?" + +The man's manner was completely changed. He talked to me with the cowed +manner of a conscious inferior. He was abashed; as changed in voice and +expression as in general effect. + +"Ruin--nothing more," he answered me. + +"Baden--Homburg, I suppose?" + +"No; tomfoolery of every kind. I'm quite broken. That friend of yours +didn't recognise me, did he?" + +"Had never seen you before, I'm quite sure." + +I took him into a quiet café and ordered breakfast. His face and voice +recalled to me all the Daker story; and I felt that I was touching +another link in it. He avoided my eye. He grasped the bottle greedily, +and took a deep draught. The wine warmed him, and loosed "the jesses of +his tongue." He had a long tale to tell about himself! He disburdened +his breast about Clichy; of all the phases of his decline from the +fashionable man in the Bois to the shabby skulker in the _banlieue_, he +had something to say. He had been everybody's victim. The world had been +against him. Friends had proved themselves ungrateful, and foes had +acted meanly. Nobody could imagine half his sufferings. While he dwelt +on himself with all the volubility and wearying detail of a wholly +selfish man, I was eager to catch the least clue to a history that +interested me much more deeply than his; and in which I had good reason +to suspect he had not borne an honourable part. The gossips had +confirmed the fears which Mrs. Daker had created. I had picked up scraps +here and there which I had put together. + +"I am obliged to keep very dark, my dear Q.M.," Bertram said at last, +still dwelling on the inconvenience to himself. "Hardly dare to move out +of the quarter. Disgusting bore." + +"A debt?" I asked. + +"Worse." + +"What then, an entanglement; the old story, petticoats?" + +"Precisely. To-day I ought to be anywhere but here; the old boy is over, +or will be, in a few hours." + +The whole story was breaking upon me; Bertram saw it, and my manner, +become icy to him, was closing the sources upon me. I resolved to get +the mystery cleared up. I resumed my former manner with him, ordered +some Burgundy, and entreated him to proceed. + +"You remember," he said, "your story about the girl you met travelling +with her husband on the Boulogne boat--Mrs. Daker." His voice fell as he +pronounced the name. "I deceived you, my dear Q. M., when I affected +unconcern and ignorance." + +"I know it, Bertram," was my answer. "But that is unimportant: go on." + +"I met Mrs. Daker at her hotel, very soon after she arrived in Paris. +She talked about you; and I happened to say that I knew you. We were +friends at once." + +"More than friends." + +"I see," Bertram continued, much relieved at finding his revelation +forestalled in its chief episodes; "I see there is not much to tell +you. You are pretty well posted up. I cannot see why you should look so +savage; Mrs. Daker is no relation of yours." + +"No!" I shouted, for I could not hold my passion--"had she been----" + +"You would have the right to call me to account. As it is," Bertram +added, rising, "I decline to tell you more, and I shall wish you +good-day." + +After all Bertram was right; I had no claim to urge, no wrong to +redress. Besides, by my hastiness, I was letting the thread slip through +my fingers. + +"Sit down, Bertram; you are the touchiest man alive. It is no concern of +mine, but I have seen more than you imagine--I have seen Daker; I have +been with Sharp." + +Bertram grasped my arm. + +"Tell me all, then; I must know all. You don't know how I have suffered, +my dear Q. M. Tell me everything." + +"First let me ask you, Bertram, have you been an honourable man to Mrs. +Daker?" + +"Explain yourself." + +"Where is she? Her uncle has broken his heart!" + +"All I need say is, that she is with me, and that it is I who have +sacrificed almost my honour in keeping her with me, after----" + +I understood the case completely now. + +"You found the prey at the right moment, Bertram. Poor forsaken woman! +You took it; you lost it; it falls into your hands again--broken unto +death." + +"Unto death!" Bertram echoed. + +I related to him my adventure in Boulogne; and when I came to Baker's +end, and his bigamy, Bertram exclaimed-- + +"The villain! My dear Q. M., I loved--I do love her; she might have been +my wife. The villain!" + +"You say she is with you, Bertram. Where? Can I see her?" + +"You cannot, she's very ill So ill, I doubt----" + +"And you are here, Bertram?" + +"Her uncle--Sharp--is with her by this time. She implored me not to be +in the way. There would be a row, you know, and I hate rows." + +It was Bertram to the last. _He_ hated rows! I suddenly turned upon him +with an idea that flashed through my mind. + +"Bertram, you owe this poor woman some reparation. You love her, you +say--or have loved her." + +"Do love her now." + +"She is a free woman; indeed, poor soul, she has always been. Marry +her--take her away--and get to some quiet place where you will be +unknown. You will be happy with her, or I have strangely misread her." + +"Can't," Bertram dolefully answered. "Not a farthing." + +"I'll help you." + +Bertram grasped my hand. His difficulty was removed. + +I continued rapidly, "Give me your address. I'll see Sharp, and, if they +permit me, Mrs. Daker. Let us make an effort to end this miserable +business well. You had better remain behind till I have settled with +Sharp." + +Bertram remained inert, without power of thinking or speaking, in his +seat. I pushed him, to rouse him. "Bertram, the address--quick." + +"Too late, my dear Q. M.--much too late. She's dying--I am sure of it." + +The address was 102 in the next street to that in which we had been +breakfasting. I hurried off, tearing myself, at last, by force from +Bertram. I ran down the street, round the corner, looking right and left +at the numbers as I ran. I was within a few doors of the number when I +came with a great shock against a man, who was walking like myself +without looking ahead. I growled and was pushing past, when an iron grip +fell upon my shoulder. It was Reuben Sharp. He was so altered I had +difficulty in recognising him. At that moment he looked a madman; his +eyes were wild and savage; his lips were blue; his face was masked by +convulsive twitches. + +"I was running to see you. Come back," I said. + +"It's no use--no use. They can ill-treat her no more. My darling Emmy! +It's all over--all over--and you have been very kind to me." + +The poor man clapped his heavy hands upon me like the paws of a lion, +and wept, as weak women and children weep. + +Yea, it was all over. + +It was on New Year's Day, 1867, I supported Reuben Sharp, following a +hearse to the cemetery hard by. Lucy Rowe accompanied us--at my urgent +request--and her presence served to soften and support old Reuben's +honest Kentish heart in his desolate agony. As they lowered the coffin a +haggard face stretched over a tomb behind us. Sharp was blinded with +tears, and did not see it. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE FIRST TO BE MARRIED. + + +It will happen so--and here is our moral--the bonnets of Sophonisba and +Theodosia, bewitching as they were, and archly as these young ladies +wore them, paling every toilette of the Common, were not put aside for +bridal veils. Carrie, who was content with silver-grey, it was who +returned to Paris first, sitting at the side of the writer of the +following letters, sent, it is presumed, to his bachelor friend:-- + + + "Paris, 'The Leafy Month of June.' + +"MY DEAR MAC,--I will be true to my promise. I will give you +the best advice my experience may enable me to afford you. Friendship is +a sacred thing, and I will write as your friend. Only ten days ago +Caroline murmured those delicious sounds at the altar, which announce a +heaven upon earth to man. I see you smile, you rogue, as you read this, +but I repeat it--that announce a heaven upon earth to man. + +"Some men take a wife carelessly, as they select a dinner at their club, +as though they were catering only to satisfy the whim of the hour. +Others adopt all the homely philosophy of Dr. Primrose, and reflect how +the wife will wear, and whether she have the qualities that will keep +the house in order. Others, again, are lured into matrimony by the +tinkling of the pianoforte, or the elaboration of a bunch of flowers +upon a Bristol board. Remember Calfsfoot. His wife actually fiddled him +into the church. Was there ever an uglier woman? Two of her front teeth +were gone, and she was bald. Fortunately for her, Beauty draws us with a +single hair, or she had not netted Calfsfoot. Now what a miserable time +he has of it. She is a vixen. You know what fiddle-strings are made of; +well, I'm told she supplies her own. But why should I dwell on +infelicitous unions of this kind? It was obvious to every rational +creature from the first--and to him most concerned--that Mrs. Calfsfoot +would fiddle poor C. into a lunatic asylum. And if he be not there yet, +depend upon it he's on the high road. + +"Between Mrs. Calfsfoot and my Caroline (you should have seen her +hanging upon my shoulder, her auburn ringlets tickling my happy cheek, +begging me to call her Carrie!)--between Mrs. Calfsfoot and my Carrie, +then, what a contrast! As I sat last evening in one of the shady nooks +of the Bois de Boulogne, watching the boats, with their coloured lights, +floating about the lake, my Carrie's hand trembling like a caught bird +in mine, I thought, can this sweet, amiable, innocent creature have +anything in common with that assured, loud-voiced, pretentious Mrs. +Calfsfoot. Calfsfoot told me that he was very happy during the +honeymoon. But, then, people's notions of happiness vary, and I cannot +for the life of me conceive how a man of Calfsfoot's sense--for he has +sound common sense on most points--could have looked twice at the +creature he took to his bosom. I have heard of people who like to nurse +vipers; can friend C. be of this strange band? Now, I am +happy--supremely happy, I may say, because I honestly believe my Carrie +to be the most adorable creature on the face of God's earth. A man who +could not be happy with her would not deserve felicity. You should see +her at the breakfast-table, in a snow-white dress, with just a purple +band about her dainty waist, handling the cups and saucers! The first +time she asked me whether I would take two lumps of sugar (I could have +taken both of them from her pretty lips, and I'll not say whether I did +or did not), was one of those delicious moments that happen seldom, +alas, in the chequered life of man. And then, when she comes tripping +into the room after breakfast, in her little round hat, and, putting +her hand upon my shoulder, asks me in the most musical of voices whether +I have finished with my paper, and am ready for a walk, I feel ashamed +that I have allowed myself to distract my attention even for ten minutes +from her charming self, to read stupid leading articles and wretched +police cases. But men are utterly without sentiment. Reading the _Times_ +in the honeymoon! I wonder how the delightful creatures can give us two +minutes' thought. Carrie, however, seems to live only for your unworthy +humble servant. Shall I ever be worthy of her? Shall I ever be worthy of +the glorious sky overhead, or of the flowers at my feet? My dear Mac, I +feel the veriest worm as I contemplate this perfect creature, who, with +that infinite generosity which belongs to goodness and beauty, has sworn +to love, honour, and obey me. That she loves me I know full well; that +she obeys my lightest wish, I allow, on my knees. But how shall she +honour me? To all this you will answer, puffing your filthy pipe the +while, 'Tut! he has been married only ten short days!" + +"My dear Mac, life is not to be measured by the hour-glass. There are +minutes that are hours, there are hours that are years, there are years +that are centuries. Again, some men are observant, and some pay no +better compliment to the light of day than moles. You did me the honour +of saying one evening, when we were having a late cigar at the Trafalgar +(we should have been in bed hours before), that you never knew a more +quick-sighted man, nor a readier reader of the human heart than the +individual who now addresses you. It would ill become me to say that you +only did me justice; but permit me to remark, that having closely +watched myself and compared myself with others, for years, I have come +to the conclusion that I am blessed with a rapid discernment. Before +Mrs. Flowerdew (I have written the delightful name on every corner of my +blotting-paper) honoured me with her hand, I brought this power to bear +on her incessantly. Under all kinds of vexatious circumstances I have +been witness of her unassailable good temper. I have seen her wear a new +bonnet in a shower of rain. These clumsy hands of mine have spilled +lobster-salad upon her dress. That little wretch of a brother of hers +has pulled her back hair down. Her sister Sophonisba has abused her. +Still has she been mild as the dove! + +"Then, her common sense is astonishing. She says any woman can manage +with three bonnets and half-a-dozen good dresses. I wanted to buy her a +bracelet the other day, price ten guineas. 'No,' she answered; 'here is +one at only six guineas, quite good enough for me in our station of +life;' and the dear creature was content with it. + +"As for accomplishments, she may vie with any fine lady in the land. +Last night she played me a piece from Mendelssohn, and her little hands +danced like lightning about the keys. It was rather long, to be sure; +but I could not help stealing from behind her and kissing the dear +fingers when it was over. + +"She has written some exquisite verses, much in the style of Byron--a +poet not easily imitated, you will remember. She has read every line of +Thackeray; and during one of our morning walks, she proved to me, who am +not easily moved from my point, that Carlyle has only one idea. Let me +recommend you to peruse this writer's 'French Revolution' again, and you +will be satisfied that my Carrie is right. + +"I trouble you, my dear fellow, with all these details, that you may not +run away with the notion that Flowerdew is blindly in love. My faculties +were never more completely about me than they are at this moment. I am +at a loss to imagine why a man should throw his head away when he yields +his heart. I can look dispassionately at my wife, and if she had a +fault, I am confident that I should be the first to see it. But, _que +voulez-vous?_ she has not yet given me the opportunity. + +"Marriage is a lottery. In a lottery, somebody must draw the prize; if I +have drawn it, am I to be ashamed of my luck? No; let me manfully +confess my good fortune, and thank my star. + +"I have snatched the time to write you these hurried lines, while the +worshipped subject of them has been trying on some new--but I forgot; I +am writing to a bachelor. I have still a few minutes; let me make use of +them. + +"My dear Mac, when I return to foggy London--(I hear you have had +terrible weather there)--you will see little or nothing of me. My Carrie +allows me to smoke (she permits me everything), but I should be a mean +brute if I took advantage of her boundless generosity. I smoke one cigar +_per diem_, and no more. And as for wine--the honey of the loved one's +lips is the true grape of the honeymoon. I must tell you that Carrie and +I have made a solemn compact. Her head was nestled against my waistcoat +as we made it. We are not going to live for the world, like foolish +people whom we know. For society my little wife needs me; and I, happy +man, shall be more than content for ever while the partner of my bosom +deigns to solace me with her gentle voice. She has friends without +number who will mourn her loss to society. Her dear friends the +Barcaroles will be inconsolable; her sister Theodosia will break her +heart. Life has its trials, however, which must be bravely borne; and +Carrie's friends must be consoled when they learn that she is happy with +the man of her choice. In the same way, be comforted, my dear Mac (for I +know how warmly you regard me), when I tell you that henceforth we shall +meet only at rare intervals. My life is bound up in that of the +celestial being who is knitting in the window, not an arm's length from +me. + +"My dear Mac, we have drank our last gin-sling together. Recal me +affectionately to the memory of Joe Parkes, and young Square, and all +friends of her Majesty's Pugilistic Department; and may they all +speedily be as happy as I am. How the wretches will laugh when you tell +them that Flowerdew has reformed his ways, and has blackened his last +Milo; but I think, my dear fellow, I have convinced you that I write +after cool reflection. We have taken a cottage four miles south of my +office. A sixpenny omnibus will take me back at four o'clock daily, to +my little haven. My Carrie is fond of a garden; and I shall find her, on +summer afternoons, waiting at the gate for me, in her garden hat, and +leaning upon the smartest little rake in the world. You, and Joe, and +the Pugilistic Department fellows may laugh; but this is the happy life +I have chalked out for myself. As I have told you, some men marry with +their eyes shut; but I live only to congratulate myself on my sagacity. +To think that I, of all men, should have won Caroline Cockayne! + +"We shall remain here for another week, when we go to Fontainebleau, and +thence we return to London. I may write to you from our next stage; but +if not, expect to hear from me on my return, when, if I can persuade my +love to brave the presence of a stranger, for friendship's sake, you +shall have a peep at our felicity. + + "Your old friend, + "HAPPY TOM FLOWERDEW." + +Mr. Mac's observations on the foregoing were, no doubt, to this effect: +"He'll come to his senses by-and-by. I shouldn't like to be compelled to +buy all the cigars he'll smoke before he turns his toes up." + + + _Flowerdew, from Fontainebleau._ + + "Fontainebleau, July 1. + +"MY DEAR MAC,--I am tempted to send you a few lines from this +wonderful place. You have heard of Fontainebleau grapes--you have tasted +them; but you have not seen Fontainebleau. My dear Mac, when you marry +(and, as your friend, I say, lose no time about it)--yes, when you +marry, take the _cara sposa_ to Fontainebleau. Let her see the weeping +rock, in that wonderful battle between granite and trees, they call the +forest. Let her feed the fat carp with _galette_ behind the Palace in +the company of those Normandy nurses (brown and flat as Normandy +pippins), and their squalling basked-capped charges. Give her some of +that delicious iced currant-water, which the dragoons who are quartered +here appear to drink with all the relish the children show for it. Never +fear that she will look twice at these soldiers, in their sky-blue coats +and broad red pantaloons, and their hair cut so close that their eyes +must have watered under the operation. Imagine dragoons drinking +currant-water; and playing dominoes for shapeless sous, which they +rattle incessantly in their preposterous trousers! I am meditating a +book on the French army, in which I shall lay great stress on the above, +I flatter myself, rather acute bit of observation. Carrie (she grows +prettier daily) rather inclines to the idea that the moderation of these +French dragoons is in their favour; and this is the first time I have +found her judgment at fault. But then it would be unreasonable indeed to +hope that on military subjects she could have that clear insight which +she displays with such charming grace, whether we are contemplating the +Marriage of Cana, in the Louvre, or thinking over the scenes some of +those orange-trees in the Tuileries gardens have shed leaves upon. For, +let me tell you, my dear Mac, there are trees there, the flowers of +which have trembled at the silver laugh of unhappy Antoinette. Sallow +Robespierre has rubbed against them. They were in their glory on that +July day when the mob of blouses tasted of the cellars of a King. + +"But you can get in Murray all I can tell you of the wonderful place in +which it has been my fortune to find myself with my little wife. When, +on the morning after our arrival, I threw my bedroom window open, the +air was, I thought, the sweetest that had ever refreshed my nostrils. +The scene would have been perfect, had it not been for swarms of wasps +that dashed their great bodies, barred, as Carrie said, like grooms' +waistcoats (wasn't it clever of her?) into the room. If everything were +not flavoured with garlic (peaches included), I should say without +hesitation, that our _hôte_ is THE _cordon bleu_ of the +country. Omelettes, my dear Mac, as light as syllabub; wild strawberries +frosted with the finest white sugar I ever put to my lips; coffee that +would make a Turk dance with delight; only, in each and all of these +dainties, there is just a pinch of garlic. But love makes light of these +little drawbacks. Carrie has made a wry face once or twice, it is true, +but only in the best of humours, and when the garlic was very strong +indeed. + +"We had a rainy day yesterday: but we enjoyed it. We sat all the morning +at our window, gossiping and flirting, and watching the peasants +sauntering home from market, apparently unconscious that they were being +drenched. I had bought Carrie a huge sugar stick (_sucre de pomme_, I +think they call it), and she looked bewitchingly as she nibbled it, and +then coaxingly held it to my lips. You remember my old antipathy to +sweets; well, strange to say, I thought I had never tasted anything more +delicious than this sugar stick; but remember, it came direct from +Carrie's lips. Then we speculated on what our friends were doing at that +very moment, peeped into Clapham, and we made bad guesses enough, I have +no doubt. It ended by our agreeing that none of you were half so happy +as we were. + +"In the evening the weather cleared a little, and we went out for a +stroll. A stroll through the streets of Fontainebleau is not one of the +pleasantest exploits in the world. I thought every moment that my wife +(delightful word, that thrills me to the finger tips as I write it) +would sprain an ankle, for the paving is simply a heap of round stones +thrown out of a cart; but she stepped so nimbly and lightly, that no +harm came to her. I wish, my dear Mac, you could hear her conversation. +From morning till night she prattles away, hopping, skipping, and +jumping from one subject to another, and saying something sensible or +droll on each. You must know that Carrie has an immense fund of humour. +Her imitations of people make me almost die with laughter. You remember +Mrs. Calfsfoot's habit of twitching her nose and twirling her thumbs +when she is beginning an anecdote about somebody one never saw, and +never cared to see. Well, Carrie stopped in the middle of our rambles in +the forest, and imitated her squeaky voice and absurd gestures to the +life. The anecdote, concocted impromptu, was a wonderfully sustained bit +of pure invention. On my honour, when she had finished her little +performance, I could not help giving her a kiss for it. + +"You will smile, my dear Mac, at this: remembering the horror we +mutually expressed one night at Ardbye's chambers, of female mimics. But +there is a difference, which we do not appear to have recognised on that +occasion, between good-natured and ill-natured mimicry. Now nothing can +be more harmless fun than my Carrie's imitations. She never has the bad +taste to mimic a deformity, or to burlesque a misfortune. She certainly +said of Mrs. Blomonge (who is known to be the stoutest person in the +parish of St. Bride's) that her head floated on her shoulders like a +waterlily on a pond; but then the joke was irresistible, and there was +not a touch of malice in the way the thing was said. How much there is +in manner! + +"Carrie is beginning to yearn for the repose of Arcady Cottage. She +wants to see herself mistress of a house. She longs to have to order +dinner, inspect the dusting of the drawing-room, pour out tea from our +own tea-pot, and work antimacassars for our chairs. I can see already +that she will make the most perfect little housewife in the world. + +"There are dolts and dullards who declare that women who are witty and +accomplished, generally make bad housewives. They are said to lie on +sofas all day through, reading hooks they cannot understand; playing all +kinds of tortuous music; and painting moss roses upon velvet. I am not +an old married man (twenty days old only), but I am ready to wager, from +what I have already seen of my Carrie, that there is not the slightest +ground for those charges against clever women; on the contrary, it seems +to me that your clever woman will see the duty, as well as the pleasure, +of ordering her husband's house in a becoming manner. Why should +empty-headed girls, who haven't a word to say for themselves, nor an +accomplishment to their back--why should they be the superlative +concocters of custards, and menders of shirts and stockings? Do you mean +to tell me that a woman must be a fool to have a light hand at pastry? I +believe these libels on clever women have been propagated by designing +mothers who had stupid daughters on their hands. Whenever you see a +heavy-eyed, lumpish girl, who hides herself in corners, and reddens to +the very roots of the hair when you say a civil thing to her, you are +sure to be told that she is the very best house-keeper in the world, and +will make a better wife than her pretty sister. In future I shall treat +all such excuses for ugliness and dulness as they deserve. For I say it +boldly beforehand, ere Carrie has tried her first undercrust, she will +be a pattern housewife--although she reads John Stuart Mill. + +"'Tom, darling!' sounds from the next room, and the music goes to my +soul. Good-bye. The next from Aready Cottage. Thine, + + "TOM FLOWERDEW. + +"P.S.--We met yesterday a most charming travelling companion; and +although, as I think I hinted in my last, I and Carrie intend to suffice +for each other, he had so vast a fund of happy anecdote, we could not +find it in our hearts to snub him. Besides, he began by lending me the +day's _Galignani_." + +"That travelling companion," remarked shrewd Mr. Mac, "marks the +beginning of the end of the honeymoon. I shall keep him dark when I dine +with Papa Cockayne on Sunday." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +GATHERING A FEW THREADS. + + +Is there a more melancholy place than the street in which you have +lived; than the house, now curtainless and weather-stained, you knew +prim, and full of happy human creatures; than the "banquet-hall +deserted:" than the empty chair; than the bed where Death found the +friend you loved? + +The Rue Millevoye is all this to me. I avoid it. If any cabman wants to +make a short cut that way I stop him. Mrs. Rowe rests at last, in the +same churchyard with the Whytes of Battersea: her faults forgiven; that +dark story which troubled all her afterlife and made her son the terror +of every hour, ended and forgotten. + +If hers was a sad life, even cheered by the consolations of Mr. Mohun +given over refreshing rounds of buttered toast; what was the gloom upon +the head of Emily Sharp, whom the child of shame (was it in revenge) +brought to shame? I never tread the deck of a Boulogne steamer without +thinking of her sweet, loving face; I never wait for my luggage in the +chilly morning at the Chemin de Fer du Nord terminus, without seeing her +agony as the deserted one. + +The Cockayne girls are prospering in all the comfort of maternal dignity +in the genteel suburbs; and yet were they a patch upon forlorn Emmy +Sharp? Miss Sophonisba, with her grand airs, in her critical letters +from Paris--what kind of a heart had she? Miss Theodosia was a flirt of +the vulgarest type who would have thrown up John Catt as she would throw +away a two-button glove for a three-button pair, had not the Vicomte de +Gars given her father to understand that he must have a very substantial +_dot_ with her. Mademoiselle Cockayne without money was not a thing to +be desired, according to "his lordship." + +John Catt was a rough diamond, as the reader has perceived, given to +copious draughts of beer, black pipes, short sticks, prodigious +shirt-collars, and music-halls. But he was a brave, honest, chivalrous +lad in his coarse way. He loved Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and was +seriously stricken when he left Paris, although he had tried to throw +off the affair with a careless word or two. He hid his grief behind his +bluntness; but she had no tears to hide. It was only when the Vicomte, +after a visit to Clapham (paid much against Mr. Cockayne's will) had +come to business in the plumpest manner, that the young lady had been +brought to her senses by the father's observation that he was not +prepared to buy a foreign viscount into the family on his own terms, +and that "his lordship" would not take the young lady on her own merits, +aroused Miss Theodosia's pride;--and with it the chances of John Catt +revived. He took her renewed warmth for repentance after a folly. He +said to himself, "She loved me all the time; and even the Vicomte was +not, in the long run, proof against her affection for me." Miss +Theodosia, having lost the new love, was fortunate enough to get on with +the old again, and she is, I hear, reasonably happy--certainly happier +than she deserves to be, as Mrs. John Catt. + +I am told she is very severe upon Emma Sharp, and wonders how her sister +Carrie can have the creature's portrait hung up in her morning room. But +there are a few things she no longer wonders at. Carrie speaks to Lucy +Rowe; kisses Lucy Rowe; puts her arm round Lucy Rowe's neck; and tumbles +her baby upon Lucy Rowe's knees; and Mrs. John Catt wonders no longer. +Not, I suspect, because she is fonder of Lucy now than she was in the +Rue Millevoye, but because--well, _I_ married her, as the reader, who is +not a goose, has suspected long ago. + +And a little Lucy writes for me, in big round hand, her mother guiding +the pen-- + + + THE END. + + + LONDON: + SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, + COVENT GARDEN. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cockaynes in Paris, by Blanchard Jerrold + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS *** + +***** This file should be named 18327-8.txt or 18327-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/2/18327/ + +Produced by Carlo Traverso, Janet Blenkinship, and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cockaynes in Paris + 'Gone abroad' + +Author: Blanchard Jerrold + +Illustrator: Gustave Doré + +Release Date: May 6, 2006 [EBook #18327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS *** + + + + +Produced by Carlo Traverso, Janet Blenkinship, and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p><a name="milord" id="milord"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img002.jpg" alt="MI LORD ANGLAIS." title="MI LORD ANGLAIS." /></div> +<h4>MI LORD ANGLAIS AT MABILLE.</h4> + +<h4><i>He is smiling, he is splendid, he is full of graceful enjoyment; on the +table are a few of the beverages he admires; but above all he adores the +ease of the French ladies in the dance.</i></h4> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>THE</h1> + +<h1>COCKAYNES IN PARIS</h1> + +<h4>OR</h4> + +<h2>"GONE ABROAD."</h2> + +<h4>BY</h4> + +<h3>BLANCHARD JERROLD.</h3> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img003.jpg" alt="A HEAD." title="A HEAD." /></div> + +<h4>WITH SKETCHES BY</h4> + +<h3>GUSTAVE DORÉ,</h3> + +<h4>AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE ENGLISH ABROAD FROM A FRENCH POINT OF +VIEW.<br /><br /></h4> + + + + +<p class='center'>LONDON:<br />JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 & 75, PICCADILLY.<br /> +[<i>All Rights Reserved.</i>]</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>The story of the Cockaynes was written some years ago,—in the days when +Paris was at her best and brightest; and the English quarter was +crowded; and the Emperor was at St. Cloud; and France appeared destined +to become the wealthiest and strongest country in the world.</p> + +<p>Where the Cockaynes carried their guide-books and opera-glasses, and +fell into raptures at every footstep, there are dismal ruins now. The +Vendôme Column is a stump, wreathed with a gigantic <i>immortelle</i>, and +capped with the tri-color. The Hall of the Marshals is a black hole. +Those noble rooms in which the first magistrate of the city of +Boulevards gave welcome to crowds of English guests, are destroyed. In +the name of Liberty some of the most precious art-work of modern days +has been fired. The Communists' defiling fingers have passed over the +canvas of Ingrès. Auber and Dumas have gone from the scene in the +saddest hour of their country's history. The Anglo-French alliance—that +surest rock of enduring peace—has been rent asunder, through the +timorous hesitation of English ministers, and the hardly disguised +Bourbon sympathies of English society. We are not welcome now in Paris, +as we were when I followed in the wake of the prying Cockaynes. My old +concierge is very cold in his greeting, and carries my valise to my +rooms sulkily. Jerome, my particular waiter at the Grand Café, no longer +deigns to discuss the news of the day with me. Good Monsieur Giraudet, +who could suggest the happiest little <i>menus</i>, when I went to his +admirable restaurant, and who kept the <i>Rappel</i> for me, now bows +silently and sends an underling to see what the Englishman requires.</p> + +<p>It is a sad, and a woful change; and one of ominous import for our +children. Most woful to those of my countrymen who, like the reader's +humble servant, have passed a happy half-score of years in the +delightful society and the incomparable capital of the French people.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;" class="smcap">Blanchard Jerrold.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;" class="smcap">Rue de Rome, Paris,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>July</i>, 1871.</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img007.jpg" alt="A HEAD." title="A HEAD." /></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents."> +<tr><td align='right'>CHAP.</td><td align='left'> </td><td align='left'>PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="3"> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I.</td><td align='left'>MRS. ROWE'S</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_13'><b>13</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II.</td><td align='left'>HE'S HERE AGAIN!</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_30'><b>30</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III.</td><td align='left'>MRS. ROWE'S COMPANY</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_39'><b>39</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV.</td><td align='left'>THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_45'><b>45</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V.</td><td align='left'>THE COCKAYNE FAMILY</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_62'><b>62</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI.</td><td align='left'>A "GRANDE OCCASION"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_91'><b>91</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII.</td><td align='left'>OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_104'><b>104</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>"OH, YES!" AND "ALL RIGHT!"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_111'><b>111</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX.</td><td align='left'>MISS CARRIE COCKAYNE TO MISS SHARP</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_122'><b>122</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X.</td><td align='left'>"THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE"</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_129'><b>129</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI.</td><td align='left'>MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_140'><b>140</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII.</td><td align='left'>MRS. DAKER</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_154'><b>154</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII.</td><td align='left'>AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_174'><b>174</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV.</td><td align='left'>THE CASTAWAY</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_192'><b>192</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV.</td><td align='left'>THE FIRST TO BE MARRIED</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_210'><b>210</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI.</td><td align='left'>GATHERING A FEW THREADS</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_231'><b>231</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/img009.jpg" alt="MAMMA ANGLAISE." title="MAMMA ANGLAISE." /></div> +<h4>MAMMA ANGLAISE. (<i>A French design.</i>)</h4> +<p><br /><br /></p> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS.</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="List of Illustrations."> +<tr><td align='left'>MY LORD ANGLAIS AT MABILLE</td><td align='right'><a href='#milord'><b>Frontispiece</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CROSSING THE CHANNEL—A SMOOTH PASSAGE</td><td align='right'><a href='#smoothpassage'><b>13</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>CROSSING THE CHANNEL—RATHER SQUALLY</td><td align='right'><a href='#squally'><b>14</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY</td><td align='right'><a href='#crusoe'><b>16</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>PAPA AND THE DEAR BOYS</td><td align='right'><a href='#papa'><b>18</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN</td><td align='right'><a href='#dowager'><b>20</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ON THE BOULEVARDS</td><td align='right'><a href='#boulevards'><b>42</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES"</td><td align='right'><a href='#marble'><b>46</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>BEAUTY AND THE B——</td><td align='right'><a href='#beauty'><b>68</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>PALAIS DU LOUVRE.—THE ROAD TO THE BOIS</td><td align='right'><a href='#palais'><b>72</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG</td><td align='right'><a href='#musee'><b>77</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE INFLEXIBLE "MEESSES ANGLAISES"</td><td align='right'><a href='#meeses'><b>105</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE DE LILAS—SHOCKING!!</td><td align='right'><a href='#closerie'><b>109</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK</td><td align='right'><a href='#smith'><b>114</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE</td><td align='right'><a href='#jones'><b>118</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH</td><td align='right'><a href='#recollection'><b>125</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS HOLDING ON<br /><span style="margin-left: 2em;">BY THE TAIL OF HER NEWFOUNDLAND</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#brave'><b>125</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>COMPATRIOTS MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION</td><td align='right'><a href='#compatriots'><b>127</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK.—COMPATRIOTS<br /><span style="margin-left: 2em;">MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION</span></td><td align='right'><a href='#varieties'><b>126</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN</td><td align='right'><a href='#picnic'><b>147</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>EXCURSIONISTS AND EMIGRANTS</td><td align='right'><a href='#excursionists'><b>152</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>BOIS DE BOULOGNE</td><td align='right'><a href='#boulogne'><b>164</b></a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><br /><br /></p> +<p><a name="smoothpassage" id="smoothpassage"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img012.jpg" + alt="A SMOOTH PASSAGE." /><br /> + <b>CROSSING THE CHANNEL—A SMOOTH PASSAGE.</b> + </div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE</h2> + +<h2>COCKAYNES IN PARIS.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>MRS. ROWE'S.</h3> + + +<p>The story I have to tell is disjointed. I throw it out as I picked it +up. My duties, the nature of which is neither here nor there, have +borne me to various parts of Europe. I am a man, not with an +establishment—but with two portmanteaus. I have two hats in Paris and +two in London always. I have seen everything in both cities, and like +Paris, on the whole, best. There are many reasons, it seems to me, why +an Englishman who has the tastes of a duke and the means of a half-pay +major, should prefer the banks of the Seine to those of the Thames—even +with the new Embank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>ment. Everybody affects a distinct and deep +knowledge of Paris in these times; and most people do know how to get +the dearest dinner Bignon can supply for their money; and to secure the +apartments which are let by the people of the West whom nature has +provided with an infinitesimal quantity of conscience. But there are now +crowds of English men and women who know their Paris well; men who never +dine in the restaurant of the stranger, and women who are equal to a +controversy with a French cook. These sons and daughters of Albion who +have transplanted themselves to French soil, can show good and true +reasons why they prefer the French to the English life. The wearying +comparative estimates of household expenses in Westbournia, and +household expenses in the Faubourg St. Honoré! One of the disadvantages +of living in Paris is the constant contact with the odious atmosphere of +comparisons.</p> + +<p>"Pray, sir—you have been in London lately—what did you pay for veal +cutlet?"</p> + +<p><a name="squally" id="squally"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img015.jpg" + alt="RATHER SQUALLY." /><br /> + <b>CROSSING THE CHANNEL—RATHER SQUALLY.</b> + </div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>The new arrivals are the keenest torments. "In London, where I have kept +house for over twenty years, and have had to endure every conceivable +development of servants' extortion, no cook ever demanded a supply of +white aprons yet." You explain for the hundredth time that it is the +custom in Paris. There are people who believe Kensington is the domestic +model of the civilized world, and travel only to prove at every stage +how far the rest of the universe is behind that favoured spot. He who +desires to see how narrow his countrymen and countrywomen can be abroad, +and how completely the mass of British travellers lay themselves open to +the charge of insularity, and an overweening estimate of themselves and +their native customs, should spend a few weeks in a Paris +boarding-house, somewhere in the Faubourg St. Honoré—if he would have +the full aroma of British conceit. The most surprising feature of the +English quarter of the French capital is the eccentricity of the English +visitors, as it strikes their own countrymen. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> cannot find it in me to +blame Gallican caricaturists. The statuettes which enliven the bronze +shops; the gaunt figures which are in the chocolate establishments; the +prints in the windows under the Rivoli colonnade; the monsters with +fangs, red hair, and Glengarry caps, of Cham, and Doré, and Bertall, and +the female sticks with ringlets who pass in the terra-cotta show of the +Palais Royal for our countrywomen, have long ago ceased to warm my +indignation. All I can say now is, that the artists and modellers have +not travelled. They have studied the strange British apparitions which +disfigure the Boulevard des Italiens in the autumn, their knowledge of +our race is limited to the unfortunate selection of specimens who strut +about their streets, and—according to their light—they are not guilty +of outrageous exaggeration. I venture to assert that an Englishman will +meet more unpleasant samples of his countrymen and countrywomen in an +August day's walk in Paris, than he will come across during a month in +London. To begin with,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> we English treat Paris as though it were a back +garden, in which a person may lounge in his old clothes, or indulge his +fancy for the ugly and slovenly. Why, on broiling days, men and women +should sally forth from their hotel with a travelling-bag and an +opera-glass slung about their shoulders, passes my comprehension. +Conceive the condition of mind of that man who imagines that he is an +impressive presence when he is patrolling the Rue de la Paix with an +alpenstock in his hand! At home we are a plain, well-dressed, +well-behaved people, fully up in Art and Letters—that is, among our +educated classes, to any other nation—in most elegant studies before +all; but our travellers in France and Switzerland slander us, and the +"Paris in 10 hours" system has lowered Frenchmen's estimate of the +national character. The Exhibition of 1867, far from promoting the +brotherhood of the peoples, and hinting to the soldier that his vocation +was coming to an end, spread a dislike of Englishmen through Paris. It +attracted rough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> men from the North, and ill-bred men from the South, +whose swagger, and noise, and unceremonious manners in cafés and +restaurants chafed the polite Frenchman. They could not bring themselves +to salute the <i>dame de comptoir</i>, they were loud at the table d'hôte and +commanding in their airs to the waiter. In brief, the English mass +jarred upon their neighbours; and Frenchmen went the length of saying +that the two peoples—like relatives—would remain better friends apart. +The disadvantage is, beyond doubt, with us; since the <i>froissement</i> was +produced by the British lack of that suavity which the French +cultivate—and which may be hollow, but is pleasant, and oils the wheels +of life.</p> + +<p><a name="crusoe" id="crusoe"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img018.jpg" + alt="ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY." /><br /> + <b>ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY.<br /><i>From French designs.</i></b> + </div> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe's was in the Rue—say the Rue Millevoye, so that we may not +interfere with possible vested interests. Was it respectable? Was it +genteel? Did good country families frequent it? Were all the comforts of +an English home to be had? Had Mrs. Grundy cast an approving eye <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>into +every nook and corner? Of course there were Bibles in the bedrooms; and +you were not made to pay a franc for every cake of soap. Mrs. Rowe had +her tea direct from Twinings'. Twinings' tea she had drunk through her +better time, when Rowe had one of the finest houses in all Shepherd's +Bush, and come what might, Twinings' tea she would drink while she was +permitted to drink tea at all. Brown Windsor—no other soap for Mrs. +Rowe, if you please. People who wanted any of the fanciful soaps of +Rimmel or Piver must buy them. Brown Windsor was all she kept. Yes, she +was obliged to have Gruyère—and people did ask occasionally for +Roquefort; but her opinion was that the person who did not prefer a good +Cheshire to any other cheese, deserved to go without any. She had been +twenty-one years in Paris, and seven times only had she missed morning +service on Sundays. Hereupon, a particular history of each occasion, and +the superhuman difficulty which had bound Mrs. Rowe hand and foot to the +Rue Mil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>levoye from eleven till one. She had a faithful note of a +beautiful sermon preached in the year 1850 by the Rev. John Bobbin, in +which he compared life to a boarding-house. He was staying with Mrs. +Howe at the time. He was an earnest worker in the true way; and she +distinctly saw her <i>salle-à-manger</i> in his eye, when he enlarged on +the bounteous table spread by Nature, and the little that was needed +from man to secure all its blessings.</p> + +<p><a name="papa" id="papa"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img021.jpg" + alt="PAPA AND THE DEAR BOYS." /><br /> + <b>PAPA & THE DEAR BOYS.</b> + </div> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe took a maternal interest in me. I had made an economical +arrangement by which I secured a little room to myself throughout the +year, under the slates. I had many friends. I constantly arrived, +bringing new lodgers in my wake. For the house was quiet, well-ordered, +cheap, and tremendously respectable. I say, Mrs. Rowe took a maternal +interest in me—that is, she said so. There were ill-natured people who +had another description for her solicitude; but she had brought herself +to believe that she had an unselfish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>regard for your humble servant, +and that she was necessary to my comfort in the world, and I was pleased +at the innocent humbug. It afforded me excellent creature comforts; and +I was indebted to it for a constant welcome when I got to Paris—which +is something to the traveller. We cling to an old hotel, after we have +found the service bad, the cooking execrable, and the rooms dirty. It is +an ancient house, and the people know us, and have a cheery word and a +home look.</p> + +<p><a name="dowager" id="dowager"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img024.jpg" + alt="THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN." /><br /> + <b>THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN.</b> + </div> + +<p>Many years were passed in the Rue Millevoye by Mrs. Rowe and her niece, +without more incident than the packing and unpacking of luggage, and +genteel disputes over items in the bills conducted with icy politeness +on both sides, and concluded by Mrs. Rowe invariably with the withering +observation, that it was the first remark of the kind which had ever +been made on one of her little notes. People usually came to a +settlement with complimentary expressions of surprise at the +extreme—almost reckless—moderation of her charges; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> expressed +themselves as at a loss to understand how she could make it worth her +while to do so very much for so very little. The people who came and +went were alike in the mass. The reader is requested to bear in mind +that Mrs. Rowe had a connexion of her own. She was seldom angry; but +when an advertising agent made his way to her business parlour, and took +the liberty of submitting the value of a Western States paper as a +medium for making her establishment known, she confessed that the +impertinence was too much for her temper. Mrs. Rowe advertise! Mrs. Rowe +would just as soon throw herself off the Pont Neuf, or—miss church next +Sunday.</p> + +<p>"They don't come a second time!" Mrs. Rowe would say to me, with a +fierce compression of the lip, that might lead a nervous person to +imagine she made away with them in the cellars.</p> + +<p>When Mrs. Rowe took you into her confidence—a slow and tedious +admission—she was pleased, usually, to fortify your stock of knowledge +with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> comprehensive view of her family connexions; intended to set the +Whytes of Battersea (from whom she derived, before the vulgar Park was +there) upon an eminence of glory, with a circle of cringing and +designing Rowes at the base. How she—Whyte on both sides, for her +father married his first cousin—ever came to marry Joshua Rowe, was +something her mother never understood to her dying day. She was +graciously open to consolation in the reflection that nobles and princes +had made humble matches before her; and particularly in this, that the +Prince Regent married Mrs. Fitzherbert.</p> + +<p>Lucy Rowe was favoured with these observations, heightened by occasional +hits at her own misfortune in that she was a Rowe, and could not boast +one thimbleful of Whyte blood in her veins.</p> + +<p>It was the almost daily care of Mrs. Rowe to impress the people with +whom her business brought her in contact, with the gulf that lay between +her and her niece; although, through the early and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> inexplicable +condescension of a Miss Harriet Whyte, of Battersea, they bore the same +name, Miss Rowe was no blood relation <i>whatever</i>.</p> + +<p>It was surprising to see how Lucy bore up under the misfortune. She was +not a Whyte, but she had lived beside one. Youth is so elastic! Lucy, +albeit she had the Rowe lip and nose, and, worse than all, the Rowe hair +(a warm auburn, which Mrs. Rowe described in one syllable, with a +picturesque and popular comparison comprehended in two), was daring +enough to meet the daylight, without showing the smallest signs of +giving way to melancholy. When new comers, as a common effort of +politeness, saw a strong likeness between Mrs. Rowe and her niece, the +representative of the Whytes of Battersea drew herself to her full +height, which was a trifle above her niece's shoulders, and +answered—"Oh dear, no, madam! It would be very strange if there were, +as there is not the slightest blood relationship between us."</p> + +<p>Lucy Rowe was about fifteen when I first saw her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> A slender, +golden-haired, shy and quiet girl, much in bashful and sensitive +demeanour like her romantic namesake of "the untrodden ways." It is +quite true that she had no Whyte blood in her veins, and Mrs. Rowe could +most conscientiously declare that there was not the least resemblance +between them. The Whyte features were of a type which none would envy +the possessor, save as the stamp of the illustrious house of Battersea. +The House of Savoy is not attractive by reason of its faultless profile; +but there are persons of almost matchless grace who would exchange their +beauty for its blood. In her very early days, I have no doubt. Lucy Rowe +would have given her sweet blue eyes, her pouting lips, and pretty head +(just enough to fold lovingly between the palms of a man's hand), for +the square jaw and high cheek-bone of the Whytes. She felt very humble +when she contemplated the grandeur of her aunt's family, and very +grateful to her aunt who had stooped so far as to give her shelter when +she was left alone in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> world. She kept the accounts, ran errands, +looked after the house linen, and made herself agreeable to the +boarders' children; but all this was the very least she could do to +express her humble thankfulness to the great lady-relative who had +befriended her, after having been good enough to commit the sacrifice of +marrying her uncle Joshua.</p> + +<p>Lucy sat many hours alone in the business parlour—an apartment not +decorated with the distinct view of imparting cheerfulness to the human +temperament. The mantelpiece was covered with files of bills. There were +rows of numbered keys against the wall. Mrs. Rowe's old desk—<i>style +Empire</i> she said, when any visitor noticed the handsome ruin—stood in a +corner by the window, covered with account books, prospectuses and cards +of the establishment, and heaps of old newspapers. Another corner showed +heaps of folded linen, parcels left for boarders, umbrellas and sticks, +which had been forgotten by old customers (Mrs. Rowe called them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +clients), and aunt's walking-boots. One corner was Lucy's, which she +occupied in conjunction with a little table, at which, from seven in the +morning until bedtime, she worked with pen or needle (it was provoking +she could not learn to ply both at one time), when she was not running +about the house, or nursing a boarder's baby. On the rare evenings when +her aunt could not find work of any description for her, Lucy was +requested to take the Bible from the shelf, and read a chapter aloud. +When her aunt went to sleep during the reading Lucy continued steadily, +knowing that the scion of the illustrious house of Whyte would wake +directly her voice ceased.</p> + +<p>Occasionally the clergyman would drop in; whereupon Lucy would hear much +improving discourse between her aunt and the reverend gentleman. Mrs. +Rowe poured all her griefs into the ear of the Reverend Horace +Mohun—griefs which she kept from the world. Before Lucy she spoke +freely—being accustomed to regard the timid girl as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> child still, +whose mind could not gather the threads of her narrative. Lucy sate—not +listening, but hearing snatches of the mournful circumstances with which +Mrs. Rowe troubled Mr. Mohun. The reverend gentleman was a patient and +an attentive listener; and drank his tea and ate his toast (it was only +at Mrs. Rowe's he said he could ever get a good English round of toast), +shaking his head, or offering a consoling "dear, dear me!" as the +droning proceeded. Lucy was at work. If Mrs. Rowe caught her pausing she +would break her story to say—"If you have finished 42 account, put down +two candles to 10, and a foot-bath to 14." And Lucy—who seldom paused +because she had finished her task, as her aunt knew well—bent over the +table again, and was as content as she was weary. When she went up to +her bedroom (which the cook had peremptorily refused to occupy) she +prayed for good Aunt Rowe every night of her dull life, before she lay +upon her truckle bed to rest for the morrow's cheerful round of hard +duties.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> Was it likely that a child put thus into the harness of life, +would pass the talk of her aunt with Mr. Mohun as the idle wind?</p> + +<p>The mysteries which lay in the talk, and perplexed her, were cleared up +in due time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>HE'S HERE AGAIN!</h3> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"He has but stumbled in the path</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10.3em;">Thou hast in weakness trod."—</span><span class="smcap">A. A. Procter</span> +</p> + +<p>"He's here again, Mum."</p> + +<p>He was there at the servant's entrance to the highly respectable +boarding-house in the Rue Millevoye. It was five in the morning—a +winter's morning.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe hastened from her room, behind the business parlour, in her +dressing-gown, her teeth chattering, and her eyes flashing the fire of +hate. The boarders sleeping upstairs would not have known the godly +landlady, who glided about the house by day, rubbing her hands and +hoping every soul under her roof was comfortable—or would at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> once +complain to her, who lived only to make people comfortable—bills being +but mere accidental accessories, fortuitously concurrent with the +arrival of a cab and the descent of luggage.</p> + +<p>"At the back door, mum, with his coat tucked over his ears, and such a +cold in his head. Shall I show him in?"</p> + +<p>"My life is a long misery, Jane," Mrs. Rowe said, under her voice.</p> + +<p>"La! mum, it's quite safe. I'm sure I shouldn't trouble much about +it—'specially in this country, as——"</p> + +<p>"Silence!" Mrs. Rowe hissed. The thorns in her cross consisted chiefly +of Jane's awkward attempts at consolation. "The villain is bent on my +ruin. A bad boy he was; a bad man he is. Show him in; and see that +François doesn't come here. Get some coffee yourself, Jane, and bring +it. Let the brute in."</p> + +<p>"You're hard upon him, mum, indeed you are. I'm sure he'd be a credit +to——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Go, and hold your tongue. You presume, Jane, on the privileges of an +old servant."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I hope not, mum; but——"</p> + +<p>"Go!"</p> + +<p>Jane went to summon the early visitor; and was heard talking amiably to +him, as she led him to the bureau. "Now, you must be good, Mr. Charles, +to-day, and not stay more than a quarter of an hour. Don't talk loud, +like the last time; promise me. Missus means well—you know she does."</p> + +<p>With an impatient "All right" the stranger pushed into the business +parlour, and sharply closed the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe stood, her knuckles firmly planted upon the closed desk, her +face rigidly set, to receive her visitor—keeping the table between him +and herself. He was advancing to take her hand.</p> + +<p>"Stand there," she said, with an authority he had not the courage to +defy. He stood there—abashed, or hesitating as to the way in which he +should enter upon his business.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well!" Mrs. Rowe said, firmly and impatiently.</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles, stung by the manner, turned upon his victim. "Well!" he +jeered, "yes, and well again, Mrs. Rowe. Is it necessary for me to +explain myself? Do you think I have come to see <i>you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"I have no money at present; I wrote you so."</p> + +<p>"And I didn't believe you, and have come to fetch what you wouldn't +send. If you think I'm going into a corner to starve for your personal +satisfaction, you are very much mistaken. I'm surprised you don't +understand me better by this time."</p> + +<p>"You were a rascal, Charles, before you left school."</p> + +<p>"School! Pretty school! D—n it, don't blame me—woman!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe was alarmed by the outburst, lest it should wake some of the +boarders.</p> + +<p>"The Dean and his lady are sleeping overhead. If you don't respect me, +think——"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm not here to respect, or think about anybody. I'm cast alone into +the world—tossed into it; left to shift for myself, and to be ashamed +of myself; and I want a little help through it, and it's for you to give +it me, and give it me <span class="smcap">YOU SHALL</span>."</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles held out his left hand, and slapped its open palm vehemently +with his right—pantomime to indicate the exact whereabouts he had +selected for the reception of Mrs. Rowe's money.</p> + +<p>"I told you I had no money. You'll drive me from this house by bringing +disgrace upon it."</p> + +<p>"That's very good," Mr. Charles said, with a cruel laugh. "That's a +capital joke."</p> + +<p>Jane entered with coffee. "That's right," she whispered, encouragingly +to Mr. Charles; "laugh and be cheerful, Mr. Charles, and make haste with +your coffee."</p> + +<p>The face of Mr. Charles blackened to night. He turned like a tiger upon +the servant. "Laugh and be cheerful?" he roared; and then he raised a +hoarse mock laugh, that moved Mrs. Rowe, in her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> agony of fear, to turn +the key in the lock of her desk.</p> + +<p>Shaking her hands wildly in the air, Jane left the room, and shut the +door.</p> + +<p>"You are an arrant coward, Charles," Mrs. Rowe hissed, leaning across +the table and shaking her head violently.</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles imitated her gesture, answering—"I am what heartless people +have made me. I have been dragged up under a cloud; made the scape-goat. +How often in the course of your hypocritical days have you wished me +dead? You hear I've a cough; but I cannot promise you it's a churchyard +one. I'm a nuisance; but I suppose I'm not responsible for my existence, +Mrs. Rowe. <i>I</i> was not consulted."</p> + +<p>"Viper!"</p> + +<p>"And devil too, when needful: remember that." Mr. Charles moved round +the table in the direction of the desk.</p> + +<p>"Stand where you are. I would rather give<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> you the clothes from my back +than touch you." Mrs. Rowe, as she stood still turning the lock of the +bureau, and keeping her angry eyes fixed upon the man, was the picture +of all the hate she expressed.</p> + +<p>She never took her eyes off him, nor did he quail, while she fumbled in +the drawer in which she kept money. The musical rattle of the gold smote +upon the ear of Mr. Charles.</p> + +<p>"Pretty sound," he said, with a smile of hate in his face; "but there is +crisp paper sounds sweeter. Mrs. Rowe, I'm not here for a couple of +yellow-boys. Do you hear that?" He banged the table, and advanced a +step.</p> + +<p>"You can't bleed a stone, miscreant."</p> + +<p>"Nay, but you can break it, Mrs. Rowe. I mean business to-day. The rarer +I make my visits the better for both of us."</p> + +<p>"I am quite of that opinion."</p> + +<p>"Then make it as long as you like; you know how."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Is this ever to end? Have you no shame? Charles, you will end with some +tragedy. A man who can play the part you are playing, must be ready for +crime!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles shook his head in impatient rage, and made another step +towards Mrs. Rowe.</p> + +<p>"Move nearer, and I wake the house, come what may." Mrs. Rowe's face +looked like one cut in grey stone.</p> + +<p>"What! and wake the Dean and his lady! What! affright the Reverend +Horace Mohun who counts Mrs. Rowe among the milk-white sheep of his +flock! No; Mrs. Rowe is too prudent a woman—Now." As he ended, she drew +forth a roll of notes. He made a clutch at them—and she started back.</p> + +<p>"Charles, it has come to that! Robber! It will be murder some day."</p> + +<p>"This day—by——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles looked the man to make his word good.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe was amazed and terrified by the fiend she had conjured up in +the man. He seized the table, and looked a giant in the mighty +expression of his iron will.</p> + +<p>"Lay that roll upon the table—or I'll shiver it into a thousand +pieces—and then—and then——Am I to say more?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe fell into a chair. Mr. Charles was at her in an instant, and +had possession of the notes. The poor woman had swooned.</p> + +<p>He rang the bell—Jane appeared.</p> + +<p>"Look after her," said Mr. Charles, his eyes flaming, as they fell on +the unconscious figure of Mrs. Rowe. "But let me out, first."</p> + +<p>"You'll kill me with fright, that you will. What have you done to your +own——"</p> + +<p>"Mind your own business. A smell of salts'll put her right enough."</p> + +<p>Mr. Charles was gone.</p> + +<p>"And what a sweet gentleman he can be, when he likes," said Jane.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>MRS. ROWE'S COMPANY.</h3> + + +<p>I must be permitted to tell the rambling stories that ran parallel +during my experiences of Mrs. Rowe's establishment in my own +manner—filling up with what I guessed, all I heard from Lucy, or saw +for myself. Mr. Charles was a visitor at intervals who always arrived +when the house was quiet; and after whose visits Mrs. Rowe regularly +took to her room for the day, leaving the accounts and the keys wholly +to Lucy, and the kitchen to Jane—with strict injunctions to look after +the Reverend Horace Mohun's tea and his round of toast if he called—and +let him see the <i>Times</i> before it went up to the general sitting-room. +On these days Lucy looked pale; and Jane called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> her "poor child" to me, +and begged me to say a few words of comfort to her, for she would listen +to me.</p> + +<p>What a fool Jane was!</p> + +<p>Visitors came and went. The serious, who inspected Paris as Mr. Redgrave +inspects a factory, or as the late Mr. Braidwood inspected a fire on the +morrow; who did the Louvre and called for bread-and-butter and tea on +the Boulevards at five. The new-rich, who would not have breakfasted +with the general company to save their vulgar little souls, threw their +money to the fleecing shopkeepers (who knew their <i>monde</i>), and +misbehaved themselves in all the most expensive ways possible. The jolly +ignorant, who were loud and unabashed in the sincerity and heartiness of +their enjoyment, and had more litres of brandy in their bedrooms than +the rest of the house, as Jane had it, "put together." The frugal, who +counted the lumps of sugar, found fault with the dinners, lived with the +fixed and savage determination to eat well up to the rate at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> which they +were paying for their board, and stole in, in the evening, with their +brandy hidden about them. Somehow, although there never was a house in +which more differences of opinion were held on nearly every question of +human interest, there was a surprising harmony of ideas as to French +brandy. A Boulogne excursion boat on its homeward journey hardly +contains more uncorked bottles of cognac, than were thrust in all kinds +of secret places in the bedrooms under Mrs. Rowe's roof.</p> + +<p>The hypocrisy and scandal which brandy produced in the general room were +occasionally very fierce, especially when whispers had travelled quietly +as the flies all over the house that one of the ladies had certainly, on +one occasion, revoked at cards—for one reason, and one only. Free +speculations would be cheerfully indulged in at other times on the exact +quantity the visitor who left yesterday had taken during his stay, and +the number of months which the charitable might give him to live.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p><a name="boulevards" id="boulevards"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img047.jpg" + alt="ON THE BOULEVARDS." /><br /> + <b>ON THE BOULEVARDS.</b> + </div> + +<p>After the general brandy, in degree of interest, stood dress. The +shopping was prodigious. The carts of the Louvre, the Ville de Paris, +the Coin de Rue, and other famous houses of nouveautés were for ever +rattling to Mrs. Rowe's door. With a toss of the head a parcel from the +<i>Bon Marché</i> was handed to its owner. Mrs. Jones must have come to +Paris with just one change—and such a change! Mrs. Tottenham had +nothing fit to wear. Mrs. Court must still be wearing out her +trousseau—and her youngest was three! Mrs. Rhode had no more taste, my +dear, than our cook. The men were not far behind—had looked out for +Captain Tottenham in the Army List; went to Galignani's expressly: not in +it, by Jove, sir! Court paid four shillings in the pound hardly two years +ago, and met him swelling it with his wife (deuced pretty creature!) +yesterday at Bignon's. Is quite up to Marennes oysters: wonder where he +could have heard of 'em. Rhode is a bore; plenty of money, very +good-natured; read a good deal—but can't the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>fellow come to table in +something better than those eternal plaid trousers? Bad enough in Lord +Brougham. Eccentricity <i>with</i> the genius, galling enough; but without, +not to be borne, sir. Last night Jones was simply drunk, and got a wigging, +no doubt, when he found his room. He looks it all.</p> + +<p>We are an amiable people!</p> + +<p>Happily, I have forgotten the Joneses and the Tottenhams, and the Courts +and the Rhodes! The two "sets" who dwell in my memory—who are, I may +say, somewhat linked with my own life, and of whom I have something to +tell—were, as a visitor said of the fowls of Boulogne hotels—birds +apart. They crossed and re-crossed under Mrs. Rowe's roof until they +hooked together; and I was mixed up with them, until a tragedy and a +happy event made us part company.</p> + +<p>Now, so complicated are our treaties—offensive and defensive—that I +have to refer to my note-book, where I am likely to meet any one of +them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> to see whether I am on speaking terms with the coming man or +woman as the case may be.</p> + +<p>I shall first introduce the Cockaynes as holding the greater "lengths" +on my stage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS.</h3> + + +<p>The morning after a bevy of "the blonde daughters of Albion" have +arrived in Paris, Pater—over the coffee (why is it impossible to get +such coffee in England?), the delicious bread, and the exquisite +butter—proceeds to expound his views of the manner in which the time of +the party should be spent. So was it with the Cockaynes, an intensely +British party.</p> + +<p>"My dears," said Mr. Cockayne, "we must husband our time. To-day I +propose we go, at eleven o'clock, to see the parade of the Guard in the +Rue de Rivoli; from there (we shall be close at hand) we can see the +Louvre; by two o'clock we will lunch in the Palais Royal. I think it's +at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> five the band plays in the Tuileries gardens; after the band——"</p> + +<p>"But, dear papa, we want to look at the shops!" interposes the gentle +Sophonisba.</p> + +<p>"The what, my dear? Here you are in the capital of the most polished +nation on the face of the earth, surrounded by beautiful monuments that +recall—that are, in fact——"</p> + +<p>"Well!" firmly observes Sophonisba's determined mamma; "you, Mr. +Cockayne, go, with your Murray's handbook, see all the antiquities, your +Raphaels and Rubens, and amuse yourself among the cobwebs of the Hôtel +Cluny; <i>we</i> are not so clever—we poor women; and while you're rubbing +your nose against the marbles in the Louvre, we'll go and see the +shops."</p> + +<p>"We don't mind the parade and the band, but we might have a peep at just +a few of the shops near the hotel, before eleven," observes Sophonisba.</p> + +<p>Cockayne throws up his eyes, and laments the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>frivolity of women. He is +left with one daughter (who is a blue) to admire the proportions of the +Madeleine, to pass a rapturous hour in the square room of the Louvre, +and to examine St. Germain l'Auxerrois, while the frivolous part of his +household goes stoutly away, light-hearted and gay as humming-birds, to +have their first look at the shops.</p> + +<p><a name="marble" id="marble"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img052.jpg" + alt="A GROUP OF MARBLE INSULAIRES." /><br /> + <b>A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES."<br /><i>So cold and natural they +might be mistaken for life</i>.</b> + </div> + +<p>I happen to have seen the shops of many cities. I have peered into the +quaint, small-windowed shops of Copenhagen; I have passed under the +pendant tobacco leaves into the primitive cigar-shops of St. Sebastian; +I have hobbled, in furs, into the shops of Stockholm; I have been +compelled to take a look at the shops of London, Dublin, Edinburgh, +Liverpool, and a host of other places; but perfect shopping is to be +enjoyed in Paris only; and in the days gone by, the Palais Royal was the +centre of this paradise. Alas! the days of its glory are gone. The lines +of splendid boulevards, flanked with gorgeous shops and <i>cafés</i>; the +long arcades of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> the Rue de Rivoli; and, in fine, the leaning of all +that is fashionable, and lofty, and rich to the west, are the causes +which have brought the destruction of the Palais Royal. Time was when +that quaint old square—the Place-Royale in the Marais—was mighty +fashionable. It now lies in the neglected, industrious, factory-crowded +east—a kind of Parisian Bloomsbury Square, only infinitely more +picturesque, with its quaint, low colonnades. You see the fine Parisians +have travelled steadily westward, sloping slowly, like "the Great +Orion." They are making their way along the Champs-Elysées to the Avenue +de l'Impératrice; and are constructing white stone aristocratic suburbs.</p> + +<p>So the foreigners no longer make their way direct to the Palais Royal +now, on the morrow of their arrival in Paris. If they be at the Louvre, +they bend westward along the Rue de Rivoli, and by the Rue de la Paix, +to the brilliant boulevards. If they be in the Grand Hôtel, they issue +at once upon these famous boulevards, and the ladies are in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> feminine +paradise at once. Why, exactly opposite to the Grand Hôtel is Rudolphi's +remarkable shop, packed artistically with his works of art—ay, and of +the most finished and cunning art—in oxidized silver. His shop is most +admirably adapted to the articles the effect of which he desires to +heighten. It is painted black and pointed with delicate gold threads. +The rich array of jewellery and the rare ecclesiastical ornaments stand +brightly out from the sombre case, and light the window. The precious +stones, the lapis lazuli, the malachite, obtain a new brilliance from +the rich neutral tints and shades of the chased dulled silver in which +they are held.</p> + +<p>Sophonisba, her mamma and sisters, are not at much trouble to decide the +period to which the bracelet, or the brooch, or the earring belongs. +"<i>Cinque cento</i>, my dear! I know nothing about that. I think it would +suit my complexion."</p> + +<p>"I confess to a more modern taste, Sophonisba. That is just the sort of +thing your father would like. Now, do look at those—sphinxes, don't +you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> call them—for a brooch. I think they're hideous. Did you ever see +such ears? I own, that diamond dew-drop lying in an enamel rose leaf, +which I saw, I think, in the Rue de la Paix, is more to my taste."</p> + +<p>And so the ladies stroll westward to the famous Giroux (where you can +buy, an it please you, toys at forty guineas each—babies that cry, and +call "mamma," and automata to whom the advancement of science and art +has given all the obnoxious faculties of an unruly child), or east to +the boulevards, which are known the wide world over, at least by name, +the Boulevards de la Madeleine, des Capucines, des Italiens, Montmartre. +These make up the heart and soul of Paris. Within the limits of these +gorgeous lines of shops and <i>cafés</i> luxury has concentrated all her +blandishments and wiles. This is the earthly heaven of the Parisians. +Here all the celebrities air themselves. Here are the Opera stars, the +lights of literature, the chiefs of art, the dandies of the Jockey Club, +the prominent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> spendthrifts and eccentrics of the day. About four +o'clock in the afternoon all the known Paris figures are lounging upon +the asphaltum within this charmed space. Within this limit—where the +Frenchman deploys all his seductive, and vain, and frivolous airs; where +he wears his best clothes and his best manners; where he loves to be +seen, and observed, and saluted—the tradesmen of the capital have +installed establishments the costliness and elaborateness of which it is +hardly possible to exaggerate. The gilding and the mirrors, the marbles +and the bronze, the myriad lamps of every fantastic form, the quaint and +daring designs for shop fronts, the infinite arts employed to +"set off" goods, and the surprising, never-ceasing varieties of +art-manufacture—whether in chocolate or the popular Algerian +onyx—bewilder strangers. Does successful Mr. Brown, who, having doffed +the apron of trade, considers it due to himself to become—so far as +money can operate the strange transformation—a <i>fine fleur</i>; does he +desire also to make of plain,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> homely Mrs. Brown a leader of fashion and +a model of expensive elegance?—here are all the appliances and means in +abundance. Within these enchanted lines Madame B. may be made "beautiful +for ever!" Every appetite, every variety of whim, the cravings of the +gourmet and the dreams of the sybarite, may be gratified to the utmost. +A spendthrift might spend a handsome patrimony within these limits, nor, +at the end of his time, would he call to mind a taste he had not been +able to gratify.</p> + +<p>Sophonisba enters this charmed region of perfect shopping from the west. +Tahan's bronze shop, at the corner of the Rue de la Paix, marks (or did +mark) its western boundary. There are costly trifles in that window—as, +book cutters worth a library of books, and cigar-stands, ash-trays, +pen-trays, toothpick-holders (our neighbours are great in these), and +match, and glove, and lace, and jewel-boxes—of wicked price. Ladies are +not, however, very fond of bronze, as a rule. The great Maison<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> de +Blanc—or White House—opposite, is more attractive, with its gigantic +architectural front, and its acres of the most expensive linens, +cambrics, &c. Ay, but close by Tahan is Boissier. Not to know Boissier +is to argue yourself unknown in Paris. He is the shining light of the +confectioner's art. Siraudin, of the Rue de la Paix, has set up a +dangerous opposition to him, under the patronage of a great duke, whose +duchess was one day treated like an ordinary mortal in Boissier's +establishment, but Boissier's clients (nobody has customers in Paris) +are, in the main, true to him; and his sweets pass the lips still of +nearly all the élégantes of the "centre of civilization." Peep into his +shop. Miss Sophonisba is within—<i>la belle insulaire!</i>—buying a bag +of <i>marrons glacés</i>, for which Boissier is renowned throughout +civilization. The shop is a miracle of taste. The white and gold are +worthy of Marie Antoinette's bedroom at St. Cloud—occupied, by the way, +by our English queen, when she was the guest of the French Emperor in +1855. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> front of the shop is ornamented with rich and rare caskets. A +white kitten lies upon a rosy satin cushion; lift the kitten, and you +shall find that her bed is a <i>bon-bon</i> box!</p> + +<p>"How very absurd!" exclaims Sophonisba's mamma, <i>bon-bon</i> boxes not +being the particular direction which the extravagance of English ladies +takes.</p> + +<p>Close by the succulent establishment of M. Boissier, to whom every +dentist should lift his hat, is the doorway of Madame Laure. Sophonisba +sees a man in livery opening the door of what appears to be the entrance +to some quiet learned institution. She touches her mamma upon the arm, +and bids her pause. They had reached the threshold of a temple. Madame +Laure makes for the Empress.</p> + +<p>"Ah! to be sure, my child, so she does," Sophonisba's mamma replies. "I +remember. Very quiet-looking kind of place, isn't it?" It is impossible +to say what description of "loud" place had dwelt in the mind of +Sophonisba's mamma as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> the locale where the Empress Eugénie's milliner +"<i>made</i>" for her Majesty. Perhaps she hoped to see two <i>cent gardes</i> +doing duty at the door of an or-molu paradise.</p> + +<p>At every step the ladies find new excitement. By the quiet door of +Madame Laure is the renowned Neapolitan Ice Establishment, well known to +most ladies who have been in Paris. Why should there not be a Neapolitan +ice <i>café</i> like this in London? Ices we have, and we have Granger's; but +here is ice in every variety, from the solid "bombe"—which we strongly +recommend ladies to bear in mind next time—to the appetizing <i>Ponch à +la Romaine</i>! Again, sitting here on summer evenings, the lounger will +perceive dapper <i>bonnes</i>, or men-servants, going in and out with little +shapely white paper parcels which they hold daintily by the end. Madame +has rung for an ice, and this little parcel, which you might blow away, +contains it. Now, why should not a lady be able to ring for an ice—and +an exquisitely-flavoured<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> Neapolitan ice—on the shores of "perfidious +Albion?"</p> + +<p>"I wish Papa were here," cries Sophonisba; "we should have ices."</p> + +<p>Sophonisba's mamma merely remarks that they are very unwholesome things.</p> + +<p>Hard by is Christofle's dazzling window, Christofle being the Elkington +of France.</p> + +<p>"Tut! it quite blinds one!" says the mamma of Sophonisba. Christofle's +window is startling. It is heaped to the top with a mound of plated +spoons and forks. They glitter in the light so fiercely that the eye +cannot bear to rest upon them. Impossible to pass M. Christofle without +paying a moment's attention to him. And now we pass the asphaltum of the +boulevard of boulevards—that known as "the Italiens." This is the apple +of the eye of Paris.</p> + +<p>"Now, my dears," says Sophonisba's mamma, "now we can really say that we +are in Paris." The shops claimed the ladies' attention one by one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> They +passed with disdain the <i>cafés</i> radiant with mirror and gold, where the +selfish men were drinking absinthe and playing at dominoes. It had +always been the creed of Sophonisba's mamma that men were selfish +creatures, and she had come to Paris only to see that she was right. +They passed on to Potel's.</p> + +<p>Potel's window is a sight that is of Paris Parisian. It is more imposing +than that of Chevet in the Palais Royal. In the first place Potel is on +"the Italiens." It is a daily store of all the rarest and richest +articles of food money can command for the discontented palate of man. +The truffled turkeys are the commonest of the articles. Everybody eats +truffled turkeys, must be the belief of Potel. If salmon could peer into +the future, and if they had any ambition, they would desire, after +death, to be artistically arrayed in fennel in the shop-window of Potel. +Would not the accommodating bird who builds an edible nest work with +redoubled ardour, if he could be assured that his house would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> some +day removed to the great window on "the Italiens?"</p> + +<p>Happy the ortolans whom destiny puts into Potel's plate of honour! Most +fortunate of geese, whose liver is fattened by a slow fire to figure +presently here with the daintiest and noblest of viands! The pig who +hunts the truffle would have his reward could he know that presently the +fragrant vegetable would give flavour to his trotter! And is it not a +good quarter of an hour's amusement every afternoon to watch the +gourmets feasting their eyes on the day's fare? And the <i>gamins</i> from +the poor quarters stare in also, and wonder what those black lumps are.</p> + +<p>Opposite Potel's is a shop, the like of which we have not, nor, we +verily believe, has any other city. It is the show-store of the +far-famed Algerian Onyx Company. The onyx is here in great superb +blocks, wedded with bronze of exquisite finish, or serving as background +to enamels of the most elaborate design. Within, the shop is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> crammed +with lamps, jardinières, and monumental marbles, all relieved by +bronzes, gold, and exotics. The smallest object would frighten a man of +moderate means, if he inquired its price. There is a flower shop not far +off, but it isn't a shop, it's a bower. It is close by a dram-shop, +where the cab-men of the stand opposite refresh the inner man. It +represents the British public-house. But what a quiet orderly place it +is! The kettle of punch—a silver one—is suspended over the counter. +The bottles are trim in rows; there are no vats of liquid; there is no +brawling; there are no beggars by the door—no drunkards within. It is +so quiet, albeit on the Boulevard, not one in a hundred of the +passers-by notice it. The lordly Café du Cardinal opposite is not more +orderly.</p> + +<p>Past chocolate shops, where splendidly-attired ladies preside; +wood-carving shops, printsellers, pastrycooks—where the savarins +are tricked out, and where <i>petit fours</i> lie in a hundred +varieties—music-shops, bazaars, immense booksellers' windows;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> they who +are bent on a look at the shops reach a corner of the Grand Opera +Street, where the Emperor's tailor dwells. The attractions here are, as +a rule, a few gorgeous official costumes, or the laurel-embellished tail +coat of the academician. Still proceeding eastward, the shops are +various, and are all remarkable for their decoration and contents. There +is a shop where cots and flower-stands are the main articles for sale; +but such cots and such flower-stands! The cots are for Princes and the +flower-stands for Empresses. I saw the Empress Eugénie quietly issuing +from this very shop, one winter afternoon.</p> + +<p>Sophonisba's mother lingered a long time over the cots, and delighted +her mother-eye with the models of babies that were lying in them. One, +she remarked, was the very image of young Harry at home.</p> + +<p>And so on to "Barbédienne's," close by the well-known Vachette.</p> + +<p>Sophonisba, however, will not wait for our de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>scription of the renowned +Felix's establishment, where are the lightest hands for pastry, it is +said, in all France. When last we caught sight of the young lady, she +was <i>chez</i> Felix, demolishing her second <i>baba!</i> May it lie lightly on +her—!</p> + +<p>I humbly beg the pardon of Mademoiselle Sophonisba!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>THE COCKAYNE FAMILY.</h3> + + +<p>The Cockaynes deserve a few words of formal introduction to the reader, +since he is destined to make their better acquaintance. We have ventured +hitherto only to take a few discreet and distant glimpses at them, as we +found them loitering about the Boulevards on the morrow of their +appearance in Paris. Mr. Cockayne—having been very successful for many +years in the soap-boiling business, to the great discomfort and vexation +of the noses of his neighbours, and having amassed fortune enough to +keep himself and wife and his three blooming daughters among the <i>crême +de la crême</i> of Clapham, and in the list of the elect of society, known +as carriage-people—he had given up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> the soap-boiling to his two sons, +and had made up his mind to enjoy his money, or rather so much of it as +Mrs. Cockayne might not require. It is true that every shilling of the +money had been made by Cockayne, that every penny-piece represented a +bit of soap which he had manufactured for the better cleansing of his +generation. But this highly honourable fact, to the credit of poor +Cockayne, albeit it was unpleasant to the nostrils of Mrs. C. when she +had skimmed some of the richest of the Clapham <i>crême</i> into her +drawing-room, did not abate her resolve to put at least three farthings +of the penny into her pocket, for her uses and those of her simple and +innocent daughters. Mrs. Cockayne, being an economical woman, spent more +money on herself, her house, and her children than any lady within a +mile of Cockayne House. It is certain that she was an excellent mother +to her three daughters, for she reminded Cockayne every night +regularly—as regularly, he said, as he took his socks off—that if it +were not for her, she did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> not know what would become of the children. +She was quite sure their father wouldn't trouble his head about them.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Mrs. Cockayne was right. Cockayne had slaved in business only +thirty-five years out of the fifty-two he had passed in this vale of +tears, and had only lodged her at last in a brougham and pair. He might +have kept in harness another ten years, and set her up in a carriage and +four. She was sure he didn't know what to do with himself, now he had +retired. He was much better tempered when he went off to business by the +nine o'clock omnibus every morning; and before he had given himself such +ridiculous airs, and put himself on all kinds of committees he didn't +understand anything about, and taken to make himself disagreeable to his +neighbours in the vestry-hall, and moving what he called amendments and +riders, for the mere pleasure, she verily believed, of opposing +somebody, as he did everybody in his own house, and of hearing himself +talk. Does the reader perceive by this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> time the kind of lady Mrs. +Cockayne was, and what a comfort she must have been to her husband in +the autumn of his life?</p> + +<p>How he must have listened for what the novelists call "her every +footstep," and treasured her every syllable! It was mercifully ordained +that Mr. Cockayne should be a good-tempered, non-resisting man. When +Mrs. Cockayne was, as her sons pleasantly and respectfully phrased it, +"down upon the governor," the good man, like the flowers in the poem, +"dipped and rose, and turned to look at her." He sparkled while she +stormed. He smiled when the shafts of her sarcasm were thrown +point-blank at him. He was good-tempered before the storm began, while +it lasted, and when it was over. Mrs. Cockayne had the ingenuity to +pretend that Cockayne was the veriest tyrant behind people's backs; he +who, as a neighbour of his very expressively put the case, dared not +help himself to the fresh butter without having previously asked the +permission of his wife. Fate, in order to try<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> the good-nature of +Timothy Cockayne to the utmost, had given him two daughters closely +resembling, in patient endurance and self-abnegation, their +irreproachable mamma. Sophonisba—at whom the reader has already had a +glimpse, and whom we last saw demolishing her second <i>baba</i> at Felix's, +was the eldest daughter—and the second was Theodosia. There was a +third, Carrie; she was the blue, and was gentle and contented with +everything, like her father.</p> + +<p>The reader may now be prepared to learn that it was not Mr. Timothy +Cockayne, late of Lambeth, who had planned the family's journey to +Paris. Mrs. Cockayne had projected the expedition. Everybody went to +Paris now-a-days, and you looked so very stupid if you had to confess in +a drawing-room that you had never been. She was sure there was not +another family on Clapham Common, of their station, who had not been. +Besides, it would exercise the girls' French. If Mr. Cockayne could only +consent to tear himself away from board-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>meetings, and devote a little +time to his own flesh and blood. They would go alone, and not trouble +him, only what would their neighbours say to see them start off alone, +as though they'd nobody in the world to care a fig about them. At any +rate, they didn't want people to know they were neglected. Now Mr. +Cockayne had never had the most distant idea of leaving the ladies of +his family to go alone to Paris. But it pleased his wife to put the case +in this pleasant way, and he never interfered with her pleasures. He +wanted very much to see Paris again, for he had never been on the banks +of the Seine since 1840, when he made a flying visit to examine some new +patent soap-boiling apparatus. He was ordered about by both mother and +daughters, by boat and railway. He was reproached fifty times for his +manners in insisting on going the Dieppe route. He was loaded with +parcels and baskets and rugs, and was soundly rated all the way from the +railway station to the Grand Hôtel, on the Boulevard des Capucines, for +having per<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>mitted the Custom House officers to turn over Mrs. Cockayne's +boxes, as she said, "in the most impudent manner; but they saw she was +without protection."</p> + +<p>I have always been at a loss to discover why certain classes of English +travellers, who make their appearance in Paris during the excursion +season, persist in regarding the capital of France, or, as the Parisian +has it, "the centre of civilization," as a Margate without the sea. I +wonder what was floating in the head of Mr. Cockayne, when he bought a +flat cloth grey cap, and ordered a plaid sporting-suit from his +tailor's, and in this disguise proceeded to "do" Paris. In London Mr. +Cockayne was in the habit of dressing like any other respectable elderly +gentleman. He was going to the capital of a great nation, where people's +thoughts are not unfrequently given to the cares of the <i>toilette;</i> +where, in short, gentlemen are every bit as severe in their dress as +they are in Pall Mall, or in a banking-house in Lombard Street. Now Mr. +Cockayne would as soon have thought of wearing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>that plaid +shooting-suit and that grey flat cap down Cheapside or Cornhill, as he +would have attempted to play at leap-frog in the underwriters' room at +Lloyd's. He had a notion, however, that he had done the "correct thing" +for foreign parts, and that he had made himself look as much a traveller +as Livingstone or Burton. Some strange dreams in the matter of dress had +possessed the mind of Mrs. Cockayne, and her daughters also. They were +in varieties of drab coloured dresses and cloaks; and the mother and the +three daughters, deeming bonnets, we suppose, to be eccentric head-gears +in Paris, wore dark brown hats all of one pattern, all ornamented with +voluminous blue veils, and all ready to Dantan's hand. The young ladies +had, moreover, velvet strings, that hung down from under their hats +behind, almost to their heels. It was thus arrayed that the party took +up their quarters at the Grand Hôtel, and opened their Continental +experiences. I have already accompanied Mrs. Cockayne, Sophonisba, and +Theodosia, on their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> first stroll along the Boulevards, and peeped into +a few shops with them. Mr. Cockayne was in the noble courtyard of the +Hôtel, waiting to receive them on their return, with Carrie sitting +close by him, intently reading a voluminous catalogue of the Louvre, on +which, according to Mrs. Cockayne, her liege lord had "wasted five +francs." Mr. Cockayne was all smiles. Mrs. Cockayne and her two elder +daughters were exhausted, and threw themselves into seats, and vowed +that Paris was the most tiring place on the face of the earth.</p> + +<p><a name="beauty" id="beauty"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img075.jpg" + alt="BEAUTY AND THE B----." /><br /> + <b>BEAUTY & THE B——.<br /><i>Usually a severe Excursionist</i>.</b> + </div> + +<p>"My dear," said Mr. Cockayne, addressing his wife, "people find Paris +fatiguing because they walk about the streets all day, and give +themselves no rest. If we did the same thing at Clapham——"</p> + +<p>"There, that will do, Cockayne," the lady sharply answered. "I'm sure +I'm a great deal too tired to hear speeches. Order me some iced water. +You talk about French politeness, Cockayne. I think I never saw people +stare so much in the whole coarse of my life. And some boys in blue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +pinafores actually laughed in our very faces. I know what <i>I</i> should +have done to them, had <i>I</i> been their mother. What was it they said, +Sophy, my dear?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't quite catch, mamma; these people talk so fast."</p> + +<p>"They seem to me," Mrs. Cockayne continued, "to jumble all their words +one into another."</p> + +<p>"That is because——" Mr. Cockayne was about to explain.</p> + +<p>"Now, pray, Mr. Cockayne, do leave your Mutual Improvement Society +behind, and give us a little relief while we are away. I say the people +jumble one word into another in the most ridiculous manner, and I +suppose I have ears, and Sophy has ears, and we are not quite lunatics +because we have not been staring our eyes out all the morning at things +we don't understand."</p> + +<p>Here Carrie, lifting her eyes from her book, said to her father—</p> + +<p>"Papa dear, you remember that first Sculpture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> Hall, where the colossal +figures were; that was the Salle des Caryatides, and those gigantic +figures you admired so much were by Jean Goujon. Just think! It was in +this hall that Henry IV. celebrated his wedding with Marguerite de +Valois. Yes, and in this very room Molière used to act before the +Court."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Mrs. Cockayne interjected, pointing to Carrie's hands, "and in +that very room, I suppose, Miss Caroline Cockayne appeared with her +fingers out of her glove."</p> + +<p>"And where have you been all day, my dear?" Mr. Cockayne said, in his +blandest manner, to his wife.</p> + +<p>"We poor benighted creatures," responded Mrs. Cockayne, "have been—pray +don't laugh. Mr. Cockayne—looking at the shops, and very much amused we +have been, I can assure you, and we are going to look at them to-morrow, +and the day after, and the day after that."</p> + +<p>"With all my heart, my dear," said Mr. Cock<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>ayne, who was determined to +remain in the very best of tempers. "I hope you have been amused, that +is all."</p> + +<p><a name="palais" id="palais"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img080.jpg" + alt="PALAIS DU LOUVRE." /><br /> + <b> PALAIS DU LOUVRE.</b> + </div> + +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img080a.jpg" + alt="THE ROAD TO THE BOIS." /><br /> + <b>THE ROAD TO THE BOIS.</b> + </div> + + +<p>"We have had a delightful day," said Sophonisba.</p> + +<p>"I am sure we have been into twenty shops," said Theodosia.</p> + +<p>"And I am sure," Mrs. Cockayne continued, "it is quite refreshing, after +the boorish manners of your London shopkeepers, to be waited upon by +these polite Frenchmen. They behave like noblemen."</p> + +<p>"Mamma has had fifty compliments paid to her in the course of the day, I +am certain," said Sophonisba.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to hear it," said Sophonisba's papa.</p> + +<p>"Glad to hear it, and surprised also, I suppose, Mr. Cockayne! In London +twenty compliments have to last a lady her lifetime."</p> + +<p>"I don't know how it is," Theodosia observed, "but the tradespeople here +have a way of doing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> things that is enchanting. We went into an imition +jeweller's in the Rue Vivienne—and such imitations! I'll defy Mrs. +Sandhurst—and you know how ill-natured she is—to tell some earrings +and brooches we saw from real gold and jewels. Well, what do you think +was the sign of the shop, which was arranged more like a drawing-room +than a tradesman's place of business; why, it was called L'Ombre du Vrai +(the Shadow of Truth). Isn't it quite poetical?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne thought he saw his opportunity for an oratorical flourish.</p> + +<p>"It has been observed, my dear Theo," said he, dipping the fingers of +his right hand into the palm of his left, "by more than one acute +observer, that the mind of the race whose country we are now——"</p> + +<p>Here Mrs. Cockayne rapped sharply the marble table before her with the +end of her parasol, and said—</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cockayne, have you ordered any dinner for us?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne meekly gave it up, and replied that he had secured places +for the party at the <i>table d'hôte</i>.</p> + +<p>Satisfied on this score, the matron proceeded to inform that person whom +in pleasant irony she called her lord and master, that she had set her +heart on a brooch of the loveliest design it had ever been her good +fortune to behold.</p> + +<p>"At the <i>L'Ombre</i>—what do you call it, my dear?" said the husband, +blandly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne went through that stiffening process which ladies of +dignity call drawing themselves up.</p> + +<p>"You really surprise me, Mr. Cockayne. If you mean it as a joke, I would +have you know that people don't joke with their wives; and I should +think you ought to know by this time that I am not in the habit of +wearing imitation jewellery."</p> + +<p>"I ought," briefly responded Cockayne; and then he rapidly continued, in +order to ward off the fire he knew his smart rejoinder would provoke<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Tell me where it was, my dear. Suppose we go and look at it together. I +saw myself some exquisite Greek compositions in the Rue de la Paix, +which both myself and Carrie admired immensely."</p> + +<p>"Greek fiddlesticks! I want no Greek, nor any other old-fashioned +ornaments, Mr. Cockayne. One would think you were married to the oldest +female inhabitant, by the way you talk; or that I had stepped out of the +Middle Ages; or that I and Sphinx were twins. But you must be so very +clever, with your elevation of the working-classes, and those prize +Robinson Crusoes you gave to the Ragged-school children—which you know +you got trade price."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," poor Cockayne feebly expostulated, "if it's not far, let +us go and see the brooch."</p> + +<p>"There, mamma!" cried both Sophonisba and Theodosia in one breath. +"Mind, the one with the three diamonds."</p> + +<p><a name="musee" id="musee"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img085.jpg" + alt="MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG." /><br /> + <b>MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG.</b> + </div> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne being of an exceedingly yielding temperament, allowed +herself to be mollified, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>sailed out of the hotel, with the blue +veil hanging from her hat down her back, observing by the way that she +should like to box those impudent Frenchmen's ears who were lounging +about the doorway, and who, she was sure, were looking at her. Mr. +Cockayne was unfortunate enough to opine that his wife was mistaken, and +that the Frenchmen in question were not even looking in her direction.</p> + +<p>"Of course not, Mr. Cockayne," said the lady; "who would look at me, at +my time of life?"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! I didn't mean that," said Mr. Cockayne, now a little gruffly, +for there was a limit even to <i>his</i> patience.</p> + +<p>"It is difficult to tell what you mean. I don't think you know yourself, +half your time."</p> + +<p>Thus agreeably beguiling the way, the pair walked to the shop in the Rue +de la Paix, where the lady had seen a brooch entirely to her mind. It +was the large enamel rose-leaf, with three charming dew-drops in the +shape of brilliants.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They speak English, I hope," said Mr. Cockayne. "We ought to have +brought Sophonisba with us."</p> + +<p>"Sophonisba! much use <i>her</i> French is in this place. She says their +French and the French she learnt at school are two perfectly different +things. So you may make up your mind that all those extras for languages +you paid for the children were so much money thrown away."</p> + +<p>"That's a consoling reflection, now the money's gone," quoth Mr. +Cockayne.</p> + +<p>They then entered the shop. A very dignified gentleman, with exquisitely +arranged beard and moustache, and dressed unexceptionably, made a +diplomatic bow to Mr. Cockayne and his wife. Cockayne, without ceremony, +plunged <i>in medias res</i>. He wanted to look at the rose-leaf with the +diamonds on it. The gentleman in black observed that it became English +ladies' complexion "à ravir."</p> + +<p>It occurred to Mr. Cockayne, as it has occurred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> to many Englishmen in +Paris, that he might make up for his ignorance of French by speaking in +a voice of thunder. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that the +French were a deaf nation, and that they talked a language which he did +not understand in order that he might bear their deafness in mind. For +once in her life Mrs. Cockayne held the same opinion as her husband. She +accordingly, on her side, made what observations she chose to address to +the dignified jeweller in her loudest voice. The jeweller smiled good +naturedly, and pattered his broken English in a subdued and deferential +tone. As Mr. Cockayne found that he did not get on very well, or make +his meaning as clear as crystal by bawling, and as he found that the +polite jeweller could jerk out a few broken phrases of English, the +bright idea struck him that he, Mr. Cockayne, late of Lambeth, would +make his meaning plainer than a pike-staff by speaking broken English +also. The jeweller was puzzled, but he was very patient; and as he kept +passing one bracelet after another over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> the arm of Mrs. Cockayne, quite +captivated that lady.</p> + +<p>"He seems to think we're going to buy all the shop," growled Cockayne.</p> + +<p>"How vulgar you are! Lambeth manners don't do in Paris. Mr. Cockayne."</p> + +<p>"But they seem to like Lambeth sovereigns, anyhow," was the aggravating +rejoinder.</p> + +<p>"If you're going to talk like that, I'll leave the shop, and not have +anything."</p> + +<p>This was a threat the lady did not carry out. She bore the enamel +rose-leaf—the leaf with the three diamonds, as her daughters had +affectionately reminded her—off in triumph, having promised that +delightful man, the jeweller, to return and have a look at the bracelets +another day. She was quite enchanted with the low bow the jeweller gave +her as he closed his handsome plate-glass door. He might have been a +duke or a prince, she said.</p> + +<p>"Or a footman," Mr. Cockayne added. "I don't call all that bowing and +scraping business."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Mr. and Mrs. Cockayne returned to the Grand Hôtel, they found their +daughters Sophonisba and Theodosia in a state of rapture.</p> + +<p>"Mamma, mamma!" cried Sophonisba, holding up a copy of <i>La France,</i> an +evening paper, "you know that splendid shop we passed to-day, under the +colonnades by the Louvre Hôtel, where there was that deep blue <i>moire</i> +you said you should so much like if you could afford it. Well, look +here, there is a '<i>Grande Occasion</i>' there!" and the enraptured girl +pointed to letters at least two inches high, printed across the sheet of +the newspaper. "Look! a 'Grande Occasion!'"</p> + +<p>"And pray what's that, Sophy?" Mrs. Cockayne asked. "What grand +occasion, I should like to know."</p> + +<p>"Dear me, mamma," Theodosia murmured, "it means an excellent +opportunity."</p> + +<p>"My dear," Mrs. Cockayne retorted severely to her child, "I didn't have +the advantage of lessons in French, at I don't know how many guineas a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +quarter; nor, I believe, did your father; nor did we have occasion to +teach ourselves, like Miss Sharp."</p> + +<p>"Well, look here, mamma," Miss Sophonisba said, her eyes sparkling and +her fingers trembling as they ran down line after line of the +advertisement that covered the whole back sheet of the newspaper. "You +never saw such bargains. The prices are positively ridiculous. There are +silks, and laces, and muslins, and grenadines, and alpacas, and shawls, +and cloaks, and plain <i>sultanes</i>, and I don't know what, all at such +absurdly low prices that I think there must be some mistake about it."</p> + +<p>"Tut," Mr. Cockayne said; "one of those 'awful sacrifices' and bankrupt +stock sales, like those we see in London, and the bills of which are +thrown into the letter-box day after day."</p> + +<p>"You are quite mistaken, papa dear, indeed you are," Theodosia said; "we +have asked the person in the <i>Bureau</i> down stairs, and she has told us +that these '<i>Grandes Occasions</i>' take place twice regularly every year, +and that people wait for them to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> make good bargains for their summer +things and for their winter things."</p> + +<p>The lady in the <i>Bureau</i> was right. The prudent housewives of Paris take +advantage of these "<i>Grandes Occasions</i>" to make their summer and winter +purchases for the family. In the spring-time, when the great violet +trade of Paris brightens the corners of the streets, immense +advertisements appear in all the daily and weekly papers of Paris, +headed by gigantic letters that the fleetest runner may read, announcing +extraordinary exhibitions, great exhibitions, and unprecedented spring +shows. "Poor Jacques" offers 3000 cashmere shawls at twenty-seven francs +each, 2000 silk dresses at twenty-nine francs, and 1000 at thirty-nine +francs. "Little Saint Thomas," of the Rue du Bac, has 90,000 French +linos, 1000 "Jacquettes gentleman," 500 Zouaves, and 1000 dozen +cravats—all at extraordinary low prices. Poor Jacques draws public +attention to the "incomparable cheapness" of his immense operations: +while Little St. Thomas de<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>clares that his assortment of goods is of +"exceptional importance," and that he is selling his goods at a +cheapness <i>hors ligne</i>. For a nation that has twitted the English with +being a race of shop-keepers, our friends the Parisians who keep shops +are not wanting in devotion to their own commercial interests. Indeed, +there is a strong commercial sense in thousands of Parisians who have no +shutters to take down. Take for instance the poetical M. Alphonse Karr, +whose name has passed all over Europe as the charming author of A +Journey round my Garden. Nothing can be more engaging than the manner in +which M. Karr leads his readers about with him among his flowers and the +parasites of his garden. He falls into raptures over the petals of the +rose, and his eye brightens tenderly over the June fly. One would think +that this garden-traveller was a very ethereal personage, and that milk +and honey and a few sweet roots would satisfy his simple wants, and that +he had no more idea of trafficking in a market<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> than a hard man of +business has in spending hours watching a beetle upon a leaf. But let +not the reader continue to labour under this grievous mistake.</p> + +<p>M. Karr is quite up to the market value of every bud that breaks within +the charmed circle of his garden at Nice.</p> + +<p>He cultivates the poetry for his books, but he does not neglect his +ledger. In the spring, when, according to Mr. Tennyson, "a fuller +crimson comes upon the robin's breast," and "young men's fancy lightly +turns to thoughts of love," M. Alphonse Karr, poet and florist, opens +his flower-shop.</p> + +<p>Carrie had taken up the newspaper which had moved the enthusiasm of her +elder sisters. Her eyes fell on the following advertisement:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class='center'> +"By an arrangement agreed upon,<br /> +M. <span class="smcap">Alphonse Karr</span>, of Nice, +</p> + +<p>sends direct, gratuitously, and post free, either a box containing +Herbes aux Turguoises, or a magnificent bouquet of Parma Violets, +to every person who, before the end of March, shall become a +subscriber to the monthly review entitled Life in the Country. A +specimen number will be sent on receipt of fifteen sous in postage +stamps."</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>This is Alphonse Karr's magnificent spring assortment—his Grand +Occasion.</p> + +<p>"So you see, Mr. Cockayne," said his wife, "this Mr. Karr, whose book +about the garden—twaddle, <i>I</i> call it—you used to think so very fine +and poetic, is just a market-gardener and nothing more. He is positively +an advertising tradesman."</p> + +<p>"Nothing more, mamma, I assure you," said Sophonisba. "I remember at +school that one of the French young ladies, Mademoiselle de la Rosière, +told me that when her sister was married, the bride and all the +bridesmaids had Alphonse Karr's <i>bouquets</i>. It seems that the mercenary +creature advertises to sell ball or wedding <i>bouquets</i>, which he manages +to send to Paris quite fresh in little boxes, for a pound apiece."</p> + +<p>"Do you hear that?" said Mrs. Cockayne, addressing her husband. "This is +your pet, sir, who was so fond of his beetles! Why, the man would sell +the nightingales out of his trees, if he could catch them, I've no +doubt."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The story is a little jarring, I confess," Pater said. "But after all, +why shouldn't he sell the flowers also, when he sells the pretty things +he writes about them?"</p> + +<p>"Upon my word, you're wonderful. You try to creep out of everything. But +what is that you were reading, my dear Sophonisba, about the <i>grande +occasion</i> near the Louvre Hôtel? I dare say it's a great deal more +interesting than Mr. Karr and his violets. I haven't patience with your +papa's affectation. What was it we saw, my dear, in the Rue Saint +Honoré? The 'Butterfly's Chocolate'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mamma," Theodosia answered. "<i>Chocolat du Papillon</i>. Yes; and you +know, mamma, there was the linen-draper's with the sign <i>A la Pensée</i>. I +never heard such ridiculous nonsense."</p> + +<p>"Yes; and there was another, my dear," said Mrs. Cockayne, "'To the fine +Englishwoman,' or something of that sort."</p> + +<p>"Oh, those two or three shops, mamma," said<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> Sophonisba, "dedicated <i>A +la belle Anglaise!</i> Just think what people would say, walking along +Oxford Street, if they were to see over a hosier's shop, written in big, +flaring letters, 'To the beautiful Frenchwoman!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne laughed. Mrs. Cockayne saw nothing to laugh at. She +maintained that it was a fair way of putting the case.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne said that he was not laughing at his wife, but at some much +more ridiculous signs which had come under his notice.</p> + +<p>"What do you say," he asked, "to a linen-draper's called the 'Siege of +Corinth?' or the 'Great Condé?' or the 'Good Devil'?"</p> + +<p>"What on earth has La Belle Jardinière got to do with cheap trowsers, +Mr. Cockayne?" his wife interrupted. "You forget your daughters are in +the room."</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear, the Moses of Paris call their establishment the Belle +Jardinière."</p> + +<p>"That's not half so absurd, papa dear," Sopho<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>nisba observed, "as +another cheap tailor's I have seen under the sign of the 'Docks de la +Violette.'"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, my dear; I thought when my friend Rhodes came back from +Paris, and told me he had worn a pair of the Belle Jardinières——"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cockayne!" screamed his wife.</p> + +<p>"Well, unmentionables, my dear—I thought I should have died with +laughter."</p> + +<p>"Sophonisba, my dear, tell us what the paper says about that magnificent +shop under the Louvre colonnade; your father is forgetting himself."</p> + +<p>"Dear mamma," said Sophonisba, "it would take me an hour to read all;" +but she read the tit-bits.</p> + +<p>"My dears," said Mrs. Cockayne to her daughters, "it would be positively +a sin to miss such an opportunity."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne took up the paper which Sophonisba had finished reading, +and running his eye over it, said, with a wicked curling of his lip<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"My dear Sophy, my dear child, here are a number of things you've not +read."</p> + +<p>Sophonisba tittered, and ejaculated—"Papa dear!"</p> + +<p>"We have heard quite enough," Mrs. Cockayne said, sternly; "and we'll go +to-morrow, directly after breakfast, and spend a nice morning looking +over the things."</p> + +<p>"But there are really two or three items, my dear, Sophy has forgotten. +There are a lot of articles with lace and pen work; and think of it, my +love, ten thousand ladies' chem——"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne started to her feet, and shrieked—</p> + +<p>"Girls, leave the room!"</p> + +<p>"What a pity, my dear," the incorrigible Mr. Cockayne continued, in +spite of the unappeasable anger of Mrs. Cockayne—"what a pity the +<i>Magasins de Louvre</i> were not established at the time of the celebrated +emigration of the ten thousand virgins; you see there would have been +just one apiece."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>A "GRANDE OCCASION."</h3> + + +<p>"Well, these Paris tradespeople are the most extraordinary persons in the +world," cried Sophonisba's mamma, and the absolute ruler of Mr. +Cockayne. "I confess I can't make them out. They beat me. My dear, they +are the most independent set I ever came across. They don't seem to care +whether you buy or you don't; and they ask double what they intend to +take."</p> + +<p>"What is the matter now, my dear?" Mr. Cockayne ventured, in an +unguarded moment, to ask, putting aside for a moment Mr. Bayle St. +John's scholarly book on the Louvre.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, Mr. Cockayne, we do humbly venture to hope that you will +be able to spare us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> an hour this morning to accompany us to the +<i>Magasins du Louvre</i>. We would not ask you, but we have been told the +crowd is so great that ladies alone would be torn to pieces."</p> + +<p>"I forget how many thousands a day, papa dear," Sophonisba mercifully +interposed, "but a good many, visit these wonderful shops. I confess I +never saw anything like even the outside of them. The inside must be +lovely."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt they are, my dear," Mr. Cockayne observed. "They were +built about ten years ago. The foundations were——"</p> + +<p>"There," cried Mrs. Cockayne, rising, "there, your papa is off with his +lecture. I shall put on my bonnet." And Mrs. Cockayne swept grandly from +the room.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne re-entered the room with her bonnet on; determination was +painted on the lady's countenance. Cockayne should not escape this time. +He should be led off like a lamb to the slaughter. Were not the silks +marked at ridi<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>culously low prices? Was not the shawl-room a sight more +than equal to anything to be seen in any other part of Paris? Was not +the folding department just as much a sight of Paris as that wretched +collection of lumber in the Hôtel Cluny?</p> + +<p>Some wives had only to hint to have; but that was not the case with the +hapless Mrs. Cockayne. She was sure nobody could be more economical than +she was, both for herself and the children, and that was her reward. She +had to undergo the most humiliating process of asking point-blank; even +when twenty or thirty thousand pairs of gloves were to be sold at prices +that were unheard of! Men were so stupid in their meanness!</p> + +<p>"Buy the shop," Mr. Cockayne angrily observed.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Mr. Cockayne would be pleased to inform his lawful wife and the +unfortunate children who were subjected by fate to his cruel +tyranny—perhaps he would inform them when it would be convenient for +him to take them home. His insults were more than his wife could bear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter now?" asked the despairing Cockayne, rubbing his hat +with his coat-sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Mamma dear, papa is coming with us," Sophonisba expostulated.</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose he is. It has not quite come to that yet, my dear. I am +prepared for anything, I believe; but your father will, I trust, not +make us the laughing-stock of the hotel."</p> + +<p>"I am ready," said Cockayne, grimly, between his teeth.</p> + +<p>"I am obliged, you see, children, to speak," icily responded the lady he +had sworn to love and cherish. "Hints are thrown away. I must suffer the +indignity for your sakes, of saying to your father, I shall want some +money for the purchases your mother wants to make for you. It is not the +least use going to this Grande Occasion, or whatever they call it, +empty-handed."</p> + +<p>"Will you allow me time to get change?" And Mr. Cockayne headed the +procession through the hotel court-yard to the Boulevards.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Walk with your father," the outraged lady said to Sophonisba. "It's +positively disgraceful, straggling out in this way. But I might have +known what it was likely to be before I left home."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne, as was his wont, speedily re-assumed his equanimity, and +chatted pleasantly with Sophonisba as they walked along the Rue de la +Paix, across the Place Vendôme, into the Rue Castiglione. Mrs. Cockayne +followed with Theodosia; Carrie had begged to be left behind, to write a +long letter to her intellectual friend, Miss Sharp.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne stopped before the door of Mr. John Arthur.</p> + +<p>"What on earth can your father want here?" said Mrs. Cockayne, pausing +at the door, while her husband had an interview with Mr. John Arthur +within.</p> + +<p>Theodosia, peering through the window, answered, "He is getting change, +mamma dear."</p> + +<p>"At last!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne issued radiant from Mr. John Arthur's establishment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"There," said he to his wife, in his heartiest voice; "there, my dear, +buy what you and the girls want."</p> + +<p>"I will do the best I can with it. Perhaps we can manage our shopping +without troubling you."</p> + +<p>"It's not the least trouble in the world," gaily said Cockayne, putting +that bright face of his on matters.</p> + +<p>"I thought you had some idea of going to the Museum of Artillery this +afternoon, to see whether or not you approved of the French guns."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne laughed at the sarcasm, and again gave Sophonisba his arm, +and went under the colonnades of the Rue de Rivoli, wondering, by the +way, why people stared at him in his plaid suit, and at his daughter in +her brown hat and blue veil. Mrs. Cockayne wondered likewise. The French +were the rudest people on the face of the earth, and not the politest, +as they had the impudence to assert.</p> + +<p>When the party reached the colonnades of the Grand Hôtel du Louvre, they +found themselves in the midst of a busy scene.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> + +<p>The <i>Magasins du Louvre</i> stretch far under the Hôtel, from the Rue de +Rivoli to the Rue Saint-Honoré. Year after year has the stretching +process continued; but now the great company of linen drapers and +hosiers have all the space that can be spared them. The endless lines of +customers' carriages in the Rue Saint-Honoré and on the <i>Place</i> opposite +Prince Napoleon's palace betoken the marvellous trade going on within.</p> + +<p>The father of the English family here turned his back upon the great +shop, and glancing towards the Louvre and the Church of Saint Germain +l'Auxerrois, exclaimed—"Marvellous scene! A sight not to be equalled in +the world. Yonder is the old church, the bell of which tolled the——"</p> + +<p>"You're making a laughing-stock of yourself," Mrs. Cockayne exclaims, +taking her husband firmly by the arm. "One would think you were an hotel +guide, or a walking handbook, or—or a beadle or showman. What do you +want to know about the massacre of St. Bartholomew now? There'll not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> be +a mantle or a pair of gloves left. Come in—do! You can go gesticulating +about the streets with Carrie to-morrow, if you choose; but do contrive +to behave like an ordinary mortal to-day."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cockayne resigned himself. He plunged into the magnificent shop. He +was dragged into the crowd that was defiling past the fifteen-sous +counter, where the goods lay in great tumbled masses on the floor and +upon the counter. He was surprised to see the shopmen standing upon the +counter, and, with marvellous rapidity, telling off the yards of the +cheap fabrics to the ladies and gentlemen who were pressing before them +in an unbroken line. Beyond were the packers. Beyond again, was the +office where payment was made, each person having a note or ticket, with +the article bought, showing the sum due. A grave official marshalled the +customer to the pay-place. There was wonderful order in the seeming +confusion. The admirable system of the establishment was equal to the +emergency. An idea of the continuous<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> flow of the crowd past the silk +and mixed fabric counters may be got from the fact that many ladies +waited three and four hours for their turn to be served. One Parisian +lady told Mrs. Cockayne that, after waiting four hours in the crowd, she +had gone home to lunch, and had returned to try her fortune a second +time.</p> + +<p>Poor Cockayne! He was absolutely bewildered. His endeavours to steer the +"three daughters of Albion" who were under his charge, in the right +direction, were painful to witness. First he threaded corridors, then he +was in the carpet gallery, and now he was in the splendid, the palatial +shawl-hall, where elegant ladies were trying on shawls of costly fabric, +with that grace and quiet for which Parisians are unmatched.</p> + +<p>"This is superb! Oh, this is very, very fine!" cried the ladies. "How on +earth shall we find our way out?"</p> + +<p>Now they sailed among immensities of silk and satin waves. Now they were +encompassed with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> shawls; and now they were amid colonnades of rolls of +carpet.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne stayed here and there to make a purchase, by the help of +Sophonisba's French, which was a source of considerable embarrassment to +the shopmen. They smiled, but were very polite.</p> + +<p>"This is not a shop, it is a palace dedicated to trade," cried Cockayne.</p> + +<p>"Stuff and nonsense," was his answer; "take care of the parcels. Yon +know better, of course, than the people to whom it belongs."</p> + +<p>The Cockaynes found themselves borne by the endless stream of customers +into a vast and lofty gallery. Pater paused.</p> + +<p>"This is superb! It would have been impossible to realize——"</p> + +<p>"Don't be a fool, Cockayne," said his wife; "this is the lace +department. We must not go away without buying something."</p> + +<p>"Let us try," was saucily answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne immediately settled upon some Chantilly, and made her +lord, as she expressed it in her pretty way, "pay for his impudence."</p> + +<p>The silk gallery was as grand and bewildering as the lace department; +and here again were made some extraordinary bargains.</p> + +<p>Obliging officials directed the party to the first staircase on the +right, or to turn to the left, by the furnishing department. They made a +mistake, and found themselves in the <i>salons</i> devoted to made linen, +where Mrs. Cockayne hoped her husband would not make his daughters blush +with what he considered to be (and he was much mistaken) witty +observations. He was to be serious and silent amid mountains of feminine +under linen. He was to ask no questions.</p> + +<p>In the Saint Honoré gallery—which is the furnishing department—Mr. +Cockayne was permitted to indulge in a few passing expressions of +wonder. He was hushed in the splendour of the shawl gallery—where all +is solid oak and glass and rich<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> gold, and where the wearied traveller +through the exciting scene of a <i>Grande Occasion</i> at the marvellous +shops of the Louvre, can get a little rest and quiet.</p> + +<p>"A wonderful place!" said Pater, as he emerged in the Rue de Rivoli, +exhausted.</p> + +<p>"And much more sensible than the place opposite," his wife replied, +pointing to the palace where the art treasures of Imperial France are +imperially housed.</p> + +<p>"<i>Grande Occasion!</i>" muttered Mr. Cockayne, when he reached the +hotel—"a grand opportunity for emptying one's pocket. The cheapness is +positively ruinous. I wonder whether there are any cheap white elephants +in Paris?"</p> + +<p>"White elephants, Cockayne! White fiddlesticks! I do really think, +girls, your father is gradually—mind, I say, <i>gradually—gradually</i> +taking leave of his senses."</p> + +<p>"La! mamma," unfortunate Carrie interposed, raising her eyes from a +volume on Paris in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> Middle Ages—"la! mamma, you know that in +India——"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, Miss—of course I know—and if I didn't, it is not +for <i>you</i> to teach me."</p> + +<p>Mr. Timothy Cockayne heaved a deep sigh and rang for his bill.</p> + +<p>He was to leave for London on the morrow—and his wife and daughters +were to find lodgings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN.</h3> + + +<p>I Introduce at this point—its proper date—Miss Carrie Cockayne's +letter to Miss Sharp:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class='author'>"Grand Hôtel, Paris.</p></div> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Emmy</span>—They are all out shopping, so here's a long +letter. I haven't patience with the men. I am sure we have had enough +abuse in our own country, without travelling all the way to Paris for +it; and yet the first paper I take up in the reading saloon of the +hotel, contains a paragraph headed <i>Le Beau Sexe en Angleterre</i>. The +paragraph is violent. The writer wants to know what demon possesses the +Englishwomen at this moment. I might have been sure it was translated +from an <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>English paper. The creature wants to know whether the furies +are let loose, and is very clever about Lucretia Borgia, and Mary +Manning, and Mary Newell! One would think English mothers were all going +to boil their children. This is just what has happened about everything +else. In certain English circles slang is talked: therefore women have +become coarse and vulgar. The Divorce Court has been a busy one of late; +and scandals have been 'going round' as the American ladies in this +hotel say; therefore there are to be no more virtuous mothers and +sisters presently. Upon my word, the audacity of this makes my blood +boil. Here the ladies paint, my dear, one and all. Why, the children in +the Tuileries gardens whisk their skirts, and ogle their boy playmates. +Vanity Fair at its height is here—I am not going to dispute it. Nor +will I say papa is quite in the wrong when he cries shame on some of the +costumes one meets on the Boulevards. My dear, short skirts and grey +hair do <i>not</i> go well<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> together. I cannot even bear to think of +grand-mamma showing her ankles and Hessian boots! But what vexes and +enrages me is the injustice of the sudden outcry. Where has the slang +come from? Pray who brought it into the drawing-room? How is it that +girls delight in stable-talk, and imitate men in their dress and +manners? We cannot deny that the domestic virtues have suffered in these +fast days, nor that wife and husband go different ways too much: but are +we to bear all the blame? Did <i>we</i> build the clubs, I wonder? Did you or +I invent racing, and betting, and gambling? Do <i>you</i> like being lonely, +as you are, my dear? When women go wrong, who leads the way? The pace is +very fast now, and we <i>do</i> give more time to dress, and that sort of +thing than our mothers did. I own I'm a heavy hand at pastry, and mamma +is a light one. I couldn't tell you how many shirts papa has. I should +be puzzled to make my own dresses. I hate needlework. But are we +monsters for all this? Papa doesn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> grumble <i>very</i> much. He has his +pleasures, I'm sure. He dined out four times the week we came away. He +was at the Casino in the Rue St. Honoré last night, and came home with +such an account of it that I am quite posted up in the manners and +costumes of <i>ces dames</i>, yes, and the <i>lower</i> class of them. The mean +creature who has been writing in the <i>Saturday Review</i> gives us no +benefit of clergy. We have driven our brothers out into the night; we +have sent our lovers to Newmarket; we have implored our husbands (that +is, <i>we</i> who have got husbands,) not to come home to dinner, because we +have more agreeable company which we have provided for ourselves. Girls +talk slang, I know—perhaps they taught their brothers! I suppose mamma +taught papa to describe a woman in the <i>Bois</i> as 'no end of a swell,' +and when he is in the least put out to swear at her.</p> + +<p><a name="meeses" id="meeses"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img114.jpg" + alt="THE INFLEXIBLE MEESSES ANGLAISES." /><br /> + <b>THE INFLEXIBLE "MEESSES ANGLAISES."<br /><i>They are not impressionable, but they will stoop to "field sports."</i></b> + </div> + +<p>"Now, my dear, shall I give you <i>my</i> idea of the mischief? Papa thinks I +go about with my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> eyes shut; that I observe nothing—except the bonnet +shops. I say the paint, the chignons, the hoops, and the +morals—whatever they may be—start from here. My ears absolutely +tingled the first evening I spent here <i>en soirée</i>. Lovers! why the +married ladies hardly take the trouble to disguise their preferences.</p> + +<p>"I was at an embassy reception the other night. Papa said it was like a +green-room, only not half so amusing. They talked in one corner as +openly as you might speak of the Prince Imperial, about Mademoiselle +Schneider's child. There were women of the company whose <i>liaisons</i> are +as well known as their faces, and yet they were <i>parfaitement bien +reçues</i>! Theresa is to be heard—or was to be heard till she went out of +fashion—in private salons, screaming her vulgar songs among the young +ladies. When I turn the corner just outside the hotel, what do I see in +one of the most fashionable print-shops? Why, three great Mabille prints +of the shockingly indecent description—with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>ladies and their +daughters looking at them. Those disagreeable pictures in the Burlington +Arcade are, my dearest Emmy, moral prints when compared with them. We +have imported all this. Paris is within ten hours and a half of London, +so we get French ways, as papa says, 'hot and hot.'"</p> + +<p><a name="closerie" id="closerie"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img119.jpg" + alt="ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE." /><br /> + <b>ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE DE LILAS.—SHOCKING!</b> + </div> + +<p>"Who admires domestic women now? Tell an English <i>crévé</i> that Miss Maria +is clever at a custard, and he will sneer at her. No. She must be witty, +pert; able to give him as good as he sends, as people say. Young Dumas +has done a very great deal of this harm; and he has made a fortune by +it. He has brought the Casino into the drawing-room, given <i>ces dames</i> a +position in society, and made hundreds of young men ruin themselves for +the glory of being seen talking to a Cora Pearl. <i>Now</i> what do you think +he has done. He has actually brought out a complete edition of his +pieces, with a preface, in which, Papa tells me, he plays the moralist. +He has unfolded all the vice—crowded the theatres to see a bad woman in +a con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>sumption—painted the <i>demi-monde—with a purpose</i>! All the world +has laboured under the idea that the purpose was piles of gold. But now, +the locker being full, and the key turned, and in the young gentleman's +pocket, he dares to put himself in the robe of a professor, to say it +was not the money he cared about—it was the lesson. He is a reformer—a +worshipper of virtue! We shall have the author of <i>Jack Sheppard</i> start +as a penologist soon. My dear, the cowardice of men when dealing with +poor women is bad enough; but it is not by half so repulsive as their +hypocrisy. Ugh!</p> + +<p>"Any news of the handsome Mr. Daker? It strikes me, dear Emmy, 'Uncle +Sharp' didn't send him up from Maidstone with a letter of introduction +to his niece for nothing.</p> + +<p class='center'> +"Your affectionate friend,</p> +<p><span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 20em;">"Carrie C.</span>"</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>"OH, YES!" AND "ALL RIGHT!"</h3> + + +<p>Lucy was privileged to read the following:—</p> + +<p class='center'><i>Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Emily Sharp.</i></p> + +<p class='author'> +"Rue Millevoye, Paris. +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dearest Emmy</span>,—I should certainly not venture to offer any +remarks on taste to you, my love, under ordinary circumstances. But I am +provoked. I have passed a severe round of <i>soirées</i> of every +description. Jaded with the fantastic activities of a fancy-dress +genteel riot, I have been compelled to respond to the intimation of the +Vicomtesse de Bois de Rose, that "<i>on sautera</i>." I have jumped with the +rest. I have half killed myself with <i>sirops, petit-fours</i>, those +microscopic caricatures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> of detestable British preparation—sandwiches +(pronounced <i>sonveetch</i>), <i>bouillon</i>, and chocolate, in the small hours; +ices in tropical heats; <i>foie-gras</i> and champagne about two hours after +healthy bedtime, and tea like that which provoked old Lady Gargoyle to +kick over the tea-table in her boudoir—in her eightieth year, too. The +Gargoyles (I shall have much to tell you about them when we meet) were +always an energetic race; and I feel the blood tingling in me while my +eye wanders over the impertinences of the French chroniqueurs, when they +are pleased to be merry at the expense of <i>la vieille Angleterre</i>. I +hold I am right; am I not?—that when even a chroniqueur—that smallest +of literary minnows—undertakes to criticize a foreign nation, at least +the equal of his own, he should start with some knowledge of its +language, history, manners, and customs. But what do we find? The +profoundest ignorance of the rudiments of English. The special +correspondent sent to London by the <i>Figaro</i> to be amusing on our darker +side,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> cannot spell the word theatre; but he is trenchant when dealing +with what he saw at the Adelphi <i>Theater</i>. How completely he must have +understood the dialogue, he who describes Webster as a <i>comique de +premier ordre!</i> In the same paper the dramatic critic, after explaining +that at the rehearsals of <i>L'Abime</i>, the actors, who continually are +complaining that they are ordered off on the wrong side, are quieted +with the information that matters dramatic are managed in this way in +bizzare England—prints in a line apart, and by way of most humorous +comment, these words, 'English spoken here.' Conceive, my dear, an +English humorous writer interlarding his picture of a French incident +with the occasional interjection of <i>Parlez-vous Français?</i> Yet the +comic writers of Paris imagine that they show wit when they pepper their +comments with disjointed, irrelevant, and misspelt ejaculations in our +vernacular. We have a friend here (we have made dozens) who has a cat +she calls To-be—the godfather being 'To-be or not to be! 'All right'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +appears daily as a witticism; 'Oh, yes!' serves for the thousandth time +as a touch of humour. The reason is obvious. French critics are wholly +ignorant of our language. Very few of them have crossed the Channel, +even to obtain a Leicester Square idea of our dear England. But they are +not diffident on this account. They have never seen samples of the +Britisher—except on the Boulevards, or whistling in the cafés—where +our countrymen, I beg leave to say, do not shine; and these to them are +representations of our English society. Suppose we took our estimate of +French manners and culture from the small shopkeepers of the Quartier +St. Antoine! My protest is against those who judge us by our vulgar and +coarse types. The Manchester bully who lounges into the Café Anglais +with his hat on the back of his head; the woman who wears a hat and a +long blue veil, and shuffles in in the wake of the <i>malhonnête</i> to whom +she is married; again, the boor who can speak only such French as 'moa +besoin' and 'j'avais faim,' repre<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>sent English men and women just as +fairly as the rude, hoggish, French egg-and-poultry speculators +represent the great seigneurs of France.</p> + +<p><a name="smith" id="smith"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img126.jpg" + alt="SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK." /><br /> + <b>SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK.</b> + </div> + +<p>"I say I have, by this time, more than a tolerable experience, not only +of French <i>salons</i>, but also of those over which foreign residents in +Paris preside. I have watched the American successes in Paris of this +season, which is now closing its gilded gates, dismissing the slaves of +pleasure to the bitter waters of the German springs and gaming-tables. I +have seen our people put aside for Madame de Lhuile de Petrole and the +great M. Caligula Shoddy. The beauties of the season have been +'calculating' and 'going round' in the best <i>salons</i>, and they have +themselves given some of the most successful entertainments we have had. +Dixie's land has been fairyland. Strange and gorgeous Princesses from +the East have entered mighty appearances. One has captivated the Prince, +said to be the handsomest man in Paris. Russian and Polish great ladies +have done the honours—according to the news<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>papers—with their +'habitual charm.' The Misses Bickers have had their beauties sung by a +chorus of chroniqueurs. Here the shoulders of ladies at a party are as +open to criticism as the ankles of a stage dancer. The beauties of our +blonde Misses have made whole bundles of goose-quills tremble. Paris +society is made up not even chiefly of Parisians; the rich of all +nations flock to us, and are content to pay a few hundred pounds per +month for a floor of glass and gilding. The Emperor has made a show +capital as a speculation. All Europe contributes to the grandeur of the +fashionable world of Paris. And suddenly what do we hear?</p> + +<p>"That we, whose blood is good enough for England; who <i>can</i> speak a few +foreign languages in addition to our own; who know our neighbours by +having lived among them; who have travelled enough to learn that good +breeding is not confined to England or to France, are accused of having +destroyed the high tone of the Opera audiences in this city. We are good +enough, as to manners, for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> Her Majesty's Theatre, but not for the +Italiens. Tell Mrs. Sandhurst of this: she will be <i>so</i> mad!</p> + +<p>"A few nights before La Patti left us, to degrade herself by warbling +her wood-notes in the ignorant ears of the Opera public whom Mr. Gye is +about to assemble, and on whom the leadership of Costa is thrown away, +an unfortunate incident happened at the Italiens. Patti had been +announced, and Mdlle. Harris appeared instead. Whereupon there was an +uproar that could not be stilled. La Patti wept; la Harris wept also. +Finally, the spoilt child appeared, like Niobe, all tears. Who created +the uproar? The French chroniqueur answers: a cosmopolitan audience—an +audience from the Grand Hôtel. He is good enough not to pick us out, but +we are included with the rest. The foreign residents have degraded the +Opera. The audience which greets Patti is a rabble compared with that +which listened to Sontag. 'The exquisite urbanity which is proverbially +French,' and which was appa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>rent at the Italiens fifteen or twenty years +ago, has disappeared since Paris has become the world's railway +terminus. M. Emile Villars, who is so obliging as to make the +observation, proceeds to be very clever. Scratch the Russian, and you +know what you will find. I answer, a gentleman uninfluenced by a stale +proverb; we have a delightful specimen in this very house. M. Villars is +great at scratching, since his readers are recommended to grate +Peruvians and Javanese. Under the three articles, we are told, lies the +one barbarous material! The ladies of these are charming, seductive, +irresistible, but they want <i>ton</i>, and lack the delicacy of the <i>monde</i>. +We foreigners are too proud of our beauty and our dollars, have an +unquenchable thirst for pleasure, and we are socially daring. M. Villars +is funny in the fashion of his class. He says that we English-speaking +class of foreigners bear aloft a banner with the strange device 'All +right.' M. Villars proceeds to remark, 'We take from foreigners what we +should leave to them, their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>feet upon chairs, and their hats upon +their heads, as at the Italiens the other night.' He finds that a +cosmopolitan invasion has made French society less delicate, less +gallant, less polite.</p> + +<p><a name="jones" id="jones"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img131.jpg" + alt="JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE." /><br /> + <b>JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.</b> + </div> + +<p>"We are to blame! Belgravia is not refined enough for the Avenue de +l'Impératrice. Clapham, I infer, would not be tolerated at Batignolles. +I repeat, I have gone through some arduous times here, in the midst of +the foreign invasion of polite society. I have scratched neither Russ, +nor German, nor Servian, nor Wallachian. But I must be permitted to +observe, that I have found their manners quite equal to any that were +native. Shall I go further, Emmy, and speak all my mind? There is a race +of the new-rich—of the recently honoured, here, who are French from +their shoe-rosettes to their chignons. They come direct from the Bourse, +and from the Pereire fortune-manufactory of the Place Vendôme. They +bring noise and extravagance, but not manners. I have seen many of my +countrymen in Parisian drawing-rooms, in the midst<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> of Frenchmen, +Russians, Princes of various lands; and, do you know, I have not seen +anything <i>much</i> better in the way of bearing, manners, and mental +culture and natural refinement than the English gentleman. I feel quite +positive that it is not he who has lowered the manners or morals of +Napoleon the Third's subjects. I am bold enough to think that a +probationary tour through some of our London drawing-rooms would do good +to the saucy young seigneurs I see leaning on the balcony of the Jockey +Club when we are driving past.</p> + +<p>"I will remind M. Villars that his proverb has been parodied, and that +it has been said, 'Scratch a Frenchman, and you find a dancing-master.' +But I know this proverb to be foolish; and I am candid and liberal +enough to say so.</p> + +<p>"I hope you are not too lonely, and don't keep too much to your room. +Now I know by experience what life in a boarding-house means. How must +you feel, dearest Emmy, alone! Je t'embrasse. How gets on the German?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We have such a specimen of the gandin here—the Vicomte de Gars. I +think John Catt had better make haste over.</p> + +<p class='center'> +"Yours affectionately,</p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;" class="smcap">"Carrie."</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<p class='center'><i>Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Sharp.</i></p> + +<p class='author'> +"Rue Millevoye. +</p> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My dearest Emmy</span>,—No answer from you? How unkind! But still I continue +to give you my ideas of the moment from this. What do we want? A writer +in one of the frivolous sheets which are called newspapers on this side +of the Channel, has been giving himself great airs; looking out of his +window, with two or three touches of his pen he dismisses the poor women +who pass under his balcony, and closes the casement with the conviction +that woman's rights and wrongs are put away for another generation. +Foolish women! They are plentiful enough, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> they muster in fair +numbers at the Wauxhall meetings which have been going on here, to the +infinite amusement of the superior creatures who drink absinthe, smoke +cigars, and gamble, hours after we silly things have gone to bed. I am +not writing to deny woman's weakness, nor her vanity, nor the ridiculous +exhibition she makes of herself when she takes to "orating"—as the +Yankees say—and lecturing, and dressing herself up in her brother's +clothes. Do you think, my dear Emmy, there are many women foolish enough +to applaud Dr. Mary Walker because she dresses like an overgrown +school-girl, and shows her trousers? What is she like in society? +Neither man nor woman. But how many have imitated her? How many women in +England, France, and America have taken to the platform? One would think +that all womankind was in a state of revolution, and about to make a +general descent upon the tailors and tobacconists, turning over the +lords of the creation to the milliners and the baby-linen warehouses. +This is just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> the way men argue, and push themselves out of a +difficulty. This French philosophical pretender, who has been observing +us from his window (I can't imagine where he lives), describes one or +two social monstrosities—with false complexions, hair, figure,—and +morals; brazen in manner, defiant in walk—female intellectual +all-in-alls. His model drives, hunts, orates, passes resolutions, +dissects—in short does everything except attend to baby. This she +leaves to the husband. He takes the pap-bowl, and she shoulders the gun. +He looks out the linen while she sharpens her razors. The foolish public +laugh all along the boulevards, and say what a charming creature a woman +will be when she drives a locomotive, commands a frigate, and storms a +citadel!</p> + +<p>"Every time a meeting is convened at the Wauxhall to consider how the +amount of female starvation or misery may be reduced, the philosopher +throws his window open again, and grins while he caricatures, or rather +distorts and exaggerates to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>positive untruth. M. Gill gets fresh food. +The <i>chroniqueurs</i> invent a series of absurdities, which didn't happen +yesterday, as they allege. I am out of patience when I see all this +mischievous misrepresentation, because I see that it is doing harm to a +very just and proper cause. We are arguing for more work for our poor +sisters who have neither father, husband, brother, nor fortune to depend +upon; and these French comic scribblers describe us as unsexed brawlers, +who want top-boots. I want no manly rights for women. I am content with +the old position, that her head should just reach the height of a man's +heart; but I do see where she is not well used—where she is left to +genteel dependence, and a life in the darkest corner of the +drawing-room, upon the chair with the unsafe leg, over the plate that is +cracked, in the bedroom where the visitor died of scarlet fever.</p> + +<p><a name="recollection" id="recollection"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img138.jpg" + alt="FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH." /><br /> + <b>FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH.<br /><i>The faithful Bouledogue gazes with admiration at the performance of his +Mistress.</i></b> + </div> + +<p><a name="brave" id="brave"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img138a.jpg" + alt="THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS." /><br /> + <b>THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS HOLDING ON<br />BY THE TAIL +OF HER NEWFOUNDLAND.</b> + </div> + +<p>"She is not unsexed wearing her poor heart out against these bars; but +she would be a free, bright,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> instructed creature, helping her rich +sister, or a trusty counsellor when the children are ill. She would be +unsexed issuing railway tickets or managing a light business; but she is +truly womanly while she is helpless and a burden to others.</p> + +<p>"Foolish women! Yes, very stupid very often, but hardly in hoping that +the defenceless among us may be permitted to become, by fair womanly +exertion, independent. I am directed to observe how amusing the <i>Figaro</i> +has been recently at our expense, hoping to obtain the suffrages of the +really thoughtless of our sex thereby. We are our own worst enemies and +well do you men know it. The frivolous are an immense host, and these +have reason to laugh at serious women who want to get a little justice +and teaching for their dependent sisters—not manly avocations, nor +masculine amusements. I go to the Wauxhall, my dear Emmy, not to help my +sex to unsex itself, but, I must repeat, to aid my poor sisters who want +to work, that, if left without the support of male <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>kindred, they may +lead honourable, independent lives; to this end they must have certain +rights, and these, and no more, I advocate.</p> + +<p><a name="varieties" id="varieties"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img141.jpg" + alt="VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK." /><br /> + <b>VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK.<br /><i>The Parent Flower and two lovely Buds.</i></b> + </div> + +<p><a name="compatriots" id="compatriots"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img141a.jpg" + alt="COMPATRIOTS MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION." /><br /> + <b>COMPATRIOTS MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION.<br /><i>Bar-maids in the English Department recognising a fellow-countryman.</i></b> + </div> + + +<p>"You see, the old story is told over again. We beg a little +independence; and we are answered with ancient jests. You are quite as +unjust, and not so amusing or clever in your injustice in England. They +have not imitated the medical students in St. James's Hall at this +Wauxhall. We have seen no such monstrous spectacle as a host of young +men hooting and yelling at one poor, weak, foolish little woman in black +pantalettes. Truly, you must be as tired of the comic view of the +question as you are ashamed of your medical students. I know what the +highly-educated English ladies think on the subject. They detest the +orating, blustering, strangely-costumed advocates of woman's rights; but +don't fall into the common error of believing that they are not earnest +about many of the points we have been discussing here, in the midst of +this mocking race. Depend upon it, we are not foolish<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> enough—fond as +you men are of crying 'foolish women!'—to unsex ourselves.</p> + +<p>"The woman who wants to get into Parliament is, to my thinking, a +monster; and I would sentence her to stocking-mending for life. The +creature who appears before men in black pantalettes, and other +imitations of his dress, should be rigorously held clear of decent +houses, until she had learned how to dress herself modestly and +becomingly. The Missy who talked about eating her way to the bar, I +would doom to the perpetual duty of cooking chops for hungry lawyers' +clerks.</p> + +<p>"But you will have had enough of this.</p> + +<p>"Not a word? and you promised so many. Somebody has whispered a name to +me. It is Charles. Is that true? I will never forgive you.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 22em;">"Ever yours,</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap" style="margin-left: 24em;">"Carrie</span>."</p> + +<p>Emmy never answered, poor girl!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>"THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE."</h3> + + +<p>Lucy Rowe would have been fast friends with Carrie Cockayne during their +stay in her aunt's house, had Mrs. Cockayne, on the one hand, permitted +her daughter to become intimate with anything so low as "the people of +the house," and had Mrs. Rowe, on the other, suffered her niece to +"forget her place." But they did approach each other, by an irresistible +affinity, and by the easy companionship of common tastes. While +Sophonisba engaged ardently in all the doings of the house, and was a +patient retailer of its scandals; and while Mrs. Cockayne was busy with +her evening whist, and morning "looks at the shops"—quiet and retiring +Theodosia managed to become<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> seriously enamoured of the Vicomte de Gars, +who visited Mrs. Rowe's establishment, as the unexceptionable friend of +the Reverend Horace Mohun.</p> + +<p>The young Vicomte was a Protestant; of ancient family and limited means. +Where the living scions of the noble stock held their land, and went +forth over their acres from under the ancestral portcullis, was more +than even Mrs. Rowe had been able, with all her penetrating power in +scandal, to ascertain. But the young nobleman was Mr. Mohun's +friend—and that was enough. There had been reverses in the family. +Losses fall upon the noblest lines; and supposing the Count de Gars in +the wine trade—to speak broadly, in the Gironde—this was to his +honour. The great man struggling with the storms of fate, is a glad +picture always to noble minds. Some day he would issue from his cellars, +and don his knightly plume once more, and summon the vulgar intruders to +begone from the Château.</p> + +<p>As for Mrs. Cockayne, to deny that she was highly contented at the +family's intimacy with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> Viscount, would be to falsify my little +fragmentary chain of histories. She wrote to her husband that she met +the very best society at Mrs. Rowe's, extolled the elegant manners and +enclosed the photograph of the Vicomte de Gars, and said she really +began to hope that she had persuaded "his lordship" to pay them a visit +in London. "Tell Mrs. Sandhurst, my dear Cockayne, that I am sure she +will like the Vicomte de Gars."</p> + +<p>The Vicomte de Gars was a little man, with long wristbands. Miss +Tayleure described him as all eye-glass and shirt-front. Comic artists +have often drawn the moon capering on spider-legs; a little filling out +would make the Vicomte very like the caricature. He was profound—in his +salutations, learned—in lace, witty—thanks to the <i>Figaro</i>. His +attentions to Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and to Madame her mother, were of +the most splendid and elaborate description. He left flowers for the +young lady early in the morning.</p> + +<p>It was very provoking that Theodosia had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> consented to be betrothed to +John Catt of Peckham.</p> + +<p>"Carrie, my dear," Mrs. Cockayne observed, having called her daughter to +her bedroom for a good lecture, "once for all, <span class="smcap">I will not</span> have +you on such intimate terms with the people of the house. What on earth +can you be thinking about? I should have thought you would show more +pride. I am quite sure the Vicomte saw you yesterday when you were +sitting quite familiarly with Miss Rowe in the bureau. <span class="smcap">I will +not</span> have it."</p> + +<p>"Mamma dear, Lucy Rowe is one of the most sensible and, at the same +time, best informed girls I ever knew; and her sentiments are everything +that could be desired."</p> + +<p>"I will not be answered, Carrie; mind that. I wonder you haven't more +pride. A chit like that, who keeps the hotel books, and gives out the +sugar."</p> + +<p>"Her father was——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind what her father was. What is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> she? I wonder you don't +propose to ask her home on a visit."</p> + +<p>"She would not disgrace——"</p> + +<p>This was too much for Mrs. Cockayne. She stamped her foot, and bore down +upon Carrie with a torrent of reasons why Miss Rowe should be held at a +distance.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't find Theodosia behaving in such a manner. She understands +what's becoming. I dare say she's not so clever as you are——"</p> + +<p>"Dear mamma, this is cruel——"</p> + +<p>"Don't interrupt me. No, no; I see through most things. This Miss Howe +is always reading. I saw her just now with some novel, I've no doubt, +which she shouldn't read——"</p> + +<p>"It was Kingsley's——"</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, child. Yes, reading, and with a pen stuck behind her +ear."</p> + +<p>"She's so very lonely: and Mrs. Howe is so very severe with her."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt it's quite necessary; there, go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> and dress for the +table d'hôte, and mind what I say."</p> + +<p>Poor Lucy wondered what on earth could have happened that Carrie +Cockayne avoided her: and what those furtive nods of the head and stolen +smiles at her could mean? On the other hand, how had she offended Mrs. +Cockayne? Happily, Mrs. Rowe was on Lucy's side; for it had pleased Mrs. +Cockayne to show her social superiority by extravagant coldness and +formality whenever she had occasion to address "the landlady." One thing +Mrs. Cockayne admitted she could <span class="smcap">not</span> understand—viz., Why Jane +the servant took so much upon herself with her mistress; and what all +the mystery was about a Mr. Charles, who seemed to be a dark shadow, +kept somewhere as far as possible in the background of the house.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rowe, on her side, was amply revenged for Mrs. Cockayne's airs of +superiority, when Mr. Cockayne arrived in the company of Mr. John Catt, +the betrothed love of Theodosia.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You must be mad, Mr. Cockayne," was his wife's greeting directly they +were alone—"raving mad to bring that vulgar fellow John Catt with you. +Didn't you get my letters?"</p> + +<p>"I did, my dear; and they brought me over, and John Catt with me. I, at +least, intend to act an honourable part."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you will explain yourself, Mr. Cockayne."</p> + +<p>"I have travelled from Clapham for that purpose. Who the devil is this +Viscount de Gars, to begin with?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cockayne drew herself up to her full height, and looked through her +husband—or meant to look through him—but just then he was not to be +cowed even by Mrs. Cockayne.</p> + +<p>With provoking coolness and deliberation over the exact relative +quantities, Mr. Cockayne mixed himself a glass of grog from his brandy +flask; while he proceeded to inform his wife that Mr. John Catt, who had +been engaged, with their full con<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>sent, to their daughter, had, at his +instigation, travelled to Paris to understand what all this ridiculous +twaddle about Viscount de Gars meant.</p> + +<p>"You will spoil everything," Mrs. Cockayne gasped, "as usual."</p> + +<p>"I don't know, madam, that I am in the habit of spoiling anything; but +be very certain of this, that I shall not stand by and see my daughter +make a fool of a young man of undoubted integrity and of excellent +prospects, for the sake of one of these foreign adventurers who swarm +wherever foolish Englishwomen wake their appearance. I beg you will say +nothing, but let me observe for myself, and leave the young people to +come to an understanding by themselves."</p> + +<p>In common with many Englishmen of Timothy Cockayne's and John Catt's +class, Theodosia's father at once concluded that the poor polite little +Vicomte de Gars was an adventurer, and that his coronet was pasteboard, +and his shirt studs stolen. Mr. John Catt distinguished himself on his +arrival by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> loud calls for bottled beer, the wearing of his hat in the +sitting-room, and by the tobacco-fumes which he liberally diffused in +his wake.</p> + +<p>When the little Vicomte made his accustomed appearance in the +drawing-room, after the table d'hôte, he offered the Cockayne ladies his +profoundest bows, and was most reverential in his attitude to Mr. +Cockayne, who on his side was red and brusque. As neither Mr. nor Mrs. +Cockayne could speak a French word, and Mr. John Catt was not in a +position to help them, and was, moreover, inclined to the most +unfavourable conclusions on the French nobleman, the presentations were +on the English side of the most awkward description. The demoiselles +Cockayne "fell a giggling" to cover their confusion; and the party would +have made a ridiculous figure before all the boarders, had not the +Reverend Horace Mohun covered them with his blandness.</p> + +<p>Mr. John Catt was not well-mannered, but he was good-hearted and +stout-hearted. He was one of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> those rough young gentlemen who pride +themselves upon "having no nonsense about them." He was downright in all +things, even in love-making. He took, therefore, a very early +opportunity of asking his betrothed "what this all meant about Monsieur +de Gars?" and of observing, "She had only to say the word, and he was +ready to go."</p> + +<p>This was very brutal, and it is not in the least to be wondered at that +the young lady resented it.</p> + +<p>I am, as the reader will have perceived, only touching now and then upon +the histories of the people who passed through Mrs. Rowe's highly +respectable establishment while I was in the habit of putting up there. +This John Catt was told he was very cruel, and that he might go; Mrs. +Cockayne resolutely refused to give up the delights and advantages of +the society of the Vicomte de Gars; the foolish girl was—well, just as +foolish as her mamma; and finally, in a storm that shook the +boarding-house almost to its respectable founda<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>tions, the Cockayne +party broke up—not before the Vicomte and Miss Theodosia Cockayne had +had an explanation in the conservatory, and Mrs. Cockayne had invited +"his lordship" to London.</p> + +<p>I shall pick up the threads of all this presently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS.</h3> + + +<p>Poor girl! she was timid, frightened. I saw at once that the man with +whom she was, and who packed her feet up so carefully in the travelling +rug in her state cabin, was not of her class. She could not have been +daintier in mien and shape than she appeared. Hands round and white as +pearls, feet as pretty as ever stole from a man's hand to the stirrup; a +sweet wee face, that had innocence and heart in it. Country bred, I +thought: nested in some Kentish village: a childhood amid the hops: +familiar with buttermilk and home-baked bread.</p> + +<p>Who has not been blessed by looking upon such an English face: ruddy on +the cheek, and white<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> and pink upon the brow and neck: the head poised +upon the shoulders with a wondrous delicacy? Such girls issue from +honest Englishmen's homes to gladden honeymoon cottages, and perpetuate +that which is virtuous and courageous in our Saxon race. She lay muffled +in shawls, pillowed upon a carpet-bag, softened with his fur coat, +frightened about the sea, and asking every few minutes whether we were +near the port.</p> + +<p>He fell into conversation with me before we were clear of Folkestone +harbour. He was a travelled man, accustomed to do his journeying +socially, and not in the surly, self-contained, and selfish manner of +our countrymen generally. I confess—and it is a boldness, knowing all I +do know now—that I was drawn towards Daker at the outset. He had a +winning manner—just that manner which puts you on a friendly footing +with a stranger before you have passed an hour in his company. He began, +as though it was quite natural that we should become acquainted, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +tone your neighbour at dinner assumes, although you are unacquainted +with his name. We were on an exact level: gentlemen, beyond fear or +reproach. I repeat emphatically, I liked Daker's manner, for it was easy +and polished, and it had—which you don't often get with much +polish—warmth. I was attracted by his many attentions to his young +wife. Who could be near her, and not feel the chivalry in his soul warm +to such a woman? But Daker's attentions were idiosyncrasies. While he +was talking to me at the cabin-door, he saw the fur coat slip, and +readjusted it. He divined when she wanted to move. He fanned her; and +she sought his eyes incessantly with the deep pure blue of hers, and +slaked her ever-thirsty love with long, passionate gazing. She took no +notice of me: he was all her world.</p> + +<p>Daker was in an airy humour—a man I thought without guile or care, +passing away from England to happy connubial times along the enchanting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +shores which the Mediterranean bathes. We fell, as fellow-travellers +generally do, upon old stories of the ways of the world we had seen. He +had taken wider ranges than my duties had ever entailed on me.</p> + +<p>Autumn was cooling to winter; it was early November when we met.</p> + +<p>"I have been," he said, "killing time and birds pleasantly enough in +Sussex."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daker overheard him, and smiled. Then we shifted carelessly, as far +as I was concerned, away. He continued—</p> + +<p>"And now we're off on the usual tramp. My wife wants a warm winter, and +so do I, for the matter of that."</p> + +<p>"Nice?" I asked.</p> + +<p>A very decided "no" was the answer.</p> + +<p>"I shall find some little sleepy Italian country-place, where we shall +lay up like dormice, and just give King Frost the go-by for once. Are +you bound south?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Only to Paris—as prosaic a journey as any cotton-spinner could +desire."</p> + +<p>"Always plenty to be done in Paris," Daker said; "at least I have never +felt at a loss. But it's a bachelor's paradise."</p> + +<p>"And a wife's," I interposed.</p> + +<p>"Not a husband's, you think?" Daker asked, turning the end of his +moustache very tight. "I agree with you."</p> + +<p>"I have no experience; but I have an opinion, which I have been at some +pains to gather—French society spoils our simple English women."</p> + +<p>"Most decidedly," said Daker.</p> + +<p>"They are too simple and too affectionate for the artificial, +diplomatic—shall I say heartless?—society of the salons. Their ears +burn at first at the conversation. They are presented to people who +would barely be tolerated in the upper circles of South Bank, St. John's +Wood."</p> + +<p>"You are right; I know it well," said Daker, very earnestly, but +resuming his normal air of live<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>liness in an instant. "It's a bad +atmosphere, but decidedly amusing. The <i>esprit</i> of a good salon is +delicious—nothing short of it. I like to bathe in it: it just suits me, +though I can't contribute much to it. We Englishmen are not alert enough +in mind to hold our own against our nimble neighbours. We shall never +fence, nor dance, nor rally one another as they can. We are men who +don't know how to be children. It's a great pity!"</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure of that," was the opinion I uttered. "We should lose +something deeper and better. We don't enjoy life—that is, the art of +living—as they do; but we reach deeper joys."</p> + +<p>Daker smiled, and protested playfully—</p> + +<p>"We are running into a subject that would carry us far, if we would let +it. I only know I wish I were a Frenchman with all my heart, and I'm not +the first Englishman who has said so. Proud of one's country, and all +that sort of thing: plucky, strong, master race of the world. I know it. +But I have seen bitter life on that side"—pointing to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> faint white +line of Dover—"and I have enjoyed myself immensely on that"—pointing +to the growing height of Cape Grisnez.</p> + +<p>I thought, as he spoke, that he must be an ungrateful fellow to say one +word against the country where he had found the sweet little lady whose +head was then pillowed upon his rough coat. I understood him afterwards. +He started a fresh conversation, after having made a tender survey of +the wraps and conveniences of Mrs. Daker, who followed him with the deep +eyes as he returned to my side with his open cigar-case, to offer me a +cheroot.</p> + +<p>"Do you know anything of Amiens?" he said. "Is it a large place—busy, +thriving?"</p> + +<p>I gave him my impression—a ten-year old one.</p> + +<p>"Not a place a man could lose himself in, evidently," he joked; "and +they've been mowed down rather smartly by the cholera since you were +there."</p> + +<p>I could not quite like the tone of this; and yet what tenderness was in +the man when he turned to his young wife! "St. Omer, Abbeville, +Montreuil, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>and the rest of the places on the line, are dreary holes, I +happen to know. You have been to Chantilly, of course?"</p> + +<p><a name="picnic" id="picnic"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img162.jpg" + alt="A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN." /><br /> + <b>A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN.</b> + </div> + +<p>I had lost a round sum of money in that delightful place, where our +ambassador was wont to refresh himself after his diplomatic labours and +ceremonials.</p> + +<p>"I know the place," Daker went on; "I know Chantilly well. It wakes up a +curious dream of the long ago in my mind."</p> + +<p>"And Enghien?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Comme ma poche.</i>" Daker knew his Enghien well—and Enghien was +profoundly acquainted with Daker. Daker appeared to be a man not yet +over his thirtieth year. He was fair, full-blooded, with a bright grey +eye, a lithe shapely build, and distinguished in air and movement +withal. There were no marks upon his face; his eyes were frank and +direct; his speech was firm and of a cheery ring; and emotions seemed to +come and go in him as in an unused nature. Yet his conversation, free<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +as it was, and wholly unembarrassed, cast out frequent hints at a +copious history and an eventful one, in which he had acted a part. I +concluded he was no common man, and that, until now, the world had not +treated him over well; albeit he had just received ample compensation +for the past in the girlish wife who had crept to his side, and who, the +swiftest runner might have read, loved him with all her soul. We all +pride ourselves on our skill in reading the characters of our +fellow-creatures. A man will admit any dulness except that which closes +the hearts of others to him. I was convinced that I had read the +character of Daker before we touched the quay at Boulogne: he was a man +of fine and delicate nature, whom the world had hit; who had been cheery +under punishment; and who had at length got his rich reward in Mrs. +Daker. I repeat this confession, and to my cost; for it is necessary as +part explanation of what follows.</p> + +<p>My conversation with Daker was broken by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> call of a sweet +voice—"Herbert!" We were crossing the bar at the entrance of Boulogne +harbour. The good ship rolled heavily, and Herbert was wanted! When the +passengers crowded to the side, pressing and jostling to effect an early +landing, and the fishwives were scrambling from the paddles to the deck, +I came upon Daker and his wife once more. She glanced shyly and not very +good-humouredly at me, and seemed to say, "It was you who diverted the +attention of my Herbert from me so long."</p> + +<p>"Good morning," Daker said, meaning that there was an end of our +fortuitous intercourse, and that he should be just as chatty and +familiar with any man who might happen to be in the same carriage with +him between Boulogne and Paris. I watched him hand his wife into a +basket phaeton, smooth her dress, arrange her little parcels, satisfy +her as to her dressing-case, and then seat himself triumphantly at her +side, and call gaily to the saturnine Boulounais upon the box, "Allez!" +I confess that a pang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> of jealousy shot through me. It has been observed +by La Rochefoucauld that it is astonishing how cheerfully we bear the +ills of others; he might well have added that, on the other hand, it is +remarkable how we fret over the happiness of our neighbours. I envied +Daker when I saw him drive away to the station with the gentle girl at +his side; I knew that she was nestling against him, and half her illness +was only an excuse to get nearer to his heart. Why should I envy him? +Could I have seen through his face into his heart at that moment I +should have thanked God, who made me of simpler mould—a lonely, but an +honourable man.</p> + +<p>We were on our way to Paris in due time. At Amiens, where we enjoyed the +usual twenty minutes' rest, Daker offered me a light. I saw him making +his way to the carriage in which his wife sat, with a basket of pears +and some <i>caramels</i>. The bell rang, and we all hurried to our seats. I +remarked that, at the point of starting, there was an unusual stir and +noise on the platform. <i>Messieurs les<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> voyageurs</i> were not complete; +somebody was missing from one of the carriages. The station-master and +the guard kept up a brisk and angry conversation, which ended in an +imperious wave of the hand to the engine-driver.</p> + +<p>The guard and the commissioner (who travels in the interest of the +general vagrant public from London to Paris, making himself generally +useful by the way) shrugged their shoulders and got to their places, and +we went forward to Creil. Here the carriages were all searched +carefully. A lady was inquiring for the gentleman. My French companions +laughed, and answered in their native light manner; and again we were +<i>en route</i> for Paris. Past Chantilly and Enghien and St. Denis we flew, +to where the low line of the fortifications warned us to dust ourselves, +fold our newspapers, roll up our rugs, and tell one another that which +was obvious to all—that we were in the centre of civilization once +more.</p> + +<p>It was dark; and I was hungry, and out of humour, and impatient. I had +fallen in with un<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>sympathetic companions. That half-hour in the +waiting-room, while the porters are arranging the luggage for +examination, is trying to most tempers. I am usually free from it; but +on this occasion I had some luggage belonging to a friend to look after. +I was waiting sulkily.</p> + +<p>Presently the guard, the travelling commissioner, and half-a-dozen more +in official costume, appeared, surrounding a lady, who was in deep +distress. Had I seen a gentleman—fair, &c., &c.? I turned and beheld +Mrs. Daker. She darted at me, and I can never forget the look which +accompanied the question—</p> + +<p>"You were with my husband on the boat. Where is he?"</p> + +<p>He was not among the passengers who reached Paris. We telegraphed back +to Creil, and to Amiens. No English traveller, who had missed his train, +made answer. We questioned all the passengers in the waiting-room; one +had seen the <i>blonde</i> Englishman buying pears at Amiens; this was all we +could hear. I say "we," because Mrs.</p> + +<p><a name="excursionists" id="excursionists"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img169.jpg" + alt="EXCURSIONISTS AND EMIGRANTS." /><br /> + <b>EXCURSIONISTS & EMIGRANTS.<br /><i>Sketches in Paris</i></b> + </div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p> + +<p>Daker at once fastened upon me: she implored my advice; she narrated all +that had passed between her husband and herself while the train was +waiting at Amiens. He had begged her not to stir—kind fellow that he +was—he had insisted upon fetching fruit and sweetmeats for her. I +calmed her fears, for they were exaggerated beyond all reason. He would +follow in the next train; I knew what Frenchmen were, and they would not +remark a single traveller, unless he had some strong peculiarity in his +appearance, and her husband had a travelled air which was cosmopolitan. +He spoke French like a Frenchman, she told me; and he had proved, on the +boat, that he was familiar with its idioms. I begged her to get her +luggage, go to her hotel, and leave me to watch and search. What hotel +were they to use? She knew nothing about it. Her husband hadn't told +her, for she was an utter stranger to Paris. I recommended the Windsor +(I thought it prudent not to say Mrs. Rowe's); and she was a child in my +hands. She looked even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> prettier in her distress than when her happy +eyes were beaming, as I first caught sight of them, upon Herbert Daker. +The tears trickled down her cheek; the little white hands shook like +flower bells in the wind. While the luggage was being searched +(fortunately she had the ticket in her reticule), I stood by and helped +her.</p> + +<p>"But surely, madam, this is not all!" I remarked, when her two boxes had +been lightly searched. She caught my meaning. Where was her husband's +portmanteau?</p> + +<p>"Mr. Baker's portmanteau was left behind at Boulogne—there was some +mistake; I don't know what exactly. I——"</p> + +<p>At this moment she marked an expression of anxiety in my face. She gave +a sharp scream, that vibrated through the gloomy hall and startled the +bystanders. "Was madame ill? Would she have some <i>eau sucrée?</i>" She had +fainted! and her head lay upon my arm!</p> + +<p>Unhappy little head, why stir again?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>MRS. DAKER.</h3> + + + +<p>"You must come, my dear fellow. You know, when I promise you a pleasant +evening I don't disappoint you. You'll meet everybody. You dine with me. +<i>Sole Joinville</i>, at Philippe's—best to be had, I think—and a bird. In +the cool, the Madrid for our coffee, and so gently back. I'll drop you +at your door—leave you for an hour to paint the lily, and then fetch +and take you. You shall not say me nay."</p> + +<p>I protested a little, but I was won. I had a couple of days to spend in +Paris, and, like a man on the wing, had no particular engagements.</p> + +<p>We met, my host and I, at the <i>Napolitain</i>. He knew everybody, and was +everybody's favourite.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> Cosmo Bertram, once guardsman, then fashionable +saunterer wherever society was gayest, quietly extravagant and +sentimentally dissipated, had, after much flitting about the sunny +centres of the Continent, settled down to Paris and a happy place in the +English society that has agglomerated in the west of Napoleon's capital. +Fortunately for his "little peace of mind"—as he described a shrewd, +worldly head—he was put down by the dowagers, after some sharp +discussions of his antecedents, as "no match." There was the orphan +daughter of a Baronet who had some hundred and twenty a year, and tastes +which she hoped one day to satisfy by annexing a creature wearing a hat, +and a pocket with ten times that sum. She had thought for a moment of +Cosmo Bertram when she had enjoyed her first half-hour of his amusing +rattle; but she had been quickly undeceived—Bertram could not have +added a chicken to her broth, a pair of gloves to her toilette; so she +shut up the thing she called a heart, for lack of some fitter name, and +cruised<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> again through the ominous gold rings of her glasses round the +<i>salons</i>, and hoped the growing taste for travel might send her some one +for annexation at last.</p> + +<p>"We're jigging on pretty much as usual," Bertram said at Philippe's. +"Plenty of scandal and plenty of reason for it. The demand creates the +supply—is that sound political economy?"</p> + +<p>"I am surprised that political economy, together with an intimate +acquaintance with hydrostatics, are not exacted in these mad examination +days from a queen's messenger; but I am not bound not to be a fool in +political economy, so I elect to be one."</p> + +<p>"Chablis?"</p> + +<p>"Ay; and about ice?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Q. M., when you have had a headache, has it ever fallen to your +lot to be in the company of a pretty woman?"</p> + +<p>"Else had I been one of the most neglected of men."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, she has fetched the Eau-de-Cologne, bathed your manly brow, and +then blown her balmy breath over your temples. That sweet coolness, my +dear fellow, is my idea of the proper temperature for Chablis."</p> + +<p>"It's a great bit of luck to pounce upon you, Bertram, when a man has +only a few hours to spend in Paris, after a year or two's absence. +Nearly upon two years have passed since I was here. Yes, November, +'62—now August, '64."</p> + +<p>"In that time, my dear Q. M., reputations have been made and lost by the +hundred. I have had a score of eternal friendships. You can run through +the matrimonial gauntlet, from courtship to the Divorce Court, in that +time. We used to grieve for years: now we weep as we travel; shed tears, +as we cast grain, by machinery. Two years! Why, I have passed through +half-a-dozen worlds. My bosom friend of '62 wouldn't remember me if I +met him to-morrow. I met old Baron Desordres, who has made such a +brilliant <i>fiasco</i> for everybody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> except himself, yesterday; I knew him +in '62 with poor little Bartle, who lent him a couple of thousands. +Bartle died last month. In '62 Desordres and Bartle were inseparable. I +said to the Baron yesterday, 'You know poor little Bartle is dead.' The +Baron, picking his teeth, murmured, turning over the leaves of his +memory, '<i>Bartel! Bartel!</i> I remember—<i>un petit gros, vrai?</i>' and the +leaves of the Baron's memory were turned back, and Bartle was as much +forgotten in five minutes as the burnt end of a cigarette. I daresay his +sisters are gone as governesses for want of the thousands the Baron ate. +Two years! Two epochs!"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. While the light burns, and the summer is on, the moths +come out. Tragedy, comedy, and farce elbow each other through the rooms. +I have seen very much myself, for bird of passage. I took part in a +strange incident when I passed through last time."</p> + +<p>"Tell your story, and drink your Roederer, my dear Q. M."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Story! I want to get at the story. I travelled with a man and his wife +from Folkestone to Paris. On the boat he was the most attentive of +husbands; at the terminus he had disappeared. Poor woman in tears; fell +into my arms, sir, by Jove!"</p> + +<p>"No story!" cried Bertram, winking at the floating air-beads in his +glass. "No story! my good, simple Q.M. Egad! what would you have? Pray +go on."</p> + +<p>"Go on! I've finished. I was off in the afternoon by the Marseilles +mail. Of course, I did my utmost to find the husband. She went to the +Windsor; I thought it would be quiet for her. I went to the police, paid +to have inquiries kept up in all the hotels; and lastly, put her in +communication with a good business man—Moffum, you know; and left her, +a wreck of one of the prettiest creatures I have ever seen."</p> + +<p>"What kind of fellow was the husband? You got his name, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Daker—Herbert Daker. Man of good family.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> A most agreeable, taking, +travelled companion; light and bright as——"</p> + +<p>"The light-hearted Janus of Lamb," Bertram interrupted, his words +dancing lightly as the beads in his glass.</p> + +<p>The association of Daker with Wainwright struck me sharply. For how +genial and accomplished a man was the criminal! a stranger +conglomeration of graces and sins never dwelt within one human breast. I +was started on wild speculations.</p> + +<p>"I've set you dreaming. You found no clue to a history?"</p> + +<p>"None. She had been married three months to Daker. She was a poor girl +left alone, with a few hundreds, I apprehend. She would not say much. A +runaway match, I concluded. Not a word about her family. When I left +Paris, after dinner, he had made no sign. She promised to write to me to +Constantinople. I gave her my address in town. I told her Arthur's here +would reach me. But not a word, my dear boy. That woman had the soul of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +truth in voice and look, or I never read Eve's face yet."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" Bertram laughed. "I wish I had not got beyond the risk of +being snared by the un-gloving of a hand. You only pass through, I live +in Paris."</p> + +<p>"Paris or London, a heart may be read, if you will only take the +trouble. I shall never hear, in all human probability, what has become +of Mrs. Daker, or her husband; she may be an intrigante, and he a +card-sharper now; all I know, and will swear, is that she loved that man +to distraction then, and it was a girl in love."</p> + +<p>"And he?"</p> + +<p>Bertram's suspicions seemed to be fixed on Daker, whom he had never +seen; although I had described his eminently prepossessing qualities.</p> + +<p>"I can't understand why you should suspect Daker of villany, as I see +you do, Bertram."</p> + +<p>"I tell you he was a most accomplished, prepossessing villain, my dear +Q.M. Your upper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> class villains are always prepossessing. Manners are as +necessary to them as a small hand to a pickpocket."</p> + +<p>"Sharp, but unfair—only partly true, like all sweeping generalizations. +I think, as I hope, that the wife found the husband, and that they are +nestling in some Italian retreat."</p> + +<p>"And never had the grace to write you a word! No, no, you say they had +manners. That, at any rate, then, is not the solution of the mystery."</p> + +<p>Bertram was right here. Then what had become of Mrs. Daker? Daker, if +alive, was a scoundrel, and one who had contrived to take care of +himself. But that sweet country face! Here was a heart that might break, +but would never harden.</p> + +<p>"Mystery it must and will remain, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"One of many," was Bertram's gay reply. "How they overload these matches +with sulphur!"</p> + +<p>He was lighting his cigar. His phaeton was at the door. A globule of +Chartreuse; a compliment for the <i>chef</i>, a bow to the <i>dame de +comptoir</i>, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> we were on our way to the Bois, at a brisk trot, for the +great world had cleared off to act tragedy and comedy by the ocean +shore, or the invalid's well, or the gambler's green baize.</p> + +<p>Bertram—one of that great and flourishing class of whom Scandal says +"she doesn't know how they do it, or who pays for it"—albeit a bad +match, even for Miss Tayleure, was, as I have said, in good English and +French society, and drove his phaeton. He was saluted on his way along +the Champs Elysées and by the lake, by many, and by some ladies who were +still unaccountably lingering in Paris. A superb little Victoria passed. +Bertram raised his hat.</p> + +<p>"An Irish girl," he said, "of superb beauty."</p> + +<p>At the Madrid we met a few people we knew; and, driving home, Bertram +saluted Miss Tayleure, who was crawling round the lake with her twin +sister, and was provoked to be recognised by a man of fashion in a hack +vehicle in the month of August.</p> + +<p><a name="boulogne" id="boulogne"></a></p> +<div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img182.jpg" + alt="BOIS DE BOULOGNE." /><br /> + <b>BOIS DE BOULOGNE.</b> + </div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Charming evening they're having," said Bertram: "taking out their +watches every two minutes to be quite sure they shall get back within +the hour and a half which they have made up their minds to afford. +Beastly position!"</p> + +<p>"What! living for appearances?"</p> + +<p>"Just so; with women especially. Their dodges are extraordinary. +Tayleure would cheapen a penny loaf, and run down the price of a box of +lucifer matches. There's a chance for you! She would be an economical +wife; but then, my dear fellow, she would spend all the savings on +herself. Her virtue is like Gibraltar!"</p> + +<p>"And would be safe as unintrenched tableland, I should think."</p> + +<p>"Hang it!" Bertram handsomely interposed, "let us drop poor Tayleure. +She believes that her hour of happiness has to be rung in yet; and she +is always craning out of the window to catch the first silver echoes of +the bells. The old gentlewoman is happy."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Suppose you tell me something about your Irish beauty," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Quite a different story, my good Q.M. Wait till I get clear of this +clumsy fellow ahead. So, so, gently. Now, Miss Trefoil; the Trefoil is a +girl whose success I can understand perfectly. To begin with—the girl +is educated. In the second place, she is, beyond all dispute, a +beautiful woman. There is not another pair of violet eyes in all +Paris—I mean in the season—to be matched with hers. Milk and +roses—nothing more—for complexion: and <i>no</i> paint; which makes her +light sisters—accomplished professors of the art of <i>maquillage</i>—hate +her. A foot!" Bertram kissed the tip of his glove, by way of +description. "A voice that seems to make the air rich about her."</p> + +<p>"Gently, Bertram. We must be careful how we approach your queen, I see."</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it. I am telling you just what you would hear in any of +the clubs. She has a liberal nature, my boy, and loves nobody, that I +can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> find, in particular. What bewitches me in talking to her is a sort +of serious background. I hate a woman all surface as I hate a flat +house. The Trefoil—queer name, isn't it?—can put a tremor in her voice +suddenly. The Trefoil has memories—a fact: something which she doesn't +give to the world, generous as she is. It is the shade to her abounding +and sparkling passages of light. Only her deep art, I dare say; but +devilish pleasant and refreshing when you get tired of laughing—gives a +little repose to facial muscles. The Trefoil has decidedly made a +sensation. At the races she was as popular as the winner. She must have +got home with a chariot full of money. Of course, when she bet, she +won—or she didn't pay. A pot of money is to be made on that system: and +the women, bless 'em, how kindly they've taken to it!"</p> + +<p>This kind of improving discourse employed us to my gate. Bertram dropped +me to return for "the painted lily" in an hour.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>I am no squeamish man, or I should have passed a wretched life. The man +who is perpetually travelling must bear with him a pliant nature that +will adapt itself to any society, to various codes of morals, habits of +thought, rules of conduct, and varieties of temperament. I can make +myself at home in most places, but least in those regions which the +progress of civilization, or the progress of something, has established +in every capital of Europe, and to the description of which the younger +Dumas has devoted his genius. The atmosphere of the <i>demi-monde</i> never +delighted me. I see why it charms; I guess why it has become the potent +rival of good society; the reason why men of genius, scholars, +statesmen, princes, and all the great of the earth take pleasure in it, +is not far to seek; silly women at home are to blame in great part. This +new state of the body social is very much to be regretted; but I am not +yet of those who think that good, decent society—the converse of +honourable men with honourable women—is come or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> coming to an end. I am +of the old-fashioned, who have always been better pleased and more +diverted with the society of ladies than with that of the free graces +who allow smoke and indulge in it, and who have wit but lack wisdom. I +was not in high glee at the prospect of accompanying Cosmo Bertram to +his free dancing party.</p> + +<p>They are all very much alike. The fifteen sous basket, to use Dumas' +fine illustration, in Paris, is very like the Vienna, the Berlin, or the +London basket. The ladies are beautiful, exquisitely dressed, vivacious, +and, early in the evening, well-mannered. At the outset you might think +yourself at your embassy; at the close you catch yourself hoping you +will get away safely. Shrill voices pipe in corners of the room. "<i>On +sautera!</i>" People are jumping with a vengeance. The paint is disturbed +upon your partner's face. Pretty lips speak ugly words. <i>Honi soit qui +mal y pense;</i> but then the gentleman is between two and three wines, and +the lady is rallying him because he has sense<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> enough left to he a +little modest. A couple sprawl in a waltz. A gentleman roars a toast. +The hostess prays for less noise. An altercation breaks out in the +antechamber. Two ladies exchange slaps on the face, and you thank madame +for a charming evening.</p> + +<p>The next morning you are besieged, at your club, for news about +Aspasia's reception. She did the honours <i>en souveraine</i>; but it is +really a pity she will not be less attentive to the champagne. +Everything would have gone off splendidly if that little <i>diablesse</i> +Titi had not revived her feud with Fanchette. You are not surprised to +hear that Aspasia's goods were seized this morning. The duke must have +had more than enough of it by this time, and has, of course, discovered +that he has been the laughing-stock of his friends for a long time past. +Over the absinthe tripping commentary Aspasia sinks from the Chasusée +d'Antin to the porter's lodge. A little <i>crévé</i> taps his teeth with the +end of his cane, blinks his tired, wicked eyes, like a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> monkey in the +sun, through his <i>pince-nez</i>, and opines, with a sharp relish, that +Aspasia is destined to sweep her five stories—well.</p> + +<p>Pah! What kind of discourse is all this for born and bred gentlemen to +hold in these days, when the portals of noble knowledge lie wide open, +and every man may grace his humanity with some special wisdom of his +own!</p> + +<p>Bertram, a ribbon in his buttonhole, and arrayed to justify his fame as +one of the best-dressed men in Paris, came in haste for me.</p> + +<p>"We are late, my dear Q.M. This is not carnival time, remember. We jump +early."</p> + +<p>The rooms were—but I cannot be at the pains of describing them. The +reader knows what Sévres and Aubusson, St. Gobain, Barbédienne, +Fourdinois, Jeanseline, Tahan, and the rest, can do for a first floor +within a stone's throw of the Boulevard des Italiens. The fashion in all +its most striking aspects is here. The presents lie thick as autumn +leaves. The bonne says you might fill a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> portmanteau with madame's fans. +Bertram is recognised by a dozen ladies at once. The lady of the house +receives me with the lowest curtsey. No ambassadress could be more +<i>gracieuse</i>. The toilettes are amazing. It is early, after all Bertram's +impatience. The state is that of a duchesse for the present. Bertram +leaves me and is lost in the crowd. The conversation is measured and +orderly. The dancing begins, and I figure in the quadrille of honour. I +am giving my partner—a dark-eyed, vivacious lady—an ice, when I am +tapped upon the shoulder by Cosmo Bertram. Bertram has a lady on his +arm. He turns to her, saying—</p> + +<p>"Permit me to present my friend to you, Madame Trefoil——"</p> + +<p>"What! Mrs. Daker!" I cried.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daker's still sweet eyes fell upon me; and she shook my hand; and +by her commanding calmness smothered my astonishment, so that the +bystanders should not see it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> + +<p>Later in the evening she said—passing me in the crowd—"Come and see +me."</p> + +<p>I did not—I could not—next morning, tell Lucy nor Mrs. Rowe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER.</h3> + + +<p>I had an unfortunate friend at Boulogne in the year 1865—then and many +years before. He lived on the ramparts in the upper town; had put on +that shabby military air, capped with a naval <i>couvre-chef</i> (to use a +Paris street word that is expressive, as street words often are), which +distinguishes the British inhabitant of Boulogne-sur-mer; and was the +companion of a group of majors and skippers, sprinkled with commercial +men of erratic book-keeping tendencies. He had lost tone. He took me to +his club; nothing more than a taproom, reserved to himself and men with +whom he would not have exchanged a cigar light in London. The jokes were +bad and flat. A laid-up captain of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> an old London boat—sad old rascal +was he!—led the conversation. Who was drunk last night? How did the +Major get the key into the lock? Who paid for Todger's last go? "My +word," said I, to my friend, who had liquored himself out of one of the +snuggest civil berths I know, "how you can spend your time with those +blackguards, surpasses my comprehension." They amused him, he said. He +must drink with them, or play whist with another set, whose cards—he +emphatically added, giving me to understand much thereby—he did not +like. It was only for a short time, and he would be quit of them. This +was his day dream. My friend was always on the point of getting rid of +Boulogne; everything was just settled; and so, buoyed with a hope that +never staled, death caught him one summer's afternoon, in the Rue +Siblequin, and it was the bibulous sea captain and the very shady major +who shambled after him, when he was borne through those pretty <i>Petits +Arbres</i> to the English section of the cemetery. Wrecks of many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> happy +families lie around him in that narrow field of rest; and passing +through on my state errands, I have thought once or twice, what sermons +indeed are there not in the headstones of Boulogne cemetery.</p> + +<p>I was with my poor friend in the December of 1865. I was on way home to +pass a cheery Christmas with my own people—a luxury which was not often +reserved for me—and he had persuaded me to give him a couple of days. +It would have been hard to refuse Hanger, who had been gazing across +Channel so many weary months, seeing friends off whither he might not +follow; and wondering when he should trip down the ladder, and bustle +with the steward in the cabin, and ask the sailors whether we shall have +a fine passage. To see men and women and children crowding home to their +English Christmas from every corner of Europe, and to be left behind to +eat plum-pudding in a back parlour of an imitation British tavern, with +an obsolete skipper, and a ruined military man, whose family<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> blushed +whenever his name was mentioned, was trying. Hanger protested he had no +sentiment about Christmas, but he nearly wrung my hand off when he took +leave of me.</p> + +<p>It was while we were sauntering along the port, pushing hard against a +blustering northerly wind, and I was trying to get at the truth about +Hanger's affairs, advising him at every turn to grasp the bull by the +horns, adopt strong measures, look his creditors full in the face—the +common counsel people give their friends, but so seldom apply in their +own instance—that we were accosted by a man who had just landed from +the Folkestone boat. He wanted a place—yes, a cheap place—where they +spoke English and gave English fare. Hanger hastened to refer him to his +own British tavern, and, turning to me, said, "Must give Cross a good +turn—a useful fellow in an emergency."</p> + +<p>I returned with Hanger to the tavern, much against my will; but he +insisted I should not give myself airs, but consent to be his guest to +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> extent of some bitter ale. Cross's new client was before a joint of +cold beef, on the merits of which, combined with pickled onions, pickled +by the identical hands of Mrs. Cross, Cross could not be prevailed upon +to be quiet.</p> + +<p>"Not a bad bit of beef," said the stranger, helping himself to a +prodigious slice. "Another pint of beer."</p> + +<p>Cross carried off the tankard, and returned, still muttering—"Not bad +beef, I should think not—nor bad ale neither. Had the beef over from +the old country."</p> + +<p>The stranger brought his fist with tremendous force upon the table, and +roared—"That's right, landlord; that's it; stick to that."</p> + +<p>Cross, thus encouraged, would have treated the company to a copious +dissertation on the merits of British fare, had not the company chorused +him down with—"Now Cross is off! Cross on beef! Cross on beer!"</p> + +<p>In a furious passion Cross left the room, rowing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> that he would be even +with "the captain" before the day was over. Hanger considered himself +bound to ask the stranger whether he was satisfied with his +recommendation.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't be better, thankee," the stranger answered; "but the landlord +doesn't seem to know much about the place. New comer, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Was forty years ago," the old captain said, looking round for a laugh; +"but he doesn't go out of the street once a month."</p> + +<p>"I asked him where Marquise was, and be hanged if he could tell me. I +want to know particularly."</p> + +<p>The major glanced at the captain, and the captain at a third companion. +Was somebody wanted? Who was hiding at Marquise?</p> + +<p>"Thought every fool knew that," the captain said, in the belief that he +had made a palpable hit.</p> + +<p>"Every fool who lives in these parts, leastwise," the stranger retorted. +"Perhaps you'll direct me?'</p> + +<p>"Now, look you here, sir," the captain was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> proceeding, leisurely +emphasizing each word with a puff of tobacco smoke.</p> + +<p>But the stranger would not be patient. He changed his tone, and +answered, fiercely—</p> + +<p>"I'm in no mind for fun or chaff. I've got d——d serious business on +hand; and if you can tell me how to get to Marquise, tell me straight +off, and ha' done with it—and I shall be obliged to you." With this he +finished his second tankard of ale.</p> + +<p>Hanger, feeling some responsibility about the man he had introduced, +approached him with marked urbanity, and offered his services—</p> + +<p>"I know Marquise and Wimille."</p> + +<p>"Wimille! that's it!" the stranger cried. "Right you are. That's my +direction. This is business. Yes, between Marquise and Wimille."</p> + +<p>"Precisely," Hanger continued, as we proceeded towards the door.</p> + +<p>I heard the major growl between his teeth in our rear—"Hanger's got him +well in tow."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> + +<p>I should have been glad to show the man his way, and leave him to follow +it; but Hanger, who could not resist an adventure, drew me aside and +said—"We may as well drive to Marquise as anywhere else. We shall be +back easily for the <i>table d'hôte</i>." The expedition was not to my taste; +but I yielded. The stranger was glad of our company, for the reason, +which he bluntly explained, that we might be of some use to him; for the +place was not exactly at Marquise nor at Wimille. We hired a carriage, +and were soon clattering along the Calais road, muffled to our noses to +face the icy wind.</p> + +<p>The stranger soon communicated his name, saying, "My name is Reuben +Sharp, and I don't care who knows it. Ask who Reuben Sharp is at +Maidstone: they'll tell you."</p> + +<p>Reuben Sharp was a respectable farmer—it was not necessary for him to +tell us that. He was a man something over fifty: sharp eyes, round head, +ruddy face, short hair flaked with white, which he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> matted over his +forehead at intervals with a flaming bandanna; a voice built to call +across a field or two; limbs equal to any country work or sport. In +short, an individual as peculiar to England as her chalk cliffs. When he +found that we knew something—and more than something—of the +hunting-field, and that I knew his country, including Squire Lufton, to +say nothing of the Lion at Farningham (one of the sweetest and most +charming hostelries in all England), he took me to his heart, and told +me his mission and his grief.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how I shall meet him," Reuben Sharp said; "I'm not quite +certain about myself. The man I'm going to see—this Matthew +Glendore—has done me and mine a bitter wrong. The villain brought +dishonour on my family. I knew he was in difficulties when he came into +our parts, and took two rooms in Mother Gaselee's cottage. But he was a +gentleman, every inch of it, in appearance. A d—d good shot; rode well; +and—you know what fools girls are!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p> + +<p>I could only listen: any question might prove a most indiscreet one. +Hanger was not quite so sensitive. "Fools!" he cried—"they are +answerable for more mischief in the world than all the men and children, +and the rest of the animal creation put together."</p> + +<p>"And yet no man's worth a woman's little finger, if you know what I +mean," Reuben Sharp went on, struggling manfully to get clear expression +for the tumult of painful feeling that was in him. "They don't know what +the world is; you cannot make 'em understand. The best fall into the +hands of the worst men. She was the best, and he was the worst: the +best, that she was. And I sent him to her, where she was living like an +honest woman, and learning to be a lady, in London."</p> + +<p>"And who is this Matthew Glendore, whom you are going to see?"</p> + +<p>"The worst of men—the basest; and he's on his death-bed! and I'm to +forgive him! I!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Where is she? where is she, Glendore? for I know you through your +disguise."</p> + +<p>We stared at the farmer while he raved, lit his cigar, and then, in the +torrent of his passion, let it out again. As we dipped to the hollow in +which Wimille lay, passing carts laden with iron ore, Sharp became more +excited.</p> + +<p>"We cannot be far off now. He's lying at one of the iron-masters' +houses, half a mile beyond this Wimille. Let's stop: I must have some +brandy-and-water."</p> + +<p>Hanger joyfully fell in with this proposition, vowing that he was +frozen, and really could not stand the cold without, unless he had +something warm within, any longer. We alighted at the village cabaret, +and drew near the sweet-smelling wood fire, from which the buxom +landlady drove two old men for our convenience. I protested they should +not be disturbed; but they went off shivering, as they begged us to do +them the honour of taking up their post in the chimney-corner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> + +<p>We threw our coats off, and the grog was brought. The woman produced a +little carafon of brandy.</p> + +<p>"Tell her to bring the bottle," Sharp shouted, impatiently. "Does she +take us to be school girls? Let the water be boiling. Ask her—Does she +know anything of this Matthew Glendore?"</p> + +<p>The farmer mixed himself a stiff glass of brandy-and-water, while he +watched Hanger questioning the landlady with many bows and smiles.</p> + +<p>"Plenty of palavering," Sharp muttered; then shouted—"Does she know the +scoundrel?"</p> + +<p>"One minute, my friend," Hanger mildly observed, meaning to convey to +Sharp that he was asking a favour of gentlemen, not roaring his order to +slaves. "Permit me to get the good woman's answers. Yes; she knows +Monsieur Glendore."</p> + +<p>"Mounseer Glendore! She knows no good of him."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," mildly pursued Hanger, sipping his grog, and nicely +balancing it with sugar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> to his taste—"on the contrary, my good sir, +she says he is a brave fellow—what she calls a <i>brave garçon</i>."</p> + +<p>"Doesn't know him then, Mounseer Glendore! I wonder how many disguises +he has worn in his life—how many women he has trapped and ruined! Ask +her how long he has been here?"</p> + +<p>The landlady answered—"Two years about the middle of next month."</p> + +<p>"And he has never left this since?" Sharp went on, mixing himself by +this time a second glass of brandy-and-water.</p> + +<p>The landlady had never been a day without seeing him. He came to play +his game of dominoes in the evening frequently. The dominoes exasperated +the farmer. He would as soon see a man with crochet needles.</p> + +<p>"D—n him!" Sharp shouted; "just like him."</p> + +<p>I now ventured to interfere. Reuben Sharp was becoming violent with +passion inflamed by brandy. The landlady was certain poor Monsieur +Glendore<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> would never rise from his bed again. I said to +Sharp—"Whatever the wrong may be this man has done you, Mr. Sharp, pray +remember he is dying. He is passing beyond your judgment."</p> + +<p>"Is he? Passing from my grip, is he? No—no—Herbert Daker."</p> + +<p>Sharp had sprung from his chair, and was shaking his fist in the air.</p> + +<p>"Daker! Herbert Daker!" I seized Reuben Sharp by the shoulder, and shook +him violently. "What do you know about Herbert Daker?"</p> + +<p>Sharp turned upon me a face shattered with rage, and hissed at me. "What +do I know about him? What do <i>you</i> about him? Are you his friend?"</p> + +<p>"I am not: never will, nor can be," was my reply. Sharp wrung my hand +till it felt bloodless. "Herbert Daker is Matthew Glendore—Mounseer +Glendore. When did you meet him?"</p> + +<p>"On the Boulogne steamer, about three years ago, when he was crossing +with his wife."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Then!" Sharp exclaimed, and again he took a draught of +brandy-and-water.</p> + +<p>At this moment Hanger, who had been talking with the landlady, joined +us, and whispered—"Be calm, gentlemen; this is a time for calmness. +Glendore is at hand—in a little cottage on Monsieur Guibert's works. +Madame says if we wish to see him alive, we had better lose no time. The +clergyman from Boulogne arrived about an hour ago, and is with him now. +His wife!—--"</p> + +<p>"His wife!" Sharp was now a pitiable spectacle. He finished his glass, +and caught Hanger by the collar of his coat—staring into his face to +get at all the truth. "Glendore's wife!"</p> + +<p>Hanger was as cool as man could be. He disengaged himself deliberately +from the farmer's grip, put the table between them, and went smoothly on +with the further observation he had to make!</p> + +<p>"I repeat, according to the landlady, whose word we have no reason to +doubt, his wife is with him—and his mother!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sharp struck the table and roared that it was impossible. I stood in +hopeless bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Would it be decent to intrude at such a moment?"</p> + +<p>"Decent!" Sharp was frantically endeavouring to button up his coat.</p> + +<p>"D—n it, decent! Which is the way? My girl—my poor girl!"</p> + +<p>"Show him," I contrived to say to Hanger, and he took the landlady's +directions, while I passed my arm through Reuben Sharp's. We stumbled +and blundered along in Hanger's footsteps, round muddy corners, past +heaps of yellow ore, Sharp muttering and cursing and gesticulating by +the way. We came suddenly to a halt at the little green door of a +four-roomed cottage.</p> + +<p>"Knock! knock!" Sharp shouted, pressing with his whole weight against +the door. "Let me see her!—the villain!—Mounseer Glendore!—No, no, +Herbert Daker!"</p> + +<p>The power of observation is at its quickest in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> moments of intense +excitement. I remember looking with the utmost calmness at Sharp's face +and figure, as he stood gasping before the door of Herbert Daker's +lodging. It was the head of a satyr in anger.</p> + +<p>"Daker—Herbert Daker!" Sharp cried.</p> + +<p>The door was suddenly thrown open, and an English clergyman, unruffled +and full of dignity, stood in the entrance. Sharp was a bold, untutored +man; but he dared not force his way past the priest.</p> + +<p>"Quiet, gentlemen—be quiet. Step in—but quiet—quiet."</p> + +<p>We were in the chamber of Matthew Glendore in a moment. A lady rose from +the bedside. Humble, and yet stately, a white face with red and swollen +eyelids, eyes with command in them. We were uncovered, and in an instant +wholly subdued.</p> + +<p>"My child—my girl!" Reuben Sharp moaned.</p> + +<p>The clergyman approached him, and laid his hand upon him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Whom do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Daker—my—"</p> + +<p>The pale lady, full of grief, advanced a step, and looking full in the +face of Reuben Sharp, said, "I, sir, am Mrs. Daker."</p> + +<p>I had never seen that lady before.</p> + +<p>"You!" Sharp shouted, shaking with rage.</p> + +<p>But the minister firmly laid his hand upon him now, saying, "Hush! in +the chamber of death! His mother is at his bedside; spare her."</p> + +<p>At this, a little figure with a ghastly face rose from the farther side +of the bed.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Rowe!" I cried.</p> + +<p>She had not the power left to scream; and her head fell heavily upon the +pillow of the dying man.</p> + +<p>"Enough, enough!" the clergyman said with authority—closing the door of +the chamber wherein Herbert Daker, the "Mr. Charles" of the Rue +Millevoye, lay dead!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>THE CASTAWAY.</h3> + + +<p>Cosmo Bertram was at a very low ebb. No horse. Had moved off to +Batignolles. Had not been asked to the Embassy for a twelvemonth. When +he ventured into the Tuileries gardens in the afternoon, it somehow +happened that the backs of the ladies' chairs were mostly turned towards +him. He was still dapper in appearance; but a close observer could see a +difference. Management was perceptible in his dress. He had no watch; +but the diamond remained on his finger—for the present; and yet society +had nothing seriously compromising to say against him. It was rumoured +that he had seen the interior of Clichy twice. So had Sir Ronald, who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +was now the darling of the Faubourg; but then, note the difference. Sir +Ronald had re-issued with plenty of money—or credit, which to society +is the same thing; while poor Bertram had stolen down the hill by back +streets to Batignolles, where he had found a cheap nest, and whence he +trudged to his old haunts with a foolish notion that people would +believe his story about a flying visit to England, and accept his +translation to Batignolles as a sanitary precaution strongly recommended +by his physician. If society be not yet civilized enough to imitate the +savages, who kill the old members of the community, it has studied the +philosophy of the storks in Jutland, who get rid of their ailing, feeble +brother storks, at the fall of the year. Bertram was a bird to be pecked +to pieces, and driven away from the prosperous community, being no +longer prosperous.</p> + +<p>First among the sharp peckers was Miss Tayleure, who always had her +suspicions of Captain Bertram, although she was too good-natured to say +anything.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> The seasons had circled three or four times since she had had +the honour of being introduced to the gentleman, and yet the lady was +waiting to see what the improved facilities for travel might bring her +in the matrimonial line. She had, her dearest friends said, almost made +up her mind to marry into commerce.</p> + +<p>"Poor Tayleure!" one of the attachés said, at the Café Anglais, over his +Marennes oysters, after the opera; "doomed to pig-iron, I'm afraid. Must +do it. Can't carry on much longer. Another skein of false hair this +season, by Jove."</p> + +<p>In a society so charmingly constituted, the blows are dealt with an +impartial hand; and it is so mercifully arranged, that he who is +doubling his fist seldom feels the blow that is falling upon his own +back. It was a belief which consoled the poor Baronet's orphan through +her dreary time at the boarding-house—that, at least, she was free from +damaging comment. Her noble head was many inches out of water; the +conviction gave her superb<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> confidence when she had to pass an opinion +on her neighbour.</p> + +<p>Two old friends of Cosmo Bertram are lounging in the garden of the +Imperial Club.</p> + +<p>"Hasn't old Tayleure got her knife into Bertram! Poor dear boy. It's all +up with him. Great pity. Was a capital fellow."</p> + +<p>"Don't you know the secret? The old girl had designs on Bertram when he +first turned up; and the Daker affair cast her plot to the winds. Mrs. +Daker, you remember, was at old Tayleure's place—Rue d'Angoulême!"</p> + +<p>"A pretty business that was. But who the deuce was Daker?"</p> + +<p>"Bad egg."</p> + +<p>The threads of this story lay in a tangle—in Paris, in Boulogne, and in +Kent! I never laboured hard to unravel them; but time took up the work, +and I was patient. Also, I was far away from its scenes, and only passed +through them at intervals—generally at express speed. It so happened, +how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>ever, that I was at hand when the crisis and the close came.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Daker was living in a handsome apartment when I called upon her on +the morrow of the ball. She wept passionately when she saw me. She +said—"I could have sunk to the earth when I saw you with Bertram—of +all men in the world." I could get no answers to my questions save that +she had heard no tidings of her husband, and that she had never had the +courage to write to her father. Plentiful tears and prayers that I would +forget her; and never, under any temptation, let her people, should I +come across them, know her assumed name, or her whereabouts. I pressed +as far as I could, but she shut her heart upon me, and hurried me away, +imploring me never to return, nor to speak about her to Cosmo Bertram. +"He will never talk about me," she added, with something like scorn, and +something very like disgust.</p> + +<p>I left Paris an hour or two after this interview; and when I next met +Bertram—at Baden, I think, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> the following autumn—great as my +curiosity was, I respected Mrs. Baker's wish. He never touched upon the +subject; and, since I could not speak, and my suspicions affected him in +a most painful manner, I did not throw myself in his way, nor give him +an opportunity of following me up. Besides, he was in a very noisy, +reckless set, and was, I could perceive before I had talked to him ten +minutes, on the way to the utter bad. When I remembered our conversation +about Daker, his light, airy, unconcerned manner, and the consummate +deceit which effectually conveyed to me the idea that he had never heard +the name of Daker, I was inclined to turn upon him, and let him know I +was not altogether in the dark. Again, at the ball, he had carried off +the introduction to Mrs. Trefoil with masterly coolness, making me a +second time his dupe. Had we met much we should have quarrelled +desperately; for I recollected the innocent English face I had first +seen on the Boulogne boat, and the unhappy woman who had implored me +not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> to speak her name to him. The days follow one another and have no +resemblance, says the proverb. I passed away from Baden, and Bertram +passed out of my mind. I had not seen him again when I spent those +eventful few days at Boulogne with Hanger.</p> + +<p>Another year had gone, and I had often thought over the death scene of +Daker, and Sharp's trudges about Paris in search of his niece. I could +not help him, for I was homeward bound at the time, and shortly +afterwards was despatched to St. Petersburg. But I gave him letters. +There was one hope that lingered in the gloom of this miserable story; +perhaps Mrs. Daker had won the love of some honest man, and, emancipated +by Daker's deceit and death, might yet spend some happy days. And then +the figure of Cosmo Bertram would rise before me—and I knew he was not +the man to atone a fault or sin by a sacrifice.</p> + +<p>I was in Paris again at the end of 1866. I heard nothing, save that +Sharp had returned home,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> having tried in vain to find the child to whom +he had been a father since the death of his brother. He had identified +her as Mrs. Trefoil; he had discovered that shame had come upon her and +him; and he had made out the nature of the relations between his niece +and Captain Cosmo Bertram. But Captain Bertram was not in Paris; Mrs. +Trefoil had disappeared and left no sign. So many exciting stories float +about Paris in the course of a season, that such an event as the +appearance of a Kentish farmer in search of Mrs. Daker, afterwards Mrs. +Trefoil, and the connexion of Captain Bertram with her name, is food for +a few days only. This is a very quiet humdrum story, when it is compared +with the dramas of society, provincial and Parisian, which the <i>Gazette +des Tribunaux</i> is constantly presenting to its readers.</p> + +<p>When I reached Paris it was forgotten. Miss Tayleure had moved off to +Tours—for economy some said; to break new ground, according to others. +There had been diplomatic changes. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> English society had received +many accessions, and suffered many secessions. I went to my old haunts +and found new faces. I was met with a burst of passionate tears by Lucy +Rowe, end honest Jane, the servant. Mrs. Rowe was lying, with all her +secrets and plots, in Père Lachaise—to the grief, among others, of the +Reverend Horace Mohun, who would hardly be comforted by Lucy's handsome +continuance of the buttered toast and first look at the <i>Times</i>. Lucy, +bright and good Lucy, had become queen and mistress of the +boarding-house—albeit she had not a thimbleful of the blood of the +Whytes of Battersea in her veins. But of the Rue Millevoye presently.</p> + +<p>I came upon Bertram by accident by the Montmartre cemetery, whither I +had been with a friend to look at a new-made grave. As I have observed, +Bertram had reached a very low ebb. He avoided his old thoroughfares. He +had discovered that all the backs of the Tuileries chairs were towards +him. Miss Tayleure had had her revenge before she left.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> He had heard +that "the fellows were sorry for him," and that they were not anxious to +see him. The very waiters in his café knew that evil had befallen him, +and were less respectful than of old. No very damaging tales, as I have +said, were told against him; but it was made evident to him that Paris +society had had enough of him for the present, and that his comfortable +plan would be to move off.</p> + +<p>Cosmo Bertram had moved off accordingly; and when I met him at +Montmartre he had not been heard of for many months. I should have +pushed on, but he would not let me. A man in misfortune disarms your +resentment. When the friend who has been always bright and manly with +you, approaches with a humble manner, and his eyes say to you, while he +speaks, "Now is not the time to be hard," you give in. I parted with my +fellow-mourner, and joined Bertram, saying coldly—"We have not met, +Bertram, for many months—it seems years. What has happened?"</p> + +<p>The man's manner was completely changed. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> talked to me with the cowed +manner of a conscious inferior. He was abashed; as changed in voice and +expression as in general effect.</p> + +<p>"Ruin—nothing more," he answered me.</p> + +<p>"Baden—Homburg, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"No; tomfoolery of every kind. I'm quite broken. That friend of yours +didn't recognise me, did he?"</p> + +<p>"Had never seen you before, I'm quite sure."</p> + +<p>I took him into a quiet café and ordered breakfast. His face and voice +recalled to me all the Daker story; and I felt that I was touching +another link in it. He avoided my eye. He grasped the bottle greedily, +and took a deep draught. The wine warmed him, and loosed "the jesses of +his tongue." He had a long tale to tell about himself! He disburdened +his breast about Clichy; of all the phases of his decline from the +fashionable man in the Bois to the shabby skulker in the <i>banlieue</i>, he +had something to say. He had been everybody's victim. The world had been +against him. Friends<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> had proved themselves ungrateful, and foes had +acted meanly. Nobody could imagine half his sufferings. While he dwelt +on himself with all the volubility and wearying detail of a wholly +selfish man, I was eager to catch the least clue to a history that +interested me much more deeply than his; and in which I had good reason +to suspect he had not borne an honourable part. The gossips had +confirmed the fears which Mrs. Daker had created. I had picked up scraps +here and there which I had put together.</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to keep very dark, my dear Q.M.," Bertram said at last, +still dwelling on the inconvenience to himself. "Hardly dare to move out +of the quarter. Disgusting bore."</p> + +<p>"A debt?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Worse."</p> + +<p>"What then, an entanglement; the old story, petticoats?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely. To-day I ought to be anywhere but here; the old boy is over, +or will be, in a few hours."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<p>The whole story was breaking upon me; Bertram saw it, and my manner, +become icy to him, was closing the sources upon me. I resolved to get +the mystery cleared up. I resumed my former manner with him, ordered +some Burgundy, and entreated him to proceed.</p> + +<p>"You remember," he said, "your story about the girl you met travelling +with her husband on the Boulogne boat—Mrs. Daker." His voice fell as he +pronounced the name. "I deceived you, my dear Q. M., when I affected +unconcern and ignorance."</p> + +<p>"I know it, Bertram," was my answer. "But that is unimportant: go on."</p> + +<p>"I met Mrs. Daker at her hotel, very soon after she arrived in Paris. +She talked about you; and I happened to say that I knew you. We were +friends at once."</p> + +<p>"More than friends."</p> + +<p>"I see," Bertram continued, much relieved at finding his revelation +forestalled in its chief episodes;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> "I see there is not much to tell +you. You are pretty well posted up. I cannot see why you should look so +savage; Mrs. Daker is no relation of yours."</p> + +<p>"No!" I shouted, for I could not hold my passion—"had she been——"</p> + +<p>"You would have the right to call me to account. As it is," Bertram +added, rising, "I decline to tell you more, and I shall wish you +good-day."</p> + +<p>After all Bertram was right; I had no claim to urge, no wrong to +redress. Besides, by my hastiness, I was letting the thread slip through +my fingers.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, Bertram; you are the touchiest man alive. It is no concern of +mine, but I have seen more than you imagine—I have seen Daker; I have +been with Sharp."</p> + +<p>Bertram grasped my arm.</p> + +<p>"Tell me all, then; I must know all. You don't know how I have suffered, +my dear Q. M. Tell me everything."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> + +<p>"First let me ask you, Bertram, have you been an honourable man to Mrs. +Daker?"</p> + +<p>"Explain yourself."</p> + +<p>"Where is she? Her uncle has broken his heart!"</p> + +<p>"All I need say is, that she is with me, and that it is I who have +sacrificed almost my honour in keeping her with me, after——"</p> + +<p>I understood the case completely now.</p> + +<p>"You found the prey at the right moment, Bertram. Poor forsaken woman! +You took it; you lost it; it falls into your hands again—broken unto +death."</p> + +<p>"Unto death!" Bertram echoed.</p> + +<p>I related to him my adventure in Boulogne; and when I came to Baker's +end, and his bigamy, Bertram exclaimed—</p> + +<p>"The villain! My dear Q. M., I loved—I do love her; she might have been +my wife. The villain!"</p> + +<p>"You say she is with you, Bertram. Where? Can I see her?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You cannot, she's very ill So ill, I doubt——"</p> + +<p>"And you are here, Bertram?"</p> + +<p>"Her uncle—Sharp—is with her by this time. She implored me not to be +in the way. There would be a row, you know, and I hate rows."</p> + +<p>It was Bertram to the last. <i>He</i> hated rows! I suddenly turned upon him +with an idea that flashed through my mind.</p> + +<p>"Bertram, you owe this poor woman some reparation. You love her, you +say—or have loved her."</p> + +<p>"Do love her now."</p> + +<p>"She is a free woman; indeed, poor soul, she has always been. Marry +her—take her away—and get to some quiet place where you will be +unknown. You will be happy with her, or I have strangely misread her."</p> + +<p>"Can't," Bertram dolefully answered. "Not a farthing."</p> + +<p>"I'll help you."</p> + +<p>Bertram grasped my hand. His difficulty was removed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> + +<p>I continued rapidly, "Give me your address. I'll see Sharp, and, if they +permit me, Mrs. Daker. Let us make an effort to end this miserable +business well. You had better remain behind till I have settled with +Sharp."</p> + +<p>Bertram remained inert, without power of thinking or speaking, in his +seat. I pushed him, to rouse him. "Bertram, the address—quick."</p> + +<p>"Too late, my dear Q. M.—much too late. She's dying—I am sure of it."</p> + +<p>The address was 102 in the next street to that in which we had been +breakfasting. I hurried off, tearing myself, at last, by force from +Bertram. I ran down the street, round the corner, looking right and left +at the numbers as I ran. I was within a few doors of the number when I +came with a great shock against a man, who was walking like myself +without looking ahead. I growled and was pushing past, when an iron grip +fell upon my shoulder. It was Reuben Sharp. He was so altered I had +difficulty in recognising him. At that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> moment he looked a madman; his +eyes were wild and savage; his lips were blue; his face was masked by +convulsive twitches.</p> + +<p>"I was running to see you. Come back," I said.</p> + +<p>"It's no use—no use. They can ill-treat her no more. My darling Emmy! +It's all over—all over—and you have been very kind to me."</p> + +<p>The poor man clapped his heavy hands upon me like the paws of a lion, +and wept, as weak women and children weep.</p> + +<p>Yea, it was all over.</p> + +<p>It was on New Year's Day, 1867, I supported Reuben Sharp, following a +hearse to the cemetery hard by. Lucy Rowe accompanied us—at my urgent +request—and her presence served to soften and support old Reuben's +honest Kentish heart in his desolate agony. As they lowered the coffin a +haggard face stretched over a tomb behind us. Sharp was blinded with +tears, and did not see it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>THE FIRST TO BE MARRIED.</h3> + + +<p>It will happen so—and here is our moral—the bonnets of Sophonisba and +Theodosia, bewitching as they were, and archly as these young ladies +wore them, paling every toilette of the Common, were not put aside for +bridal veils. Carrie, who was content with silver-grey, it was who +returned to Paris first, sitting at the side of the writer of the +following letters, sent, it is presumed, to his bachelor friend:—</p> + +<p class='author'> +"Paris, 'The Leafy Month of June.' +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Mac</span>,—I will be true to my promise. I will give you +the best advice my experience may enable me to afford you. Friendship is +a sacred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> thing, and I will write as your friend. Only ten days ago +Caroline murmured those delicious sounds at the altar, which announce a +heaven upon earth to man. I see you smile, you rogue, as you read this, +but I repeat it—that announce a heaven upon earth to man.</p> + +<p>"Some men take a wife carelessly, as they select a dinner at their club, +as though they were catering only to satisfy the whim of the hour. +Others adopt all the homely philosophy of Dr. Primrose, and reflect how +the wife will wear, and whether she have the qualities that will keep +the house in order. Others, again, are lured into matrimony by the +tinkling of the pianoforte, or the elaboration of a bunch of flowers +upon a Bristol board. Remember Calfsfoot. His wife actually fiddled him +into the church. Was there ever an uglier woman? Two of her front teeth +were gone, and she was bald. Fortunately for her, Beauty draws us with a +single hair, or she had not netted Calfsfoot. Now what a miserable time +he has of it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> She is a vixen. You know what fiddle-strings are made of; +well, I'm told she supplies her own. But why should I dwell on +infelicitous unions of this kind? It was obvious to every rational +creature from the first—and to him most concerned—that Mrs. Calfsfoot +would fiddle poor C. into a lunatic asylum. And if he be not there yet, +depend upon it he's on the high road.</p> + +<p>"Between Mrs. Calfsfoot and my Caroline (you should have seen her +hanging upon my shoulder, her auburn ringlets tickling my happy cheek, +begging me to call her Carrie!)—between Mrs. Calfsfoot and my Carrie, +then, what a contrast! As I sat last evening in one of the shady nooks +of the Bois de Boulogne, watching the boats, with their coloured lights, +floating about the lake, my Carrie's hand trembling like a caught bird +in mine, I thought, can this sweet, amiable, innocent creature have +anything in common with that assured, loud-voiced, pretentious Mrs. +Calfsfoot. Calfsfoot told me that he was very happy during the +honeymoon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> But, then, people's notions of happiness vary, and I cannot +for the life of me conceive how a man of Calfsfoot's sense—for he has +sound common sense on most points—could have looked twice at the +creature he took to his bosom. I have heard of people who like to nurse +vipers; can friend C. be of this strange band? Now, I am +happy—supremely happy, I may say, because I honestly believe my Carrie +to be the most adorable creature on the face of God's earth. A man who +could not be happy with her would not deserve felicity. You should see +her at the breakfast-table, in a snow-white dress, with just a purple +band about her dainty waist, handling the cups and saucers! The first +time she asked me whether I would take two lumps of sugar (I could have +taken both of them from her pretty lips, and I'll not say whether I did +or did not), was one of those delicious moments that happen seldom, +alas, in the chequered life of man. And then, when she comes tripping +into the room after breakfast, in her little round hat, and,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> putting +her hand upon my shoulder, asks me in the most musical of voices whether +I have finished with my paper, and am ready for a walk, I feel ashamed +that I have allowed myself to distract my attention even for ten minutes +from her charming self, to read stupid leading articles and wretched +police cases. But men are utterly without sentiment. Reading the <i>Times</i> +in the honeymoon! I wonder how the delightful creatures can give us two +minutes' thought. Carrie, however, seems to live only for your unworthy +humble servant. Shall I ever be worthy of her? Shall I ever be worthy of +the glorious sky overhead, or of the flowers at my feet? My dear Mac, I +feel the veriest worm as I contemplate this perfect creature, who, with +that infinite generosity which belongs to goodness and beauty, has sworn +to love, honour, and obey me. That she loves me I know full well; that +she obeys my lightest wish, I allow, on my knees. But how shall she +honour me? To all this you will answer, puffing your filthy pipe the +while,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> 'Tut! he has been married only ten short days!"</p> + +<p>"My dear Mac, life is not to be measured by the hour-glass. There are +minutes that are hours, there are hours that are years, there are years +that are centuries. Again, some men are observant, and some pay no +better compliment to the light of day than moles. You did me the honour +of saying one evening, when we were having a late cigar at the Trafalgar +(we should have been in bed hours before), that you never knew a more +quick-sighted man, nor a readier reader of the human heart than the +individual who now addresses you. It would ill become me to say that you +only did me justice; but permit me to remark, that having closely +watched myself and compared myself with others, for years, I have come +to the conclusion that I am blessed with a rapid discernment. Before +Mrs. Flowerdew (I have written the delightful name on every corner of my +blotting-paper) honoured me with her hand, I brought this power to bear<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +on her incessantly. Under all kinds of vexatious circumstances I have +been witness of her unassailable good temper. I have seen her wear a new +bonnet in a shower of rain. These clumsy hands of mine have spilled +lobster-salad upon her dress. That little wretch of a brother of hers +has pulled her back hair down. Her sister Sophonisba has abused her. +Still has she been mild as the dove!</p> + +<p>"Then, her common sense is astonishing. She says any woman can manage +with three bonnets and half-a-dozen good dresses. I wanted to buy her a +bracelet the other day, price ten guineas. 'No,' she answered; 'here is +one at only six guineas, quite good enough for me in our station of +life;' and the dear creature was content with it.</p> + +<p>"As for accomplishments, she may vie with any fine lady in the land. +Last night she played me a piece from Mendelssohn, and her little hands +danced like lightning about the keys. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> rather long, to be sure; +but I could not help stealing from behind her and kissing the dear +fingers when it was over.</p> + +<p>"She has written some exquisite verses, much in the style of Byron—a +poet not easily imitated, you will remember. She has read every line of +Thackeray; and during one of our morning walks, she proved to me, who am +not easily moved from my point, that Carlyle has only one idea. Let me +recommend you to peruse this writer's 'French Revolution' again, and you +will be satisfied that my Carrie is right.</p> + +<p>"I trouble you, my dear fellow, with all these details, that you may not +run away with the notion that Flowerdew is blindly in love. My faculties +were never more completely about me than they are at this moment. I am +at a loss to imagine why a man should throw his head away when he yields +his heart. I can look dispassionately at my wife, and if she had a +fault, I am confident that I should be the first to see it. But,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> <i>que +voulez-vous?</i> she has not yet given me the opportunity.</p> + +<p>"Marriage is a lottery. In a lottery, somebody must draw the prize; if I +have drawn it, am I to be ashamed of my luck? No; let me manfully +confess my good fortune, and thank my star.</p> + +<p>"I have snatched the time to write you these hurried lines, while the +worshipped subject of them has been trying on some new—but I forgot; I +am writing to a bachelor. I have still a few minutes; let me make use of +them.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mac, when I return to foggy London—(I hear you have had +terrible weather there)—you will see little or nothing of me. My Carrie +allows me to smoke (she permits me everything), but I should be a mean +brute if I took advantage of her boundless generosity. I smoke one cigar +<i>per diem</i>, and no more. And as for wine—the honey of the loved one's +lips is the true grape of the honeymoon. I must tell you that Carrie and +I have made a solemn compact. Her head was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> nestled against my waistcoat +as we made it. We are not going to live for the world, like foolish +people whom we know. For society my little wife needs me; and I, happy +man, shall be more than content for ever while the partner of my bosom +deigns to solace me with her gentle voice. She has friends without +number who will mourn her loss to society. Her dear friends the +Barcaroles will be inconsolable; her sister Theodosia will break her +heart. Life has its trials, however, which must be bravely borne; and +Carrie's friends must be consoled when they learn that she is happy with +the man of her choice. In the same way, be comforted, my dear Mac (for I +know how warmly you regard me), when I tell you that henceforth we shall +meet only at rare intervals. My life is bound up in that of the +celestial being who is knitting in the window, not an arm's length from +me.</p> + +<p>"My dear Mac, we have drank our last gin-sling together. Recal me +affectionately to the memory of Joe Parkes, and young Square, and all +friends of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> her Majesty's Pugilistic Department; and may they all +speedily be as happy as I am. How the wretches will laugh when you tell +them that Flowerdew has reformed his ways, and has blackened his last +Milo; but I think, my dear fellow, I have convinced you that I write +after cool reflection. We have taken a cottage four miles south of my +office. A sixpenny omnibus will take me back at four o'clock daily, to +my little haven. My Carrie is fond of a garden; and I shall find her, on +summer afternoons, waiting at the gate for me, in her garden hat, and +leaning upon the smartest little rake in the world. You, and Joe, and +the Pugilistic Department fellows may laugh; but this is the happy life +I have chalked out for myself. As I have told you, some men marry with +their eyes shut; but I live only to congratulate myself on my sagacity. +To think that I, of all men, should have won Caroline Cockayne!</p> + +<p>"We shall remain here for another week, when we go to Fontainebleau, and +thence we return to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> London. I may write to you from our next stage; but +if not, expect to hear from me on my return, when, if I can persuade my +love to brave the presence of a stranger, for friendship's sake, you +shall have a peep at our felicity.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">"Your old friend,</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;" class="smcap">"Happy Tom Flowerdew."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Mr. Mac's observations on the foregoing were, no doubt, to this effect: +"He'll come to his senses by-and-by. I shouldn't like to be compelled to +buy all the cigars he'll smoke before he turns his toes up."</p> + + +<p class='center'><i>Flowerdew, from Fontainebleau.</i></p> + +<p class='author'> +"Fontainebleau, July 1. +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My Dear Mac</span>,—I am tempted to send you a few lines from this +wonderful place. You have heard of Fontainebleau grapes—you have tasted +them; but you have not seen Fontainebleau. My dear Mac, when you marry +(and, as your friend, I say, lose no time about it)—yes, when you +marry, take the <i>cara sposa</i> to Fontainebleau. Let her see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> the weeping +rock, in that wonderful battle between granite and trees, they call the +forest. Let her feed the fat carp with <i>galette</i> behind the Palace in +the company of those Normandy nurses (brown and flat as Normandy +pippins), and their squalling basked-capped charges. Give her some of +that delicious iced currant-water, which the dragoons who are quartered +here appear to drink with all the relish the children show for it. Never +fear that she will look twice at these soldiers, in their sky-blue coats +and broad red pantaloons, and their hair cut so close that their eyes +must have watered under the operation. Imagine dragoons drinking +currant-water; and playing dominoes for shapeless sous, which they +rattle incessantly in their preposterous trousers! I am meditating a +book on the French army, in which I shall lay great stress on the above, +I flatter myself, rather acute bit of observation. Carrie (she grows +prettier daily) rather inclines to the idea that the moderation of these +French dragoons is in their favour; and this is the first time<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> I have +found her judgment at fault. But then it would be unreasonable indeed to +hope that on military subjects she could have that clear insight which +she displays with such charming grace, whether we are contemplating the +Marriage of Cana, in the Louvre, or thinking over the scenes some of +those orange-trees in the Tuileries gardens have shed leaves upon. For, +let me tell you, my dear Mac, there are trees there, the flowers of +which have trembled at the silver laugh of unhappy Antoinette. Sallow +Robespierre has rubbed against them. They were in their glory on that +July day when the mob of blouses tasted of the cellars of a King.</p> + +<p>"But you can get in Murray all I can tell you of the wonderful place in +which it has been my fortune to find myself with my little wife. When, +on the morning after our arrival, I threw my bedroom window open, the +air was, I thought, the sweetest that had ever refreshed my nostrils. +The scene would have been perfect, had it not been for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> swarms of wasps +that dashed their great bodies, barred, as Carrie said, like grooms' +waistcoats (wasn't it clever of her?) into the room. If everything were +not flavoured with garlic (peaches included), I should say without +hesitation, that our <i>hôte</i> is <span class="smcap">the</span> <i>cordon bleu</i> of the +country. Omelettes, my dear Mac, as light as syllabub; wild strawberries +frosted with the finest white sugar I ever put to my lips; coffee that +would make a Turk dance with delight; only, in each and all of these +dainties, there is just a pinch of garlic. But love makes light of these +little drawbacks. Carrie has made a wry face once or twice, it is true, +but only in the best of humours, and when the garlic was very strong +indeed.</p> + +<p>"We had a rainy day yesterday: but we enjoyed it. We sat all the morning +at our window, gossiping and flirting, and watching the peasants +sauntering home from market, apparently unconscious that they were being +drenched. I had bought Carrie a huge sugar stick (<i>sucre de pomme</i>,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> I +think they call it), and she looked bewitchingly as she nibbled it, and +then coaxingly held it to my lips. You remember my old antipathy to +sweets; well, strange to say, I thought I had never tasted anything more +delicious than this sugar stick; but remember, it came direct from +Carrie's lips. Then we speculated on what our friends were doing at that +very moment, peeped into Clapham, and we made bad guesses enough, I have +no doubt. It ended by our agreeing that none of you were half so happy +as we were.</p> + +<p>"In the evening the weather cleared a little, and we went out for a +stroll. A stroll through the streets of Fontainebleau is not one of the +pleasantest exploits in the world. I thought every moment that my wife +(delightful word, that thrills me to the finger tips as I write it) +would sprain an ankle, for the paving is simply a heap of round stones +thrown out of a cart; but she stepped so nimbly and lightly, that no +harm came to her. I wish, my dear Mac, you could hear her conversa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>tion. +From morning till night she prattles away, hopping, skipping, and +jumping from one subject to another, and saying something sensible or +droll on each. You must know that Carrie has an immense fund of humour. +Her imitations of people make me almost die with laughter. You remember +Mrs. Calfsfoot's habit of twitching her nose and twirling her thumbs +when she is beginning an anecdote about somebody one never saw, and +never cared to see. Well, Carrie stopped in the middle of our rambles in +the forest, and imitated her squeaky voice and absurd gestures to the +life. The anecdote, concocted impromptu, was a wonderfully sustained bit +of pure invention. On my honour, when she had finished her little +performance, I could not help giving her a kiss for it.</p> + +<p>"You will smile, my dear Mac, at this: remembering the horror we +mutually expressed one night at Ardbye's chambers, of female mimics. But +there is a difference, which we do not appear to have recognised on that +occasion, between good-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>natured and ill-natured mimicry. Now nothing can +be more harmless fun than my Carrie's imitations. She never has the bad +taste to mimic a deformity, or to burlesque a misfortune. She certainly +said of Mrs. Blomonge (who is known to be the stoutest person in the +parish of St. Bride's) that her head floated on her shoulders like a +waterlily on a pond; but then the joke was irresistible, and there was +not a touch of malice in the way the thing was said. How much there is +in manner!</p> + +<p>"Carrie is beginning to yearn for the repose of Arcady Cottage. She +wants to see herself mistress of a house. She longs to have to order +dinner, inspect the dusting of the drawing-room, pour out tea from our +own tea-pot, and work antimacassars for our chairs. I can see already +that she will make the most perfect little housewife in the world.</p> + +<p>"There are dolts and dullards who declare that women who are witty and +accomplished, generally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> make bad housewives. They are said to lie on +sofas all day through, reading hooks they cannot understand; playing all +kinds of tortuous music; and painting moss roses upon velvet. I am not +an old married man (twenty days old only), but I am ready to wager, from +what I have already seen of my Carrie, that there is not the slightest +ground for those charges against clever women; on the contrary, it seems +to me that your clever woman will see the duty, as well as the pleasure, +of ordering her husband's house in a becoming manner. Why should +empty-headed girls, who haven't a word to say for themselves, nor an +accomplishment to their back—why should they be the superlative +concocters of custards, and menders of shirts and stockings? Do you mean +to tell me that a woman must be a fool to have a light hand at pastry? I +believe these libels on clever women have been propagated by designing +mothers who had stupid daughters on their hands. Whenever you see a +heavy-eyed, lumpish girl, who hides herself in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> corners, and reddens to +the very roots of the hair when you say a civil thing to her, you are +sure to be told that she is the very best house-keeper in the world, and +will make a better wife than her pretty sister. In future I shall treat +all such excuses for ugliness and dulness as they deserve. For I say it +boldly beforehand, ere Carrie has tried her first undercrust, she will +be a pattern housewife—although she reads John Stuart Mill.</p> + +<p>"'Tom, darling!' sounds from the next room, and the music goes to my +soul. Good-bye. The next from Aready Cottage. Thine,</p> + +<p class='author'> +"<span class="smcap">Tom Flowerdew.</span> +</p> + +<p>"P.S.—We met yesterday a most charming travelling companion; and +although, as I think I hinted in my last, I and Carrie intend to suffice +for each other, he had so vast a fund of happy anecdote, we could not +find it in our hearts to snub him. Besides, he began by lending me the +day's <i>Galignani</i>."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span></p> + +<p>"That travelling companion," remarked shrewd Mr. Mac, "marks the +beginning of the end of the honeymoon. I shall keep him dark when I dine +with Papa Cockayne on Sunday."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>GATHERING A FEW THREADS.</h3> + + +<p>Is there a more melancholy place than the street in which you have +lived; than the house, now curtainless and weather-stained, you knew +prim, and full of happy human creatures; than the "banquet-hall +deserted:" than the empty chair; than the bed where Death found the +friend you loved?</p> + +<p>The Rue Millevoye is all this to me. I avoid it. If any cabman wants to +make a short cut that way I stop him. Mrs. Rowe rests at last, in the +same churchyard with the Whytes of Battersea: her faults forgiven; that +dark story which troubled all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> her afterlife and made her son the terror +of every hour, ended and forgotten.</p> + +<p>If hers was a sad life, even cheered by the consolations of Mr. Mohun +given over refreshing rounds of buttered toast; what was the gloom upon +the head of Emily Sharp, whom the child of shame (was it in revenge) +brought to shame? I never tread the deck of a Boulogne steamer without +thinking of her sweet, loving face; I never wait for my luggage in the +chilly morning at the Chemin de Fer du Nord terminus, without seeing her +agony as the deserted one.</p> + +<p>The Cockayne girls are prospering in all the comfort of maternal dignity +in the genteel suburbs; and yet were they a patch upon forlorn Emmy +Sharp? Miss Sophonisba, with her grand airs, in her critical letters +from Paris—what kind of a heart had she? Miss Theodosia was a flirt of +the vulgarest type who would have thrown up John Catt as she would throw +away a two-button glove<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> for a three-button pair, had not the Vicomte de +Gars given her father to understand that he must have a very substantial +<i>dot</i> with her. Mademoiselle Cockayne without money was not a thing to +be desired, according to "his lordship."</p> + +<p>John Catt was a rough diamond, as the reader has perceived, given to +copious draughts of beer, black pipes, short sticks, prodigious +shirt-collars, and music-halls. But he was a brave, honest, chivalrous +lad in his coarse way. He loved Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and was +seriously stricken when he left Paris, although he had tried to throw +off the affair with a careless word or two. He hid his grief behind his +bluntness; but she had no tears to hide. It was only when the Vicomte, +after a visit to Clapham (paid much against Mr. Cockayne's will) had +come to business in the plumpest manner, that the young lady had been +brought to her senses by the father's observation that he was not +prepared to buy a foreign viscount into the family<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> on his own terms, +and that "his lordship" would not take the young lady on her own merits, +aroused Miss Theodosia's pride;—and with it the chances of John Catt +revived. He took her renewed warmth for repentance after a folly. He +said to himself, "She loved me all the time; and even the Vicomte was +not, in the long run, proof against her affection for me." Miss +Theodosia, having lost the new love, was fortunate enough to get on with +the old again, and she is, I hear, reasonably happy—certainly happier +than she deserves to be, as Mrs. John Catt.</p> + +<p>I am told she is very severe upon Emma Sharp, and wonders how her sister +Carrie can have the creature's portrait hung up in her morning room. But +there are a few things she no longer wonders at. Carrie speaks to Lucy +Rowe; kisses Lucy Rowe; puts her arm round Lucy Rowe's neck; and tumbles +her baby upon Lucy Rowe's knees; and Mrs. John Catt wonders no longer. +Not, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> suspect, because she is fonder of Lucy now than she was in the +Rue Millevoye, but because—well, <i>I</i> married her, as the reader, who is +not a goose, has suspected long ago.</p> + +<p>And a little Lucy writes for me, in big round hand, her mother guiding +the pen—</p> + +<h4>THE END.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></h4> + +<p class='center'> +LONDON:<br /> +SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET,<br /> +COVENT GARDEN. +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cockaynes in Paris, by Blanchard Jerrold + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS *** + +***** This file should be named 18327-h.htm or 18327-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/2/18327/ + +Produced by Carlo Traverso, Janet Blenkinship, and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd468c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/18327-h/images/img182.jpg diff --git a/18327.txt b/18327.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3ed27a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/18327.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4542 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Cockaynes in Paris, by Blanchard Jerrold + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Cockaynes in Paris + 'Gone abroad' + +Author: Blanchard Jerrold + +Illustrator: Gustave Dore + +Release Date: May 6, 2006 [EBook #18327] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS *** + + + + +Produced by Carlo Traverso, Janet Blenkinship, and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: MI LORD ANGLAIS AT MABILLE. + +_He is smiling, he is splendid, he is full of graceful enjoyment; on +the table are a few of the beverages he admires; but above all he adores +the ease of the French ladies in the dance._] + + + + +THE + +COCKAYNES IN PARIS + +OR + +"GONE ABROAD." + +BY + +BLANCHARD JERROLD. + +[Illustration] + +WITH SKETCHES BY + +GUSTAVE DORE, + +AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE ENGLISH ABROAD FROM A FRENCH POINT OF +VIEW. + + + + +LONDON: JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, 74 & 75, PICCADILLY. + +[_All Rights Reserved._] + + + + +PREFACE. + + +The story of the Cockaynes was written some years ago,--in the days when +Paris was at her best and brightest; and the English quarter was +crowded; and the Emperor was at St. Cloud; and France appeared destined +to become the wealthiest and strongest country in the world. + +Where the Cockaynes carried their guide-books and opera-glasses, and +fell into raptures at every footstep, there are dismal ruins now. The +Vendome Column is a stump, wreathed with a gigantic _immortelle_, and +capped with the tri-color. The Hall of the Marshals is a black hole. +Those noble rooms in which the first magistrate of the city of +Boulevards gave welcome to crowds of English guests, are destroyed. In +the name of Liberty some of the most precious art-work of modern days +has been fired. The Communists' defiling fingers have passed over the +canvas of Ingres. Auber and Dumas have gone from the scene in the +saddest hour of their country's history. The Anglo-French alliance--that +surest rock of enduring peace--has been rent asunder, through the +timorous hesitation of English ministers, and the hardly disguised +Bourbon sympathies of English society. We are not welcome now in Paris, +as we were when I followed in the wake of the prying Cockaynes. My old +concierge is very cold in his greeting, and carries my valise to my +rooms sulkily. Jerome, my particular waiter at the Grand Cafe, no longer +deigns to discuss the news of the day with me. Good Monsieur Giraudet, +who could suggest the happiest little _menus_, when I went to his +admirable restaurant, and who kept the _Rappel_ for me, now bows +silently and sends an underling to see what the Englishman requires. + +It is a sad, and a woful change; and one of ominous import for our +children. Most woful to those of my countrymen who, like the reader's +humble servant, have passed a happy half-score of years in the +delightful society and the incomparable capital of the French people. + + BLANCHARD JERROLD. + + RUE DE ROME, PARIS, + _July_, 1871. + + + [Illustration] + + + + + CONTENTS. + + CHAP. PAGE + + I. MRS. ROWE'S 13 + + II. HE'S HERE AGAIN! 30 + + III. MRS. ROWE'S COMPANY 39 + + IV. THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS 45 + + V. THE COCKAYNE FAMILY 62 + + VI. A "GRANDE OCCASION" 91 + + VII. OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN 104 + + VIII. "OH, YES!" AND "ALL RIGHT!" 111 + + IX. MISS CARRIE COCKAYNE TO MISS SHARP 122 + + X. "THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE" 129 + + XI. MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS 140 + + XII. MRS. DAKER 154 + + XIII. AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER 174 + + XIV. THE CASTAWAY 192 + + XV. THE FIRST TO BE MARRIED 210 + + XVI. GATHERING A FEW THREADS 231 + + + [Illustration: MAMMA ANGLAISE. (_A French design._)] + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS. + + PAGE + MY LORD ANGLAIS AT MABILLE Frontispiece + + CROSSING THE CHANNEL--A SMOOTH PASSAGE 13 + + CROSSING THE CHANNEL--RATHER SQUALLY 14 + + ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY 16 + + PAPA AND THE DEAR BOYS 18 + + THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN 20 + + ON THE BOULEVARDS 42 + + A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES" 46 + + BEAUTY AND THE B---- 68 + + PALAIS DU LOUVRE.--THE ROAD TO THE BOIS 72 + + MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG 77 + + THE INFLEXIBLE "MEESSES ANGLAISES" 105 + + ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE DE LILAS--SHOCKING!! 109 + + SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK 114 + + JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE 118 + + FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH 125 + + THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS HOLDING ON + BY THE TAIL OF HER NEWFOUNDLAND 125 + + VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK.--COMPATRIOTS + MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION 126 + + A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN 147 + + EXCURSIONISTS AND EMIGRANTS 152 + + BOIS DE BOULOGNE 164 + + [Illustration: CROSSING THE CHANNEL--A SMOOTH PASSAGE] + + + + +THE + +COCKAYNES IN PARIS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +MRS. ROWE'S. + + +The story I have to tell is disjointed. I throw it out as I picked it +up. My duties, the nature of which is neither here nor there, have +borne me to various parts of Europe. I am a man, not with an +establishment--but with two portmanteaus. I have two hats in Paris and +two in London always. I have seen everything in both cities, and like +Paris, on the whole, best. There are many reasons, it seems to me, why +an Englishman who has the tastes of a duke and the means of a half-pay +major, should prefer the banks of the Seine to those of the Thames--even +with the new Embankment. Everybody affects a distinct and deep +knowledge of Paris in these times; and most people do know how to get +the dearest dinner Bignon can supply for their money; and to secure the +apartments which are let by the people of the West whom nature has +provided with an infinitesimal quantity of conscience. But there are now +crowds of English men and women who know their Paris well; men who never +dine in the restaurant of the stranger, and women who are equal to a +controversy with a French cook. These sons and daughters of Albion who +have transplanted themselves to French soil, can show good and true +reasons why they prefer the French to the English life. The wearying +comparative estimates of household expenses in Westbournia, and +household expenses in the Faubourg St. Honore! One of the disadvantages +of living in Paris is the constant contact with the odious atmosphere of +comparisons. + +"Pray, sir--you have been in London lately--what did you pay for veal +cutlet?" + +[Illustration: CROSSING THE CHANNEL--RATHER SQUALLY.] + +The new arrivals are the keenest torments. "In London, where I have kept +house for over twenty years, and have had to endure every conceivable +development of servants' extortion, no cook ever demanded a supply of +white aprons yet." You explain for the hundredth time that it is the +custom in Paris. There are people who believe Kensington is the domestic +model of the civilized world, and travel only to prove at every stage +how far the rest of the universe is behind that favoured spot. He who +desires to see how narrow his countrymen and countrywomen can be abroad, +and how completely the mass of British travellers lay themselves open to +the charge of insularity, and an overweening estimate of themselves and +their native customs, should spend a few weeks in a Paris +boarding-house, somewhere in the Faubourg St. Honore--if he would have +the full aroma of British conceit. The most surprising feature of the +English quarter of the French capital is the eccentricity of the English +visitors, as it strikes their own countrymen. I cannot find it in me to +blame Gallican caricaturists. The statuettes which enliven the bronze +shops; the gaunt figures which are in the chocolate establishments; the +prints in the windows under the Rivoli colonnade; the monsters with +fangs, red hair, and Glengarry caps, of Cham, and Dore, and Bertall, and +the female sticks with ringlets who pass in the terra-cotta show of the +Palais Royal for our countrywomen, have long ago ceased to warm my +indignation. All I can say now is, that the artists and modellers have +not travelled. They have studied the strange British apparitions which +disfigure the Boulevard des Italiens in the autumn, their knowledge of +our race is limited to the unfortunate selection of specimens who strut +about their streets, and--according to their light--they are not guilty +of outrageous exaggeration. I venture to assert that an Englishman will +meet more unpleasant samples of his countrymen and countrywomen in an +August day's walk in Paris, than he will come across during a month in +London. To begin with, we English treat Paris as though it were a back +garden, in which a person may lounge in his old clothes, or indulge his +fancy for the ugly and slovenly. Why, on broiling days, men and women +should sally forth from their hotel with a travelling-bag and an +opera-glass slung about their shoulders, passes my comprehension. +Conceive the condition of mind of that man who imagines that he is an +impressive presence when he is patrolling the Rue de la Paix with an +alpenstock in his hand! At home we are a plain, well-dressed, +well-behaved people, fully up in Art and Letters--that is, among our +educated classes, to any other nation--in most elegant studies before +all; but our travellers in France and Switzerland slander us, and the +"Paris in 10 hours" system has lowered Frenchmen's estimate of the +national character. The Exhibition of 1867, far from promoting the +brotherhood of the peoples, and hinting to the soldier that his vocation +was coming to an end, spread a dislike of Englishmen through Paris. It +attracted rough men from the North, and ill-bred men from the South, +whose swagger, and noise, and unceremonious manners in cafes and +restaurants chafed the polite Frenchman. They could not bring themselves +to salute the _dame de comptoir_, they were loud at the table d'hote and +commanding in their airs to the waiter. In brief, the English mass +jarred upon their neighbours; and Frenchmen went the length of saying +that the two peoples--like relatives--would remain better friends apart. +The disadvantage is, beyond doubt, with us; since the _froissement_ was +produced by the British lack of that suavity which the French +cultivate--and which may be hollow, but is pleasant, and oils the wheels +of life. + +[Illustration: ROBINSON CRUSOE AND FRIDAY. + +_From French designs._] + +Mrs. Rowe's was in the Rue--say the Rue Millevoye, so that we may not +interfere with possible vested interests. Was it respectable? Was it +genteel? Did good country families frequent it? Were all the comforts of +an English home to be had? Had Mrs. Grundy cast an approving eye into +every nook and corner? Of course there were Bibles in the bedrooms; and +you were not made to pay a franc for every cake of soap. Mrs. Rowe had +her tea direct from Twinings'. Twinings' tea she had drunk through her +better time, when Rowe had one of the finest houses in all Shepherd's +Bush, and come what might, Twinings' tea she would drink while she was +permitted to drink tea at all. Brown Windsor--no other soap for Mrs. +Rowe, if you please. People who wanted any of the fanciful soaps of +Rimmel or Piver must buy them. Brown Windsor was all she kept. Yes, she +was obliged to have Gruyere--and people did ask occasionally for +Roquefort; but her opinion was that the person who did not prefer a good +Cheshire to any other cheese, deserved to go without any. She had been +twenty-one years in Paris, and seven times only had she missed morning +service on Sundays. Hereupon, a particular history of each occasion, and +the superhuman difficulty which had bound Mrs. Rowe hand and foot to the +Rue Millevoye from eleven till one. She had a faithful note of a +beautiful sermon preached in the year 1850 by the Rev. John Bobbin, in +which he compared life to a boarding-house. He was staying with Mrs. +Howe at the time. He was an earnest worker in the true way; and she +distinctly saw her _salle-a-manger_ in his eye, when he enlarged on +the bounteous table spread by Nature, and the little that was needed +from man to secure all its blessings. + +[Illustration: PAPA & THE DEAR BOYS.] + +Mrs. Rowe took a maternal interest in me. I had made an economical +arrangement by which I secured a little room to myself throughout the +year, under the slates. I had many friends. I constantly arrived, +bringing new lodgers in my wake. For the house was quiet, well-ordered, +cheap, and tremendously respectable. I say, Mrs. Rowe took a maternal +interest in me--that is, she said so. There were ill-natured people who +had another description for her solicitude; but she had brought herself +to believe that she had an unselfish regard for your humble servant, +and that she was necessary to my comfort in the world, and I was pleased +at the innocent humbug. It afforded me excellent creature comforts; and +I was indebted to it for a constant welcome when I got to Paris--which +is something to the traveller. We cling to an old hotel, after we have +found the service bad, the cooking execrable, and the rooms dirty. It is +an ancient house, and the people know us, and have a cheery word and a +home look. + +[Illustration: THE DOWAGER AND TALL FOOTMAN.] + +Many years were passed in the Rue Millevoye by Mrs. Rowe and her niece, +without more incident than the packing and unpacking of luggage, and +genteel disputes over items in the bills conducted with icy politeness +on both sides, and concluded by Mrs. Rowe invariably with the withering +observation, that it was the first remark of the kind which had ever +been made on one of her little notes. People usually came to a +settlement with complimentary expressions of surprise at the +extreme--almost reckless--moderation of her charges; and expressed +themselves as at a loss to understand how she could make it worth her +while to do so very much for so very little. The people who came and +went were alike in the mass. The reader is requested to bear in mind +that Mrs. Rowe had a connexion of her own. She was seldom angry; but +when an advertising agent made his way to her business parlour, and took +the liberty of submitting the value of a Western States paper as a +medium for making her establishment known, she confessed that the +impertinence was too much for her temper. Mrs. Rowe advertise! Mrs. Rowe +would just as soon throw herself off the Pont Neuf, or--miss church next +Sunday. + +"They don't come a second time!" Mrs. Rowe would say to me, with a +fierce compression of the lip, that might lead a nervous person to +imagine she made away with them in the cellars. + +When Mrs. Rowe took you into her confidence--a slow and tedious +admission--she was pleased, usually, to fortify your stock of knowledge +with a comprehensive view of her family connexions; intended to set the +Whytes of Battersea (from whom she derived, before the vulgar Park was +there) upon an eminence of glory, with a circle of cringing and +designing Rowes at the base. How she--Whyte on both sides, for her +father married his first cousin--ever came to marry Joshua Rowe, was +something her mother never understood to her dying day. She was +graciously open to consolation in the reflection that nobles and princes +had made humble matches before her; and particularly in this, that the +Prince Regent married Mrs. Fitzherbert. + +Lucy Rowe was favoured with these observations, heightened by occasional +hits at her own misfortune in that she was a Rowe, and could not boast +one thimbleful of Whyte blood in her veins. + +It was the almost daily care of Mrs. Rowe to impress the people with +whom her business brought her in contact, with the gulf that lay between +her and her niece; although, through the early and inexplicable +condescension of a Miss Harriet Whyte, of Battersea, they bore the same +name, Miss Rowe was no blood relation _whatever_. + +It was surprising to see how Lucy bore up under the misfortune. She was +not a Whyte, but she had lived beside one. Youth is so elastic! Lucy, +albeit she had the Rowe lip and nose, and, worse than all, the Rowe hair +(a warm auburn, which Mrs. Rowe described in one syllable, with a +picturesque and popular comparison comprehended in two), was daring +enough to meet the daylight, without showing the smallest signs of +giving way to melancholy. When new comers, as a common effort of +politeness, saw a strong likeness between Mrs. Rowe and her niece, the +representative of the Whytes of Battersea drew herself to her full +height, which was a trifle above her niece's shoulders, and +answered--"Oh dear, no, madam! It would be very strange if there were, +as there is not the slightest blood relationship between us." + +Lucy Rowe was about fifteen when I first saw her. A slender, +golden-haired, shy and quiet girl, much in bashful and sensitive +demeanour like her romantic namesake of "the untrodden ways." It is +quite true that she had no Whyte blood in her veins, and Mrs. Rowe could +most conscientiously declare that there was not the least resemblance +between them. The Whyte features were of a type which none would envy +the possessor, save as the stamp of the illustrious house of Battersea. +The House of Savoy is not attractive by reason of its faultless profile; +but there are persons of almost matchless grace who would exchange their +beauty for its blood. In her very early days, I have no doubt. Lucy Rowe +would have given her sweet blue eyes, her pouting lips, and pretty head +(just enough to fold lovingly between the palms of a man's hand), for +the square jaw and high cheek-bone of the Whytes. She felt very humble +when she contemplated the grandeur of her aunt's family, and very +grateful to her aunt who had stooped so far as to give her shelter when +she was left alone in the world. She kept the accounts, ran errands, +looked after the house linen, and made herself agreeable to the +boarders' children; but all this was the very least she could do to +express her humble thankfulness to the great lady-relative who had +befriended her, after having been good enough to commit the sacrifice of +marrying her uncle Joshua. + +Lucy sat many hours alone in the business parlour--an apartment not +decorated with the distinct view of imparting cheerfulness to the human +temperament. The mantelpiece was covered with files of bills. There were +rows of numbered keys against the wall. Mrs. Rowe's old desk--_style +Empire_ she said, when any visitor noticed the handsome ruin--stood in a +corner by the window, covered with account books, prospectuses and cards +of the establishment, and heaps of old newspapers. Another corner showed +heaps of folded linen, parcels left for boarders, umbrellas and sticks, +which had been forgotten by old customers (Mrs. Rowe called them +clients), and aunt's walking-boots. One corner was Lucy's, which she +occupied in conjunction with a little table, at which, from seven in the +morning until bedtime, she worked with pen or needle (it was provoking +she could not learn to ply both at one time), when she was not running +about the house, or nursing a boarder's baby. On the rare evenings when +her aunt could not find work of any description for her, Lucy was +requested to take the Bible from the shelf, and read a chapter aloud. +When her aunt went to sleep during the reading Lucy continued steadily, +knowing that the scion of the illustrious house of Whyte would wake +directly her voice ceased. + +Occasionally the clergyman would drop in; whereupon Lucy would hear much +improving discourse between her aunt and the reverend gentleman. Mrs. +Rowe poured all her griefs into the ear of the Reverend Horace +Mohun--griefs which she kept from the world. Before Lucy she spoke +freely--being accustomed to regard the timid girl as a child still, +whose mind could not gather the threads of her narrative. Lucy sate--not +listening, but hearing snatches of the mournful circumstances with which +Mrs. Rowe troubled Mr. Mohun. The reverend gentleman was a patient and +an attentive listener; and drank his tea and ate his toast (it was only +at Mrs. Rowe's he said he could ever get a good English round of toast), +shaking his head, or offering a consoling "dear, dear me!" as the +droning proceeded. Lucy was at work. If Mrs. Rowe caught her pausing she +would break her story to say--"If you have finished 42 account, put down +two candles to 10, and a foot-bath to 14." And Lucy--who seldom paused +because she had finished her task, as her aunt knew well--bent over the +table again, and was as content as she was weary. When she went up to +her bedroom (which the cook had peremptorily refused to occupy) she +prayed for good Aunt Rowe every night of her dull life, before she lay +upon her truckle bed to rest for the morrow's cheerful round of hard +duties. Was it likely that a child put thus into the harness of life, +would pass the talk of her aunt with Mr. Mohun as the idle wind? + +The mysteries which lay in the talk, and perplexed her, were cleared up +in due time. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HE'S HERE AGAIN! + + + "He has but stumbled in the path + Thou hast in weakness trod."--A. A. PROCTER. + +"He's here again, Mum." + +He was there at the servant's entrance to the highly respectable +boarding-house in the Rue Millevoye. It was five in the morning--a +winter's morning. + +Mrs. Rowe hastened from her room, behind the business parlour, in her +dressing-gown, her teeth chattering, and her eyes flashing the fire of +hate. The boarders sleeping upstairs would not have known the godly +landlady, who glided about the house by day, rubbing her hands and +hoping every soul under her roof was comfortable--or would at once +complain to her, who lived only to make people comfortable--bills being +but mere accidental accessories, fortuitously concurrent with the +arrival of a cab and the descent of luggage. + +"At the back door, mum, with his coat tucked over his ears, and such a +cold in his head. Shall I show him in?" + +"My life is a long misery, Jane," Mrs. Rowe said, under her voice. + +"La! mum, it's quite safe. I'm sure I shouldn't trouble much about +it--'specially in this country, as----" + +"Silence!" Mrs. Rowe hissed. The thorns in her cross consisted chiefly +of Jane's awkward attempts at consolation. "The villain is bent on my +ruin. A bad boy he was; a bad man he is. Show him in; and see that +Francois doesn't come here. Get some coffee yourself, Jane, and bring +it. Let the brute in." + +"You're hard upon him, mum, indeed you are. I'm sure he'd be a credit +to----" + +"Go, and hold your tongue. You presume, Jane, on the privileges of an +old servant." + +"Indeed I hope not, mum; but----" + +"Go!" + +Jane went to summon the early visitor; and was heard talking amiably to +him, as she led him to the bureau. "Now, you must be good, Mr. Charles, +to-day, and not stay more than a quarter of an hour. Don't talk loud, +like the last time; promise me. Missus means well--you know she does." + +With an impatient "All right" the stranger pushed into the business +parlour, and sharply closed the door. + +Mrs. Rowe stood, her knuckles firmly planted upon the closed desk, her +face rigidly set, to receive her visitor--keeping the table between him +and herself. He was advancing to take her hand. + +"Stand there," she said, with an authority he had not the courage to +defy. He stood there--abashed, or hesitating as to the way in which he +should enter upon his business. + +"Well!" Mrs. Rowe said, firmly and impatiently. + +Mr. Charles, stung by the manner, turned upon his victim. "Well!" he +jeered, "yes, and well again, Mrs. Rowe. Is it necessary for me to +explain myself? Do you think I have come to see _you_!" + +"I have no money at present; I wrote you so." + +"And I didn't believe you, and have come to fetch what you wouldn't +send. If you think I'm going into a corner to starve for your personal +satisfaction, you are very much mistaken. I'm surprised you don't +understand me better by this time." + +"You were a rascal, Charles, before you left school." + +"School! Pretty school! D--n it, don't blame me--woman!" + +Mrs. Rowe was alarmed by the outburst, lest it should wake some of the +boarders. + +"The Dean and his lady are sleeping overhead. If you don't respect me, +think----" + +"I'm not here to respect, or think about anybody. I'm cast alone into +the world--tossed into it; left to shift for myself, and to be ashamed +of myself; and I want a little help through it, and it's for you to give +it me, and give it me YOU SHALL." + +Mr. Charles held out his left hand, and slapped its open palm vehemently +with his right--pantomime to indicate the exact whereabouts he had +selected for the reception of Mrs. Rowe's money. + +"I told you I had no money. You'll drive me from this house by bringing +disgrace upon it." + +"That's very good," Mr. Charles said, with a cruel laugh. "That's a +capital joke." + +Jane entered with coffee. "That's right," she whispered, encouragingly +to Mr. Charles; "laugh and be cheerful, Mr. Charles, and make haste with +your coffee." + +The face of Mr. Charles blackened to night. He turned like a tiger upon +the servant. "Laugh and be cheerful?" he roared; and then he raised a +hoarse mock laugh, that moved Mrs. Rowe, in her agony of fear, to turn +the key in the lock of her desk. + +Shaking her hands wildly in the air, Jane left the room, and shut the +door. + +"You are an arrant coward, Charles," Mrs. Rowe hissed, leaning across +the table and shaking her head violently. + +Mr. Charles imitated her gesture, answering--"I am what heartless people +have made me. I have been dragged up under a cloud; made the scape-goat. +How often in the course of your hypocritical days have you wished me +dead? You hear I've a cough; but I cannot promise you it's a churchyard +one. I'm a nuisance; but I suppose I'm not responsible for my existence, +Mrs. Rowe. _I_ was not consulted." + +"Viper!" + +"And devil too, when needful: remember that." Mr. Charles moved round +the table in the direction of the desk. + +"Stand where you are. I would rather give you the clothes from my back +than touch you." Mrs. Rowe, as she stood still turning the lock of the +bureau, and keeping her angry eyes fixed upon the man, was the picture +of all the hate she expressed. + +She never took her eyes off him, nor did he quail, while she fumbled in +the drawer in which she kept money. The musical rattle of the gold smote +upon the ear of Mr. Charles. + +"Pretty sound," he said, with a smile of hate in his face; "but there is +crisp paper sounds sweeter. Mrs. Rowe, I'm not here for a couple of +yellow-boys. Do you hear that?" He banged the table, and advanced a +step. + +"You can't bleed a stone, miscreant." + +"Nay, but you can break it, Mrs. Rowe. I mean business to-day. The rarer +I make my visits the better for both of us." + +"I am quite of that opinion." + +"Then make it as long as you like; you know how." + +"Is this ever to end? Have you no shame? Charles, you will end with some +tragedy. A man who can play the part you are playing, must be ready for +crime!" + +Mr. Charles shook his head in impatient rage, and made another step +towards Mrs. Rowe. + +"Move nearer, and I wake the house, come what may." Mrs. Rowe's face +looked like one cut in grey stone. + +"What! and wake the Dean and his lady! What! affright the Reverend +Horace Mohun who counts Mrs. Rowe among the milk-white sheep of his +flock! No; Mrs. Rowe is too prudent a woman--Now." As he ended, she drew +forth a roll of notes. He made a clutch at them--and she started back. + +"Charles, it has come to that! Robber! It will be murder some day." + +"This day--by----" + +Mr. Charles looked the man to make his word good. + +Mrs. Rowe was amazed and terrified by the fiend she had conjured up in +the man. He seized the table, and looked a giant in the mighty +expression of his iron will. + +"Lay that roll upon the table--or I'll shiver it into a thousand +pieces--and then--and then----Am I to say more?" + +Mrs. Rowe fell into a chair. Mr. Charles was at her in an instant, and +had possession of the notes. The poor woman had swooned. + +He rang the bell--Jane appeared. + +"Look after her," said Mr. Charles, his eyes flaming, as they fell on +the unconscious figure of Mrs. Rowe. "But let me out, first." + +"You'll kill me with fright, that you will. What have you done to your +own----" + +"Mind your own business. A smell of salts'll put her right enough." + +Mr. Charles was gone. + +"And what a sweet gentleman he can be, when he likes," said Jane. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +MRS. ROWE'S COMPANY. + + +I must be permitted to tell the rambling stories that ran parallel +during my experiences of Mrs. Rowe's establishment in my own +manner--filling up with what I guessed, all I heard from Lucy, or saw +for myself. Mr. Charles was a visitor at intervals who always arrived +when the house was quiet; and after whose visits Mrs. Rowe regularly +took to her room for the day, leaving the accounts and the keys wholly +to Lucy, and the kitchen to Jane--with strict injunctions to look after +the Reverend Horace Mohun's tea and his round of toast if he called--and +let him see the _Times_ before it went up to the general sitting-room. +On these days Lucy looked pale; and Jane called her "poor child" to me, +and begged me to say a few words of comfort to her, for she would listen +to me. + +What a fool Jane was! + +Visitors came and went. The serious, who inspected Paris as Mr. Redgrave +inspects a factory, or as the late Mr. Braidwood inspected a fire on the +morrow; who did the Louvre and called for bread-and-butter and tea on +the Boulevards at five. The new-rich, who would not have breakfasted +with the general company to save their vulgar little souls, threw their +money to the fleecing shopkeepers (who knew their _monde_), and +misbehaved themselves in all the most expensive ways possible. The jolly +ignorant, who were loud and unabashed in the sincerity and heartiness of +their enjoyment, and had more litres of brandy in their bedrooms than +the rest of the house, as Jane had it, "put together." The frugal, who +counted the lumps of sugar, found fault with the dinners, lived with the +fixed and savage determination to eat well up to the rate at which they +were paying for their board, and stole in, in the evening, with their +brandy hidden about them. Somehow, although there never was a house in +which more differences of opinion were held on nearly every question of +human interest, there was a surprising harmony of ideas as to French +brandy. A Boulogne excursion boat on its homeward journey hardly +contains more uncorked bottles of cognac, than were thrust in all kinds +of secret places in the bedrooms under Mrs. Rowe's roof. + +The hypocrisy and scandal which brandy produced in the general room were +occasionally very fierce, especially when whispers had travelled quietly +as the flies all over the house that one of the ladies had certainly, on +one occasion, revoked at cards--for one reason, and one only. Free +speculations would be cheerfully indulged in at other times on the exact +quantity the visitor who left yesterday had taken during his stay, and +the number of months which the charitable might give him to live. + +[Illustration: ON THE BOULEVARDS.] + +After the general brandy, in degree of interest, stood dress. The +shopping was prodigious. The carts of the Louvre, the Ville de Paris, +the Coin de Rue, and other famous houses of nouveautes were for ever +rattling to Mrs. Rowe's door. With a toss of the head a parcel from the +_Bon Marche_ was handed to its owner. Mrs. Jones must have come to +Paris with just one change--and such a change! Mrs. Tottenham had +nothing fit to wear. Mrs. Court must still be wearing out her +trousseau--and her youngest was three! Mrs. Rhode had no more taste, my +dear, than our cook. The men were not far behind--had looked out for +Captain Tottenham in the Army List; went to Galignani's expressly: not in +it, by Jove, sir! Court paid four shillings in the pound hardly two years +ago, and met him swelling it with his wife (deuced pretty creature!) +yesterday at Bignon's. Is quite up to Marennes oysters: wonder where he +could have heard of 'em. Rhode is a bore; plenty of money, very +good-natured; read a good deal--but can't the fellow come to table in +something better than those eternal plaid trousers? Bad enough in Lord +Brougham. Eccentricity _with_ the genius, galling enough; but without, +not to be borne, sir. Last night Jones was simply drunk, and got a wigging, +no doubt, when he found his room. He looks it all. + +We are an amiable people! + +Happily, I have forgotten the Joneses and the Tottenhams, and the Courts +and the Rhodes! The two "sets" who dwell in my memory--who are, I may +say, somewhat linked with my own life, and of whom I have something to +tell--were, as a visitor said of the fowls of Boulogne hotels--birds +apart. They crossed and re-crossed under Mrs. Rowe's roof until they +hooked together; and I was mixed up with them, until a tragedy and a +happy event made us part company. + +Now, so complicated are our treaties--offensive and defensive--that I +have to refer to my note-book, where I am likely to meet any one of +them, to see whether I am on speaking terms with the coming man or +woman as the case may be. + +I shall first introduce the Cockaynes as holding the greater "lengths" +on my stage. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS. + + +The morning after a bevy of "the blonde daughters of Albion" have +arrived in Paris, Pater--over the coffee (why is it impossible to get +such coffee in England?), the delicious bread, and the exquisite +butter--proceeds to expound his views of the manner in which the time of +the party should be spent. So was it with the Cockaynes, an intensely +British party. + +"My dears," said Mr. Cockayne, "we must husband our time. To-day I +propose we go, at eleven o'clock, to see the parade of the Guard in the +Rue de Rivoli; from there (we shall be close at hand) we can see the +Louvre; by two o'clock we will lunch in the Palais Royal. I think it's +at five the band plays in the Tuileries gardens; after the band----" + +"But, dear papa, we want to look at the shops!" interposes the gentle +Sophonisba. + +"The what, my dear? Here you are in the capital of the most polished +nation on the face of the earth, surrounded by beautiful monuments that +recall--that are, in fact----" + +"Well!" firmly observes Sophonisba's determined mamma; "you, Mr. +Cockayne, go, with your Murray's handbook, see all the antiquities, your +Raphaels and Rubens, and amuse yourself among the cobwebs of the Hotel +Cluny; _we_ are not so clever--we poor women; and while you're rubbing +your nose against the marbles in the Louvre, we'll go and see the +shops." + +"We don't mind the parade and the band, but we might have a peep at just +a few of the shops near the hotel, before eleven," observes Sophonisba. + +Cockayne throws up his eyes, and laments the frivolity of women. He is +left with one daughter (who is a blue) to admire the proportions of the +Madeleine, to pass a rapturous hour in the square room of the Louvre, +and to examine St. Germain l'Auxerrois, while the frivolous part of his +household goes stoutly away, light-hearted and gay as humming-birds, to +have their first look at the shops. + +[Illustration: A GROUP OF MARBLE "INSULAIRES." _So cold and natural they +might be mistaken for life_.] + +I happen to have seen the shops of many cities. I have peered into the +quaint, small-windowed shops of Copenhagen; I have passed under the +pendant tobacco leaves into the primitive cigar-shops of St. Sebastian; +I have hobbled, in furs, into the shops of Stockholm; I have been +compelled to take a look at the shops of London, Dublin, Edinburgh, +Liverpool, and a host of other places; but perfect shopping is to be +enjoyed in Paris only; and in the days gone by, the Palais Royal was the +centre of this paradise. Alas! the days of its glory are gone. The lines +of splendid boulevards, flanked with gorgeous shops and _cafes_; the +long arcades of the Rue de Rivoli; and, in fine, the leaning of all +that is fashionable, and lofty, and rich to the west, are the causes +which have brought the destruction of the Palais Royal. Time was when +that quaint old square--the Place-Royale in the Marais--was mighty +fashionable. It now lies in the neglected, industrious, factory-crowded +east--a kind of Parisian Bloomsbury Square, only infinitely more +picturesque, with its quaint, low colonnades. You see the fine Parisians +have travelled steadily westward, sloping slowly, like "the Great +Orion." They are making their way along the Champs-Elysees to the Avenue +de l'Imperatrice; and are constructing white stone aristocratic suburbs. + +So the foreigners no longer make their way direct to the Palais Royal +now, on the morrow of their arrival in Paris. If they be at the Louvre, +they bend westward along the Rue de Rivoli, and by the Rue de la Paix, +to the brilliant boulevards. If they be in the Grand Hotel, they issue +at once upon these famous boulevards, and the ladies are in a feminine +paradise at once. Why, exactly opposite to the Grand Hotel is Rudolphi's +remarkable shop, packed artistically with his works of art--ay, and of +the most finished and cunning art--in oxidized silver. His shop is most +admirably adapted to the articles the effect of which he desires to +heighten. It is painted black and pointed with delicate gold threads. +The rich array of jewellery and the rare ecclesiastical ornaments stand +brightly out from the sombre case, and light the window. The precious +stones, the lapis lazuli, the malachite, obtain a new brilliance from +the rich neutral tints and shades of the chased dulled silver in which +they are held. + +Sophonisba, her mamma and sisters, are not at much trouble to decide the +period to which the bracelet, or the brooch, or the earring belongs. +"_Cinque cento_, my dear! I know nothing about that. I think it would +suit my complexion." + +"I confess to a more modern taste, Sophonisba. That is just the sort of +thing your father would like. Now, do look at those--sphinxes, don't +you call them--for a brooch. I think they're hideous. Did you ever see +such ears? I own, that diamond dew-drop lying in an enamel rose leaf, +which I saw, I think, in the Rue de la Paix, is more to my taste." + +And so the ladies stroll westward to the famous Giroux (where you can +buy, an it please you, toys at forty guineas each--babies that cry, and +call "mamma," and automata to whom the advancement of science and art +has given all the obnoxious faculties of an unruly child), or east to +the boulevards, which are known the wide world over, at least by name, +the Boulevards de la Madeleine, des Capucines, des Italiens, Montmartre. +These make up the heart and soul of Paris. Within the limits of these +gorgeous lines of shops and _cafes_ luxury has concentrated all her +blandishments and wiles. This is the earthly heaven of the Parisians. +Here all the celebrities air themselves. Here are the Opera stars, the +lights of literature, the chiefs of art, the dandies of the Jockey Club, +the prominent spendthrifts and eccentrics of the day. About four +o'clock in the afternoon all the known Paris figures are lounging upon +the asphaltum within this charmed space. Within this limit--where the +Frenchman deploys all his seductive, and vain, and frivolous airs; where +he wears his best clothes and his best manners; where he loves to be +seen, and observed, and saluted--the tradesmen of the capital have +installed establishments the costliness and elaborateness of which it is +hardly possible to exaggerate. The gilding and the mirrors, the marbles +and the bronze, the myriad lamps of every fantastic form, the quaint and +daring designs for shop fronts, the infinite arts employed to +"set off" goods, and the surprising, never-ceasing varieties of +art-manufacture--whether in chocolate or the popular Algerian +onyx--bewilder strangers. Does successful Mr. Brown, who, having doffed +the apron of trade, considers it due to himself to become--so far as +money can operate the strange transformation--a _fine fleur_; does he +desire also to make of plain, homely Mrs. Brown a leader of fashion and +a model of expensive elegance?--here are all the appliances and means in +abundance. Within these enchanted lines Madame B. may be made "beautiful +for ever!" Every appetite, every variety of whim, the cravings of the +gourmet and the dreams of the sybarite, may be gratified to the utmost. +A spendthrift might spend a handsome patrimony within these limits, nor, +at the end of his time, would he call to mind a taste he had not been +able to gratify. + +Sophonisba enters this charmed region of perfect shopping from the west. +Tahan's bronze shop, at the corner of the Rue de la Paix, marks (or did +mark) its western boundary. There are costly trifles in that window--as, +book cutters worth a library of books, and cigar-stands, ash-trays, +pen-trays, toothpick-holders (our neighbours are great in these), and +match, and glove, and lace, and jewel-boxes--of wicked price. Ladies are +not, however, very fond of bronze, as a rule. The great Maison de +Blanc--or White House--opposite, is more attractive, with its gigantic +architectural front, and its acres of the most expensive linens, +cambrics, &c. Ay, but close by Tahan is Boissier. Not to know Boissier +is to argue yourself unknown in Paris. He is the shining light of the +confectioner's art. Siraudin, of the Rue de la Paix, has set up a +dangerous opposition to him, under the patronage of a great duke, whose +duchess was one day treated like an ordinary mortal in Boissier's +establishment, but Boissier's clients (nobody has customers in Paris) +are, in the main, true to him; and his sweets pass the lips still of +nearly all the elegantes of the "centre of civilization." Peep into his +shop. Miss Sophonisba is within--_la belle insulaire!_--buying a bag +of _marrons glaces_, for which Boissier is renowned throughout +civilization. The shop is a miracle of taste. The white and gold are +worthy of Marie Antoinette's bedroom at St. Cloud--occupied, by the way, +by our English queen, when she was the guest of the French Emperor in +1855. The front of the shop is ornamented with rich and rare caskets. A +white kitten lies upon a rosy satin cushion; lift the kitten, and you +shall find that her bed is a _bon-bon_ box! + +"How very absurd!" exclaims Sophonisba's mamma, _bon-bon_ boxes not +being the particular direction which the extravagance of English ladies +takes. + +Close by the succulent establishment of M. Boissier, to whom every +dentist should lift his hat, is the doorway of Madame Laure. Sophonisba +sees a man in livery opening the door of what appears to be the entrance +to some quiet learned institution. She touches her mamma upon the arm, +and bids her pause. They had reached the threshold of a temple. Madame +Laure makes for the Empress. + +"Ah! to be sure, my child, so she does," Sophonisba's mamma replies. "I +remember. Very quiet-looking kind of place, isn't it?" It is impossible +to say what description of "loud" place had dwelt in the mind of +Sophonisba's mamma as the locale where the Empress Eugenie's milliner +"_made_" for her Majesty. Perhaps she hoped to see two _cent gardes_ +doing duty at the door of an or-molu paradise. + +At every step the ladies find new excitement. By the quiet door of +Madame Laure is the renowned Neapolitan Ice Establishment, well known to +most ladies who have been in Paris. Why should there not be a Neapolitan +ice _cafe_ like this in London? Ices we have, and we have Granger's; but +here is ice in every variety, from the solid "bombe"--which we strongly +recommend ladies to bear in mind next time--to the appetizing _Ponch a +la Romaine_! Again, sitting here on summer evenings, the lounger will +perceive dapper _bonnes_, or men-servants, going in and out with little +shapely white paper parcels which they hold daintily by the end. Madame +has rung for an ice, and this little parcel, which you might blow away, +contains it. Now, why should not a lady be able to ring for an ice--and +an exquisitely-flavoured Neapolitan ice--on the shores of "perfidious +Albion?" + +"I wish Papa were here," cries Sophonisba; "we should have ices." + +Sophonisba's mamma merely remarks that they are very unwholesome things. + +Hard by is Christofle's dazzling window, Christofle being the Elkington +of France. + +"Tut! it quite blinds one!" says the mamma of Sophonisba. Christofle's +window is startling. It is heaped to the top with a mound of plated +spoons and forks. They glitter in the light so fiercely that the eye +cannot bear to rest upon them. Impossible to pass M. Christofle without +paying a moment's attention to him. And now we pass the asphaltum of the +boulevard of boulevards--that known as "the Italiens." This is the apple +of the eye of Paris. + +"Now, my dears," says Sophonisba's mamma, "now we can really say that we +are in Paris." The shops claimed the ladies' attention one by one. They +passed with disdain the _cafes_ radiant with mirror and gold, where the +selfish men were drinking absinthe and playing at dominoes. It had +always been the creed of Sophonisba's mamma that men were selfish +creatures, and she had come to Paris only to see that she was right. +They passed on to Potel's. + +Potel's window is a sight that is of Paris Parisian. It is more imposing +than that of Chevet in the Palais Royal. In the first place Potel is on +"the Italiens." It is a daily store of all the rarest and richest +articles of food money can command for the discontented palate of man. +The truffled turkeys are the commonest of the articles. Everybody eats +truffled turkeys, must be the belief of Potel. If salmon could peer into +the future, and if they had any ambition, they would desire, after +death, to be artistically arrayed in fennel in the shop-window of Potel. +Would not the accommodating bird who builds an edible nest work with +redoubled ardour, if he could be assured that his house would be some +day removed to the great window on "the Italiens?" + +Happy the ortolans whom destiny puts into Potel's plate of honour! Most +fortunate of geese, whose liver is fattened by a slow fire to figure +presently here with the daintiest and noblest of viands! The pig who +hunts the truffle would have his reward could he know that presently the +fragrant vegetable would give flavour to his trotter! And is it not a +good quarter of an hour's amusement every afternoon to watch the +gourmets feasting their eyes on the day's fare? And the _gamins_ from +the poor quarters stare in also, and wonder what those black lumps are. + +Opposite Potel's is a shop, the like of which we have not, nor, we +verily believe, has any other city. It is the show-store of the +far-famed Algerian Onyx Company. The onyx is here in great superb +blocks, wedded with bronze of exquisite finish, or serving as background +to enamels of the most elaborate design. Within, the shop is crammed +with lamps, jardinieres, and monumental marbles, all relieved by +bronzes, gold, and exotics. The smallest object would frighten a man of +moderate means, if he inquired its price. There is a flower shop not far +off, but it isn't a shop, it's a bower. It is close by a dram-shop, +where the cab-men of the stand opposite refresh the inner man. It +represents the British public-house. But what a quiet orderly place it +is! The kettle of punch--a silver one--is suspended over the counter. +The bottles are trim in rows; there are no vats of liquid; there is no +brawling; there are no beggars by the door--no drunkards within. It is +so quiet, albeit on the Boulevard, not one in a hundred of the +passers-by notice it. The lordly Cafe du Cardinal opposite is not more +orderly. + +Past chocolate shops, where splendidly-attired ladies preside; +wood-carving shops, printsellers, pastrycooks--where the savarins +are tricked out, and where _petit fours_ lie in a hundred +varieties--music-shops, bazaars, immense booksellers' windows; they who +are bent on a look at the shops reach a corner of the Grand Opera +Street, where the Emperor's tailor dwells. The attractions here are, as +a rule, a few gorgeous official costumes, or the laurel-embellished tail +coat of the academician. Still proceeding eastward, the shops are +various, and are all remarkable for their decoration and contents. There +is a shop where cots and flower-stands are the main articles for sale; +but such cots and such flower-stands! The cots are for Princes and the +flower-stands for Empresses. I saw the Empress Eugenie quietly issuing +from this very shop, one winter afternoon. + +Sophonisba's mother lingered a long time over the cots, and delighted +her mother-eye with the models of babies that were lying in them. One, +she remarked, was the very image of young Harry at home. + +And so on to "Barbedienne's," close by the well-known Vachette. + +Sophonisba, however, will not wait for our description of the renowned +Felix's establishment, where are the lightest hands for pastry, it is +said, in all France. When last we caught sight of the young lady, she +was _chez_ Felix, demolishing her second _baba!_ May it lie lightly on +her--! + +I humbly beg the pardon of Mademoiselle Sophonisba! + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE COCKAYNE FAMILY. + + +The Cockaynes deserve a few words of formal introduction to the reader, +since he is destined to make their better acquaintance. We have ventured +hitherto only to take a few discreet and distant glimpses at them, as we +found them loitering about the Boulevards on the morrow of their +appearance in Paris. Mr. Cockayne--having been very successful for many +years in the soap-boiling business, to the great discomfort and vexation +of the noses of his neighbours, and having amassed fortune enough to +keep himself and wife and his three blooming daughters among the _creme +de la creme_ of Clapham, and in the list of the elect of society, known +as carriage-people--he had given up the soap-boiling to his two sons, +and had made up his mind to enjoy his money, or rather so much of it as +Mrs. Cockayne might not require. It is true that every shilling of the +money had been made by Cockayne, that every penny-piece represented a +bit of soap which he had manufactured for the better cleansing of his +generation. But this highly honourable fact, to the credit of poor +Cockayne, albeit it was unpleasant to the nostrils of Mrs. C. when she +had skimmed some of the richest of the Clapham _creme_ into her +drawing-room, did not abate her resolve to put at least three farthings +of the penny into her pocket, for her uses and those of her simple and +innocent daughters. Mrs. Cockayne, being an economical woman, spent more +money on herself, her house, and her children than any lady within a +mile of Cockayne House. It is certain that she was an excellent mother +to her three daughters, for she reminded Cockayne every night +regularly--as regularly, he said, as he took his socks off--that if it +were not for her, she did not know what would become of the children. +She was quite sure their father wouldn't trouble his head about them. + +Perhaps Mrs. Cockayne was right. Cockayne had slaved in business only +thirty-five years out of the fifty-two he had passed in this vale of +tears, and had only lodged her at last in a brougham and pair. He might +have kept in harness another ten years, and set her up in a carriage and +four. She was sure he didn't know what to do with himself, now he had +retired. He was much better tempered when he went off to business by the +nine o'clock omnibus every morning; and before he had given himself such +ridiculous airs, and put himself on all kinds of committees he didn't +understand anything about, and taken to make himself disagreeable to his +neighbours in the vestry-hall, and moving what he called amendments and +riders, for the mere pleasure, she verily believed, of opposing +somebody, as he did everybody in his own house, and of hearing himself +talk. Does the reader perceive by this time the kind of lady Mrs. +Cockayne was, and what a comfort she must have been to her husband in +the autumn of his life? + +How he must have listened for what the novelists call "her every +footstep," and treasured her every syllable! It was mercifully ordained +that Mr. Cockayne should be a good-tempered, non-resisting man. When +Mrs. Cockayne was, as her sons pleasantly and respectfully phrased it, +"down upon the governor," the good man, like the flowers in the poem, +"dipped and rose, and turned to look at her." He sparkled while she +stormed. He smiled when the shafts of her sarcasm were thrown +point-blank at him. He was good-tempered before the storm began, while +it lasted, and when it was over. Mrs. Cockayne had the ingenuity to +pretend that Cockayne was the veriest tyrant behind people's backs; he +who, as a neighbour of his very expressively put the case, dared not +help himself to the fresh butter without having previously asked the +permission of his wife. Fate, in order to try the good-nature of +Timothy Cockayne to the utmost, had given him two daughters closely +resembling, in patient endurance and self-abnegation, their +irreproachable mamma. Sophonisba--at whom the reader has already had a +glimpse, and whom we last saw demolishing her second _baba_ at Felix's, +was the eldest daughter--and the second was Theodosia. There was a +third, Carrie; she was the blue, and was gentle and contented with +everything, like her father. + +The reader may now be prepared to learn that it was not Mr. Timothy +Cockayne, late of Lambeth, who had planned the family's journey to +Paris. Mrs. Cockayne had projected the expedition. Everybody went to +Paris now-a-days, and you looked so very stupid if you had to confess in +a drawing-room that you had never been. She was sure there was not +another family on Clapham Common, of their station, who had not been. +Besides, it would exercise the girls' French. If Mr. Cockayne could only +consent to tear himself away from board-meetings, and devote a little +time to his own flesh and blood. They would go alone, and not trouble +him, only what would their neighbours say to see them start off alone, +as though they'd nobody in the world to care a fig about them. At any +rate, they didn't want people to know they were neglected. Now Mr. +Cockayne had never had the most distant idea of leaving the ladies of +his family to go alone to Paris. But it pleased his wife to put the case +in this pleasant way, and he never interfered with her pleasures. He +wanted very much to see Paris again, for he had never been on the banks +of the Seine since 1840, when he made a flying visit to examine some new +patent soap-boiling apparatus. He was ordered about by both mother and +daughters, by boat and railway. He was reproached fifty times for his +manners in insisting on going the Dieppe route. He was loaded with +parcels and baskets and rugs, and was soundly rated all the way from the +railway station to the Grand Hotel, on the Boulevard des Capucines, for +having permitted the Custom House officers to turn over Mrs. Cockayne's +boxes, as she said, "in the most impudent manner; but they saw she was +without protection." + +I have always been at a loss to discover why certain classes of English +travellers, who make their appearance in Paris during the excursion +season, persist in regarding the capital of France, or, as the Parisian +has it, "the centre of civilization," as a Margate without the sea. I +wonder what was floating in the head of Mr. Cockayne, when he bought a +flat cloth grey cap, and ordered a plaid sporting-suit from his +tailor's, and in this disguise proceeded to "do" Paris. In London Mr. +Cockayne was in the habit of dressing like any other respectable elderly +gentleman. He was going to the capital of a great nation, where people's +thoughts are not unfrequently given to the cares of the _toilette;_ +where, in short, gentlemen are every bit as severe in their dress as +they are in Pall Mall, or in a banking-house in Lombard Street. Now Mr. +Cockayne would as soon have thought of wearing that plaid +shooting-suit and that grey flat cap down Cheapside or Cornhill, as he +would have attempted to play at leap-frog in the underwriters' room at +Lloyd's. He had a notion, however, that he had done the "correct thing" +for foreign parts, and that he had made himself look as much a traveller +as Livingstone or Burton. Some strange dreams in the matter of dress had +possessed the mind of Mrs. Cockayne, and her daughters also. They were +in varieties of drab coloured dresses and cloaks; and the mother and the +three daughters, deeming bonnets, we suppose, to be eccentric head-gears +in Paris, wore dark brown hats all of one pattern, all ornamented with +voluminous blue veils, and all ready to Dantan's hand. The young ladies +had, moreover, velvet strings, that hung down from under their hats +behind, almost to their heels. It was thus arrayed that the party took +up their quarters at the Grand Hotel, and opened their Continental +experiences. I have already accompanied Mrs. Cockayne, Sophonisba, and +Theodosia, on their first stroll along the Boulevards, and peeped into +a few shops with them. Mr. Cockayne was in the noble courtyard of the +Hotel, waiting to receive them on their return, with Carrie sitting +close by him, intently reading a voluminous catalogue of the Louvre, on +which, according to Mrs. Cockayne, her liege lord had "wasted five +francs." Mr. Cockayne was all smiles. Mrs. Cockayne and her two elder +daughters were exhausted, and threw themselves into seats, and vowed +that Paris was the most tiring place on the face of the earth. + +[Illustration: BEAUTY & THE B----. _Normally a severe Excursionist_.] + +"My dear," said Mr. Cockayne, addressing his wife, "people find Paris +fatiguing because they walk about the streets all day, and give +themselves no rest. If we did the same thing at Clapham----" + +"There, that will do, Cockayne," the lady sharply answered. "I'm sure +I'm a great deal too tired to hear speeches. Order me some iced water. +You talk about French politeness, Cockayne. I think I never saw people +stare so much in the whole coarse of my life. And some boys in blue +pinafores actually laughed in our very faces. I know what _I_ should +have done to them, had _I_ been their mother. What was it they said, +Sophy, my dear?" + +"I didn't quite catch, mamma; these people talk so fast." + +"They seem to me," Mrs. Cockayne continued, "to jumble all their words +one into another." + +"That is because----" Mr. Cockayne was about to explain. + +"Now, pray, Mr. Cockayne, do leave your Mutual Improvement Society +behind, and give us a little relief while we are away. I say the people +jumble one word into another in the most ridiculous manner, and I +suppose I have ears, and Sophy has ears, and we are not quite lunatics +because we have not been staring our eyes out all the morning at things +we don't understand." + +Here Carrie, lifting her eyes from her book, said to her father-- + +"Papa dear, you remember that first Sculpture Hall, where the colossal +figures were; that was the Salle des Caryatides, and those gigantic +figures you admired so much were by Jean Goujon. Just think! It was in +this hall that Henry IV. celebrated his wedding with Marguerite de +Valois. Yes, and in this very room Moliere used to act before the +Court." + +"Yes," Mrs. Cockayne interjected, pointing to Carrie's hands, "and in +that very room, I suppose, Miss Caroline Cockayne appeared with her +fingers out of her glove." + +"And where have you been all day, my dear?" Mr. Cockayne said, in his +blandest manner, to his wife. + +"We poor benighted creatures," responded Mrs. Cockayne, "have been--pray +don't laugh. Mr. Cockayne--looking at the shops, and very much amused we +have been, I can assure you, and we are going to look at them to-morrow, +and the day after, and the day after that." + +"With all my heart, my dear," said Mr. Cockayne, who was determined to +remain in the very best of tempers. "I hope you have been amused, that +is all." + +[Illustration: PALAIS DU LOUVRE.] + +[Illustration: THE ROAD TO THE BOIS] + +"We have had a delightful day," said Sophonisba. + +"I am sure we have been into twenty shops," said Theodosia. + +"And I am sure," Mrs. Cockayne continued, "it is quite refreshing, after +the boorish manners of your London shopkeepers, to be waited upon by +these polite Frenchmen. They behave like noblemen." + +"Mamma has had fifty compliments paid to her in the course of the day, I +am certain," said Sophonisba. + +"I am very glad to hear it," said Sophonisba's papa. + +"Glad to hear it, and surprised also, I suppose, Mr. Cockayne! In London +twenty compliments have to last a lady her lifetime." + +"I don't know how it is," Theodosia observed, "but the tradespeople here +have a way of doing things that is enchanting. We went into an imition +jeweller's in the Rue Vivienne--and such imitations! I'll defy Mrs. +Sandhurst--and you know how ill-natured she is--to tell some earrings +and brooches we saw from real gold and jewels. Well, what do you think +was the sign of the shop, which was arranged more like a drawing-room +than a tradesman's place of business; why, it was called L'Ombre du Vrai +(the Shadow of Truth). Isn't it quite poetical?" + +Mr. Cockayne thought he saw his opportunity for an oratorical flourish. + +"It has been observed, my dear Theo," said he, dipping the fingers of +his right hand into the palm of his left, "by more than one acute +observer, that the mind of the race whose country we are now----" + +Here Mrs. Cockayne rapped sharply the marble table before her with the +end of her parasol, and said-- + +"Mr. Cockayne, have you ordered any dinner for us?" + +Mr. Cockayne meekly gave it up, and replied that he had secured places +for the party at the _table d'hote_. + +Satisfied on this score, the matron proceeded to inform that person whom +in pleasant irony she called her lord and master, that she had set her +heart on a brooch of the loveliest design it had ever been her good +fortune to behold. + +"At the _L'Ombre_--what do you call it, my dear?" said the husband, +blandly. + +Mrs. Cockayne went through that stiffening process which ladies of +dignity call drawing themselves up. + +"You really surprise me, Mr. Cockayne. If you mean it as a joke, I would +have you know that people don't joke with their wives; and I should +think you ought to know by this time that I am not in the habit of +wearing imitation jewellery." + +"I ought," briefly responded Cockayne; and then he rapidly continued, in +order to ward off the fire he knew his smart rejoinder would provoke-- + +"Tell me where it was, my dear. Suppose we go and look at it together. I +saw myself some exquisite Greek compositions in the Rue de la Paix, +which both myself and Carrie admired immensely." + +"Greek fiddlesticks! I want no Greek, nor any other old-fashioned +ornaments, Mr. Cockayne. One would think you were married to the oldest +female inhabitant, by the way you talk; or that I had stepped out of the +Middle Ages; or that I and Sphinx were twins. But you must be so very +clever, with your elevation of the working-classes, and those prize +Robinson Crusoes you gave to the Ragged-school children--which you know +you got trade price." + +"Well, well," poor Cockayne feebly expostulated, "if it's not far, let +us go and see the brooch." + +"There, mamma!" cried both Sophonisba and Theodosia in one breath. +"Mind, the one with the three diamonds." + +[Illustration: MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG.] + +Mrs. Cockayne being of an exceedingly yielding temperament, allowed +herself to be mollified, and sailed out of the hotel, with the blue +veil hanging from her hat down her back, observing by the way that she +should like to box those impudent Frenchmen's ears who were lounging +about the doorway, and who, she was sure, were looking at her. Mr. +Cockayne was unfortunate enough to opine that his wife was mistaken, and +that the Frenchmen in question were not even looking in her direction. + +"Of course not, Mr. Cockayne," said the lady; "who would look at me, at +my time of life?" + +"Nonsense! I didn't mean that," said Mr. Cockayne, now a little gruffly, +for there was a limit even to _his_ patience. + +"It is difficult to tell what you mean. I don't think you know yourself, +half your time." + +Thus agreeably beguiling the way, the pair walked to the shop in the Rue +de la Paix, where the lady had seen a brooch entirely to her mind. It +was the large enamel rose-leaf, with three charming dew-drops in the +shape of brilliants. + +"They speak English, I hope," said Mr. Cockayne. "We ought to have +brought Sophonisba with us." + +"Sophonisba! much use _her_ French is in this place. She says their +French and the French she learnt at school are two perfectly different +things. So you may make up your mind that all those extras for languages +you paid for the children were so much money thrown away." + +"That's a consoling reflection, now the money's gone," quoth Mr. +Cockayne. + +They then entered the shop. A very dignified gentleman, with exquisitely +arranged beard and moustache, and dressed unexceptionably, made a +diplomatic bow to Mr. Cockayne and his wife. Cockayne, without ceremony, +plunged _in medias res_. He wanted to look at the rose-leaf with the +diamonds on it. The gentleman in black observed that it became English +ladies' complexion "a ravir." + +It occurred to Mr. Cockayne, as it has occurred to many Englishmen in +Paris, that he might make up for his ignorance of French by speaking in +a voice of thunder. He seemed to have come to the conclusion that the +French were a deaf nation, and that they talked a language which he did +not understand in order that he might bear their deafness in mind. For +once in her life Mrs. Cockayne held the same opinion as her husband. She +accordingly, on her side, made what observations she chose to address to +the dignified jeweller in her loudest voice. The jeweller smiled good +naturedly, and pattered his broken English in a subdued and deferential +tone. As Mr. Cockayne found that he did not get on very well, or make +his meaning as clear as crystal by bawling, and as he found that the +polite jeweller could jerk out a few broken phrases of English, the +bright idea struck him that he, Mr. Cockayne, late of Lambeth, would +make his meaning plainer than a pike-staff by speaking broken English +also. The jeweller was puzzled, but he was very patient; and as he kept +passing one bracelet after another over the arm of Mrs. Cockayne, quite +captivated that lady. + +"He seems to think we're going to buy all the shop," growled Cockayne. + +"How vulgar you are! Lambeth manners don't do in Paris. Mr. Cockayne." + +"But they seem to like Lambeth sovereigns, anyhow," was the aggravating +rejoinder. + +"If you're going to talk like that, I'll leave the shop, and not have +anything." + +This was a threat the lady did not carry out. She bore the enamel +rose-leaf--the leaf with the three diamonds, as her daughters had +affectionately reminded her--off in triumph, having promised that +delightful man, the jeweller, to return and have a look at the bracelets +another day. She was quite enchanted with the low bow the jeweller gave +her as he closed his handsome plate-glass door. He might have been a +duke or a prince, she said. + +"Or a footman," Mr. Cockayne added. "I don't call all that bowing and +scraping business." + +When Mr. and Mrs. Cockayne returned to the Grand Hotel, they found their +daughters Sophonisba and Theodosia in a state of rapture. + +"Mamma, mamma!" cried Sophonisba, holding up a copy of _La France,_ an +evening paper, "you know that splendid shop we passed to-day, under the +colonnades by the Louvre Hotel, where there was that deep blue _moire_ +you said you should so much like if you could afford it. Well, look +here, there is a '_Grande Occasion_' there!" and the enraptured girl +pointed to letters at least two inches high, printed across the sheet of +the newspaper. "Look! a 'Grande Occasion!'" + +"And pray what's that, Sophy?" Mrs. Cockayne asked. "What grand +occasion, I should like to know." + +"Dear me, mamma," Theodosia murmured, "it means an excellent +opportunity." + +"My dear," Mrs. Cockayne retorted severely to her child, "I didn't have +the advantage of lessons in French, at I don't know how many guineas a +quarter; nor, I believe, did your father; nor did we have occasion to +teach ourselves, like Miss Sharp." + +"Well, look here, mamma," Miss Sophonisba said, her eyes sparkling and +her fingers trembling as they ran down line after line of the +advertisement that covered the whole back sheet of the newspaper. "You +never saw such bargains. The prices are positively ridiculous. There are +silks, and laces, and muslins, and grenadines, and alpacas, and shawls, +and cloaks, and plain _sultanes_, and I don't know what, all at such +absurdly low prices that I think there must be some mistake about it." + +"Tut," Mr. Cockayne said; "one of those 'awful sacrifices' and bankrupt +stock sales, like those we see in London, and the bills of which are +thrown into the letter-box day after day." + +"You are quite mistaken, papa dear, indeed you are," Theodosia said; "we +have asked the person in the _Bureau_ down stairs, and she has told us +that these '_Grandes Occasions_' take place twice regularly every year, +and that people wait for them to make good bargains for their summer +things and for their winter things." + +The lady in the _Bureau_ was right. The prudent housewives of Paris take +advantage of these "_Grandes Occasions_" to make their summer and winter +purchases for the family. In the spring-time, when the great violet +trade of Paris brightens the corners of the streets, immense +advertisements appear in all the daily and weekly papers of Paris, +headed by gigantic letters that the fleetest runner may read, announcing +extraordinary exhibitions, great exhibitions, and unprecedented spring +shows. "Poor Jacques" offers 3000 cashmere shawls at twenty-seven francs +each, 2000 silk dresses at twenty-nine francs, and 1000 at thirty-nine +francs. "Little Saint Thomas," of the Rue du Bac, has 90,000 French +linos, 1000 "Jacquettes gentleman," 500 Zouaves, and 1000 dozen +cravats--all at extraordinary low prices. Poor Jacques draws public +attention to the "incomparable cheapness" of his immense operations: +while Little St. Thomas declares that his assortment of goods is of +"exceptional importance," and that he is selling his goods at a +cheapness _hors ligne_. For a nation that has twitted the English with +being a race of shop-keepers, our friends the Parisians who keep shops +are not wanting in devotion to their own commercial interests. Indeed, +there is a strong commercial sense in thousands of Parisians who have no +shutters to take down. Take for instance the poetical M. Alphonse Karr, +whose name has passed all over Europe as the charming author of A +Journey round my Garden. Nothing can be more engaging than the manner in +which M. Karr leads his readers about with him among his flowers and the +parasites of his garden. He falls into raptures over the petals of the +rose, and his eye brightens tenderly over the June fly. One would think +that this garden-traveller was a very ethereal personage, and that milk +and honey and a few sweet roots would satisfy his simple wants, and that +he had no more idea of trafficking in a market than a hard man of +business has in spending hours watching a beetle upon a leaf. But let +not the reader continue to labour under this grievous mistake. + +M. Karr is quite up to the market value of every bud that breaks within +the charmed circle of his garden at Nice. + +He cultivates the poetry for his books, but he does not neglect his +ledger. In the spring, when, according to Mr. Tennyson, "a fuller +crimson comes upon the robin's breast," and "young men's fancy lightly +turns to thoughts of love," M. Alphonse Karr, poet and florist, opens +his flower-shop. + +Carrie had taken up the newspaper which had moved the enthusiasm of her +elder sisters. Her eyes fell on the following advertisement:-- + + + "By an arrangement agreed upon, + M. ALPHONSE KARR, of Nice, + + sends direct, gratuitously, and post free, either a box containing + Herbes aux Turguoises, or a magnificent bouquet of Parma Violets, + to every person who, before the end of March, shall become a + subscriber to the monthly review entitled Life in the Country. A + specimen number will be sent on receipt of fifteen sous in postage + stamps." + +This is Alphonse Karr's magnificent spring assortment--his Grand +Occasion. + +"So you see, Mr. Cockayne," said his wife, "this Mr. Karr, whose book +about the garden--twaddle, _I_ call it--you used to think so very fine +and poetic, is just a market-gardener and nothing more. He is positively +an advertising tradesman." + +"Nothing more, mamma, I assure you," said Sophonisba. "I remember at +school that one of the French young ladies, Mademoiselle de la Rosiere, +told me that when her sister was married, the bride and all the +bridesmaids had Alphonse Karr's _bouquets_. It seems that the mercenary +creature advertises to sell ball or wedding _bouquets_, which he manages +to send to Paris quite fresh in little boxes, for a pound apiece." + +"Do you hear that?" said Mrs. Cockayne, addressing her husband. "This is +your pet, sir, who was so fond of his beetles! Why, the man would sell +the nightingales out of his trees, if he could catch them, I've no +doubt." + +"The story is a little jarring, I confess," Pater said. "But after all, +why shouldn't he sell the flowers also, when he sells the pretty things +he writes about them?" + +"Upon my word, you're wonderful. You try to creep out of everything. But +what is that you were reading, my dear Sophonisba, about the _grande +occasion_ near the Louvre Hotel? I dare say it's a great deal more +interesting than Mr. Karr and his violets. I haven't patience with your +papa's affectation. What was it we saw, my dear, in the Rue Saint +Honore? The 'Butterfly's Chocolate'?" + +"Yes, mamma," Theodosia answered. "_Chocolat du Papillon_. Yes; and you +know, mamma, there was the linen-draper's with the sign _A la Pensee_. I +never heard such ridiculous nonsense." + +"Yes; and there was another, my dear," said Mrs. Cockayne, "'To the fine +Englishwoman,' or something of that sort." + +"Oh, those two or three shops, mamma," said Sophonisba, "dedicated _A +la belle Anglaise!_ Just think what people would say, walking along +Oxford Street, if they were to see over a hosier's shop, written in big, +flaring letters, 'To the beautiful Frenchwoman!" + +Mr. Cockayne laughed. Mrs. Cockayne saw nothing to laugh at. She +maintained that it was a fair way of putting the case. + +Mr. Cockayne said that he was not laughing at his wife, but at some much +more ridiculous signs which had come under his notice. + +"What do you say," he asked, "to a linen-draper's called the 'Siege of +Corinth?' or the 'Great Conde?' or the 'Good Devil'?" + +"What on earth has La Belle Jardiniere got to do with cheap trowsers, +Mr. Cockayne?" his wife interrupted. "You forget your daughters are in +the room." + +"Well, my dear, the Moses of Paris call their establishment the Belle +Jardiniere." + +"That's not half so absurd, papa dear," Sophonisba observed, "as +another cheap tailor's I have seen under the sign of the 'Docks de la +Violette.'" + +"I don't know, my dear; I thought when my friend Rhodes came back from +Paris, and told me he had worn a pair of the Belle Jardinieres----" + +"Mr. Cockayne!" screamed his wife. + +"Well, unmentionables, my dear--I thought I should have died with +laughter." + +"Sophonisba, my dear, tell us what the paper says about that magnificent +shop under the Louvre colonnade; your father is forgetting himself." + +"Dear mamma," said Sophonisba, "it would take me an hour to read all;" +but she read the tit-bits. + +"My dears," said Mrs. Cockayne to her daughters, "it would be positively +a sin to miss such an opportunity." + +Mr. Cockayne took up the paper which Sophonisba had finished reading, +and running his eye over it, said, with a wicked curling of his lip-- + +"My dear Sophy, my dear child, here are a number of things you've not +read." + +Sophonisba tittered, and ejaculated--"Papa dear!" + +"We have heard quite enough," Mrs. Cockayne said, sternly; "and we'll go +to-morrow, directly after breakfast, and spend a nice morning looking +over the things." + +"But there are really two or three items, my dear, Sophy has forgotten. +There are a lot of articles with lace and pen work; and think of it, my +love, ten thousand ladies' chem----" + +Mrs. Cockayne started to her feet, and shrieked-- + +"Girls, leave the room!" + +"What a pity, my dear," the incorrigible Mr. Cockayne continued, in +spite of the unappeasable anger of Mrs. Cockayne--"what a pity the +_Magasins de Louvre_ were not established at the time of the celebrated +emigration of the ten thousand virgins; you see there would have been +just one apiece." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +A "GRANDE OCCASION." + + +"Well, these Paris tradespeople are the most extraordinary persons in the +world," cried Sophonisba's mamma, and the absolute ruler of Mr. +Cockayne. "I confess I can't make them out. They beat me. My dear, they +are the most independent set I ever came across. They don't seem to care +whether you buy or you don't; and they ask double what they intend to +take." + +"What is the matter now, my dear?" Mr. Cockayne ventured, in an +unguarded moment, to ask, putting aside for a moment Mr. Bayle St. +John's scholarly book on the Louvre. + +"At any rate, Mr. Cockayne, we do humbly venture to hope that you will +be able to spare us an hour this morning to accompany us to the +_Magasins du Louvre_. We would not ask you, but we have been told the +crowd is so great that ladies alone would be torn to pieces." + +"I forget how many thousands a day, papa dear," Sophonisba mercifully +interposed, "but a good many, visit these wonderful shops. I confess I +never saw anything like even the outside of them. The inside must be +lovely." + +"I have no doubt they are, my dear," Mr. Cockayne observed. "They were +built about ten years ago. The foundations were----" + +"There," cried Mrs. Cockayne, rising, "there, your papa is off with his +lecture. I shall put on my bonnet." And Mrs. Cockayne swept grandly from +the room. + +Mrs. Cockayne re-entered the room with her bonnet on; determination was +painted on the lady's countenance. Cockayne should not escape this time. +He should be led off like a lamb to the slaughter. Were not the silks +marked at ridiculously low prices? Was not the shawl-room a sight more +than equal to anything to be seen in any other part of Paris? Was not +the folding department just as much a sight of Paris as that wretched +collection of lumber in the Hotel Cluny? + +Some wives had only to hint to have; but that was not the case with the +hapless Mrs. Cockayne. She was sure nobody could be more economical than +she was, both for herself and the children, and that was her reward. She +had to undergo the most humiliating process of asking point-blank; even +when twenty or thirty thousand pairs of gloves were to be sold at prices +that were unheard of! Men were so stupid in their meanness! + +"Buy the shop," Mr. Cockayne angrily observed. + +Perhaps Mr. Cockayne would be pleased to inform his lawful wife and the +unfortunate children who were subjected by fate to his cruel +tyranny--perhaps he would inform them when it would be convenient for +him to take them home. His insults were more than his wife could bear. + +"What's the matter now?" asked the despairing Cockayne, rubbing his hat +with his coat-sleeve. + +"Mamma dear, papa is coming with us," Sophonisba expostulated. + +"Well, I suppose he is. It has not quite come to that yet, my dear. I am +prepared for anything, I believe; but your father will, I trust, not +make us the laughing-stock of the hotel." + +"I am ready," said Cockayne, grimly, between his teeth. + +"I am obliged, you see, children, to speak," icily responded the lady he +had sworn to love and cherish. "Hints are thrown away. I must suffer the +indignity for your sakes, of saying to your father, I shall want some +money for the purchases your mother wants to make for you. It is not the +least use going to this Grande Occasion, or whatever they call it, +empty-handed." + +"Will you allow me time to get change?" And Mr. Cockayne headed the +procession through the hotel court-yard to the Boulevards. + +"Walk with your father," the outraged lady said to Sophonisba. "It's +positively disgraceful, straggling out in this way. But I might have +known what it was likely to be before I left home." + +Mr. Cockayne, as was his wont, speedily re-assumed his equanimity, and +chatted pleasantly with Sophonisba as they walked along the Rue de la +Paix, across the Place Vendome, into the Rue Castiglione. Mrs. Cockayne +followed with Theodosia; Carrie had begged to be left behind, to write a +long letter to her intellectual friend, Miss Sharp. + +Mr. Cockayne stopped before the door of Mr. John Arthur. + +"What on earth can your father want here?" said Mrs. Cockayne, pausing +at the door, while her husband had an interview with Mr. John Arthur +within. + +Theodosia, peering through the window, answered, "He is getting change, +mamma dear." + +"At last!" + +Mr. Cockayne issued radiant from Mr. John Arthur's establishment. + +"There," said he to his wife, in his heartiest voice; "there, my dear, +buy what you and the girls want." + +"I will do the best I can with it. Perhaps we can manage our shopping +without troubling you." + +"It's not the least trouble in the world," gaily said Cockayne, putting +that bright face of his on matters. + +"I thought you had some idea of going to the Museum of Artillery this +afternoon, to see whether or not you approved of the French guns." + +Mr. Cockayne laughed at the sarcasm, and again gave Sophonisba his arm, +and went under the colonnades of the Rue de Rivoli, wondering, by the +way, why people stared at him in his plaid suit, and at his daughter in +her brown hat and blue veil. Mrs. Cockayne wondered likewise. The French +were the rudest people on the face of the earth, and not the politest, +as they had the impudence to assert. + +When the party reached the colonnades of the Grand Hotel du Louvre, they +found themselves in the midst of a busy scene. + +The _Magasins du Louvre_ stretch far under the Hotel, from the Rue de +Rivoli to the Rue Saint-Honore. Year after year has the stretching +process continued; but now the great company of linen drapers and +hosiers have all the space that can be spared them. The endless lines of +customers' carriages in the Rue Saint-Honore and on the _Place_ opposite +Prince Napoleon's palace betoken the marvellous trade going on within. + +The father of the English family here turned his back upon the great +shop, and glancing towards the Louvre and the Church of Saint Germain +l'Auxerrois, exclaimed--"Marvellous scene! A sight not to be equalled in +the world. Yonder is the old church, the bell of which tolled the----" + +"You're making a laughing-stock of yourself," Mrs. Cockayne exclaims, +taking her husband firmly by the arm. "One would think you were an hotel +guide, or a walking handbook, or--or a beadle or showman. What do you +want to know about the massacre of St. Bartholomew now? There'll not be +a mantle or a pair of gloves left. Come in--do! You can go gesticulating +about the streets with Carrie to-morrow, if you choose; but do contrive +to behave like an ordinary mortal to-day." + +Mr. Cockayne resigned himself. He plunged into the magnificent shop. He +was dragged into the crowd that was defiling past the fifteen-sous +counter, where the goods lay in great tumbled masses on the floor and +upon the counter. He was surprised to see the shopmen standing upon the +counter, and, with marvellous rapidity, telling off the yards of the +cheap fabrics to the ladies and gentlemen who were pressing before them +in an unbroken line. Beyond were the packers. Beyond again, was the +office where payment was made, each person having a note or ticket, with +the article bought, showing the sum due. A grave official marshalled the +customer to the pay-place. There was wonderful order in the seeming +confusion. The admirable system of the establishment was equal to the +emergency. An idea of the continuous flow of the crowd past the silk +and mixed fabric counters may be got from the fact that many ladies +waited three and four hours for their turn to be served. One Parisian +lady told Mrs. Cockayne that, after waiting four hours in the crowd, she +had gone home to lunch, and had returned to try her fortune a second +time. + +Poor Cockayne! He was absolutely bewildered. His endeavours to steer the +"three daughters of Albion" who were under his charge, in the right +direction, were painful to witness. First he threaded corridors, then he +was in the carpet gallery, and now he was in the splendid, the palatial +shawl-hall, where elegant ladies were trying on shawls of costly fabric, +with that grace and quiet for which Parisians are unmatched. + +"This is superb! Oh, this is very, very fine!" cried the ladies. "How on +earth shall we find our way out?" + +Now they sailed among immensities of silk and satin waves. Now they were +encompassed with shawls; and now they were amid colonnades of rolls of +carpet. + +Mrs. Cockayne stayed here and there to make a purchase, by the help of +Sophonisba's French, which was a source of considerable embarrassment to +the shopmen. They smiled, but were very polite. + +"This is not a shop, it is a palace dedicated to trade," cried Cockayne. + +"Stuff and nonsense," was his answer; "take care of the parcels. Yon +know better, of course, than the people to whom it belongs." + +The Cockaynes found themselves borne by the endless stream of customers +into a vast and lofty gallery. Pater paused. + +"This is superb! It would have been impossible to realize----" + +"Don't be a fool, Cockayne," said his wife; "this is the lace +department. We must not go away without buying something." + +"Let us try," was saucily answered. + +Mrs. Cockayne immediately settled upon some Chantilly, and made her +lord, as she expressed it in her pretty way, "pay for his impudence." + +The silk gallery was as grand and bewildering as the lace department; +and here again were made some extraordinary bargains. + +Obliging officials directed the party to the first staircase on the +right, or to turn to the left, by the furnishing department. They made a +mistake, and found themselves in the _salons_ devoted to made linen, +where Mrs. Cockayne hoped her husband would not make his daughters blush +with what he considered to be (and he was much mistaken) witty +observations. He was to be serious and silent amid mountains of feminine +under linen. He was to ask no questions. + +In the Saint Honore gallery--which is the furnishing department--Mr. +Cockayne was permitted to indulge in a few passing expressions of +wonder. He was hushed in the splendour of the shawl gallery--where all +is solid oak and glass and rich gold, and where the wearied traveller +through the exciting scene of a _Grande Occasion_ at the marvellous +shops of the Louvre, can get a little rest and quiet. + +"A wonderful place!" said Pater, as he emerged in the Rue de Rivoli, +exhausted. + +"And much more sensible than the place opposite," his wife replied, +pointing to the palace where the art treasures of Imperial France are +imperially housed. + +"_Grande Occasion!_" muttered Mr. Cockayne, when he reached the +hotel--"a grand opportunity for emptying one's pocket. The cheapness is +positively ruinous. I wonder whether there are any cheap white elephants +in Paris?" + +"White elephants, Cockayne! White fiddlesticks! I do really think, +girls, your father is gradually--mind, I say, _gradually--gradually_ +taking leave of his senses." + +"La! mamma," unfortunate Carrie interposed, raising her eyes from a +volume on Paris in the Middle Ages--"la! mamma, you know that in +India----" + +"Hold your tongue, Miss--of course I know--and if I didn't, it is not +for _you_ to teach me." + +Mr. Timothy Cockayne heaved a deep sigh and rang for his bill. + +He was to leave for London on the morrow--and his wife and daughters +were to find lodgings. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +OUR FOOLISH COUNTRYWOMEN. + + +I Introduce at this point--its proper date--Miss Carrie Cockayne's +letter to Miss Sharp:-- + + "Grand Hotel, Paris. + +"DEAREST EMMY--They are all out shopping, so here's a long +letter. I haven't patience with the men. I am sure we have had enough +abuse in our own country, without travelling all the way to Paris for +it; and yet the first paper I take up in the reading saloon of the +hotel, contains a paragraph headed _Le Beau Sexe en Angleterre_. The +paragraph is violent. The writer wants to know what demon possesses the +Englishwomen at this moment. I might have been sure it was translated +from an English paper. The creature wants to know whether the furies +are let loose, and is very clever about Lucretia Borgia, and Mary +Manning, and Mary Newell! One would think English mothers were all going +to boil their children. This is just what has happened about everything +else. In certain English circles slang is talked: therefore women have +become coarse and vulgar. The Divorce Court has been a busy one of late; +and scandals have been 'going round' as the American ladies in this +hotel say; therefore there are to be no more virtuous mothers and +sisters presently. Upon my word, the audacity of this makes my blood +boil. Here the ladies paint, my dear, one and all. Why, the children in +the Tuileries gardens whisk their skirts, and ogle their boy playmates. +Vanity Fair at its height is here--I am not going to dispute it. Nor +will I say papa is quite in the wrong when he cries shame on some of the +costumes one meets on the Boulevards. My dear, short skirts and grey +hair do _not_ go well together. I cannot even bear to think of +grand-mamma showing her ankles and Hessian boots! But what vexes and +enrages me is the injustice of the sudden outcry. Where has the slang +come from? Pray who brought it into the drawing-room? How is it that +girls delight in stable-talk, and imitate men in their dress and +manners? We cannot deny that the domestic virtues have suffered in these +fast days, nor that wife and husband go different ways too much: but are +we to bear all the blame? Did _we_ build the clubs, I wonder? Did you or +I invent racing, and betting, and gambling? Do _you_ like being lonely, +as you are, my dear? When women go wrong, who leads the way? The pace is +very fast now, and we _do_ give more time to dress, and that sort of +thing than our mothers did. I own I'm a heavy hand at pastry, and mamma +is a light one. I couldn't tell you how many shirts papa has. I should +be puzzled to make my own dresses. I hate needlework. But are we +monsters for all this? Papa doesn't grumble _very_ much. He has his +pleasures, I'm sure. He dined out four times the week we came away. He +was at the Casino in the Rue St. Honore last night, and came home with +such an account of it that I am quite posted up in the manners and +costumes of _ces dames_, yes, and the _lower_ class of them. The mean +creature who has been writing in the _Saturday Review_ gives us no +benefit of clergy. We have driven our brothers out into the night; we +have sent our lovers to Newmarket; we have implored our husbands (that +is, _we_ who have got husbands,) not to come home to dinner, because we +have more agreeable company which we have provided for ourselves. Girls +talk slang, I know--perhaps they taught their brothers! I suppose mamma +taught papa to describe a woman in the _Bois_ as 'no end of a swell,' +and when he is in the least put out to swear at her. + +[Illustration: THE INFLEXIBLE "MEESSES ANGLAISES." + +_They are not impressionable, but they will stoop to "field sports."_] + +"Now, my dear, shall I give you _my_ idea of the mischief? Papa thinks I +go about with my eyes shut; that I observe nothing--except the bonnet +shops. I say the paint, the chignons, the hoops, and the +morals--whatever they may be--start from here. My ears absolutely +tingled the first evening I spent here _en soiree_. Lovers! why the +married ladies hardly take the trouble to disguise their preferences. + +"I was at an embassy reception the other night. Papa said it was like a +green-room, only not half so amusing. They talked in one corner as +openly as you might speak of the Prince Imperial, about Mademoiselle +Schneider's child. There were women of the company whose _liaisons_ are +as well known as their faces, and yet they were _parfaitement bien +recues_! Theresa is to be heard--or was to be heard till she went out of +fashion--in private salons, screaming her vulgar songs among the young +ladies. When I turn the corner just outside the hotel, what do I see in +one of the most fashionable print-shops? Why, three great Mabille prints +of the shockingly indecent description--with ladies and their +daughters looking at them. Those disagreeable pictures in the Burlington +Arcade are, my dearest Emmy, moral prints when compared with them. We +have imported all this. Paris is within ten hours and a half of London, +so we get French ways, as papa says, 'hot and hot.'" + +[Illustration: ENGLISH VISITORS TO THE CLOSERIE DE LILAS.--SHOCKING!] + +"Who admires domestic women now? Tell an English _creve_ that Miss Maria +is clever at a custard, and he will sneer at her. No. She must be witty, +pert; able to give him as good as he sends, as people say. Young Dumas +has done a very great deal of this harm; and he has made a fortune by +it. He has brought the Casino into the drawing-room, given _ces dames_ a +position in society, and made hundreds of young men ruin themselves for +the glory of being seen talking to a Cora Pearl. _Now_ what do you think +he has done. He has actually brought out a complete edition of his +pieces, with a preface, in which, Papa tells me, he plays the moralist. +He has unfolded all the vice--crowded the theatres to see a bad woman in +a consumption--painted the _demi-monde--with a purpose_! All the world +has laboured under the idea that the purpose was piles of gold. But now, +the locker being full, and the key turned, and in the young gentleman's +pocket, he dares to put himself in the robe of a professor, to say it +was not the money he cared about--it was the lesson. He is a reformer--a +worshipper of virtue! We shall have the author of _Jack Sheppard_ start +as a penologist soon. My dear, the cowardice of men when dealing with +poor women is bad enough; but it is not by half so repulsive as their +hypocrisy. Ugh! + +"Any news of the handsome Mr. Daker? It strikes me, dear Emmy, 'Uncle +Sharp' didn't send him up from Maidstone with a letter of introduction +to his niece for nothing. + + "Your affectionate friend, + "CARRIE C." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +"OH, YES!" AND "ALL RIGHT!" + + +Lucy was privileged to read the following:-- + + _Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Emily Sharp._ + + "Rue Millevoye, Paris. + +"MY DEAREST EMMY,--I should certainly not venture to offer any +remarks on taste to you, my love, under ordinary circumstances. But I am +provoked. I have passed a severe round of _soirees_ of every +description. Jaded with the fantastic activities of a fancy-dress +genteel riot, I have been compelled to respond to the intimation of the +Vicomtesse de Bois de Rose, that "_on sautera_". I have jumped with the +rest. I have half killed myself with _sirops, petit-fours_, those +microscopic caricatures of detestable British preparation--sandwiches +(pronounced _sonveetch_), _bouillon_, and chocolate, in the small hours; +ices in tropical heats; _foie-gras_ and champagne about two hours after +healthy bedtime, and tea like that which provoked old Lady Gargoyle to +kick over the tea-table in her boudoir--in her eightieth year, too. The +Gargoyles (I shall have much to tell you about them when we meet) were +always an energetic race; and I feel the blood tingling in me while my +eye wanders over the impertinences of the French chroniqueurs, when they +are pleased to be merry at the expense of _la vieille Angleterre_. I +hold I am right; am I not?--that when even a chroniqueur--that smallest +of literary minnows--undertakes to criticize a foreign nation, at least +the equal of his own, he should start with some knowledge of its +language, history, manners, and customs. But what do we find? The +profoundest ignorance of the rudiments of English. The special +correspondent sent to London by the _Figaro_ to be amusing on our darker +side, cannot spell the word theatre; but he is trenchant when dealing +with what he saw at the Adelphi _Theater_. How completely he must have +understood the dialogue, he who describes Webster as a _comique de +premier ordre!_ In the same paper the dramatic critic, after explaining +that at the rehearsals of _L'Abime_, the actors, who continually are +complaining that they are ordered off on the wrong side, are quieted +with the information that matters dramatic are managed in this way in +bizzare England--prints in a line apart, and by way of most humorous +comment, these words, 'English spoken here.' Conceive, my dear, an +English humorous writer interlarding his picture of a French incident +with the occasional interjection of _Parlez-vous Francais?_ Yet the +comic writers of Paris imagine that they show wit when they pepper their +comments with disjointed, irrelevant, and misspelt ejaculations in our +vernacular. We have a friend here (we have made dozens) who has a cat +she calls To-be--the godfather being 'To-be or not to be! 'All right' +appears daily as a witticism; 'Oh, yes!' serves for the thousandth time +as a touch of humour. The reason is obvious. French critics are wholly +ignorant of our language. Very few of them have crossed the Channel, +even to obtain a Leicester Square idea of our dear England. But they are +not diffident on this account. They have never seen samples of the +Britisher--except on the Boulevards, or whistling in the cafes--where +our countrymen, I beg leave to say, do not shine; and these to them are +representations of our English society. Suppose we took our estimate of +French manners and culture from the small shopkeepers of the Quartier +St. Antoine! My protest is against those who judge us by our vulgar and +coarse types. The Manchester bully who lounges into the Cafe Anglais +with his hat on the back of his head; the woman who wears a hat and a +long blue veil, and shuffles in in the wake of the _malhonnete_ to whom +she is married; again, the boor who can speak only such French as 'moa +besoin' and 'j'avais faim,' represent English men and women just as +fairly as the rude, hoggish, French egg-and-poultry speculators +represent the great seigneurs of France. + +[Illustration: SMITH BRINGS HIS ALPENSTOCK.] + +"I say I have, by this time, more than a tolerable experience, not only +of French _salons_, but also of those over which foreign residents in +Paris preside. I have watched the American successes in Paris of this +season, which is now closing its gilded gates, dismissing the slaves of +pleasure to the bitter waters of the German springs and gaming-tables. I +have seen our people put aside for Madame de Lhuile de Petrole and the +great M. Caligula Shoddy. The beauties of the season have been +'calculating' and 'going round' in the best _salons_, and they have +themselves given some of the most successful entertainments we have had. +Dixie's land has been fairyland. Strange and gorgeous Princesses from +the East have entered mighty appearances. One has captivated the Prince, +said to be the handsomest man in Paris. Russian and Polish great ladies +have done the honours--according to the newspapers--with their +'habitual charm.' The Misses Bickers have had their beauties sung by a +chorus of chroniqueurs. Here the shoulders of ladies at a party are as +open to criticism as the ankles of a stage dancer. The beauties of our +blonde Misses have made whole bundles of goose-quills tremble. Paris +society is made up not even chiefly of Parisians; the rich of all +nations flock to us, and are content to pay a few hundred pounds per +month for a floor of glass and gilding. The Emperor has made a show +capital as a speculation. All Europe contributes to the grandeur of the +fashionable world of Paris. And suddenly what do we hear? + +"That we, whose blood is good enough for England; who _can_ speak a few +foreign languages in addition to our own; who know our neighbours by +having lived among them; who have travelled enough to learn that good +breeding is not confined to England or to France, are accused of having +destroyed the high tone of the Opera audiences in this city. We are good +enough, as to manners, for Her Majesty's Theatre, but not for the +Italiens. Tell Mrs. Sandhurst of this: she will be _so_ mad! + +"A few nights before La Patti left us, to degrade herself by warbling +her wood-notes in the ignorant ears of the Opera public whom Mr. Gye is +about to assemble, and on whom the leadership of Costa is thrown away, +an unfortunate incident happened at the Italiens. Patti had been +announced, and Mdlle. Harris appeared instead. Whereupon there was an +uproar that could not be stilled. La Patti wept; la Harris wept also. +Finally, the spoilt child appeared, like Niobe, all tears. Who created +the uproar? The French chroniqueur answers: a cosmopolitan audience--an +audience from the Grand Hotel. He is good enough not to pick us out, but +we are included with the rest. The foreign residents have degraded the +Opera. The audience which greets Patti is a rabble compared with that +which listened to Sontag. 'The exquisite urbanity which is proverbially +French,' and which was apparent at the Italiens fifteen or twenty years +ago, has disappeared since Paris has become the world's railway +terminus. M. Emile Villars, who is so obliging as to make the +observation, proceeds to be very clever. Scratch the Russian, and you +know what you will find. I answer, a gentleman uninfluenced by a stale +proverb; we have a delightful specimen in this very house. M. Villars is +great at scratching, since his readers are recommended to grate +Peruvians and Javanese. Under the three articles, we are told, lies the +one barbarous material! The ladies of these are charming, seductive, +irresistible, but they want _ton_, and lack the delicacy of the _monde_. +We foreigners are too proud of our beauty and our dollars, have an +unquenchable thirst for pleasure, and we are socially daring. M. Villars +is funny in the fashion of his class. He says that we English-speaking +class of foreigners bear aloft a banner with the strange device 'All +right.' M. Villars proceeds to remark, 'We take from foreigners what we +should leave to them, their feet upon chairs, and their hats upon +their heads, as at the Italiens the other night.' He finds that a +cosmopolitan invasion has made French society less delicate, less +gallant, less polite. + +[Illustration: JONES ON THE PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.] + +"We are to blame! Belgravia is not refined enough for the Avenue de +l'Imperatrice. Clapham, I infer, would not be tolerated at Batignolles. +I repeat, I have gone through some arduous times here, in the midst of +the foreign invasion of polite society. I have scratched neither Russ, +nor German, nor Servian, nor Wallachian. But I must be permitted to +observe, that I have found their manners quite equal to any that were +native. Shall I go further, Emmy, and speak all my mind? There is a race +of the new-rich--of the recently honoured, here, who are French from +their shoe-rosettes to their chignons. They come direct from the Bourse, +and from the Pereire fortune-manufactory of the Place Vendome. They +bring noise and extravagance, but not manners. I have seen many of my +countrymen in Parisian drawing-rooms, in the midst of Frenchmen, +Russians, Princes of various lands; and, do you know, I have not seen +anything _much_ better in the way of bearing, manners, and mental +culture and natural refinement than the English gentleman. I feel quite +positive that it is not he who has lowered the manners or morals of +Napoleon the Third's subjects. I am bold enough to think that a +probationary tour through some of our London drawing-rooms would do good +to the saucy young seigneurs I see leaning on the balcony of the Jockey +Club when we are driving past. + +"I will remind M. Villars that his proverb has been parodied, and that +it has been said, 'Scratch a Frenchman, and you find a dancing-master.' +But I know this proverb to be foolish; and I am candid and liberal +enough to say so. + +"I hope you are not too lonely, and don't keep too much to your room. +Now I know by experience what life in a boarding-house means. How must +you feel, dearest Emmy, alone! Je t'embrasse. How gets on the German? + +"We have such a specimen of the gandin here--the Vicomte de Gars. I +think John Catt had better make haste over. + + "Yours affectionately, + + "CARRIE." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + + _Miss Carrie Cockayne to Miss Sharp._ + + "Rue Millevoye. + +"My dearest Emmy,--No answer from you? How unkind! But still I continue +to give you my ideas of the moment from this. What do we want? A writer +in one of the frivolous sheets which are called newspapers on this side +of the Channel, has been giving himself great airs; looking out of his +window, with two or three touches of his pen he dismisses the poor women +who pass under his balcony, and closes the casement with the conviction +that woman's rights and wrongs are put away for another generation. +Foolish women! They are plentiful enough, and they muster in fair +numbers at the Wauxhall meetings which have been going on here, to the +infinite amusement of the superior creatures who drink absinthe, smoke +cigars, and gamble, hours after we silly things have gone to bed. I am +not writing to deny woman's weakness, nor her vanity, nor the ridiculous +exhibition she makes of herself when she takes to "orating"--as the +Yankees say--and lecturing, and dressing herself up in her brother's +clothes. Do you think, my dear Emmy, there are many women foolish enough +to applaud Dr. Mary Walker because she dresses like an overgrown +school-girl, and shows her trousers? What is she like in society? +Neither man nor woman. But how many have imitated her? How many women in +England, France, and America have taken to the platform? One would think +that all womankind was in a state of revolution, and about to make a +general descent upon the tailors and tobacconists, turning over the +lords of the creation to the milliners and the baby-linen warehouses. +This is just the way men argue, and push themselves out of a +difficulty. This French philosophical pretender, who has been observing +us from his window (I can't imagine where he lives), describes one or +two social monstrosities--with false complexions, hair, figure,--and +morals; brazen in manner, defiant in walk--female intellectual +all-in-alls. His model drives, hunts, orates, passes resolutions, +dissects--in short does everything except attend to baby. This she +leaves to the husband. He takes the pap-bowl, and she shoulders the gun. +He looks out the linen while she sharpens her razors. The foolish public +laugh all along the boulevards, and say what a charming creature a woman +will be when she drives a locomotive, commands a frigate, and storms a +citadel! + +"Every time a meeting is convened at the Wauxhall to consider how the +amount of female starvation or misery may be reduced, the philosopher +throws his window open again, and grins while he caricatures, or rather +distorts and exaggerates to positive untruth. M. Gill gets fresh food. +The _chroniqueurs_ invent a series of absurdities, which didn't happen +yesterday, as they allege. I am out of patience when I see all this +mischievous misrepresentation, because I see that it is doing harm to a +very just and proper cause. We are arguing for more work for our poor +sisters who have neither father, husband, brother, nor fortune to depend +upon; and these French comic scribblers describe us as unsexed brawlers, +who want top-boots. I want no manly rights for women. I am content with +the old position, that her head should just reach the height of a man's +heart; but I do see where she is not well used--where she is left to +genteel dependence, and a life in the darkest corner of the +drawing-room, upon the chair with the unsafe leg, over the plate that is +cracked, in the bedroom where the visitor died of scarlet fever. + +[Illustration: FRENCH RECOLLECTION OF MEESS TAKING HER BATH. + +_The faithful Bouledogue gazes with admiration at the performance of his +Mistress._] + +[Illustration: THE BRAVE MEESS AMONG THE BILLOWS HOLDING ON BY THE TAIL +OF HER NEWFOUNDLAND.] + +"She is not unsexed wearing her poor heart out against these bars; but +she would be a free, bright, instructed creature, helping her rich +sister, or a trusty counsellor when the children are ill. She would be +unsexed issuing railway tickets or managing a light business; but she is +truly womanly while she is helpless and a burden to others. + +"Foolish women! Yes, very stupid very often, but hardly in hoping that +the defenceless among us may be permitted to become, by fair womanly +exertion, independent. I am directed to observe how amusing the _Figaro_ +has been recently at our expense, hoping to obtain the suffrages of the +really thoughtless of our sex thereby. We are our own worst enemies and +well do you men know it. The frivolous are an immense host, and these +have reason to laugh at serious women who want to get a little justice +and teaching for their dependent sisters--not manly avocations, nor +masculine amusements. I go to the Wauxhall, my dear Emmy, not to help my +sex to unsex itself, but, I must repeat, to aid my poor sisters who want +to work, that, if left without the support of male kindred, they may +lead honourable, independent lives; to this end they must have certain +rights, and these, and no more, I advocate. + +[Illustration: VARIETIES OF THE ENGLISH STOCK. + +_The Parent Flower and two lovely Buds._] + +[Illustration: COMPATRIOTS MEETING IN THE FRENCH EXHIBITION. + +_Bar-maids in the English Department recognising a fellow-countryman._] + +"You see, the old story is told over again. We beg a little +independence; and we are answered with ancient jests. You are quite as +unjust, and not so amusing or clever in your injustice in England. They +have not imitated the medical students in St. James's Hall at this +Wauxhall. We have seen no such monstrous spectacle as a host of young +men hooting and yelling at one poor, weak, foolish little woman in black +pantalettes. Truly, you must be as tired of the comic view of the +question as you are ashamed of your medical students. I know what the +highly-educated English ladies think on the subject. They detest the +orating, blustering, strangely-costumed advocates of woman's rights; but +don't fall into the common error of believing that they are not earnest +about many of the points we have been discussing here, in the midst of +this mocking race. Depend upon it, we are not foolish enough--fond as +you men are of crying 'foolish women!'--to unsex ourselves. + +"The woman who wants to get into Parliament is, to my thinking, a +monster; and I would sentence her to stocking-mending for life. The +creature who appears before men in black pantalettes, and other +imitations of his dress, should be rigorously held clear of decent +houses, until she had learned how to dress herself modestly and +becomingly. The Missy who talked about eating her way to the bar, I +would doom to the perpetual duty of cooking chops for hungry lawyers' +clerks. + +"But you will have had enough of this. + +"Not a word? and you promised so many. Somebody has whispered a name to +me. It is Charles. Is that true? I will never forgive you. + + "Ever yours, + "CARRIE." + +Emmy never answered, poor girl! + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"THE PEOPLE OF THE HOUSE." + + +Lucy Rowe would have been fast friends with Carrie Cockayne during their +stay in her aunt's house, had Mrs. Cockayne, on the one hand, permitted +her daughter to become intimate with anything so low as "the people of +the house," and had Mrs. Rowe, on the other, suffered her niece to +"forget her place." But they did approach each other, by an irresistible +affinity, and by the easy companionship of common tastes. While +Sophonisba engaged ardently in all the doings of the house, and was a +patient retailer of its scandals; and while Mrs. Cockayne was busy with +her evening whist, and morning "looks at the shops"--quiet and retiring +Theodosia managed to become seriously enamoured of the Vicomte de Gars, +who visited Mrs. Rowe's establishment, as the unexceptionable friend of +the Reverend Horace Mohun. + +The young Vicomte was a Protestant; of ancient family and limited means. +Where the living scions of the noble stock held their land, and went +forth over their acres from under the ancestral portcullis, was more +than even Mrs. Rowe had been able, with all her penetrating power in +scandal, to ascertain. But the young nobleman was Mr. Mohun's +friend--and that was enough. There had been reverses in the family. +Losses fall upon the noblest lines; and supposing the Count de Gars in +the wine trade--to speak broadly, in the Gironde--this was to his +honour. The great man struggling with the storms of fate, is a glad +picture always to noble minds. Some day he would issue from his cellars, +and don his knightly plume once more, and summon the vulgar intruders to +begone from the Chateau. + +As for Mrs. Cockayne, to deny that she was highly contented at the +family's intimacy with a Viscount, would be to falsify my little +fragmentary chain of histories. She wrote to her husband that she met +the very best society at Mrs. Rowe's, extolled the elegant manners and +enclosed the photograph of the Vicomte de Gars, and said she really +began to hope that she had persuaded "his lordship" to pay them a visit +in London. "Tell Mrs. Sandhurst, my dear Cockayne, that I am sure she +will like the Vicomte de Gars." + +The Vicomte de Gars was a little man, with long wristbands. Miss +Tayleure described him as all eye-glass and shirt-front. Comic artists +have often drawn the moon capering on spider-legs; a little filling out +would make the Vicomte very like the caricature. He was profound--in his +salutations, learned--in lace, witty--thanks to the _Figaro_. His +attentions to Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and to Madame her mother, were of +the most splendid and elaborate description. He left flowers for the +young lady early in the morning. + +It was very provoking that Theodosia had consented to be betrothed to +John Catt of Peckham. + +"Carrie, my dear," Mrs. Cockayne observed, having called her daughter to +her bedroom for a good lecture, "once for all, I WILL NOT have +you on such intimate terms with the people of the house. What on earth +can you be thinking about? I should have thought you would show more +pride. I am quite sure the Vicomte saw you yesterday when you were +sitting quite familiarly with Miss Rowe in the bureau. I WILL +NOT have it." + +"Mamma dear, Lucy Rowe is one of the most sensible and, at the same +time, best informed girls I ever knew; and her sentiments are everything +that could be desired." + +"I will not be answered, Carrie; mind that. I wonder you haven't more +pride. A chit like that, who keeps the hotel books, and gives out the +sugar." + +"Her father was----" + +"Never mind what her father was. What is she? I wonder you don't +propose to ask her home on a visit." + +"She would not disgrace----" + +This was too much for Mrs. Cockayne. She stamped her foot, and bore down +upon Carrie with a torrent of reasons why Miss Rowe should be held at a +distance. + +"You wouldn't find Theodosia behaving in such a manner. She understands +what's becoming. I dare say she's not so clever as you are----" + +"Dear mamma, this is cruel----" + +"Don't interrupt me. No, no; I see through most things. This Miss Howe +is always reading. I saw her just now with some novel, I've no doubt, +which she shouldn't read----" + +"It was Kingsley's----" + +"Hold your tongue, child. Yes, reading, and with a pen stuck behind her +ear." + +"She's so very lonely: and Mrs. Howe is so very severe with her." + +"I have no doubt it's quite necessary; there, go and dress for the +table d'hote, and mind what I say." + +Poor Lucy wondered what on earth could have happened that Carrie +Cockayne avoided her: and what those furtive nods of the head and stolen +smiles at her could mean? On the other hand, how had she offended Mrs. +Cockayne? Happily, Mrs. Rowe was on Lucy's side; for it had pleased Mrs. +Cockayne to show her social superiority by extravagant coldness and +formality whenever she had occasion to address "the landlady." One thing +Mrs. Cockayne admitted she could NOT understand--viz., Why Jane +the servant took so much upon herself with her mistress; and what all +the mystery was about a Mr. Charles, who seemed to be a dark shadow, +kept somewhere as far as possible in the background of the house. + +Mrs. Rowe, on her side, was amply revenged for Mrs. Cockayne's airs of +superiority, when Mr. Cockayne arrived in the company of Mr. John Catt, +the betrothed love of Theodosia. + +"You must be mad, Mr. Cockayne," was his wife's greeting directly they +were alone--"raving mad to bring that vulgar fellow John Catt with you. +Didn't you get my letters?" + +"I did, my dear; and they brought me over, and John Catt with me. I, at +least, intend to act an honourable part." + +"Perhaps you will explain yourself, Mr. Cockayne." + +"I have travelled from Clapham for that purpose. Who the devil is this +Viscount de Gars, to begin with?" + +Mrs. Cockayne drew herself up to her full height, and looked through her +husband--or meant to look through him--but just then he was not to be +cowed even by Mrs. Cockayne. + +With provoking coolness and deliberation over the exact relative +quantities, Mr. Cockayne mixed himself a glass of grog from his brandy +flask; while he proceeded to inform his wife that Mr. John Catt, who had +been engaged, with their full consent, to their daughter, had, at his +instigation, travelled to Paris to understand what all this ridiculous +twaddle about Viscount de Gars meant. + +"You will spoil everything," Mrs. Cockayne gasped, "as usual." + +"I don't know, madam, that I am in the habit of spoiling anything; but +be very certain of this, that I shall not stand by and see my daughter +make a fool of a young man of undoubted integrity and of excellent +prospects, for the sake of one of these foreign adventurers who swarm +wherever foolish Englishwomen wake their appearance. I beg you will say +nothing, but let me observe for myself, and leave the young people to +come to an understanding by themselves." + +In common with many Englishmen of Timothy Cockayne's and John Catt's +class, Theodosia's father at once concluded that the poor polite little +Vicomte de Gars was an adventurer, and that his coronet was pasteboard, +and his shirt studs stolen. Mr. John Catt distinguished himself on his +arrival by loud calls for bottled beer, the wearing of his hat in the +sitting-room, and by the tobacco-fumes which he liberally diffused in +his wake. + +When the little Vicomte made his accustomed appearance in the +drawing-room, after the table d'hote, he offered the Cockayne ladies his +profoundest bows, and was most reverential in his attitude to Mr. +Cockayne, who on his side was red and brusque. As neither Mr. nor Mrs. +Cockayne could speak a French word, and Mr. John Catt was not in a +position to help them, and was, moreover, inclined to the most +unfavourable conclusions on the French nobleman, the presentations were +on the English side of the most awkward description. The demoiselles +Cockayne "fell a giggling" to cover their confusion; and the party would +have made a ridiculous figure before all the boarders, had not the +Reverend Horace Mohun covered them with his blandness. + +Mr. John Catt was not well-mannered, but he was good-hearted and +stout-hearted. He was one of those rough young gentlemen who pride +themselves upon "having no nonsense about them." He was downright in all +things, even in love-making. He took, therefore, a very early +opportunity of asking his betrothed "what this all meant about Monsieur +de Gars?" and of observing, "She had only to say the word, and he was +ready to go." + +This was very brutal, and it is not in the least to be wondered at that +the young lady resented it. + +I am, as the reader will have perceived, only touching now and then upon +the histories of the people who passed through Mrs. Rowe's highly +respectable establishment while I was in the habit of putting up there. +This John Catt was told he was very cruel, and that he might go; Mrs. +Cockayne resolutely refused to give up the delights and advantages of +the society of the Vicomte de Gars; the foolish girl was--well, just as +foolish as her mamma; and finally, in a storm that shook the +boarding-house almost to its respectable foundations, the Cockayne +party broke up--not before the Vicomte and Miss Theodosia Cockayne had +had an explanation in the conservatory, and Mrs. Cockayne had invited +"his lordship" to London. + +I shall pick up the threads of all this presently. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +MYSTERIOUS TRAVELLERS. + + +Poor girl! she was timid, frightened. I saw at once that the man with +whom she was, and who packed her feet up so carefully in the travelling +rug in her state cabin, was not of her class. She could not have been +daintier in mien and shape than she appeared. Hands round and white as +pearls, feet as pretty as ever stole from a man's hand to the stirrup; a +sweet wee face, that had innocence and heart in it. Country bred, I +thought: nested in some Kentish village: a childhood amid the hops: +familiar with buttermilk and home-baked bread. + +Who has not been blessed by looking upon such an English face: ruddy on +the cheek, and white and pink upon the brow and neck: the head poised +upon the shoulders with a wondrous delicacy? Such girls issue from +honest Englishmen's homes to gladden honeymoon cottages, and perpetuate +that which is virtuous and courageous in our Saxon race. She lay muffled +in shawls, pillowed upon a carpet-bag, softened with his fur coat, +frightened about the sea, and asking every few minutes whether we were +near the port. + +He fell into conversation with me before we were clear of Folkestone +harbour. He was a travelled man, accustomed to do his journeying +socially, and not in the surly, self-contained, and selfish manner of +our countrymen generally. I confess--and it is a boldness, knowing all I +do know now--that I was drawn towards Daker at the outset. He had a +winning manner--just that manner which puts you on a friendly footing +with a stranger before you have passed an hour in his company. He began, +as though it was quite natural that we should become acquainted, in the +tone your neighbour at dinner assumes, although you are unacquainted +with his name. We were on an exact level: gentlemen, beyond fear or +reproach. I repeat emphatically, I liked Daker's manner, for it was easy +and polished, and it had--which you don't often get with much +polish--warmth. I was attracted by his many attentions to his young +wife. Who could be near her, and not feel the chivalry in his soul warm +to such a woman? But Daker's attentions were idiosyncrasies. While he +was talking to me at the cabin-door, he saw the fur coat slip, and +readjusted it. He divined when she wanted to move. He fanned her; and +she sought his eyes incessantly with the deep pure blue of hers, and +slaked her ever-thirsty love with long, passionate gazing. She took no +notice of me: he was all her world. + +Daker was in an airy humour--a man I thought without guile or care, +passing away from England to happy connubial times along the enchanting +shores which the Mediterranean bathes. We fell, as fellow-travellers +generally do, upon old stories of the ways of the world we had seen. He +had taken wider ranges than my duties had ever entailed on me. + +Autumn was cooling to winter; it was early November when we met. + +"I have been," he said, "killing time and birds pleasantly enough in +Sussex." + +Mrs. Daker overheard him, and smiled. Then we shifted carelessly, as far +as I was concerned, away. He continued-- + +"And now we're off on the usual tramp. My wife wants a warm winter, and +so do I, for the matter of that." + +"Nice?" I asked. + +A very decided "no" was the answer. + +"I shall find some little sleepy Italian country-place, where we shall +lay up like dormice, and just give King Frost the go-by for once. Are +you bound south?" + +"Only to Paris--as prosaic a journey as any cotton-spinner could +desire." + +"Always plenty to be done in Paris," Daker said; "at least I have never +felt at a loss. But it's a bachelor's paradise." + +"And a wife's," I interposed. + +"Not a husband's, you think?" Daker asked, turning the end of his +moustache very tight. "I agree with you." + +"I have no experience; but I have an opinion, which I have been at some +pains to gather--French society spoils our simple English women." + +"Most decidedly," said Daker. + +"They are too simple and too affectionate for the artificial, +diplomatic--shall I say heartless?--society of the salons. Their ears +burn at first at the conversation. They are presented to people who +would barely be tolerated in the upper circles of South Bank, St. John's +Wood." + +"You are right; I know it well," said Daker, very earnestly, but +resuming his normal air of liveliness in an instant. "It's a bad +atmosphere, but decidedly amusing. The _esprit_ of a good salon is +delicious--nothing short of it. I like to bathe in it: it just suits me, +though I can't contribute much to it. We Englishmen are not alert enough +in mind to hold our own against our nimble neighbours. We shall never +fence, nor dance, nor rally one another as they can. We are men who +don't know how to be children. It's a great pity!" + +"I am not so sure of that," was the opinion I uttered. "We should lose +something deeper and better. We don't enjoy life--that is, the art of +living--as they do; but we reach deeper joys." + +Daker smiled, and protested playfully-- + +"We are running into a subject that would carry us far, if we would let +it. I only know I wish I were a Frenchman with all my heart, and I'm not +the first Englishman who has said so. Proud of one's country, and all +that sort of thing: plucky, strong, master race of the world. I know it. +But I have seen bitter life on that side"--pointing to the faint white +line of Dover--"and I have enjoyed myself immensely on that"--pointing +to the growing height of Cape Grisnez. + +I thought, as he spoke, that he must be an ungrateful fellow to say one +word against the country where he had found the sweet little lady whose +head was then pillowed upon his rough coat. I understood him afterwards. +He started a fresh conversation, after having made a tender survey of +the wraps and conveniences of Mrs. Daker, who followed him with the deep +eyes as he returned to my side with his open cigar-case, to offer me a +cheroot. + +"Do you know anything of Amiens?" he said. "Is it a large place--busy, +thriving?" + +I gave him my impression--a ten-year old one. + +"Not a place a man could lose himself in, evidently," he joked; "and +they've been mowed down rather smartly by the cholera since you were +there." + +I could not quite like the tone of this; and yet what tenderness was in +the man when he turned to his young wife! "St. Omer, Abbeville, +Montreuil, and the rest of the places on the line, are dreary holes, I +happen to know. You have been to Chantilly, of course?" + +[Illustration: A PIC-NIC AT ENGHIEN] + +I had lost a round sum of money in that delightful place, where our +ambassador was wont to refresh himself after his diplomatic labours and +ceremonials. + +"I know the place," Daker went on; "I know Chantilly well. It wakes up a +curious dream of the long ago in my mind." + +"And Enghien?" + +"_Comme ma poche._" Daker knew his Enghien well--and Enghien was +profoundly acquainted with Daker. Daker appeared to be a man not yet +over his thirtieth year. He was fair, full-blooded, with a bright grey +eye, a lithe shapely build, and distinguished in air and movement +withal. There were no marks upon his face; his eyes were frank and +direct; his speech was firm and of a cheery ring; and emotions seemed to +come and go in him as in an unused nature. Yet his conversation, free +as it was, and wholly unembarrassed, cast out frequent hints at a +copious history and an eventful one, in which he had acted a part. I +concluded he was no common man, and that, until now, the world had not +treated him over well; albeit he had just received ample compensation +for the past in the girlish wife who had crept to his side, and who, the +swiftest runner might have read, loved him with all her soul. We all +pride ourselves on our skill in reading the characters of our +fellow-creatures. A man will admit any dulness except that which closes +the hearts of others to him. I was convinced that I had read the +character of Daker before we touched the quay at Boulogne: he was a man +of fine and delicate nature, whom the world had hit; who had been cheery +under punishment; and who had at length got his rich reward in Mrs. +Daker. I repeat this confession, and to my cost; for it is necessary as +part explanation of what follows. + +My conversation with Daker was broken by the call of a sweet +voice--"Herbert!" We were crossing the bar at the entrance of Boulogne +harbour. The good ship rolled heavily, and Herbert was wanted! When the +passengers crowded to the side, pressing and jostling to effect an early +landing, and the fishwives were scrambling from the paddles to the deck, +I came upon Daker and his wife once more. She glanced shyly and not very +good-humouredly at me, and seemed to say, "It was you who diverted the +attention of my Herbert from me so long." + +"Good morning," Daker said, meaning that there was an end of our +fortuitous intercourse, and that he should be just as chatty and +familiar with any man who might happen to be in the same carriage with +him between Boulogne and Paris. I watched him hand his wife into a +basket phaeton, smooth her dress, arrange her little parcels, satisfy +her as to her dressing-case, and then seat himself triumphantly at her +side, and call gaily to the saturnine Boulounais upon the box, "Allez!" +I confess that a pang of jealousy shot through me. It has been observed +by La Rochefoucauld that it is astonishing how cheerfully we bear the +ills of others; he might well have added that, on the other hand, it is +remarkable how we fret over the happiness of our neighbours. I envied +Daker when I saw him drive away to the station with the gentle girl at +his side; I knew that she was nestling against him, and half her illness +was only an excuse to get nearer to his heart. Why should I envy him? +Could I have seen through his face into his heart at that moment I +should have thanked God, who made me of simpler mould--a lonely, but an +honourable man. + +We were on our way to Paris in due time. At Amiens, where we enjoyed the +usual twenty minutes' rest, Daker offered me a light. I saw him making +his way to the carriage in which his wife sat, with a basket of pears +and some _caramels_. The bell rang, and we all hurried to our seats. I +remarked that, at the point of starting, there was an unusual stir and +noise on the platform. _Messieurs les voyageurs_ were not complete; +somebody was missing from one of the carriages. The station-master and +the guard kept up a brisk and angry conversation, which ended in an +imperious wave of the hand to the engine-driver. + +The guard and the commissioner (who travels in the interest of the +general vagrant public from London to Paris, making himself generally +useful by the way) shrugged their shoulders and got to their places, and +we went forward to Creil. Here the carriages were all searched +carefully. A lady was inquiring for the gentleman. My French companions +laughed, and answered in their native light manner; and again we were +_en route_ for Paris. Past Chantilly and Enghien and St. Denis we flew, +to where the low line of the fortifications warned us to dust ourselves, +fold our newspapers, roll up our rugs, and tell one another that which +was obvious to all--that we were in the centre of civilization once +more. + +It was dark; and I was hungry, and out of humour, and impatient. I had +fallen in with unsympathetic companions. That half-hour in the +waiting-room, while the porters are arranging the luggage for +examination, is trying to most tempers. I am usually free from it; but +on this occasion I had some luggage belonging to a friend to look after. +I was waiting sulkily. + +Presently the guard, the travelling commissioner, and half-a-dozen more +in official costume, appeared, surrounding a lady, who was in deep +distress. Had I seen a gentleman--fair, &c., &c.? I turned and beheld +Mrs. Daker. She darted at me, and I can never forget the look which +accompanied the question-- + +"You were with my husband on the boat. Where is he?" + +He was not among the passengers who reached Paris. We telegraphed back +to Creil, and to Amiens. No English traveller, who had missed his train, +made answer. We questioned all the passengers in the waiting-room; one +had seen the _blonde_ Englishman buying pears at Amiens; this was all we +could hear. I say "we," because Mrs. + +[Illustration: EXCURSIONISTS & EMIGRANTS. _Sketches in Paris_] + +Daker at once fastened upon me: she implored my advice; she narrated all +that had passed between her husband and herself while the train was +waiting at Amiens. He had begged her not to stir--kind fellow that he +was--he had insisted upon fetching fruit and sweetmeats for her. I +calmed her fears, for they were exaggerated beyond all reason. He would +follow in the next train; I knew what Frenchmen were, and they would not +remark a single traveller, unless he had some strong peculiarity in his +appearance, and her husband had a travelled air which was cosmopolitan. +He spoke French like a Frenchman, she told me; and he had proved, on the +boat, that he was familiar with its idioms. I begged her to get her +luggage, go to her hotel, and leave me to watch and search. What hotel +were they to use? She knew nothing about it. Her husband hadn't told +her, for she was an utter stranger to Paris. I recommended the Windsor +(I thought it prudent not to say Mrs. Rowe's); and she was a child in my +hands. She looked even prettier in her distress than when her happy +eyes were beaming, as I first caught sight of them, upon Herbert Daker. +The tears trickled down her cheek; the little white hands shook like +flower bells in the wind. While the luggage was being searched +(fortunately she had the ticket in her reticule), I stood by and helped +her. + +"But surely, madam, this is not all!" I remarked, when her two boxes had +been lightly searched. She caught my meaning. Where was her husband's +portmanteau? + +"Mr. Baker's portmanteau was left behind at Boulogne--there was some +mistake; I don't know what exactly. I----" + +At this moment she marked an expression of anxiety in my face. She gave +a sharp scream, that vibrated through the gloomy hall and startled the +bystanders. "Was madame ill? Would she have some _eau sucree?_" She had +fainted! and her head lay upon my arm! + +Unhappy little head, why stir again? + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +MRS. DAKER. + + +"You must come, my dear fellow. You know, when I promise you a pleasant +evening I don't disappoint you. You'll meet everybody. You dine with me. +_Sole Joinville_, at Philippe's--best to be had, I think--and a bird. In +the cool, the Madrid for our coffee, and so gently back. I'll drop you +at your door--leave you for an hour to paint the lily, and then fetch +and take you. You shall not say me nay." + +I protested a little, but I was won. I had a couple of days to spend in +Paris, and, like a man on the wing, had no particular engagements. + +We met, my host and I, at the _Napolitain_. He knew everybody, and was +everybody's favourite. Cosmo Bertram, once guardsman, then fashionable +saunterer wherever society was gayest, quietly extravagant and +sentimentally dissipated, had, after much flitting about the sunny +centres of the Continent, settled down to Paris and a happy place in the +English society that has agglomerated in the west of Napoleon's capital. +Fortunately for his "little peace of mind"--as he described a shrewd, +worldly head--he was put down by the dowagers, after some sharp +discussions of his antecedents, as "no match." There was the orphan +daughter of a Baronet who had some hundred and twenty a year, and tastes +which she hoped one day to satisfy by annexing a creature wearing a hat, +and a pocket with ten times that sum. She had thought for a moment of +Cosmo Bertram when she had enjoyed her first half-hour of his amusing +rattle; but she had been quickly undeceived--Bertram could not have +added a chicken to her broth, a pair of gloves to her toilette; so she +shut up the thing she called a heart, for lack of some fitter name, and +cruised again through the ominous gold rings of her glasses round the +_salons_, and hoped the growing taste for travel might send her some one +for annexation at last. + +"We're jigging on pretty much as usual," Bertram said at Philippe's. +"Plenty of scandal and plenty of reason for it. The demand creates the +supply--is that sound political economy?" + +"I am surprised that political economy, together with an intimate +acquaintance with hydrostatics, are not exacted in these mad examination +days from a queen's messenger; but I am not bound not to be a fool in +political economy, so I elect to be one." + +"Chablis?" + +"Ay; and about ice?" + +"My dear Q. M., when you have had a headache, has it ever fallen to your +lot to be in the company of a pretty woman?" + +"Else had I been one of the most neglected of men." + +"Well, she has fetched the Eau-de-Cologne, bathed your manly brow, and +then blown her balmy breath over your temples. That sweet coolness, my +dear fellow, is my idea of the proper temperature for Chablis." + +"It's a great bit of luck to pounce upon you, Bertram, when a man has +only a few hours to spend in Paris, after a year or two's absence. +Nearly upon two years have passed since I was here. Yes, November, +'62--now August, '64." + +"In that time, my dear Q. M., reputations have been made and lost by the +hundred. I have had a score of eternal friendships. You can run through +the matrimonial gauntlet, from courtship to the Divorce Court, in that +time. We used to grieve for years: now we weep as we travel; shed tears, +as we cast grain, by machinery. Two years! Why, I have passed through +half-a-dozen worlds. My bosom friend of '62 wouldn't remember me if I +met him to-morrow. I met old Baron Desordres, who has made such a +brilliant _fiasco_ for everybody except himself, yesterday; I knew him +in '62 with poor little Bartle, who lent him a couple of thousands. +Bartle died last month. In '62 Desordres and Bartle were inseparable. I +said to the Baron yesterday, 'You know poor little Bartle is dead.' The +Baron, picking his teeth, murmured, turning over the leaves of his +memory, '_Bartel! Bartel!_ I remember--_un petit gros, vrai?_' and the +leaves of the Baron's memory were turned back, and Bartle was as much +forgotten in five minutes as the burnt end of a cigarette. I daresay his +sisters are gone as governesses for want of the thousands the Baron ate. +Two years! Two epochs!" + +"I suppose so. While the light burns, and the summer is on, the moths +come out. Tragedy, comedy, and farce elbow each other through the rooms. +I have seen very much myself, for bird of passage. I took part in a +strange incident when I passed through last time." + +"Tell your story, and drink your Roederer, my dear Q. M." + +"Story! I want to get at the story. I travelled with a man and his wife +from Folkestone to Paris. On the boat he was the most attentive of +husbands; at the terminus he had disappeared. Poor woman in tears; fell +into my arms, sir, by Jove!" + +"No story!" cried Bertram, winking at the floating air-beads in his +glass. "No story! my good, simple Q.M. Egad! what would you have? Pray +go on." + +"Go on! I've finished. I was off in the afternoon by the Marseilles +mail. Of course, I did my utmost to find the husband. She went to the +Windsor; I thought it would be quiet for her. I went to the police, paid +to have inquiries kept up in all the hotels; and lastly, put her in +communication with a good business man--Moffum, you know; and left her, +a wreck of one of the prettiest creatures I have ever seen." + +"What kind of fellow was the husband? You got his name, of course?" + +"Daker--Herbert Daker. Man of good family. A most agreeable, taking, +travelled companion; light and bright as----" + +"The light-hearted Janus of Lamb," Bertram interrupted, his words +dancing lightly as the beads in his glass. + +The association of Daker with Wainwright struck me sharply. For how +genial and accomplished a man was the criminal! a stranger +conglomeration of graces and sins never dwelt within one human breast. I +was started on wild speculations. + +"I've set you dreaming. You found no clue to a history?" + +"None. She had been married three months to Daker. She was a poor girl +left alone, with a few hundreds, I apprehend. She would not say much. A +runaway match, I concluded. Not a word about her family. When I left +Paris, after dinner, he had made no sign. She promised to write to me to +Constantinople. I gave her my address in town. I told her Arthur's here +would reach me. But not a word, my dear boy. That woman had the soul of +truth in voice and look, or I never read Eve's face yet." + +"Ha! ha!" Bertram laughed. "I wish I had not got beyond the risk of +being snared by the un-gloving of a hand. You only pass through, I live +in Paris." + +"Paris or London, a heart may be read, if you will only take the +trouble. I shall never hear, in all human probability, what has become +of Mrs. Daker, or her husband; she may be an intrigante, and he a +card-sharper now; all I know, and will swear, is that she loved that man +to distraction then, and it was a girl in love." + +"And he?" + +Bertram's suspicions seemed to be fixed on Daker, whom he had never +seen; although I had described his eminently prepossessing qualities. + +"I can't understand why you should suspect Daker of villany, as I see +you do, Bertram." + +"I tell you he was a most accomplished, prepossessing villain, my dear +Q.M. Your upper class villains are always prepossessing. Manners are as +necessary to them as a small hand to a pickpocket." + +"Sharp, but unfair--only partly true, like all sweeping generalizations. +I think, as I hope, that the wife found the husband, and that they are +nestling in some Italian retreat." + +"And never had the grace to write you a word! No, no, you say they had +manners. That, at any rate, then, is not the solution of the mystery." + +Bertram was right here. Then what had become of Mrs. Daker? Daker, if +alive, was a scoundrel, and one who had contrived to take care of +himself. But that sweet country face! Here was a heart that might break, +but would never harden. + +"Mystery it must and will remain, I suppose." + +"One of many," was Bertram's gay reply. "How they overload these matches +with sulphur!" + +He was lighting his cigar. His phaeton was at the door. A globule of +Chartreuse; a compliment for the _chef_, a bow to the _dame de +comptoir_, and we were on our way to the Bois, at a brisk trot, for the +great world had cleared off to act tragedy and comedy by the ocean +shore, or the invalid's well, or the gambler's green baize. + +Bertram--one of that great and flourishing class of whom Scandal says +"she doesn't know how they do it, or who pays for it"--albeit a bad +match, even for Miss Tayleure, was, as I have said, in good English and +French society, and drove his phaeton. He was saluted on his way along +the Champs Elysees and by the lake, by many, and by some ladies who were +still unaccountably lingering in Paris. A superb little Victoria passed. +Bertram raised his hat. + +"An Irish girl," he said, "of superb beauty." + +At the Madrid we met a few people we knew; and, driving home, Bertram +saluted Miss Tayleure, who was crawling round the lake with her twin +sister, and was provoked to be recognised by a man of fashion in a hack +vehicle in the month of August. + +[Illustration: BOIS DE BOULOGNE.] + +"Charming evening they're having," said Bertram: "taking out their +watches every two minutes to be quite sure they shall get back within +the hour and a half which they have made up their minds to afford. +Beastly position!" + +"What! living for appearances?" + +"Just so; with women especially. Their dodges are extraordinary. +Tayleure would cheapen a penny loaf, and run down the price of a box of +lucifer matches. There's a chance for you! She would be an economical +wife; but then, my dear fellow, she would spend all the savings on +herself. Her virtue is like Gibraltar!" + +"And would be safe as unintrenched tableland, I should think." + +"Hang it!" Bertram handsomely interposed, "let us drop poor Tayleure. +She believes that her hour of happiness has to be rung in yet; and she +is always craning out of the window to catch the first silver echoes of +the bells. The old gentlewoman is happy." + +"Suppose you tell me something about your Irish beauty," I suggested. + +"Quite a different story, my good Q.M. Wait till I get clear of this +clumsy fellow ahead. So, so, gently. Now, Miss Trefoil; the Trefoil is a +girl whose success I can understand perfectly. To begin with--the girl +is educated. In the second place, she is, beyond all dispute, a +beautiful woman. There is not another pair of violet eyes in all +Paris--I mean in the season--to be matched with hers. Milk and +roses--nothing more--for complexion: and _no_ paint; which makes her +light sisters--accomplished professors of the art of _maquillage_--hate +her. A foot!" Bertram kissed the tip of his glove, by way of +description. "A voice that seems to make the air rich about her." + +"Gently, Bertram. We must be careful how we approach your queen, I see." + +"Not a bit of it. I am telling you just what you would hear in any of +the clubs. She has a liberal nature, my boy, and loves nobody, that I +can find, in particular. What bewitches me in talking to her is a sort +of serious background. I hate a woman all surface as I hate a flat +house. The Trefoil--queer name, isn't it?--can put a tremor in her voice +suddenly. The Trefoil has memories--a fact: something which she doesn't +give to the world, generous as she is. It is the shade to her abounding +and sparkling passages of light. Only her deep art, I dare say; but +devilish pleasant and refreshing when you get tired of laughing--gives a +little repose to facial muscles. The Trefoil has decidedly made a +sensation. At the races she was as popular as the winner. She must have +got home with a chariot full of money. Of course, when she bet, she +won--or she didn't pay. A pot of money is to be made on that system: and +the women, bless 'em, how kindly they've taken to it!" + +This kind of improving discourse employed us to my gate. Bertram dropped +me to return for "the painted lily" in an hour. + +I am no squeamish man, or I should have passed a wretched life. The man +who is perpetually travelling must bear with him a pliant nature that +will adapt itself to any society, to various codes of morals, habits of +thought, rules of conduct, and varieties of temperament. I can make +myself at home in most places, but least in those regions which the +progress of civilization, or the progress of something, has established +in every capital of Europe, and to the description of which the younger +Dumas has devoted his genius. The atmosphere of the _demi-monde_ never +delighted me. I see why it charms; I guess why it has become the potent +rival of good society; the reason why men of genius, scholars, +statesmen, princes, and all the great of the earth take pleasure in it, +is not far to seek; silly women at home are to blame in great part. This +new state of the body social is very much to be regretted; but I am not +yet of those who think that good, decent society--the converse of +honourable men with honourable women--is come or coming to an end. I am +of the old-fashioned, who have always been better pleased and more +diverted with the society of ladies than with that of the free graces +who allow smoke and indulge in it, and who have wit but lack wisdom. I +was not in high glee at the prospect of accompanying Cosmo Bertram to +his free dancing party. + +They are all very much alike. The fifteen sous basket, to use Dumas' +fine illustration, in Paris, is very like the Vienna, the Berlin, or the +London basket. The ladies are beautiful, exquisitely dressed, vivacious, +and, early in the evening, well-mannered. At the outset you might think +yourself at your embassy; at the close you catch yourself hoping you +will get away safely. Shrill voices pipe in corners of the room. "_On +sautera!_" People are jumping with a vengeance. The paint is disturbed +upon your partner's face. Pretty lips speak ugly words. _Honi soit qui +mal y pense;_ but then the gentleman is between two and three wines, and +the lady is rallying him because he has sense enough left to be a +little modest. A couple sprawl in a waltz. A gentleman roars a toast. +The hostess prays for less noise. An altercation breaks out in the +antechamber. Two ladies exchange slaps on the face, and you thank madame +for a charming evening. + +The next morning you are besieged, at your club, for news about +Aspasia's reception. She did the honours _en souveraine_; but it is +really a pity she will not be less attentive to the champagne. +Everything would have gone off splendidly if that little _diablesse_ +Titi had not revived her feud with Fanchette. You are not surprised to +hear that Aspasia's goods were seized this morning. The duke must have +had more than enough of it by this time, and has, of course, discovered +that he has been the laughing-stock of his friends for a long time past. +Over the absinthe tripping commentary Aspasia sinks from the Chasusee +d'Antin to the porter's lodge. A little _creve_ taps his teeth with the +end of his cane, blinks his tired, wicked eyes, like a monkey in the +sun, through his _pince-nez_, and opines, with a sharp relish, that +Aspasia is destined to sweep her five stories--well. + +Pah! What kind of discourse is all this for born and bred gentlemen to +hold in these days, when the portals of noble knowledge lie wide open, +and every man may grace his humanity with some special wisdom of his +own! + +Bertram, a ribbon in his buttonhole, and arrayed to justify his fame as +one of the best-dressed men in Paris, came in haste for me. + +"We are late, my dear Q.M. This is not carnival time, remember. We jump +early." + +The rooms were--but I cannot be at the pains of describing them. The +reader knows what Sevres and Aubusson, St. Gobain, Barbedienne, +Fourdinois, Jeanseline, Tahan, and the rest, can do for a first floor +within a stone's throw of the Boulevard des Italiens. The fashion in all +its most striking aspects is here. The presents lie thick as autumn +leaves. The bonne says you might fill a portmanteau with madame's fans. +Bertram is recognised by a dozen ladies at once. The lady of the house +receives me with the lowest curtsey. No ambassadress could be more +_gracieuse_. The toilettes are amazing. It is early, after all Bertram's +impatience. The state is that of a duchesse for the present. Bertram +leaves me and is lost in the crowd. The conversation is measured and +orderly. The dancing begins, and I figure in the quadrille of honour. I +am giving my partner--a dark-eyed, vivacious lady--an ice, when I am +tapped upon the shoulder by Cosmo Bertram. Bertram has a lady on his +arm. He turns to her, saying-- + +"Permit me to present my friend to you, Madame Trefoil----" + +"What! Mrs. Daker!" I cried. + +Mrs. Daker's still sweet eyes fell upon me; and she shook my hand; and +by her commanding calmness smothered my astonishment, so that the +bystanders should not see it. + +Later in the evening she said--passing me in the crowd--"Come and see +me." + +I did not--I could not--next morning, tell Lucy nor Mrs. Rowe. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +AT BOULOGNE-SUR-MER. + + +I had an unfortunate friend at Boulogne in the year 1865--then and many +years before. He lived on the ramparts in the upper town; had put on +that shabby military air, capped with a naval _couvre-chef_ (to use a +Paris street word that is expressive, as street words often are), which +distinguishes the British inhabitant of Boulogne-sur-mer; and was the +companion of a group of majors and skippers, sprinkled with commercial +men of erratic book-keeping tendencies. He had lost tone. He took me to +his club; nothing more than a taproom, reserved to himself and men with +whom he would not have exchanged a cigar light in London. The jokes were +bad and flat. A laid-up captain of an old London boat--sad old rascal +was he!--led the conversation. Who was drunk last night? How did the +Major get the key into the lock? Who paid for Todger's last go? "My +word," said I, to my friend, who had liquored himself out of one of the +snuggest civil berths I know, "how you can spend your time with those +blackguards, surpasses my comprehension." They amused him, he said. He +must drink with them, or play whist with another set, whose cards--he +emphatically added, giving me to understand much thereby--he did not +like. It was only for a short time, and he would be quit of them. This +was his day dream. My friend was always on the point of getting rid of +Boulogne; everything was just settled; and so, buoyed with a hope that +never staled, death caught him one summer's afternoon, in the Rue +Siblequin, and it was the bibulous sea captain and the very shady major +who shambled after him, when he was borne through those pretty _Petits +Arbres_ to the English section of the cemetery. Wrecks of many happy +families lie around him in that narrow field of rest; and passing +through on my state errands, I have thought once or twice, what sermons +indeed are there not in the headstones of Boulogne cemetery. + +I was with my poor friend in the December of 1865. I was on way home to +pass a cheery Christmas with my own people--a luxury which was not often +reserved for me--and he had persuaded me to give him a couple of days. +It would have been hard to refuse Hanger, who had been gazing across +Channel so many weary months, seeing friends off whither he might not +follow; and wondering when he should trip down the ladder, and bustle +with the steward in the cabin, and ask the sailors whether we shall have +a fine passage. To see men and women and children crowding home to their +English Christmas from every corner of Europe, and to be left behind to +eat plum-pudding in a back parlour of an imitation British tavern, with +an obsolete skipper, and a ruined military man, whose family blushed +whenever his name was mentioned, was trying. Hanger protested he had no +sentiment about Christmas, but he nearly wrung my hand off when he took +leave of me. + +It was while we were sauntering along the port, pushing hard against a +blustering northerly wind, and I was trying to get at the truth about +Hanger's affairs, advising him at every turn to grasp the bull by the +horns, adopt strong measures, look his creditors full in the face--the +common counsel people give their friends, but so seldom apply in their +own instance--that we were accosted by a man who had just landed from +the Folkestone boat. He wanted a place--yes, a cheap place--where they +spoke English and gave English fare. Hanger hastened to refer him to his +own British tavern, and, turning to me, said, "Must give Cross a good +turn--a useful fellow in an emergency." + +I returned with Hanger to the tavern, much against my will; but he +insisted I should not give myself airs, but consent to be his guest to +the extent of some bitter ale. Cross's new client was before a joint of +cold beef, on the merits of which, combined with pickled onions, pickled +by the identical hands of Mrs. Cross, Cross could not be prevailed upon +to be quiet. + +"Not a bad bit of beef," said the stranger, helping himself to a +prodigious slice. "Another pint of beer." + +Cross carried off the tankard, and returned, still muttering--"Not bad +beef, I should think not--nor bad ale neither. Had the beef over from +the old country." + +The stranger brought his fist with tremendous force upon the table, and +roared--"That's right, landlord; that's it; stick to that." + +Cross, thus encouraged, would have treated the company to a copious +dissertation on the merits of British fare, had not the company chorused +him down with--"Now Cross is off! Cross on beef! Cross on beer!" + +In a furious passion Cross left the room, rowing that he would be even +with "the captain" before the day was over. Hanger considered himself +bound to ask the stranger whether he was satisfied with his +recommendation. + +"Couldn't be better, thankee," the stranger answered; "but the landlord +doesn't seem to know much about the place. New comer, I suppose?" + +"Was forty years ago," the old captain said, looking round for a laugh; +"but he doesn't go out of the street once a month." + +"I asked him where Marquise was, and be hanged if he could tell me. I +want to know particularly." + +The major glanced at the captain, and the captain at a third companion. +Was somebody wanted? Who was hiding at Marquise? + +"Thought every fool knew that," the captain said, in the belief that he +had made a palpable hit. + +"Every fool who lives in these parts, leastwise," the stranger retorted. +"Perhaps you'll direct me?' + +"Now, look you here, sir," the captain was proceeding, leisurely +emphasizing each word with a puff of tobacco smoke. + +But the stranger would not be patient. He changed his tone, and +answered, fiercely-- + +"I'm in no mind for fun or chaff. I've got d----d serious business on +hand; and if you can tell me how to get to Marquise, tell me straight +off, and ha' done with it--and I shall be obliged to you." With this he +finished his second tankard of ale. + +Hanger, feeling some responsibility about the man he had introduced, +approached him with marked urbanity, and offered his services-- + +"I know Marquise and Wimille." + +"Wimille! that's it!" the stranger cried. "Right you are. That's my +direction. This is business. Yes, between Marquise and Wimille." + +"Precisely," Hanger continued, as we proceeded towards the door. + +I heard the major growl between his teeth in our rear--"Hanger's got him +well in tow." + +I should have been glad to show the man his way, and leave him to follow +it; but Hanger, who could not resist an adventure, drew me aside and +said--"We may as well drive to Marquise as anywhere else. We shall be +back easily for the _table d'hote_." The expedition was not to my taste; +but I yielded. The stranger was glad of our company, for the reason, +which he bluntly explained, that we might be of some use to him; for the +place was not exactly at Marquise nor at Wimille. We hired a carriage, +and were soon clattering along the Calais road, muffled to our noses to +face the icy wind. + +The stranger soon communicated his name, saying, "My name is Reuben +Sharp, and I don't care who knows it. Ask who Reuben Sharp is at +Maidstone: they'll tell you." + +Reuben Sharp was a respectable farmer--it was not necessary for him to +tell us that. He was a man something over fifty: sharp eyes, round head, +ruddy face, short hair flaked with white, which he matted over his +forehead at intervals with a flaming bandanna; a voice built to call +across a field or two; limbs equal to any country work or sport. In +short, an individual as peculiar to England as her chalk cliffs. When he +found that we knew something--and more than something--of the +hunting-field, and that I knew his country, including Squire Lufton, to +say nothing of the Lion at Farningham (one of the sweetest and most +charming hostelries in all England), he took me to his heart, and told +me his mission and his grief. + +"I don't know how I shall meet him," Reuben Sharp said; "I'm not quite +certain about myself. The man I'm going to see--this Matthew +Glendore--has done me and mine a bitter wrong. The villain brought +dishonour on my family. I knew he was in difficulties when he came into +our parts, and took two rooms in Mother Gaselee's cottage. But he was a +gentleman, every inch of it, in appearance. A d--d good shot; rode well; +and--you know what fools girls are!" + +I could only listen: any question might prove a most indiscreet one. +Hanger was not quite so sensitive. "Fools!" he cried--"they are +answerable for more mischief in the world than all the men and children, +and the rest of the animal creation put together." + +"And yet no man's worth a woman's little finger, if you know what I +mean," Reuben Sharp went on, struggling manfully to get clear expression +for the tumult of painful feeling that was in him. "They don't know what +the world is; you cannot make 'em understand. The best fall into the +hands of the worst men. She was the best, and he was the worst: the +best, that she was. And I sent him to her, where she was living like an +honest woman, and learning to be a lady, in London." + +"And who is this Matthew Glendore, whom you are going to see?" + +"The worst of men--the basest; and he's on his death-bed! and I'm to +forgive him! I! + +"Where is she? where is she, Glendore? for I know you through your +disguise." + +We stared at the farmer while he raved, lit his cigar, and then, in the +torrent of his passion, let it out again. As we dipped to the hollow in +which Wimille lay, passing carts laden with iron ore, Sharp became more +excited. + +"We cannot be far off now. He's lying at one of the iron-masters' +houses, half a mile beyond this Wimille. Let's stop: I must have some +brandy-and-water." + +Hanger joyfully fell in with this proposition, vowing that he was +frozen, and really could not stand the cold without, unless he had +something warm within, any longer. We alighted at the village cabaret, +and drew near the sweet-smelling wood fire, from which the buxom +landlady drove two old men for our convenience. I protested they should +not be disturbed; but they went off shivering, as they begged us to do +them the honour of taking up their post in the chimney-corner. + +We threw our coats off, and the grog was brought. The woman produced a +little carafon of brandy. + +"Tell her to bring the bottle," Sharp shouted, impatiently. "Does she +take us to be school girls? Let the water be boiling. Ask her--Does she +know anything of this Matthew Glendore?" + +The farmer mixed himself a stiff glass of brandy-and-water, while he +watched Hanger questioning the landlady with many bows and smiles. + +"Plenty of palavering," Sharp muttered; then shouted--"Does she know the +scoundrel?" + +"One minute, my friend," Hanger mildly observed, meaning to convey to +Sharp that he was asking a favour of gentlemen, not roaring his order to +slaves. "Permit me to get the good woman's answers. Yes; she knows +Monsieur Glendore." + +"Mounseer Glendore! She knows no good of him." + +"On the contrary," mildly pursued Hanger, sipping his grog, and nicely +balancing it with sugar to his taste--"on the contrary, my good sir, +she says he is a brave fellow--what she calls a _brave garcon_." + +"Doesn't know him then, Mounseer Glendore! I wonder how many disguises +he has worn in his life--how many women he has trapped and ruined! Ask +her how long he has been here?" + +The landlady answered--"Two years about the middle of next month." + +"And he has never left this since?" Sharp went on, mixing himself by +this time a second glass of brandy-and-water. + +The landlady had never been a day without seeing him. He came to play +his game of dominoes in the evening frequently. The dominoes exasperated +the farmer. He would as soon see a man with crochet needles. + +"D--n him!" Sharp shouted; "just like him." + +I now ventured to interfere. Reuben Sharp was becoming violent with +passion inflamed by brandy. The landlady was certain poor Monsieur +Glendore would never rise from his bed again. I said to +Sharp--"Whatever the wrong may be this man has done you, Mr. Sharp, pray +remember he is dying. He is passing beyond your judgment." + +"Is he? Passing from my grip, is he? No--no--Herbert Daker." + +Sharp had sprung from his chair, and was shaking his fist in the air. + +"Daker! Herbert Daker!" I seized Reuben Sharp by the shoulder, and shook +him violently. "What do you know about Herbert Daker?" + +Sharp turned upon me a face shattered with rage, and hissed at me. "What +do I know about him? What do _you_ about him? Are you his friend?" + +"I am not: never will, nor can be," was my reply. Sharp wrung my hand +till it felt bloodless. "Herbert Daker is Matthew Glendore--Mounseer +Glendore. When did you meet him?" + +"On the Boulogne steamer, about three years ago, when he was crossing +with his wife." + +"Then!" Sharp exclaimed, and again he took a draught of +brandy-and-water. + +At this moment Hanger, who had been talking with the landlady, joined +us, and whispered--"Be calm, gentlemen; this is a time for calmness. +Glendore is at hand--in a little cottage on Monsieur Guibert's works. +Madame says if we wish to see him alive, we had better lose no time. The +clergyman from Boulogne arrived about an hour ago, and is with him now. +His wife!----" + +"His wife!" Sharp was now a pitiable spectacle. He finished his glass, +and caught Hanger by the collar of his coat--staring into his face to +get at all the truth. "Glendore's wife!" + +Hanger was as cool as man could be. He disengaged himself deliberately +from the farmer's grip, put the table between them, and went smoothly on +with the further observation he had to make! + +"I repeat, according to the landlady, whose word we have no reason to +doubt, his wife is with him--and his mother!" + +Sharp struck the table and roared that it was impossible. I stood in +hopeless bewilderment. + +"Would it be decent to intrude at such a moment?" + +"Decent!" Sharp was frantically endeavouring to button up his coat. + +"D--n it, decent! Which is the way? My girl--my poor girl!" + +"Show him," I contrived to say to Hanger, and he took the landlady's +directions, while I passed my arm through Reuben Sharp's. We stumbled +and blundered along in Hanger's footsteps, round muddy corners, past +heaps of yellow ore, Sharp muttering and cursing and gesticulating by +the way. We came suddenly to a halt at the little green door of a +four-roomed cottage. + +"Knock! knock!" Sharp shouted, pressing with his whole weight against +the door. "Let me see her!--the villain!--Mounseer Glendore!--No, no, +Herbert Daker!" + +The power of observation is at its quickest in moments of intense +excitement. I remember looking with the utmost calmness at Sharp's face +and figure, as he stood gasping before the door of Herbert Daker's +lodging. It was the head of a satyr in anger. + +"Daker--Herbert Daker!" Sharp cried. + +The door was suddenly thrown open, and an English clergyman, unruffled +and full of dignity, stood in the entrance. Sharp was a bold, untutored +man; but he dared not force his way past the priest. + +"Quiet, gentlemen--be quiet. Step in--but quiet--quiet." + +We were in the chamber of Matthew Glendore in a moment. A lady rose from +the bedside. Humble, and yet stately, a white face with red and swollen +eyelids, eyes with command in them. We were uncovered, and in an instant +wholly subdued. + +"My child--my girl!" Reuben Sharp moaned. + +The clergyman approached him, and laid his hand upon him. + +"Whom do you want?" + +"Mrs. Daker--my--" + +The pale lady, full of grief, advanced a step, and looking full in the +face of Reuben Sharp, said, "I, sir, am Mrs. Daker." + +I had never seen that lady before. + +"You!" Sharp shouted, shaking with rage. + +But the minister firmly laid his hand upon him now, saying, "Hush! in +the chamber of death! His mother is at his bedside; spare her." + +At this, a little figure with a ghastly face rose from the farther side +of the bed. + +"Mrs. Rowe!" I cried. + +She had not the power left to scream; and her head fell heavily upon the +pillow of the dying man. + +"Enough, enough!" the clergyman said with authority--closing the door of +the chamber wherein Herbert Daker, the "Mr. Charles" of the Rue +Millevoye, lay dead! + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +THE CASTAWAY. + + +Cosmo Bertram was at a very low ebb. No horse. Had moved off to +Batignolles. Had not been asked to the Embassy for a twelvemonth. When +he ventured into the Tuileries gardens in the afternoon, it somehow +happened that the backs of the ladies' chairs were mostly turned towards +him. He was still dapper in appearance; but a close observer could see a +difference. Management was perceptible in his dress. He had no watch; +but the diamond remained on his finger--for the present; and yet society +had nothing seriously compromising to say against him. It was rumoured +that he had seen the interior of Clichy twice. So had Sir Ronald, who +was now the darling of the Faubourg; but then, note the difference. Sir +Ronald had re-issued with plenty of money--or credit, which to society +is the same thing; while poor Bertram had stolen down the hill by back +streets to Batignolles, where he had found a cheap nest, and whence he +trudged to his old haunts with a foolish notion that people would +believe his story about a flying visit to England, and accept his +translation to Batignolles as a sanitary precaution strongly recommended +by his physician. If society be not yet civilized enough to imitate the +savages, who kill the old members of the community, it has studied the +philosophy of the storks in Jutland, who get rid of their ailing, feeble +brother storks, at the fall of the year. Bertram was a bird to be pecked +to pieces, and driven away from the prosperous community, being no +longer prosperous. + +First among the sharp peckers was Miss Tayleure, who always had her +suspicions of Captain Bertram, although she was too good-natured to say +anything. The seasons had circled three or four times since she had had +the honour of being introduced to the gentleman, and yet the lady was +waiting to see what the improved facilities for travel might bring her +in the matrimonial line. She had, her dearest friends said, almost made +up her mind to marry into commerce. + +"Poor Tayleure!" one of the attaches said, at the Cafe Anglais, over his +Marennes oysters, after the opera; "doomed to pig-iron, I'm afraid. Must +do it. Can't carry on much longer. Another skein of false hair this +season, by Jove." + +In a society so charmingly constituted, the blows are dealt with an +impartial hand; and it is so mercifully arranged, that he who is +doubling his fist seldom feels the blow that is falling upon his own +back. It was a belief which consoled the poor Baronet's orphan through +her dreary time at the boarding-house--that, at least, she was free from +damaging comment. Her noble head was many inches out of water; the +conviction gave her superb confidence when she had to pass an opinion +on her neighbour. + +Two old friends of Cosmo Bertram are lounging in the garden of the +Imperial Club. + +"Hasn't old Tayleure got her knife into Bertram! Poor dear boy. It's all +up with him. Great pity. Was a capital fellow." + +"Don't you know the secret? The old girl had designs on Bertram when he +first turned up; and the Daker affair cast her plot to the winds. Mrs. +Daker, you remember, was at old Tayleure's place--Rue d'Angouleme!" + +"A pretty business that was. But who the deuce was Daker?" + +"Bad egg." + +The threads of this story lay in a tangle--in Paris, in Boulogne, and in +Kent! I never laboured hard to unravel them; but time took up the work, +and I was patient. Also, I was far away from its scenes, and only passed +through them at intervals--generally at express speed. It so happened, +however, that I was at hand when the crisis and the close came. + +Mrs. Daker was living in a handsome apartment when I called upon her on +the morrow of the ball. She wept passionately when she saw me. She +said--"I could have sunk to the earth when I saw you with Bertram--of +all men in the world." I could get no answers to my questions save that +she had heard no tidings of her husband, and that she had never had the +courage to write to her father. Plentiful tears and prayers that I would +forget her; and never, under any temptation, let her people, should I +come across them, know her assumed name, or her whereabouts. I pressed +as far as I could, but she shut her heart upon me, and hurried me away, +imploring me never to return, nor to speak about her to Cosmo Bertram. +"He will never talk about me," she added, with something like scorn, and +something very like disgust. + +I left Paris an hour or two after this interview; and when I next met +Bertram--at Baden, I think, in the following autumn--great as my +curiosity was, I respected Mrs. Baker's wish. He never touched upon the +subject; and, since I could not speak, and my suspicions affected him in +a most painful manner, I did not throw myself in his way, nor give him +an opportunity of following me up. Besides, he was in a very noisy, +reckless set, and was, I could perceive before I had talked to him ten +minutes, on the way to the utter bad. When I remembered our conversation +about Daker, his light, airy, unconcerned manner, and the consummate +deceit which effectually conveyed to me the idea that he had never heard +the name of Daker, I was inclined to turn upon him, and let him know I +was not altogether in the dark. Again, at the ball, he had carried off +the introduction to Mrs. Trefoil with masterly coolness, making me a +second time his dupe. Had we met much we should have quarrelled +desperately; for I recollected the innocent English face I had first +seen on the Boulogne boat, and the unhappy woman who had implored me +not to speak her name to him. The days follow one another and have no +resemblance, says the proverb. I passed away from Baden, and Bertram +passed out of my mind. I had not seen him again when I spent those +eventful few days at Boulogne with Hanger. + +Another year had gone, and I had often thought over the death scene of +Daker, and Sharp's trudges about Paris in search of his niece. I could +not help him, for I was homeward bound at the time, and shortly +afterwards was despatched to St. Petersburg. But I gave him letters. +There was one hope that lingered in the gloom of this miserable story; +perhaps Mrs. Daker had won the love of some honest man, and, emancipated +by Daker's deceit and death, might yet spend some happy days. And then +the figure of Cosmo Bertram would rise before me--and I knew he was not +the man to atone a fault or sin by a sacrifice. + +I was in Paris again at the end of 1866. I heard nothing, save that +Sharp had returned home, having tried in vain to find the child to whom +he had been a father since the death of his brother. He had identified +her as Mrs. Trefoil; he had discovered that shame had come upon her and +him; and he had made out the nature of the relations between his niece +and Captain Cosmo Bertram. But Captain Bertram was not in Paris; Mrs. +Trefoil had disappeared and left no sign. So many exciting stories float +about Paris in the course of a season, that such an event as the +appearance of a Kentish farmer in search of Mrs. Daker, afterwards Mrs. +Trefoil, and the connexion of Captain Bertram with her name, is food for +a few days only. This is a very quiet humdrum story, when it is compared +with the dramas of society, provincial and Parisian, which the _Gazette +des Tribunaux_ is constantly presenting to its readers. + +When I reached Paris it was forgotten. Miss Tayleure had moved off to +Tours--for economy some said; to break new ground, according to others. +There had been diplomatic changes. The English society had received +many accessions, and suffered many secessions. I went to my old haunts +and found new faces. I was met with a burst of passionate tears by Lucy +Rowe, end honest Jane, the servant. Mrs. Rowe was lying, with all her +secrets and plots, in Pere Lachaise--to the grief, among others, of the +Reverend Horace Mohun, who would hardly be comforted by Lucy's handsome +continuance of the buttered toast and first look at the _Times_. Lucy, +bright and good Lucy, had become queen and mistress of the +boarding-house--albeit she had not a thimbleful of the blood of the +Whytes of Battersea in her veins. But of the Rue Millevoye presently. + +I came upon Bertram by accident by the Montmartre cemetery, whither I +had been with a friend to look at a new-made grave. As I have observed, +Bertram had reached a very low ebb. He avoided his old thoroughfares. He +had discovered that all the backs of the Tuileries chairs were towards +him. Miss Tayleure had had her revenge before she left. He had heard +that "the fellows were sorry for him," and that they were not anxious to +see him. The very waiters in his cafe knew that evil had befallen him, +and were less respectful than of old. No very damaging tales, as I have +said, were told against him; but it was made evident to him that Paris +society had had enough of him for the present, and that his comfortable +plan would be to move off. + +Cosmo Bertram had moved off accordingly; and when I met him at +Montmartre he had not been heard of for many months. I should have +pushed on, but he would not let me. A man in misfortune disarms your +resentment. When the friend who has been always bright and manly with +you, approaches with a humble manner, and his eyes say to you, while he +speaks, "Now is not the time to be hard," you give in. I parted with my +fellow-mourner, and joined Bertram, saying coldly--"We have not met, +Bertram, for many months--it seems years. What has happened?" + +The man's manner was completely changed. He talked to me with the cowed +manner of a conscious inferior. He was abashed; as changed in voice and +expression as in general effect. + +"Ruin--nothing more," he answered me. + +"Baden--Homburg, I suppose?" + +"No; tomfoolery of every kind. I'm quite broken. That friend of yours +didn't recognise me, did he?" + +"Had never seen you before, I'm quite sure." + +I took him into a quiet cafe and ordered breakfast. His face and voice +recalled to me all the Daker story; and I felt that I was touching +another link in it. He avoided my eye. He grasped the bottle greedily, +and took a deep draught. The wine warmed him, and loosed "the jesses of +his tongue." He had a long tale to tell about himself! He disburdened +his breast about Clichy; of all the phases of his decline from the +fashionable man in the Bois to the shabby skulker in the _banlieue_, he +had something to say. He had been everybody's victim. The world had been +against him. Friends had proved themselves ungrateful, and foes had +acted meanly. Nobody could imagine half his sufferings. While he dwelt +on himself with all the volubility and wearying detail of a wholly +selfish man, I was eager to catch the least clue to a history that +interested me much more deeply than his; and in which I had good reason +to suspect he had not borne an honourable part. The gossips had +confirmed the fears which Mrs. Daker had created. I had picked up scraps +here and there which I had put together. + +"I am obliged to keep very dark, my dear Q.M.," Bertram said at last, +still dwelling on the inconvenience to himself. "Hardly dare to move out +of the quarter. Disgusting bore." + +"A debt?" I asked. + +"Worse." + +"What then, an entanglement; the old story, petticoats?" + +"Precisely. To-day I ought to be anywhere but here; the old boy is over, +or will be, in a few hours." + +The whole story was breaking upon me; Bertram saw it, and my manner, +become icy to him, was closing the sources upon me. I resolved to get +the mystery cleared up. I resumed my former manner with him, ordered +some Burgundy, and entreated him to proceed. + +"You remember," he said, "your story about the girl you met travelling +with her husband on the Boulogne boat--Mrs. Daker." His voice fell as he +pronounced the name. "I deceived you, my dear Q. M., when I affected +unconcern and ignorance." + +"I know it, Bertram," was my answer. "But that is unimportant: go on." + +"I met Mrs. Daker at her hotel, very soon after she arrived in Paris. +She talked about you; and I happened to say that I knew you. We were +friends at once." + +"More than friends." + +"I see," Bertram continued, much relieved at finding his revelation +forestalled in its chief episodes; "I see there is not much to tell +you. You are pretty well posted up. I cannot see why you should look so +savage; Mrs. Daker is no relation of yours." + +"No!" I shouted, for I could not hold my passion--"had she been----" + +"You would have the right to call me to account. As it is," Bertram +added, rising, "I decline to tell you more, and I shall wish you +good-day." + +After all Bertram was right; I had no claim to urge, no wrong to +redress. Besides, by my hastiness, I was letting the thread slip through +my fingers. + +"Sit down, Bertram; you are the touchiest man alive. It is no concern of +mine, but I have seen more than you imagine--I have seen Daker; I have +been with Sharp." + +Bertram grasped my arm. + +"Tell me all, then; I must know all. You don't know how I have suffered, +my dear Q. M. Tell me everything." + +"First let me ask you, Bertram, have you been an honourable man to Mrs. +Daker?" + +"Explain yourself." + +"Where is she? Her uncle has broken his heart!" + +"All I need say is, that she is with me, and that it is I who have +sacrificed almost my honour in keeping her with me, after----" + +I understood the case completely now. + +"You found the prey at the right moment, Bertram. Poor forsaken woman! +You took it; you lost it; it falls into your hands again--broken unto +death." + +"Unto death!" Bertram echoed. + +I related to him my adventure in Boulogne; and when I came to Baker's +end, and his bigamy, Bertram exclaimed-- + +"The villain! My dear Q. M., I loved--I do love her; she might have been +my wife. The villain!" + +"You say she is with you, Bertram. Where? Can I see her?" + +"You cannot, she's very ill So ill, I doubt----" + +"And you are here, Bertram?" + +"Her uncle--Sharp--is with her by this time. She implored me not to be +in the way. There would be a row, you know, and I hate rows." + +It was Bertram to the last. _He_ hated rows! I suddenly turned upon him +with an idea that flashed through my mind. + +"Bertram, you owe this poor woman some reparation. You love her, you +say--or have loved her." + +"Do love her now." + +"She is a free woman; indeed, poor soul, she has always been. Marry +her--take her away--and get to some quiet place where you will be +unknown. You will be happy with her, or I have strangely misread her." + +"Can't," Bertram dolefully answered. "Not a farthing." + +"I'll help you." + +Bertram grasped my hand. His difficulty was removed. + +I continued rapidly, "Give me your address. I'll see Sharp, and, if they +permit me, Mrs. Daker. Let us make an effort to end this miserable +business well. You had better remain behind till I have settled with +Sharp." + +Bertram remained inert, without power of thinking or speaking, in his +seat. I pushed him, to rouse him. "Bertram, the address--quick." + +"Too late, my dear Q. M.--much too late. She's dying--I am sure of it." + +The address was 102 in the next street to that in which we had been +breakfasting. I hurried off, tearing myself, at last, by force from +Bertram. I ran down the street, round the corner, looking right and left +at the numbers as I ran. I was within a few doors of the number when I +came with a great shock against a man, who was walking like myself +without looking ahead. I growled and was pushing past, when an iron grip +fell upon my shoulder. It was Reuben Sharp. He was so altered I had +difficulty in recognising him. At that moment he looked a madman; his +eyes were wild and savage; his lips were blue; his face was masked by +convulsive twitches. + +"I was running to see you. Come back," I said. + +"It's no use--no use. They can ill-treat her no more. My darling Emmy! +It's all over--all over--and you have been very kind to me." + +The poor man clapped his heavy hands upon me like the paws of a lion, +and wept, as weak women and children weep. + +Yea, it was all over. + +It was on New Year's Day, 1867, I supported Reuben Sharp, following a +hearse to the cemetery hard by. Lucy Rowe accompanied us--at my urgent +request--and her presence served to soften and support old Reuben's +honest Kentish heart in his desolate agony. As they lowered the coffin a +haggard face stretched over a tomb behind us. Sharp was blinded with +tears, and did not see it. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE FIRST TO BE MARRIED. + + +It will happen so--and here is our moral--the bonnets of Sophonisba and +Theodosia, bewitching as they were, and archly as these young ladies +wore them, paling every toilette of the Common, were not put aside for +bridal veils. Carrie, who was content with silver-grey, it was who +returned to Paris first, sitting at the side of the writer of the +following letters, sent, it is presumed, to his bachelor friend:-- + + + "Paris, 'The Leafy Month of June.' + +"MY DEAR MAC,--I will be true to my promise. I will give you +the best advice my experience may enable me to afford you. Friendship is +a sacred thing, and I will write as your friend. Only ten days ago +Caroline murmured those delicious sounds at the altar, which announce a +heaven upon earth to man. I see you smile, you rogue, as you read this, +but I repeat it--that announce a heaven upon earth to man. + +"Some men take a wife carelessly, as they select a dinner at their club, +as though they were catering only to satisfy the whim of the hour. +Others adopt all the homely philosophy of Dr. Primrose, and reflect how +the wife will wear, and whether she have the qualities that will keep +the house in order. Others, again, are lured into matrimony by the +tinkling of the pianoforte, or the elaboration of a bunch of flowers +upon a Bristol board. Remember Calfsfoot. His wife actually fiddled him +into the church. Was there ever an uglier woman? Two of her front teeth +were gone, and she was bald. Fortunately for her, Beauty draws us with a +single hair, or she had not netted Calfsfoot. Now what a miserable time +he has of it. She is a vixen. You know what fiddle-strings are made of; +well, I'm told she supplies her own. But why should I dwell on +infelicitous unions of this kind? It was obvious to every rational +creature from the first--and to him most concerned--that Mrs. Calfsfoot +would fiddle poor C. into a lunatic asylum. And if he be not there yet, +depend upon it he's on the high road. + +"Between Mrs. Calfsfoot and my Caroline (you should have seen her +hanging upon my shoulder, her auburn ringlets tickling my happy cheek, +begging me to call her Carrie!)--between Mrs. Calfsfoot and my Carrie, +then, what a contrast! As I sat last evening in one of the shady nooks +of the Bois de Boulogne, watching the boats, with their coloured lights, +floating about the lake, my Carrie's hand trembling like a caught bird +in mine, I thought, can this sweet, amiable, innocent creature have +anything in common with that assured, loud-voiced, pretentious Mrs. +Calfsfoot. Calfsfoot told me that he was very happy during the +honeymoon. But, then, people's notions of happiness vary, and I cannot +for the life of me conceive how a man of Calfsfoot's sense--for he has +sound common sense on most points--could have looked twice at the +creature he took to his bosom. I have heard of people who like to nurse +vipers; can friend C. be of this strange band? Now, I am +happy--supremely happy, I may say, because I honestly believe my Carrie +to be the most adorable creature on the face of God's earth. A man who +could not be happy with her would not deserve felicity. You should see +her at the breakfast-table, in a snow-white dress, with just a purple +band about her dainty waist, handling the cups and saucers! The first +time she asked me whether I would take two lumps of sugar (I could have +taken both of them from her pretty lips, and I'll not say whether I did +or did not), was one of those delicious moments that happen seldom, +alas, in the chequered life of man. And then, when she comes tripping +into the room after breakfast, in her little round hat, and, putting +her hand upon my shoulder, asks me in the most musical of voices whether +I have finished with my paper, and am ready for a walk, I feel ashamed +that I have allowed myself to distract my attention even for ten minutes +from her charming self, to read stupid leading articles and wretched +police cases. But men are utterly without sentiment. Reading the _Times_ +in the honeymoon! I wonder how the delightful creatures can give us two +minutes' thought. Carrie, however, seems to live only for your unworthy +humble servant. Shall I ever be worthy of her? Shall I ever be worthy of +the glorious sky overhead, or of the flowers at my feet? My dear Mac, I +feel the veriest worm as I contemplate this perfect creature, who, with +that infinite generosity which belongs to goodness and beauty, has sworn +to love, honour, and obey me. That she loves me I know full well; that +she obeys my lightest wish, I allow, on my knees. But how shall she +honour me? To all this you will answer, puffing your filthy pipe the +while, 'Tut! he has been married only ten short days!" + +"My dear Mac, life is not to be measured by the hour-glass. There are +minutes that are hours, there are hours that are years, there are years +that are centuries. Again, some men are observant, and some pay no +better compliment to the light of day than moles. You did me the honour +of saying one evening, when we were having a late cigar at the Trafalgar +(we should have been in bed hours before), that you never knew a more +quick-sighted man, nor a readier reader of the human heart than the +individual who now addresses you. It would ill become me to say that you +only did me justice; but permit me to remark, that having closely +watched myself and compared myself with others, for years, I have come +to the conclusion that I am blessed with a rapid discernment. Before +Mrs. Flowerdew (I have written the delightful name on every corner of my +blotting-paper) honoured me with her hand, I brought this power to bear +on her incessantly. Under all kinds of vexatious circumstances I have +been witness of her unassailable good temper. I have seen her wear a new +bonnet in a shower of rain. These clumsy hands of mine have spilled +lobster-salad upon her dress. That little wretch of a brother of hers +has pulled her back hair down. Her sister Sophonisba has abused her. +Still has she been mild as the dove! + +"Then, her common sense is astonishing. She says any woman can manage +with three bonnets and half-a-dozen good dresses. I wanted to buy her a +bracelet the other day, price ten guineas. 'No,' she answered; 'here is +one at only six guineas, quite good enough for me in our station of +life;' and the dear creature was content with it. + +"As for accomplishments, she may vie with any fine lady in the land. +Last night she played me a piece from Mendelssohn, and her little hands +danced like lightning about the keys. It was rather long, to be sure; +but I could not help stealing from behind her and kissing the dear +fingers when it was over. + +"She has written some exquisite verses, much in the style of Byron--a +poet not easily imitated, you will remember. She has read every line of +Thackeray; and during one of our morning walks, she proved to me, who am +not easily moved from my point, that Carlyle has only one idea. Let me +recommend you to peruse this writer's 'French Revolution' again, and you +will be satisfied that my Carrie is right. + +"I trouble you, my dear fellow, with all these details, that you may not +run away with the notion that Flowerdew is blindly in love. My faculties +were never more completely about me than they are at this moment. I am +at a loss to imagine why a man should throw his head away when he yields +his heart. I can look dispassionately at my wife, and if she had a +fault, I am confident that I should be the first to see it. But, _que +voulez-vous?_ she has not yet given me the opportunity. + +"Marriage is a lottery. In a lottery, somebody must draw the prize; if I +have drawn it, am I to be ashamed of my luck? No; let me manfully +confess my good fortune, and thank my star. + +"I have snatched the time to write you these hurried lines, while the +worshipped subject of them has been trying on some new--but I forgot; I +am writing to a bachelor. I have still a few minutes; let me make use of +them. + +"My dear Mac, when I return to foggy London--(I hear you have had +terrible weather there)--you will see little or nothing of me. My Carrie +allows me to smoke (she permits me everything), but I should be a mean +brute if I took advantage of her boundless generosity. I smoke one cigar +_per diem_, and no more. And as for wine--the honey of the loved one's +lips is the true grape of the honeymoon. I must tell you that Carrie and +I have made a solemn compact. Her head was nestled against my waistcoat +as we made it. We are not going to live for the world, like foolish +people whom we know. For society my little wife needs me; and I, happy +man, shall be more than content for ever while the partner of my bosom +deigns to solace me with her gentle voice. She has friends without +number who will mourn her loss to society. Her dear friends the +Barcaroles will be inconsolable; her sister Theodosia will break her +heart. Life has its trials, however, which must be bravely borne; and +Carrie's friends must be consoled when they learn that she is happy with +the man of her choice. In the same way, be comforted, my dear Mac (for I +know how warmly you regard me), when I tell you that henceforth we shall +meet only at rare intervals. My life is bound up in that of the +celestial being who is knitting in the window, not an arm's length from +me. + +"My dear Mac, we have drank our last gin-sling together. Recal me +affectionately to the memory of Joe Parkes, and young Square, and all +friends of her Majesty's Pugilistic Department; and may they all +speedily be as happy as I am. How the wretches will laugh when you tell +them that Flowerdew has reformed his ways, and has blackened his last +Milo; but I think, my dear fellow, I have convinced you that I write +after cool reflection. We have taken a cottage four miles south of my +office. A sixpenny omnibus will take me back at four o'clock daily, to +my little haven. My Carrie is fond of a garden; and I shall find her, on +summer afternoons, waiting at the gate for me, in her garden hat, and +leaning upon the smartest little rake in the world. You, and Joe, and +the Pugilistic Department fellows may laugh; but this is the happy life +I have chalked out for myself. As I have told you, some men marry with +their eyes shut; but I live only to congratulate myself on my sagacity. +To think that I, of all men, should have won Caroline Cockayne! + +"We shall remain here for another week, when we go to Fontainebleau, and +thence we return to London. I may write to you from our next stage; but +if not, expect to hear from me on my return, when, if I can persuade my +love to brave the presence of a stranger, for friendship's sake, you +shall have a peep at our felicity. + + "Your old friend, + "HAPPY TOM FLOWERDEW." + +Mr. Mac's observations on the foregoing were, no doubt, to this effect: +"He'll come to his senses by-and-by. I shouldn't like to be compelled to +buy all the cigars he'll smoke before he turns his toes up." + + + _Flowerdew, from Fontainebleau._ + + "Fontainebleau, July 1. + +"MY DEAR MAC,--I am tempted to send you a few lines from this +wonderful place. You have heard of Fontainebleau grapes--you have tasted +them; but you have not seen Fontainebleau. My dear Mac, when you marry +(and, as your friend, I say, lose no time about it)--yes, when you +marry, take the _cara sposa_ to Fontainebleau. Let her see the weeping +rock, in that wonderful battle between granite and trees, they call the +forest. Let her feed the fat carp with _galette_ behind the Palace in +the company of those Normandy nurses (brown and flat as Normandy +pippins), and their squalling basked-capped charges. Give her some of +that delicious iced currant-water, which the dragoons who are quartered +here appear to drink with all the relish the children show for it. Never +fear that she will look twice at these soldiers, in their sky-blue coats +and broad red pantaloons, and their hair cut so close that their eyes +must have watered under the operation. Imagine dragoons drinking +currant-water; and playing dominoes for shapeless sous, which they +rattle incessantly in their preposterous trousers! I am meditating a +book on the French army, in which I shall lay great stress on the above, +I flatter myself, rather acute bit of observation. Carrie (she grows +prettier daily) rather inclines to the idea that the moderation of these +French dragoons is in their favour; and this is the first time I have +found her judgment at fault. But then it would be unreasonable indeed to +hope that on military subjects she could have that clear insight which +she displays with such charming grace, whether we are contemplating the +Marriage of Cana, in the Louvre, or thinking over the scenes some of +those orange-trees in the Tuileries gardens have shed leaves upon. For, +let me tell you, my dear Mac, there are trees there, the flowers of +which have trembled at the silver laugh of unhappy Antoinette. Sallow +Robespierre has rubbed against them. They were in their glory on that +July day when the mob of blouses tasted of the cellars of a King. + +"But you can get in Murray all I can tell you of the wonderful place in +which it has been my fortune to find myself with my little wife. When, +on the morning after our arrival, I threw my bedroom window open, the +air was, I thought, the sweetest that had ever refreshed my nostrils. +The scene would have been perfect, had it not been for swarms of wasps +that dashed their great bodies, barred, as Carrie said, like grooms' +waistcoats (wasn't it clever of her?) into the room. If everything were +not flavoured with garlic (peaches included), I should say without +hesitation, that our _hote_ is THE _cordon bleu_ of the +country. Omelettes, my dear Mac, as light as syllabub; wild strawberries +frosted with the finest white sugar I ever put to my lips; coffee that +would make a Turk dance with delight; only, in each and all of these +dainties, there is just a pinch of garlic. But love makes light of these +little drawbacks. Carrie has made a wry face once or twice, it is true, +but only in the best of humours, and when the garlic was very strong +indeed. + +"We had a rainy day yesterday: but we enjoyed it. We sat all the morning +at our window, gossiping and flirting, and watching the peasants +sauntering home from market, apparently unconscious that they were being +drenched. I had bought Carrie a huge sugar stick (_sucre de pomme_, I +think they call it), and she looked bewitchingly as she nibbled it, and +then coaxingly held it to my lips. You remember my old antipathy to +sweets; well, strange to say, I thought I had never tasted anything more +delicious than this sugar stick; but remember, it came direct from +Carrie's lips. Then we speculated on what our friends were doing at that +very moment, peeped into Clapham, and we made bad guesses enough, I have +no doubt. It ended by our agreeing that none of you were half so happy +as we were. + +"In the evening the weather cleared a little, and we went out for a +stroll. A stroll through the streets of Fontainebleau is not one of the +pleasantest exploits in the world. I thought every moment that my wife +(delightful word, that thrills me to the finger tips as I write it) +would sprain an ankle, for the paving is simply a heap of round stones +thrown out of a cart; but she stepped so nimbly and lightly, that no +harm came to her. I wish, my dear Mac, you could hear her conversation. +From morning till night she prattles away, hopping, skipping, and +jumping from one subject to another, and saying something sensible or +droll on each. You must know that Carrie has an immense fund of humour. +Her imitations of people make me almost die with laughter. You remember +Mrs. Calfsfoot's habit of twitching her nose and twirling her thumbs +when she is beginning an anecdote about somebody one never saw, and +never cared to see. Well, Carrie stopped in the middle of our rambles in +the forest, and imitated her squeaky voice and absurd gestures to the +life. The anecdote, concocted impromptu, was a wonderfully sustained bit +of pure invention. On my honour, when she had finished her little +performance, I could not help giving her a kiss for it. + +"You will smile, my dear Mac, at this: remembering the horror we +mutually expressed one night at Ardbye's chambers, of female mimics. But +there is a difference, which we do not appear to have recognised on that +occasion, between good-natured and ill-natured mimicry. Now nothing can +be more harmless fun than my Carrie's imitations. She never has the bad +taste to mimic a deformity, or to burlesque a misfortune. She certainly +said of Mrs. Blomonge (who is known to be the stoutest person in the +parish of St. Bride's) that her head floated on her shoulders like a +waterlily on a pond; but then the joke was irresistible, and there was +not a touch of malice in the way the thing was said. How much there is +in manner! + +"Carrie is beginning to yearn for the repose of Arcady Cottage. She +wants to see herself mistress of a house. She longs to have to order +dinner, inspect the dusting of the drawing-room, pour out tea from our +own tea-pot, and work antimacassars for our chairs. I can see already +that she will make the most perfect little housewife in the world. + +"There are dolts and dullards who declare that women who are witty and +accomplished, generally make bad housewives. They are said to lie on +sofas all day through, reading hooks they cannot understand; playing all +kinds of tortuous music; and painting moss roses upon velvet. I am not +an old married man (twenty days old only), but I am ready to wager, from +what I have already seen of my Carrie, that there is not the slightest +ground for those charges against clever women; on the contrary, it seems +to me that your clever woman will see the duty, as well as the pleasure, +of ordering her husband's house in a becoming manner. Why should +empty-headed girls, who haven't a word to say for themselves, nor an +accomplishment to their back--why should they be the superlative +concocters of custards, and menders of shirts and stockings? Do you mean +to tell me that a woman must be a fool to have a light hand at pastry? I +believe these libels on clever women have been propagated by designing +mothers who had stupid daughters on their hands. Whenever you see a +heavy-eyed, lumpish girl, who hides herself in corners, and reddens to +the very roots of the hair when you say a civil thing to her, you are +sure to be told that she is the very best house-keeper in the world, and +will make a better wife than her pretty sister. In future I shall treat +all such excuses for ugliness and dulness as they deserve. For I say it +boldly beforehand, ere Carrie has tried her first undercrust, she will +be a pattern housewife--although she reads John Stuart Mill. + +"'Tom, darling!' sounds from the next room, and the music goes to my +soul. Good-bye. The next from Aready Cottage. Thine, + + "TOM FLOWERDEW. + +"P.S.--We met yesterday a most charming travelling companion; and +although, as I think I hinted in my last, I and Carrie intend to suffice +for each other, he had so vast a fund of happy anecdote, we could not +find it in our hearts to snub him. Besides, he began by lending me the +day's _Galignani_." + +"That travelling companion," remarked shrewd Mr. Mac, "marks the +beginning of the end of the honeymoon. I shall keep him dark when I dine +with Papa Cockayne on Sunday." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +GATHERING A FEW THREADS. + + +Is there a more melancholy place than the street in which you have +lived; than the house, now curtainless and weather-stained, you knew +prim, and full of happy human creatures; than the "banquet-hall +deserted:" than the empty chair; than the bed where Death found the +friend you loved? + +The Rue Millevoye is all this to me. I avoid it. If any cabman wants to +make a short cut that way I stop him. Mrs. Rowe rests at last, in the +same churchyard with the Whytes of Battersea: her faults forgiven; that +dark story which troubled all her afterlife and made her son the terror +of every hour, ended and forgotten. + +If hers was a sad life, even cheered by the consolations of Mr. Mohun +given over refreshing rounds of buttered toast; what was the gloom upon +the head of Emily Sharp, whom the child of shame (was it in revenge) +brought to shame? I never tread the deck of a Boulogne steamer without +thinking of her sweet, loving face; I never wait for my luggage in the +chilly morning at the Chemin de Fer du Nord terminus, without seeing her +agony as the deserted one. + +The Cockayne girls are prospering in all the comfort of maternal dignity +in the genteel suburbs; and yet were they a patch upon forlorn Emmy +Sharp? Miss Sophonisba, with her grand airs, in her critical letters +from Paris--what kind of a heart had she? Miss Theodosia was a flirt of +the vulgarest type who would have thrown up John Catt as she would throw +away a two-button glove for a three-button pair, had not the Vicomte de +Gars given her father to understand that he must have a very substantial +_dot_ with her. Mademoiselle Cockayne without money was not a thing to +be desired, according to "his lordship." + +John Catt was a rough diamond, as the reader has perceived, given to +copious draughts of beer, black pipes, short sticks, prodigious +shirt-collars, and music-halls. But he was a brave, honest, chivalrous +lad in his coarse way. He loved Miss Theodosia Cockayne, and was +seriously stricken when he left Paris, although he had tried to throw +off the affair with a careless word or two. He hid his grief behind his +bluntness; but she had no tears to hide. It was only when the Vicomte, +after a visit to Clapham (paid much against Mr. Cockayne's will) had +come to business in the plumpest manner, that the young lady had been +brought to her senses by the father's observation that he was not +prepared to buy a foreign viscount into the family on his own terms, +and that "his lordship" would not take the young lady on her own merits, +aroused Miss Theodosia's pride;--and with it the chances of John Catt +revived. He took her renewed warmth for repentance after a folly. He +said to himself, "She loved me all the time; and even the Vicomte was +not, in the long run, proof against her affection for me." Miss +Theodosia, having lost the new love, was fortunate enough to get on with +the old again, and she is, I hear, reasonably happy--certainly happier +than she deserves to be, as Mrs. John Catt. + +I am told she is very severe upon Emma Sharp, and wonders how her sister +Carrie can have the creature's portrait hung up in her morning room. But +there are a few things she no longer wonders at. Carrie speaks to Lucy +Rowe; kisses Lucy Rowe; puts her arm round Lucy Rowe's neck; and tumbles +her baby upon Lucy Rowe's knees; and Mrs. John Catt wonders no longer. +Not, I suspect, because she is fonder of Lucy now than she was in the +Rue Millevoye, but because--well, _I_ married her, as the reader, who is +not a goose, has suspected long ago. + +And a little Lucy writes for me, in big round hand, her mother guiding +the pen-- + + + THE END. + + + LONDON: + SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHANDOS STREET, + COVENT GARDEN. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Cockaynes in Paris, by Blanchard Jerrold + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COCKAYNES IN PARIS *** + +***** This file should be named 18327.txt or 18327.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/3/2/18327/ + +Produced by Carlo Traverso, Janet Blenkinship, and the +Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe at +http://dp.rastko.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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