Stenio to M. de Florac, who was standing by and witnessed the scene. "Is
he simply bete, or is he poltron as well? I believe him to be both."
"Silence, Victor!" cried Florac, seizing his arm, and drawing him away.
"You know me, and that I am neither one or the other. Believe my word,
that my Lord Kew wants neither courage nor wit!"
"Will you be my witness, Florac?" continues the other.
"To take him your excuses? yes. It is you who have insulted--"
"Yes, parbleu, I have insulted!" says the Gascon.
"--A man who never willingly offended soul alive. A man full of heart:
the most frank: the most loyal. I have seen him put to the proof, and
believe me he is all I say."
"Eh! so much the better for me!" cried the Southron. "I shall have the
honour of meeting a gallant man: and there will be two on the field."
"They are making a tool of you, my poor Gascon," said M. de Florac, who
saw Madame d'Ivry's eyes watching the couple. She presently took the arm
of the noble Count de Punter, and went for fresh air into the adjoining
apartment, where play was going on as usual; and Lord Kew and his friend
Lord Rooster were pacing the room apart from the gamblers.
My Lord Rooster, at something which Kew said, looked puzzled, and said,
"Pooh, stuff, damned little Frenchman! Confounded nonsense!"
"I was searching you, milor!" said Madame d'Ivry, in a most winning tone,
tripping behind him with her noiseless little feet. "Allow me a little
word. Your arm! You used to give it me once, mon filleul! I hope you
think nothing of the rudeness of M. de Castillonnes; he is a foolish
Gascon: he must have been too often to the buffet this evening."
Lord Kew said, No, indeed, he thought nothing of de Castillonnes'
rudeness.
"I am so glad! These heroes of the salle-d'armes have not the commonest
manners. These Gascons are always flamberge au vent. What would the
charming Miss Ethel say, if she heard of the dispute?"
"Indeed there is no reason why she should hear of it," said Lord Kew,
"unless some obliging friend should communicate it to her."
"Communicate it to her--the poor dear! who would be so cruel as to give
her pain?" asked the innocent Duchesse. "Why do you look at me so,
Frank?"
"Because I admire you," said her interlocutor, with a bow. "I have never
seen Madame la Duchesse to such advantage as to-day."
"You speak in enigmas! Come back with me to the ballroom. Come and dance
with me once more. You used to dance with me. Let us have one waltz more,
Kew. And then, and then, in a day or two I shall go back to Monsieur le
Duc, and tell him that his filleul is going to marry the fairest of all
Englishwomen and to turn hermit in the country, and orator in the Chamber
of Peers. You have wit! ah si--you have wit!" And she led back Lord Kew,
rather amazed himself at what he was doing, into the ballroom; so that
the good-natured people who were there, and who beheld them dancing,
could not refrain from clapping their hands at the sight of this couple.
The Duchess danced as if she was bitten by that Neapolitan spider which,
according to the legend, is such a wonderful dance-incentor. She would
have the music quicker and quicker. She sank on Kew's arm, and clung on
his support. She poured out all the light of her languishing eyes into
his face. Their glances rather confused than charmed him. But the
bystanders were pleased; they thought it so good-hearted of the Duchesse,
after the little quarrel, to make a public avowal of reconciliation!
Lord Rooster looking on, at the entrance of the dancing-room, over
Monsieur de Florac's shoulder, said, "It's all right! She's a clipper to
dance, the little Duchess."
"The viper!" said Florac, "how she writhes!"
"I suppose that business with the Frenchman is all over," says Lord
Rooster. "Confounded piece of nonsense."
"You believe it finished? We shall see!" said Florac, who perhaps knew
his fair cousin better. When the waltz was over, Kew led his partner to a
seat, and bowed to her; but though she made room for him at her side,
pointing to it, and gathering up her rustling robes so that he might sit
down, he moved away, his face full of gloom. He never wished to be near
her again. There was something more odious to him in her friendship than
her hatred. He knew hers was the hand that had dealt that stab at him and
Ethel in the morning. He went back and talked with his two friends in the
doorway. "Couch yourself, my little Kiou," said Florac. "You are all
pale. You were best in bed, mon garcon!"
"She has made me promise to take her in to supper," Kew said, with a
sigh.
"She will poison you," said the other. "Why have they abolished the roue
chez nous? My word of honour they should retabliche it for this woman."
"There is one in the next room," said Kew, with a laugh, "Come, Vicomte,
let us try our fortune," and he walked back into the play-room.
That was the last night on which Lord Kew ever played a gambling game. He
won constantly. The double zero seemed to obey him; so that the croupiers
wondered at his fortune. Florac backed it; saying with the superstition
of a gambler, "I am sure something goes to arrive to this boy." From time
to time M. de Florac went back to the dancing-room, leaving his mise
under Kew's charge. He always found his heaps increased; indeed the
worthy Vicomte wanted a turn of luck in his favour. On one occasion he
returned with a grave face, saying to Lord Rooster, "She has the other
one in hand. We are going to see." "Trente-six encor! et rouge gagne,"
cried the croupier with his nasal tone, Monsieur de Florac's pockets
overflowed with double Napoleons, and he stopped his play, luckily, for
Kew putting down his winnings, once, twice, thrice, lost them all.
When Lord Kew had left the dancing-room, Madame d'Ivry saw Stenio
following him with fierce looks, and called back that bearded bard. "You
were going to pursue M. de Kew," she said: "I knew you were. Sit down
here, sir," and she patted him down on her seat with her fan.
"Do you wish that I should call him back, madame?" said the poet, with
the deepest tragic accents.
"I can bring him when I want him, Victor," said the lady.
"Let us hope others will be equally fortunate," the Gascon said, with one
hand in his breast, the other stroking his moustache.
"Fi, monsieur, que vous sentez le tabac! je vous le defends,
entendez-vous, monsieur?"
"Pourtant, I have seen the day when Madame la Duchesse did not disdain a
cigar," said Victor. "If the odour incommodes, permit that I retire."
"And you also would quit me, Stenio? Do you think I did not mark your
eyes towards Miss Newcome? your anger when she refused you to dance? Ah!
we see all. A woman does not deceive herself, do you see? You send me
beautiful verses, Poet. You can write as well of a statue or a picture,
of a rose or a sunset, as of the heart of a woman. You were angry just
now because I danced with M. de Kew. Do you think in a woman's eyes
jealousy is unpardonable?"
"You know how to provoke it, madame," conti
nued the tragedian.
"Monsieur," replied the lady, with dignity, "am I to render you an
account of all my actions, and ask your permission for a walk?"
"In fact, I am but the slave, madame," groaned the Gascon, "I am not the
master."
"You are a very rebellious slave, monsieur," continues the lady, with a
pretty moue, and a glance of the large eyes artfully brightened by her
rouge. "Suppose--suppose I danced with M. de Kew, not for his sake--
Heaven knows to dance with him is not a pleasure--but for yours. Suppose
I do not want a foolish quarrel to proceed. Suppose I know that he is ni
sot ni poltron as you pretend. I overheard you, sir, talking with one of
the basest of men, my good cousin, M. de Florac: but it is not of him I
speak. Suppose I know the Comte de Kew to be a man, cold and insolent,
ill-bred, and grossier, as the men of his nation are--but one who lacks
no courage--one who is terrible when roused; might I have no occasion to
fear, not for him, but----"
"But for me! Ah, Marie! Ah, madame! Believe you that a man of my blood
will yield a foot to any Englishman? Do you know the story of my race? do
you know that since my childhood I have vowed hatred to that nation?
Tenez, madame, this M. Jones who frequents your salon, it was but respect
for you that has enabled me to keep my patience with this stupid
islander. This Captain Blackball, whom you distinguish, who certainly
shoots well, who mounts well to horse, I have always thought his manners
were those of the marker of a billiard. But I respect him because he has
made war with Don Carlos against the English. But this young M. de Kew,
his laugh crisps me the nerves; his insolent air makes me bound; in
beholding him I said to myself, I hate you; think whether I love him
better after having seen him as I did but now, madame!" Also, but this
Victor did not say, he thought Kew had laughed at him at the beginning of
"Ah, Victor, it is not him, but you that I would save," said the Duchess.
And the people round about, and the Duchess herself, afterwards said,
yes, certainly, she had a good heart. She entreated Lord Kew; she
implored M. Victor; she did everything in her power to appease the
quarrel between him and the Frenchman.
After the ball came the supper, which was laid at separate little tables,
where parties of half a dozen enjoyed themselves. Lord Kew was of the
Duchess's party, where our Gascon friend had not a seat. But being one of
the managers of the entertainment, his lordship went about from table to
table, seeing that the guests at each lacked nothing. He supposed too
that the dispute with the Gascon had possibly come to an end; at any
rate, disagreeable as the other's speech had been, he had resolved to put
up with it, not having the least inclination to drink the Frenchman's
blood, or to part with his own on so absurd a quarrel. He asked people in
his good-natured way to drink wine with him; and catching M. Victor's eye
scowling at him from a distant table, he sent a waiter with a
champagne-bottle to his late opponent, and lifted his glass as a friendly
challenge. The waiter carried the message to M. Victor, who, when he
heard it, turned up his glass, and folded his arms in a stately manner.
"M. de Castillonnes dit qu'il refuse, milor," said the waiter, rather
scared. "He charged me to bring that message to milor." Florac ran across
to the angry Gascon. It was not while at Madame d'Ivry's table that Lord
Kew sent his challenge and received his reply; his duties as steward had
carried him away from that pretty early.
Meanwhile the glimmering dawn peered into the windows of the
refreshment-room, and behold, the sun broke in and scared all the
revellers. The ladies scurried away like so many ghosts at cock-crow,
some of them not caring to face that detective luminary. Cigars had been
lighted ere this; the men remained smoking them with those sleepless
German waiters still bringing fresh supplies of drink. Lord Kew gave the
Duchesse d'Ivry his arm, and was leading her out; M. de Castillonnes
stood scowling directly in their way, upon which, with rather an abrupt
turn of the shoulder, and a "Pardon, monsieur," Lord Kew pushed by, and
conducted the Duchesse to her carriage. She did not in the least see what
had happened between the two gentlemen in the passage; she ogled, and
nodded, and kissed her hands quite affectionately to Kew as the fly drove
away.
Florac in the meanwhile had seized his compatriot, who had drunk
champagne copiously with others, if not with Kew, and was in vain
endeavouring to make him hear reason. The Gascon was furious; he vowed
that Lord Kew had struck him. "By the tomb of my mother," he bellowed, "I
swear I will have his blood!" Lord Rooster was bawling out, "D--- him,
carry him to bed, and shut him up;" which remarks Victor did not
understand, or two victims would doubtless have been sacrificed on his
mamma's mausoleum.
When Kew came back (as he was only too sure to do), the little Gascon
rushed forward with a glove in his hand, and having an audience of
smokers round about him, made a furious speech about England, leopards,
cowardice, insolent islanders, and Napoleon at St. Helena; and demanded
reason for Kew's conduct during the night. As he spoke, he advanced
towards Lord Kew, glove in hand, and lifted it as if he was actually
going to strike.
"There is no need for further words," said Lord Kew, taking his cigar out
of his mouth. "If you don't drop that glove, upon my word I will pitch
you out of the window. Ha!--Pick the man up, somebody. You'll bear
witness, gentlemen, I couldn't help myself. If he wants me in the
morning, he knows where to find me."
"I declare that my Lord Kew has acted with great forbearance, and under
the most brutal provocation--the most brutal provocation, entendez-vows,
M. Cabasse?" cried out M. de Florac, rushing forward to the Gascon, who
had now risen; "monsieur's conduct has been unworthy of a Frenchman and a
gallant homme."
"D--- it, he has had it on his nob, though," said Lord Viscount Rooster,
laconically.
"Ah, Roosterre! ceci n'est pas pour rire," Florac cried sadly, as they
both walked away with Lord Kew; "I wish that first blood was all that was
to be shed in this quarrel"
"I am very sorry for it," said Kew, quite seriously; "I couldn't help it.
God forgive me." And he hung down his head. He thought of the past, and
its levities, and punishment coming after him pede claudo. It was with
all his heart the contrite young man said "God forgive me." He would take
what was to follow as the penalty of what had gone before.
"Pallas te hoc vulnere, Pallas immolat, mon pauvre Kiou," said his French
friend. And Lord Rooster, whose classical education had been much
neglected, turned round and said, "Hullo, mate, what ship's that?"
Viscount Rooster had not been two hours in bed, when the Count de Punter
(formerly of the Black Jaegers) waited upon him upon the part of M. de
Castillonnes and the Earl of Kew, who had referred him to the Viscount to
arrange matters for a meeting between them. As the meeting must take
place out of the Baden territory, and they ought to move before the
police prevented them, the Count proposed that they should at once make
for France; where, as it was an affair of honneur, they would assuredly
be let to enter without passports.
Lady Anne and Lady Kew heard that the gentlemen after the ball had all
gone out on a hunting-party, and were not alarmed for four-and-twenty
hours at least. On the next day none of them returned; and on the day
after, the family heard that Lord Kew had met with rather a dangerous
accident; but all the town knew he had been shot by M. de Castillonnes on
one of the islands on the Rhine, opposite Kehl, where he was now lying.
CHAPTER XXXV
Across the Alps
Our discursive muse must now take her place in the little britzska in
which Clive Newcome and his companions are travelling, and cross the Alps
in that vehicle, beholding the snows on St. Gothard, and the beautiful
region through which the Ticino rushes on its way to the Lombard lakes,
and the corn-covered great plains of the Milanese; and that royal city,
with the cathedral for its glittering crown, only less magnificent than
the imperial dome of Rome. I have some long letters from Mr. Clive,
written during this youthful tour, every step of which, from the
departure at Baden, to the gate of Milan, he describes as beautiful; and
doubtless, the delightful scenes through which the young man went, had
their effect in soothing any private annoyances with which his journey
commenced. The aspect of nature, in that fortunate route which he took,
is so noble and cheering, that our private affairs and troubles shrink
away abashed before that serene splendour. O sweet peaceful scene of
azure lake, and snow-crowned mountain, so wonderfully lovely is your
aspect, that it seems like heaven almost, and as if grief and care could
not enter it! What young Clive's private cares were I knew not as yet in
those days; and he kept them out of his letters; it was only in the
intimacy of future life that some of these pains were revealed to me.
Some three months after taking leave of Miss Ethel, our young gentleman
found himself at Rome, with his friend Ridley still for a companion. Many
of us, young or middle-aged, have felt that delightful shock which the
first sight of the great city inspires. There is one other place of which
the view strikes one with an emotion even greater than that with which we
look at Rome, where Augustus was reigning when He saw the day, whose
birthplace is separated but by a hill or two from the awful gates of
Jerusalem. Who that has beheld both can forget that first aspect of
either? At the end of years the emotion occasioned by the sight still
thrills in your memory, and it smites you as at the moment when you first
viewed it.
The business of the present novel, however, lies neither with priest nor
pagan, but with Mr. Clive Newcome, and his affairs and his companions at
this period of his life. Nor, if the gracious reader expects to hear of
cardinals in scarlet, and noble Roman princes and princesses, will he
find such in this history. The only noble Roman into whose mansion our
friend got admission was the Prince Polonia, whose footmen wear the
liveries of the English royal family, who gives gentlemen and even
painters cash upon good letters of credit; and, once or twice in a
season, opens his transtiberine palace and treats his customers to a
ball. Our friend Clive used jocularly to say, he believed there were no
Romans. There were priests in portentous hats; there were friars with