MR. O'LEARY'S CAPTURE.
Does she really care for me? was my first question to myself as I left
the room. Is this story about pre-engaged affections merely a got up
thing, to try the force of my attachment for her? for, if not, her
conduct is most inexplicable; and great as my experience has been in
such affairs, I avow myself out maneuvered. While I thought over this
difficulty, Trevanion came up, and in a few words, informed me more fully
upon what he hinted at before. It appeared that O'Leary, much more alive
to the imperative necessity of avoiding detection by his sposa, than of
involving himself with the police, had thrown out most dark and
mysterious hints in the hotel as to the reason of his residence at Paris;
fully impressed with the idea that, to be a good Pole, he need only talk
"revolutionary;" devote to the powers below, all kings, czars, and
kaisers; weep over the wrongs of his nation; wear rather seedy
habiliments, and smoke profusely. The latter were with him easy
conditions, and he so completely acted the former to the life, that he
had been that morning arrested in the Tuilleries gardens, under several
treasonable charges--among others, the conspiracy, with some of his
compatriots to murder the minister of war.
However laughable such an accusation against poor O'Leary, one
circumstance rendered the matter any thing but ludicrous. Although he
must come off free of this grave offence, yet, the salon transaction
would necessarily now become known; I should be immediately involved,
and my departure from Paris prevented.
"So," said Trevanion, as he briefly laid before me the difficulty of my
position, "you may perceive that however strongly your affections may be
engaged in a certain quarter, it is quite as well to think of leaving
Paris without delay. O'Leary's arrest will be followed by yours, depend
upon it; and once under the surveillance of the police, escape is
impossible."
"But, seriously, Trevanion," said I, nettled at the tone of raillery he
spoke in, "you must see that there is nothing whatever in that business.
I was merely taking my farewell of the fair Emily. Her affections have
been long since engaged, and I--"
"Only endeavouring to support her in her attachment to the more favoured
rival. Is it not so?"
"Come, no quizzing. Faith I began to feel very uncomfortable about
parting with her, the moment that I discovered that I must do so."
"So I guessed," said Trevanion, with a dry look, "from the interesting
scene I so abruptly trespassed upon. But you are right; a little bit of
tendresse is never misplaced, so long as the object is young, pretty, and
still more than all, disposed for it."
"Quite out; perfectly mistaken, believe me. Emily not only never cared
for me; but she has gone far enough to tell me so."
"Then, from all I know of such matters," replied he, "you were both in a
very fair way to repair that mistake on her part. But hark! what is
this?" A tremendous noise in the street here interrupted our colloquy,
and on opening the window, a strange scene presented itself to our eyes.
In the middle of a dense mass of moving rabble, shouting, yelling, and
screaming, with all their might, were two gens d'armes with a prisoner
between them. The unhappy man was followed by a rather well-dressed,
middle-aged looking woman, who appeared to be desirous of bestowing the
most covam publico endearments upon the culprit, whom a second glance
showed us was O'Leary.
"I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken," said O'Leary, addressing
her with great sternness of manner and voice.
"Mistaken! Never, never. How could I ever be mistaken in that dear
voice, those lovely eyes, that sweet little nose?"
"Take her away; she's deranged," said O'Leary to the gens d'armes.
"Sure, if I'm a Pole, that's enough of misfortune."
"I'll follow him to the end of the earth, I will."
"I'm going to the galleys, God be praised," said O'Leary.
"To the galleys--to the guillotine--any where," responded she, throwing
herself upon his neck, much less, as it seemed, to his gratification,
than that of the mob, who laughed and shouted most uproariously.
"Mrs. Ram, ain't you ashamed?"
"He calls me by my name," said she, "and he attempts to disown me. Ha!
ha! ha! ha!" and immediately fell off into a strong paroxysm of kicking,
and pinching, and punching the bystanders, a malady well known under the
name of hysterics; but being little more than a privileged mode, among
certain ladies, of paying off some scores, which it is not thought decent
to do in their more sober moments.
"Lead me away--anywhere--convict me of what you like," said he, "but
don't let her follow me."
The gens d'armes, who little comprehended the nature of the scene before
them, were not sorry to anticipate a renewal of it on Mrs. Ram's
recovery, and accordingly seized the opportunity to march on with
O'Leary, who turned the corner of the Rue Rivoli, under a shower of
"meurtriers" and "scelerats" from the mob, that fell fortunately most
unconsciously upon his ears.
The possibility of figuring in such a procession contributed much to the
force of Trevanion's reasonings, and I resolved to leave Paris at once.
"Promise me, then, to involve yourself in no more scrapes for
half-an-hour. Pack every thing you shall want with you, and, by seven
o'clock, I shall be here with your passport and all ready for a start."
With a beating brain, and in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, I threw
my clothes hither and thither into my trunk; Lady Jane and Emily both
flitting every instant before my imagination, and frequently an
irresolution to proceed stopping all my preparations for departure, I sat
down musing upon a chair, and half determined to stay where I was, coute
qui coute. Finally, the possibility of exposure in a trial, had its
weight. I continued my occupation till the last coat was folded, and the
lock turned, when I seated myself opposite my luggage, and waited
impatiently for my friend's return.
EBOOK EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Devilish hot work, this, said the colonel
Empty, valueless, heartless flirtation
Enough is as good as a feast
Finish in sorrow what you have begun in folly
Gardez vous des femmes, and more especially if they be Irish
Jaunting-cars, with three on a side and "one in the well"
Mistaking zeal for inclination
Other bottle of claret that lies beyond the frontier of prudence
Packed jury of her relatives, who rarely recommend you to mercy
There is no infatuation like the taste for flirtation