A GLANCE AT NEW ORLEANS SOCIETY
The house which Dr. Lacey occupied was situated on one of the pleasantest
streets of New Orleans. It was a large, airy structure, which had formerly
been owned by a wealthy French gentleman who had spared neither money nor
pains to adorn it with every elegance which could minister to the
luxurious habits common to a Southern clime. When it passed into the hands
of Dr. Lacey’s father, he gratified his Northern taste, and fitted it up
with every possible convenience, molding its somewhat ancient aspect into
a more modern style.
When Dr. Lacey reached the age of twenty-one, his father made him the
owner of the house, he himself removing to another part of the city. At
the time of which we are speaking, nothing could exceed the beauty of the
house and grounds.
The yard which surrounded the building was large, and laid out with all
the taste of a perfect connoisseur. In its center was a fountain, whose
limpid waters fell into a large marble basin, while the spray which
constantly arose from the falling stream seemed to render the heat of that
sultry climate less oppressive. Scattered throughout the yard were the
numerous trees and flowering shrubs which grow in profusion at the "sunny
South." Here the beautiful magnolia shook its white blossoms in the
evening breeze, and there the dark green foliage of the orange trees
formed an effectual screen from the mid-day sun.
The building was surrounded on all sides by a double piazza, the slender
pillars of which were entwined by the flowering honeysuckle and luxuriant
passion-flower, which gave the house the appearance of a closely wreathed
arbor. Within the piazza was filled with rare tropical plants. The
beautiful oleander, magnificent rose and sweet-scented geranium, here
united their fragrance, while the scarlet verbenum and brilliant
heliotrope added beauty to the scene.
The interior of the building corresponded with the exterior. The rooms,
large and airy, were carpeted with velvet, and adorned with costly marble
and rosewood furniture. The windows, which were constructed in the French
style, that is, reaching to the floor, were curtained with
richly-embroidered lace. Let us ascend the winding staircase, and enter
the dressing room of the owner of all this splendor.
Half reclining on a crimson lounge sits Dr. Lacey, dressed in a
fashionable brocade morning gown. On first glancing at him we think there
is no change in his countenance since we last saw him on Mrs. Crane’s
steps in Frankfort, but as we note the expression of his face we can
perceive a shade of anxiety resting there. At last he rises and rather
impatiently pulls the bell rope.
His summons is immediately answered by an exquisite dandy, who is neither
African, European, French, nor Spanish, but an odd mixture of the four. He
is dressed in the extreme of fashion, and on entering the room bows most
gracefully, at the same time casting an admiring glance at himself in the
large mirror, and passing his hand carelessly through his perfumed locks.
With the utmost deference, he awaits the commands of his master.
"Well, Rondeau," said Dr. Lacey, "haven’t you finished breakfast yet?"
"Yes, marster," answered Rondeau, with a very low bow. "I’ve got through a
moment since. What can I do for you. Will you ride this morning?"
"No," answered Dr. Lacey, "I do not wish to ride, but I want you to go to
the post office and back immediately; remember now, and not stop to
gossip."
"Certainly not," said the negro. "When marster’s in a hurry, Rondeau is
never foolin’ away time."
"And don’t stop more than an hour in the kitchen to talk to Leffie. Do you
understand?" continued the doctor.
"Oh, yes, I won’t," said Rondeau, extending his mouth into a broad grin at
his master’s allusion to Leffie, a bright-looking, handsome, mulatto girl,
whom next to himself, Rondeau thought was the prettiest creature in the
world.
At last he bowed himself out of the room, and proceeded to execute his
master’s commands. On passing the kitchen, he "just looked in a little,"
and the sight of Leffie’s bright eyes and rosy lips made him forgetful of
his promise. Going up to her, he announced his intention of kissing her. A
violent squabble ensued, in which the large china dish which Leffie held
in her hand was broken, two pickle jars thrown down, chairs upset, the
baby scalded, and the dog Tasso’s tail nearly crushed! At last Aunt
Dilsey, the head cook and mother of Leffie, interposed, and seizing the
soup ladle as the first thing near her, she laid about her right and left,
dealing no very gentle blows at the well-oiled hair of Rondeau, who was
glad to beat a retreat from the kitchen, amid the loud laughter of the
blacks who had witnessed the scene.
Leaving the house he was soon on his way to the post office, and having
procured his master’s mail he started for home. At length, slackening his
pace, he took from his pocket the letters and carefully scrutinized the
inscription of each. He was in the habit of going to the post office, and
after his master’s return from Kentucky, he had noticed two or three
letters written in what he called "a mighty fineified hand," and he had
whispered to Leffie as a great secret that "’twere his private opinion
marster was going to marry some Kentucky girl." Recently he had noticed
the absence of those letters, and also the absence of his master’s
accustomed cheerfulness. Rondeau was pretty keen, and putting the two
circumstances together, he again had a whispered conference with Leffie,
whom he told that "most probably the Kentucky girl had flunked, for
marster hadn’t had a letter in ever so long, and every time he didn’t get
one he looked as blue as a whetstone!"
"Glad on’t," said Leffie. "Hope he won’t have any your foreigners. Allus
did wish he’d have Miss Mortimer. Next to old marster and young marster
Lacey, her father’s the toppinest man in New Orleans. And it’s a pity for
young marster to stoop."
After examining all the letters closely, Rondeau came to the conclusion
that the right one wasn’t there, and he thought, "Well, Leffie’ll be glad,
and marster’ll be sorry, and hang me if I ain’t sorry too, for marster’s a
plaguey fine chap, and desarves anybody there is in Kentucky."
Meanwhile Dr. Lacey was anxiously awaiting Rondeau’s return, and when he
caught sight of him, coming at an unusually rapid pace toward the house,
he thought, "Surely Rondeau would never hurry so if he had not good news
for me," but the next thought was, "How should he know what it is I am so
anxious to get?" Still he waited rather impatiently for Rondeau to make
his appearance. In a moment he entered the room, and commenced pulling the
letters from his pocket, saying, "I’ve got a heap this time, marster."
He then laid them one by one on the marble dressing table, counting them
as he did so; "Thar’s one, thar’s two, thar’s three, thar’s four."
"Stop counting them, can’t you, and give me all you have directly," said
Dr. Lacey, as his eye ran hurriedly over the superscription of each, and
found not the one he sought.
"That’s jist what I’ve done, marster," said Rondeau, bowing. "The one you
want wasn’t thar."
Dr. Lacey glanced hastily at his servant, and felt assured that the
quick-witted negro was in possession of his secret. "You may go," said he,
"and mind, never let me hear of your commenting about my letters."
"No, marster, never; ’strue’s I live," said Rondeau, who left the room and
went in quest of Leffie. But he did not dare to repeat the scene of the
morning, for Aunt Dilsey was present, bending over a large tub of boiling
suds, and he felt sure that any misdemeanor on his part would call forth a
more affectionate shower bath than he cared about receiving. So he
concluded to bring about his purpose by complimenting Aunt Dilsey on her
fine figure (she weighed just two hundred!).
"Aunt Dilsey," said he, "’pears to me you have an uncommon good form, for
one as plump and healthy-like as you are."
Aunt Dilsey was quite sensitive whenever her size was alluded to, and she
replied rather sharply: "You git along, you bar’s ile skullcap. ’Twon’t be
healthy for you to poke fun at me."
"’Pon my word," said the mischievous Rondeau, "I ain’t poking fun at you.
I do really think so. I thought of it last Sunday, when you had on that
new gown, that becomes you so well."
"Which one?" said Aunt Dilsey, a little mollified, "the blue and yaller
one?"
"The same," answered Rondeau. "It fits you good. Your arm looks real small
in it."
Leffie was nearly convulsed with laughter, for she had tried the
experiment, and found that the distance round her mother’s arm was just
the distance round her own slender waist.
"Do tell!" said Aunt Dilsey, stopping from her work and wiping the drops
of perspiration from her shining forehead. "Do tell! It feels drefful
sleek on me, but my old man Claib says it’s too tight."
"Not an atom too tight," answered Rondeau, at the same time getting nearer
and nearer to Leffie, and laying his hand on her shoulder.
Before she was aware of his intention, he stole the kiss he was seeking
for. Leffie rewarded him by spitting in his face, while Aunt Dilsey called
out, "Ain’t you ’shamed to act so, Leffie? Don’t make a fool of yourself!"
Assured by this speech, Rondeau turned, and kissing Aunt Dilsey herself,
was off just in time to escape a basin of hot suds which that
highly-scandalized lady hurled after him.
"I’ll tell marster this minute," said she, "and see if he hain’t got
nothin’ to set the lazy lout a-doin’." So saying, the old lady waddled
into the house, and going upstairs, knocked at Dr. Lacey’s door.
"Come in," said the doctor, and Aunt Dilsey entered. In a very sad tone,
she commenced telling how "that ’tarnal Rondeau was raising Cain in the
kitchen. He’s kissed Leffie, and me too!"
"Kissed you, has he?" said Dr. Lacey.
"Yes, sar, he done that ar very thing, spang on the mouth," said Dilsey.
"Well, Dilsey," said the doctor with a roguish twinkle of the eye, "don’t
you think he ought to be paid?"
Aunt Dilsey began to cry, and said, "I never thought that marster would
laugh at old Aunt Dilsey."
"Neither will I," said the doctor. Then tossing her a picayune, he said,
"take that, Aunt Dilsey. I reckon it will pay for the kiss. I’ll see that
Rondeau does not repeat his offense, on you at least."
Aunt Dilsey went back to the kitchen, thinking that "Marster George was
the funniest and best marster on earth."
While Rondeau was carrying on his flirtation in the kitchen, Dr. Lacey was
differently employed. Hope deferred had well nigh made his heart sick.
"What can be the reason," thought he, "that Fanny does not write? I have
written repeatedly for the last two months and have had no answer." Then
as a new idea struck him, he added, "Yes, I’ll write to Mr. Miller, and
ask him what has happened." Suiting the action to the word, he drew up his
writing desk, and in a short time a letter was written and directed to Mr.
Miller.
He arose to summon Rondeau to take it to the office; but ere he had
touched the bell rope, pride whispered, "Don’t send that letter; don’t let
Mr. Miller into your private affairs. If Fanny were sick, some one would
write to you."
So the bell was not rung, and during the next half-hour Dr. Lacey amused
himself by mechanically tearing it into small fragments. Ah, Dr. Lacey,
’twas a sorry moment when you listened to the whispering of that pride!
Had that letter been sent, it would have saved you many sleepless nights
of sorrow. But it was not to be.
That night there was to be a large party at the house of Mr. Mortimer,
whom Leffie had mentioned as second to the Laceys in wealth. Mr. Mortimer
was the uncle at whose house Florence Woodburn was visiting, and the party
was given in honor of her arrival, and partly to celebrate Mabel
Mortimer’s birthday. Mabel was an intelligent, accomplished girl, and
besides being something of a beauty, was the heiress expectant of several
hundred thousand. This constituted her quite a belle, and for three or
four years past she and Dr. Lacey had been given to each other by the
clever gossips of New Orleans. Mr. Lacey senior was also rather anxious
that his son should marry Mabel; so Julia was not far out of the way when
she wrote to Fanny that Dr. Lacey’s parents wished to secure a match
between him and a New Orleans belle. Had Dr. Lacey never seen Fanny, he
possibly might have wedded Mabel. But his was a heart which could love but
once, and although the object of his love should prove untrue, his
affections could not easily be transferred to another; so that it was all
in vain that Mabel Mortimer, on the evening of the party, stood before her
mirror arranging and rearranging the long curls of her dark hair and the
folds of her rich white satin, wondering all the while if Dr. Lacey would
approve her style of dress.
Turning to Florence, she said, "Cousin, did you see Dr. Lacey while he was
in Frankfort?"
"No; I did not," answered Florence; "but I do hope he will be here
tonight, for I am all impatient to see this lion who has turned all your
heads."
A slight shade of displeasure passed over Mabel’s fine features, but
quickly casting it off she said, "Why are you so anxious, Florence? Have
you any designs on him? If you have, they will do you no good, for I have
a prior claim, and you must not interfere."
"Dear me, how charmingly you look!" said Florence. "But, fair coz, do not
be too sanguine. Suppose I should tell you that far off in old Kentuck, as
the negroes say, there is a golden-haired little girl, who has—"
"Stop, stop," said Mabel. "You shall not tell me. I will not hear it."
At that instant the doorbell rang, and in a moment several young girls
entered the dressing room, and in the chattering and laughing and fixing
which followed, Mabel forgot what her cousin had been saying. After a time
the young ladies descended to the spacious drawing rooms, which were
rapidly filling with the elite of the city.
Mabel’s eye took in at a glance all the gentlemen, and she felt chagrined
to find Dr. Lacey absent. "What if he should not come?" thought she. "The
party would be a dreadfully dull affair to me." Some time after, she
missed Florence and two or three other girls, and thinking they were in
the parlor above, she went in search of them. She found them on the
balcony not far from the gentlemen’s dressing room, the windows of which
were open. As she approached them, they called out, "Oh, here you are,
Mabel! Florence is just going to tell us about Dr. Lacey’s sweetheart."
"Dr. Lacey’s sweetheart!" repeated Mabel. "Who is Dr. Lacey’s sweetheart,
pray?"
"Do not blush so, Mabel; we do not mean you," said Lida Gibson, a
bright-eyed, witty girl, with a sprinkling of malice in her nature.
"Of course you do not mean me," said Mabel, laughingly. "But come, cousin;
what of her?" And the young girls drew nearer to each other, and waited
anxiously for Florence’s story.
Little did they suspect that another individual, with flushed brow,
compressed lip and beating heart was listening to hear tidings of her whom
Florence had designated as his sweetheart. Dr. Lacey had entered the
gentlemen’s dressing room unobserved. He heard the sound of merry voices
on the balcony, and was about to step out and surprise the girls when he
caught the sound of his own name coupled with that of Fanny Middleton. His
curiosity was aroused and he became a listener to the following
conversation:
"Come, Florence," said Lida, "do not keep us in suspense any longer. Tell
us whether she is black or white, fat or lean, rich or poor."
"But first," said Mabel, "tell us how you know she is anything to Dr.
Lacey."
"That is what I don’t know," said Florence. "I am only speaking of what
has been."
"Well, then," said Mabel, more gayly, "go on,"
"This Fanny Middleton," said Florence, "looks just as you would imagine a
bright angel to look."
How Dr. Lacey blessed her for these words.
"But," continued Florence, "there is a singularly sad expression on her
marble face."
"I never observed it," thought Dr. Lacey.
"What makes her sad?" asked Lida.
"That is a mystery to me," answered Florence. "Report says that she loved
a Mr. Wilmot, who was engaged to her sister."
"Engaged to her sister!" repeated Mabel. "How strange! But won’t it make
trouble?"
"It cannot," said Florence. "Mr. Wilmot is dead, and it is whispered that
Fanny’s heart was buried with him. I should not be surprised if it were
so, for Fanny has the saddest face I ever saw. It made me want to cry when
I looked at her. I should have pitied her more, however, had she not been
so well cared for by a Mr. Stanton, of New York."
Large drops of perspiration stood thickly on Dr. Lacey’s forehead, and his
hands, convulsively clasped, were pressed against his heart; still he did
not lose a syllable as Florence continued, "I did not blame her for liking
Stanton, for he would break half your hearts and turn the rest of you
crazy."
"But the sister," asked all the young ladies, "how was she affected to
think Fanny loved her betrothed?"
"Oh, that sister!" said Florence. "You ought to see her! She is beautiful
beyond anything I can describe. She eclipsed everything and everybody."
"And she is as agreeable as handsome?" asked Mabel, whose fears were
aroused that Julia might be the rival, instead of Fanny.
Florence replied, "I was told that she was formerly very passionate, so
much so that her father nicknamed her Tempest. Within a few months she has
entirely changed, and is now very amiable; but I like Fanny’s looks the
best."
"But Dr. Lacey—what had he to do with Fanny?" asked Lida.
"It was said they were engaged; but I do not think they are. In fact, I
know they are not, from what Fanny said herself; for she assured me that
Dr. Lacey was nothing to her more than a common acquaintance; and the sad
but sweet smile which broke over her face whenever she raised, her soft
blue eyes to Stanton’s animated countenance confirmed what she said."
"So, Mabel, you can have the doctor after all," said Lida. "You know you
used to say that it was all settled, for your parents and his had arranged
it."
Dr. Lacey waited for no more. He knew of a back stairway down which he
could escape into the open air unobserved. In a moment he stood alone in
Mr. Mortimer’s garden, but the evening breeze, although it cooled his
brow, failed to calm his excited feelings. Suddenly it occurred to him
that his absence from Mr. Mortimer’s would excite attention in those who
saw him enter, so he made a desperate effort to be calm, and retracing his
steps, was soon in the drawing room with Mabel Mortimer on his arm, much
to that young lady’s satisfaction.
As they passed near a group of girls, in the center of which stood
Florence Woodburn, Mabel suddenly said, "Oh, Dr. Lacey, let me introduce
you to cousin Florence. She has just come from Frankfort and knows some of
your acquaintances there."
So saying, she drew him toward Florence, who had all the evening been
waiting for an introduction to him. Dr. Lacey rather wished to avoid
making Florence’s acquaintance, fearing that she might say something to
him of Fanny. But there was no escape, and he greeted Florence with a
smile and a bow, which, to use her own words, "nearly drove every idea
from her head."
Once during the evening he found himself standing with Florence, alone,
near an open window. Florence improved her opportunity, and raising her
bewitching hazel eyes to the doctor’s face, said, "Why do you not ask me
about your Kentucky friends, Dr. Lacey?"
Had Florence observed her companion closely, she would have noticed the
pallor which for an instant overspread his face. It passed away, and he
replied with an assumed gayety, "How should I know that we have any
acquaintances in common in Frankfort?"
Before Florence had time to reply, Mabel joined them. She was unwilling to
risk a tete-a-tete between the doctor and her fascinating cousin, and as
soon as she found them standing alone she went up to them. Her example was
followed by several other young ladies, among whom was Lida Gibson, who
began by saying, "Doctor, do you know that Miss Florence has told us all
about your love affairs, and also described the Golden Fairy? Now, why
didn’t you fall in love with her sister? Florence says she is far more
beautiful."
Dr. Lacey answered calmly, "What reason has Miss Woodburn to think I am in
love with either."
"No reason," said Mabel, quickly; "neither does she think you are in love
with her either."
"Dear me," said Lida. "Of course you do not wish me to think so, and we
all know why; but never mind frowning so dreadfully, Mabel; I won’t tell!"
and the mischievous girl glided away, laughing to think that she had
succeeded so well in teasing Mabel Mortimer.
After a moment, Dr. Lacey turned to Florence and said "It seems you saw
Julia Middleton. Do you not think her very handsome?"
"Yes, very," answered Florence; "but I liked Fanny’s looks the best."
A pang shot through Dr. Lacey’s heart at the mention of Fanny’s name, but
he continued to inquire concerning his friends in Kentucky. Before the
party closed, Florence, Mabel and Lida had each managed to repeat to him
all the conversation which he had overheard in the first part of the
evening, never once thinking how desolate was the heart which beat beneath
the calm manner and gay laugh of him who listened to their thoughtless
raillery.
At length the party drew to a close. Dr. Lacey was among the first that
left. He longed to be alone with his troubled thoughts. Mechanically
bidding Mabel "Good night," he ran down the marble steps, and stepping
into his carriage, ordered Claib, the coachman, to drive home as soon as
possible. There was no particular necessity for this command, for Claib
had been fretting for the last hour about "White folks settin’ up all
night and keepin’ niggers awake. Darned if he didn’t run the horses home
like Satan, and sleep over next day, too."
With such a driver the horses sped swiftly over the smooth road and in a
very few minutes Dr. Lacey was at home, alone in his room. Then the full
tide of his sorrow burst forth. He did not weep. He would scorn to do
that. But could one have seen him as he hurriedly paced the apartment, he
would have said, his was a sorrow which could not vent itself in tears.
Occasionally he would whisper to himself, "My Fanny false!—she whom I
believed so truthful, so loving, so innocent! And she loves another—one,
too, whom it were almost a sin to love. Fool, that I did not see it
before, for what but love could have drawn such devotion to him on his
deathbed? And yet she assured me that I was the first, the only one, she
had ever loved; and I believed it, and gave her the entire affection of my
heart."
Then came a reaction. Resentment toward Fanny for thus deceiving him
mingling with his grief. But he had loved her too deeply, too truly, to
cherish an unkind feeling toward her long. Throwing himself upon the sofa,
and burying his face in his hands, he went back in fancy through all the
many happy hours he had spent in her society. While doing this sleep
descended upon him and in his dreams he saw again his darling Fanny, not
false and faithless as he had feared, but arrayed in a spotless bridal
robe. She stood by his side as his own wedded wife. Was that dream ever
realized? We shall see.