A PARSON TREADS THE PRIMROSE PATH IN PARIS.
"Bel homme!" exclaimed the Marquise de Fleury admiringly.
"_Belle femme!_" echoed the hussar sadly.
"Be everything that is charming, Adolphe, I conjure you. So much depends
upon Natalie's disposition."
From which brief conversation, which took place as the speakers left the
hotel where the Leonard Claghorns were established, it may be correctly
inferred that a friendly reception had been accorded the newly married
pair by the French relatives of the bride. The noble lady, doubtless,
felt all the affection for her former ward that she had, during the
visit, so eloquently expressed, so that inclination prescribed the same
course that policy would have indicated. The Marquise was still the
custodian of property belonging to Natalie, and settlement of accounts
could be much better adjusted in a spirit of indulgent friendship than
in the cold and calculating spirit of business; and though Natalie and
her dowry were gone forever, in that distant land whence she had
returned with a husband, there were golden maids languishing for
Marquises. "These Yankees," she observed to her son, "they sell their
souls for money--the men; the women sell their bodies, and such soul as
goes with them, for titles. Are you not a Marquis, of the _ancien
regime_? It behooves us, my child, to be gracious to this wedded priest;
he may know of a _partie_."
"I am so, mama. _Du reste_, he is _beau garcon_, and seems amiable and
amusing."
"Cultivate him, my infant; a voyage to America may be your destiny. It
is a rich family--fabulous. There may be maids in plenty among these
Claghorns."
The two young men, except for the pacific disposition of their
womankind, might have been inclined to regard one another askance. For,
in the person of the possessor of Natalie and her dowry the brave hussar
saw one who however innocently, was still the ravisher of his rights;
while in this being, in all the glory of fur and feather, sabretache and
jangling sword, boots and buttons, braid and golden stripes, with a
pervading tone of red and blue, Leonard beheld a startling and, at
first, unpleasing creation. But the lieutenant, admonished by his mama,
and sensible of the interests at stake, and genial by nature, thawed
almost immediately, and the boulevardier and the theologian were
friends.
To the young Frenchman a Protestant theologian was a philosopher, rather
than a priest under vows, hence a person of liberal views and probably
of lax conduct. As toward a newly married man, and warned incessantly by
the Marquise, he recognized that etiquette required that from him no
invitation to dissipation should emanate, but that his attitude ought to
be that of willingness to pilot the stranger whithersoever he might wish
to go; occasionally pointing out that paths of pleasantness were open to
such as might choose to wander in them. And though Leonard displayed no
undue disposition to such wanderings, an intimacy resulted which was not
in fact, though seemingly, incongruous.
"What is he like, this beautiful heretic?" asked the Marquise.
"Like a Greek god, as you see, mama."
"But otherwise; he is a priest, you know?"
"And, like other priests, with an eye for a pretty woman."
"But discreet, Adolphe? I hope he is discreet."
"As St. Anthony! Natalie may be easy."
"Be you equally discreet, my child. She has been most generous; and,
remember, Adolphe----"
"Yes, mama. What am I to remember?"
"That when a woman marries a man for his beauty, it is not love; it is
infatuation. Do not permit this Leonarr to go astray; he has
proclivities."
The little hussar laughed. "You are sharp-eyed, mamma."
"Had you watched him before the painting of Eve--but enough. Do nothing
to cause disquiet to Natalie."
The little man, thus admonished, promised to carefully observe her
wishes; the more readily as he was aware how important the friendship of
Natalie was to his mama (in view of the pending adjustment of accounts).
The more he studied Leonard, the more amusing he found him. To "do"
Paris (not, indeed, to the extent of the capacity of that capital) in
company with a priest, was, in itself, a piquant experience. "It is like
demonstrating to your director how easy it is to sin," he declared; "and
_ce bon Leonarr_, he imposes no penance. _Tiens!_ These others, these
Protestants, they have it easy."
"He does not essay to pervert," observed the Marquise in some alarm.
"Be not uneasy. Would I be of a religion whose priests marry? Think of
the wife of my confessor knowing all my peccadillos!"
"Forgive me. My anxiety was but momentary----"
"Meanwhile, let me help this _pauvre garcon_, whose eyes have, since
infancy, been bandaged, to see a little bit of the world. It is
delightful to note his delight."
"But with discretion, Adolphe."
"Do I not assure you he is an anchorite. You have yourself observed that
he drinks no wine."
"A penance, doubtless. Pere Martin is also abstemious."
"As to _ordinaire_. In the presence of a flask of Leoville, I have noted
a layman's thirst in _ce bon pere_."
"Do not ridicule Pere Martin, my infant. _Du reste_, it is not wine that
I fear in the case of this beautiful Leonarr. Continue to be his
guardian angel, my son."
Under this guardianship Leonard looked at Paris, enjoying his free
sojourn in a great and brilliant city with hearty, but, on the whole,
innocent fervor. The sunny skies, the genial good-humor, the eating and
drinking, the frequent music, the lights, the dapper men, the
bright-eyed women, the universal alertness--these impart a pleasant
tingle to Puritan blood; and, if the novice to these delights be young,
rosy, handsome, of exuberant health, and inclined to the pleasures
befitting such conditions, he finds Paris grateful to the taste. In
this congenial atmosphere Leonard basked in guileless rapture. A drive
in the Bois with Natalie and the Marquise, brilliant equipages dashing
by, brilliant eyes flashing as they passed, was a rare delight; a stroll
on the Boulevard was even more enjoyable, for here were more flashing
eyes and smiling faces, less fleeting, and often coquettishly inviting
an answering glance. Clothed in the results of the meditations of de
Fleury's tailor, it became Leonard's frequent habit to haunt the
Boulevards, indulging in a strut that would have astonished Hampton; and
often was he inclined to envy the Marquis that lot which had made his
abiding place among these joys. It would have been fine to be a soldier,
fine to fight and win glory; to wear boots and spurs and a clanking
sword, and to trail the same along the pavement as one to the manner
born!
Of course, that was a day-dream, which he laughed at as easily as an
older man might have done, though less scornfully. There was no great
harm in day-dreams, however foolish. This whole existence had the
character of a pleasant dream. Had he not felt it so, he often mentally
averred, he would have accepted it more gravely.
"But it will soon be over," he said to Natalie. "It is my first holiday
since I was a boy."
"Enjoy it all you can. I am glad that Adolphe has been able to make your
stay pleasant."
"Really, a very amiable little fellow. French, you know, and rather lax
in his views, I fear; but----"
"His views will not harm you," interrupted Natalie, smiling.
"Certainly not," he replied, a little stiffly. "It would be strange if I
could not take care of myself. Meanwhile, M. de Fleury is really of
great advantage to me in one respect."
"And that is?"
"I am improving wonderfully in French. That's a good thing, Natalie, a
very good thing." He was quite solemn on this point.
"An excellent thing," she replied, somewhat surprised at the gravity
with which he treated a matter of no great importance. "I wish, Leonard,
that my affairs were concluded. I am sure you are being kept here
against your wish."
"Whatever my wish, your affairs ought to come first. Let us be content
that, if they do drag, I can employ the time in self-improvement."
Thus, in the praiseworthy pursuit of improvement Leonard spent much of
his time. He was by no means neglectful of his wife, whose attendance,
with the Marquise, was much in demand in official bureaus, and who
encouraged his intimacy with the lieutenant, whom she no longer found
unendurable, and whose amiable and forgiving conduct had won her heart.
"They are not rich, you know," she said. "Entertain the little man all
you can; the Marquise was very kind to me." An injunction which afforded
another reason why it was incumbent on Leonard to procure the Marquis
the distractions that he loved, in so far as purse and principle
permitted, and these were found elastic.
Because, as he was forced to admit when arguing with the Marquis, a
reasonable elasticity is not only proper, but essential to culture.
"_Mon bon_," observed the lieutenant, "the view you advance is narrow.
The ballet, as a favorite spectacle of the people, should be studied by
every student of morals. You, as a preacher----"
Leonard laughed. "I'm not a preacher; I'm an instructor in a college of
divinity."
"_Eh bien!_ The greater reason. How shall one teach the good, knowing
not the evil? _Du reste_, are they evil, _ces belles jambes_ of Coralie?
They are fine creations, of pure nature; there is no padding."
"You will be my guest, if we go?"
"Since you insist; also to a _petit souper, a parti carre_, with Aimee
and Louise. Coralie! _Sapristi_, no! Her maw is insatiable; the little
ones are easily pleased."
And so Leonard studied unpadded nature, even going alone a second, and
perhaps a third time. As to the _petit souper_, it had been decorous;
and beyond the fact that Mesdemoiselles Aimee and Louise were agreeable
ladies with excellent appetites, his knowledge of these damsels did not
extend.
Of course, there were pursuits of a different character to engage his
attention, and those which occurred under the guidance of the lieutenant
were exceptional. There were the usual sights to be seen; galleries,
monuments, churches, all to be wondered at, criticised and admired.
Leonard approved generally, though, as to the churches, their tawdry
interiors and the character of their embellishments offended his taste,
as well as his religious sentiments. If, during these distractions, he
was neglectful of the religious instruction which he knew his wife
needed, circumstances were, to some extent, at fault. He could hardly
expound doctrinal truths in a picture gallery, much less in a temple of
Roman error. And, though not without qualms, he admitted to himself that
he had little desire to discuss religion. There was, perhaps, no heinous
sin in looking at the leg-gyrations of Mademoiselle Coralie, nor was
Leonard the first wandering clergyman to embrace an offered opportunity
to study ethics from the standpoint of that rigid moralist, the Marquis
de Fleury; nevertheless, such studies had their effect in cooling
religious fervor, and fervor is essential to him who would expound
truth, with a view to compel conviction.
Finally, as bearing on this question of the doctrinal instruction of his
wife, he doubted whether it was worth while. Knowledge of doctrine was
no adornment in women; there was Paula, whose pretensions in this regard
constituted almost her only defect. Since Natalie was probably saved,
why trouble himself and her with the exposition of mysteries which she
would be unable to comprehend, and concerning which the injunction was
laid that they be "handled with especial care." If she had heard the
call it would be effectual; if she had not been born to salvation, all
the doctrine which had been taught since the days of the fathers would
not--and here his self-communing stopped. Damnation, though inevitable,
is not an alluring subject of contemplation when it affects one's
family.
The complications attendant on Natalie's affairs prolonged the stay in
Paris far beyond the period originally contemplated; but French method
on one side of the Atlantic, and Mr. Winter on the other, were finally
satisfied, after much passing to and fro of documents. Everybody
interested was weary, and consular clerks had come to loathe the names
of Natalie, Eugenie, Louise, Susan Beverley de Fleury Claghorn-Claghorn,
_nee_ de Fleury-Claghorn. As Leonard said, to be enabled to give the
Marquise a receipt in full was a harder job than to negotiate a treaty.
But it was done at last; Natalie had been resolute and Mr. Winter had
protested in vain; the Marquise had her discharge and, relieved of many
terrors, was duly grateful. "She has been charming, truly considerate,"
she observed to her son. "Alas, Adolphe; it was a great loss."
"There are others," replied the Marquis philosophically.
"Heaven send it so. You must no longer delay speaking seriously to this
good Leonarr, who might have influenced his wife to be the ogress
desired by the abominable Winter. Urge him to look out for a _partie_ as
soon as he arrives in America. I will speak to Natalie. I have heard her
mention two demoiselles, Achsah and Tabitha."
"_Ciel!_ The appellations."
"But if the bearers are rich?"
"_Tiens!_ mama. Madame Zho and _la belle_ Paula are in London. I might
try there; it is not so far."
"But _ce gros_ Marc is with them. Paula is for him, as you know."
"He does not hurry himself, and truly I believe the little one would not
be averse to me."
"Better depend upon Monsieur Leonarr."
And as a result of his mama's advice the lieutenant did, on that
afternoon, broach the matter to Leonard, who, at first mystified, ended
by roaring with laughter when he grasped the fact that the head of the
House of de Fleury was making a provisional proposal for the hand and
fortune of either Mademoiselle Tabitha, or Mademoiselle Achsah, as
Leonard might advise.
"_Diable!_" exclaimed the gallant youth, when Leonard had explained the
cause of his hilarity, "over seventy and rich! What a country where such
opportunities are neglected! Decidedly I must make the voyage."
Leonard made no reply; the suggested picture of the noble Marquis as
his guest in Hampton was not precisely alluring.
"And so there is not a single demoiselle among the Claghorns that
desires a title?"
"Not one."
"Alas!" sighed the Marquis. "I was too magnanimous. You know _la belle_
Paula, of course. Listen, _mon ami_, but let your lips be sealed. _Elle
etait folle de moi!_"
"Paula! Crazy for you! You flatter----"
"_Parole d'honneur._ It was in her eyes, in the plaintive cadence of her
tones----"
"But----"
"I know--_ce polisson de Marc, toujours Marc_. Ah, the luck of this
Marc! He has a mine of gold; he will have the charming Paula. Only you,
_mon bon_, have beaten him. After all, it is for Marc and me to mingle
our tears."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Leonard sharply. "Why are you and Mark
to mingle your tears?"
"For the reason, _mon cher_, that we love to weep," replied the hussar,
with an odd glance at Leonard. "Adieu, I have an appointment," and he
turned abruptly down a side street, leaving Leonard astonished at his
quick retreat.
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, after a moment. "It's absurd!" Then he pursued
his way homeward.