_PROEM:--More Properly an Apologue, and Treats of the Fallibility of Soap_
The Duke of Ormskirk left Halvergate on the following day, after
participation in two dialogues, which I abridge.
Said the Duke to Lord Humphrey Degge:
"You have been favored, sir, vastly beyond your deserts. I acquiesce, since
Fate is proverbially a lady, and to dissent were in consequence ungallant.
Shortly I shall find you more employment, at Dover, whither I am now going
to gull my old opponent and dear friend, Gaston de Puysange, in the matter
of this new compact between France and England. I shall look for you at
Dover, then, in three days' time."
"And in vain, my Lord Duke," said the other.
Now Ormskirk raised one eyebrow, after a fashion that he had.
"Because I love Marian," said Lord Humphrey, "and because I mean to be less
unworthy of Marian than I have been heretofore. So that I can no longer be
your spy. Besides, in nature I lack aptitude for the trade. Eh, my Lord
Duke, have you already forgotten how I bungled the affair of Captain
Audaine and his associates?"
"But that was a maiden effort. And as I find--at alas! the cost of
decrepitude,--the one thing life teaches us is that many truisms are true.
'Practice makes perfect' is one of them. And faith, when you come to my
age, Lord Humphrey, you will not grumble at having to soil your hands
occasionally in the cause of common-sense."
The younger man shook his head. "A week ago you would have found me
amenable enough to reason, since I was then a sensible person, and to be of
service to his Grace of Ormskirk was very sensible,--just as to marry Miss
Allonby, the young and beautiful heiress, was then the course pre-eminently
sensible. All the while I loved Marian, you understand. But I clung to
common-sense. Desperately I clung to common-sense. And yet--" He flung out
his hands.
"Yes, there is by ordinary some plaguy _yet_," the Duke interpolated.
"There is," cried Lord Humphrey Degge, "the swift and heart-grappling
recollection of the woman you gave up in the cause of common-sense,--roused
by some melody she liked, or some shade of color she was wont to wear, or
by hearing from other lips some turn of speech to which she was addicted.
My Lord Duke, that memory wakes on a sudden and clutches you by the throat,
and it chokes you. And one swears that common-sense--"
"One swears that common-sense may go to the devil," said his Grace of
Ormskirk, "whence I don't say it didn't emanate! And one swears that, after
all, there is excellent stuff in you! Your idiotic conduct, sir, makes me
far happier than you know!"
After some ten paces he turned, with a smile. "In the matter of soiling
one's hands--Personally I prefer them clean, sir, and particularly in the
case of Marian's husband. Had it been I, he must have stuck to prosaic
soap; with you in the rôle there is a difference. Faith, Lord Humphrey,
there is a decided difference, and if you be other than a monster of
depravity you will henceforth, I think, preserve your hands immaculate."
To Marian the Duke said a vast number of things, prompted by a complaisant
thrill over the fact that, in view of the circumstances, his magnanimity
must to the unprejudiced appear profuse and his behavior tolerably heroic.
"These are very absurd phrases," Marian considered, "since you will
never love anyone, I think--however much you may admire the color of her
eyes,--one-quarter so earnestly as you will always marvel at John Bulmer.
Or perhaps you have only to wait a little, Jack, till in her time and
season the elect woman shall come to you, just as she comes to all
men,--and then, for once in your existence, you will be sincere."
"I go, provisionally, to seek this paragon at Dover," said his Grace of
Ormskirk, and he lifted her fingers toward his smiling lips; "but I shall
bear in mind, my dear, even in Dover, that sincerity is a devilishly
expensive virtue."
I
It was on the thirteenth day of April that they signed the Second Treaty of
Dover, which not only confirmed its predecessor of Aix-la-Chapelle, but in
addition, with the brevity of lightning, demolished the last Stuarts' hope
of any further aid from France. And the French ambassador subscribed the
terms with a chuckle.
"For on this occasion, Jean," he observed, as he pushed the paper from him,
"I think that honors are fairly even. You obtain peace at home, and in
India we obtain assistance for Dupleix; good, the benefit is quite mutual;
and accordingly, my friend, I must still owe you one requiting for that
Bavarian business."
Ormskirk was silent until he had the churchwarden which he had just ignited
aglow. "That was the evening I had you robbed and beaten by footpads, was
it not? Faith, Gaston, I think you should rather be obliged to me, since it
taught you never to carry important papers in your pocket when you go about
your affairs of gallantry."
"That beating with great sticks," the Duc de Puysange considered, "was the
height of unnecessity."
And the Duke of Ormskirk shrugged. "A mere touch of verisimilitude, Gaston;
footpads invariably beat their victims. Besides, you had attempted to
murder me at Aix, you may remember."
De Puysange was horrified. "My dear friend, when I set Villaneuve upon you
it was with express orders only to run you through the shoulder. Figure to
yourself: that abominable St. Severin had bribed your _chef_ to feed you
powdered glass in a ragout! But I dissented. 'Jean and I have been the
dearest enemies these ten years past,' I said. 'At every Court in Europe
we have lied to each other. If you kill him I shall beyond doubt presently
perish of ennui.' So, that France might escape a blow so crushing as the
loss of my services, St. Severin consented to disable you."
"Believe me, I appreciate your intervention," Ormskirk stated, with his
usual sleepy smile; before this he had found amusement in the naïveté of
his friend's self-approbation.
"Not so! Rather you are a monument of ingratitude," the other complained.
"You conceive, Villaneuve was in price exorbitant. I snap my fingers.
'For a comrade so dear,' I remark, 'I gladly employ the most expensive of
assassins.' Yet before the face of such magnanimity you grumble." The Duc
de Puysange spread out his shapely hands. "I murder you! My adored Jean, I
had as lief make love to my wife."
Ormskirk struck his finger-tips upon the table. "Faith, I knew there was
something I intended to ask of you, I want you to get me a wife."
"In fact," de Puysange observed, "warfare being now at an end, it is only
natural that you should resort to matrimony. I can assure you it is an
admirable substitute. But who is the lucky Miss, my little villain?"
"Why, that is for you to settle," Ormskirk said. "I had hoped you might
know of some suitable person."
"_Ma foi_, my friend, if I were arbiter and any wife would suit you, I
would cordially desire you to take mine, for when a woman so incessantly
resembles an angel in conduct, her husband inevitably desires to see her
one in reality."
"You misinterpret me, Gaston. This is not a jest. I had always intended
to marry as soon as I could spare the time, and now that this treaty is
disposed of, my opportunity has beyond doubt arrived. I am practically at
leisure until the autumn. At latest, though, I must marry by August,
in order to get the honeymoon off my hands before the convocation of
Parliament. For there will have to be a honeymoon, I suppose."
"It is customary," de Puysange said. He appeared to deliberate something
entirely alien to this reply, however, and now sat silent for a matter
of four seconds, his countenance profoundly grave. He was a hideous man,
[Footnote: For a consideration of the vexed and delicate question whether
or no Gaston de Puysange was grandson to King Charles the Second of
England, the reader is referred to the third chapter of La Vrillière's _De
Puysange et son temps_. The Duke's resemblance in person to that monarch
was undeniable.] with black beetling eyebrows, an enormous nose, and an
under-lip excessively full; his face had all the calculated ill-proportion
of a gargoyle, an ugliness so consummate and merry that in ultimate effect
it captivated.
At last de Puysange began: "I think I follow you. It is quite proper that
you should marry. It is quite proper that a man who has done so much for
England should leave descendants to perpetuate his name, and with perhaps
some portion of his ability--no, Jean, I do not flatter,--serve the England
which is to his heart so dear. As a Frenchman I cannot but deplore that our
next generation may have to face another Ormskirk; as your friend who loves
you I say that this marriage will appropriately round a successful and
honorable and intelligent life. Eh, we are only men, you and I, and it is
advisable that all men should marry, since otherwise they might be so happy
in this colorful world that getting to heaven would not particularly tempt
them. Thus is matrimony a bulwark of religion."
"You are growing scurrilous," Ormskirk complained, "whereas I am in perfect
earnest."
"I, too, speak to the foot of the letter, Jean, as you will soon learn. I
comprehend that you cannot with agreeability marry an Englishwoman. You are
too much the personage. Possessing, as you notoriously possess, your pick
among the women of gentle degree--for none of them would her guardians nor
her good taste permit to refuse the great Duke of Ormskirk,--any choice
must therefore be a too robustious affrontment to all the others. If you
select a Howard, the Skirlaws have pepper in the nose; if a Beaufort, you
lose Umfraville's support,--and so on. Hey, I know, my dear Jean; your
affair with the Earl of Brudenel's daughter cost you seven seats in
Parliament, you may remember. How am I aware of this?--why, because I
habitually have your mail intercepted. You intercept mine, do you not?
Naturally; you would be a very gross and intolerable scion of the pig if
you did otherwise. _Eh bien_, let us get on. You might, of course, play
King Cophetua, but I doubt if it would amuse you, since Penelophons are
rare; it follows in logic that your wife must come from abroad. And whence?
Without question, from France, the land of adorable women. The thing is
plainly demonstrated; and in France, my dear, I have to an eyelash the
proper person for you."
"Then we may consider the affair as settled," Ormskirk replied, "and should
you arrange to have the marriage take place upon the first of August,--if
possible, a trifle earlier,--I would be trebly your debtor."
De Puysange retorted: "Beyond doubt I can adjust these matters. And yet,
my dear Jean, I must submit that it is not quite the act of a gentleman to
plunge into matrimony without even inquiring as to the dowry of your future
bride."
"It is true," said Ormskirk, with a grimace; "I had not thought of her
portion. You must remember my attention is at present pre-empted by that
idiotic Ferrers business. How much am I to marry, then, Gaston?"
"I had in mind," said the other, "my sister, the Demoiselle Claire de
Puysange,--"
It was a day of courtesy when the minor graces were paramount. Ormskirk
rose and accorded de Puysange a salutation fitted to an emperor. "I entreat
your pardon, sir, for any _gaucherie_ of which I may have been guilty, and
desire to extend to you my appreciation of the honor you have done me."
"It is sufficient, monsieur," de Puysange replied. And the two gravely
bowed again.
Then the Frenchman resumed, in conversational tones: "I have but one
unmarried sister,--already nineteen, beautiful as an angel (in the eyes, at
least, of fraternal affection), and undoubtedly as headstrong as any devil
at present stoking the eternal fires below. You can conceive that the
disposal of such a person is a delicate matter. In Poictesme there is
no suitable match, and upon the other hand I grievously apprehend her
presentation at our Court, where, as Arouet de Voltaire once observed to
me, the men are lured into matrimony by the memories of their past sins,
and the women by the immunity it promises for future ones. In England,
where custom will permit a woman to be both handsome and chaste, I estimate
she would be admirably ranged. Accordingly, my dear Jean, behold a fact
accomplished. And now let us embrace, my brother!"
This was done. The next day they settled the matter of dowry, jointure, the
widow's portion, and so on, and de Puysange returned to render his report
at Marly. The wedding had been fixed by the Frenchman for St. Anne's day,
and by Ormskirk, as an uncompromising churchman, for the twenty-sixth of
the following July.