Thus it came about that, five days later, arrived at Bellegarde Mr. John
Bulmer, kinsman and accredited emissary of the great Duke of Ormskirk.
He brought with him and in due course delivered a casket of jewels and a
letter from the Duke to his betrothed. The diamonds were magnificent, and
the letter was a paragon of polite ardors.
Mr. Bulmer found the château in charge of a distant cousin to de Puysange,
the Marquis de Soyecourt; with whom were the Duchess, a gentle and
beautiful lady, her two children, and the Demoiselle Claire. The Duke
himself was still at Marly, with most of his people, but at Bellegarde
momentarily they looked for his return. Meanwhile de Soyecourt, an
exquisite and sociable and immoral young gentleman of forty-one, was
lonely, and protested that any civilized company was, in the oafish
provinces, a charity of celestial pre-arrangement. He would not hear of Mr.
Bulmer's leaving Bellegarde; and after a little protestation the latter
proved persuadable.
"Mr. Bulmer," the Duke's letter of introduction informed the Marquis, "is
my kinsman and may be regarded as discreet. The evanishment of his tiny
patrimony, spirited away some years ago by divers over-friendly ladies,
hath taught the man humility, and procured for me the privilege of paying
for his support: but I find him more valuable than his cost. He is
tolerably honest, not too often tipsy, makes an excellent salad, and will
convey a letter or hold a door with fidelity and despatch. Employ his
services, monsieur, if you have need of them; I place him at your command."
In fine, they at Bellegarde judged Mr. Bulmer to rank somewhere between
lackeyship and gentility, and treated him in accordance. It was an age of
parasitism, and John Bulmer, if a parasite, was the Phormio of a very great
man: when his patron expressed a desire Mr. Bulmer fulfilled it without
boggling over inconvenient scruples, perhaps; and there was the worst that
could with equity be said of him. An impoverished gentleman must live
somehow, and, deuce take it! there must be rather pretty pickings among
the broken meats of an Ormskirk. To this effect de Soyecourt moralized one
evening as the two sat over their wine.
John Bulmer candidly assented. "I live as best I may," he said. "In a word
'I am his Highness' dog at Kew--' But mark you, I do not complete the
quotation, monsieur."
"Which ends, as I remember it, 'I pray you, sir, whose dog are you?' Well,
Mr. Bulmer, each of us wards his own kennel somewhere, whether it be in
a king's court or in a woman's heart, and it is necessary that he pay
the rent of it in such coin as the owner may demand. Beggars cannot be
choosers, Mr. Bulmer." The Marquis went away moodily, and John Bulmer
poured out another glass.
"Were I Gaston, you would not kennel here, my friend. The Duchess has too
many claims to be admired,--for undoubtedly people do go about unchained
who can admire a blonde,--and always your eyes follow her. I noticed it a
week ago."
And during this week Mr. Bulmer had seen a deal of Claire de Puysange, with
results that you will presently ascertain. It was natural she should desire
to learn something of the man she was so soon to marry, and of whose
personality she was so ignorant; she had not even seen a picture of him, by
example. Was he handsome?
John Bulmer believed him rather remarkably handsome, when you considered
how frequently his love-affairs had left disastrous souvenirs: yes, for a
man in middle life so often patched up by quack doctors, Ormskirk looked
wholesome enough, said Mr. Bulmer. He may have had his occult purposes,
this poor cousin, but of Ormskirk he undoubtedly spoke with engaging
candor. Here was no parasite cringingly praising his patron to the
skies. The Duke's career was touched on, with its grimy passages no whit
extenuated: before Dettingen Cousin Ormskirk had, it must be confessed,
taken a bribe from de Noailles, and in return had seen to it that the
English did not follow up their empty victory; and 'twas well known
Ormskirk got his dukedom through the Countess of Yarmouth, to whom the
King could deny nothing. What were the Duke's relations with this liberal
lady?--a shrug rendered Mr. Bulmer's avowal of ignorance tolerably
explicit. Then, too, Mr. Bulmer readily conceded, the Duke's atrocities
after Culloden were somewhat over-notorious for denial: all the prisoners
were shot out-of-hand; seventy-two of them were driven into an inn-yard
and massacred _en masse_. Yes, there were women among them, but not over
a half-dozen children, at most. Mademoiselle was not to class his noble
patron with Herod, understand,--only a few brats of no importance.
In fine, he told her all the highly colored tales that envy and malice and
ignorance had been able to concoct concerning the great Duke. Many of them
John Bulmer knew to be false; nevertheless, he had a large mythology to
choose from, he picked his instances with care, he narrated them with gusto
and discretion,--and in the end he got his reward.
For the girl rose, flame-faced, and burlesqued a courtesy in his direction.
"Monsieur Bulmer, I make you my compliments. You have very fully explained
what manner of man is this to whom my brother has sold me."
"And wherefore do you accord me this sudden adulation?" said John Bulmer.
"Because in France we have learned that lackeys are always powerful. Le Bel
is here omnipotent, Monsieur Bulmer; but he is lackey to a satyr only; and
therefore, I felicitate you, monsieur, who are lackey to a fiend."
John Bulmer looked rather grave. "Civility is an inexpensive wear,
mademoiselle, but it becomes everybody."
"Lackey!" she flung over her shoulder, as she left him.
John Bulmer began to whistle an air then popular across the Channel. Later
his melody was stilled.
"'Beautiful as an angel, and headstrong as a devil!'" said John Bulmer.
"You have an eye, Gaston!"