COUNT ERNEST DE MONTMORENCY.
At eight o’clock Alphonso knocked at the door of Mr. Ingalls’ room. He
was got up with the utmost magnificence which he could command. With his
dress-coat, white tie, and imitation diamond pin, he made an imposing
appearance.
“I am glad to see you, Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Ingalls. “Count Ernest de
Montmorency, permit me to introduce my friend, Mr. Alphonso Jones.”
The count, a little man, with a waxed mustache of extraordinary size, a
long nose, and pale, watery eyes, rose, and bowed profoundly.
“I am most happy, Monsieur Jones, to have ze honor of making your
acquaintance,” he said.
“My lord count, the honor is on my side,” returned Alphonso, with an
elaborate bow, which he had learned in dancing-school.
“Mr. Jones,” said Ingalls, “will you take the chair next to the count?
Our distinguished friend is desirous of making some inquiries about
fashionable society in America.”
“I shall be most happy,” replied Alphonso, immensely flattered, “to give
the noble count any information in my power.”
“I understand from Monsieur Ingalls you do go much in society,” said the
count.
“A little, your lordship,” said Mr. Jones, modestly. “I am intimate in
some of our leading families.”
“You have some fine watering-places, _n’est ce pas_?”
“Yes, my lord count,—Newport, Saratoga, and Long Branch are all
fashionable.”
“You have visit zem all?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Alphonso, who had once stopped over night at
Saratoga, and made a day’s excursion to Long Branch. “I meet so many of
my fashionable friends there, that it is very pleasant for me.”
“_Sans doute_, and which do you prefare?”
“Saratoga, my lord count. It is the most high-toned, in my opinion. My
friends, the Vernons, of Madison avenue, always go there.”
“I once did know a Marquis de Vernon in my own country.”
“A relation of my friends,” said Alphonso, confidently. “How long has
your lordship been in America?”
“Tree week, zat is all.”
“Have you been in New York all the time?”
“No, Monsieur Jones, I did visit Boston and Philadelphia, but New York
is one fine city, ze best of all; it reminds me of Paris.”
“Paris is a very beautiful city, I have always heard, my lord count.”
“Oh, _très magnifique_. Zere is no city like it. Have you visited Paris,
Monsieur Alphonse?”
He is getting intimate, thought Mr. Jones, elated, or he would not call
me by my first name.
“No, your lordship, I have not had that great pleasure.”
“When you come,” said the count, affably, “you must come to my chateau
in Normandy, and stay one month.”
This was beyond Alphonso’s most sanguine hopes. To be invited to visit a
foreign nobleman at his chateau was an unlooked-for honor.
“You overwhelm me with your kindness, my lord count,” said Alphonso, in
a flutter of delight. “I hope some day to accept your honorable
invitation.”
“I think you will have zer good time. My sister, the Countess Marie de
Montmorency, will be charmed to see you. She adores Americans.”
Alphonso was in the seventh heaven of delight. Instantly he pictured the
high-born Countess Marie falling in love with him, marrying him, and
thus giving him a place in the aristocratic circles of France. Perhaps,
in that case, family influence would procure him a title also. It was
the happiest moment of his life.
“Nothing would delight me more than to make the acquaintance of your
august family, my lord count,” he said, his voice partly tremulous with
joy. “When do you propose to return to _la belle France_?”
“What, you do speak my language, Monsieur Alphonse?”
“Only a little, your lordship,” said Mr. Jones, modestly.
“_Oui, monsieur, un peu._”
“_Comment vous portez vous, Monsieur Alphonse?_”
“_Très beaucoup bien_,” answered Alphonso, proudly.
“What an accent!” exclaimed the count, raising both hands. “You do speak
like one native.”
“I think I should soon learn it if I were in _la belle France_,” said
Alphonso, much pleased.
“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Ingalls, “I don’t like to interrupt you, but
permit me to offer you a glass of wine.”
Glasses were handed to the company.
“Mr. Jones, will you propose the count’s health?” asked the host.
Alphonso rose, and placed one hand on his heart.
“Gentlemen,” he commenced, “I feel—ahem! deeply honored, and—and happy
on this auspicious occasion. We are assembled, sir, to do honor to an
illustrious peer of the realm. The noble Count Ernest de Montmorency
honors us with his high-toned presence. We all hope that he may enjoy
his visit, and return in safety to his aristocratic relations, his
honorable mother, and his sister, the noble Countess Marie de
Montmorency. I propose the health of the noble count.”
The toast was drunk with enthusiasm.
“Mr. Jones, you are quite an orator,” said Mr. Ingalls.
“You have ze great talent for speaking Monsieur Alphonse. You should go
to Congress.”
“My lord count, you flatter me,” said Mr. Jones, deciding that this was,
by all odds, the proudest moment of his life.
“Not at all, Mr. Jones,” said Mr. Ingalls. “I never heard a neater
speech, did you, Hayward?”
“Never,” said Hayward.
So poor Alphonso was fooled to the top of his bent, and when the company
separated, and he retired to his humble apartment, he was visited by the
most ravishing dreams, in which he stood at the altar with the high-born
Countess Marie de Montmorency, clad in sumptuous attire, wearing on his
breast the cross of the Legion of Honor.