THE COUNT’S SECRET.
On the morning after Alphonso Jones had enjoyed his memorable interview
with the Count Ernest de Montmorency, he bore himself in a loftier and
more consciously superior manner than usual. He felt that he was
entitled to a larger measure of consideration, on account of his
intimacy with one of the nobility.
“The count must have seen something in me, or he would not have invited
me to visit him at his chateau,” reflected Alphonso.
It was natural that Mr. Jones should wish his friends to be aware of his
social distinction.
“Good-morning, Mr. Kidder,” he said, in a patronizing manner, to his
fellow-clerk. “How did you enjoy the theatre last evening?”
“Very well. The play was a good one, and well performed.”
“I also passed the evening in a very agreeable manner,” remarked
Alphonso, complacently.
“Where were you?”
“In Mr. Ingalls’ room.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot. What company did he have in? Didn’t you say
something of a French count being expected?”
“The Count Ernest de Montmorency was present,” said Alphonso, dwelling
with unction on the high-sounding syllables.
“How did you like him?” asked Kidder, who had received a brief note from
Mr. Ingalls, letting him into the secret.
“I never met a more high-toned gentleman,” said Mr. Jones,
enthusiastically. “His manners were most courtly, and I may add that he
was very affable to me.”
“Ingalls ought to have invited me,” said Mr. Kidder, affecting to feel
slighted.
“He will doubtless remember you another time,” said Alphonso; “probably
the count does not like a large company.”
“I suppose he is just like other men,” said Kidder, by way of drawing
out his fellow-clerk. “If you hadn’t known him to be a count, you
wouldn’t have seen anything particular in him.”
“I beg to differ with you,” said Alphonso, with an air of superior
information. “_Some_ persons might have thought so; but I claim to be a
judge of men, and I at once saw that he was a high-toned aristocrat.”
“What did you judge from, now?” asked Kidder, amused.
“I cannot explain what,—it was that the French call _je ne sais quoi_,”
answered Mr. Jones, who had been studying up some French phrases that
very morning.
“_Genesee squaw!_” echoed Kidder, purposely misunderstanding him. “What
on earth has a French count to do with a Genesee squaw?”
“I pity your ignorance, Mr. Kidder,” said Alphonso, mildly. “The words I
used were French, and mean, ‘I don’t know what.’”
“You don’t know what they mean? Then why do you use them?”
“You misunderstand me again. _Je ne sais quoi_ means I—do—not—know—what.
Do you see it now?”
“Oh, that’s it. I didn’t know you were such a French scholar, Mr.
Jones.”
“I am a poor French scholar,” said Alphonso, modestly; “but I shall try
to make myself familiar with the language before I go to France.”
“Are you going to France? How long has that been in your mind?”
“To tell the truth, Mr. Kidder, I never thought seriously of it till
last evening. But since the Count de Montmorency has been kind enough to
invite me to visit him at his chateau, and become acquainted with his
noble family, I feel that it is quite worth my while to prepare myself
to converse with them.”
“You don’t say so! What a lucky fellow you are! Did the count really
invite you?”
“He invited me in the most affable and friendly—I may say urgent
manner,” said Alphonso, complacently.
“Couldn’t you get me an invitation, too?” asked Kidder, in pretended
anxiety. “I’ve been long wanting to go abroad, and I think my father
would consent, if I received such an invitation as that.”
“I should like to oblige you, Mr. Kidder, but really I couldn’t venture
on such a liberty,” said Alphonso, decidedly; for he feared that his
fellow-clerk, who was better-looking than himself, might interfere with
his matrimonial designs upon the count’s high-born sister.
“Perhaps the count will invite me himself. I’ll get Ingalls to introduce
me.”
“Possibly,” said Alphonso, coldly; “but I wouldn’t obtrude myself upon
his lordship.”
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t be introduced as well as you.”
Alphonso, who privately considered himself more high-toned than Kidder,
felt that there was good reason, but did not think it policy to pursue
the subject.
Probably Mr. Jones referred to the Count Ernest de Montmorency at least
thirty times that day, and succeeded in arousing the curiosity and envy
of such of his acquaintances as were not in the secret. He indulged in
many a gorgeous day-dream, in which he figured as the brother-in-law of
the count, with a beautiful chateau of his own, and this continued for
several days. But his dreams were destined to a rude awakening.
One evening, in passing through Bleeker Street, Mr. Jones strolled into
a barber shop, which he had never before entered. He glanced carelessly
about him, when he made a sudden start, and gasped for breath. There,
behind a barber’s chair, in the act of shaving a red-headed man, was the
elegant Count Ernest de Montmorency!
The count looked up and met Alphonso’s astonished gaze.
“Good-evening, M. Alphonse,” he said, with a nod and a smile.
“Good-evening,” ejaculated Alphonso, with difficulty.
How could he say “my lord count” to a barber?
“Are you the—the—gentleman I met at the room of my friend, Mr. Ingalls?”
asked Mr. Jones.
“The same. I will explain hereafter,” said the count, mysteriously.
Alphonso succeeded the red-headed man in the chair presided over by the
count.
“I am incognito,” said the latter, in a low voice. “I have been reduced
to poverty by the rascality of a relative. They don’t know me here in
the shop.”
“You don’t say so!” ejaculated Mr. Jones, much impressed.
“They think I am a common man. It would not do to tell them.”
“Does Mr. Ingalls know?” asked Alphonso.
“Yes, he knows how I am reduced; but he does not respect me the less.
May I rely upon your secrecy, also?”
“Certainly, my lord—I mean, sir,” said Mr. Jones, beginning to think it
was all right again. “Do you think you will ever recover your estates?”
“Don’t speak so loud! Yes, I am almost sure of it. In that case, I shall
expect you to visit me at my chateau.”
“Thank you. I shall be most happy.”
“How strange it seems to be shaved by a count!” thought Alphonso. “But I
really wish he wasn’t a barber. Couldn’t he get something else to do?”
“How is your friend, the Count de Montmorency, Mr. Jones?” asked Mr.
Kidder, the next morning.
“I believe he is well,” said Alphonso, shortly.