It was a gala night at the opera. The grand old house, so perfect in
acoustic properties, so comfortably old-fashioned in design, so quaintly
foreign in all its appointments, was filled with an audience composed of
the music-loving people of New Orleans, and a sprinkling of Northern
visitors still lingering amid the balmy odors of the magnolia and the
orange-blossoms. Spring had come,--summer was coming. The sun was
already high and warm enough to warrant the appearance of parasols by
day; while, after it sank to rest, the ray-warmed breezes were welcomed
through open door and casement; and in hundreds of slender hands the
fan, swung and flirted with the indolent grace our Southern women have
so readily learned from their Castilian sisterhood across the sea,
stirred the perfumed air, and rustled soft accompaniment to the witchery
of the music.
Entering that old French opera-house on Bourbon Street, one steps on
foreign soil. America is left behind. French is the language of every
sign, of the libretto, even of the programme. French only is or was then
spoken by the employes of the house. French the orchestra, the chorus,
the language of the play. French, everything but the music. The
ornamentation of the house, the arrangement of the boxes, the very
division of the audience was the design of foreign hands, and here, more
readily than anywhere in our land, could one imagine oneself abroad.
These were days of triumph for the stockholders of the old company. The
somewhat over-gilded and too ornate decorations might have lost much of
their freshness, the upholstery had grown worn and faded; but the
orchestra and the company were admirable. Aiming at perfection and
completeness in all details, the managers had kept up the old system of
putting everything _thoroughly_ upon the stage. Costumes and properties,
though old, were accurate and appropriate; the chorus was full,
admirably schooled and disciplined; and the orchestra, in the days when
Calabresi's _baton_ called it into life, had no superior in the country.
Instead of lavishing fortunes on some one marvellous _prima donna_ and
concomitant tenor, the aim of the management had been to secure
excellent voices, good actors, conscientious artists, and so be sure of
rendering an opera in its entirety,--every part well and suitably
filled, instead of turning the grand creations of the great composers
into mere concert recitations. One heard the opera in New Orleans as he
heard it nowhere else in the country, and there, and there only of all
its places of public amusement, could one see in full force the culture
and the refinement of the Crescent City.
It was a "full dress" night. The parquet was filled with men in the
conventional black swallow-tail. The dress and second circles of open
boxes, the _loges_ behind them, were brilliant with the toilets of
beautifully-dressed women; and in one of these latter enclosures were
seated Miss Summers and Kitty, behind whom could be seen Vinton, Amory,
and Harrod.
Leaving my seat in the parquet, I strolled up to their box immediately
after the curtain fell upon the first act of "The Huguenots." Some
forty-eight hours had passed since my meeting with Mars, and that vivid
curiosity of mine was all aflame as to the later developments. Both
ladies turned and gave me cordial welcome as I entered. Vinton made room
for me behind Miss Summers' chair, and Harrod strolled out to see some
friends.
Though both officers were in civilian evening dress, the story of
Pauline's engagement was known among the few acquaintances she had in
society, and her escort, a stranger to the city, was doubtless assumed
to be the Yankee major. It was too soon after the war for such an
alliance to be looked on with favor by those who had recently been in
bitter hostility to the army blue, and the few glances or nods of
recognition that passed between Miss Summers and a party of ladies in an
adjoining box were constrained--even cold. To my proud-spirited friend
this was a matter of little consequence. If anything, it served only the
more deeply and firmly to attach her to the gallant gentleman, still
pale and languid from his recent illness, who so devotedly hovered about
her the entire evening. Her sweet, womanly face was full of the deepest
tenderness as she leaned back to speak to him from time to time, and
soon, with woman's quick intuition, observing that I was anxious to
watch Kitty and Mars, she delightedly resigned herself to my abstraction
and gave her undivided attention to Vinton.
Never in my brief acquaintance with her had Kitty Carrington looked so
bewitchingly pretty. Never were her eyes so deep, dark, lustrous;
never--I could plainly see--so dangerous. Never was her color so
brilliant, never were her lips so red, her teeth so flashingly white;
and never yet had I seen her when all her fascinations were so
mercilessly levelled at a victim's heart, even while she herself was
tormenting him to the extent of every feminine ingenuity. The situation
was plain at a single glance.
Her greeting to me had been coquettishly cordial, and for a moment she
looked as though she expected me to accept Mr. Amory's proffered chair
at her back. But Mars had risen with so rueful a look in his
eyes--something so appealing and wistful in his bearing--that I had the
decency to decline; and with vast relief of manner he slid back into his
seat, and the torment went on.
In low, eager tones he was murmuring to her over the back of her chair.
She--with head half turned, so that one little ear, pink and shell-like,
was temptingly near his lips--was listening with an air of saucy triumph
to his pleadings,--whatever they were,--her long lashes sweeping down
over her flushed cheeks, and her eyes, only at intervals, shooting
sidelong glances at him. What he was saying I could not hear, but never
saw I man so plunged in the depths of fascination. His eyes never left
their adoring gaze upon her face, yet they were full of trouble, full of
pleading that might have moved a heart of stone. But Kitty was
merciless. At last there came a bubble of soft, silvery laughter and the
mischievous inquiry,--
"And how should a lady answer? How--Miss Grayson, for instance?"
For a moment there was no word of reply. Amory sat like one in a daze.
Then very slowly he drew back, and I could see that his hand was
clinched and that his bright young face had paled. Alarmed at his
silence, toying nervously with her fan, she strove to see his eyes, yet
dared not look around. Mars slowly rose to his feet, bent calmly over
her, and, though his voice trembled and his lips were very white, he
spoke distinctly, even cuttingly,--
"Miss Grayson would have answered at least with courtesy
and--good-night, Miss Carrington."
And before another word could be said he had quickly bowed to the rest
of us and abruptly quited the box.
Evidently she had tormented him until his quick, impulsive, boyish
nature could bear it no longer,--until his spirit had taken fire at her
merciless coquetry,--and then, giving her no chance to retract or
relent, he had vanished in choking indignation. Kitty sat still as a
statue one little minute, turning from red to white. Pauline, who had
heard only Amory's sudden words of farewell, looked wonderingly up an
instant, then seeing plainly that there had been a misunderstanding, and
that remark or interference would only complicate matters, she wisely
turned back to Vinton, and the rising of the curtain gave all an excuse
to concentrate their eyes, if not their thoughts, upon the stage.
But the opera was an old story to me. Kitty was a novelty, a study of
constantly varying phases, a picture I never tired of gazing at, and now
she was becoming even more--a perfect fascination. Pauline glanced
furtively, anxiously, at her from time to time, but I,--I most
unblushingly watched and stared. She was manifestly ill at ease and
grievously disquieted at the result of her coquetry. Her brilliant color
had fled. Her eyes, suspiciously moistened, wandered nervously about the
house, as though searching for her vanished knight, that they might
flash their signal of recall. I, too, kept an eye on the parquet and the
lobby, far as I could see, vaguely hoping that Mars might relent and
take refuge there, when his wrath would have time to cool, and he could
be within range of her fluttering summons to "come back and be
forgiven." But the second act came to a close. Mars never once appeared.
Vinton and Miss Summers once or twice addressed some tentative remark to
Kitty, as though to bring her again into the general conversation and
cover her evident distress; but monosyllabic replies and quivering lips
were her only answer. I began to grow nervous, and decided to sally
forth in search of my peppery hero. My ministrations had been vastly
potent and diplomatic thus far, and might be again. So, with a word or
two of excuse, I made my bow and strolled into the _foyer_.
One or two acquaintances detained me a few moments, but during the
intermission between the acts I was able to satisfy myself that Mr.
Amory was no longer in the house. Indeed, some of the officers stationed
in town told me that they had seen him crossing the street just as they
re-entered. Presently I met Colonel Newhall, and his first question
was,--
"How is Vinton to-night?"
"Very well, apparently. Do you want to see him?"
"Not particularly. He is here, I believe. You might tell him that his
sick-leave is granted. It may be welcome news to him--just now."
"Naturally: as he expects to be married next month."
"Yes. I'm glad he got the leave--when he did," said the colonel, as he
turned away to speak to some friends.
Something in his manner set me to thinking. What could he mean by saying
that he was glad Vinton had secured his leave of absence? Was any sudden
move probable? Amory did say that it was current talk that their
regiment was to be ordered to the frontier in the spring. Could it be
that the order had already come?
I went back to the box. Kitty looked eagerly around as I entered, then
turned back in evident disappointment. Not a word was exchanged between
us until the close of the act; but for two occupants of the _loge_ "The
Huguenots" had lost all interest.
It was eleven o'clock and after as we reached the lodgings on our return
from the opera. Mars had nowhere appeared, though Kitty's eyes sought
him in the throng at the doorway, and, as we drew near the house, she
looked eagerly ahead at a soldierly form in cavalry undress uniform. A
corporal of the troop was lounging under the gas-light at the entrance.
The moment he caught sight of our party he stepped forward and handed
Vinton a letter.
There was nothing unusual about a letter arriving for Major Vinton--day
or night. Orderlies came frequently to the old house on Royal Street
with bulky missives for him; yet I felt a premonition in some
inexplicable way that this was no ordinary communication. It was a mere
note, and I thought the corporal said, "From the lieutenant, sir." Yet I
knew it meant tidings of importance,--and so did others.
Miss Summers had withdrawn her hand from Vinton's arm as he took the
note, and with deep anxiety in her paling face stood watching him as he
opened and read it under the lamp. Kitty too had stepped forward, and,
resting one little hand on the stone post at the doorway, gazed with
equal intensity and a face that was paler yet than her cousin's. Harrod
and I, a little behind them, were silent witnesses. Presently Vinton
looked up, his eyes seeking the face he loved.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Our orders have come."
For an instant no one spoke. I could not take my eyes off Kitty, whose
back was towards me, but who I could see was struggling hard for
composure. Pauline instinctively put forth her hand, drawing Kitty
closer to her side.
"Shall I read it?" asked Vinton, gently, looking at Pauline, after one
hurried glance at Kitty. She nodded assent.
"It is from Amory," he said.
"DEAR MAJOR,--Parker has just met me. The orders are out. Regiment
ordered to Dakota. Our troop goes by first boat to St. Louis. Your
leave is granted, so it does not affect you; but--I'm glad to go.
Parker says by 'James Howard' to-morrow night.
"Yours in haste,
"AMORY"
Without a word Kitty Carrington turned from us and hurried into the
house.
"What on earth could take the regiment to Dakota?" asked Harrod, after a
moment of silence.
"The Sioux have been troublesome all along the Missouri and Yellowstone
of late, and this is anything but unexpected. We had a lively campaign
against the Southern Cheyennes, you remember, and this promises more
work of the same kind, only much farther north."
Pauline's eyes were filling with tears. I was plainly _de trop_, and had
sense enough left to appreciate that fact at least. Promising to meet
Vinton at headquarters in the morning, I took my departure. I had made
up my mind, late as it was, to go and see Amory; and, late as it was, I
found him in earnest talk with his mother.
"Can you spare me a moment?" I asked. "I have just heard the news, and
if it be true you sail to-morrow night, you will be too much occupied
to-morrow."
He had come to the door to admit me, and looked reluctantly back.
Hearing my voice, Mrs. Amory came into the hall to greet me, and
courteously as ever she asked me to enter; but I saw the traces of tears
on her face, and knew that their time was precious.
"I want to have a moment's talk with this young man, Mrs. Amory. I will
not take him farther than the corner, and will not keep him longer than
five minutes at the utmost. Can you spare him that long?"
She smiled assent, but Mars hung back. He knew well that I was once
again coming forward with some intervention, and his blood was up, his
anger still aglow; but I was not to be denied. He seized his forage-cap
and stepped out with me into the starlit night.
"There is no time for apologies from an old fellow like me, Amory," said
I, placing a hand involuntarily on his shoulder. "Forgive me if I pain
you, or am too intrusive. I heard what happened at the opera to-night.
Would you be willing to tell me how she came to know anything about
Bella Grayson?"
"I told Miss Carrington myself," said Mars, rather shortly; and his
hands went down in his pockets, and a very set look came into his face
as he kicked at a projecting ledge in the uneven pavement.
"You know how I've grown to like you, youngster, and _must_ know that I
can have no other impulse or excuse in thus meddling with your affairs.
I'm fond of her too, Frank, and have seen enough to-night--and
before--to convince me that she would give a vast deal to unsay those
thoughtless words. I do not excuse her conduct; but she never for an
instant could have dreamed of its effect, and it did not take the news
of your order to make her repent it bitterly. I could see that plainly.
Amory, _don't_ go without seeing her."
Mars made no reply whatever.
"Have you told your mother of this misunderstanding?" I asked.
"Not exactly. I have told her--she saw I was cut up about something and
asked--that something had been said that was very hard to bear, but that
I had rather not talk of it now. I was too much hurt."
"Well. Then I must say nothing further, my boy; but if I may ask
anything for the sake of the friendship I feel for you and for them,
tell your mother the whole affair, and let her guide your action. Now,
forgive me, and good-night. We will meet in the morning."
He pressed my hand cordially enough, but still made no reply to my
request. "Thank you, Mr. Brandon; good-night," was all he said, and Mr.
Brandon walked gloomily homeward. _Amantium irae_ might be easy things to
settle if left to the participants, but were vastly easier to stumble
into.
Clear, cloudless, lovely dawned the morrow, and long before office hours
I had breakfasted and betaken myself to headquarters. Mr. Parker was
there, and Amory had been at the office, but Vinton had as yet put in no
appearance. My first question was as to the probable time of departure
of the troop, and Parker's tidings filled me with hope. The
quartermaster had been unable to secure transportation for the horses in
the "Howard." The troops could not sail before the following day.
Meantime, he said, there was to be a review of the small force in the
city that very afternoon, and the general had expressed a desire to have
a look at the cavalry once more before they started for their new and
distant sphere of duty. It was his favorite arm of the service, and he
hated to part with them.
By and by the general himself arrived, and Major Vinton happening in at
almost the same moment, "the chief" led the latter into his private
office and held him there for over half an hour in conversation. An
orderly was despatched for Mr. Amory, who was busily occupied over at
the stables, and that young gentleman presently made his appearance,
looking somewhat dusty and fatigued. The men were packing for the move
and getting ready for their afternoon exhibition at one and the same
time, he explained. Then Vinton came out, called his subaltern to one
side, and gave him some instructions in his quiet way, and no sooner had
he finished than Amory faced about and went out of the room like a shot.
Then for the first time I had a chance to speak to Vinton and ask after
the ladies.
"Very well; at least Miss Summers is, despite her natural concern at our
sudden taking off----"
"Why, you are not going!" I interrupted.
"Yes," he answered. "As far as Memphis, at least. Then I shall leave the
troop to Amory and make for Sandbrook, whither the judge and the ladies
will start in a few days. That is," he concluded, with a smile, "unless
some new freak takes Miss Kitty Carrington. That little lady is ready to
tear her pretty hair out by the handful this morning. She did not come
to breakfast at all, and I fancy she had an unusually sharp skirmish
with Amory last night. By the way, I've got a note for him, and he's
gone,--gone clear to the foot of Canal Street, too, to look at the
accommodations on one of those smaller steamers,--and I was enjoined to
give it to him at once."
"Give it to me; I'll take it," said I, all eagerness. "What boat will he
be looking at? I'll get there in short order."
"He ought to be back here by noon," said Vinton. "It will take him not
more than an hour."
But I was eager to see Mars myself. The note must be from Kitty, I
argued; and so, indeed, I knew it to be, from the dainty envelope and
superscription when the major drew it forth. My theory was that I could
get that note to him in less than twenty minutes, and probably be the
bearer of peace propositions. It was too alluring a prospect; besides, I
was tired of waiting around headquarters doing nothing. Vinton saw my
eagerness, smiled, gave me his consent and the note, and in half an hour
I was at the levee and aboard the "Indiana." Mars had been there and
gone. So much for my officiousness.
This time I took a cab, drove rapidly back to headquarters. Neither
Vinton nor Amory was there. Mr. Parker said that the latter had galloped
up not fifteen minutes after I left, reported that the "Indiana" could
not take sixty horses, and was off again, he knew not whither. Vinton
had gone to the stables. Thither I followed.
"The major has just driven off in the quartermaster's ambulance, and
they're gone to look at some steamboat," said the corporal at the gate.
"The lieutenant's horse is back, sir, but he's gone away too."
This was a complication. It was after twelve. The review was to come off
at three. I wanted to go down and invite the ladies to drive with me to
see it. But how could I face Kitty Carrington with that undelivered
note? Over to Amory's house was the next venture. New despair. He and
his mother had taken a street-car and gone up-town only a few minutes
before I arrived. Now, what on earth could I do?
"The lieutenant's horse was to be sent to his quarters," the corporal
had informed me, "at quarter before three, and the lieutenant probably
would not be back at the stables again before that time."
For the next hour Mr. G. S. Brandon was as miserable a man as the city
contained. No one at headquarters could tell where Amory had gone. No
one knew when Vinton would be back. I fumed and fidgeted around the
office some few minutes. Neither Colonel Newhall nor Mr. Parker could
help me out in the least. There was no telling where to look for Amory.
Vinton might be found down along the levee, but what good would that
do? Twice the old general came trudging into the aide-de-camp's room,
and looked at me with suspicious eyes from under his shaggy
eyebrows,--my ill-concealed impatience and repeated inquiries made him
irritable, or my undesired presence during business hours was a nuisance
to him, perhaps; at all events, after I had for the tenth time,
probably, repeated my hopeless remark of wonderment as to where that
young gentleman could have gone, just as the general came promenading
into the room with hands clasped behind his back and his head bent upon
his breast, as we New Orleans people had grown accustomed to seeing or
hearing of him, the old soldier stopped short, and, raising his head,
testily exclaimed,--
"Mr. Brandon, what _is_ the matter? Does that young officer owe you any
money?"
"Money, sir? No, sir!" I answered, in all haste and half indignation.
"By heavens! I wish that were the matter. The boot is on the other leg,
general. I owe him something more than money. A letter, sir,--a letter
from a young lady, and I undertook to deliver it two hours ago."
April sunshine bursting through storm-cloud could not more quickly
soften and irradiate the face of nature than that wonderful smile of the
old general's could lighten every lineament. Who that ever saw it could
forget it? It beamed from the wrinkles around the kind old eyes. It
flashed from his even teeth. It dimpled his cheeks into a thousand merry
lights and shadows. It was sunshine itself, and with it all the old
courtly manner instantly returned.
"I _beg_ your pardon, sir. I beg _his_ pardon, sir. God bless my soul,
what an inexcusable blunder! A note from a young lady. That charming
little friend of Major Vinton's? Here, Parker, you go. You see if you
can't find him, sir. Bring him here, sir. Help Mr. Brandon any way you
can, sir. God bless my soul, what a blunder!" And by this time we were
all laughing too heartily for further words. My indignant and impetuous
reply had virtually betrayed the situation.
My cab being still at the door I decided to hurry right down to Royal
Street, notify the ladies of the coming review, and of the fact that the
troop would not sail until the following day, though I felt sure Vinton
had done that; then I could return to headquarters. Meantime that
precious note was placed in Parker's hands.
Whirling across Canal Street, the cab was just turning into Royal when I
caught sight of Miss Summers and Harrod on the banquette, and obedient
to my shout the driver pulled up. They turned back to greet me. Yes,
Vinton had sent word about the review and the good news that there was
yet a day before they could sail. The colonel and his sister were going
to attend to some business on Canal Street, and hurry back to meet him
at the lodgings at half-past two; then they would all drive up to see
the review near Tivoli Circle. Would I join them? Amory was to command
the troop, as the doctor thought Major Vinton not yet strong enough to
ride. But where was Amory? had I seen him?
All this was asked rapidly, as time was short, and almost as rapidly I
learned that Kitty was at home, and Pauline's eyes plainly said waiting
and anxious. I decided on driving thither at once and confessing the
enormity of my sin of omission. I would find her in their kind
landlady's parlor, said Miss Summers. So in I went.
In ten minutes Kitty Carrington fluttered into the parlor where I was
awaiting her. No need to tell that hers had been a night of unhappiness,
a day of bitter anxiety. Her sweet face was very pale and wan, her eyes
red with weeping. How to break my news I did not know. She looked
wonderingly, wistfully, at the solemnity of my face, gave me her hand
with hardly a word of greeting, and stood by the table waiting for me to
tell my errand, forgetful of the civility of asking me to be seated.
"Miss Kitty, I am in great trouble. Nearly three hours ago I volunteered
to hurry down to the levee with a letter that Major Vinton had for Mr.
Amory, but Mr. Amory and I missed each other, have missed each other
ever since. He has gone somewhere with his mother, and yet must be back
in time for the review, but I felt certain that letter ought to get to
him at once. Yet you know they do not sail until to-morrow, do you not?"
Her head was averted, her slight form was quivering and trembling, her
bosom heaving violently in the effort to control the sob that, despite
all struggles, burst from her lips. She had been waiting for him all the
morning. In another moment, for all answer, she had thrown herself upon
the sofa, and was weeping in a wild passion of unrestrained misery. Poor
little motherless Kit! and this was my doing.
In vain I strove to soothe her. In vain I protested that the letter
would soon be in his hands, that no possible harm could come from the
delay. Nay, in my eagerness and ludicrous distress I believe I knelt and
strove to draw her hands away from her face. Then she hurriedly arose,
rushed to the window, and leaning her arms upon the casement, and bowing
her pretty head upon her hands, sobbed wildly. Good heavens! what
_could_ such an old idiot do? I was powerless, helpless, wretched.
Suddenly there came a springy step along the lower passage, a quick,
bounding footfall on the stair, the clink of spurred heels upon the
matting in the hall, and Frank Amory, with a world of sunshine in his
glad young face, stood at the doorway. One glance showed him where she
stood, still weeping piteously, still blind to his presence. One spring
took him half across the room, one second to her side. I heard but one
quick, low-toned, almost ecstatic cry.
"Kitty! darling! Forgive me!"
I saw his arms enfold her. I saw her raise her head, startled, amazed.
Saw one wondering flash of light and joy in the tear-dimmed eyes, but of
what happened next I have no knowledge, not even conjecture. For once in
his life Mr. Brandon had the decency not to look, the sagacity to know
that he was no longer needed, if indeed he ever had been, and the
presence of mind to take himself off.