MR. O’LEARY’S CAPTURE.
[Illustration: Mr. O’Leary’s Double Capture]
Does she really care for me? was my first question to myself as I left
the room. Is this story about pre-engaged affections merely a got up
thing, to try the force of my attachment for her? for, if not, her
conduct is most inexplicable; and great as my experience has been in
such affairs, I avow myself out maneuvered. While I thought over this
difficulty, Trevanion came up, and in a few words, informed me more
fully upon what he hinted at before. It appeared that O’Leary, much
more alive to the imperative necessity of avoiding detection by his
sposa, than of involving himself with the police, had thrown out most
dark and mysterious hints in the hotel as to the reason of his
residence at Paris; fully impressed with the idea that, to be a good
Pole, he need only talk “revolutionary;” devote to the powers below,
all kings, czars, and kaisers; weep over the wrongs of his nation; wear
rather seedy habiliments, and smoke profusely. The latter were with him
easy conditions, and he so completely acted the former to the life,
that he had been that morning arrested in the Tuilleries gardens, under
several treasonable charges—among others, the conspiracy, with some of
his compatriots to murder the minister of war.
However laughable such an accusation against poor O’Leary, one
circumstance rendered the matter any thing but ludicrous. Although he
must come off free of this grave offence, yet, the salon transaction
would necessarily now become known; I should be immediately involved,
and my departure from Paris prevented.
“So,” said Trevanion, as he briefly laid before me the difficulty of my
position, “you may perceive that however strongly your affections may
be engaged in a certain quarter, it is quite as well to think of
leaving Paris without delay. O’Leary’s arrest will be followed by
yours, depend upon it; and once under the surveillance of the police,
escape is impossible.”
“But, seriously, Trevanion,” said I, nettled at the tone of raillery he
spoke in, “you must see that there is nothing whatever in that
business. I was merely taking my farewell of the fair Emily. Her
affections have been long since engaged, and I—”
“Only endeavouring to support her in her attachment to the more
favoured rival. Is it not so?”
“Come, no quizzing. Faith I began to feel very uncomfortable about
parting with her, the moment that I discovered that I must do so.”
“So I guessed,” said Trevanion, with a dry look, “from the interesting
scene I so abruptly trespassed upon. But you are right; a little bit of
tendresse is never misplaced, so long as the object is young, pretty,
and still more than all, disposed for it.”
“Quite out; perfectly mistaken, believe me. Emily not only never cared
for me; but she has gone far enough to tell me so.”
“Then, from all I know of such matters,” replied he, “you were both in
a very fair way to repair that mistake on her part. But hark! what is
this?” A tremendous noise in the street here interrupted our colloquy,
and on opening the window, a strange scene presented itself to our
eyes. In the middle of a dense mass of moving rabble, shouting,
yelling, and screaming, with all their might, were two gens d’armes
with a prisoner between them. The unhappy man was followed by a rather
well-dressed, middle-aged looking woman, who appeared to be desirous of
bestowing the most _coram publico_ endearments upon the culprit, whom a
second glance showed us was O’Leary.
“I tell you, my dear madam, you are mistaken,” said O’Leary, addressing
her with great sternness of manner and voice.
“Mistaken! Never, never. How could I ever be mistaken in that dear
voice, those lovely eyes, that sweet little nose?”
“Take her away; she’s deranged,” said O’Leary to the gens d’armes.
“Sure, if I’m a Pole, that’s enough of misfortune.”
“I’ll follow him to the end of the earth, I will.”
“I’m going to the galleys, God be praised,” said O’Leary.
“To the galleys—to the guillotine—any where,” responded she, throwing
herself upon his neck, much less, as it seemed, to his gratification,
than that of the mob, who laughed and shouted most uproariously.
“Mrs. Ram, ain’t you ashamed?”
“He calls me by my name,” said she, “and he attempts to disown me. Ha!
ha! ha! ha!” and immediately fell off into a strong paroxysm of
kicking, and pinching, and punching the bystanders, a malady well known
under the name of hysterics; but being little more than a privileged
mode, among certain ladies, of paying off some scores, which it is not
thought decent to do in their more sober moments.
“Lead me away—anywhere—convict me of what you like,” said he, “but
don’t let her follow me.”
The gens d’armes, who little comprehended the nature of the scene
before them, were not sorry to anticipate a renewal of it on Mrs. Ram’s
recovery, and accordingly seized the opportunity to march on with
O’Leary, who turned the corner of the Rue Rivoli, under a shower of
“meurtriers” and “scelerats” from the mob, that fell fortunately most
unconsciously upon his ears.
The possibility of figuring in such a procession contributed much to
the force of Trevanion’s reasonings, and I resolved to leave Paris at
once.
“Promise me, then, to involve yourself in no more scrapes for
half-an-hour. Pack every thing you shall want with you, and, by seven
o’clock, I shall be here with your passport and all ready for a start.”
With a beating brain, and in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, I
threw my clothes hither and thither into my trunk; Lady Jane and Emily
both flitting every instant before my imagination, and frequently an
irresolution to proceed stopping all my preparations for departure, I
sat down musing upon a chair, and half determined to stay where I was,
coute qui coute. Finally, the possibility of exposure in a trial, had
its weight. I continued my occupation till the last coat was folded,
and the lock turned, when I seated myself opposite my luggage, and
waited impatiently for my friend’s return.