Mrs. Green's ball was _the_ party of the season. Five hundred
invitations were sent out, all of them to people unexceptionable for
wealth, or fashion, or some sort of high distinction, political,
literary, or artistic. Smith had received _carte blanche_ to prepare
the most luxurious and elegant supper possible. Mrs. Green was
resplendent with diamonds; and the house was so brilliantly
illuminated, that the windows of carriages traversing that part of
Beacon Street glittered as if touched by the noonday sun. A crowd
collected on the Common, listening to the band of music, and watching
the windows of the princely mansion, to obtain glimpses through its
lace curtains of graceful figures revolving in the dance, like a
vision of fairy-land seen through a veil of mist.
In that brilliant assemblage, Mrs. King was the centre of attraction.
She was still a Rose Royal, as Gerald Fitzgerald had called her
twenty-three years before. A very close observer would have noticed
that time had slightly touched her head; but the general effect of
the wavy hair was as dark and glossy as ever. She had grown somewhat
stouter, but that only rendered her tall figure more majestic. It
still seemed as if the fluid Art, whose harmonies were always flowing
through her soul, had fashioned her form and was swaying all its
motions; and to this natural gracefulness was now added that peculiar
stylishness of manner, which can be acquired only by familiar
intercourse with elegant society. There was nothing foreign in her
accent, but the modulations of her voice were so musical, that
English, as she spoke it, seemed all vowels and liquid consonants.
She had been heralded as La Señorita, and her dress was appropriately
Spanish. It was of cherry-colored satin, profusely trimmed with black
lace. A mantilla of very rich transparent black lace was thrown over
her head, and fastened on one side with a cluster of red fuchsias,
the golden stamens of which were tipped with small diamonds. The lace
trimming on the corsage was looped up with a diamond star, and her
massive gold bracelets were clasped with, diamonds.
Mr. Green received her with great _empressement_; evidently
considering her the "bright particular star" of the evening. She
accepted her distinguished position with the quietude of one
accustomed to homage. With a slight bow she gave Mr. Green the desired
promise to open the ball with him, and then turned to answer another
gentleman, who wished to obtain her for the second dance. She would
have observed her host a little more curiously, had she been aware
that he once proposed to place her darling Floracita at the head of
that stylish mansion.
Mrs. King's peculiar style of beauty and rich foreign dress attracted
universal attention; but still greater admiration was excited by her
dancing, which was the very soul of music taking form in motion; and
as the tremulous diamond drops of the fuchsias kept time with her
graceful movements, they sparkled among the waving folds of her black
lace mantilla, like fire-flies in a dark night. She was, of course,
the prevailing topic of conversation; and when Mr. Green was not
dancing, he was called upon to repeat, again and again, the account
of her wonderful _début_ in the opera at Rome. In the midst of one of
these recitals, Mrs. Fitzgerald and her son entered; and a group soon
gathered round that lady, to listen to the same story from her lips.
It was familiar to her son; but he listened to it with quickened
interest, while he gazed at the beautiful opera-singer winding about
so gracefully in the evolutions of the dance.
Mr. King was in the same set with his lady, and had just touched her
hand, as the partners crossed over, when he noticed a sudden flush on
her countenance, succeeded by deadly pallor. Following the direction
her eye had taken, he saw a slender, elegant young man, who, with
some variation in the fashion of dress, seemed the veritable Gerald
Fitzgerald to whom he had been introduced in the flowery parlor so
many years ago. His first feeling was pain, that this vision of her
first lover had power to excite such lively emotion in his wife; but
his second thought was, "He recalls her first-born son."
Young Fitzgerald eagerly sought out Mr. Green, and said: "Please
introduce me the instant this dance is ended, that I may ask her for
the next. There will be so many trying to engage her, you know."
He was introduced accordingly. The lady politely acceded to his
request, and the quick flush on her face was attributed by all, except
Mr. King, to the heat produced by dancing.
When her young partner took her hand to lead her to the next dance,
she stole a glance toward her husband, and he saw that her soul was
troubled. The handsome couple were "the observed of all observers";
and the youth was so entirely absorbed with his mature partner, that
not a little jealousy was excited in the minds of young ladies. When
he led her to a seat, she declined the numerous invitations that
crowded upon her, saying she should dance no more that evening. Young
Fitzgerald at once professed a disinclination to dance, and begged
that, when she was sufficiently rested, she would allow him to lead
her to the piano, that he might hear her sing something from Norma, by
which she had so delighted his mother, in Rome.
"Your son seems to be entirely devoted to the queen of the evening,"
said Mr. Green to his cousin.
"How can you wonder at it?" replied Mrs. Fitzgerald. "She is such a
superb creature!"
"What was her character in Rome?" inquired a lady who had joined the
group.
"Her stay there was very short," answered Mrs. Fitzgerald. "Her
manners were said to be unexceptionable. The gentlemen were quite
vexed because she made herself so inaccessible."
The conversation was interrupted by La Campaneo's voice, singing,
"_Ah, bello a me ritorno_." The orchestra hushed at once, and the
dancing was suspended, while the company gathered round the piano,
curious to hear the remarkable singer. Mrs. Fitzgerald had long
ceased to allude to what was once her favorite topic,--the wonderful
resemblance between La Señorita's voice and a mysterious voice she had
once heard on her husband's plantation. But she grew somewhat pale as
she listened; for the tones recalled that adventure in her bridal home
at Magnolia Lawn, and the fair moonlight vision was followed by dismal
spectres of succeeding years. Ah, if all the secret histories and sad
memories assembled in a ball-room should be at once revealed, what a
judgment night it would be!
Mrs. King had politely complied with the request to sing, because she
was aware that her host and the company would be disappointed if she
refused; but it was known only to her own soul how much the effort
cost her. She bowed rather languidly to the profuse compliments which
followed-her performance, and used her fan as if she felt oppressed.
"Fall back!" said one of the gentlemen, in a low voice. "There is too
great a crowd round her."
The hint was immediately obeyed, and a servant was requested to bring
iced lemonade. She soon breathed more freely, and tried to rally
her spirits to talk with Mr. Green and others concerning European
reminiscences. Mrs. Fitzgerald drew near, and signified to her cousin
a wish to be introduced; for it would have mortified her vanity, when
she afterward retailed the gossip of the ball-room, if she had been
obliged to acknowledge that she was not presented to _la belle
lionne_.
"If you are not too much fatigued," said she, "I hope you will allow
my son to sing a duet with you. He would esteem it such an honor! I
assure you he has a fine voice, and he is thought to sing with great
expression, especially '_M'odi! Ah, m'odi_!'"
The young gentleman modestly disclaimed the compliment to his musical
powers, but eagerly urged his mother's request. As he bent near the
_cantatrice_, waiting for her reply, her watchful husband again
noticed a quick flush suffusing her face, succeeded by deadly pallor.
Gently moving young Fitzgerald aside, he said in a low tone, "Are you
not well, my dear?"
She raised her eyes to his with a look of distress, and replied: "No,
I am not well. Please order the carriage."
He took her arm within his, and as they made their way through the
crowd she bowed gracefully to the right and left, in answer to the
lamentations occasioned by her departure. Young Fitzgerald followed
to the hall door to offer, in the name of Mrs. Green, a beautiful
bouquet, enclosed within an arum lily of silver filigree. She bowed
her thanks, and, drawing from it a delicate tea-rose, presented it to
him. He wore it as a trophy the remainder of the evening; and none of
the young ladies who teased him for it succeeded in obtaining it.
When Mr. and Mrs. King were in the carriage, he took her hand
tenderly, and said, "My dear, that young man recalled to mind your
infant son, who died with poor Tulee."
With a heavy sigh she answered, "Yes, I am thinking of that poor
little baby."
He held her hand clasped in his; but deeming it most kind not to
intrude into the sanctum of that sad and tender memory, he remained
silent. She spoke no other word as they rode toward their hotel. She
was seeing a vision of those two babes, lying side by side, on that
dreadful night when her tortured soul was for a while filled with
bitter hatred for the man she had loved so truly.
Mrs. Fitzgerald and her son were the earliest among the callers the
next day. Mrs. King happened to rest her hand lightly on the back of
a chair, while she exchanged salutations with them, and her husband
noticed that the lace of her hanging sleeve trembled violently.
"You took everybody by storm last evening, Mrs. King, just as you
did when you first appeared as Norma," said the loquacious Mrs.
Fitzgerald. "As for you, Mr. King, I don't know but you would have
received a hundred challenges, if gentlemen had known you were going
to carry off the prize. So sly of you, too! For I always heard you
were entirely indifferent to ladies."
"Ah, well, the world don't always know what it's talking about,"
rejoined Mr. King, smiling. Further remarks were interrupted by the
entrance of a young girl, whom he took by the hand, and introduced as
"My daughter Eulalia."
Nature is very capricious in the varieties she produces by mixing
flowers with each other. Sometimes the different tints of each are
blended in a new color, compounded of both; sometimes the color of one
is delicately shaded into the other; sometimes one color is marked in
distinct stripes or rings upon the other; and sometimes the separate
hues are mottled and clouded. Nature had indulged in one of her freaks
in the production of Eulalia, a maiden of fifteen summers, the only
surviving child of Mr. and Mrs. King. She inherited her mother's tall,
flexile form, and her long dark eyelashes, eyebrows, and hair; but she
had her father's large blue eyes, and his rose-and-white complexion.
The combination was peculiar, and very handsome; especially the serene
eyes, which, looked out from their dark surroundings like clear blue
water deeply shaded by shrubbery around its edges. Her manners were a
little shy, for her parents had wisely forborne an early introduction
to society. But she entered pleasantly enough into some small talk
with Fitzgerald about the skating parties of the winter, and a new
polka that he thought she would like to practise.
Callers began to arrive rapidly. There was a line of carriages at
the door, and still it lengthened. Mrs. King received them all with
graceful courtesy, and endeavored to say something pleasing to each;
but in the midst of it all, she never lost sight of Gerald and
Eulalia. After a short time she beckoned to her daughter with a slight
motion of her fan, and spoke a few words to her aside. The young
girl left the room, and did not return to it. Fitzgerald, after
interchanging some brief remarks with Mr. King about the classes at
Cambridge, approached the _cantatrice_, and said in lowered tones:
"I tried to call early with the hope of hearing you sing. But I was
detained by business for grandfather; and even if you were graciously
inclined to gratify my presumptuous wish, you will not be released
from company this morning. May I say, _Au revoir_?"
"Certainly," she replied, looking up at him with an expression in her
beautiful eyes that produced a glow of gratified vanity. He bowed good
morning, with the smiling conviction that he was a great favorite with
the distinguished lady.
When the last caller had retired, Mrs. King, after exchanging some
general observations with her husband concerning her impressions of
Boston and its people, seated herself at the window, with a number of
Harper's Weekly in her hand; but the paper soon dropped on her lap,
and she seemed gazing into infinity. The people passing and repassing
were invisible to her. She was away in that lonely island home, with
two dark-haired babies lying near her, side by side.
Her husband looked at her over his newspaper, now and then; and
observing her intense abstraction, he stepped softly across the room,
and, laying his hand gently upon her head, said: "Rosa, dear, do
memories trouble you so much that you regret having returned to
America?"
Without change of posture, she answered: "It matters not where we
are. We must always carry ourselves with us." Then, as if reproaching
herself for so cold a response to his kind inquiry, she looked up at
him, and, kissing his hand, said: "Dear Alfred! Good angel of my life!
I do not deserve such a heart as yours."
He had never seen such a melancholy expression in her eyes since the
day she first encouraged him to hope for her affection. He made no
direct allusion to the subject of her thoughts, for the painful
history of her early love was a theme they mutually avoided; but he
sought, by the most assiduous tenderness, to chase away the gloomy
phantoms that were taking possession of her soul. In answer to his
urgent entreaty that she would express to him unreservedly any wish
she might form, she said, as if thinking aloud: "Of course they buried
poor Tulee among the negroes; but perhaps they buried the baby
with Mr. and Mrs. Duroy, and inscribed something about him on the
gravestone."
"It is hardly probable," he replied; "but if it would give you
satisfaction to search, we will go to New Orleans."
"Thank you," rejoined she; "and I should like it very much if you
could leave orders to engage lodgings for the summer somewhere distant
from Boston, that we might go and take possession as soon as we
return."
He promised compliance with her wishes; but the thought flitted
through his mind, "Can it be possible the young man fascinates her,
that she wants to fly from him?"
"I am going to Eulalia now," said she, with one of her sweet smiles.
"It will be pleasanter for the dear child when we get out of this
whirl of society, which so much disturbs our domestic companionship."
As she kissed her hand to him at the door, he thought to himself,
"Whatever this inward struggle may be, she will remain true to her
pure and noble character."
Mrs. Fitzgerald, meanwhile, quite unconscious that the flowery surface
she had witnessed covered such agitated depths, hastened to keep her
promise of describing the party to Mrs. Delano and her daughter.
"I assure you," said she, "La Señorita looked quite as handsome in the
ball-room as she did on the stage. She is stouter than she was then,
but not so; 'fat and forty' as I am. Large proportions suit her
stately figure. As for her dress, I wish you could have seen it. It
was splendid, and wonderfully becoming to her rich complexion. It was
completely Spanish, from the mantilla on her head to the black satin
slippers with red bows and brilliants. She was all cherry-colored
satin, black lace, and diamonds."
"How I should like to have seen her!" exclaimed Mrs. Blumenthal, whose
fancy was at once taken by the bright color and strong contrast of the
costume.
But Mrs. Delano remarked: "I should think her style of dress rather
too _prononcé_ and theatrical; too suggestive of Fanny Elsler and the
Bolero."
"Doubtless it would be so for you or I," rejoined Mrs. Fitzgerald.
"Mother used to say you had a poet lover, who called you the twilight
cloud, violet dissolving into lilac. And when I was a young lady, some
of my admirers compared me to the new moon, which must, of course,
appear in azure and silver. But I assure you Mrs. King's conspicuous
dress was extremely becoming to her style of face and figure. I wish I
had counted how many gentlemen quoted, 'She walks in beauty like the
night' It became really ridiculous at last. Gerald and I called upon
her this morning, and we found her handsome in the parlor by daylight,
which is a trying test to the forties, you know. We were introduced
to their only daughter, Eulalia,--a very peculiar-looking young miss,
with sky-blue eyes and black eyelashes, like some of the Circassian
beauties I have read off. Gerald thinks her almost as handsome as her
mother. What a fortune that girl will be! But I have promised ever so
many people to tell them about the party; so I must bid you good by."
When the door closed after her, Flora remarked, "I never heard of
anybody but my Mamita who was named Eulalia."
"Eulalia was a Spanish saint," responded Mrs. Delano; "and her name
is so very musical that it would naturally please the ear of La
Señorita."
"My curiosity is considerably excited to see this stylish lady," said
Flora.
"We will wait a little, till the first rush of visitors has somewhat
subsided, and then we will call," rejoined Mrs. Delano.
They called three days after, and were informed that Mr. and Mrs. King
had gone to New Orleans.