A PLEASANT PREDICAMENT.
As I sat vainly endeavoring to fix upon some suitable and appropriate
epithet by which to commence my note, my back was turned towards the door
of the garden; and so occupied was I in my meditations, that even had any
one entered at the time, in all probability I should not have perceived it.
At length, however, I was aroused from my study by a burst of laughter,
whose girlish joyousness was not quite new to me. I knew it well; it was
the senhora herself; and the next moment I heard her voice.
“I tell you, I’m quite certain I saw his face in the mirror as I passed.
Oh, how delightful! and you’ll be charmed with him; so, mind, you must not
steal him from me; I shall never forgive you if you do; and look, only
look! he has got the blue scarf I gave him when he marched to the Douro.”
While I perceived that I was myself seen, I could see nothing of the
speaker, and wishing to hear something further, appeared more than ever
occupied in the writing before me.
What her companion replied I could not, however, catch, but only guess at
its import by the senhora’s answer. “_Fi done!_--I really am very fond of
him; but, never fear, I shall be as stately as a queen. You shall see how
meekly he will kiss my hand, and with what unbending reserve I’ll receive
him.”
“Indeed!” thought I; “mayhap, I’ll mar your plot a little; but let us
listen.”
Again her friend spoke, but too low to be heard.
“It is so provoking,” continued Inez; “I never can remember names, and his
was something too absurd; but never mind, I shall make him a grandee of
Portugal. Well, but come along, I long to present him to you.”
Here a gentle struggle seemed to ensue; for I heard the senhora coaxingly
entreat her, while her companion steadily resisted.
“I know very well you think I shall be so silly, and perhaps wrong; eh, is
it not so? but you are quite mistaken. You’ll be surprised at my cold and
dignified manner. I shall draw myself proudly up, thus, and curtsying
deeply, say, ‘Monsieur, j’ai l’honneur de vous saluer.’”
A laugh twice as mirthful as before interrupted her account of herself,
while I could hear the tones of her friend evidently in expostulation.
[Illustration: O’MALLEY FOLLOWING THE CUSTOM OF HIS COUNTRY.]
“Well, then, to be sure, you are provoking, but you really promise to
follow me. Be it so; then give me that moss-rose. How you have fluttered
me; now for it!”
So saying, I heard her foot upon the gravel, and the next instant upon the
marble step of the door. There is something in expectation that sets the
heart beating, and mine throbbed against my side. I waited, however, till
she entered, before lifting my head, and then springing suddenly up, with
one bound clasped her in my arms, and pressing my lips upon her roseate
cheek, said,--
“_Mar charmante amie!_” To disengage herself from me, and to spring
suddenly back was her first effort; to burst into an immoderate fit of
laughing, her second; her cheek was, however, covered with a deep blush,
and I already repented that my malice had gone so far.
“Pardon, Mademoiselle,” said I, in affected innocence, “if I have so far
forgotten myself as to assume a habit of my own country to a stranger.”
A half-angry toss of the head was her only reply, and turning towards the
garden, she called to her friend:--
“Come here, dearest, and instruct my ignorance upon your national customs;
but first let me present to you,--never know his name,--the Chevalier de
----What is it?”
The glass door opened as she spoke; a tall and graceful figure entered, and
turning suddenly round, showed me the features of Lucy Dashwood. We both
stood opposite each other, each mute with amazement. _My_ feelings let me
not attempt to convey; shame, for the first moment stronger than aught
else, sent the blood rushing to my face and temples, and the next I was
cold and pale as death. As for her, I cannot guess at what passed in
her mind. She curtsied deeply to me, and with a half-smile of scarce
recognition passed by me, and walked towards a window.
“_Comme vous êtes amiable!_” said the lively Portuguese, who comprehended
little of this dumb show; “here have I been flattering myself what friends
you’d be the very moment you meet, and now you’ll not even look at each
other.”
What was to be done? The situation was every instant growing more and more
embarrassing; nothing but downright effrontery could get through with
it now; and never did a man’s heart more fail him than did mine at this
conjuncture. I made the’ effort, however, and stammered out certain
unmeaning commonplaces. Inez replied, and I felt myself conversing with the
headlong recklessness of one marching to a scaffold, a coward’s fear at his
heart, while he essayed to seem careless and indifferent.
Anxious to reach what I esteemed safe ground, I gladly adverted to the
campaign; and at last, hurried on by the impulse to cover my embarrassment,
was describing some skirmish with a French outpost. Without intending, I
had succeeded in exciting the senhora’s interest, and she listened with
sparkling eye and parted lips to the description of a sweeping charge in
which a square was broken, and several prisoners carried off. Warming with
the eager avidity of her attention, I grew myself more excited, when just
as my narrative reached its climax, Miss Dashwood walked gently towards the
bell, rang it, and ordered her carriage. The tone of perfect _nonchalance_
of the whole proceeding struck me dumb; I faltered, stammered, hesitated,
and was silent. Donna Inez turned from one to the other of us with a look
of unfeigned astonishment and I heard her mutter to herself something
like a reflection upon “national eccentricities.” Happily, however,
her attention was now exclusively turned towards her friend, and while
assisting her to shawl, and extorting innumerable promises of an early
visit, I got a momentary reprieve; the carriage drew up also, and as the
gravel flew right and left beneath the horses’ feet, the very noise and
bustle relieved me. “_Adios_,” then said Inez, as she kissed her for the
last time, while she motioned to me to escort her to her carriage. I
advanced, stopped, made another step forward, and again grew irresolute;
but Miss Dashwood speedily terminated the difficulty; for making me a
formal curtsey, she declined my scarce-proffered attention, and left the
room.
As she did so, I perceived that on passing the table, her eyes fell upon
the paper I had been scribbling over so long, and I thought that for
an instant an expression of ineffable scorn seemed to pass across her
features, save which--and perhaps even in this I was mistaken--her manner
was perfectly calm, easy, and indifferent.
Scarce had the carriage rolled from the door, when the senhora, throwing
herself upon her chair, clapped her hands in childish ecstasy, while she
fell into a fit of laughing that I thought would never have an end. “Such
a scene!” cried she; “I would not have lost it for the world; what
cordiality! what _empressement_ to form acquaintance! I shall never forget
it, Monsieur le Chevalier; your national customs seem to run sadly in
extremes. One would have thought you deadly enemies; and poor me, after a
thousand delightful plans about you both!”
As she ran on thus, scarce able to control her mirth at each sentence, I
walked the room with impatient strides, now, resolving to hasten after the
carriage, stop it, explain in a few words how all had happened, and then
fly from her forever; then the remembrance of her cold, impassive look
crossed me, and I thought that one bold leap into the Tagus might be the
shortest and easiest solution to all my miseries. Perfect abasement,
thorough self-contempt had broken all my courage, and I could have cried
like a child. What I said, or how I comforted myself after, I know not; but
my first consciousness came to me as I felt myself running at the top of my
speed far upon the road towards Lisbon.