in question, though very elaborate, was not a very gay affair. There
were some fourteen persons present, of whom half were residents in the
town, men employed in some official capacity, who found this to be the
cheapest, the most luxurious, and to them the most comfortable mode of
living. They clustered together at the head of the table, and as they
were customary guests at the house, they talked their little talk
together--it was very little--and made the most of the good things
before them. Then there were two or three commis-voyageurs, a chance
traveller or two, and an English lady with a young daughter. The English
lady sat next to one of the accustomed guests; but he, unlike the
others, held converse with her rather than with them. Our story at
present has reference only to that lady and to that gentleman.
Place aux dames. We will speak first of the lady, whose name was Mrs.
Thompson. She was, shall I say, a young woman of about thirty-six. In so
saying, I am perhaps creating a prejudice against her in the minds of
some readers, as they will, not unnaturally, suppose her, after such an
announcement, to be in truth over forty. Any such prejudice will be
unjust. I would have it believed that thirty-six was the outside, not
the inside of her age. She was good-looking, lady-like, and considering
that she was an Englishwoman, fairly well dressed. She was inclined to
be rather full in her person, but perhaps not more so than is becoming
to ladies at her time of life. She had rings on her fingers and a brooch
on her bosom which were of some value, and on the back of her head she
wore a jaunty small lace cap, which seemed to tell, in conjunction with
her other appointments, that her circumstances were comfortable.
The little girl who sat next to her was the youngest of her two
daughters, and might be about thirteen years of age. Her name was
Matilda, but infantine circumstances had invested her with the nickname
of Mimmy, by which her mother always called her. A nice, pretty, playful
little girl was Mimmy Thompson, wearing two long tails of plaited hair
hanging behind her head, and inclined occasionally to be rather loud in
her sport.
Mrs. Thompson had another and an elder daughter, now some fifteen years
old, who was at school in Le Puy; and it was with reference to her
tuition that Mrs. Thompson had taken up a temporary residence at the
Hôtel des Ambassadeurs in that town. Lilian Thompson was occasionally
invited down to dine or breakfast at the inn, and was visited daily at
her school by her mother.
“When I’m sure that she’ll do, I shall leave her there, and go back to
England,” Mrs. Thompson had said, not in the purest French, to the
neighbour who always sat next to her at the table d’hôte, the gentleman,
namely, to whom we have above alluded. But still she had remained at Le
Puy a month, and did not go; a circumstance which was considered
singular, but by no means unpleasant, both by the innkeeper and by the
gentleman in question.
The facts, as regarded Mrs. Thompson, were as follows:--She was the
widow of a gentleman who had served for many years in the civil service
of the East Indies, and who, on dying, had left her a comfortable income
of--it matters not how many pounds, but constituting quite a sufficiency
to enable her to live at her ease and educate her daughters.
Her children had been sent home to England before her husband’s death,
and after that event she had followed them; but there, though she was
possessed of moderate wealth, she had no friends and few acquaintances,
and after a little while she had found life to be rather dull. Her
customs were not those of England, nor were her propensities English;
therefore she had gone abroad, and having received some recommendation
of this school at Le Puy, had made her way thither. As it appeared to
her that she really enjoyed more consideration at Le Puy than had been
accorded to her either at Torquay or Leamington, there she remained from
day to day. The total payment required at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs was
but six francs daily for herself and three and a half for her little
girl; and where else could she live with a better junction of economy
and comfort? And then the gentleman who always sat next to her was so
exceedingly civil!
The gentleman’s name was M. Lacordaire. So much she knew, and had
learned to call him by his name very frequently. Mimmy, too, was quite
intimate with M. Lacordaire; but nothing more than his name was known of
him. But M. Lacordaire carried a general letter of recommendation in his
face, manner, gait, dress, and tone of voice. In all these respects
there was nothing left to be desired; and, in addition to this, he was
decorated, and wore the little red ribbon of the Legion of Honour,
ingeniously twisted into the shape of a small flower.
M. Lacordaire might be senior in age to Mrs. Thompson by about ten
years, nor had he about him any of the airs or graces of a would-be
young man. His hair, which he wore very short, was grizzled, as was also
the small pretence of a whisker which came down about as far as the
middle of his ear; but the tuft on his chin was still brown, without a
gray hair. His eyes were bright and tender, his voice was low and soft,
his hands were very white, his clothes were always new and well fitting,
and a better-brushed hat could not be seen out of Paris, nor perhaps in
it.
Now, during the weeks which Mrs. Thompson had passed at Le Puy, the
acquaintance which she had formed with M. Lacordaire had progressed
beyond the prolonged meals in the salle à manger. He had occasionally
sat beside her evening table as she took her English cup of tea in her
own room, her bed being duly screened off in its distant niche by
becoming curtains; and then he had occasionally walked beside her, as he
civilly escorted her to the lions of the place; and he had once
accompanied her, sitting on the back seat of a French voiture, when she
had gone forth to see something of the surrounding country.
On all such occasions she had been accompanied by one of her daughters,
and the world of Le Puy had had nothing material to say against her. But
still the world of Le Puy had whispered a little, suggesting that M.
Lacordaire knew very well what he was about. But might not Mrs. Thompson
also know as well what she was about? At any rate, everything had gone
on very pleasantly since the acquaintance had been made. And now, so
much having been explained, we will go back to the elaborate breakfast
at the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs.
Mrs. Thompson, holding Mimmy by the hand, walked into the room some few
minutes after the last bell had been rung, and took the place which was
now hers by custom. The gentlemen who constantly frequented the house
all bowed to her, but M. Lacordaire rose from his seat and offered her
his hand.
“And how is Mees Meemy this morning?” said he; for ’twas thus he always
pronounced her name.
Miss Mimmy, answering for herself, declared that she was very well, and
suggested that M. Lacordaire should give her a fig from off a dish that
was placed immediately before him on the table. This M. Lacordaire did,
presenting it very elegantly between his two fingers, and making a
little bow to the little lady as he did so.
“Fie, Mimmy!” said her mother; “why do you ask for the things before the
waiter brings them round?”
“But, mamma,” said Mimmy, speaking English, “M. Lacordaire always gives
me a fig every morning.”
“M. Lacordaire always spoils you, I think,” answered Mrs. Thompson, in
French. And then they went thoroughly to work at their breakfast. During
the whole meal M. Lacordaire attended assiduously to his neighbour; and
did so without any evil result, except that one Frenchman with a black
moustache, at the head of the table, trod on the toe of another
Frenchman with another black moustache--winking as he made the
sign--just as M. Lacordaire, having selected a bunch of grapes, put it
on Mrs. Thompson’s plate with infinite grace. But who among us all is
free from such impertinences as these?
“But madame really must see the château of Prince Polignac before she
leaves Le Puy,” said M. Lacordaire.
“The château of who?” asked Mimmy, to whose young ears the French words
were already becoming familiar.
“Prince Polignac, my dear. Well, I really don’t know, M. Lacordaire;--I
have seen a great deal of the place already, and I shall be going now
very soon; probably in a day or two,” said Mrs. Thompson.
“But madame must positively see the château,” said M. Lacordaire, very
impressively; and then after a pause he added, “If madame will have the
complaisance to commission me to procure a carriage for this afternoon,
and will allow me the honour to be her guide, I shall consider myself
one of the most fortunate of men.”
“Oh, yes, mamma, do go,” said Mimmy, clapping her hands. “And it is
Thursday, and Lilian can go with us.”
“Be quiet, Mimmy, do. Thank you, no, M. Lacordaire. I could not go
to-day; but I am extremely obliged by your politeness.”
M. Lacordaire still pressed the matter, and Mrs. Thompson still declined
till it was time to rise from the table. She then declared that she did
not think it possible that she should visit the château before she left
Le Puy; but that she would give him an answer at dinner.
The most tedious time in the day to Mrs. Thompson were the two hours
after breakfast. At one o’clock she daily went to the school, taking
Mimmy, who for an hour or two shared her sister’s lessons. This and her
little excursions about the place, and her shopping, managed to make
away with her afternoon. Then in the evening, she generally saw
something of M. Lacordaire. But those two hours after breakfast were
hard of killing.
On this occasion, when she gained her own room, she as usual placed
Mimmy on the sofa with a needle. Her custom then was to take up a novel;
but on this morning she sat herself down in her arm-chair, and resting
her head upon her hand and elbow, began to turn over certain
circumstances in her mind.
“Mamma,” said Mimmy, “why won’t you go with M. Lacordaire to that place
belonging to the prince? Prince--Polly something, wasn’t it?”
“Mind your work, my dear,” said Mrs. Thompson.
“But I do so wish you’d go, mamma. What was the prince’s name?”
“Polignac.”
“Mamma, ain’t princes very great people?”
“Yes, my dear; sometimes.”
“Is Prince Polly-nac like our Prince Alfred?”
“No, my dear; not at all. At least, I suppose not.”
“Is his mother a queen?”
“No, my dear.”
“Then his father must be a king?”
“No, my dear. It is quite a different thing here. Here in France they
have a great many princes.”
“Well, at any rate I should like to see a prince’s château; so I do hope
you’ll go.” And then there was a pause. “Mamma, could it come to pass,
here in France, that M. Lacordaire should ever be a prince?”
“M. Lacordaire a prince! No; don’t talk such nonsense, but mind your
work.”
“Isn’t M. Lacordaire a very nice man? Ain’t you very fond of him?”
To this question Mrs. Thompson made no answer.
“Mamma,” continued Mimmy, after a moment’s pause, “won’t you tell me
whether you are fond of M. Lacordaire? I’m quite sure of this,--that
he’s very fond of you.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Mrs. Thompson, who could not bring
herself to refrain from the question.
“Because he looks at you in that way, mamma, and squeezes your hand.”
“Nonsense, child,” said Mrs. Thompson; “hold your tongue. I don’t know
what can have put such stuff into your head.”
“But he does, mamma,” said Mimmy, who rarely allowed her mother to put
her down.
Mrs. Thompson made no further answer, but again sat with her head
resting on her hand. She also, if the truth must be told, was thinking
of M. Lacordaire and his fondness for herself. He had squeezed her hand
and he had looked into her face. However much it may have been nonsense
on Mimmy’s part to talk of such things, they had not the less absolutely
occurred. Was it really the fact that M. Lacordaire was in love with
her?
And if so, what return should she, or could she make to such a passion?
He had looked at her yesterday, and squeezed her hand to-day. Might it
not be probable that he would advance a step further to-morrow? If so,
what answer would she be prepared to make to him?
She did not think--so she said to herself--that she had any particular
objection to marrying again. Thompson had been dead now for four years,
and neither his friends, nor her friends, nor the world could say she
was wrong on that score. And as to marrying a Frenchman, she could not
say she felt within herself any absolute repugnance to doing that. Of
her own country, speaking of England as such, she, in truth, knew but
little--and perhaps cared less. She had gone to India almost as a child,
and England had not been specially kind to her on her return. She had
found it dull and cold, stiff, and almost ill-natured. People there had
not smiled on her and been civil as M. Lacordaire had done. As far as
England and Englishmen were considered she saw no reason why she should
not marry M. Lacordaire.
And then, as regarded the man; could she in her heart say that she was
prepared to love, honour, and obey M. Lacordaire? She certainly knew no
reason why she should not do so. She did not know much of him, she said
to herself at first; but she knew as much, she said afterwards, as she
had known personally of Mr. Thompson before their marriage. She had
known, to be sure, what was Mr. Thompson’s profession and what his
income; or, if not, some one else had known for her. As to both these
points she was quite in the dark as regarded M. Lacordaire.
Personally, she certainly did like him, as she said to herself more than
once. There was a courtesy and softness about him which were very
gratifying to her; and then, his appearance was so much in his favour.
He was not very young, she acknowledged; but neither was she young
herself. It was quite evident that he was fond of her children, and that
he would be a kind and affectionate father to them. Indeed, there was
kindness in all that he did.
Should she many again,--and she put it to herself quite
hypothetically,--she would look for no romance in such a second
marriage. She would be content to sit down in a quiet home, to the tame
dull realities of life, satisfied with the companionship of a man who
would be kind and gentle to her, and whom she could respect and esteem.
Where could she find a companion with whom this could be more safely
anticipated than with M. Lacordaire?
And so she argued the question within her own breast in a manner not
unfriendly to that gentleman. That there was as yet one great hindrance
she at once saw; but then that might be remedied by a word. She did not
know what was his income or his profession. The chambermaid, whom she
had interrogated, had told her that he was a “marchand.” To merchants,
generally, she felt that she had no objection. The Barings and the
Rothschilds were merchants, as was also that wonderful man at Bombay,
Sir Hommajee Bommajee, who was worth she did not know how many thousand
lacs of rupees.
That it would behove her, on her own account and that of her daughters,
to take care of her own little fortune in contracting any such
connection, that she felt strongly. She would never so commit herself as
to put security in that respect out of her power. But then she did not
think that M. Lacordaire would ever ask her to do so; at any rate, she
was determined on this, that there should never be any doubt on that
matter; and as she firmly resolved on this, she again took up her book,
and for a minute or two made an attempt to read.
“Mamma,” said Mimmy, “will M. Lacordaire go up to the school to see
Lilian when you go away from this?”
“Indeed, I cannot say, my dear. If Lilian is a good girl, perhaps he may
do so now and then.”
“And will he write to you and tell you how she is?”
“Lilian can write for herself; can she not?”
“Oh yes; I suppose she can; but I hope M. Lacordaire will write too. We
shall come back here some day; shan’t we, mamma?”
“I cannot say, my dear.”
“I do so hope we shall see M. Lacordaire again. Do you know what I was
thinking, mamma?”
“Little girls like you ought not to think,” said Mrs. Thompson, walking
slowly out of the room to the top of the stairs and back again; for she
had felt the necessity of preventing Mimmy from disclosing any more of
her thoughts. “And now, my dear, get yourself ready, and we will go up
to the school.”
Mrs. Thompson always dressed herself with care, though not in especially
fine clothes, before she went down to dinner at the table d’hôte; but on
this occasion she was more than usually particular. She hardly explained
to herself why she did this; but, nevertheless, as she stood before the
glass, she did in a certain manner feel that the circumstances of her
future life might perhaps depend on what might be said and done that
evening. She had not absolutely decided whether or no she would go to
the Prince’s château; but if she did go----. Well, if she did; what
then? She had sense enough, as she assured herself more than once, to
regulate her own conduct with propriety in any such emergency.
During the dinner, M. Lacordaire conversed in his usual manner, but said
nothing whatever about the visit to Polignac. He was very kind to Mimmy,
and very courteous to her mother, but did not appear to be at all more
particular than usual. Indeed, it might be a question whether he was not
less so. As she had entered the room Mrs. Thompson had said to herself
that, perhaps, after all, it would be better that there should be
nothing more thought about it; but before the four of five courses were
over, she was beginning to feel a little disappointed.
And now the fruit was on the table, after the consumption of which it
was her practice to retire. It was certainly open to her to ask M.
Lacordaire to take tea with her that evening, as she had done on former
occasions; but she felt that she must not do this now, considering the
immediate circumstances of the case. If any further steps were to be
taken, they must be taken by him, and not by her;--or else by Mimmy,
who, just as her mother was slowly consuming her last grapes, ran round
to the back of M. Lacordaire’s chair, and whispered something into his
ear. It may be presumed that Mrs. Thompson did not see the intention of
the movement in time to arrest it, for she did nothing till the
whispering had been whispered; and then she rebuked the child, bade her
not to be troublesome, and with more than usual austerity in her voice,
desired her to get herself ready to go up stairs to their chamber.
As she spoke she herself rose from her chair, and made her final little
bow to the table, and her other final little bow and smile to M.
Lacordaire; but this was certain to all who saw it, that the smile was
not as gracious as usual.
As she walked forth, M. Lacordaire rose from his chair--such being his
constant practice when she left the table; but on this occasion he
accompanied her to the door.
“And has madame decided,” he asked, “whether she will permit me to
accompany her to the château?”
“Well, I really don’t know,” said Mrs. Thompson.
“Mees Meemy,” continued M. Lacordaire, “is very anxious to see the rock,
and I may perhaps hope that Mees Lilian would be pleased with such a
little excursion. As for myself----” and then M. Lacordaire put his hand
upon his heart in a manner that seemed to speak more plainly than he had
ever spoken.
“Well, if the children would really like it, and--as you are so very
kind,” said Mrs. Thompson; and so the matter was conceded.
“To-morrow afternoon?” suggested M. Lacordaire. But Mrs. Thompson fixed
on Saturday, thereby showing that she herself was in no hurry for the
expedition.
“Oh, I am so glad!” said Mimmy, when they had re-entered their own room.
“Mamma, do let me tell Lilian myself when I go up to the school
to-morrow!”
But mamma was in no humour to say much to her child on this subject at
the present moment. She threw herself back on her sofa in perfect
silence, and began to reflect whether she would like to sign her name in
future as Fanny Lacordaire, instead of Fanny Thompson. It certainly
seemed as though things were verging towards such a necessity. A
marchand! But a marchand of what? She had an instinctive feeling that
the people in the hotel were talking about her and M. Lacordaire, and
was therefore more than ever averse to asking any one a question.
As she went up to the school the next afternoon, she walked through more
of the streets of Le Puy than was necessary, and in every street she
looked at the names which she saw over the doors of the more respectable
houses of business. But she looked in vain. It might be that M.
Lacordaire was a marchand of so specially high a quality as to be under
no necessity to put up his name at all. Sir Hommajee Bommajee’s name did
not appear over any door in Bombay;--at least, she thought not.
And then came the Saturday morning. “We shall be ready at two,” she
said, as she left the breakfast-table; “and perhaps you would not mind
calling for Lilian on the way.”
M. Lacordaire would be delighted to call anywhere for anybody on behalf
of Mrs. Thompson; and then, as he got to the door of the salon, he
offered her his hand. He did so with so much French courtesy that she
could not refuse it, and then she felt that his purpose was more tender
than ever it had been. And why not, if this was the destiny which Fate
had prepared for her?
Mrs. Thompson would rather have got into the carriage at any other spot
in Le Puy than at that at which she was forced to do so--the chief
entrance, namely, of the Hôtel des Ambassadeurs. And what made it worse
was this, that an appearance of a special fête was given to the
occasion. M. Lacordaire was dressed in more than his Sunday best. He had
on new yellow kid gloves. His coat, if not new, was newer than any Mrs.
Thompson had yet observed, and was lined with silk up to the very
collar. He had on patent leather boots, which glittered, as Mrs.
Thompson thought, much too conspicuously. And as for his hat, it was
quite evident that it was fresh that morning from the maker’s block.
In this costume, with his hat in his hand, he stood under the great
gateway of the hotel, ready to hand Mrs. Thompson into the carriage.
This would have been nothing if the landlord and landlady had not been
there also, as well as the man-cook, and the four waiters, and the fille
de chambre. Two or three other pair of eyes Mrs. Thompson also saw, as
she glanced round, and then Mimmy walked across the yard in her best
clothes with a fête-day air about her for which her mother would have
liked to have whipped her.
But what did it matter? If it was written in the book that she should
become Madame Lacordaire, of course the world would know that there must
have been some preparatory love-making. Let them have their laugh; a
good husband would not be dearly purchased at so trifling an expense.
And so they sallied forth with already half the ceremony of a wedding.
Mimmy seated herself opposite to her mother, and M. Lacordaire also sat
with his back to the horses, leaving the second place of honour for
Lilian. “Pray make yourself comfortable, M. Lacordaire, and don’t mind
her,” said Mrs. Thompson. But he was firm in his purpose of civility,
perhaps making up his mind that when he should in truth stand in the
place of papa to the young lady, then would be his time for having the
back seat in the carriage.
Lilian, also in her best frock, came down the school-steps, and three of
the school teachers came with her. It would have added to Mrs.
Thompson’s happiness at that moment if M. Lacordaire would have kept
his polished boots out of sight, and put his yellow gloves into his
pocket.
And then they started. The road from Le Puy to Polignac is nearly all up
hill; and a very steep bill it is, so that there was plenty of time for
conversation. But the girls had it nearly all to themselves. Mimmy
thought that she had never found. M. Lacordaire so stupid; and Lilian
told her sister on the first safe opportunity that occurred, that it
seemed very much as though they were all going to church.
“And do any of the Polignac people ever live at this place?” asked Mrs.
Thompson, by way of making conversation; in answer to which M.
Lacordaire informed madame that the place was at present only a ruin;
and then there was again silence till they found themselves under the
rock, and were informed by the driver that the rest of the ascent must
be made on foot.
The rock now stood abrupt and precipitous above their heads. It was
larger in its circumference and with much larger space on its summit
than those other volcanic rocks in and close to the town; but then at
the same time it was higher from the ground, and quite as inaccessible,
except by the single path which led up to the château.
M. Lacordaire, with conspicuous gallantry, first assisted Mrs. Thompson
from the carriage, and then handed down the two young ladies. No lady
could have been so difficult to please as to complain of him, and yet
Mrs. Thompson thought that he was not as agreeable as usual. Those
horrid boots and those horrid gloves gave him such an air of holiday
finery that neither could he be at his ease wearing them, nor could she,
in seeing them worn.