Endymion was a little agitated when he arrived at the door of Montfort
House, a huge family mansion, situate in a court-yard and looking into
the Green Park. When the door was opened he found himself in a large
hall with many servants, and he was ushered through several rooms on the
ground floor, into a capacious chamber dimly lighted, where there were
several gentlemen, but not his hostess. His name was announced, and then
a young man came up to him and mentioned that Lord and Lady Montfort
would soon be present, and then talked to him about the weather. The
Count of Ferroll arrived after Endymion, and then another gentleman
whose name he could not catch. Then while he was making some original
observations on the east wind, and, to confess the truth, feeling
anything but at his ease, the folding doors of a further chamber
brilliantly lighted were thrown open, and almost at the same moment Lady
Montfort entered, and, taking the Count of Ferroll’s arm, walked into
the dining-room. It was a round table, and Endymion was told by the
same gentleman who had already addressed him, that he was to sit by Lady
Montfort.
“Lord Montfort is a little late to-day,” she said, “but he wished me not
to wait for him. And how are you after our parliamentary banquet?”
she said, turning to Endymion; “I will introduce you to the Count of
Ferroll.”
The Count of Ferroll was a young man, and yet inclined to be bald. He
was chief of a not inconsiderable mission at our court. Though not to
be described as a handsome man, his countenance was striking; a brow
of much intellectual development, and a massive jaw. He was tall,
broad-shouldered, with a slender waist. He greeted Endymion with a
penetrating glance, and then with a winning smile.
The Count of Ferroll was the representative of a kingdom which, if
not exactly created, had been moulded into a certain form of apparent
strength and importance by the Congress of Vienna. He was a noble of
considerable estate in a country where possessions were not extensive
or fortunes large, though it was ruled by an ancient, and haughty, and
warlike aristocracy. Like his class, the Count of Ferroll had received a
military education; but when that education was completed, he found but
a feeble prospect of his acquirements being called into action. It
was believed that the age of great wars had ceased, and that even
revolutions were for the future to be controlled by diplomacy. As he was
a man of an original, not to say eccentric, turn of mind, the Count
of Ferroll was not contented with the resources and distraction of his
second-rate capital. He was an eminent sportsman, and, for some time,
took refuge and found excitement in the breadth of his dark forests, and
in the formation of a stud, which had already become celebrated. But all
this time, even in the excitement of the chase, and in the raising of
his rare-breed steeds, the Count of Ferroll might be said to have been
brooding over the position of what he could scarcely call his country,
but rather an aggregation of lands baptized by protocols, and christened
and consolidated by treaties which he looked upon as eminently
untrustworthy. One day he surprised his sovereign, with whom he was
a favourite, by requesting to be appointed to the legation at London,
which was vacant. The appointment was at once made, and the Count of
Ferroll had now been two years at the Court of St. James’s.
The Count of Ferroll was a favourite in English society, for he
possessed every quality which there conduces to success. He was of great
family and of distinguished appearance, munificent and singularly frank;
was a dead-shot, and the boldest of riders, with horses which were the
admiration alike of Melton and Newmarket. The ladies also approved of
him, for he was a consummate waltzer, and mixed with a badinage gaily
cynical a tone that could be tender and a bewitching smile.
But his great friend was Lady Montfort. He told her everything, and
consulted her on everything; and though he rarely praised anybody, it
had reached her ears that the Count of Ferroll had said more than once
that she was a greater woman than Louise of Savoy or the Duchesse de
Longueville.
There was a slight rustling in the room. A gentleman had entered and
glided into his unoccupied chair, which his valet had guarded. “I fear I
am not in time for an oyster,” said Lord Montfort to his neighbour.
The gentleman who had first spoken to Endymion was the secretary of Lord
Montfort; then there was a great genius who was projecting a suspension
bridge over the Tyne, and that was in Lord Montfort’s county. A
distinguished officer of the British Museum completed the party with a
person who sate opposite Endymion, and whom in the dim twilight he had
not recognised, but whom he now beheld with no little emotion. It was
Nigel Penruddock. They had not met since his mother’s funeral, and the
associations of the past agitated Endymion. They exchanged recognitions;
that of Nigel was grave but kind.
The conversation was what is called general, and a great deal on
suspension bridges. Lord Montfort himself led off on this, in order
to bring out his distinguished guest. The Count of Ferroll was also
interested on this subject, as his own government was making inquiries
on the matter. The gentleman from the British Museum made some remarks
on the mode in which the ancient Egyptians moved masses of granite, and
quoted Herodotus to the civil engineer. The civil engineer had never
heard of Herodotus, but he said he was going to Egypt in the autumn by
desire of Mehemet Ali, and he would undertake to move any mass which
was requisite, even if it were a pyramid itself. Lady Montfort, without
disturbing the general conversation, whispered in turns to the Count of
Ferroll and Endymion, and told the latter that she had paid a visit to
Lady Roehampton in the morning--a most delightful visit. There was no
person she admired so much as his sister; she quite loved her. The
only person who was silent was Nigel, but Lady Montfort, who perceived
everything, addressed him across the table with enthusiasm about some
changes he had made in the services of some church, and the countenance
of Nigel became suffused like a young saint who has a glimpse of
Paradise.
After dinner Lady Montfort led Endymion to her lord, and left him seated
by his host. Lord Montfort was affable and natural in his manner. He
said, “I have not yet made the acquaintance of Lady Roehampton, for I
never go out; but I hope to do so, for Lady Montfort tells me she is
quite captivating.”
“She is a very good sister,” said Endymion.
“Lady Montfort has told me a great deal about yourself, and all of it
I was glad to hear. I like young men who rise by their merits, and Mr.
Sidney Wilton tells Lady Montfort that yours are distinguished.”
“Mr. Sidney Wilton is a kind master, sir.”
“Well, I was his fag at Harrow, and I thought him so,” said Lord
Montfort. “And now about your office; tell me what you do. You were not
there first, Lady Montfort says. Where were you first? Tell me all about
it. I like detail.”
It was impossible to resist such polished and amiable curiosity, and
Endymion gratified it with youthful grace. He even gave Lord Montfort a
sketch of St. Barbe, inspired probably by the interview of the morning.
Lord Montfort was quite amused with this, and said he should so much
like to know Mr. St. Barbe. It was clear, when the party broke up, that
Endymion had made a favourable impression, for Lord Montfort said, “You
came here to-day as Lady Montfort’s friend, but you must come in future
as mine also. And will you understand, I dine at home every day when I
am in town, and I give you a general invitation. Come as often as you
like; you will be always welcome. Only let the house know your intention
an hour before dinner-time, as I have a particular aversion to the table
being crowded, or seeing an empty chair.”
Lady Montfort had passed much of the evening in earnest conversation
with Nigel, and when the guests quitted the room, Nigel and Endymion
walked away together.