AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.
As Monsieur Jacques was speaking, a knock sounded at the door—a fierce,
loud knock, as if the person without had become impatient.
Jacques was going toward the door, when it was flung open, and a man
entered—a large, powerful man, dressed carelessly, but with something of
courtliness; for his clothes were of rich material, and slightly adorned
with embroidery; but his hair was of its natural warm brown, thick,
wavy, and abundant, giving a leonine power to the great head,
remarkable, because it was free of powder, and fell downward in natural
waves, which stirred heavily whenever he turned.
“Monsieur le count! I did not expect you so early.”
“So it seems,” answered the man, glancing at Madame Gosner, with
mischievous significance. “But I beg pardon; hearing voices in this
room, I supposed you had changed lodgings, and came in more rudely than
madame will forgive, I fear.”
The rough manner which had marked this person on his entrance, changed
to the most elegant courtliness the instant he saw Marguerite standing
near her mother. The hat was instantly lifted from his head, and once
more he begged leave to apologize.
He came in search of his foster-brother, and had no idea of the company
he was honored in finding himself.
The contrast of this man’s address, which was soft and persuasive, with
the rude grandeur of his head, had a sort of fascination in it. The two
ladies felt themselves transferred back to the saloons which nature and
education had given them a right to enter. In this man the energy of the
people seemed blended with the elegance of the court; thus they found
him in harmony with old memories and recent ideas.
Madame received his apologies with the grace of a Roman matron. She
waved her hand toward one of the rude chairs, and requested him to be
seated, while Monsieur Jacques, recovering from his surprise, presented
his visitor as the Count De Mirabeau.
Mirabeau seated himself, and began to converse; his words were directed
entirely toward Marguerite, who listened in breathless awe to his
brilliant sayings, without dreaming that they were all intended for her;
and that each glance of those eyes were sent to measure their effect.
In this presence Monsieur Jacques allowed himself to subside into
insignificance. He spoke in monosyllables, and sat with his hands
clasped, as if in adoration of the talent which broke forth in every
word this strange man uttered.
Marguerite, too, was fascinated and enthralled. At first the exceeding
ugliness of their visitor had repelled her; but the moment he spoke,
this feeling changed, and she listened with all her soul, and that shone
in her beautiful eyes.
Count Mirabeau saw all this, as only a man of quick intellect and
insatiable vanity can observe. He soon discovered that the surroundings
of these two women were far inferior to the rank to which they were
entitled—and this both inspired and surprised him. In his own person he
blended so much of the extremes of social life—coarse strength with
vivid imagination, pride of birth and pride of humanity—that a wild
sympathy for these two persons awoke almost to a passion in his nature
at the first sight. They were refined, delicate, sensitive, yet still of
the people, suffering with them, and, to a certain extent, feeling with
them.
If Count Mirabeau had any fixed ideas at this time, they were vague and
incomplete, shifting and changing with the current of public opinion,
which was firm only to one fixed point, a concentration of power in the
people. Mirabeau had watched the storm rising, which was to devastate
all France, with the interest of a man born to lead in tempests. How the
whirlwind, which he saw gathering, might rage, he, probably, had no
idea. Events rush forward in revolutions with a force that defies
individual strength; but he was a man to seize upon every means of power
as they presented themselves; and even now, with that lovely girl and
the stately woman before him, he was calculating how far they might be
made available to his ambition.
After a little, Mirabeau arose, and, with a graceful reverence, such as
he might have denied to a queen, left the room; begging permission to
call again when he might have the happiness to be of service to the
ladies.
Monsieur Jacques followed him, looking proudly back upon his friends.
“How strange, how grand, how ugly!” said Marguerite, drawing a deep
breath as the door closed. “Oh! if kings were like him, we should not
plead in vain!”
Madame Gosner answered with less emotion. She was wondering if this man,
who seemed both of the court and the people, would be able to aid her in
the one great wish of her life. If he had that power, she was ready to
become his slave.