Our Hero Treads Forbidden Ground—The Mansion in Dupont Street.
They walked but a short distance before they reach a splendid house in
Dupont street. Monteagle had heard the character of this building, but
had paid but little attention to it. He was now in a condition to enter
almost any house where amusement was to be obtained, for in addition to
the champagne which he had taken, he had experienced no small
disappointment upon learning the whole extent of Blodget’s wonderful
_secret_. As they entered this elegant mansion it began to grow dark.
The interior was far more imposing than the outside. They passed through
a wide hall lighted by an elegant chandelier, which hung in golden
chains from the ceiling. Other furniture betokened abundance of wealth.
Blodget opened a door that led to a large apartment, carpeted in the
most fashionable style—fashionable in a land where ostentatious wealth
may be deemed excusable. Rich sideboards, tables, chandeliers and
ornaments of the most elegant form and costly materials here greeted
Monteagle on every side.
On a sumptuous sofa of the richest Genoese velvet, sat two young ladies,
whose costly dresses were admirably fitted to their forms, and so
arranged as to betray their charms to the most casual observer. One of
them, to whom Blodget addressed himself on entering, was not tall in
stature but of exquisite symmetry. Her complexion, though that of a
brunette, was so transparent, and the rose on her cheeks was so
brilliant, that one would scarcely have noticed that she was darker than
her companion. A pair of lustrous large black eyes beamed from beneath a
profusion of raven tresses, and the clearly defined, arched eye-brows
appeared to have been drawn by the pencil of a skilful painter. The
upper moiety of two well rounded globes was displayed by the low dress,
while the little foot and beautiful ankle were not covered by the long
drapery in vogue with the daughters of a more northern clime.—Whether
her mouth was made for speaking or kissing, might have been a question
with naturalists and men of _vertu_; but most men would have decided
practically in favor of the latter view. It was, indeed, a mouth that
spoke eloquently while silent, like one of those sea shells which one
sometimes finds in the Orient, ruddy and of voluptuous form.
‘Mr. Blodget is come again. Very welcome Mr. Blodget,’ said the fair
creature. ‘I wait much for see you, and never see you no more.’
But while addressing Blodget, she fixed her speaking eyes on Monteagle
and surveyed his features and fine form with evident admiration.
The other girl was taller and fairer, with a majestic neck, blue eyes,
and brown hair, the ringlets bursting from her head dress and showering
over her well-turned shoulders. She smiled and showed pearls, she walked
and exhibited grace and voluptuous proportions. She spoke and music fell
from her lips.
Monteagle, aided by the champagne that he had drank, made himself
agreeable very soon—sooner than propriety would have required had not
his fair friends been accustomed to impromptu friends and acquaintances.
The sound of voices and occasional laughter in a neighboring apartment
gave evidence that there were more of the fair consolers in the house,
and that other men, beside Blodget and Monteagle, were regaling their
eyes with feminine loveliness.
A few moments conversation sufficed to show that the dark eyed girl was
a native of South America, while the other had been born and brought up
in the land of Johnny Bull, though her accent betrayed that her earlier
days had been spent in the ‘North Countrie.’ She was one of Burns’
beauties, and how so fair a flower, who, even now seemed to have
retained some portion of her modesty, should ever have found her way to
a house of this description on the distant shores of California, was a
problem which Monteagle found difficult to solve.
Throwing himself on a sofa and putting his arm around her slender waist,
Monteagle said—‘Were not you and I acquainted in the old country?’
Although this was merely common place nonsense, the girl slightly
blushed before she replied—‘Nae doubt, sir, they be all frae Scotland
that speaks to me, sir.’
‘You did not know that I was descended from the noble house of—’
‘Douglas?’
‘No, but of—of—’
‘Oh! the Bruce it must be—’
‘No—stop—the—house of Monteith.’
‘_Monteith!_’ cried she, removing herself farther from, and affecting
horror at the name.
‘Yes, that noble ancestry I claim, and you shall be my bonny bride, and
we will return together to Scotia’s shores, and live near the Highland
cot in which you were born and reared.’
‘With a _Monteith!_ with a Monteith, think you?’ and she stared
curiously at the youth—‘take off your shoes, sir, did I ever think I
should ever set my twa een upon one of that family? Tak off your boot
and let us see if ye have not a cloven foot, at least?’
Blodget had sent for wine, which was procured at twenty dollars the
bottle—an excellent article, however; and now conversation, raillery,
repartee, and compliments flowed freely. The two girls were entirely
unlike those whom we find in houses of resort in the Atlantic cities.
They had evidently received a good education, more especially the
dark-eyed one, and their conversation was conducted in a style more
usually heard in a fashionable drawing-room than in an establishment
sacred to the Paphian Goddess.
This way the evening was spent, and the hour had become late. Other
girls of various degrees of beauty were in the apartment. Music of a
high order—added to the charm of the occasion. The men at this house
were generally of the higher classes, or those who assumed to be so; and
the utmost harmony prevailed. The wines sparkled—wit flew from mouth to
mouth—and few things were said or done which might not have passed in
the saloons of Mr. Vandewater himself.
Blodget had the air of a blase, and after having talked a little, in a
tone of listless indifference, with the Spanish girl, he turned to
another. At the close of the evening, Monteagle found himself in
conversation with the lively and intelligent Spanish maid, who told him
that she came from Santiago, a city of Chile, and where, from some words
that accidentally dropped from her, he was made to believe that she had
moved in a circle differing, in many respects, from that with which he
now found her. He became more and more interested in Maria, as she was
called. With all her liveliness there was a certain delicacy about her
which enchanted him; and as she moved about to different parts of the
room, her rounded form and voluptuous limbs could not escape his
watchful regards. His imagination exalted by rich wines and fascinated
by the beauty and the manners of Maria, Monteagle was in a condition to
overlook the demand of prudence, and the whisperings of conscience.
Blodget certainly exhibited no regret at observing this.
The saloon was full of visitors, and young ladies, and some of the
latter knew the young clerk well by reputation. They became much
interested in the flirtation that was going forward between Maria and
Monteagle, and although they were too well bred to betray their
interest, they saw and heeded all that passed between them. Some were
much surprised, and others thought it very natural, while some few, no
doubt, rejoiced in the opportunity for scandal, which would enable them
to ‘entertain company,’ by the hour or the subject of youthful
proclivities, and the danger of placing too much confidence in these
‘promising young men.’
This was a moment of danger for Monteagle, and yet hundreds of other
youths were in the nightly and even daily habit of visiting
gambling-houses and places of debauchery, upon whose conduct no remark
was made. The reason of this may have occurred to the reader. Monteagle
was highly esteemed by his employers, and an opinion had got about that
he was something better than common. All men are said to respect virtue,
and consequently the aberration of Monteagle was very comforting to such
as had previously regarded him with a sentiment approaching to envy. We
may as well say, also, in this place, that the love of Julia Vandewater
had been won as much by the unusual sobriety and decorum of Monteagle’s
conduct as by his personal and intellectual endowments. She regarded him
as a very _uncommon_ young man; and it may be perceived by the
importance which Blodget attached to his ‘secret,’ that Julia was
regarded as a great prize, and one not to be aspired to by every young
fellow in San Francisco. Julia Vandewater could have commanded the
admiration of any bachelor in California, whatever might have been his
talents and acquirements, with the one exception of Lorenzo Monteagle,
who, while he regarded her with the affection of a brother, had lived
under the same roof with the young lady long enough to know that he
could never feel toward her as he ought to feel towards the woman whom
he made his partner for life. But this conclusion had not been formed
upon any improprieties in the conduct or conversation of the young lady.
Had Monteagle a brother who was enamored of Julia, he would have
rejoiced to have seen a union take place between them: but there was the
important point—it was necessary to be enamored first, for without that
he believed that respect and friendship could not insure a happy
marriage. On her part Julia loved sincerely, and for nothing more than
for the virtuous and circumspect deportment of Monteagle.
I have said that our youth had been fascinated with Maria. He was in
high spirits; he was pleased with the idea of having gained so pretty
and genteel a mistress, for she had in the tenderest manner, consented
to be exclusively his as long as he might feel disposed to keep her.
Patting him on his bump of benevolence with her taper finger, she had
said, ‘Pretty American lad, I love you much. I love your face. I love
your figure, and your voice. I shall be much please with you to-day and
to-morrow all the same. Oh, you is one pretty. Come up to my room and
you shall see how I love you, mine friend.’
Monteagle obeyed this tender request. From such lips and enforced with a
voice ringing like a silver-bell, it was impossible for him to disobey
the command. Blodget saw and heard it all; and when the enamored couple
shut the door behind them, he placed his jewelled finger on one side of
his nose, and winked to the Scottish-girl who appeared to fully
understand it.
For the last half hour that Monteagle had remained in the saloon, he had
overheard a lively conversation between three pretty French girls,
carried on in their vernacular, which had for its object a lady
apparently from Lima, as she was dressed in their peculiar attire. Her
dress was dark, fitted to the form in a peculiar manner, so as to show
the swell of the hips, without being wide and flowing like the dress of
our ladies. Her form was entirely hidden, except that a small aperture
permitted her to look abroad with one eye. This dress is singular, and
yet it is worn by all fashionable ladies in certain parts of South
America.
This lady had spoken little since her entrance, while she seemed to be
an attentive observer of all that passed. The French girls were
wondering who she was. Their observations were piquant and full of wit;
and as Monteagle was a perfect master of the French language, he was not
a little entertained by their funny remarks. To him, however, the
presence of the strange lady was a matter of very little interest. As
her face was invisible, she might be a perfect fright for all that he
knew to the contrary, and in the few half-understood words that fell
from her lips, he discovered no more than the most common-place
observations. He did, however, observe that the mistress of the
establishment—a very beautiful and accomplished woman herself—treated
the incognito with marks of the highest respect.
Scarcely had Monteagle placed his foot on the stairs to follow Maria to
an upper apartment, when the unknown appeared in the hall, and having
thrust a billet into the hand of the girl, turned and left the house
immediately.
Maria laughed slightly.
‘What is this?’ said she, in her broken English. ‘One letter to read!
Oh! very good; I shall read you a letter, mine friend. So much the
better. I shall see.’
Pausing a moment, Maria opened the note, and read it by the light of the
chandelier. The paper dropped from her hand, and she stood a moment as
if transfixed with astonishment.
‘She! Oh! She! the holy and devoted one!’ cried Maria, at last, clasping
her hands. ‘She, here—she come to this place—and all for me—for me—’
‘Come, come,’ cried the impatient youth. ‘Come, my beautiful one, and
let us enjoy—’
‘Enjoy nothing. Not to-night; some other time. I can do nothing
to-night. So she has remembered me. She has not forgotten those days of
innocence. Ah, me—they are gone _now_!’
These words were spoken in Spanish; but Monteagle found no difficulty in
understanding them, and they partially restored him to a sense of his
present plight. But who was this ‘holy and devoted one?’ Some nun, no
doubt, who had stepped between him and his enjoyments.
Monteagle, whose passions were much excited, stood looking at the fine
form and swelling graces of the Spanish girl; her tapering limbs, her
little feet, her large dark eyes, and lovely mouth.
‘Surely,’ said he, ‘you will not be so unkind—’
‘Hush!’ cried Maria, clapping her hand on his mouth. ‘I am nothing this
evening. _Her_ hand has written this, and I cannot see you to-night,’
and here the girl sat down upon the stairs, and fell into a deep
reverie.
‘What shall I do?’ thought Monteagle, ‘If I speak to another girl, every
eye will be upon me; all sorts of surmises. No, no, I have it. I will
consult Blodget.’
He then slipped a slug into the hand of Maria, who seemed to be almost
unconscious of the act, and stepping to the door of the saloon, he
opened it, and called to his companion.
Blodget was lazily conversing with the mistress of the house upon some
topic of general interest, and though surrounded on all sides by the
most fascinating beauties of almost every civilized country—who threw
out their lures to entrap him, he appeared as unconscious as a pair of
tongs in a china shop. When he heard Monteagle pronounce his name, he
looked up surprised: he fairly started, and seizing his hat, quickly
came out to him. They passed into the street together.
‘What have you done with Maria?’ said Blodget.
‘She has received a note from somebody, and has retired alone to ponder
upon its contents,’ answered the youth.
‘Oh! I know—I think, at least, that the lady who followed you out—the
lady in the mask—ha! ha! ha! I think that she must have brought the
note. But did she not make you acquainted with its contents?’
‘No. But whatever its contents were, they made a deep impression upon
her.’
‘Ah,’ exclaimed Blodget, stopping as if to think. ‘I have heard
something of this. I think I understand something of it. You must know
that Maria received her education at a convent in Santiago, about a
hundred miles from Valparaiso, an old-fashioned city where religion
flourishes. This is a _religieuse_ who came to the house enveloped in
the costume of that city; and I think I have learned that Maria was the
bosom friend of a young lady of fine promise, and very devout habits,
before she _took to the road_.’
‘The road?’
‘Yes that broad road that we read of.’
‘These are singular girls,’ said Monteagle. ‘Instead of mere hacknied
mercenaries they seem to be women of sentiment and feeling.’
‘Well, I can show you a few such—’
A heavy sigh breathed by some person near them caused Monteagle to turn
around.
The lady incognito was near them, and the sigh must have come from her;
but whether it had any relation to their conversation or not they were
unable to determine. She did not look towards them, as she passed.
Perhaps that the sigh had some connection with the unfortunate Maria.
Still as her dark form receded from view, Monteagle could not but
remember that it was immediately after Blodget’s proposition to show him
other females, when this sigh was breathed.
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