A MEETING AT GRENOBLE.
They arrived at Lyons; but here Mr. Dundyke's total ignorance of the
language led him into innumerable misapprehensions and mishaps, not the
least of which was his going from Lyons to Grenoble, thinking all the
time that he was on the shortest and most direct road to Switzerland.
This was in consequence of his rubbing on with "we" and "no." They had
arrived at Lyons late in the evening, and after a night's rest, Mr.
Dundyke found his way to the coach-office, to take places on to
Switzerland. There happened to be standing before the office door a huge
diligence, with the word "Grenoble" painted on it.
"I want to engage a place in a diligence; two places; direct for
Switzerland," began Mr. Dundyke; "in a diligence like that," pointing to
the great machine.
"You spoke French, von littel, sare?" asked the clerk, who could himself
speak a very little imperfect English.
"We," cried Mr. Dundyke, eagerly, not choosing to betray his ignorance.
Accordingly, the official proceeded to jabber on in French, and Mr.
Dundyke answered at intervals of hazard "we" and "no."
"Vous desirez aller a Grenoble, n'est-ce pas, monsieur?" remarked the
clerk.
"We," cried out Mr. Dundyke at random.
"Combien de places, monsieur?"
"We," repeated the gentleman again.
"I do demande of the monsieur how few of place?" said the official,
suspecting his French was not understood quite so well as it might be.
"Two places for Switzerland," answered Mr. Dundyke. "I'm going on to
Geneva, in a diligence like that."
"C'est ca. The monsieur desire to go to Gren-haub; et encore jusqu'a
Geneve--on to Geneva."
"We," rapturously responded the common-councilman.
"I do comprends. Two place in the Gren-haub diligence. Vill the monsieur
go by dat von?" pointing to the one at the door. "She do go in de half
hour."
"Not that one," retorted Mr. Dundyke, impatient at the clerk's obscure
English. "I said in one like that, later."
"Yes, sare, I comprends now. You would partir by anoder von like her,
the next one that parts. Vill you dat I retienne two place for
Gren-haub?"
"We, we," responded Mr. Dundyke. "Two places. My wife's with me, Mrs.
D.: I'm a common-councilman, sir, at home. Two places for Gren-haub.
Corner ones, mind: in the interior."
"C'est bien, monsieur. She goes a six of de hours."
"She! Who?"
"The diligence, I do say."
"Oh," said the common-councilman to himself, "they call coaches 'she's'
in this country. I wonder what they call women. Six hours you say we
shall take going."
"Oui, monsieur," answered the clerk, without quite understanding the
question, "il faut venir a six heures."
"And when does it start?"
"What you ask, sare?"
"_She_--the diligence--at what o'clock does it start for Gren-haub?"
"I do tell de sare at de six of de hours dis evening."
"We'll be here a quarter afore it then: never was late for anything in
my life. Gren-haub's a little place, I suppose, sir, as it's not in my
guide-book?"
"Comme ca," said the clerk, shrugging his shoulders. "She's not von
Lyon."
"Who's she?" exclaimed the bewildered Mr. Dundyke; "who's not a lion?"
"Gren-haub, sare. I thought you did ask about her."
"The asses that these French make of themselves when they attempt to
converse in English!" ejaculated the common-councilman. "Who's to
understand him?"
He turned away, and went back to the hotel in glee, dreadfully
unconscious that he had booked himself for Grenoble, and imagining that
Gren-haub (as the word Grenoble in the Frenchman's mouth sounded to his
English ears) must be the first town on the Swiss frontiers. "It's an
awkward hour, though, to get in at," he deliberated: "six hours, that
fellow said we should be, going: that will make it twelve at night when
we get to the place. Things are absurdly managed in this country." This
was another mistake of his: the anticipated six hours necessary, as he
fancied, to convey him from Lyons to "Gren-haub," would prove at least
sixteen.
At the appointed hour Mr. and Mrs. Dundyke took their seats in the
diligence, which began its journey and went merrily on; at least as
merrily as a French diligence, of the average weight and size, can be
expected to go. Mr. Dundyke was merry, too, for him; for he had
fortified himself with a famous dinner before starting: none of your
frogs and rushes and "oseille," but rosbif saignant, and pommes de terre
au naturel, specially ordered. Both the travellers had done it ample
justice, and seasoned it with some hot brandy-and-water; Mr. Dundyke
taking two glasses and making his wife take one. Therefore it was not
surprising that both should sink, about nine o'clock, into a sound
sleep. They had that compartment of the coach, called the interieur, to
themselves, and could recline almost at full length; and so comfortable
were they, that all the various changing of horses and clackings of the
whip failed to arouse them.
Not until six o'clock in the morning did Mr. Dundyke open his eyes, and
then only partially. He was in the midst of the most delicious
dream--riding in that coveted coach, all gilt and gingerbread, on a
certain 9th of November to come, moving in stately dignity through
Cheapside, amidst the plaudits of little boys, the crowding of windows,
and the arduous exertions of policemen to preserve order in the admiring
mob; sitting with the mace and sword-bearer beside him, _his_ mace and
sword-bearer! Mr. Dundyke had been pleased that his sleep, with such a
dream, had lasted for ever, and he unwillingly aroused himself to
reality.
It was broad daylight; the sun was shining with all the glorious beauty
of a summer morning, shining right into the diligence, and roasting the
face of the common-councilman. He rubbed his eyes and wondered where he
was. Recollection began to whisper that when he had gone to sleep the
previous evening it was dusk, and that ere that dusk had well subsided
into the darkness of midnight he had expected to be at his destination,
"Gren-haub;" whereas--was he asleep still, and dreaming it?--or was it
really morning, and he still in the diligence?--or had some unexampled
phenomenon of nature caused the sun to shine out at midnight? WHAT was
it? In the greatest perturbation he tore his watch from his pocket, and
found it was five minutes past six; but he knew that he was rather
slower than French time.
A fine hubbub ensued. Mr. Dundyke startled his wife up in such a fright,
that he nearly sent her into fits: he roared out to the coachman, he
called for the conductor: he shook the doors, he knocked at the windows:
he caused the utmost consternation amongst the quiet passengers in the
rotonde and banquette, and woke up a deaf old gentleman in the coupe,
who all thought he had gone suddenly mad. The diligence was stopped in
haste, and out of the door rushed Mr. Dundyke.
"Where were they taking him to? Why had they not left him at Gren-haub?
Did they know he was a common-councilman of the great city of London, a
brother of the Lord Mayor and aldermen? How dared they run away with him
and his wife in that style? _Where_ were they carrying him to? Were they
going to smuggle him off to Turkey or any of them heathen places to sell
him for a slave? They must turn round forthwith, and drive him back to
Gren-haub."
All this, and a great deal more of it, delivered in the English tongue
and interspersed with not a few English expletives, was as Greek to the
astonished lookers-on; and when they had sufficiently exercised their
curiosity and stared at the enraged speaker, standing there without his
hat, stamping his feet in the dust, and gesticulating more like a
Frenchman than a stout specimen of John Bull, they all let loose their
tongues together, in a jargon equally incomprehensible to the distressed
Englishman. In vain did Mr. Dundyke urge their return to "Gren-haub,"
now with angry fury, now with tears, now with promises of reward; in
vain the other side demanded to know what was the matter, and tried to
coax him into the diligence. Not a word could one party understand of
the other.
"Montez, monsieur; montez, mon pauvre monsieur. Dieu! qu'est-ce qu'il a?
Montez, donc!"
Not a bit of it. Mr. Dundyke would not have mounted till now, save by
main force. It took the conductor and three passengers to push and
condole him in; and indeed they never would have accomplished it, but
for the sudden dread that flashed over his mind of what would become of
him if he were left there in the road, hatless, hopeless, and
Frenchless, while his wife and his luggage and the diligence went on to
unknown regions. Some of those passengers, if you could come across them
now, would give you a dolorous history of the pauvre monsieur Anglais
who went raving mad one summer's morning in the diligence.
There was little haste or punctuality in those old days of French
posting--driver, conductor, passengers, and horses all liking to take
their own leisure; and it was not far off twelve o'clock at noon, six
hours after the morning's incomprehensible scene, and eighteen from the
time of departure from Lyons, that the lazy old diligence reached its
destination, and Mr. Dundyke discovered that he was in Grenoble. How he
would ever have found his way out of it, and on the road to Switzerland,
must be a question, had not an Englishman, a young man, apparently in
delicate health, who was sojourning in the town, fortunately chanced to
be in the diligence yard, and heard Mr. Dundyke's fruitless exclamations
and appeals, as he alighted.
"Can I do anything for you?" asked the stranger, stepping forward. "I
perceive we are countrymen."
Overjoyed at hearing once more his own language, the unhappy traveller
seized the Englishman's hand with a rush of delight, and explained the
prolonged torture he had gone through, and the doubt and dilemma he was
still in--at least as well as he could explain what was to him still a
mystery. "The savages cannot understand me," he concluded politely, "and
of course I cannot be expected to understand them."
Neither could the stranger understand just at first; but with the
conductor's tale on one side and Mr. Dundyke's on the other, he made out
the difficulty, and set things straight for him, and went with him to
the diligence office. No coach started for Chambery, by which route they
must now proceed, till the next morning at nine, so the stranger took
two places for them in that.
"I'm under eternal obligations to you, sir," exclaimed the relieved
traveller, "and if ever I should have it in my power to repay you, be
sure you count on me. It's a common-councilman, sir, that you have
assisted; that's what I am at home, and I'm going on to be Lord Mayor.
You shall have a card for my inauguration dinner, sir, if you are within
fifty miles of me. You will tell me your name, and where you live?"
"My name is Robert Carr," said the stranger. "I am a clergyman. I am
from Holland."
The name struck on a chord of Mrs. Dundyke's memory. It took her back to
the time when she was Betsey Travice, and on a certain visit at
Westerbury. Though not in the habit of putting herself forward when in
her husband's company, she turned impulsively to the stranger now.
"Have you relations at Westerbury, sir? Was your mother's name Hughes?"
"Yes," he said, looking very much surprised. "Both my father and mother
were from Westerbury. I have a grandfather, I believe, living there
still. My mother is dead."
"How very strange!" she exclaimed. "Can you come in this evening to us
at the hotel for half-an-hour?"
"I would, with pleasure, but I leave Grenoble this afternoon," was the
young clergyman's answer. "Can I do anything for you in London?"
"Nothing," said Mrs. Dundyke. "But my husband has given you our address;
and if you will call and see us when we get home----"
"And you'll meet with a hearty welcome, sir," interrupted the
common-councilman, shaking his hand heartily. "I'm more indebted to you
this day than I care to speak."
Mrs. Dundyke watched him out of the yard. He might be about
four-and-twenty; and was of middle height and slightly made, and he
walked away coughing, with his hand upon his chest.
"David," she said to her husband, "I do think he must be a relative of
yours! The Hughes's of Westerbury were related in some way to your
mother."
"I'm sure I don't know," said David Dundyke. "I think I have heard her
talk about them, but I am not sure. Any way I'm obliged to _him_; and
mind, Betsey, if he does come to see us in London, I'll give him a right
good dinner."
Ah, how little! how little do we foresee even a week or two before us!
Never in this world would those two meet again.
And Mr. and Mrs. Dundyke proceeded under convoy to the Hotel des Trois
Dauphins, and made themselves as comfortable for the night as
circumstances and the stinging gnats permitted.
Arriving at Geneva without further let or hindrance, David Dundyke,
Esquire, and his wife, put up at the Hotel des Bergues. And on the
morning afterwards, when Mrs. Dundyke had dressed herself and looked
about her, she felt like a fish out of water. The size of the hotel, the
style pervading it, the inmates she caught chance glimpses of in the
corridors, were all so different from anything poor humble Betsey
Dundyke had been brought into contact with, that she began to feel her
inferiority. And yet she looked like a lady, in her good and neat dress,
and her simple cap half covering her fair and still luxuriant hair. Her
face was red, tanned with the journey; but it was a pleasing and a nice
face yet to look upon.
They descended to the great _salle_ a little before ten. Many groups
were breakfasting there at the long tables; most of them English, as
might be heard by their snatches of quiet conversation. Some of them
possessed an air of distinction and refinement that bespoke their
standing in society. An English servant came in once and accosted his
master as "my lord;" and a plain little body in a black silk gown and
white net cap, was once spoken to as "Lady Jane." Mr. Dundyke had never,
to the best of his knowledge, been in a room with a lord before; had
never but once set eyes on a Lady Jane; and that was King Henry the
Eighth's wife in waxwork; and, alive to his own importance though the
common-councilman was, he felt unpleasantly out of place amidst them. In
spite of his ambition his nature was a modest one.
Scarcely had he and his wife begun breakfast, when a lady and gentleman
came in and took the seats next to him. The stranger was a tall, dark,
rather handsome man; taller than Mr. Dundyke, who was by no means
undersized, and approaching within three or four years to the same age.
But while the common councilman was beginning to get rather round and
puffy, just as an embryo alderman is expected to be, the stranger's form
was remarkable for wiry strength and muscle: in a tussle for life or
death, mark you, reader, the one would be a very child in the handling
of the other.
Mr. Dundyke moved his chair a little to give more room, as they sat
down, and the gentleman acknowledged it with a slight bow of courtesy.
He spoke soon after.
"If you are not using that newspaper, sir," pointing to one that lay
near Mr. Dundyke, "may I trouble you for it?"
"No use to me, sir," said the common-councilman, passing the journal. "I
understand French pretty well when it's spoke, but am scarcely scholar
enough in the language to read it."
"Ah, indeed," replied the stranger. "This, however, is German," he
continued, as he opened the paper.
"Oh--well--they look sufficiently alike in print," observed the
common-councilman. "Slap-up hotel, this seems, sir."
"Comfortable," returned the stranger, carelessly. "You are a recent
arrival, I think."
"Got here last night, sir, by the diligence. We are travelling on
pleasure; taking a holiday."
"There's nothing like an occasional holiday, a temporary relaxation from
the cares of business," remarked the stranger, scanning covertly Mr.
Dundyke. "As I often say."
"I am delighted to hear you say it, sir," exclaimed the
common-councilman, hastily assuming a fact, from the words, which
probably the speaker never thought to convey. "I am in business myself,
sir, and this is the first holiday from it I have ever took: I gather
that you are the same. Nothing so respectable as commercial pursuits: a
London merchant, sir, stands as a prince of the world."
"Respectable and satisfactory both," joined in the stranger. "What
branch of commerce--if you don't deem me impertinent--may you happen to
pursue?"
"I'm a partner in a wholesale tea-house, sir," cried Mr. Dundyke,
flourishing his hand and his ring for the stranger's benefit. "Our
establishment is one of the oldest and wealthiest in Fenchurch-street;
known all over the world, sir, and across the seas from here to Chinar.
And as respected as it is known."
"Sir, allow me to shake hands with you," exclaimed the stranger, warmly.
"To be a member of such a house does you honour."
"And I am a common-councilman," continued Mr. Dundyke, his revelations
increasing with his satisfaction, "rising on fast to be a alderman and
Lord Mayor. No paltry dignity that, sir, to be chief magistrate of the
city of London, and ride to court in a gold and scarlet dress, and
broidered ruffles! I suspect we have got some lords round about us
here," dropping his voice to a still lower key, "but I'm blest, sir, if
I'd change my prospects with any of them. I'm to be put up for sheriff
in October."
"Ah," said the stranger, casting his deep black eyes around, "young
scions with more debts than brains, long pedigrees and short purses,
dealers in post obits and the like--_they_ can't be put in comparison
with a Lord Mayor of London."
"And what line are you in, sir?" resumed the gratified Lord Mayor in
prospective. "From our great city, of course?"
The stranger nodded, but, before he answered, he finished his second
_cotelette_, poured out some wine--for his breakfast disdained the more
effeminate luxuries of tea and coffee--popped a piece of ice in, and
drank it. "Have you heard of the house of Hardcastle and Co.?" he asked,
in a tone meant only for Mr. Dundyke's ear.
"The East India merchants?" exclaimed the latter.
The stranger nodded again.
"Of course I have heard of them: who has not? A firm of incalculable
influence, sir; could buy up half London. What of them?"
"Do you know the partners personally?"
"Never saw any of them in my life," replied Mr. Dundyke. "They are
top-sawyers, they are; a move or two above us city tea-folks. Perhaps
you have the honour of being a clerk in the house, sir?"
"I am Mr. Hardcastle," observed the stranger, smiling.
"Bless my soul, sir!" cried the startled Mr. Dundyke. "I'm sure I beg
pardon for my familiarity. But stop--eh--I thought----"
"Thought what?" asked the stranger, for Mr. Dundyke came to a pause.
"That Mr. Hardcastle was an old man. In fact, the impression on my mind
was, that he was something like seventy."
"Pooh, my dear sir! your thoughts are running on my uncle. He has been
virtually out of the firm these ten years, though his name is still
retained as its head. He is just seventy. A hale, hearty man he is too,
and trots about the grounds of his mansion at Kensington as briskly as
one of his own gardeners. But not a word here of who I am," continued
the gentleman, pointing slightly round the room: "I am travelling
quietly, you understand--_incog._, if one may say so--travelling
without form or expense, in search of a little peace and quietness. I
have not a single attendant with me, nor has my wife her maid. Mrs.
Hardcastle," he said, leaning back, the better to introduce his wife.
The lady bowed graciously to Mr. and Mrs. Dundyke, and the former, in
his flurry to acknowledge the condescension, managed to upset the
coffee-pot. Mrs. Dundyke saw a stylish woman of thirty--at least, if a
great deal of dress can constitute style. She had a handsome, but deadly
pale face, with bold eyes, black as her husband's.
"I feel really glad to make your acquaintance," resumed Mr. Hardcastle.
"Standing aloof, as I have purposely done, from the persons of condition
staying in the hotel, I had begun to find it slow."
"Sir, I am sure I'm greatly flattered," said Mr. Dundyke. "Have you been
long here, sir?"
"About three weeks or a month," replied the gentleman, carelessly. "We
shall soon be thinking of going."
Mr. Dundyke did indeed feel flattered, and with reason, for the firm in
question was of the very first consideration, and he was overwhelmed
with the honour vouchsafed him. "A Lord Mayor might be proud to know
him," he exclaimed to his wife, when they got upstairs from the
breakfast. "I hope he'll give me his friendship when I am in the Chair."
"I think they have the next room to ours," observed Mrs. Dundyke. "I saw
the lady standing at the door there this morning, when I was peeping
out, wondering which was the way down to breakfast. Is it not singular
they should be travelling in this quiet way, without any signs of their
wealth about them?"
"Not at all singular," said the shrewd common-councilman. "They are so
overdone with grandeur at home, these rich merchants, with their
servants, and state, and ceremony, that it must be a positive relief to
get rid of it altogether for a time, and live like ordinary people. I
can understand the feeling very well."
It was more than Mrs. Dundyke could; and though, from that morning, the
great merchant and his lady took pains to cultivate the intimacy thus
formed, she never took to them so cordially as her husband. He, if one
may use the old saying in such a sense, fell over head and ears in love
with both, but Mrs. Dundyke never could feel quite at home with either.
No doubt the sense of her own inferiority of position partly caused
this: _she_ felt, if her husband did not, that they were no society,
even abroad, for the powerful Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle. And, in her
inmost heart, she did not like the lady. Her attire was ten times as
costly and abundant as Mrs. Dundyke's, and she would wear more jewellery
at one time than the latter had ever seen in all her life; and that was
perhaps as it should be; but Mrs. Dundyke was apt to take likings and
dislikings, and she could not like this lady, try as she would. She was
certainly not a gentlewoman; and Mrs. Dundyke, with all her previous
life's disadvantages of position, was that at heart, and could
appreciate one. She decidedly wore rouge on her cheeks in an evening;
she was not choice in her expressions at all times; and she was fond of
wine, and did not object to brandy.
One morning Mrs. Dundyke happened to be in Mrs. Hardcastle's room, when
the English waiter entered.
"My master's compliments, madam," he said, "and he hopes Mr. Hardcastle
has some news for him this morning."
The lady's face went crimson, the first time Mrs. Dundyke had seen any
natural colour on it, and she answered, in a haughty tone, that Mr.
Hardcastle was not then in--when he was, the man could speak with him.
"For it is now a fortnight, madam, since he has daily promised to----"
"I have nothing to do with it," interrupted Mrs. Hardcastle,
imperiously motioning the waiter from the room; "you must address
yourself to my husband."
Mrs. Dundyke wondered what this little scene could mean. Had it been
people of less known wealth than the Hardcastles, she might have thought
it bore reference to the settlement--or non-settlement--of the bill. But
that could scarcely happen with them.
"What are you thinking of, Betsey?" Mr. Dundyke asked her that same day,
she sat so deep in thought.
"I was thinking of Mr. Hardcastle's eyes."
"Of Mr. Hardcastle's eyes!" echoed the common-councilman.
"Just then I was, David. The fact is, they puzzle me--they are always
puzzling me. I feel quite certain I have seen them somewhere, or eyes
exactly like them."
"They are as handsome eyes as ever I saw," was the answer.
"They may be handsome, but I don't like them. But that it is wrong to
say it, I could almost say I hate them. They frighten me, David."
"That's just one of your foolish fancies," cried Mr. Dundyke, in wrath.
"You are always taking them up, you know."
A day or two after this, Mr. Hardcastle came straight into the presence
of Mr. Dundyke, some papers in his hand. "My dear sir," he said, "I want
you to do me a favour."
The common-councilman jumped up and placed a chair for the great man,
delighted at the prospect of doing _him_ a favour.
"I wrote home a few days ago for them to send me a letter of credit on
the bankers here. It came this morning, and just see what they have
done!"
Mr. Hardcastle tossed, as he spoke, the letter of credit to Mr. Dundyke.
Now the latter, shrewd man of business though he was amid his own chests
of tea, knew very little of these foreign letters of credit, their
forms, or their appearance. All he could make out of the present one
was, that it was a sort of order to receive one hundred pounds.
"Don't you see the error?" exclaimed Mr. Hardcastle. "They have made it
payable to my uncle, Stephen Hardcastle, instead of to me. _My_ name's
not Stephen, so it would be perfectly useless for me to present it. How
the clerks came to make so foolish a mistake I cannot tell. Some one of
them I suppose, in the pressure of business, managed to give
unintelligible orders to the bankers, and so caused the error."
"Dear me!" said Mr. Dundyke.
"Now I want to know if you can let me have this sum. I shall write
immediately to get the thing rectified, and if you can accommodate me
for a few days, until the needful comes, I will then repay you with many
thanks."
"But, dear me, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Dundyke,--"not but what I should be
proud to do anything for you that I could, in my poor way--you don't
suppose I've got a hundred pound here? Nor the half! nor the quarter of
it!"
Mr. Hardcastle carelessly smiled, and played with his glittering cable
watch-chain.
"I should not like to offer you what I _have_ got, sir," continued the
common-councilman, "but I am sure if you took it as no offence, and it
would be of any temporary use to you----"
"Oh, thank you! No, it's not that," interrupted the great merchant.
"Less than the hundred pounds would not be worth the trouble of
borrowing. You have nothing like that sum, you say?"
Out came Mr. Dundyke's purse and pocket-book. He counted over his store,
and found that, English and French money combined, he possessed
twenty-two pounds, eleven shillings. The twenty pounds, notes and gold,
he pushed towards Mr. Hardcastle, the odd money he returned to his
pocket. "You are quite welcome, sir, for a few days, if you will
condescend to make use of it."
"I feel extremely obliged to you," said Mr. Hardcastle; "I am half
inclined to avail myself of your politeness. The fact is, Dundyke," he
continued, confidentially, "my wife has been spending money wholesale,
this last week--falling in love with a lot of useless jewellery, when
she has got a cartload of it at home. I let her have what money she
wanted, counting on my speedy remittances, and, upon my word, I am
nearly drained. I will write you an acknowledgment."
"Oh no, no, sir, pray don't trouble to do that," cried the confiding
common-councilman, "your word would be your bond all over the world."
And Mr. Hardcastle laughed pleasantly, as he gathered up the money.
"Can you let me have five francs, David," said Mrs. Dundyke, coming in
soon afterwards, when her husband was alone.
"Five francs! What for?"
"To pay our washing bill. It comes to four francs something; so far as I
can make out their French figures."
"I don't know that you can have it, Mrs. D."
"But why?" she inquired, meekly.
"I have just lent most of my spare cash to Mr. Hardcastle. He received a
hundred pound this morning from England, but there was a stupid error in
the letter of credit, and he can't touch the money till the order has
been back home to be rectified."
The information set Mrs. Dundyke thinking. She had just returned from a
walk, and it was in coming up the stairs that a chambermaid had met her
and given her the washing-bill. Not being accustomed to French writing
and accounts, she could not readily puzzle it out, and, bill in hand,
had knocked at Mrs. Hardcastle's door, intending to crave that lady's
assistance. Mr. Hardcastle opened it only a little way.
"Is Mrs. Hardcastle at leisure, if you please, sir?" she asked.
"No; she's not in. I'll send her to you when she comes," was his reply,
as he re-closed the door. And yet Mrs. Dundyke was almost certain she
saw the tip of Mrs. Hardcastle's gown, as if she were sitting in the
room on the right, the door opening to the left. And she also saw
distinctly the person who had been once pointed out to her as the
landlord of the hotel. He was standing at the table, counting money--a
note or two, it looked, and a little gold. There was food in this to
employ Mrs. Dundyke's thoughts, now she knew, or supposed, that very
money was her husband's. A sudden doubt whether all was right--she
afterwards declared it many times--flashed across her mind. But it left
her as soon as thought: left her ashamed of doubting such people as the
Hardcastles, even for a moment. She remained thinking, though.
"I know these foreign posts are uncertain," she observed, arousing
herself, "and it will take, I suppose, eight or ten days before Mr.
Hardcastle's remittance can reach him. Suppose it should not come when
he expects, or that there should be another mistake in it?"
"Well?"
"Why--as we cannot afford to remain on here an indefinite period,
waiting; at least, I suppose you would not like to do so, David; I was
thinking it might be better for you to write home for more money
yourself, and make certain."
"Just leave me to manage my own business, Betsey, will you: I am
capable, I hope," was the common-councilman's ungracious answer.
Nevertheless, he adopted his wife's suggestion.
* * * * *
Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle continued all grace and smiles, pressing their
champagne upon Mr. Dundyke and his wife at dinner, and hiring carriages,
in which all the four drove out together. The common-councilman was
rapidly overcoming his repugnance to a table-d'hote, but the sumptuous
one served in the hotel was very different from those he had been
frightened with on his journey, and in the third week of his stay his
wife had to let out all his waistcoats. The little excursions in the
country he cared less for. The lovely country about Geneva was driven
over again and again: Ferney, Coppet, the houses of Madame de Stael and
Voltaire, all were visited, not much, it is to be feared, to the
edification of the common-councilman. Thus three weeks from the time of
their first arrival, passed rapidly away, and Mr. Dundyke and his wife
felt they could not afford the time to linger longer in Geneva. They now
only waited for the repayment of the twenty pounds from Mr. Hardcastle,
and, strange to say, that gentleman's money did not arrive. _He_ could
not account for it, and gave vent to a few lordly explosions each
morning that the post came in and brought him no advice of it.
"I'll tell you what it is!" he suddenly observed one morning--"I'll lay
a thousand pounds to a shilling they have misunderstood my instructions,
and have sent the money on to Genoa, whither we are bound after leaving
here!"
"What a disaster!" uttered Mr. Dundyke. "Will the money be lost, sir?"
"No fear of that: nobody can touch it but myself. But look at the
inconvenience it is causing, keeping me here! And you also!"
"I cannot remain longer," said Mr. Dundyke; "my time is up, and I may
not exceed it. You can give me an order to receive the 20_l._ in London,
sir: it will be all the same."
"But, my good fellow, how will you provide for the expenses of your
journey to London?"
"I have managed that, sir," said the common-councilman. "I wrote home
for thirty pounds."
"And is it come?" asked Mr. Hardcastle, turning his eye full upon the
common-councilman with the startling rapidity of a flash of lightning.
Mrs. Dundyke noticed, with astonishment, the look and the eager gesture:
neither ever faded from her recollection.
"They came this morning," said the common-councilman. "I have them both
safe here," touching the breast-pocket of his coat. "They were in them
letters you saw me receive."
On rising from breakfast, Mr. Dundyke strolled out of the hotel, and
found himself on the borders of the lake. The day was fearfully hot, and
he began to think a row might be pleasant. A boat and two men were at
hand, waiting to be hired, and he proceeded to haggle about the price,
for one of the boatmen spoke English.
"I have spent a deal of money since I have been here, one way or
another," he soliloquized, "and the bill I expect will be awful. But it
won't be much addition, this row--as good be hung for a sheep as a
lamb--so here goes."
He stepped into the boat, anticipating an hour's enjoyment. A short
while after this, Mrs. Hardcastle, accompanied by Mrs. Dundyke, came on
to Rousseau's Island. Mr. Dundyke was not so far off then, but that his
wife recognised him. Mr. Hardcastle was the next to come up.
"What are you looking at? Why, who's that in a boat there? Surely not
Dundyke! Give me the glass."
"Yes, it is," said Mrs. Dundyke.
"Where in the name of wonder is he off to, this melting day? To drown
himself?"
The ladies laughed.
"Ah! I see; he can't stand it. The men are bearing off to the
side--going to land him there. They had better put back."
Mrs. Dundyke sat down underneath the poplar trees, spreading a large
umbrella over her head, and took out her work. Mrs. Hardcastle was never
seen to do any work, but she seated herself under the shade of the
umbrella; and the gentleman, leaving them to themselves, walked back
again over the suspension bridge.