CHAPTER XXI.

LA BELLE VERNON.

The suite of apartments at the de Hauteville mansion in which the

family received, were a scene of almost unrivalled splendour. The

host, Monsieur Henri Eau Clair de Hauteville, as he stood beside

Madame, receiving and welcoming their guests, being a very small and

very pale, quiet-mannered man, was almost lost beside the large,

handsome woman and merely bowed like a Chinese Mandarin, looking like

a tired school-boy, who wanted to be in bed and tucked in comfortably.

"Poor little man, how refreshing the summons to supper will be," said

Lady Esmondet, as they waited in the crush to go forward to the smile,

bow, and contact of finger tips.

"See how Madame stands it all," remarked Lionel. "It's astonishing

what vim gentle women can throw into fatiguing social demonstrations."

"The fragile creature knows society is large-eyed," said Vaura.

On our friends turning to leave the reception room, Eau Clair, the

eldest son of the house, for whom, he having attained his majority,

this entertainment was given in honour of, came towards them to

welcome his mother's old friend, and to tell Miss Vernon of how glad

he was at her return to Paris. (He had met Trevalyon before).

"I must congratulate you, my dear boy," said Lady Esmondet, "as well

upon your coming of age as upon the brilliancy of the ball."

"_Je vous remercie_, Lady Esmondet; _mais_," he added, "I have just

come from your Cambridge University, and shall speak in your tongue,

which I like well."

Here some old friends came up, and several gay dancing men, Everly

amongst them, and Vaura's programme was soon full. She tried to secure

a few dances for rest, by this means to give a few minutes to chat

with Lionel, but no one would allow it.

"Don't be cruel," said one.

"Your flower-face must go to the ball-room," said another.

"Take pity on us; we don't carry a bouquet," said a third.

"So we will that you are near," said another.

At last she was carried off by Eau Clair.

"How beautiful your ball-room is, Monsieur Eau Clair," said Vaura.

"What multitudes of flowers; how many green-houses have you laid bare?

There will not be one rose-bud in all Paris for the Marshal McMahon's

_fete_, but that will not grieve you, a Bonapartist."

"Of this I am sure, Mlle. Vernon, if I have left him any roses they

are not the sweetest, for well I know the beauteous butterfly of

to-day loves their sweet odour."

Dance succeeded dance, and all went merry as a marriage bell, to

divine music by two of the most perfect bands in Paris; and now Everly

claims his innings, and is happy.

"Have mercy on me, Sir Tilton," laughed Vaura, "and forgive me this

dance (besides, we have another together), and you don't know how

sweetly amiable I shall be, if you'll find me a seat beside Lady

Esmondet."

"Consider yourself seated, and your martyred subject not far off, fair

Mademoiselle."

They found Lady Esmondet with Mrs. Wingfield and Trevalyon in an ideal

refreshment room.

"Glad you've found us, _ma chere_," said Lady Esmondet.

"I need not ask how you are enjoying the ball," remarked Trevalyon,

"your eyes tell me."

"And they say true; how could it be otherwise Sir Knight? with music

that thrills one, and a light foot treading a measure to the sweet

notes," answered Vaura. "Is not this a charming room, Miss Vernon?

invisible music, birds and flowers; the Parisian is born for this kind

of thing."

"It is just a poem, Capt. Trevalyon."

"And Bob Fudge in the flesh, brings us back to reality," said Mrs.

Wingfield; and following the direction of her eyes, they saw a very

young man devouring with admiring glances, the delicacies around him.

"I am quite sure," laughed Vaura, "he will go through the bill of fare

just as Moore's Bob, of one _pate_ of larks, just to tune up the

throat; one's small limbs of chickens, done _en papillote_, one's

erudite cutlets dressed all ways but plain, &c. Oh, dear, he fatigues

one," she added gaily; "yes, an ice, Sir Tilton."

"Depend upon it," said Trevalyon laughing, "Dick will receive a letter

from Bob, that, 'there's nothing like feeding.'"

Here Eau Clair joined them, having missed Vaura from the ball-room.

"Have you seen the Claytons this evening, Vaura?" enquired Lady

Esmondet.

"Yes, god-mother mine, and dancing with vigour and a sublime

indifference to time that was amusing."

"They exchanged partners with another Quakerish looking couple, and

have been in the heat of the fight, ever since," said gay Mrs.

Wingfield.

"'Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, merrily danced the Quaker,'" sang

Vaura.

Here a Spanish noble came up, and with a courtly bow, reminded Vaura

that this was his waltz, and in animated chit-chat, they left the

room.

"A handsome couple," said Mrs. Wingfield; "and I noticed the Spaniard

has had two dances with _la belle_." News, not too utterly delightful

to Trevalyon and Sir Tilton.

"The Marquis admires Miss Vernon, so mother says; and no man can find

him at fault," said Eau Clair, rising, and leaving the little group.

"Would you, ladies, like to go to the ball-room?" asked Lionel,

anxious to be near Vaura.

"Thank you, yes," answered Lady Esmondet, divining his motive.

"And will you take pity on me, and a risk on my waltzing powers?"

asked Sir Tilton of Mrs. Wingfield.

"I would not risk anything so important as a waltz, Sir Tilton; but as

I have already tested your capabilities as a dancer away I go on your

protecting arms."

"Or into them," laughed her partner, as entering the ball-room they

went careering at full speed down the small spaces.

"Beg pardon, Lord Lisleville," cried Sir Tilton, as he dashed against

an ancient beau with a long rent-roll, who with his _fiancee_, a

pretty little French girl, who had been trying to put him out of step

in order to dance with her young Lochinvar. Sir Tilton, knowing the

circumstances, pitied the little Parisienne who had been dolefully

doing her duty all the evening; so determined to come to her aid,

hence the collision, which throwing the noble lord almost on his back,

sent his wig flying several yards off which the dancers swept with

their trains. The gay _petite_ was wicked enough to put her

handkerchief, not to her eyes, but to her mouth, to veil her smiles as

she gave herself up to her young lover who had been eating his heart

out all the evening. Lord Lisleville, with inward curses on Everly and

his own temerity in attempting to dance on a waxed floor, with his

gouty leg and bought curls, was a droll figure, as with his

handkerchief tied over his head and his face a whirlpool of wrath, he

was knocked hither and thither by the dancers in the vain attempt to

recover his gay tresses.

Vaura and her partner laughed heartily over the amusing scene.

"How innocent Sir Tilton looked, and one could see it was

intentional," laughed Vaura; "no more dinners at the ancestral home of

Lord Lisleville; no more shooting for the culprit," she continued.

"How happy the betrothed looks now," said Del Castello, "Cupid's bow

is powerful."

"I know myself," said Vaura, "of several cases where young girls have

been persuaded to marry old men from the fact being pointed out to

them of the happy marriage of M. Thiers. Madame Dosme, poor little

Emily's mother, was the woman born for him, only she, unfortunately,

was encumbered with a husband."

"It was a most singular household," said Del Castello. "Thiers, though

undoubtedly a superior man, had no claims to divinity or to be

enshrined on the Dosme altar with three adoring women ever

worshipping, while there are many men, could they gain one woman,

would be to her alone as constant as the sun. Pardon, Mlle., but I am

Spanish and cannot be cold with you. I ever think of Venus and my

breast is bare for Cupid's dart."

"The boy is blind," said Vaura, archly.

"I feel him an unerring marksman, though," he said passionately.

Here Sir Tilton, with Mrs. Wingfield, passed them, when Vaura called

out gaily:

"Don't you tremble, Sir Tilton, when you think of the wrath of the

wigless Adonis?"

"Like an aspen leaf, fair _belle_, but never mind, I've given him a

wigging."

They are now beside Lady Esmondet, and the strains of music changing

from the waltz,

"That means our waltz is over, Marquis Del Castello, and I have

enjoyed it thoroughly, thanks to your perfect step."

"Your own fairy step had much to do with making our waltz one I shall

never forget; may I call tomorrow?"

"You may."

Trevalyon coming up at the moment, and seeing Vaura in all her

lovliness, for lovely she was in cream white satin, sleeves merely a

band, neck low, a circlet of gold of delicate workmanship round the

throat, fastened in front with a diamond large as a hazel nut, bands

of gold in same design, on perfect arms midway between shoulder and

elbow; and the poor fellow hungered to have her all to himself for

even a few minutes, so with forced gaiety he said:

"Now, Mademoiselle, I, as your guardian, must insist on your taking a

little rest and under my protection, for, should I allow you to take

it with any other, the gay gallant would have the queen of the night

back amidst the revelry.

"But what am I to do, Lady Esmondet--Captain Trevalyon," she said with

a sweet sense of willingness about her; "I belong to M. de Vesey for

the next dance?"

"Go and rest," said Lady Esmondet; "and if your partner cannot find

you it will be his loss."

Lionel had roamed about a good deal during the evening thinking much

of a letter he had received that morning from Colonel Haughton, and of

the love he was battling against in his own breast, for Vaura. In his

walks to and fro he had come across a small conservatory on the other

side of the house, far from the busy throng, and entered as well from

the grounds as from a boudoir of Madame's; thither he led Vaura, not

unwillingly, a sweet sense of being taken care of, a nameless feeling

of passive languor, a sense of completeness pervaded her whole being,

as Lionel, putting her hand through his arm and for a moment holding

it there in a protecting sort of way, led her through long corridors

until they reached the luxurious boudoir of their hostess, where,

seating Vaura in a lounging chair, the perfection of comfort, and

placing a soft foot-stool for her dainty slippered feet, he quietly

seated himself near her.

He longed to take her to his heart, and tell her of his great love for

her, which had grown so strong as to completely master him, he could

scarcely refrain from crushing her in his arms and telling her she

must be his; he had suffered much this evening in seeing her, even in

the dance, in the arms of other men; ever since he had left Lady

Esmondet's side, an hour ago, he had done nothing but pace through

lonely corridors thinking of the letter from Eric Haughton, which ran

thus:

"Trevalyon, _cher ami_,--

"Must go to the point at once, as what I hear has troubled me. Mrs.

Haughton tells me there is _no_ doubt _you are married_ to _Fanny

Clarmont_, and as Delrose is frequently here and lounging about with

her, I suppose _he has told her_; I know he was mixed up in the

affair; I'm sorry for you if it's true, old fellow. She also says, but

it's a _woman's mistake I am sure_, that you are half engaged to

Blanche; _be careful_ that you don't make Vaura love you; you were

always a sort of hero with her; she is too lovely and lovable to have

_her life spoiled_; take care of my two loved women in your charge.

"Yours as ever,

"ERIC HAUGHTON.

"Captain Trevalyon,

"Hotel Liberte le Soleil, Paris."

"And now I have passed the Rubicon," he thought, "and know past

doubting that she has the love of my life, and that life without her,

will be worse than death," this he thought, seated near this fair

woman; near, and far, for he must not speak to her with this cloud

upon his name; he knew it was false and only spread for revenge, but

would not society pity Vaura; pity and he writhed with inward pain, at

the thought that his wife would be pitied for having gone to God's

altar with a man, whom Dame Rumour said, had a hidden wife; one moment

he thought he would fly to England and make Delrose tell the truth at

the point of the sword, but he knew his man, and that threats would

not avail; again, if he left Vaura now, there were many men about her,

one of whom she might choose, and the thought was maddening. If he

could only get them into Italy, they would be quieter there. He must

mature his plans, see how it was best to cope with his enemies; would

he write Haughton the facts? no, he must try and find out Fanny

Clarmont's address, and get her to write such a letter as he could

publish, exonerating him from all act or part in her elopement; but

how to do it, unless he could work on Delrose, but the man never had

any feelings, save for himself; he must see. And as he looked on

Vaura, as she sat, her head thrown back among the cushions, lips

slightly parted, and looking at him from dreamy eyes half closed; a

pain came to his heart as he thought, if he could not get Fanny's

confession, Vaura would never rest in his arms, for she would not go

to him with the truth unproven. And still he thought she shall love

me, for, look what she has done for me, she has done what no woman

heretofore has been able to do, she has inflamed me with a passionate

love for her as untamable as the lion; she belongs to me. And as he

thought this he rose, but almost staggered with conflicting emotions,

as he stood close to her.

"Vaura, my darling, are you rested?" he said, his voice anything but

steady.

"Yes," she answered dreamily; "but why did you break the spell? it is

so seductive here, I half thought you a magician and this a scene of

enchantment."

"I broke the spell, darling, because I could bear no longer the----"

Here footsteps were heard, both on the gravel walk outside the small

conservatory and in the corridor by which they had entered the

boudoir. And though the occupants did not see Del Castello, he saw

them at the same time as Everly with De Vesey (a gay Paris beau to

whom Vaura had been engaged for this dance, now over) crossed the

threshold. De Vesey, on seeing the situation, and not caring to be _de

trop_, was for retreating, but Everly was in no mood for this, now

that his dance and his only one for the night was on the _tapis_. He,

like any other man, would have feared to leave the woman he loved with

a man so fascinating as Trevalyon. Vaura, in the second or two of

their hesitation, had time to recover outward composure. Lionel folded

his arms, moved a pace or two backwards, and stood like a statue; the

muscles of his face throbbed, but in the dim rose-tinted light Everly

and De Vesey coming from the glare of the lustres and torches of the

ball-room did not see clearly.

"_Pardonnez_, Mademoiselle, but Sir Tilton Everly would continue his

search until our belle of the evening was found," said De Vesey,

apologetically.

"Not so loud, Monsieur De Vesey," Vaura answered in a whisper. "This

is the temple of the god of Silence, and Captain Trevalyon and I have

been worshipping at his shrine. I perceive you are both," she added,

moving on tiptoe towards them, "feeling the influence of the place,

and you don't look as though you care to pour incense. So let us back

to Comus and revelry. _Au revoir_, Capt. Trevalyon."

Vaura managed while speaking to detach from her corsage some violets

and a crushed rose, which, when Everly and De Vesey were not

observing, she dropped at Trevalyon's feet; and turning her head as

she took Sir Tilton's arm, gave him her own syren smile from eyes and

lips--and Lionel was alone. Del Castello who had been a witness to

this scene from the outside of the conservatory now entered, and

coming forward stood facing Lionel.

One would look far before meeting two as handsome men as these two

rivals for the love of one woman. Capt. Trevalyon, with some of

the best Saxon blood in his veins, of _distingue_ bearing, tall,

broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, blonde, tawney mustache, short side

whiskers, face somewhat bronzed by exposure on the battle field and in

travel: a man, a manly man every inch of him, a man whom woman adored

and man leaned on, unless when his foes and rivals.

Del Castello truly the nobleman, tall, dark, and handsome.

The Spaniard was the first to speak.

"Pardon my intrusion, Monsieur, but I cannot rest until I know the

truth; I have seen Mademoiselle Vernon several times walking and

driving at places of public amusement, but never have been fortunate

enough to obtain an introduction to her until to-night, though I have

made repeated efforts so to do. Her beauty and grace had made a deep

impression upon me, which now that I have had the great joy of

conversing and dancing with her has ripened into love so strong as not

to be subdued, and which, excuse me, Monsieur, for saying, I believe

only a Spaniard or perhaps an Italian could feel. You English are so

cold; Mademoiselle is not, but reminds me of the women of my own

love-warm, sun-lit land. It was my intention to have called upon

Mademoiselle Vernon at her hotel on to-morrow ere the sun had set, to

ask her if she would be the light of my life by doing me the great

honour of accepting my name, hand and fortune. I had been roaming

through the grounds meditating upon her many charms, and of how best I

could make my offer so as not to agitate her by its seeming

prematureness, when I was very much troubled on coming to the

conservatory (meaning to enter) to see you, a powerful rival, in the

blissful retirement of this boudoir with the woman I have, perhaps

unfortunately, conceived, such passionate love for. I was as if

chained to the spot and, when you were alone, determined to enter and

ask you if my worst fears are true. Are you a successful suitor for

the hand of Mademoiselle Vernon? Are you, Monsieur, anything to her?"

This had been, to say the least of it, a very trying night for

Lionel--and it seemed his troubles were not yet over. He knew the

Marquis Del Castello to be a _parti_ the bluest blood in his own land

would be more than satisfied with. He was the possessor of a noble and

princely estate, and this man, with all these advantages, was a suitor

for the hand of the woman he loved with an overwhelming passion. And

the Spaniard had said she could not be loved as he loved her. Ah,

well! what does man know of man? Only this, what he chooses more than

"language," as Talleyrand says, "was given us to conceal our

thoughts;" for we smile when the heart is breaking; we weep to conceal

the joy we are feeling; and Lionel listened and suffered. He had never

been a man to make his moan into the ear of men and women, for the

sympathy of society is curiosity! and man listens and forgets, and

woman listens and talks; she cannot help it, poor thing. Can the snake

do other than charm--then sting?

And Vaura had conquered and enslaved him, but was still unsubdued--so

he thought,--and though peerless among her sex, she is only a woman.

And how will it be if I allow this man to pour his love tale into her

ear with all the impassioned eloquence his countrymen possess. "Oh,

darling!" and he groaned inwardly, "I cannot put you to the test; I

_cannot_ speak yet;" and he must not. All this poor Lionel thought, as

with folded arms he listened to the Spaniard, and to his concluding

words of "Are you anything to Mademoiselle Vernon?" he merely bowed.

The temptation to dismiss this smooth-tongued Southerner, with the

warmth of the south in his words, with the looks of an Adonis, ere

Vaura should listen to his pleadings, was too much for him. Ah, well,

though we love him much, this Lionel Trevalyon, he is only mortal.

"After I have made her love me, I shall tell her of this man's

proposal of marriage," he said to his aggrieved conscience. After all

is there not an instinctive leaning in the hearts of most of us

towards the Roman Catholic doctrine of penance? Immediately on our

conscience becoming seared as with a red-hot iron through some act its

sensitiveness shrinks from, we, feeling this inward shrinking away as

if from our lower nature invariably bring out the whip and lash our

poor weak flesh by way of atonement. And so Lionel thought now as he

bowed to Del Castello's question of "are you anything to her?" and

thought while doing what hurt his conscience--"I shall tell her

after."

"Then my worst fears are realized," said Del Castello to Lionel's bow.

"But, Monsieur, you cannot expect me with my heart's great loneliness

fresh upon me to congratulate you on being before me in your wooing.

_Adieu_, I shall leave Paris at sunrise, and it will be a sorrowful

gratification to me to know that the incomparable Mlle. Vernon will,

from your lips, learn why I fly." And saying this, the Marquis left

Lionel to the solitude of Madame's boudoir.