Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. by Various None (have you read this book txt) 📖

Had Set Their Ball In Motion They Could Neither Control It Nor Keep

Up With It As It Rolled Downward.

 

The Prevalent Idea In Mrs. Leare'S Salon Was That The Banquet Of The Rue

Chaillot Would Go Off Quietly,  That The Prefect Of Police Would Protest,

And That The Affair Would Then Pass Into The Law-Courts,  Where It Would

Remain Until All Interest In The Subject Had Passed Away. One Was

Sensible,  However,  That There Was A General Feeling Of Excitement In The

Atmosphere. Paris Swarmed With Troops,  Evidently Under Stricter

Discipline Than Usual. People Looked Into Each Other'S Faces

Interrogatively And Read The Daily Papers With An Anxious Air.

 

Though I Did Not At The Time Fully Appreciate What I Saw,  I Was Struck

By The Business-Like Character Of The Men About Me. The Guests,  I

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 56

Thought,  Took Very Little Notice Of The Lady Of The House. I Did Not

Then Suspect That They Were Using Her Hospitality For Their Own

Purposes,  And That They Felt Secure In Her Total Incapacity To

Understand What They Were Doing. She,  Meantime,  Intent On Filling Her

Reception-Rooms With Celebrities And Titled Persons,  Was Charmed To Have

Collected So Many Distinguished Men Around Her.

 

Hermione Appeared Bewildered,  Uncomfortable And Restless,  Like A

Spectator On The Edge Of A Great Crowd. "There Are Too Many Strangers

Here To-Night," She Said: "Mamma And I Do Not Know One Half Of Them.

They Have Been Brought Here By Their Friends. To Have A Salon Is Mamma'S

Ambition,  But This Is Not My Idea Of It. I Feel As If We Were Out Of

Place Among These Men,  Who Talk To Each Other And Hardly Notice Us At

All."

 

We Sat Together And Exchanged Our Thoughts In Whispers. It Was One Of

Those Crowds That Create A Solitude For Lovers. Not That We Talked

Sentiment Or That We Were Lovers. We Conversed About The Excitements Of

The Day--Of The Leste Affair,  In Which The King And The King'S Ministry

Were Accused Of Protecting Dishonesty; Of The Beauvallon And

D'Equivilley Duel And The Praslin Murder,  In connection With Both Of

Which The Royal Family And The Ministry Were Popularly Accused Of

Protecting Criminals--And At Last The Conversation Strayed Away From

France To Hermione'S Own Girlhood. She Told Me Of Her Happy Country Home

In Maryland With Her Grandmother,  And Sighed. I Asked Her If She Was

Going To The English Ball To Be Given On Wednesday Night At The

Beautiful Jardin D'Hiver In The Champs Elysees.

 

"I Suppose So," She Replied,  "But I Don'T Care For Large Assemblies: I

Feel Afraid Of The Men I Meet. I Wish Your Mother Could Chaperon Me: It

Would Be Much Nicer To Be With Her Than With My Own. Mamma Understands

Nothing About Looking After Me; She Wants To Have A Good Time Herself,

And I Am Only In Her Way. Do You Know,  Mr. Farquhar,  I Have A Theory

That When Women Have Missed Anything They Ought To Have Enjoyed In early

Life,  They Always Want To Go Back And Pick It Up. Mamma Had No Pleasures

In Her Youth,  No Attentions,  No Gayety. If I Am To Be Chaperoned,  I Like

The Real Thing. If I Were At Home In Maryland,  Where My Father Came

From,  I Should Need No One To Protect Me: _You_ Could Take Me To The

Ball."

 

"I,  Miss Hermione?"

 

"Yes,  You. You Would Call For Me,  And Wait Till I Was Ready To Come

Down. Then You And I Would Go _Alone_," She Added,  Enjoying My Look Of

Incredulity. "It Is The Custom: No Harm Could Come Of It," She Added.

"We Would Walk To Our Ball."

 

"No Harm In The Case That You Have Supposed,  But In Some Other Cases--"

 

"You Suppose A Good Deal," She Interrupted. "You Suppose A Girl Without

Self-Respect Or Good Sense,  And Perhaps A Man Without Honor. Here,  Of

Course,  Things Cannot Be Like That. Society Seems Founded Upon Different

Ideas From Those Prevalent With Us About Men And Women. _Here_,  I Admit,

A Girl Finds Comfort And Protection And Ease Of Mind In a Good Chaperon.

Yet It Seemed Strange To Me To Put On Leading-Strings When I Came Out

Here: I Had Been Used To Take Care Of Myself For So Many Years."

 

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 57

"Why,  Miss Leare," I Said,  Laughing,  "You Cannot Have Been Many Years In

Society."

 

"I Am Twenty," She Said Frankly,  "And We Came To Europe About Three

Years Ago. But Before That Time I Had Been In company A Good Deal. Not

In The City,  For I Was Not 'Out,' But In The Hotels At Newport,  At The

Springs And In The Country. In america One Has But To Do What One Knows

Is Kind And Right,  And No One Will Think Evil: Here One May Do,  Without

Suspecting It,  So Many Compromising Things."

 

"Does The Instinct That You Speak Of To Be Kind And Right Always Guide

The Young American Lady?"

 

"I Suppose So--So Far As I Know. It _Must_. She Walks By It,  And Sets

Her Feet Down Firmly. Here I Feel All The Time As If I Were Walking

Among Traps Blindfolded."

 

The Ball Of The Jardin D'Hiver In The Champs Elysees Was A Superb

Success. The Immense Glass-House Was Fitted Up For Dancing,  And All Went

Merry As A Marriage-Bell,  With A Crater About To Open Under Our Feet,  As

At The Duchess Of Richmond'S Ball At Brussels.

 

Miss Leare Was There,  But Quiet And Dignified. There Was Not The

Smallest Touch Of Vulgarity About Her. The Coarse Readiness To Accept

Publicity Which Distinguishes The Underbred Woman,  Whether In england Or

America,  The Desire To Show Off A Foreign Emancipation From What Appear

Ridiculous French Rules,  Were Not In Her.

 

Yet She Might Have Amused Herself As She Liked With Complete Impunity,

For Mrs. Leare Appeared To Leave Her Entirely Alone. I Danced With Her

As Often As She Would Permit Me,  And My Heart Was No Longer In My Own

Possession When I Put-Her Into Her Carriage About Dawn.

 

Two Or Three Days After I Called,  But The Ladies Were Not In,  So That

Except At Church At The Hotel Marboeuf On Sunday Morning I Saw Nothing

Of Miss Hermione. Monday,  February 21St,  Was Sunny And Bright. The

Public Excitement Was Such That An Unusual Number Of Working-Men Were

Keeping Their St. Crispin. The Soldiers,  However,  Were Confined To Their

Quarters: Not A Uniform Was To Be Seen Abroad. Our Night Had Been

Disturbed By The Continuous Rumble Of Carts And Carriages.

 

"Is It A Fine Day For The Banquet?" I Heard Amy Say As Our Maid Opened

Her Windows On Tuesday Morning.

 

"There Is To Be No Banquet," Was The Answer. "_Voyez Done_ The

Proclamation Posted On The Door Of The Barrack At The Corner Of The Rue

Chaillot."

 

I Sprang From My Bed And Looked Out Of My Window. A Strange Change Had

Taken Place In The Teeming Little Caserne At The Corner. Instead Of The

Usual Groups Of Well-Behaved Boy-Soldiers In Rough Uniforms,  The Barrack

Looked Deserted,  And Its Lower Windows Had Been Closed Up To Their Top

Panes With Bags Of Hay And Mattresses. Not A Soldier,  Not Even A Sentry,

Was To Be Seen.

 

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 58

I Dressed Myself And Went Out To Collect News. The Carts That Had

Disturbed Us During The Night Had Been Not Only Employed In Removing All

Preparations For The Banquet,  But In Taking Every Loose Paving-Stone Out

Of The Way. I Found The Place De La Madeleine Full Of People,  All

Looking Up At The House Of Odillon Barrot,  Asking "What Next?" And "What

Shall We Do?" Odillon Barrot Was The Hero Of The Moment--Literally _Of

The Moment_. In Forty-Eight Hours From That Time His Name Had Faded From

The Page Of History. In The Place De La Concorde There Was More

Excitement,  For Threats Were Being Made To Cross The Bridge And To

Insult The Chambers. The Pont De L'Institut,  Notwithstanding The Efforts

Of The Garde Municipale Or Mounted Police,  Was Greatly Crowded. A Party

Of Dragoons,  On Sorrel Ponies Barely Fourteen Hands High,  Rode Up And

Began To Clear The Bridge,  But Gently And Gradually. The Crowd Was

Retiring As Fast As Its Numbers Would Permit,  When Some Of The Municipal

Guard Rode Through The Ranks Of The Dragoons And Set Themselves,  With

Ill-Judged Roughness,  To Accelerate The Operation. The Crowd Grew Angry,

And Stones Began To Be Thrown At The Guard And Soldiers.

 

Growing Anxious For The Women I Had Left In The Rue Neuve De Berri,  I

Returned Home By Side-Streets. A Crowd Had Collected On The Champs

Elysees About Thirty Yards From The Corner Of Our Street,  And Was

Forming A Barricade. All Were Shouting,  All Gesticulating. Citadines At

Full Speed Were Driving Out Of Reach Of Requisition; Horses Were Going

Off Disencumbered Of Their Vehicles; The Driver Of A Remise Was Seated

Astride His Animal,  The Long Flaps Of His Driving-Coat Covering It From

Neck To Tail; A Noble Elm Was Being Hewn Down By Hatchets And Even

Common Knives. An Omnibus,  The Remise,  A Few Barrels And Dining-Tables,

A Dozen Yards Of _Pave_ Torn Up By Eager Hands,  A Sentry-Box,  Some

Benches And The Tree,  Formed The Barricade. _Gamins_ And _Blouses_

Worked At It. The Respectables Looked On And Did Not Trouble The

Workers. Suddenly There Was A General Stampede Among Them. A Squadron Of

About Fifty Dragoons Charged Up The Champs Elysees. One Old

Peasant-Woman In a Scanty Yellow-And-Black Skirt,  Which She Twitched

Above Her Knees,  Led The Retreat. But Soon They Stopped And Turned

Again,  While The Dragoons Rode Slowly Back,  Breathing Their Horses.

Nobody Was Angry,  For Nobody Had Been Hurt,  But They Were Frightened

Enough.

 

At This Moment,  Stealing From A Porte-Cochere Where She Had Taken Refuge

During The Fright And _Sauve Gui Peut_,  Came A Figure Wrapped In dark

Drapery. Could It Be Possible? Hermione Leare! In a Moment I Was At Her

Side. She Was Very Pale And Breathless,  And She Was Glad To Take My Arm.

"What Brings You Here?" I Whispered.

 

"Our Servants Have All Run Away: They Think Mamma Is Compromised.

Victor,  Our Chasseur,  Broke Open Mamma'S Secretary And Took His Wages.

She Is Almost Beside Herself. She Wanted To Send A Letter To The Post,

And As It Is Steamer-Day I Thought Papa Had Better Know That Thus Far

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