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Book online «The Parisians — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (beautiful books to read TXT) 📖». Author Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton
Isaura’s heart heaved beneath her robe, but she replied in a tone of astonishing indifference: “I believe this is the height of the London season, and Mr. Vane would probably be too engaged to profit even by an invitation so tempting.”
“Nous verrons. How pleased he will be to hear of your triumphs! He admired you so much before you were famous: what will be his admiration now! men are so vain—they care for us so much more when people praise us. But till we have put the creatures in their proper place, we must take them for what they are.”
Here the Venosta, with whom the poor Colonel had exhausted all the arts at his command for chaining her attention, could be no longer withheld from approaching Mrs. Morley, and venting her admiration of that lady’s wreath, earrings, robes, flounces. This dazzling apparition had on her the effect which a candle has on a moth—she fluttered round it, and longed to absorb herself in its blaze. But the wreath especially fascinated her—a wreath which no prudent lady with colourings less pure, and features less exquisitely delicate than the pretty champion of the rights of women, could have fancied on her own brows without a shudder. But the Venosta in such matters was not prudent. “It can’t be dear,” she cried piteously, extending her arms towards Isaura. “I must have one exactly like. Who made it? Cara signora, give me the address.”
“Ask the Colonel, dear Madame; he chose and bought it,” and Mrs. Morley glanced significantly at her well-tutored Frank.
“Madame,” said the Colonel, speaking in English, which he usually did with the Venosta—who valued herself on knowing that language and was flattered to be addressed in it—while he amused himself by introducing into its forms the dainty Americanisms with which he puzzled the Britisher—he might well puzzle the Florentine,—“Madame, I am too anxious for the appearance of my wife to submit to the test of a rival schemer like yourself in the same apparel. With all the homage due to a sex of which I am enthused dreadful, I decline to designate the florist from whom I purchased Mrs. Morley’s head-fixings.”
“Wicked man!” cried the Venosta, shaking her finger at him coquettishly. “You are jealous! Fie! a man should never be jealous of a woman’s rivalry with women;” and then, with a cynicism that might have become a greybeard, she added, “but of his own sex every man should be jealous—though of his dearest friend. Isn’t it so, Colonello?”
The Colonel looked puzzled, bowed, and made no reply. “That only shows,” said Mrs. Morley, rising, “what villains the Colonel has the misfortune to call friends and fellow-men.”
“I fear it is time to go,” said Frank, glancing at the clock.
In theory the most rebellious, in practice the most obedient, of wives, Mrs. Morley here kissed Isaura, resettled her crinoline, and shaking hands with the Venosta, retreated to the door.
“I shall have the wreath yet,” cried the Venosta, impishly. “La speranza e fenamina” (Hope is female).
“Alas!” said Isaura, half mournfully, half smiling, “alas! do you not remember what the poet replied when asked what disease was most mortal?—‘the hectic fever caught from the chill of hope.’”
CHAPTER III.
Graham Vane was musing very gloomily in his solitary apartment one morning, when his servant announced Colonel Morley.
He received his visitor with more than the cordiality with which every English politician receives an American citizen. Graham liked the Colonel too well for what he was in himself to need any national title to his esteem. After some preliminary questions and answers as to the health of Mrs. Morley, the length of the Colonel’s stay in London, what day he could dine with Graham at Richmond or Gravesend, the Colonel took up the ball. “We have been reckoning to see you at Paris, sir, for the last six months.”
“I am very much flattered to hear that you have thought of me at all; but I am not aware of having warranted the expectation you so kindly express.”
“I guess you must have said something to my wife which led her to do more than expect—to reckon on your return. And, by the way, sir, I am charged to deliver to you this note from her, and to back the request it contains that you will avail yourself of the offer. Without summarising the points I do so.”
Graham glanced over the note addressed to him
“DEAR MR. VANE,—Do you forget how beautiful the environs of Paris are in May and June? how charming it was last year at the lake of Enghien? how gay were our little dinners out of doors in the garden arbours, with the Savarins and the fair Italian, and her incomparably amusing chaperon? Frank has my orders to bring you back to renew these happy days, while the birds are in their first song, and the leaves are in their youngest green. I have prepared your rooms chez nous—a chamber that looks out on the Champs Elysees, and a quiet cabinet de travail at the back, in which you can read, write, or sulk undisturbed. Come, and we will again visit Enghien and Montmorency. Don’t talk of engagements. If man proposes, woman disposes. Hesitate not—obey. Your sincere little friend, Lizzy.”“My dear Morley,” said Graham, with emotion, “I cannot find words to thank your wife sufficiently for an invitation so graciously conveyed. Alas! I cannot accept it.”
“Why?” asked the Colonel, drily.
“I have too much to do in London.”
“Is that the true reason, or am I to suspicion that there is anything, sir, which makes you dislike a visit to Paris?”
The Americans enjoy the reputation of being the frankest putters of questions whom liberty of speech has yet educated into la recherche de la verite, and certainly Colonel Morley in this instance did not impair the national reputation.
Graham Vane’s brow slightly contracted, and he bit his lip as if stung by a sudden pang; but after a moment’s pause, he answered with a good-humoured smile:
“No man who has taste enough to admire the most beautiful city, and appreciate the charms of the most brilliant society in the world, can dislike Paris.”
“My dear sir, I did not ask you if you disliked Paris, but if there were anything that made you dislike coming back to it on a visit.”
“What a notion! and what a cross-examiner you would have made if you had been called to the bar! Surely, my dear
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