The Parisians — Complete by Baron Edward Bulwer Lytton Lytton (beautiful books to read TXT) 📖

“But, I presume, even then an eloquent avocat. He got into the Chamber, spoke well, defended the coup-d’etat. He has just been made Prefet of the great department of the a popular appointment. He bears a high character. Pray renew your acquaintance with him; he is coming this way.”

“Will so grave a dignitary renew acquaintance with me? I doubt it.”

But as De Mauleon said this, he moved from the column, and advanced towards the Prefet. Enguerrand followed him, and saw the Vicomte extend his hand to his old acquaintance.

The Prefet stared, and said, with frigid courtesy, “Pardon me,—some mistake.”

“Allow me, Monsieur Hennequin,” said Enguerrand, interposing, and wishing good-naturedly to save De Mauleon the awkwardness of introducing himself,—“allow me to reintroduce you to my kinsman, whom the lapse of years may well excuse you for forgetting, the Vicomte de Mauleon.”

Still the Prefet did not accept the hand. He bowed with formal ceremony, said, “I was not aware that Monsieur le Vicomte had returned to Paris,” and moving to the doorway, made his salutation to the hostess and disappeared.

“The insolent!” muttered Enguerrand.

“Hush!” said De Mauleon, quietly, “I can fight no more duels,—especially with a Prefet. But I own I am weak enough to feel hurt at such a reception from Hennequin, for he owed me some obligations,—small, perhaps, but still they were such as might have made me select him, rather than Louvier, as the vindicator of my name, had I known him to be so high placed. But a man who has raised himself into an authority may well be excused for forgetting a friend whose character needs defence. I forgive him.”

There was something pathetic in the Vicomte’s tone which touched Enguerrand’s warm if light heart. But De Mauleon did not allow him time to answer. He went on quickly through an opening in the gay crowd, which immediately closed behind him, and Enguerrand saw him no more that evening.

Duplessis ere this had quitted his seat by the Minister, drawn thence by a young and very pretty girl resigned to his charge by a cavalier with whom she had been dancing. She was the only daughter of Duplessis, and he valued her even more than the millions he had made at the Bourse. “The Princess,” she said, “has been swept off in the train of some German Royalty; so, petit pere, I must impose myself on thee.”

The Princess, a Russian of high rank, was the chaperon that evening of Mademoiselle Valerie Duplessis.

“And I suppose I must take thee back into the ballroom,” said the financier, smiling proudly, “and find thee partners.”

“I don’t want your aid for that, Monsieur; except this quadrille, my list is pretty well filled up.”

“And I hope the partners will be pleasant. Let me know who they are,” he whispered, as they threaded their way into the ball-room.

The girl glanced at her tablet.

“Well, the first on the list is milord somebody, with an unpronounceable English name.”

“Beau cavalier?”

“No; ugly, old too; thirty at least.”

Duplessis felt relieved. He did not wish his daughter to fall in love with an Englishman.

“And the next?”

“The next?” she said hesitatingly, and he observed that a soft blush accompanied the hesitation.

“Yes, the next. Not English too?”

“Oh, no; the Marquis de Rochebriant.”

“Ah! who presented him to thee?”

“Thy friend, petit pere, M. de Braze.”

Duplessis again glanced at his daughter’s face; it was bent over her bouquet.

“Is he ugly also?”

“Ugly!” exclaimed the girl, indignantly; “why, he is—” she checked herself and turned away her head.

Duplessis became thoughtful. He was glad that he had accompanied his child into the ball-room; he would stay there, and keep watch on her and Rochebriant also.

Up to that moment he had felt a dislike to Rochebriant. That young noble’s too obvious pride of race had nettled him, not the less that the financier himself was vain of his ancestry. Perhaps he still disliked Alain, but the dislike was now accompanied with a certain, not hostile, interest; and if he became connected with the race, the pride in it might grow contagious.

They had not been long in the ball-room before Alain came up to claim his promised partner. In saluting Duplessis, his manner was the same as usual, not more cordial, not less ceremoniously distant. A man so able as the financier cannot be without quick knowledge of the human heart.

“If disposed to fall in love with Valerie,” thought Duplessis, “he would have taken more pains to please her father. Well, thank heaven, there are better matches to be found for her than a noble without fortune and a Legitimist without career.”

In fact, Alain felt no more for Valerie than for any other pretty girl in the room. In talking with the Vicomte de Braze in the intervals of the dance, he had made some passing remark on her beauty. De Braze had said, “Yes, she is charming; I will present you,” and hastened to do so before Rochebriant even learned her name. So introduced, he could but invite her to give him her first disengaged dance, and when that was fixed, he had retired, without entering into conversation.

Now, as they took their places in the quadrille, he felt that effort of speech had become a duty, if not a pleasure; and of course, he began with the first commonplace which presented itself to his mind.

“Do you not think it a very pleasant ball, Mademoiselle?”

“Yes,” dropped, in almost inaudible reply, from Valerie’s rosy lips.

“And not over-crowded, as most balls are?”

Valerie’s lips again moved, but this time quite inaudibly. The obligations of the figure now caused a pause. Alain racked his brains and began,

“They tell me the last season was more than usually gay; of that I cannot judge, for it was well-nigh over when I came to Paris for the first time.”

Valerie looked up with a more animated expression than her childlike face had yet shown, and said, this time distinctly, “This is my first ball, Monsieur le Marquis.”

“One has only to look at Mademoiselle to divine that fact,” replied Alain, gallantly.

Again the conversation was interrupted by the dance; but the ice between the two was now broken; and when the quadrille was concluded, and Rochebriant led the fair Valerie back to her father’s side, she felt as if she had been listening to the music of the spheres, and that the music had now suddenly stopped. Alain, alas for her! was under no such pleasing