Cotillion

“But tell me, I beg of you! It is not—mon Dieu, it is not that madame has discovered—? It is not I who am the cause—?”

“Oh, no, nothing of that nature! You know Sir Henry Gosford? Offered for her.”

‘“That ancient!” the Chevalier said contemptuously. “I know well the intentions of Madarne Broughty, but Olivia will laugh at the vieillard!”

“Wasn’t laughing when I saw her. Said her mother would kill her if she didn’t do as she was bid. Shouldn’t think she would, myself, but no use telling Miss Broughty that: in the deuce of a pucker, y’know! Trembling all over.”

“Ah, la pauvre! it is a dragon de femme, that one, but she cannot force that angel to the altar, after all! She will scold, she will threaten, but she will not harm her own daughter! This Sir Henry will be forgotten—I too must be forgotten!— and one day, I am assured, she will meet another—un brave homme!—and she will be happy. To think of it is to tear the heart from my body, but I must wish it for her sake—I must accustom myself to the thought!”

“Well, it ain’t a particle of use accustoming yourself to it,” said Freddy, unimpressed. “Won’t happen.”

“She will not consent to marry that radoteur!”

“No, very likely not. Seems to me she’ll accept a carte blanche from my cousin Jack,” said Freddy brutally.

“No! no!” ejaculated the Chevalier, turning pale. “You shall not say such a thing!”

“Have said it. Very understandable thing to do. Frightened of her mother: won’t return to her. You go off to France: nothing else she can do! Must know Jack would treat her devilish handsomely: at least, he would while she was living under his protection. Trouble is, these little affairs don’t commonly last long. Mind, I don’t say Jack would turn her off without a shilling, because he wouldn’t. Shabby thing to do, and he ain’t shabby. But—”

“Stop! stop!” said the Chevalier hoarsely. He cast himself into a chair by the table, and buried his face in his hands. “Every word you speak is torture! Ah, why did I cross her path? I have brought misery upon her!”

“Don’t see that at all,” objected Freddy. “Dashed good thing you did cross her path! Able to rescue her.”

The Chevalier’s fingers, writhing amongst his glossy brown locks, were fast ruining what had been an admirable example of the Brutus, made fashionable by Mr. Brummell. Freddy watched this with pained disapproval. It did not seem to him to serve any useful purpose; it was, in fact, a work of quite wanton destruction.

“You do not understand!” groaned the Chevalier. “I would give my life, my all, but I am helpless! I cannot help her, I, of all men! You may say I am au bout de mon

Latin

! ”

“Well, I shouldn’t say anything of the sort, because I ain’t at all easy in the French tongue, and I’m dashed if I know what it means. Daresay m’father would: they used to talk the devil of a lot of French in his day. Italian, too. Went junketing about all over the Continent, y’know. That fellow Bonaparte put a stop to that, which is why I never made the Grand Tour. Not that I’m complaining. Never thought I should have liked it above half, to tell you the truth.”

The Chevalier stared at him rather wildly. “Ah. what are you saying? It is hors de propos! You bring me news which kills me, and talk to me of the Grand Tour! It is entirely English, en effet!”

“Well, what the deuce should it be?” said Freddy reasonably. “Just told you I don’t speak French!”

The Chevalier once more sank his head in his hands, saying with a bitter laugh; “Oh, you are without sensibility, you!”

“I may be without sensibility, but I’m dashed if I’d sit tearing my hair out when a man came to tell me Kit was in trouble!” retorted Freddy. “Much good that would do her!”

The Chevalier raised his head, and flung out his hands. “But can you not understand that I am without power? Never would that woman permit me to marry Olivia! Ah, do you imagine that I do not care, that I do not desire with all my heart to call her my own, to take her to France, far, far from such as her mother—that Gosford— that roué, your cousin?”

“Well, why the devil don’t you do it?” demanded Freddy. “Never saw such a fellow for making speeches!”

The Chevalier’s hands dropped. He sat staring at Freddy, as though thunderstruck. “Do it?” he repeated. “You would say—an enlevement!”

Freddy sighed. “No, I wouldn’t. Keep telling you I don’t speak French.”

“Pardon. A—a flight—a—I do not know the word!”

“Daresay you mean an elopement,” said Freddy helpfully. “That’s it: carry her off to France before her mother finds her.”

The Chevalier’s eyes flashed. “Ah, you believe me to be altogether base!” he exclaimed.

“Well, you’re out there, because I don’t. Seems to me you’re altogether bacon-brained!”

“But—It would be an infamy! I tell you, I have for that angel a respect, an adoration beyond your comprehension! To steal her in that manner—I, a gamester, an adventurer!—is a villainy too great!”

“Shouldn’t call it a villainy myself,” said Freddy. “It ain’t the thing, of course: not saying it is. Mind, if you didn’t mean to marry her, it wouldn’t do at all!”

“If it were possible, I would marry her at this instant!” the Chevalier said impetuously.

“Well, it ain’t possible. Marry her when you get to France.”

The Chevalier began to pace about the room. “I would take her to my mother. She is not such a one as Madame Broughty, rest assured!”

“Very good notion,” approved Freddy.

“My father—ah, if at first he was a little angry with me, would he not relent when his eyes alighted upon my angel?”

“Bound to,” agreed Freddy.

The Chevalier faced him. “Tell me, then, you who are of a family of the most distinguished, the most correct, should I do this thing?”

“Dash it, just what I have been telling you!” said Freddy. “What’s more, there’s no time to be lost.”

A doubt shook the Chevalier. “Can it be that she would trust me? So young, so innocent!”

“Why shouldn’t she? What I mean is, no reason at all, if she’s an innocent. Ought to know that!”

The Chevalier drew a deep breath, and flung open his arms. “La tête me tourne! But one little half-hour past, behold me, plongé dans le désespoir! Then you come to me, comme ange tutelaire, and you transport me to Paradise!”

“Very happy to be of service,” murmured Freddy, rising, and setting down his empty glass.

The Chevalier gave a shaken laugh. “Ah, I am without words! Je

m’en

suis plus!”

“Are you, though?” said Freddy hopefully. “Good thing: no time to waste in speechifying! Fact is, never one to talk much: not clever, y’know!”

“You—!” uttered the Chevalier, in throbbing accents. “You will permit me at least to thank you!”

Freddy’s eyes started from his head with horror, for it seemed, for one hideous moment, as though the Chevalier had every intention of embracing him. However, the excitable Frenchman contented himself with seizing both his hands, and exclaiming in a voice of profound emotion: “My benefactor!”

“No, no, assure you, nothing of that sort!” said Freddy. “At least—puts me in mind of something! Don’t know how you may be fixed for the ready! Happen to have a large sum about me: thought I might be needing it, but it turned out I didn’t. Beg you won’t hesitate to tell me if it ain’t quite convenient to you to lay down your blunt just at present!”

“Ah, you are the soul of generosity!” the Chevalier said, pressing his hands fervently. “But no! I too have about me a large sum of money!” An imp of mischief leaped into his eyes. “Shall I tell you? Yes, for could I withhold from you any secret? Your cousin did me the so-great honour to invite me to his logement, having, as he told me, an envie to pit his skill at piquet against mine. Eh bien! he has some skill, that one, but I was perhaps a little enraged—pour raison a moi connue!—and I did not choose that he should win.