CHAPTER VII.
"Being got out of town, the first thing I did was to give my
mule her head."--/Gil Blas/.
ALTHOUGH the character of Maltravers was gradually becoming more hard
and severe,--although as his reason grew more muscular, his imagination
lost something of its early bloom, and he was already very different
from the wild boy who had set the German youths in a blaze, and had
changed into a Castle of Indolence the little cottage tenanted with
Poetry and Alice,--he still preserved many of his old habits; he loved,
at frequent intervals, to disappear from the great world--to get rid of
books and friends, and luxury and wealth, and make solitary excursions,
sometimes on foot, sometimes on horseback, through this fair garden of
England.
It was one soft May-day that he found himself on such an expedition,
slowly riding through one of the green lanes of ------shire. His cloak
and his saddle-bags comprised all his baggage, and the world was before
him "where to choose his place of rest." The lane wound at length into
the main road, and just as he came upon it he fell in with a gay party
of equestrians.
Foremost of its cavalcade rode a lady in a dark green habit, mounted on
a thoroughbred English horse, which she managed with so easy a grace
that Maltravers halted in involuntary admiration. He himself was a
consummate horseman, and he had the quick eye of sympathy for those who
shared the accomplishment. He thought, as he gazed, that he had never
seen but one woman whose air and mien on horseback were so full of that
nameless elegance which skill and courage in any art naturally
bestow--that woman was Valerie de Ventadour. Presently, to his great
surprise, the lady advanced from her companions, neared Maltravers, and
said, in a voice which he did not at first distinctly recognise--" Is it
possible?--do I see Mr. Maltravers?"
She paused a moment, and then threw aside her veil, and Ernest
beheld--Madame de Ventadour! By this time a tall, thin gentleman had
joined the Frenchwoman.
"Has /madame/ met with an acquaintance?" said he; "and, if so, will she
permit me to partake her pleasure?"
The interruption seemed a relief to Valerie;--she smiled and coloured.
"Let me introduce you to Mr. Maltravers. Mr. Maltravers, this is my
host, Lord Doningdale."
The two gentlemen bowed, the rest of the cavalcade surrounded the trio,
and Lord Doningdale, with a stately yet frank courtesy, invited
Maltravers to return with the party to his house, which was about four
miles distant. As may be supposed, Ernest readily accepted the
invitation. The cavalcade proceeded, and Maltravers hastened to seek an
explanation from Valerie. It was soon given. Madame de Ventadour had a
younger sister, who had lately married a son of Lord Doningdale. The
marriage had been solemnized in Paris, and Monsieur and Madame de
Ventadour had been in England a week on a visit to the English peer.
The /rencontre/ was so sudden and unexpected that neither recovered
sufficient self-possession for fluent conversation. The explanation
given, Valerie sank into a thoughtful silence, and Maltravers rode by
her side equally taciturn, pondering on the strange chance which, after
the lapse of years, had thrown them again together.
Lord Doningdale, who at first lingered with his other visitors, now
joined them, and Maltravers was struck with his high-bred manner, and a
singular and somewhat elaborate polish in his emphasis and expression.
They soon entered a noble park, which attested far more care and
attention than are usually bestowed upon those demesnes, so peculiarly
English. Young plantations everywhere contrasted the venerable
groves--new cottages of picturesque design adorned the outskirts--and
obelisks and columns, copied from the antique, and evidently of recent
workmanship, gleamed upon them as they neared the house--a large pile,
in which the fashion of Queen Anne's day had been altered into the
French roofs and windows of the architecture of the Tuileries. "You
reside much in the country, I am sure, my lord," said Maltravers.
"Yes," replied Lord Doningdale, with a pensive air, "this place is
greatly endeared to me. Here his Majesty Louis XVIII., when in England,
honoured me with an annual visit. In compliment to him, I sought to
model my poor mansion into an humble likeness of his own palace, so that
he might as little as possible miss the rights he had lost. His own
rooms were furnished exactly like those he had occupied at the
Tuileries. Yes, the place is endeared to me--I think of the old times
with pride. It is something to have sheltered a Bourbon in his
misfortunes."
"It cost /milord/ a vast sum to make these alterations," said Madame de
Ventadour, glancing archly at Maltravers.
"Ah, yes," said the old lord; and his face, lately elated, became
overcast--"nearly three hundred thousand pounds: but what then?--'Les
souvenirs, madame, sont sans prix/!'"
"Have you visited Paris since the restoration, Lord Doningdale," asked
Maltravers.
His lordship looked at him sharply, and then turned his eye to Madame de
Ventadour.
"Nay," said Valerie; laughing, "I did not dictate the question."
"Yes," said Lord Doningdale, "I have been at Paris."
"His Majesty must have been delighted to return your lordship's
hospitality."
Lord Doningdale looked a little embarrassed, and made no reply, but put
his horse into a canter.
"You have galled our host," said Valerie, smiling. "Louis XVIII. and
his friends lived here as long as they pleased, and as sumptuously as
they could; their visits half ruined the owner, who is the model of a
/gentilhomme/ and /preux chevalier/. He went to Paris to witness their
triumph; he expected, I fancy, the order of the St. Esprit. Lord
Doningdale has royal blood in his veins. His Majesty asked him once to
dinner, and, when he took leave, said to him, 'We are happy, Lord
Doningdale, to have thus requited our obligations to your lordship.'
Lord Doningdale went back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his
/souvenirs/, poor man."
"Princes are not grateful, neither are republics," said Maltravers.
"Ah, who is grateful," rejoined Valerie, "except a dog and a woman?"
Maltravers found himself ushered into a vast dressing-room, and was
informed, by a French valet, that in the country Lord Doningdale dined
at six--the first bell would ring in a few minutes. While the valet was
speaking, Lord Doningdale himself entered the room. His lordship had
learned, in the meanwhile, that Maltravers was of the great and ancient
commoner's house whose honours were centred in his brother; and yet
more, that he was the Mr. Maltravers whose writings every one talked of,
whether for praise or abuse. Lord Doningdale had the two
characteristics of a high-bred gentleman of the old school--respect for
birth and respect for talent; he was, therefore, more than ordinarily
courteous to Ernest, and pressed him to stay some days with so much
cordiality, that Maltravers could not but assent. His travelling toilet
was scanty, but Maltravers thought little of dress.
