CHAPTER VIII.
"It is the soul that sees. The outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries;
And thence delight, disgust, or cool indifference rise.
"CRABBE.
WHEN Maltravers entered the enormous saloon, hung with damask, and
decorated with the ponderous enrichments and furniture of the time of
Louis XIV. (that most showy and barbarous of all tastes, which has
nothing in it of the graceful, nothing of the picturesque, and which,
nowadays, people who should know better imitate with a ludicrous
servility), he found sixteen persons assembled. His host stepped up
from a circle which surrounded him, and formally presented his new
visitor to the rest. He was struck with the likeness which the sister
of Valerie bore to Valerie herself; but it was a sobered and chastened
likeness--less handsome, less impressive. Mrs. George Herbert--such was
the name she now owned--was a pretty, shrinking, timid girl, fond of her
husband, and mightily awed by her father-in-law. Maltravers sat by her,
and drew her into conversation. He could not help pitying the poor
lady, when he found she was to live altogether at Doningdale
Park--remote from all the friends and habits of her childhood--alone, so
far as the affections were concerned, with a young husband, who was
passionately fond of field-sports, and who, from the few words Ernest
exchanged with him, seemed to have only three ideas--his dogs, his
horses, and his wife. Alas! the last would soon be the least in
importance. It is a sad position--that of a lively young Frenchwoman
entombed in an English country-house! Marriages with foreigners are
seldom fortunate experiments. But Ernest's attention was soon diverted
from the sister by the entrance of Valerie herself, leaning on her
husband's arm. Hitherto he had not very minutely observed what change
time had effected in her--perhaps he was half afraid. He now gazed at
her with curious interest. Valerie was still extremely handsome, but
her face had grown sharper, her form thinner and more angular; there was
something in her eye and lip, discontented, restless, almost
querulous:--such is the too common expression in the face of those born
to love, and condemned to be indifferent. The little sister was more to
be envied of the two--come what may, she loved her husband, such as he
was, and her heart might ache, but it was not with a void.
Monsieur de Ventadour soon shuffled up to Maltravers--his nose longer
than ever.
"Hein--hein--how d'ye do--how d'ye do?--charmed to see you--saw madame
before me--hein--hein--I suspect--I suspect--"
"Mr. Maltravers, will you give Madame de Ventadour your arm?" said Lord
Doningdale, as he stalked on to the dining-room with a duchess on his
own.
"And you have left Naples," said Maltravers: "left it for good?"
"We do not think of returning."
"It was a charming place--how I loved it!--how well I remember it!"
Ernest spoke calmly--it was but a general remark.
Valerie sighed gently.
During dinner, the conversation between Maltravers and Madame de
Ventadour was vague and embarrassed. Ernest was no longer in love with
her--he had outgrown that youthful fancy. She had exercised influence
over him--the new influences that he had created had chased away her
image. Such is life. Long absences extinguish all the false lights,
though not the true ones. The lamps are dead in the banquet-room of
yesterday; but a thousand years hence, and the stars we look on to-night
will burn as brightly. Maltravers was no longer in love with Valerie.
But Valerie--ah, perhaps /hers/ had been true love!
Maltravers was surprised when he came to examine the state of his own
feelings--he was surprised to find that his pulse did not beat quicker
at the touch of one whose very glance had once thrilled him to the
soul--he was surprised, but rejoiced. He was no longer anxious to seek,
but to shun excitement, and he was a better and a higher being than he
had been on the shores of Naples.
