CHAPTER VIII.
No further conversation in the way of sustained dialogue took place that
evening between Graham and Isaura.
The Americans and the Savarins clustered round Isaura when they quitted
the refreshment-room. The party was breaking up. Vane would have
offered his arm again to Isaura, but M. Savarin had forestalled him. The
American was despatched by his wife to see for the carriage; and Mrs.
Morley said, with her wonted sprightly tone of command,
"Now, Mr. Vane, you have no option but to take care of me to the shawl-
room."
Madame Savarin and Signora Venosta had each found their cavaliers, the
Italian still retaining hold of the portly connoisseur, and the
Frenchwoman accepting the safeguard of the Vicomte de Breze. As they
descended the stairs, Mrs. Morley asked Graham what he thought of the
young lady to whom she had presented him.
"I think she is charming," answered Graham.
"Of course; that is the stereotyped answer to all such questions,
especially by you Englishmen. In public or in private, England is the
mouthpiece of platitudes."
"It is natural for an American to think so. Every child that has just
learned to speak uses bolder expressions than its grandmamma; but I am
rather at a loss to know by what novelty of phrase an American would have
answered your question."
"An American would have discovered that Isaura Cicogna had a soul, and
his answer would have confessed it."
"It strikes me that he would then have uttered a platitude more stolid
than mine. Every Christian knows that the dullest human being has a
soul. But, to speak frankly, I grant that my answer did not do justice
to the Signorina, nor to the impression she makes on me; and putting
aside the charm of the face, there is a charm in a mind that seems to
have gathered stores of reflection which I should scarcely have expected
to find in a young lady brought up to be a professional singer."
"You add prejudice to platitude, and are horribly prosaic to-night; but
here we are in the shawl-room. I must take another opportunity of
attacking you. Pray dine with us tomorrow; you will meet our Minister
and a few other pleasant friends."
"I suppose I must not say, 'I shall be charmed,'" answered Vane; "but I
shall be."
"Bon Dieu! that horrid fat man has deserted Signora Venosta,--looking
for his own cloak, I dare say; selfish monster! Go and hand her to her
carriage; quick, it is announced!"
Graham, thus ordered, hastened to offer his arm to the she-mountebank.
Somehow she had acquired dignity in his eyes, and he did not feel the
least ashamed of being in contact with the scarlet jacket.
The Signora grappled to him with a confiding familiarity. "I am afraid,"
she said in Italian, as they passed along the spacious hall to the porte
cochere,--"I am afraid that I did not make a good effect to-night. I was
nervous; did not you perceive it?"
"No, indeed; you enchanted us all;" replied the dissimulator.
"How amiable you are to say so! You must think that I sought for a
compliment. So I did; you gave me more than I deserved. Wine is the
milk of old men, and praise of old women; but an old man may be killed by
too much wine, and an old woman lives all the longer for too much praise.
Buona notte."
Here she sprang, lithesomely enough, into the carriage, and Isaura
followed, escorted by M. Savarin. As the two men returned towards the
shawl-room, the Frenchman said, "Madame Savarin and I complain that you
have not let us see so much of you as we ought. No doubt you are greatly
sought after; but are you free to take your soup with us the day after
to-morrow? You will meet the Count von Rudesheim, and a few others more
lively if less wise."
"The day after to-morrow I will mark with a white stone. To dine with M.
Savarin is an event to a man who covets distinction."
"Such compliments reconcile an author to his trade. You deserve the best
return I can make you. You will meet la belle Isaura. I have just
engaged her and her chaperon. She is a girl of true genius; and genius
is like those objects of virtu which belong to a former age, and become
every day more scarce and more precious."
Here they encountered Colonel Morley and his wife hurrying to their
carriage. The American stopped Vane, and whispered, "I am glad, sir,
to hear from my wife that you dine with us to-morrow. Sir, you will meet
Mademoiselle Cicogna, and I am not without a kinkle [notion] that you
will be enthused."
"This seems like a fatality," soliloquized Vane as he walked through the
deserted streets towards his lodging. "I strove to banish that haunting
face from my mind. I had half forgotten it, and now--" Here his murmur
sank into silence. He was deliberating in very conflicted thought
whether or not he should write to refuse the two invitations he had
accepted.
"Pooh!" he said at last, as he reached the door of his lodging, "is my
reason so weak that it should be influenced by a mere superstition?
Surely I know myself too well, and have tried myself too long, to fear
that I should be untrue to the duty and ends of my life, even if I found
my heart in danger of suffering."
Certainly the Fates do seem to mock our resolves to keep our feet from
their ambush, and our hearts from their snare! How our lives may be
coloured by that which seems to us the most trivial accident, the merest
chance! Suppose that Alain de Rochebriant had been invited to that
reunion at M. Louvier's, and Graham Vane had accepted some other
invitation and passed his evening elsewhere, Alain would probably have
been presented to Isaura--what then might have happened? The impression
Isaura had already made upon the young Frenchman was not so deep as that
made upon Graham; but then, Alain's resolution to efface it was but
commenced that day, and by no means yet confirmed. And if he had been
the first clever young man to talk earnestly to that clever young girl,
who can guess what impression he might have made upon her? His
conversation might have had less philosophy and strong sense than
Graham's, but more of poetic sentiment and fascinating romance.
However, the history of events that do not come to pass is not in the
chronicle of the Fates.
