CHAPTER III.
Graham Vane was musing very gloomily in his solitary apartment one
morning, when his servant announced Colonel Morley.
He received his visitor with more than the cordiality with which every
English politician receives an American citizen. Graham liked the
Colonel too well for what he was in himself to need any national title to
his esteem. After some preliminary questions and answers as to the
health of Mrs. Morley, the length of the Colonel's stay in London, what
day he could dine with Graham at Richmond or Gravesend, the Colonel took
up the ball. "We have been reckoning to see you at Paris, sir, for the
last six months."
"I am very much flattered to hear that you have thought of me at all; but
I am not aware of having warranted the expectation you so kindly
express."
"I guess you must have said something to my wife which led her to do more
than expect--to reckon on your return. And, by the way, sir, I am
charged to deliver to you this note from her, and to back the request it
contains that you will avail yourself of the offer. Without summarising
the points I do so."
Graham glanced over the note addressed to him
"DEAR MR. VANE,--Do you forget how beautiful the environs of Paris
are in May and June? how charming it was last year at the lake of
Enghien? how gay were our little dinners out of doors in the garden
arbours, with the Savarins and the fair Italian, and her
incomparably amusing chaperon? Frank has my orders to bring you
back to renew these happy days, while the birds are in their first
song, and the leaves are in their youngest green. I have prepared
your rooms _chez nous_--a chamber that looks out on the Champs
Elysees, and a quiet _cabinet de travail_ at the back, in which you
can read, write, or sulk undisturbed. Come, and we will again visit
Enghien and Montmorency. Don't talk of engagements. If man
proposes, woman disposes. Hesitate not--obey. Your sincere little
friend, Lizzy."
"My dear Morley," said Graham, with emotion, "I cannot find words to
thank your wife sufficiently for an invitation so graciously conveyed.
Alas! I cannot accept it."
"Why?" asked the Colonel, drily.
"I have too much to do in London."
"Is that the true reason, or am I to suspicion that there is anything,
sir, which makes you dislike a visit to Paris?"
The Americans enjoy the reputation of being the frankest putters of
questions whom liberty of speech has yet educated into _la recherche de
la verite_, and certainly Colonel Morley in this instance did not impair
the national reputation.
Graham Vane's brow slightly contracted, and he bit his lip as if stung by
a sudden pang; but after a moment's pause, he answered with a good-
humoured smile:
"No man who has taste enough to admire the most beautiful city, and
appreciate the charms of the most brilliant society in the world, can
dislike Paris."
"My dear sir, I did not ask you if you disliked Paris, but if there were
anything that made you dislike coming back to it on a visit."
"What a notion! and what a cross-examiner you would have made if you had
been called to the bar! Surely, my dear friend, you can understand that
when a man has in one place business which he cannot neglect, he may
decline going to another place, whatever pleasure it would give him to do
so. By the way, there is a great ball at one of the Ministers' to-night;
you should go there, and I will point out to you all those English
notabilities in whom Americans naturally take interest. I will call for
you at eleven o'clock. Lord ------, who is a connection of mine, would
be charmed to know you."
Morley hesitated; but when Graham said, "How your wife will scold you if
you lose such an opportunity of telling her whether the Duchess of ----
is as beautiful as report says, and whether Gladstone or Disraeli seems
to your phrenological science to have the finer head!" the Colonel gave
in, and it was settled that Graham should call for him at the Langham
Hotel.
That matter arranged, Graham probably hoped that his inquisitive visitor
would take leave for the present, but the Colonel evinced no such
intention. On the contrary, settling himself more at ease in his arm-
chair, he said, "if I remember aright, you do not object to the odour of
tobacco?"
Graham rose and presented to his visitor a cigar-box which he took from
the mantelpiece.
The Colonel shook his head, and withdrew from his breast pocket a leather
case, from which he extracted a gigantic regalia; this he lighted from a
gold match-box in the shape of a locket attached to his watch-chain, and
took two or three preliminary puffs, with his head thrown back and his
eyes meditatively intent upon the ceiling.
We know already that strange whim of the Colonel's (than whom, if he so
pleased, no man could speak purer English as spoken by the Britisher) to
assert the dignity of the American citizen by copious use of expressions
and phrases familiar to the lips of the governing class of the great
Republic--delicacies of speech which he would have carefully shunned in
the polite circles of the Fifth Avenue in New York. Now the Colonel was
much too experienced a man of the world not to be aware that the
commission with which his Lizzy had charged him was an exceedingly
delicate one; and it occurred to his mother wit that the best way to
acquit himself of it, so as to avoid the risk of giving or of receiving
serious affront, would be to push that whim of his into more than wonted
exaggeration. Thus he could more decidedly and briefly come to the
point; and should he, in doing so, appear too meddlesome, rather provoke
a laugh than a frown-retiring from the ground with the honours due to a
humorist. Accordingly, in his deepest nasal intonation, and withdrawing
his eyes from the ceiling, he began:
"You have not asked, sir, after the signorina, or as we popularly call
her, Mademoiselle Cicogna?"
"Have I not? I hope she is quite well, and her lively companion, Signora
Venosta."
"They are not sick, sir; or at least they were not so last night when my
wife and I had the pleasure to see them. Of course you have read
Mademoiselle Cicogna's book--a bright performance, sir, age considered."
"Certainly, I have read the book; it is full of unquestionable genius.
Is Mademoiselle writing another? But of course she is."
"I am not aware of the fact, sir. It may be predicated; such a mind
cannot remain inactive; and I know from M. Savarin and that rising young
man Gustave Rameau, that the publishers bid high for her brains
considerable. Two translations have already appeared in our country.
Her fame, sir, will be world-wide. She may be another George Sand, or at
least another Eulalie Grantmesnil."
Graham's cheek became as white as the paper I write on. He inclined his
head as in assent, but without a word. The Colonel continued:
We ought to be very proud of her acquaintance, sir. I think you detected
her gifts while they were yet unconjectured. My wife says so. You must
be gratified to remember that, sir--clear grit, sir, and no mistake."
"I certainly more than once have said to Mrs. Morley, that I esteemed
Mademoiselle's powers so highly that I hoped she would never become a
stage-singer and actress. But this M. Rameau? You say he is a rising
man. It struck me when at Paris that he was one of those charlatans with
a great deal of conceit and very little information, who are always found
in scores on the ultra-Liberal side of politics;-possibly I was
mistaken."
"He is the responsible editor of Le Sens Commun, in which talented
periodical Mademoiselle Cicogna's book was first raised."
"Of course, I know that; a journal which, so far as I have looked into
its political or social articles, certainly written by a cleverer and an
older man than M. Rameau, is for unsettling all things and settling
nothing. We have writers of that kind among ourselves--I have no
sympathy with them. To me it seems that when a man says, 'Off with your
head,' he ought to let us know what other head he would put on our
shoulders, and by what process the change of heads shall be effected.
Honestly speaking, if you and your charming wife are intimate friends and
admirers of Mademoiselle Cicogna, I think you could not do her a greater
service than that of detaching her from all connection with men like M.
Rameau, and journals like La Sens Commun."
The Colonel here withdrew his cigar from his lips, lowered his head to a
level with Graham's, and relaxing into an arch significant smile, said:
"Start to Paris, and dissuade her yourself. Start--go ahead--don't be
shy--don't seesaw on the beam of speculation. You will have more
influence with that young female than we can boast." Never was England
in greater danger of quarrel with America than at that moment; but Graham
curbed his first wrathful impulse, and replied coldly:
"It seems to me, Colonel, that you, though very unconsciously, derogate
from the respect due to Mademoiselle Cicogna. That the counsel of a
married couple like yourself and Mrs. Morley should be freely given to
and duly heeded by a girl deprived of her natural advisers in parents,
is a reasonable and honourable supposition; but to imply that the most
influential adviser of a young lady so situated is a young single man, in
no way related to her, appears to me a dereliction of that regard to the
dignity of her sex which is the chivalrous characteristic of your
countrymen--and to Mademoiselle Cicogna herself, a surmise which she
would be justified in resenting as an impertinence."
"I deny both allegations," replied the Colonel serenely. "I maintain
that a single man whips all connubial creation when it comes to
gallantising a single young woman; and that no young lady would be
justified in resenting as impertinence my friendly suggestion to the
single man so deserving of her consideration as I estimate you to be,
to solicit the right to advise her for life. And that's a caution."
Here the Colonel resumed his regalia, and again gazed intent on the
ceiling.
"Advise her for life! You mean, I presume, as a candidate for her hand."
"You don't Turkey now. Well, I guess, you are not wide of the mark
there, sir."
"You do me infinite honour, but I do not presume so far."
"So, so--not as yet. Before a man who is not without gumption runs
himself for Congress, he likes to calculate how the votes will run.
Well, sir, suppose we are in caucus, and let us discuss the chances of
the election with closed doors."
Graham could not help smiling at the persistent officiousness of his
visitor, but his smile was a very sad one.
"Pray change the subject, my dear Colonel Morley--it is not a pleasant
one to me; and as regards Mademoiselle Cicogna, can you think it would
not shock her to suppose that her name was dragged into the discussions
you would provoke, even with closed doors?"
"Sir," replied the Colonel, imperturbably, "since the doors are closed,
there is no one, unless it be a spirit-listener under the table, who can
wire to Mademoiselle Cicogna the substance of debate. And, for my part,
I do not believe in spiritual manifestations. Fact is, that I have the
most amicable sentiments towards both parties, and if there is a
misunderstanding which is opposed to the union of the States, I wish to
remove it while yet in time. Now, let us suppose that you decline to be
a candidate; there are plenty of others who will run; and as an elector
must choose one representative or other, so a gal must choose one husband
or other. And then you only repent when it is too late. It is a great
thing to be first in the field. Let us approximate to the point; the
chances seem good-will you run? Yes or no?"
"I repeat, Colonel Morley, that I entertain no such presumption."
The Colonel here, rising, extended his hand, which Graham shook with
constrained cordiality, and then leisurely walked to the door; there he
paused, as if struck by a new thought, and said gravely, in his natural
tone of voice, "You have nothing to say, sir, against the young lady's
character and honour?"
"I!--heavens, no! Colonel Morley, such a question insults me."
The Colonel resumed his deepest nasal bass: "It is only, then, because
you don't fancy her now so much as you did last year--fact, you are
soured on her and fly off the handle. Such things do happen. The same
thing has happened to myself, sir. In my days of celibacy, there was a
gal at Saratoga whom I gallantised, and whom, while I was at Saratoga, I
thought Heaven had made to be Mrs. Morley: I was on the very point of
telling her so, when I was suddenly called off to Philadelphia; and at
Philadelphia, sir, I found that Heaven had made another Mrs. Morley. I
state this fact, sir, though I seldom talk of my own affairs, even when
willing to tender my advice in the affairs of another, in order to prove
that I do not intend to censure you if Heaven has served you in the same
manner. Sir, a man may go blind for one gal when he is not yet dry
behind the ears, and then, when his eyes are skinned, go in for one
better. All things mortal meet with a change, as my sisters little boy
said when, at the age of eight, he quitted the Methodys and turned
Shaker. Threep and argue as we may, you and I are both mortals--more's
the pity. Good morning, sir (glancing at the clock, which proclaimed the
hour of 3 P.M.),--I err--good evening."
By the post that day the Colonel transmitted a condensed and laconic
report of his conversation with Graham Vane. I can state its substance
in yet fewer words. He wrote word that Graham positively declined the
invitation to Paris; that he had then, agreeably to Lizzy's instruction,
ventilated the Englishman, in the most delicate terms, as to his
intentions with regard to Isaura, and that no intentions at all existed.
The sooner all thoughts of him were relinquished, as a new suitor on the
ground, the better it would be for the young lady's happiness in the only
state in which happiness should be, if not found, at least sought,
whether by maid or man.
Mrs. Morley was extremely put out by this untoward result of the
diplomacy she had intrusted to the Colonel; and when, the next day, came
a very courteous letter from Graham, thanking her gratefully for the
kindness of her invitation, and expressing his regret briefly, though
cordially, at his inability to profit by it, without the most distant
allusion to the subject which the Colonel had brought on the _tapis_, or
even requesting his compliments to the Signoras Venosta and Cicogna, she
was more than put out, more than resentful,--she was deeply grieved.
Being, however, one of those gallant heroes of womankind who do not give
in at the first defeat, she began to doubt whether Frank had not rather
overstrained the delicacy which he said he had put into his "soundings."
He ought to have been more explicit. Meanwhile she resolved to call on
Isaura, and, without mentioning Graham's refusal of her invitation,
endeavour to ascertain whether the attachment which she felt persuaded
the girl secretly cherished for this recalcitrant Englishman were
something more than the first romantic fancy--whether it were
sufficiently deep to justify farther effort on Mrs. Morley's part to
bring it to a prosperous issue.
She found Isaura at home and alone; and, to do her justice, she exhibited
wonderful tact in the fulfilment of the task she had set herself.
Forming her judgment by manner and look--not words--she returned home,
convinced that she ought to seize the opportunity afforded to her by
Graham's letter. It was one to which she might very naturally reply, and
in that reply she might convey the object at her heart more felicitously
than the Colonel had done. "The cleverest man is," she said to herself,
"stupid compared to an ordinary woman in the real business of life, which
does not consist of fighting and moneymaking."
Now there was one point she had ascertained by words in her visit to
Isaura--a point on which all might depend. She had asked Isaura when
and where she had seen Graham last; and when Isaura had given her that
information, and she learned it was on the eventful day on which Isaura
gave her consent to the publication of her MS. if approved by Savarin, in
the journal to be set up by the handsome-faced young author, she leapt to
the conclusion that Graham had been seized with no unnatural jealousy,
and was still under the illusive glamoury of that green-eyed fiend. She
was confirmed in this notion, not altogether an unsound one, when asking
with apparent carelessness, "And in that last interview, did you see any
change in Mr. Vane's manner, especially when he took leave?"
Isaura turned away pale, and involuntarily clasping her hands-as women do
when they would suppress pain-replied, in a low murmur, "His manner was
changed."
Accordingly, Mrs. Morley sat down and wrote the following letter:
"DEAR MR. VANE,--I am very angry indeed with you for refusing my
invitation--I had so counted on you, and I don't believe a word of your
excuse. Engagements! To balls and dinners, I suppose, as if you were
not much too clever to care about such silly attempts to enjoy solitude
in crowds. And as to what you men call business, you have no right to
have any business at all. You are not in commerce; you are not in
Parliament; you told me yourself that you had no great landed estates to
give you trouble; you are rich, without any necessity to take pains to
remain rich, or to become richer; you have no business in the world
except to please yourself: and when you will not come to Paris to see one
of your truest friends--which I certainly am--it simply means, that no
matter how such a visit would please me, it does not please yourself. I
call that abominably rude and ungrateful.
"But I am not writing merely to scold you. I have something else on my
mind, and it must come out. Certainly, when you were at Paris last year
you did admire, above all other young ladies, Isaura Cicogna. And I
honoured you for doing so. I know no other young lady to be called her
equal. Well, if you admired her then, what would you do now if you met
her? Then she was but a girl--very brilliant, very charming, it is true
--but undeveloped, untested. Now she is a woman, a princess among women,
but retaining all that is most lovable in a girl; so courted, yet so
simple--so gifted, yet so innocent. Her head is not a bit turned by all
the flattery that surrounds her. Come and judge for yourself. I still
hold the door of the rooms destined to you open for repentance.
"My dear Mr. Vane, do not think me a silly match-making little woman,
when I write to you thus, _a coeur ouvert_.
"I like you so much that I would fain secure to you the rarest prize which
life is ever likely to offer to your ambition. Where can you hope to
find another Isaura? Among the stateliest daughters of your English
dukes, where is there one whom a proud man would be more proud to show to
the world, saying, 'She is mine!' where one more distinguished--I will
not say by mere beauty, there she might be eclipsed--but by sweetness and
dignity combined--in aspect, manner, every movement, every smile?
"And you, who are yourself so clever, so well read--you who would be so
lonely with a wife who was not your companion, with whom you could not
converse on equal terms of intellect,--my dear friend, where could you
find a companion in whom you would not miss the poet-soul of Isaura?
Of course I should not dare to obtrude all these questionings on your
innermost reflection, if I had not some idea, right or wrong, that since
the days when at Enghien and Montmorency, seeing you and Isaura side by
side, I whispered to Frank, 'So should those two be through life,' some
cloud has passed between your eyes and the future on which they gazed.
Cannot that cloud be dispelled? Were you so unjust to yourself as to be
jealous of a rival, perhaps of a Gustave Rameau? I write to you frankly
--answer me frankly; and if you answer, 'Mrs. Morley, I don't know, what
you mean; I admired Mademoiselle Cicogna as I might admire any other
pretty, accomplished girl, but it is really nothing to me whether she
marries Gustave Rameau or any one else,'--why, then, burn this letter--
forget that it has been written; and may you never know the pang of
remorseful sigh, if, in the days to come, you see her--whose name in that
case I should profane did I repeat it--the comrade of another man's mind,
the half of another man's heart, the pride and delight of another man's
blissful home."
