A PARSON TREADS THE PRIMROSE PATH IN PARIS.
"Bel homme!" exclaimed the Marquise de Fleury admiringly.
"Belle femme!" echoed the hussar sadly.
"Be everything that is charming, Adolphe, I conjure you. So much depends upon Natalie's disposition."
From which brief conversation, which took place as the speakers left the hotel where the Leonard Claghorns were established, it may be correctly inferred that a friendly reception had been accorded the newly married pair by the French relatives of the bride. The noble lady, doubtless, felt all the affection for her former ward that she had, during the visit, so eloquently expressed, so that inclination prescribed the same course that policy would have indicated. The Marquise was still the custodian of property belonging to Natalie, and settlement of accounts could be much better adjusted in a spirit of indulgent friendship than in the cold and calculating spirit of business; and though Natalie and her dowry were gone forever, in that distant land whence she had returned with a husband, there were golden maids languishing for Marquises. "These Yankees," she observed to her son, "they sell their souls for money—the men; the women sell their bodies, and such soul as goes with them, for titles. Are you not a Marquis, of the ancien regime? It behooves us, my child, to be gracious to this wedded priest; he may know of a partie."
"I am so, mama. Du reste, he is beau garçon, and seems amiable and amusing."
"Cultivate him, my infant; a voyage to America may be your destiny. It is a rich family—fabulous. There may be maids in plenty among these Claghorns."
The two young men, except for the pacific disposition of their womankind, might have been inclined to regard one another askance. For, in the person of the possessor of Natalie and her dowry the brave hussar saw one who however innocently, was still the ravisher of his rights; while in this being, in all the glory of fur and feather, sabretache and jangling sword, boots and buttons, braid and golden stripes, with a pervading tone of red and blue, Leonard beheld a startling and, at first, unpleasing creation. But the lieutenant, admonished by his mama, and sensible of the interests at stake, and genial by nature, thawed almost immediately, and the boulevardier and the theologian were friends.
To the young Frenchman a Protestant theologian was a philosopher, rather than a priest under vows, hence a person of liberal views and probably of lax conduct. As toward a newly married man, and warned incessantly by the Marquise, he recognized that etiquette required that from him no invitation to dissipation should emanate, but that his attitude ought to be that of willingness to pilot the stranger whithersoever he might wish to go; occasionally pointing out that paths of pleasantness were open to such as might choose to wander in them. And though Leonard displayed no undue disposition to such wanderings, an intimacy resulted which was not in fact, though seemingly, incongruous.
"What is he like, this beautiful heretic?" asked the Marquise.
"Like a Greek god, as you see, mama."
"But otherwise; he is a priest, you know?"
"And, like other priests, with an eye for a pretty woman."
"But discreet, Adolphe? I hope he is discreet."
"As St. Anthony! Natalie may be easy."
"Be you equally discreet, my child. She has been most generous; and, remember, Adolphe——"
"Yes, mama. What am I to remember?"
"That when a woman marries a man for his beauty, it is not love; it is infatuation. Do not permit this Leonarr to go astray; he has proclivities."
The little hussar laughed. "You are sharp-eyed, mamma."
"Had you watched him before the painting of Eve—but enough. Do nothing to cause disquiet to Natalie."
The little man, thus admonished, promised to carefully observe her wishes; the more readily as he was aware how important the friendship of Natalie was to his mama (in view of the pending adjustment of accounts). The more he studied Leonard, the more amusing he found him. To "do" Paris (not, indeed, to the extent of the capacity of that capital) in company with a priest, was, in itself, a piquant experience. "It is like demonstrating to your director how easy it is to sin," he declared; "and ce bon Leonarr, he imposes no penance. Tiens! These others, these Protestants, they have it easy."
"He does not essay to pervert," observed the Marquise in some alarm.
"Be not uneasy. Would I be of a religion whose priests marry? Think of the wife of my confessor knowing all my peccadillos!"
"Forgive me. My anxiety was but momentary——"
"Meanwhile, let me help this pauvre garçon, whose eyes have, since infancy, been bandaged, to see a little bit of the world. It is delightful to note his delight."
"But with discretion, Adolphe."
"Do I not assure you he is an anchorite. You have yourself observed that he drinks no wine."
"A penance, doubtless. Père Martin is also abstemious."
"As to ordinaire. In the presence of a flask of Leoville, I have noted a layman's thirst in ce bon père."
"Do not ridicule Père Martin, my infant. Du reste, it is not wine that I fear in the case of this beautiful Leonarr. Continue to be his guardian angel, my son."
Under this guardianship Leonard looked at Paris, enjoying his free sojourn in a great and brilliant city with hearty, but, on the whole, innocent fervor. The sunny skies, the genial good-humor, the eating and drinking, the frequent music, the lights, the dapper men, the bright-eyed women, the universal alertness—these impart a pleasant tingle to Puritan blood; and, if the novice to these delights be young, rosy, handsome, of exuberant health, and inclined to the pleasures befitting such conditions, he finds Paris grateful to the taste. In this congenial atmosphere Leonard basked in guileless rapture. A drive in the Bois with Natalie and the Marquise, brilliant equipages dashing by, brilliant eyes flashing as they passed, was a rare delight; a stroll on the Boulevard was even more enjoyable, for here were more flashing eyes and smiling faces, less fleeting, and often coquettishly inviting an answering glance. Clothed in the results of the meditations of de Fleury's tailor, it became Leonard's frequent habit to haunt the Boulevards, indulging in a strut that would have astonished Hampton; and often was he inclined to envy the Marquis that lot which had made his abiding place among these joys. It would have been fine to be a soldier, fine to fight and win glory; to wear boots and spurs and a clanking sword, and to trail the same along the pavement as one to the manner born!
Of course, that was a day-dream, which he laughed at as easily as an older man might have done, though less scornfully. There was no great harm in day-dreams, however foolish. This whole existence had the character of a pleasant dream. Had he not felt it so, he often mentally averred, he would have accepted it more gravely.
"But it will soon be over," he said to Natalie. "It is my first holiday since I was a boy."
"Enjoy it all you can. I am glad that Adolphe has been able to make your stay pleasant."
"Really, a very amiable little fellow. French, you know, and rather lax in his views, I fear; but——"
"His views will not harm you," interrupted Natalie, smiling.
"Certainly not," he replied, a little stiffly. "It would be strange if I could not take care of myself. Meanwhile, M. de Fleury is really of great advantage to me in one respect."
"And that is?"
"I am improving wonderfully in French. That's a good thing, Natalie, a very good thing." He was quite solemn on this point.
"An excellent thing," she replied, somewhat surprised at the gravity with which he treated a matter of no great importance. "I wish, Leonard, that my affairs were concluded. I am sure you are being kept here against your wish."
"Whatever my wish, your affairs ought to come first. Let us be content that, if they do drag, I can employ the time in self-improvement."
Thus, in the praiseworthy pursuit of improvement Leonard spent much of his time. He was by no means neglectful of his wife, whose attendance, with the Marquise, was much in demand in official bureaus, and who encouraged his intimacy with the lieutenant, whom she no longer found unendurable, and whose amiable and forgiving conduct had won her heart. "They are not rich, you know," she said. "Entertain the little man all you can; the Marquise was very kind to me." An injunction which afforded another reason why it was incumbent on Leonard to procure the Marquis the distractions that he loved, in so far as purse and principle permitted, and these were found elastic.
Because, as he was forced to admit when arguing with the Marquis, a reasonable elasticity is not only proper, but essential to culture.
"Mon bon," observed the lieutenant, "the view you advance is narrow. The ballet, as a favorite spectacle of the people, should be studied by every student of morals. You, as a preacher——"
Leonard laughed. "I'm not a preacher; I'm an instructor in a college of divinity."
"Eh bien! The greater reason. How shall one teach the good, knowing not the evil? Du reste, are they evil, ces belles jambes of Coralie? They are fine creations, of pure nature; there is no padding."
"You will be my guest, if we go?"
"Since you insist; also to a petit souper, a parti carré, with Aimée and Louise. Coralie! Sapristi, no! Her maw is insatiable; the little ones are easily pleased."
And so Leonard studied unpadded nature, even going alone a second, and perhaps a third time. As to the petit souper, it had been decorous; and beyond the fact that Mesdemoiselles Aimée and Louise were agreeable ladies with excellent appetites, his knowledge of these damsels did not extend.
Of course, there were pursuits of a different character to engage his attention, and those which occurred under the guidance of the lieutenant were exceptional. There were the usual sights to be seen; galleries, monuments, churches, all to be wondered at, criticised and admired. Leonard approved generally, though, as to the churches, their tawdry interiors and the character of their embellishments offended his taste, as well as his religious sentiments. If, during these distractions, he was neglectful of the religious instruction which he knew his wife needed, circumstances were, to some extent, at fault. He could hardly expound doctrinal truths in a picture gallery, much less in a temple of Roman error. And, though not without qualms, he admitted to himself that he had little desire to discuss religion. There was, perhaps, no heinous sin in looking at the leg-gyrations of Mademoiselle Coralie, nor was Leonard the first wandering clergyman to embrace an offered opportunity to study ethics from the standpoint of that rigid moralist, the Marquis de Fleury; nevertheless, such studies had their effect in cooling religious fervor, and fervor is essential to him who would expound truth, with a view to compel conviction.
Finally, as bearing on this question of the doctrinal instruction of his wife, he doubted whether it was worth while. Knowledge of doctrine was no adornment in women; there was Paula, whose pretensions in this regard constituted almost her only defect. Since Natalie was probably saved, why trouble himself and her with the exposition of mysteries which she would be unable to comprehend, and concerning which the injunction was laid that they be "handled with especial care." If she had heard the call it would be effectual; if she had not been born to salvation, all the doctrine which had been taught since the days of the fathers would not—and here his self-communing stopped. Damnation, though inevitable, is not an alluring subject of contemplation when it affects one's family.
The complications attendant on Natalie's affairs prolonged the stay in Paris far beyond the period originally contemplated; but French method on one side of the Atlantic, and Mr. Winter on the other, were finally satisfied, after much passing to and fro of documents. Everybody interested was weary, and consular clerks had come to loathe the names of Natalie, Eugenie, Louise, Susan Beverley de Fleury Claghorn-Claghorn, née de Fleury-Claghorn. As Leonard said, to be enabled to give the Marquise a receipt in full was a harder job than to negotiate a treaty. But it was done at last; Natalie had been resolute and Mr. Winter had protested in vain; the Marquise had her discharge and, relieved of many terrors, was duly grateful. "She has been charming, truly considerate," she observed to her son. "Alas, Adolphe; it was a great loss."
"There are others," replied the Marquis philosophically.
"Heaven send it so. You must no longer delay speaking seriously to this good Leonarr, who might have influenced his wife to be the ogress desired by the abominable Winter. Urge him to look out for a partie as soon as he arrives in America. I will speak to Natalie. I have heard her mention two demoiselles, Achsah and Tabitha."
"Ciel! The appellations."
"But if the bearers are rich?"
"Tiens! mama. Madame Zho and la belle Paula are in London. I might try there; it is not so far."
"But ce gros Marc is with them. Paula is for him, as you know."
"He does not hurry himself, and truly I believe the little one would not be averse to me."
"Better depend upon Monsieur Leonarr."
And as a result of his mama's advice the lieutenant did, on that afternoon, broach the matter to Leonard, who, at first mystified, ended by roaring with laughter when he grasped the fact that the head of the House of de Fleury was making a provisional proposal for the hand and fortune of either Mademoiselle Tabitha, or Mademoiselle Achsah, as Leonard might advise.
"Diable!" exclaimed the gallant youth, when Leonard had explained the cause of his hilarity, "over seventy and rich! What a country where such opportunities are neglected! Decidedly I must make the voyage."
Leonard made no reply; the suggested picture of the noble Marquis as his guest in Hampton was not precisely alluring.
"And so there is not a single demoiselle among the Claghorns that desires a title?"
"Not one."
"Alas!" sighed the Marquis. "I was too magnanimous. You know la belle Paula, of course. Listen, mon ami, but let your lips be sealed. Elle etait folle de moi!"
"Paula! Crazy for you! You flatter——"
"Parole d'honneur. It was in her eyes, in the plaintive cadence of her tones——"
"But——"
"I know—ce polisson de Marc, toujours Marc. Ah, the luck of this Marc! He has a mine of gold; he will have the charming Paula. Only you, mon bon, have beaten him. After all, it is for Marc and me to mingle our tears."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Leonard sharply. "Why are you and Mark to mingle your tears?"
"For the reason, mon cher, that we love to weep," replied the hussar, with an odd glance at Leonard. "Adieu, I have an appointment," and he turned abruptly down a side street, leaving Leonard astonished at his quick retreat.
"Pshaw!" he exclaimed, after a moment. "It's absurd!" Then he pursued his way homeward.