He threw aside the heavy tapestry as he spoke, and ushered Sainte-Croix and Marie into the salon. The scene that presented itself was most exciting—almost bewildering from its gorgeous revelry. The whole suite of rooms had been thrown open, and was one blaze of light; the innumerable wax candles, shedding their brilliancy upon the throng from every available position, clustered in galaxies of bright twinkling stars round the elaborately-framed and quaintly-shaped looking-glasses that characterised the domestic architecture of the time, even in our own days always associated with splendid elegance and refinement, or diminished in long perspectives of light along the corridors, and through the other apartments branching off from the principal room, the comparatively low ceiling giving them a look of much greater extent than they in reality possessed.
A joyous crowd had assembled together; all that Paris then knew of reckless enjoyment and debauchery had collected that evening in the Hôtel de Cluny. The cavaliers and dames were in equal numbers; some of the latter were as closely masked as Marie, as were a few—very few—of the gentleman. Others of the fair visitors displayed their charms, both of face and bust, to the full, in the same loose fashion that they would have patronised in the warm season upon the Pont Neuf and carrefours. And the attractions of these beauties were of no ordinary character. Handsome beyond expression the majority indeed were, under the most ordinary circumstances; but now their full swimming eyes were sparkling with excitement—a glow of warmth and vivid life flushed their damask cheeks—the long clusters of perfumed and glossy hair showered tremblingly upon their rounded shoulders—and, as the light badinage or wicked repartee fell from their rosy lips, followed by the joyous peals of their silvery laughter, their mouths displayed pearly rows of teeth, which fairly dazzled by their brilliancy, and alone outshone the whiteness of their skin.
The various alcoves, containing beds, fitted up with magnificent hangings and curtains of rich brocade, shot with gold or embroidered with the most elaborate devices, were all thrown open, according to custom, separated only from the rooms by light gilt railings; and within these various young seigneurs were lounging, playing at dice or tables, surrounded by a crowd of lookers-on; and the profusion of broad pieces scattered carelessly about showed that the play was high and reckless. The extremity of the gallery was veiled by some fine fabric, and behind this, concealed from the view, a band of musicians, of a number then seldom collected, was performing the latest compositions of the court. In the centre a table glittering with plate and glass was loaded with the choicest refreshments, and the most ingenious devices in confectionery, surrounding a fountain of marvellous workmanship, modelled, after the Bassin de Neptune at Versailles, in dead silver and crystal, playing various kinds of wine, which fell into separate compartments, whence it was drawn by the guests into chased silver flagons and goblets of variegated Bohemian glass. The air was heavy with costly perfumes, whose vapours wreathed out from antique tripods; and every flower that art could force into bloom, for the time of year, assisted to form the rich bouquets that were placed about in all directions.
‘Place, messieurs,’ cried Lauzun gaily, affecting the manners of a chamberlain, ‘for the Captain Gaudin de Sainte-Croix, who will throw down his dice as a gage to any adversary who chooses to meet him!’
A number of young men welcomed Gaudin as the others spoke. He was evidently popular amongst them, possessing in a high degree that fatal versatility of pleasing which can mask the most heartless and unprincipled disposition with a semblance of the most ingenuous gaiety and franchise.
‘I pledge you, Monsieur de Sainte-Croix,’ cried a cavalier, whose dress was a strange mixture of extreme elegance and the roughest texture, ‘and will place a hundred louis d’ors against your own.’
‘A match!’ cried Gaudin, throwing his purse on the bed, round which the party gathered, including Marie, who still kept close to his side.
‘There are my pieces,’ replied the other; ‘they need no counting.’
And he placed a rude leathern bag by Sainte-Croix’s sparkling purse.
‘I shall beat you, Chavagnac,’ said Gaudin.