“It cost milord a vast sum to make these alterations,” said Madame de Ventadour, glancing archly at Maltravers.
“Ah, yes,” said the old lord; and his face, lately elated, became overcast—“nearly three hundred thousand pounds: but what then?—‘Les souvenirs, madame, sont sans prix!’”
“Have you visited Paris since the restoration, Lord Doningdale,” asked Maltravers.
His lordship looked at him sharply, and then turned his eye to Madame de Ventadour.
“Nay,” said Valerie; laughing, “I did not dictate the question.”
“Yes,” said Lord Doningdale, “I have been at Paris.”
“His Majesty must have been delighted to return your lordship’s hospitality.”
Lord Doningdale looked a little embarrassed, and made no reply, but put his horse into a canter.
“You have galled our host,” said Valerie, smiling. “Louis XVIII. and his friends lived here as long as they pleased, and as sumptuously as they could; their visits half ruined the owner, who is the model of a gentilhomme and preux chevalier. He went to Paris to witness their triumph; he expected, I fancy, the order of the St. Esprit. Lord Doningdale has royal blood in his veins. His Majesty asked him once to dinner, and, when he took leave, said to him, ‘We are happy, Lord Doningdale, to have thus requited our obligations to your lordship.’ Lord Doningdale went back in dudgeon, yet he still boasts of his souvenirs, poor man.”
“Princes are not grateful, neither are republics,” said Maltravers.