Everyone in the coffee-room heard it and paused, instinctively listening to it for a moment. Sally was holding the candles by the opposite door, which led to the bedrooms upstairs, and the Comtesse was in the act of beating a hasty retreat before that enemy who owned such a sweet musical voice; Suzanne reluctantly was preparing to follow her mother, whilst casting regretful glances towards the door, where she hoped still to see her dearly-beloved, erstwhile school-fellow.
Then Jellyband threw open the door, still stupidly and blindly hoping to avert the catastrophe which he felt was in the air, and the same low, musical voice said, with a merry laugh and mock consternation,—
“B-r-r-r-r! I am as wet as a herring! Dieu! has anyone ever seen such a contemptible climate?”
“Suzanne, come with me at once—I wish it,” said the Comtesse, peremptorily.
“Oh! Mama!” pleaded Suzanne.
“My lady . . . er . . . h’m! . . . my lady! . . .” came in feeble accents from Jellyband, who stood clumsily trying to bar the way.
“Pardieu, my good man,” said Lady Blakeney, with some impatience, “what are you standing in my way for, dancing about like a turkey with a sore foot? Let me get to the fire, I am perished with the cold.”
And the next moment Lady Blakeney, gently pushing mine host on one side, had swept into the coffee-room.
There are many portraits and miniatures extant of Marguerite St. Just—Lady Blakeney as she was then—but it is doubtful if any of these really do her singular beauty justice. Tall, above the average, with magnificent presence and regal figure, it is small wonder that even the Comtesse paused for a moment in involuntary admiration before turning her back on so fascinating an apparition.
Marguerite Blakeney was then scarcely five-and-twenty, and her beauty was at its most dazzling stage. The large hat, with its undulating and waving plumes, threw a soft shadow across the classic brow with the aureole of auburn hair—free at the moment from any powder; the sweet, almost childlike mouth, the straight chiselled nose, round chin, and delicate throat, all seemed set off by the picturesque costume of the period. The rich blue velvet robe moulded in its every line the graceful contour of the figure, whilst one tiny hand held, with a dignity all its own, the tall stick adorned with a large bunch of ribbons which fashionable ladies of the period had taken to carrying recently.