“Who's this in the hackney-coach?” said one, as the carriage in which Talbot and Mark were seated came up. The window was let down in a moment, and Talbot, leaning his head out, whispered a few words in a low voice; whatever their import, their effect was magical, and a hurra, as wild as the war-cry of an Indian, shook the street.
“What was it you said?” cried Mark.
“Three word in Irish,” said Talbot, laughing; “they are the only three in my vocabulary, and their meaning is 'wait awhile;' and somehow, it would seem a very significant intimation to Irishmen.”
The carriage moved on, and the two friends soon alighted in the brilliantly-illuminated vestibule, now lined with battleaxe-guards, and resounding with the clangor of a brass band. Mixing with the crowd that poured up the staircase, they passed into the first drawing-room, without stopping to write their names, as was done by the others, Talbot telling Mark, in a whisper, to move up and follow him closely.
The distressing impression, that he himself would be an object of notice and remark to others, and which had up to that very moment tortured him, gave way at once, as he found himself in that splendid assemblage, where beauty, in all the glare of dress and jewels, abounded, and where, for the first time, the world of fashion and elegance burst upon his astonished senses. The courage that, with dauntless nerve, would have led him to the cannon's mouth, now actually faltered, and made him feel faint-hearted, to find himself mixing with those among whom he had no right to be present. Talbot's shrewd intelligence seemed to divine what was passing in Mark's mind, for he took him by the arm, and as he led him forward, whispered, from time to time, certain particulars of the company, intended to satisfy him, that, however distinguished by rank and personal appearance, in reality, their characters had little claim to his respect. With such success did he demolish reputations—so fatally did his sarcasms depreciate those against whom they were directed—that, ere long, Mark moved along in utter contempt for that gorgeous throng, which at first had impressed him so profoundly. To hear that the proud-looking general, his coat a blaze of orders, was a coward; that the benign and mild-faced judge was a merciless, unrelenting tyrant; that the bishop, whose simple bearing and gentle quietude of manner were most winning, was in reality a crafty place-hunter and a subtle “intrigant”—such were the lessons Talbot poured into his ear, while amid the ranks of beauty still more deadly calumnies pointed all he said.
“Society is rotten to the very core here, Mark,” said he, bitterly. “There never was a land nor an age when profligacy stood so high in the market. It remains to be seen if our friends will do better—for a time, at least, they are almost certain to do so; but now, that I have shown you something of the company, let us separate, lest we be remarked. This pillar can always be our rallying spot. Whenever you want me, come here;” and so saying, and with a slight pressure of his hand, Talbot mixed with the crowd, and soon was lost to Mark's view.
Talbot's revelations served at first to impair the pleasure Mark experienced in the brilliant scene around him; but when once more alone, the magnetic influence of a splendour so new, and of beauty so dazzling, appealed to his heart far more powerfully than the cold sarcasms of his companion. Glances which, directed to others, he caught in passing, and felt with a throb of ecstasy within his own bosom; bright eyes, that beamed not for him, sent a glow of delight through his frame. The atmosphere of pleasure which he had never breathed before, now warmed the current of his blood, and his pulse beat high and madly. All the bitter thoughts he had harboured against his country's enemies could not stand before his admiration of that gorgeous assemblage, and he felt ashamed to think that he, and such as he, should conspire the downfall of a system, whose very externals were so captivating. He wandered thus from room to room in a dream of pleasure—now stopping to gaze at the dancers, then moving towards some of the refreshment-rooms, where parties were seated in familiar circles, all in the full enjoyment of the brilliant festivity. Like a child roaming at will through some beauteous garden, heightening enjoyment by the rapid variety of new pleasures, and making in the quick transition of sensations a source of more fervid delight, so did he pass from place to place, and in this way time stole by, and he utterly forgot the rendezvous he had arranged with Talbot. At last, suddenly remembering this, he endeavoured to find out the place, and in doing so was forced to pass through a card-room, where several parties were now at play. Around one of the tables a greater crowd than usual was assembled. There, as he passed, Mark thought he overheard Talbot's voice. He stopped and drew near, and, with some little difficulty, making his way through, perceived his friend seated at the table, deeply engaged in what, if he were to judge from the heap of gold before him, seemed very high play. His antagonist was an old, fine-looking man, in the uniform of a general officer; but while Mark looked, he arose, and his place was taken by another—the etiquette being, that the winner should remain until he ceased to win.
“He has passed eleven times,” said a gentleman to his friend, in Mark's hearing; “he must at least have won four hundred pounds.”
“Do you happen to know who he is?”
“No; nor do I know any one that does. There!—see!—he has won again.”