“We have a namesake of yours amongst us; not exactly at this moment, for he is in Normandy, but he will be back in a week or so. Madame de Langeac, let me present Mr. Burke.”
Monsieur Rubichon's guests were all persons somewhat advanced in life; and though in their dress evincing a most unvarying simplicity and economy, had yet a look of habitual good tone and breeding which could not be mistaken. Among these, the lady to whom I was now introduced was conspicuous, and in her easy and graceful reception of me, showed the polished manners of one accustomed to the best society.
After some half-jesting observations, expressive of surprise that a young man—and consequently, as she deemed, a gay one—should have selected as his residence an unvisited quarter and a very retired house, she took my arm, and proceeded to the dinner-room.
The dinner itself, and the table equipage, were in keeping with the simplicity of the whole establishment; but if the fare was humble and the wine of the very cheapest, all the habitudes of the very highest society presided at the meal, and the polished ease and elegance, so eminently the gift of ancient French manners, were conspicuous.
There prevailed among the guests all the intimacy of a large family; at the same time a most courteous deference was remarkable, which never approached familiarity. And thus they talked lightly and pleasantly together of mutual friends and places they had visited; no allusion ever being made to the popular topics of the day,—to me a most inexplicable circumstance, and one which I could not avoid slightly expressing my astonishment at to the lady beside me. She smiled significantly at my remark, and merely said,—
“It is so agreeable to discuss matters where there can be no great difference of opinion,—at least, no more than sharpens the wit of the speakers,—that you will rarely hear other subjects talked of here.”
“But have the great events which are yet passing no interest?”
“Perhaps they interest too deeply to admit of much discussion,” said she, with some earnestness of manner.
“But I am myself transgressing; and, what is still worse, losing you the observations of Monsieur de Saint George on Madame de Sévigné.”
The remark was evidently made to change the current of our conversation; and so I accepted it,—listening to the chit-chat around me, which, from its novelty alone, possessed a most uncommon charm to my ears. It was so strange to hear the allusions to the courtiers and the beauties of bygone days made with all the freshness of yesterday acquaintance; and the stores of anecdotes about the court of Louis the Fifteenth and the Regency told with a piquancy that made the event seem like an occurrence of the morning.