Un baiser de ta bouche
Me guérirait.”
—Là-haut sur la montagne.
One fine May morning Mr Philip Harbenden, on a prolonged visit to London, was the recipient of the following missive from his betrothed:—
“Ashley Court, May 10, 1794.
“My dearest Philip,—I am aware that I wrote fully to you yesterday, and you are not to think that you will get so long a letter every day. There is a reason for my increase of zeal, for since my epistle of yesterday something has happened which—— No, though I am so excited that I can scarce hold the pen, I shall give myself the pleasure of telling you from the beginning.
“That is to say, I shall begin from dinner-time to-day, when Lucienne, hearing that the hyacinths were almost out in the copse, said, with that little bright air of hers which makes my heart ache, that she must go and pick a posy for papa’s study. I am sure that I have already told you how, since all hope was at last abandoned of poor Louis being still alive, Lucienne has displayed the most amazing fortitude and resignation. Certainly the waters of Bath have a wonderful effect upon the physical health; and my aunt let fall, too, that when there they met with an émigré priest, and I fancy that they both profited by his ministrations. These Papists, mistaken as we must think them to be, seem at least to derive consolation from their religion, and, as Dr Jenkinson so well says, we should always remember that among the errors of the Romish Church lie hidden many grains of truth.
“After dinner my aunt—who seems to have become much older lately—went to her room to rest, and papa went to the library to read the newspaper (which means much the same thing); and as George, having to ride over to Bury, was not able to fall in with papa’s suggestion that he should accompany Lucienne to get the hyacinths, and I had some matters to supervise in the house, Lucienne departed alone to the copse . . . fortunately, as it appeared. (You know, Philip, that, entre nous, George has always been strangely indifferent to Lucienne, which of late I have thought a pity, because papa—— However, there’s an end to all that now!)
“So there they all were, out of the house or asleep, and I ran out into the garden to read your letter again under the lime tree. I do not know how long I was about it, but as I came back by the front of the house I saw a chaise and pair turning in at the gates. We were not expecting visitors, and, thinks I to myself, I will slip into the house before they get here. Then I saw that the chaise was coming along at a rate such as none but travellers would use, that the postilion was flogging his horses, and that the horses themselves were all of a lather. I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought . . . but half-way up the steps I stood and waited.
“Well, Phil, in a moment the chaise draws up, the door is flung open, and out of it steps a gentleman in a green redingote, tall, young, whom I did not know. I came a little to my senses, and beheld myself a gaping girl staring at my guests instead of the dignified mistress of the Court. I turned and went up a step or two, rather stately. Then lo! I was hailed by a French voice, in the French tongue: ‘De grâce, Mademoiselle, un instant!’