“Past five!” said the Baron; “riding out, I suppose, with the Fitzlooms. Aurelia is certainly a fine girl; but I should think that Lady Madeleine would hardly approve the connection. The St. Georges have blood in their veins; and would, I suppose, as soon think of marrying a Fitzloom as we Germans should of marrying a woman without a von before her name. We are quite alone, Grey, only the Chevalier and St. George. I had an idea of asking Salvinski, but he is such a regular steam-engine, and began such a long story last night about his interview with the King of Ashantee, that the bare possibility of his taking it into his head to finish it to-day frightened me. You were away early from the Grand Duke’s last night. The business went off well.”
“Very well, indeed!” said the Chevalier de Boeffleurs; completing by this speech the first dozen of words which he had uttered since his stay at Ems.
“I think that last night Lady Madeleine Trevor looked perfectly magnificent; and a certain lady, too, Grey, eh? Here is St. George. My dear fellow, how are you? Has the fair Aurelia recovered from the last night’s fatigues? Now, Ernstorff, dinner as soon as possible.”
The Baron made up to-day, certainly, for the silence of his friend the Chevalier. He outdid himself. Story after story, adventure after adventure, followed each other with exciting haste. In fact, the Baron never ceased talking the whole dinner, except when he refreshed himself with wine, which he drank copiously. A nice observer would, perhaps, have considered the Baron’s high spirits artificial, and his conversation an effort. Yet his temper, though lively, was generally equable; and his ideas, which always appeared to occur easily, were usually thrown out in fluent phraseology. The dinner was long, and a great deal of wine was drunk: more than most of the parties present for a long time had been accustomed to. About eight o’clock the Chevalier proposed going to the Redoute, but the Baron objected.
“Let us have an evening altogether: surely we have had enough of the Redoute. In my opinion one of the advantages of the fête is, that there is no New House to-night. Conversation is a novelty. On a moderate calculation I must have told you to-day at least fifty original anecdotes. I have done my duty. It is the Chevalier’s turn now. Come, de Boeffleurs, a choice one!”
“I remember a story Prince Salvinski once told me.”
“No, no, that is too bad; none of that Polish bear’s romances; if we have his stories, we may as well have his company.”
“But it is a very curious story,” continued the Chevalier, with a little animation.
“Oh! so is every story, according to the storier.”
“I think, Von Konigstein, you imagine no one can tell a story but yourself,” said De Boeffleurs, actually indignant. Vivian had never heard him speak so much before, and really began to believe that he was not quite an automaton.