In such a turmoil it took George a few moments to recognise Madame de Montmirail’s liveries, which he knew perfectly well. To his companion, of course, fresh from Avranches, in Normandy, all liveries in Paris must have been equally strange. Nevertheless he followed close behind his leader, who pushed authoritatively through the crowd, and demanded what was the matter. The officer of Musketeers, seeing his own captain, fell back from the carriage-door, and Cerise, with her eyes full of tears, found a face she had never forgotten staring in at the window scarcely six inches from her own.
They recognised each other in an instant. For the first sentence it was even “George!” and “Cerise!” Though, of course, it cooled down to “Monsieur” and “Mademoiselle” as they talked on. She was very little altered, he thought, only taller and much more beautiful; while for her, it was the same brave brown face and kind eyes that she had known by heart since she was a child, only braver, browner, kinder, nobler, just as she had expected. It was wonderful she could see it so distinctly, with her looks cast down on the pretty gloved hands in her lap.
The affair did not take long. “You can pass them by my orders, Adolphe,” said his captain; and ere the savage stallion had time for a second attack, the huge vehicle rolled through and lumbered on, leaving handsome Adolphe ejaculating protestations and excuses, believing implicitly that he had won the beautiful mademoiselle’s affections at first sight during the process.
Except by this voluble young gentleman, very little had been said. People do say very little when they mean a great deal. It seemed to George, mademoiselle had offered no more pertinent remark than that “She had made a long journey, and was going to the Hôtel Montmirail to stop.” Whilst Cerise—well, I have no doubt Cerise could have repeated every word of their conversation, yet she did nothing of the kind neither to Célandine then, nor to mamma afterwards; though by the time she reached home her eyes were quite dry, and no wonder, considering the fire in her cheeks.
Altogether, the interview was certainly provocative of silence. Neither Captain George nor Beaudésir uttered a syllable during the remainder of their walk. Only on the threshold of the tailor’s shop in the Rue des Quatres Fripons the latter awoke from a deep fit of musing, and asked, very respectfully—
“My captain, do you think I should have got the best of it this morning if we had taken the buttons off the foils?”
CHAPTER X
THE BOUDOIR OF MADAME
There was plenty of room in the Hôtel Montmirail when it was opened at night for Madame’s distinguished receptions. Its screen of lights in front, its long rows of windows, shedding lustrous radiance on the ground and second floors, caused it to resemble, from outside, the enchanted palace of the White Cat, in that well-known fairy tale which has delighted childhood for so many generations. Within, room after room stretched away in long perspective, one after another, more polished, more decorated, more shining, each than its predecessor. The waiting-room, the gallery, the reception-room, the dining-hall, the two withdrawing-rooms, all with floors inlaid by the most elaborate and slippery of wood-work, all heavy with crimson velvet and massive gilding in the worst possible taste, all adorned by mythological pictures, bright of colour, cold of tone, and scant of drapery, led the oppressed and dazzled visitor to Madame’s bed-chamber, thrown open like every other apartment on the floor for his or her admiration. Here the eye reposed at last, on flowers, satin, ivory, mirrors, crystal, china—everything most suggestive of the presence of beauty, its influence and the atmosphere that seems to surround it in its home. The bed, indeed, with lofty canopy, surmounted by ciphers and coronets, was almost solemn in its magnificence; but the bath of Madame, her wardrobe, above all, her toilet-table, modified with their graceful, glittering elegance the oppressive grandeur of this important article in a sleeping-apartment.
At each of the four corners strips of looking-glass reached from ceiling to floor, while opposite the bed the first object on which Madame’s eyes rested in waking was a picture that conveyed much delicate and appropriate flattery to herself.