“I think, mademoiselle, that you may safely reckon upon beholding Mr. Charles Hatfield, together with two or three of his comrades in the Grand Duke’s suite, in the Champs Elysées between four and five o’clock. But do not wait to ask me my reasons for giving you this assurance,” added Rosalie, hastily: “it is nearly three o’clock, mademoiselle—and you must think of your toilette.”
“Excellent Rosalie!” ejaculated Laura: “how deeply I am indebted to you for your proceedings in my behalf!”
Thus speaking, she repaired to her bed-chamber, whither the French abigail followed; and then the toilette commenced.
At about a quarter to four o’clock, Laura emerged from her private apartment, and descended to her carriage which was waiting for her. The equipage then moved rapidly away towards the Champs Elysées.
Glorious was the afternoon—and queen-like in her beauty was Laura Mortimer!
Contrary to her usual custom, she had her hair dressed in ringlets, which in a luxuriant shower framed her splendid countenance. There was a flush of health, heightened by her own heart’s emotions, on either cheek: but, by the admirable control which she was enabled to exercise over her features, her countenance was serene, and her eyes shone not with a lustre unmellowed by feminine softness. She reclined back in her carriage, in a species of half-voluptuous lassitude and abandonment; but every change of posture was characterised with an elegance of motion that might be denominated poetic.
The equipage and its appointments were in the best possible taste; and the liveries of the coachman and attendant footman were plain and neat, not glaring and obtrusive. Altogether, the “turn-out” was that which a well-bred person, who knew the distinction between elegant simplicity and gaudy ostentation, was likely to possess.
The principal drive in the Champs Elysées was crowded to excess: seldom was there seen such a quantity of carriages or such a number of gentlemen on horseback. The foot-ways were likewise thronged with loungers and with ladies enjoying the afternoon’s promenade.
Laura’s carriage speedily fell into the line of vehicles proceeding in the same direction;—and now its progress was slow. This was just what she wished: for not only was the multitude enabled to obtain a better view of her—but she likewise had more leisure to watch for the appearance of him whom she expected to behold amidst the gay throng. Thus both her vanity and her convenience were successfully consulted at the same time.
Her patience was not put to a very lengthy nor severe test: for, scarcely had her carriage reached the mid-way point in the splendid avenue, when her keen glance signalled out the object of her thoughts from amidst the loungers on foot. Yes—there indeed was Charles Hatfield—proceeding at a short distance in advance of the carriage, and in the same direction. The critical moment was now almost at hand—and, though Laura’s countenance still maintained its serenity, her heart palpitated with violence. While, too, she seemed to be reclining back in her carriage with a graceful ease which we might almost denominate an elegant languor,—and while she now more completely shaded herself with her parasol,—her eyes were fixed steadily and even intently in one direction.