"What can be the matter with you, Harriette?" Luttrell inquired, "that you are eternally driving up that long stupid Bois de Boulogne?"
I replied that I could not live without air.
"Mercy on me, what a tax upon life!" Luttrell said, turning up his eyes.
There were, in fact, but few things which Luttrell did not vote a tax on life, being one of the most dissatisfied men I ever knew.
We were summoned to the common drawing-room to receive the visit of my mother. She complained of inflammation in her foot. Nugent prescribed for her. I was indeed surprised at the very respectful attention he showed towards her, it was so strikingly polite. As we were not alone, she soon left us, and I insisted on her taking my carriage, which she promised to send back for me.
"I have often wondered," said Nugent, as soon as my mother had left the room, "how it happened that so very large a family as yours should not only all be very handsome, but likewise so perfectly lady-like and well bred. Now it is accounted for: the secret I discovered in your mother. I have not for many years felt such perfect respect and admiration for a woman, who at least must be bordering upon fifty. Not only is she still very handsome and delicate; but there is a certain air of modest dignity in her manner, which, I believe, the greatest libertine in France could not fail to be struck with."
I was more grateful to Nugent than I can describe, for this most warm, uncalled-for, and spontaneous praise of my mother. I knew he only did her justice; but how few among the gay and the fashionable, ever think about doing justice to the excellent qualities of a woman of fifty!
"Mind you are here by six," said Amy, as I was leaving her; "because, perhaps, we shall go to the opera, if we can procure a box."
"Vous voilà," said I to myself, and then offered her a place in mine.
"Do be punctual," added she, "for it is not the fashion to dress unless when there is a new piece. Come as you are. That is a beautiful plume of white ostrich-feathers in your bonnet. You are always so very magnificent. Remember, black-puddings are good for nothing cold. The French consider them a very recherché dish I assure you, and they are much more expensive than in town."