At the time we write of, M. Adolphe was busily engaged upon an elaborate allegory, commemorative of the cosmopolitan character of the Great Exhibition.
In this great work of high art, Britannia, who is attended by the four quarters of the globe, has thrown one of her boxing-gloves to the ground, in token that she invites all nations to a friendly trial of skill; while France, in the garb of a Sister of Charity, is, in the same friendly spirit, pointing with one hand to the retreat of the English from the field of Waterloo, and, with the other, extracting the thorn from the foot of the British Lion.
For the true perfecting of this grand, and, according to M. Sheek’s friend, national work of art, the dress of the Charitable Sister had been hired expressly from a masquerade warehouse, and the lay figure, which the talented Adolphe used to guide him in the arrangement of the drapery for his half-lengths, appropriately costumed for the occasion. It was this dress that the Count had prevailed upon his friend Adolphe to permit him to forward to Miss Chutney, as a means of facilitating her escape the following day, on the understanding that the painter should share with him any property that the girl might be entitled to on her marriage.
At daybreak on the morning appointed for the Frenchmen’s departure from Parthenon House, the Comte de Sanschemise and his friend, Adolphe Sheek, were preparing for the perilous adventure they were about to enter upon. Having assured themselves no one was yet stirring in the house, they proceeded to dress the lay figure of the artist in the apparel of Miss Chutney; and, the toilet of the dummy being finished, the two Frenchmen crept stealthily up the stairs without their shoes, carrying the wooden model between them.
On reaching the linen-room, they bent the legs of the huge Dutch doll in such a manner, that it could be made to sit upon the edge of the inverted clothes-basket; then, depressing the back, they threw Miss Chutney’s black silk apron over the face of the model, and, raising the arms, forced down the head until the face appeared to be buried in the hands.
This done, they retired a few paces to observe the effect, and when they perceived how closely it resembled the description the young lady had given of the attitude she had adopted, in compliance with the Count’s request, it was as much as the pair of them could do to repress their laughter. Then, to assure themselves that the deception was as perfect as possible, they retired from the room, and, closing the door gently after them, retreated a few paces along the passage, after which they returned, and entered the room suddenly, so as to judge what effect the figure would be likely to produce upon a stranger, on first coming into the apartment.
In suppressed whispers they both pronounced it to be “Soopairb!” and in the ardour of their admiration proceeded to embrace one another.
They then noiselessly descended the stairs, and, returning to their rooms, began to arrange their toilet against the coming of Miss Chutney—the Count being engaged in the gentlemanly operation of taking his hair out of paper, while M. Sheek was busy removing the cabbage-leaves, and brushing the lime-powder from his whiskers, in which elegant occupations we will for the present leave them.
Miss Chutney was awake long before daylight, anxious to learn the contents of the note, and growing more and more timid as the time for her departure drew near. Even before there was sufficient light whereby to decipher the characters in the letter, she was standing by the window with the note in her hand, poring over each word in the dusk, and so making out the wishes of the Count, as it were, piecemeal. In this manner she found out that, before Miss Wewitz was stirring, she was to descend to the Frenchmen’s apartment in the disguise of the Sister of Charity, when she would be apprised of all the arrangements that had been made for her safety.
It was impossible now to retract—with her guardian coming in a few hours. It would be a nice story for Miss Wewitz to tell him—and a very pretty tale she would be sure to make out of it. So, come what might, she had made up her mind to throw herself on the Count’s protection. Accordingly, she proceeded to dress herself in the disguise the Count had provided for her, her hand trembling the while so violently, that she could scarcely fasten the clothes; and though she strove to make as little noise as possible, there was not a brush nor a glass she touched without knocking it against some neighbouring thing, and then was nearly ready to faint at the noise.