"Yes; you will be a welcome friend, unless the story has roused some unpleasant surmises in the mind of the baron, who is rather inclined to be suspicious, although his pate is so thick that we considered it sabre-proof in the 'Devil's Own.' I know that he looks upon me with eyes the reverse of friendly. Parbleu! what care I? Madame Diane behaves to me with remarkable attention. Ha! my friend, you see what it is to have a name: all the women of Paris either love or fear me. While Monsieur le Baron sits in a corner moping and growling over his swaddled and gouty leg, I draw my chair beside Madame at the harp, and sit turning over the leaves of her music, exchanging soft glances, and saying things quite as soft between. She is an amazingly fine creature, although she jilted so cruelly poor Victor d'Estouville of the Imperial Guard."
"If this is the footing on which you visit the Hôtel de Clugny, I think I could scarcely have chosen a more unlucky companion for my morning call."
"Pardieu! Monsieur, this is Paris, where no husband of sense makes himself in the least uneasy about the intrigues of his wife, and I should wish to teach old Clappourknuis a lesson. He was twelve months a prisoner in England, where he picked up some of the strangest notions in the world about conjugal fidelity and other matters, which, in France, we know only by name. He must now pay the penalty of marrying a giddy creature, young enough to be his grand-daughter. We have a proverb among us, mon ami, which says, 'Beware of women, of fire, of water, and the regiment de Sault.' Now I am ready to demonstrate to you logically, that the first part of that proverb— But, poh! here is the residence of Monsieur le Baron. Pardieu! a strange old rookery it is; and yet he admires it, because it is the oldest house in Paris."
Passing through an archway, they found themselves in an irregular sort of quadrangle, formed by buildings in a very ancient style of architecture, with mullioned windows, Gothic cusps and pinnacles, casements on the roof, two octagon towers projecting into the court, and one circular turret, which was built out from the wall, and shot up to a great height above the others. Numerous coats of arms and initial letters appeared above the doors and windows, and an antique fountain sparkled and murmured in a corner of the court, with a drooping tree spreading its branches over the stone basin into which the water fell. There was an appearance of picturesque and gloomy grandeur about the place, but there was likewise an air of desolation and decay without, which did not correspond with the rich hangings and furniture that appeared through the open windows; while the bustle which pervaded the court and passages, showed that the house was occupied by a large establishment.
"A strange old place, this."
"Diable! yes; a gloomy old bomb-house, fit only for the bat and the owl. And yet 'tis here the baron keeps Madame Diane, one of the gayest women within the gay and glorious circle of the Boulevards. 'Tis the Château de Clugny; but for Heaven's sake and our own, do not say any thing about it to the baron, who has of late been seized by a fit of antiquarianism, or we shall probably have the whole history of it rehearsed, from the time of Noah down to the present day."
The baron was at home, and a servant announced their names.
He was not much changed in appearance since Ronald had seen him in Estremadura; he looked as rough and weather-beaten as ever, and sat in a gilded easy chair, rolled in a rich brocaded dressing-gown, with one of his legs swaddled up in a multitude of bandages, and resting upon a cushion. A small velvet forage-cap covered his grey hair, and half revealed a deep scar from a sabre-cut across the forehead.
The apartment into which the visitors were shown, was a splendid old chamber fitted up as a library; and a softened light, which stole through between the thick mullions and twisted tracery of two large windows, cast the varied tints of the stained glass upon the long shelves of richly gilt but musty old books, on globes, on antique swords and fragments of steel armour, on ancient chairs and deep-red hangings, on spurs and helmets, and on rolls and bundles of papers, heaped and in confusion. The ceiling was covered with stucco fret-work and gilding. Three large portraits were in the room: these were likenesses of the famous Mississippi Law—as he was styled; of Beau Law, shot at the siege of Pondichery, fighting against the British; and of the Marquis of Laurieston, in his uniform as a General of the Empire, covered with gold oak-leaves and Orders.
The Baron, whom they found immersed in the pages of a huge and antique tome, threw it aside on their entrance, and bowed with an air of politeness so constrained, that it was evident Captain de Mesmai was far from being considered a welcome visitor. The consciousness that he had such an introducer made Stuart feel rather uncomfortable, but De Mesmai's consummate effrontery caused him to value the baron's coldness not a rush. A piano, which stood at one end of the room, was closed. The young baroness was not then at home.