"Excellent!" cried De Mesmai, before Stuart could thank the baron; "and I hope that Madame will soon return, as I wish very much to hear her perform that piece on the piano. Madame Berthollet—"
"Of the Rue de Rivoli?" interrupted the baron.
"—Informed me that her style excels the most celebrated masters in Paris."
"Indeed!" said the baron coldly, but bowing to De Mesmai, whom he heartily wished at the bottom of the sea, or any other place than the Château de Clugny, where his visit had now extended to twice the usual time of a morning call.
"By the bomb! here comes Madame!" said the ci-devant cuirassier, as a carriage drove into the court. "Monsieur le Baron must allow me the honour—"
He snatched up his cap, and vanished from the room, while the features of the invalid assumed a most vinegar aspect of anger and uneasiness, which he attempted to conceal from Ronald by conversing about the weather and other trivial matters. Meanwhile the captain, with all the air of a true French gallant, assisted the baroness to alight, and led her into the house. They were long in ascending the staircase, and the baron's face grew alternately red and white, while he fidgeted strangely in his easy chair. At last a servant opened the door of the room, and the handsome captain, with his right hand ungloved, led forward Madame, who, as she swept in with her long rustling skirt, and with the feathers of her bonnet drooping over a rich shawl, appeared a very dashing figure, quite a woman of ton, and possessing all that indescribable je ne sais quoi of face and figure, which are wholly the attributes of what the Scots call 'gentle blood,' and which never can be attained by the vulgar. Her morning drive on the Boulevards, the exercise of ascending the steep old stairs of the hotel, and perhaps a sensation of pleasure at meeting with De Mesmai, had heightened the glow of her cheeks, and a rich bloom suffused them. Her eyes were sparkling with French vivacity, and she looked radiantly beautiful.
"Eh! monsieur, my dear friend!" cried she, springing towards Stuart with the bird-like step of a Parisian lady. "How happy, oh! how very happy I am to see you here! I would give you a pretty kiss, if I dared. But pray, monsieur, be seated; and here, De Mesmai, help me off with my things."
"How, madame, do you recognise me after so long a lapse of time, and after such, a very short interview? One at night,—by a picquet fire, too?"
"De Mesmai told me you were here," said she, as that adroit cavalier removed her bonnet and shawl, and even adjusted her hair, which was braided above her forehead and fastened behind with a pearl-studded comb à la Grec. The soldier laid aside the bonnet, arranged the veil, and folded the collar and shawl with so much the air of a femme de chambre, that Stuart could with difficulty repress a smile; but to the lady and her husband it appeared nothing unusual.
"The baroness is a fashionable beauty, certainly," thought the wondering Scot; "but my wife will not be a French woman, thank Heaven!"