"Loving she is, and tractable, though wild;
And innocence hath privilege in her
To dignify arch looks and laughing eyes,
And feats of cunning...."
Wordsworth.
Lest it should be imagined that our coquettish little Frenchwoman, Jeannette, had been perfectly quiescent all this time, we proceed to give particulars of some little exploits in which she acted an important part. Hers was not the disposition to act the rôle of a lay figure, it will be easily imagined. No. To be engaged in some little romance on her own account was as essential to her existence as the breath of her nostrils; and the more romantic and unconventional the part she played, the keener the zest with which she entered into it. She had managed to subsist on a little flirtation with Paul Lazaire when nothing better presented itself; but now, the tall and handsome Saxon, Wulfhere, had fired her inflammable little heart with such a passion as she had never experienced before. Her scanty knowledge of Saxon heraldry and Saxon customs, coupled with Wulfhere's constant comradeship with the great Saxon earl, had caused her to think highly of this doughty Saxon lover of hers. It must be confessed, too, that Wulfhere's fine presence, his undoubted valour, and the unflagging goodnature and ready wit with which he alternately bantered, flattered, or caressed her, quite carried her by storm; and over head and ears in love, at a stroke almost, went this born coquette.
Right skilfully had she woven many a Cupid's net for others, and, with tantalising inconsistency, frowned to-day and smiled to-morrow upon her hapless victims. The truth was, none hitherto had fired her imperious imagination sufficiently. But at last Cupid had transfixed her unmistakably; and Jeannette was not the one to stand on ceremony, or be a slave to petty prudencies. Not she, indeed!
To have a brush with the chapter of accidents, to set wise heads and slanderous tongues a-wagging; added piquancy to the romance, and was quite to her liking. Hate has its plots and counterplots, its subterfuges and scheming, its dogged persistence in malevolence; but love also has its expedients, its inventions, its circumlocutions, which, for ingenuity, and for that final grace of all plotters—audacity, will circumvent its hateful opposite any day. Love also has this final advantage; it dares to be found out, and is never a whit abashed when its devices are discovered.
Upon Wulfhere, too, the advent of this pretty and coquettish little dame had burst like a revelation. The saucy pertness, the mischief and merriment which glanced in her sparkling eye, the feminine gracefulness of form and figure, the pretty devices with which she was wont to adorn herself, and set off her charms, and the sheer abandon with which she rushed into this love affair with him, completely carried him away, and he was speedily as helpless as a slave in her hands. The contrast between this dainty Frenchwoman, and the Saxon women of the lower orders was simply inexpressible, and Wulfhere, in his Saxon simplicity, was charmed beyond measure.
Upon poor Paul Lazaire the altered demeanour of Jeannette towards himself operated somewhat hardly. Being quite in the dark as to the existence of a new disturbing factor, he was wont to obtrude his presence as heretofore upon Jeannette. But alas! Jeannette had now lost the little interest which aforetime she had manifested in Paul. She had, in past time, deigned occasionally to bestow a smile, amid her many frowns, on his pretensions; and this occasional smile and ray of sunshine had refreshed him, and given him hope. Now, alas! the smiles had all vanished, whilst the frowns deepened in intensity, and were frequently accompanied by a perky toss of the head, and little scornful speeches. 'Tis just like poor human nature, though, the world over; when once enmeshed in Cupid's net, the shaking-off process makes one cling the tighter, and it made poor Paul more and more desperate in his endeavours to win a smile from his lady-love. It had become, however, not only unpleasant to Jeannette, but vastly inconvenient, too, to have her footsteps dogged as she sauntered through the woods, or by the river's side, as any one who has had experience of these things will easily understand. No matter, if Paul caught a glimpse of Jeannette's golden hair as she slid away at still eventide for a quiet walk in the woods, why, poor short-sighted mortal, he was sure to consider his presence and protection indispensable; and though he had had latterly some very unpleasant experiences of the fact that Jeannette neither considered his presence indispensable nor agreeable, yet he persevered most desperately.
Seeing this infatuation on Paul's part, it had occurred to another participator in these sylvan tête-à-têtes that more drastic expedients would have to be resorted to in order to disillusionise him. So a slight rebuff was administered to poor Paul, which had the happy effect of somewhat disenchanting him.
It was at the still eventide. Jeannette had laid aside the duties of the day, and had ascended to the tower. Why? Well, perhaps to see the sunset. It was somewhat strange, but somehow, like her mistress, she had acquired the habit of reconnoitring at odd hours from the tower of the castle. Probably she and Alice had confidences in these matters. But, be that as it may, a very hasty survey of the beauties of nature on this occasion made her hurry off for a closer scrutiny. Paul's vigilant eye espied the fair form making for the path by the river's side, and, on the assumption that "faint heart never won fair lady," he would venture again. So he started off in pursuit. It must be confessed he did not approach this imperious fair one without many tremblings and forebodings. The keen edge of her saucy tongue had greatly dismayed him in many a wordy tussle lately, and it had begun dimly to dawn upon him that this waspish habit had something of dislike for him. Poor fellow! These very quakings of heart presaged coming trouble and defeat. 'Twas in his case pretty much as the old saw has it:—