He sits down wofully. Sir Asinus scenting the joke, and determined to revenge himself, does the same joyfully. Jacques sighs, Sir Asinus laughs. Jacques directs an Olympian frown at his opponent, but Sir Asinus answers it with smiles.
Belle-bouche all this time has been endeavoring to produce the impression that she is looking over a book of engravings—being interested in Heidelberg, and fascinated with the Alhambra. From time to time her timid glance steals toward Jacques, who is sighing, or toward Sir Asinus, who is laughing.
Sir Asinus glories in his revenge. Jacques refused to tell him the news, and maligned his character to the Doctor, and forced him to listen in silence to that abuse. He takes his promised revenge—for he understands very well what he interrupted.
Jacques stays all the morning, hoping that Sir Asinus will depart; but that gentleman betrays no intention of vacating the premises. Finally, in a paroxysm of internal rage, and a perfect outward calmness, the graceful Jacques retires—with a last look for Belle-bouche.
One thought consoles him. He will escort her to the ball, and on his return in his two-seated curriculum defy the interruption of all the Asinuses that ever lived.
Poor Jacques! as he goes sadly back, the cloud rising upon the dream is more asleep than ever.[(Back to Table of Content.)]
CHAPTER XXII.
HOW HOFFLAND PREFERRED A GLOVE TO A DOZEN PISTOLES.
One of the most beautiful walks in the neighborhood of Williamsburg was known to the fair dames and gallant cavaliers of that epoch as the "Indian Camp."
To this spot, on the morning of the day fixed for the ball at the Raleigh, did Mowbray and the young student Hoffland direct their steps, conversing pleasantly, and glad of the occasion to enjoy the fresh beauties of nature, which presented so agreeable a contrast to the domains of study at the good College of William and Mary. Let it not, however, be imagined that the boy Hoffland was in the habit, as Panurge said, of "breaking his head with study." Not at all. The remissness of that young gentleman in his attendance upon the lectures of the professors, had become by this time almost a proverb. Indeed, his attendance was the exception—his absence the rule. Buried in his quarters, in the neighborhood of Gloucester street, he seemed to exist in a pleasant disregard of all the rules and regulations of the college; and when the professors attempted to reason with him—which, was seldom, inasmuch as they scarcely ever saw him—he would acknowledge his sins very readily, and as readily promise amendment; and then, after the well-known fashion of sinners, return to his evil courses, and become more remiss than ever.