While I stood with my eyes fixed on Berenice, and while Mowbray loudly applauded her father’s liberality, Mr. Montenero turned to Jacob and said, “I sent for my friend Jacob to be present at the burning of this picture, because it was he who put it in my power to prevent this horrid representation from being seen and sold in every print-shop in London. Jacob, who goes every where, and sees wherever he goes, observed this picture at a broker’s shop, and found that two persons had been in treaty for it. One of them had the appearance of an amateur, the other was an artist, an engraver. The engraver was, I suppose, the person who bid against Colonel Topham and me; who the other gentleman was, and why he bought in to sell it again at that auction, perhaps Jacob knows, but I have never inquired.”
Then, with Jacob’s assistance, Mr. Montenero burned every shred of this abominable picture, to my inexpressible satisfaction.
During this auto-da-fè, Jacob cast a glance at Mowbray, the meaning of which I could not at first comprehend; but I supposed that he was thinking of the fire, at which all he had in the world had been consumed at Gibraltar. I saw, or thought I saw, that Jacob checked the feeling this recollection excited. He turned to me, and in a low voice told me, that Mr. Montenero had been so kind as to obtain for him a lucrative and creditable situation in the house of Manessa, the jeweller; and the next day he was to go to Mr. Manessa’s, and to commence business.
“So, Mr. Harrington, you see that after all my misfortunes, I am now established in a manner far above what could have been expected for poor Jacob—far above his most sanguine hopes. Thanks to my good friends.”
“And to your good self,” said I.
I was much pleased with Mowbray at this instant, for the manner in which he joined in my praise of Jacob, and in congratulations to him. His lordship promised that he would recommend his house to all his family and friends.
“What a contrast,” said Mowbray, as soon as Jacob had left the room, “there is between Jacob and his old rival, Dutton! That fellow has turned out very ill—drunken, idle dog—is reduced to an old-iron shop, I believe—always plaguing me with begging letters. Certainly, Harrington, you may triumph in your election of Jacob.”
I never saw Berenice and her father look so much pleased with Mowbray as they did at this instant.
Of the remainder of the evening I recollect nothing but Berenice, and of my staying later than I ought to have done. Even after the general and his wife had departed some time, I lingered. I was to go home in Mowbray’s carriage, and twice he had touched my shoulder, telling me that I was not aware how late it was. I could not conceive how he could think of going so early.
“Early!” He directed my eye to the clock on the chimneypiece. I was ashamed to see the hour. I apologized to Mr. Montenero. He replied in a manner that was more than polite—that was quite affectionate; and his last words, repeated at the head of the stairs, expressed a desire to see me again frequently.