A kind of petrefaction seized the large assembly. Every one stood still. The dancers about to take their places paused in astonishment, and the amazed orchestra held in embarrassment their voiceless instruments.
A black-coated waiter went gliding like a snake through the motionless groups. It was MacDaly who had managed by a stroke of diplomacy to have himself engaged as one of the servants for the evening. He had reveled in the splendor of the scene about him, and had gurgled frequently in delight as he withdrew corks from bottles or ladled ice cream from freezers, “This is auriferous; this is golden.”
Now he saw a chance to distinguish himself; now he would strike a blow for the honor and glory of MacDaly.
“Your most serene and exalted magnificence,” he cried in a shrill voice, which extended to the farthest corner of the crowded room, as he dropped on one knee before Lord Vaulabel, who had placed himself beside his wife, “the notorious gentleman known as Colonel Armour speaks the truth, for of a verity the man called Delavigne was by him befooled and gulled and ruined, and ’tis I, Derrick Edward Fitz-James O’Grady MacDaly, once humble corporal in the regiment commanded by your late most glorious and regretted parent, the right honorable the Earl of Vaulabel, that can prove—”
Greatly to MacDaly’s surprise he was obliged to rattle off the latter part of his speech on the way back to the tea room, whither he was guided by sundry constraining hands laid upon his shoulders.
Colonel Armour’s eyes followed him in bewilderment; then suddenly he drew himself up, looked about the room, and ejaculated sharply: “What have I been saying?”
No one answered him. But he caught curious glances from staring faces, wonder and incredulity from some, aversion and formless suspicion taking shape from others. He was a ruined man; he saw it, felt it. His day was over. His jaw shook; his whole frame trembled. He had said something that had put him outside the pale of honorable society and had crystallized the brilliant, glittering throng into wondering astonishment.
One parting, sweeping look he gave about the room, his eyes coming finally to Vivienne, who stood among the honored guests of the evening. The Delavignes had triumphed. His head dropped on his breast; he shuffled from the place disgraced, ruined, and undone.
One step followed him, one firm, manly step echoing down the wide stone hall. Stanton had quietly committed the half-fainting Mrs. Colonibel to the care of some friends and was on his way to overtake the lonely old figure hurrying from the building.