She laughed good-naturedly at my gallantry, but I think she also liked it. We were standing near a window that looked out on the front approach to the White House. Suddenly Mistress Erskine exclaimed:
"Look, look quick, my friend! Here is magnificence indeed!"
I looked as she bade me, and saw what I conceived to be a rolling ball of burnished gold borne swiftly through the air by two gilt wings. As it came nearer we both grew more excited—I because I did not know what it was (and it looked more like a fairy coach than anything I had dreamed of), and she both because she enjoyed my bewilderment and because she loved magnificence. By this time as many of the other guests as were near windows and could look out without seeming to be over-eager, or discourteous to their host, were doing so. The rolling golden ball came to the very foot of the White House steps and stopped. What I had taken to be two gilt wings proved to be nothing more than gorgeous footmen, with chapeaux bras, gilt-braided skirts, and splendid swords. They sprang to the ground, opened the door of the coach, and from it alighted the French minister, weighted with gold lace and glittering with diamonds and jeweled orders. He turned with stately ceremony to offer his hand to a lady who was alighting from the coach. First a tiny foot in high-arched slippers and embroidered stocking; then a glimpse of a skirt, pale pink and silver brocade, that had a strangely familiar air. I looked quickly at the head just emerging—waving black curls, dark glowing eyes, a complexion of ivory tinted with rose.
It was Mademoiselle Pelagie!
My head swam. Was it indeed all a bit of enchantment? The golden coach, the gorgeous footmen, the dazzling minister of France, and—Pelagie! Mrs. Erskine noted my agitation.
"Qu'as-tu, m'ami?" she said softly. "You know her, then?"
"Know whom, madam?" I asked, trying to get myself under control and seem indifferent.
"Our new sensation, the Great Lady of France, whom all the town is talking of. She arrived two days ago at the house of the French minister, and is staying there, it is said, under his protection, until she shall find suitable escort to Paris, where she goes to take possession of her estates returned to her by Bonaparte. This is what rumor says, and it looks as if it were true that she is a great lady, since the minister has handed her from the carriage before his own wife. We will wait now to see where the President seats her at table; that will decide it."
I was trying hard to hold myself in hand and make suitable answer.
"Is the President such a stickler, then, for form and ceremony? We had heard otherwise."