"Fudge!" said Arthur, giving audible expression to his thoughts, as he kicked a fallen brand with the petulance of a poet, forgetting there was poker, tongs, or servants in the world. "Fudge! wears moustaches and squints! I'll see the fellow!"
Arthur was sensible he felt disappointed, not so much that Arabella proved a coquette as that his estimate of the effect of education on the female mind should be found false. He had drawn his conclusions logically; thus: Virtuous and intelligent women are sincere and reasonable; New England ladies are virtuous and intelligent; therefore, they are sincere and reasonable. And yet here was one who had enjoyed every mental and moral advantage a lady could require to perfect her character acting the part of an artful coquette; or otherwise she was a silly dupe, for the story of the Count de Verger Arthur credited no more than the adventures of Baron Munchausen.
He did not write to Arabella to announce his intention of visiting her, fearing the count might, in that case, retire for a season, and he much wished to see him. So Arthur reached Boston and astonished his friends, who could find no solution for the sudden movement but that he had learned the danger there was that Miss Markley would be won by the gallant Frenchman; and all the inquiries he made respecting the count he had the mortification of finding were regarded as the promptings of a jealous spirit seeking to find matter of accusation against a rival. Many of the gentlemen whom he addressed on the subject declared their belief that the professor of the harp was a real count, his bearing and manner were decidedly noble, and there was a thoroughbred air in his address which distinguished foreigners of high rank, and which our richest and most eminent men, who were always compelled to speak of themselves as plain citizens, and only enjoying equal privileges with the people, never could display.
"I would give fifty thousand," said a young mercantile gentleman, whose father had, by careful industry, amassed a large fortune, "if I could appear with the ease and elegance of the Count de Verger. I met him the other day at the dinner party of Mr. ——, and I assure you he was the lion of the day. It is no wonder the ladies admire him."
"No, it is no wonder," thought Arthur, "that our ladies despise us for not possessing the manners of slaves, while we men so undervalue and abuse our privilege of being free. If fashion and etiquette are to be considered the most important objects of pursuit among those who assume the first place in our society, we shall always be inferior to the nobles where distinctions of rank and descent of property are so established that fashion and etiquette can have trained subjects and established laws. We republicans must have our standard of respectability founded on moral worth, usefulness, and intelligence, or the discrepancy between our institutions and manners will make us ridiculous in the eyes of other nations, and contemptible in that of our own. But I will see this count, and, if he prove to be my old valet"——
Compressing his lips, as if to prevent the expression of a hasty resolve, he bent his steps to the dwelling of Mr. Markley.
It was in the morning, and too early for a fashionable call; but Arthur had learned that the Count de Verger gave lessons to Miss Markley at half past ten; and that the young lady frequently admitted her particular friends to congratulate her respecting the astonishing progress she made on the harp. Mr. Lloyd was known to the servants as a favored visitor, and found no difficulty in being admitted, and ushered familiarly into the parlor where Arabella was practising. There were two ladies, her intimate friends, and one gentleman present. Neither Arabella nor the count noticed the entrance of Mr. Lloyd, and he stood for several minutes regarding them. Arabella was playing with enthusiasm; it was evident she was charmed with her own performance; her noble teacher sat beside her, the music-book open in his hand, his small keen eyes cast partly upward in admiration; but, as his oblique glance could rest on the face of his fair pupil, it was not certain whether her beauty or her music caused his raptures.
"Martin!" said Mr. Lloyd, in a deep, commanding tone.
The count started to his feet, every nerve agitated as though he had received a shock from a galvanic battery.
"Jean Martin, how came you here?" continued Mr. Lloyd, sternly.