"Oui—after a fashion, but in a way not appreciated, I fear, in such salons."
The old gentleman chuckled over his son's modesty—he could imagine it nothing else—and insisted upon the venture. The student was a guest; but determined to keep by the wall, as a spectator of the refined gallopades of the quarter d'Antin. The first look, however, at the salon polka plunged him into a profound reverie. Was it indeed true that he was in the elegant saloon of the Marquise M——? thought he, gaining courage.
It was his method precisely—the very dance that Amy had taught him—practiced with all their picturesque temerity. Sure of his power, and using all the art of the Mabile, he gave himself up to two hours of most exhilarating pastime.
"They have calumniated the beau monde," mused he in leaving. "I find it very entertaining. Our dances are not only understood, but cultivated—practiced; and, ma foi, I rather prefer handling these countesses, to those very greedy grisettes."
Our brave student at law might possibly find his paces as well understood, in some American saloons as in those of the Chausée d'Antin!
We close our long chat for the month with a little whimsicality of travel, which comes to us in the letter of a friend.
Major M'Gowd was of Irish extraction (which he denied)—had been in the English service (which he boasted), and is, or was two years ago, serving under the Austrian flag.
He was not a profound man; but, as majors go, a very good sort of major, and great disciplinarian—as the following will show:
You have seen the Austrian troops in review, and must have noticed the curious way in which their cloaks are carried around their necks, making the poor fellows look like the Vauxhall showman, looking out from the folds of a gigantic anaconda.