In the first place there was the language—not patois as of habitants and barbers, nor the mode of the occasional caller at our house, whose pronunciation seemed an individual exception; but an entire assemblage holding intercourse in dainty Parisian, exquisite as the famous dialect of the Brahmans. There was the graceful compliment, the antithetic description, the witty repartee. One could say the poetical or sententious without being insulted by a stare. Some of the ladies were beautiful, some were not, but they had for the most part a quite ideal degree of grace and many of them a kind of dignity not too often elsewhere found. Every person laughed and was happy through the homely cotillion that was proceeding. The feelings of the young seemed to issue and mingle in sympathy, with a freedom naturally delightful to my peculiar nature, and the triumphant strains of music excited my pulses.
Mde. De Rheims touched my arm and pointed individuals by name. "That strong young man is a d'Irumberry—the pale one, a Le Ber—that young girl's mother is a Guay de Boisbriant. Do not look at her partner, he is some canaille."
There was, true enough, some difference. The descendants of gentry were on the average marked with at least physical endowments quite distinctly above the rest of the race. But there was a ridiculous side, for I recognized some about whom my grandmother was used to make merry, such as the youth who could "trace his ancestry five ways to Charles the Fat," and the stout-built brothers in whose family there was a rule "never to strike a man twice to knock him down.". My grandmother said that "those who could not knock him down kept the tradition by not striking him once!"
Mde. De Rheims now introduced me to two people simultaneously—Sir Georges Mondelet, Chief-Justice, and the ruddy lady, Mde. Fauteux of Quebec. The Chief Justice was of that good old type, at sight of which the word gentil-homme springs naturally to one's lips He was small in figure, but his features were clearly cut, and the falling of the cheeks and deepening of lines produced by approach of age, had but imparted to them an increased, repose. His clear gaze and fine balance of expression denoted that remarkable common sense and personal honor for which I divined his judgments and conduct must be respected. His smile was charming, and displayed a set of well-preserved teeth. The few words he spoke to me were not remarkable. They were simple and kind like his movements.
To Mde. Fauteux I offered my arm, and conducted her into the large conservatory opening off the parlors, where we walked.
"Is it not a great privilege, Monsieur, to be an Englishman?" she began with polite banter. "You are the conquerors, the millionaires; yours are the palaces, and the high and honorable places! But you, Monsieur, you are not too proud to patronize our little receptions."
"Pardon me, Madame, I am not English."
"Is that true? But you have the air."
"There is no air I could prefer to that of a man like Sir Georges
Mondelet."
"Nor I too, in seriousness. That is the true French gentleman. He cares little even for his title, and prefers to be called Mr. Mondelet, holding his judicial office in greater esteem. I once heard him say in joke, 'that there could be many Knights but only one Chief Justice.'"