Strong said. "What ice will you have--water ice or cream ice?"
"Water ice. Who is that odd man staring at me--he is _decore_ too."
"That is my friend Colonel Altamont, a very queer character, in the service of the Nawaub of Lucknow. Hallo! what's that noise! I'll be back in an instant," said the chevalier, and sprang out of the room to the ball-room, where a scuffle and a noise of high voices was heard.
The refreshment room in which Miss Amory now found herself, was a room set apart for the purposes of supper, which Mr. Rincer the landlord had provided for those who chose to partake, at the rate of five shillings per head. Also, refreshments of a superior class were here ready for the ladies and gentlemen of the county families who came to the ball; but the commoner sort of persons were kept out of the room by a waiter who stood at the portal, and who said that was a select room for Lady Clavering and Lady Rockminster's parties, and not to be opened to the public till supper-time, which was not to be until past midnight.
Pynsent, who danced with his constituents' daughters, took them and their mammas in for their refreshment there. Strong, who was manager and master of the revels wherever he went, had of course the _entree_--and the only person who was now occupying the room, was the gentleman with the black wig and the orders in his button-hole; the officer in the service of his Highness the Nawaub of Lucknow.
This gentleman had established himself very early in the evening in this apartment, where, saying he was confoundedly thirsty, he called for a bottle of champagne. At this order, the waiter instantly supposed that he had to do with a grandee, and the colonel sate down and began to eat his supper and absorb his drink, and enter affably into conversation with any body who entered the room.
Sir Francis Clavering and Mr. Wagg found him there; when they left the ball-room which they did pretty early--Sir Francis to go and smoke a cigar and look at the people gathered outside the ball-room on the shore, which he declared was much better fun than to remain within; Mr. Wagg to hang on to a baronet's arm, as he was always pleased to do on the arm of the greatest man in the company. Colonel Altamont had stared at these gentleman in so odd a manner, as they passed through the "select" room, that Clavering made inquiries of the landlord who he was, and hinted a strong opinion that the officer of the Nawaub's service was drunk.
Mr. Pynsent, too, had had the honor of a conversation with the servant of the Indian potentate. It was Pynsent's cue to speak to every body (which he did, to do him justice, in the most ungracious manner); and he took the gentleman in the black wig for some constituent, some merchant captain, or other outlandish man of the place. Mr. Pynsent, then coming into the refreshment-room with a lady, the wife of a constituent, on his arm, the colonel asked him if he would try a glass of Sham? Pynsent took it with great gravity, bowed, tasted the wine, and pronounced it excellent, and with the utmost politeness retreated before Colonel Altamont. This gravity and decorum routed and surprised the colonel more than any other kind of behavior probably would: he stared after Pynsent stupidly, and pronounced to the landlord over the counter that he was a rum one. Mr. Rincer blushed, and hardly knew what to say. Mr. Pynsent was a county earl's grandson, going to set up as a Parliament man.
Colonel Altamont, on the other hand, wore orders and diamonds, jingled sovereigns constantly in his pocket, and paid his way like a man; so not knowing what to say, Mr. Rincer said, "Yes, colonel--yes, ma'am, did you say tea? Cup a tea for Mrs. Jones, Mrs. R.," and so got off that discussion regarding Mr. Pynsent's qualities, into which the Nizam's officer appeared inclined to enter.
[Illustration]
In fact, if the truth must be told, Mr. Altamont, having remained at the buffet almost all night, and employed himself very actively while there, had considerably flushed his brain by drinking, and he was still going on drinking when Mr. Strong and Miss Amory entered the room.
When the chevalier ran out of the apartment, attracted by the noise in the dancing-room, the colonel rose from his chair with his little red eyes glowing like coals, and, with rather an unsteady gait, advanced toward Blanche, who was sipping her ice. She was absorbed in absorbing it, for it was very fresh and good; or she was not curious to know what was going on in the adjoining room, although the waiters were, who ran after Chevalier Strong. So that when she looked up from the glass, she beheld this strange man staring at her out of his little red eyes. "Who was he? It was quite exciting."
"And so you're Betsy Amory," said he, after gazing at her. "Betsy Amory, by Jove!"
"Who--who speaks to me?" said Betsy, alias Blanche.
But the noise in the ball-room is really becoming so loud, that we must rush back thither, and see what is the cause of the disturbance.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
WHICH IS BOTH QUARRELSOME AND SENTIMENTAL.
[Illustration]
Civil war was raging, high words passing, people pushing and squeezing together in an unseemly manner, round a window in the corner of the ball-room, close by the door through which the Chevalier Strong shouldered his way. Through the opened window, the crowd in the street below was sending up sarcastic remarks, such as "Pitch into him!"
"Where are the police?" and the like; and a ring of individuals, among whom Madame Fribsby was conspicuous, was gathered round Monsieur Alcide Mirobolant on the one side; while several gentlemen and ladies surrounded our friend Arthur Pendennis on the other. Strong penetrated into this assembly, elbowing by Madame Fribsby, who was charmed at the chevalier's appearance, and cried, "Save him, save him!" in frantic and pathetic accents.
The cause of the disturbance, it appeared, was the angry little chef of Sir Francis Clavering's culinary establishment. Shortly after Strong had quitted the room, and while Mr. Pen, greatly irate at his downfall in the waltz, which had made him look ridiculous in the eyes of the nation, and by Miss Amory's behavior to him, which had still further insulted his dignity, was endeavoring to get some coolness of body and temper, by looking out of window toward the sea, which was sparkling in the distance, and murmuring in a wonderful calm--while he was really trying to compose himself, and owning to himself, perhaps, that he had acted in a very absurd and peevish manner during the night--he felt a hand upon his shoulder; and, on looking round, beheld, to his utter surprise and horror, that the hand in question belonged to Monsieur Mirobolant, whose eyes were glaring out of his pale face and ringlets at Mr. Pen. To be tapped on the shoulder by a French cook was a piece of familiarity which made the blood of the Pendennises to boil up in the veins of their descendant, and he was astounded, almost more than enraged, at such an indignity.
"You speak French?" Mirobolant said, in his own language, to Pen.
"What is that to you, pray?" said Pen, in English.
"At any rate, you understand it?" continued the other, with a bow.
"Yes, sir," said Pen, with a stamp of his foot; "I understand it pretty well."
"Vous me comprendrez alors, Monsieur Pendennis," replied the other, rolling out his _r_ with Gascon force, "quand je vous dis que vous etes un lache. Monsieur Pendennis--un lache, entendez-vous?"
"What?" said Pen, starting round on him.
"You understand the meaning of the word and its consequences among men of honor?" the artist said, putting his hand on his hip, and staring at Pen.
"The consequences are, that I will fling you out of window, you--impudent scoundrel," bawled out Mr. Pen; and darting upon the Frenchman, he would very likely have put his threat into execution, for the window was at hand, and the artist by no means a match for the young gentleman--had not Captain Broadfoot and another heavy officer flung themselves between the combatants--had not the ladies begun to scream--had not the fiddles stopped--had not the crowd of people come running in that direction--had not Laura, with a face of great alarm, looked over their heads and asked for Heaven's sake what was wrong--had not the opportune Strong made his appearance from the refreshment-room, and found Alcides grinding his teeth and jabbering oaths in his Gascon French, and Pen looking uncommonly wicked, although trying to appear as calm as possible, when the ladies and the crowd came up.
"What has happened?" Strong asked of the chef in Spanish.
"I am Chevalier de Juillet," said the other, slapping his breast, "and he has insulted me."
"What has he said to you?" asked Strong.
"Il m'a appele--_Cuisinier_?" hissed out the little Frenchman.
Strong could hardly help laughing. "Come away with me, my poor chevalier," he said. "We must not quarrel before ladies. Come away; I will carry your message to Mr. Pendennis.--The poor fellow is not right in his head," he whispered to one or two people about him;--and others, and anxious Laura's face visible among these, gathered round Pen, and asked the cause of the disturbance.
Pen did not know. "The man was going to give his arm to a young lady, on which I said that he was a cook, and the man called me a coward and challenged me to fight. I own I was so surprised and indignant that if you, gentlemen, had not stopped me, I should have thrown him out of window," Pen said.
"D---- him, serve him right, too--the d-- impudent foreign scoundrel,"
the gentlemen said.
"I--I'm very sorry if I hurt his feelings, though," Pen added; and Laura was glad to hear him say that; although some of the young bucks said, "No, hang the fellow--hang those impudent foreigners--little thrashing would do them good."
"You will go and shake hands with him before you go to sleep--won't you, Pen?" said Laura, coming up to him. "Foreigners may be more susceptible than we are, and have different manners. If you hurt a poor man's feelings, I am sure you would be the first to ask his pardon. Wouldn't you, dear Pen?"
She looked all forgiveness and gentleness, like an angel, as she spoke; and Pen took both her hands, and looked into her kind face, and said, indeed he would.
"How fond that girl is of me!" he thought, as she stood gazing at him.
"Shall I speak to her now? No--not now. I must have this absurd business with the Frenchman over."
Laura asked--Wouldn't he stop and dance with her? She was as anxious to keep him in the room, as he to quit it. "Won't you stop and waltz with me, Pen? _I_'m not afraid to waltz with you."
This was an affectionate, but an unlucky speech. Pen saw himself prostrate on the ground, having tumbled over Miss Roundle and the dragoon, and flung Blanche up against the wall--saw himself on the ground, and all the people laughing at him, Laura and Pynsent among them.
"I shall never dance again," he replied, with a dark and determined face. "Never. I'm surprised you should ask me."
"Is it because you can't get Blanche for a partner?" asked Laura, with a wicked, unlucky captiousness.
"Because I don't wish to make a fool of myself, for other people to laugh at me," Pen answered--"for _you_ to laugh at me, Laura. I saw you and Pynsent. By Jove! no man shall laugh at me."
"Pen, Pen, don't be so wicked!" cried out the poor girl, hurt at the morbid perverseness and savage vanity of Pen. He was glaring round in the direction of Mr. Pynsent as if he would have liked to engage that gentleman as he had done the cook. "Who thinks the worse of you for stumbling in a waltz?" If Laura does, we don't. "Why are you so sensitive and ready to think evil?"
Here again, by ill luck, Mr. Pynsent came up to Laura, and said, "I have it in command from Lady Rockminster to ask whether I may take you in to supper?"
"I--I was going in with my cousin," Laura said.
"O--pray no!" said Pen. "You are in such good hands that I can't do better than leave you; and I'm going home."