"A new aunt?" said Mrs. Clavering; "I am really at a loss to understand your meaning!" looking, however, as if she understood it perfectly.
"Why, certainly," replied Mrs. Slimbridge, "it can be no news to _you_ that Captain Kentledge is going to be married to Madame Franchimeau's niece, Mademoiselle Robertine. He was seen, yesterday morning, walking with her under the same umbrella!"
"Well, and what of that?" interrupted Mrs. Clavering, fretfully; "does a gentleman never hold an umbrella over a lady's head unless he intends to marry her?"
"Oh, as yet they do," replied Mrs. Slimbridge, "but I know not how much longer even that piece of civility will be continued--gentlemen are now so much afraid of committing themselves. But seriously, his seeing her home in the rain is not the most important part of the story. He drank tea at Franchimeau's last evening, and paid a long visit at the house this morning; and Emilie, their mulatto girl, told Mrs. Pinxton's Mary, and my Phillis had it direct from _her_, that she overheard Miss Robertine, persuading Captain Kentledge to have his queue cut off. The good gentleman, it seems, held out for a long time, but at last consented to lose it. However, I do not vouch for the truth of that part of the statement. Old seafaring men are so partial to their hair, and it is a point on which they are so obstinate, that I scarcely think Miss Robertine would have ventured so far."
"Some young girls have boldness enough for anything," said Mrs.
Clavering, with a toss of her head, and knowing in her own mind that the queue was really off.
"Well," continued Mrs. Slimbridge, "the story is all over town that it is quite a settled thing; and, as I said, I have hastened to congratulate you."
"Congratulate me! For what?" said Mrs. Clavering; with much asperity.
"Why," returned Mrs. Slimbridge, "you know these French people are your bosom friends, and of course you must rejoice in the prospect of a nearer connexion with them. To be sure, it would be rather more gratifying if Miss Robertine was in a somewhat higher walk of life. You know it is whispered, that she is only a mantua-maker's girl, and that the dear friend whom Madame Franchimeau talks about, as having adopted her beloved Robertine (though she takes care never to mention the name of that dear friend), is in reality no other than the celebrated Madame Gigot, in whose dressmaking establishment Mademoiselle is hired to work."
"Horrible!" was Mrs. Clavering's involuntary exclamation; but recovering herself, she continued--"But I can assure you, Mrs. Slimbridge, that I am perfectly convinced there is not a word of truth in the whole story.
Captain Kentledge has certainly his peculiarities, but he is a man of too much sense to marry a young wife; and besides, his regard for my children is so great, that I am convinced it is his firm intention to live single for their sakes, that he may leave them the whole of his property. He thinks too much of the family to allow his money to go out of it."
"All that may be," answered Mrs. Slimbridge; "but when an old man falls in love with a young girl, his regard for his own relations generally melts away like snow before the fire. I think you had better speak to Captain Kentledge on the subject. I advise you, as a friend, to do so, unless you conclude that opposition may only render him the more determined. Certainly one would not like to lose so much money out of the family, without making a little struggle to retain it. However, I must now take my leave. As a friend, I advise you to speak to Captain Kentledge."
"I can assure you," replied Mrs. Clavering, as she accompanied her guest to the door, "this silly report gives me not the slightest uneasiness, as it is too absurd to merit one serious thought. I shall dismiss it from my mind with silent contempt. To mention it to Captain Kentledge would be really too ridiculous."
As soon as she had got rid of her visitor, Mrs. Clavering hastily threw on her calash, and repaired at a brisk pace to Uncle Philip's cabin. She found him at his desk, busily employed in writing out for Robertine the words of "America, Commerce, and Freedom." She made a pretext for sending away Sam, and told Uncle Philip that she wished some private conversation with him. The old gentleman coloured, laid down his pen, and began to sit very uneasy on his chair, guessing what was to come.
Mrs. Clavering then, without further hesitation, acquainted him with all she had heard, and asked him if it could possibly be true that he had any intention of marrying Robertine.
"I don't know but I shall," said Uncle Philip.
"You really shock me!" exclaimed Mrs. Clavering.
"What is there so shocking," replied the old gentleman, "in my liking a pretty girl--ay, and in making her my wife, too, if I think proper? But that's as it may be--I have not yet made her the offer."
Mrs. Clavering breathed again. "Really, Uncle Philip," said she, "I thought you had more sense, and knew more of the world. Can you not see at once that all she wants is your money? It is impossible she could have any other inducement."
"I thank you for your compliment," said Uncle Philip, pulling up his shirt collar and taking a glance at the looking-glass.
"Is the man an absolute fool?" thought Mrs. Clavering: "what can have got into him?" Then raising her voice, she exclaimed--"Is this, then, the end of all your aversion to the French?"
"Then you should not have put the French in my way," said Uncle Philip: "it is all your own fault; and if I _should_ play the fool, you have nobody to thank but yourself. Why did you make me go to that supper?"
"Why, indeed!" replied Mrs. Clavering, with a sigh: "but knowing how much you dislike foreigners and all their ways, such an idea as your falling in love with a French girl never for a moment entered my mind.
But I can tell you one thing that will effectually put all thoughts of Miss Robertine out of your head."
"What is that?" said Uncle Philip, starting and changing colour.
"When I tell you that she is a mantua-maker," pursued Mrs. Clavering, "and in the employ of Madame Gigot of New York, you, of course, can never again think of her as a wife."
"And why not?" said Uncle Philip, recovering himself--"why should not a mantua-maker be thought of as a wife? If that's all you have to say against her, it only makes me like her the better. I honour the girl for engaging in a business that procures her a decent living, and prevents her from being burdensome to her friends. Don't you know that a man can always raise his wife to his own level? It is only a woman that sinks by marrying beneath her; as I used to tell you when you fell in love with the players, the first winter you spent in New York."
"I deny the players--I deny them altogether," said Mrs. Clavering, with much warmth: "all I admired was their spangled jackets and their caps and feathers, and I had some curiosity to see how they looked off the stage, and therefore was always glad when I met any of them in the street."
"Well, well," replied Uncle Philip, "let the players pass; I was only joking."
"And even if it were true," resumed Mrs. Clavering, "that I had particularly admired one or two of the most distinguished performers, I was then but a mere child, and there is a great difference between playing the fool at sixteen and at sixty."
"I don't see the folly," said Uncle Philip, "of marrying a pretty young girl, who is so devotedly attached to me that she cannot possibly help showing it continually."
"Robertine attached to _you_!" retorted Mrs. Clavering. "And can you really believe such an absurdity?"
"I thank you again for the compliment," replied Uncle Philip: "but I know that such things _have been_, strange as they may appear to you. I believe I have all my life undervalued myself; and this young lady has opened my eyes."
"Blinded them, rather," said Mrs. Clavering. "But for your own sake, let me advise you to give up this girl. No marriage, where there is so great a disparity of years, ever did or could, or ever will or can, turn out well--and so you will find to your sorrow."
"I rather think I shall try the experiment," said Uncle Philip. "If I am convinced that Miss Robertine has really a sincere regard for me, I shall certainly make her Mrs. Kentledge--so I must tell you candidly that you need not say another word to me on the subject."
He resumed his writing, and Mrs. Clavering, after pausing a few moments, saw the inutility of urging anything further, and walked slowly and sadly back to the house. The children's quarters at school had nearly expired, and she delighted them all with the information that, finding they had not made as much progress in French as she had expected, and having reason to believe that the plan of learning everything through the medium of that language was not a good one, she had determined that after this week they should quit Monsieur and Madame Franchimeau, and return to Mr. Fulmer and Miss Hickman. She ceased visiting the French family, who, conscious that they would now be unwelcome guests, did not approach Mrs. Clavering's house. But Uncle Philip regularly spent every evening with Robertine; and Mrs. Clavering did not presume openly to oppose what she now perceived to be his fixed intention; but she indulged herself in frequent innuendoes against everything French, which the old gentleman was ashamed to controvert, knowing how very recently he had been in the practice of annoying his niece by the vehement expression of his own prejudices against that singular people; and he could not help acknowledging to himself that though he liked Robertine, all the rest of her family were still fools. That the Franchimeaus and Ravigotes were ridiculous, vulgar pretenders, Mrs. Clavering was no longer slow in discovering; but she was so unjust as to consider them fair specimens of their nation, and to turn the tables so completely as to aver that nothing French was endurable. She even silenced the parrots whenever they said, "_Parlons toujours Francois_."[62]
[Footnote 62: Let us always speak French.]
One morning Uncle Philip was surprised in his cabin by the sudden appearance of a very tall, very slender young Frenchman, dressed in the extreme of dandyism; his long, thin face was of deadly whiteness, but his cheeks were tinted with rouge; he had large black eyes, and eyebrows arched up to a point; his immense whiskers were reddish, and met under his chin; but his hair was black, and arranged with great skill and care according to the latest fashion, and filling the apartment with the perfume of attar of roses.
Immediately on entering, he strode up to Uncle Philip, and extending a hand whose fingers were decorated with half a dozen showy rings, presented to him a highly-scented rose-coloured card, which announced him as "Monsieur Achille Simagree de Lantiponne, of Paris."
"Well, sir," said Uncle Philip, "and I am Captain Philip Kentledge, once of Salem, Massachusetts, and now of Corinth, New York."
"_Oui, je le sais_,"[63] replied the Frenchman, in a loud shrill voice, and with a frown that was meant to be terrific. "_Oui, perfide--traitre--presque scelerat--tremblez! Je vous connois--tremblez, tremblez, je vous dit! Moi, c'est moi qui vous parle!_"[64]
[Footnote 63: Yes, I know it.]
[Footnote 64: Yes, perfidious man--traitor--almost rascal--tremble. I know you--tremble, tremble. I tell you--I--it is I that am speaking to you.]
"What's all this for?" said Uncle Philip, looking amazed.
"_Imbecil_," muttered Monsieur de Lantiponne; "_il ne comprend pas le Francais._[65] _Eh, bien_; I will, then, address you (_roturier comme vous etes_[66]) in perfect English, and very cool. How did you dare to have the temerity to rob from me the young miss, my _fiancee_, very soon my bride. Next month I should have conducted her up to the front of the altar. I had just taken four apartments in the Broadway--two for the exercise of my profession of artist in hair, and merchant of perfumes and all good smells; and two up the staircase, where Mademoiselle Robertine would pursue her dresses and her bonnets. United together, we should have made a large fortune. My father was a part of the noblesse of France, but we lost all our nobleness by the revolution. 'Virtue, though unfortunate, is always respectable;' that sentiment was inscribed above the door of my mamma's shop in the Palais Royal."
[Footnote 65: Idiot--he does not understand French.]
[Footnote 66: Plebeian as you are.]
"Well," said Uncle Philip, "and what next?"
"What next, _coquin_?"[67] continued the Frenchman, grinding his teeth.
"Listen and die. Yesterday, I received from her this letter, enfolding a ring of my hair which once I had plaited for her. Now, I will overwhelm you with shame and repentance by reading to you this fatal letter, translating it into perfect English. _Ah! comme il est difficile d'etouffer mes emotions! N'importe, il faut un grand effort._"[68]
[Footnote 67: Knave.]
[Footnote 68: Ah! how difficult it is to stifle my emotions! No matter, I must make a great effort.]