A Modern Telemachus | Page 6

to Sweden, you
know.'
'Is that greater than Envoy to Spain?'
'Very, very much greater. They call mamma Madame l'Ambassadrice;
and she is having three complete new dresses made. See, there are la
bonne and Laurent talking. It is English, and if we go near with our
cups and balls we shall hear all about it. Laurent always knows,

because my uncle tells him.'
'You must call him La Juenesse now he is made mamma's lackey. Is he
not beautiful in his new livery?'
'Be still now, brother; I want to hear what they are saying.'
This may sound somewhat sly, but French children, before Rousseau
had made them the fashion, were kept in the background, and were
reduced to picking up intelligence as best they could without any sense
of its being dishonourable to do so; and, indeed, it was more neglect
than desire of concealment that left their uninformed.
This was in 1719, four years after the accession of Louis XV., a puny
infant, to the French throne, and in the midst of the Regency of the
Duke of Orleans. The scene was a broad walk in the Tuileries gardens,
beneath a closely-clipped wall of greenery, along which were disposed
alternately busts upon pedestals, and stone vases of flowers, while
beyond lay formal beds of flowers, the gravel walks between radiating
from a fountain, at present quiescent, for it was only ten o'clock in the
forenoon, and the gardens were chiefly frequented at that hour by
children and their attendants, who, like Estelle and Ulysse de Bourke,
were taking an early walk on their way home from mass.
They were a miniature lady and gentleman of the period in costume,
with the single exception that, in consideration of their being only nine
and seven years old, their hair was free from powder. Estelle's light,
almost flaxen locks were brushed back from her forehead, and tied
behind with a rose-coloured ribbon, but uncovered, except by a tiny
lace cap on the crown of her head; Ulick's darker hair was carefully
arranged in great curls on his back and shoulders, as like a full-
bottomed wig as nature would permit, and over it he wore a little
cocked hat edged with gold lace. He had a rich laced cravat, a double-
breasted waistcoat of pale blue satin, and breeches to match, a brown
velvet coat with blue embroidery on the pockets, collar, and skirts, silk
stockings to match, as well as the knot of the tiny scabbard of the
semblance of a sword at his side, shoes with silver buckles, and
altogether he might have been a full-grown Comte or Vicomte seen
through a diminishing glass. His sister was in a full-hooped dress, with
tight long waist, and sleeves reaching to her elbows, the under skirt a
pale pink, the upper a deeper rose colour; but stiff as was the attire, she
had managed to give it a slight general air of disarrangement, to get her

cap a little on one side, a stray curl loose on her forehead, to tear a bit
of the dangling lace on her arms, and to splash her robe with a puddle.
He was in air, feature, and complexion a perfect little dark Frenchman.
The contour of her face, still more its rosy glow, were more in
accordance with her surname, and so especially were the large deep
blue eyes with the long dark lashes and pencilled brows. And there was
a lively restless air about her full of intelligence, as she manoeuvred her
brother towards a stone seat, guarded by a couple of cupids reining in
sleepy-looking lions in stone, where, under the shade of a lime-tree, her
little petticoated brother of two years old was asleep, cradled in the lap
of a large, portly, handsome woman, in a dark dress, a white cap and
apron, and dark crimson cloak, loosely put back, as it was an August
day. Native costumes were then, as now, always worn by French nurses;
but this was not the garb of any province of the kingdom, and was as
Irish as the brogue in which she was conversing with the tall fine young
man who stood at ease beside her. He was in a magnificent green and
gold livery suit, his hair powdered, and fastened in a queue, the
whiteness contrasting with the dark brows, and the eyes and
complexion of that fine Irish type that it is the fashion to call Milesian.
He looked proud of his dress, which was viewed in those days as
eminently becoming, and did in fact display his well-made figure and
limbs to great advantage; but he looked anxiously about, and his first
inquiry on coming on the scene in attendance upon the little boy had
been -
'The top of the morning