Chateau of Prince Polignac | Page 7

said M. Lacordaire,
very impressively; and then after a pause he added, "If madame will
have the complaisance to commission me to procure a carriage for this
afternoon, and will allow me the honour to be her guide, I shall
consider myself one of the most fortunate of men."
"Oh, yes, mamma, do go," said Mimmy, clapping her hands. "And it is
Thursday, and Lilian can go with us."
"Be quiet, Mimmy, do. Thank you, no, M. Lacordaire. I could not go
to-day; but I am extremely obliged by your politeness."
M. Lacordaire still pressed the matter, and Mrs. Thompson still
declined till it was time to rise from the table. She then declared that
she did not think it possible that she should visit the chateau before she
left Le Puy; but that she would give him an answer at dinner.
The most tedious time in the day to Mrs. Thompson were the two hours
after breakfast. At one o'clock she daily went to the school, taking
Mimmy, who for an hour or two shared her sister's lessons. This and
her little excursions about the place, and her shopping, managed to
make away with her afternoon. Then in the evening, she generally saw

something of M. Lacordaire. But those two hours after breakfast were
hard of killing.
On this occasion, when she gained her own room, she as usual placed
Mimmy on the sofa with a needle. Her custom then was to take up a
novel; but on this morning she sat herself down in her arm-chair, and
resting her head upon her hand and elbow, began to turn over certain
circumstances in her mind.
"Mamma," said Mimmy, "why won't you go with M. Lacordaire to that
place belonging to the prince? Prince--Polly something, wasn't it?"
"Mind your work, my dear," said Mrs. Thompson.
"But I do so wish you'd go, mamma. What was the prince's name?"
"Polignac."
"Mamma, ain't princes very great people?"
"Yes, my dear; sometimes."
"Is Prince Polly-nac like our Prince Alfred?"
"No, my dear; not at all. At least, I suppose not."
"Is his mother a queen?"
"No, my dear."
"Then his father must be a king?"
"No, my dear. It is quite a different thing here. Here in France they
have a great many princes."
"Well, at any rate I should like to see a prince's chateau; so I do hope
you'll go." And then there was a pause. "Mamma, could it come to pass,
here in France, that M. Lacordaire should ever be a prince?"
"M. Lacordaire a prince! No; don't talk such nonsense, but mind your
work."
"Isn't M. Lacordaire a very nice man? Ain't you very fond of him?"
To this question Mrs. Thompson made no answer.
"Mamma," continued Mimmy, after a moment's pause, "won't you tell
me whether you are fond of M. Lacordaire? I'm quite sure of this,-- that
he's very fond of you."
"What makes you think that?" asked Mrs. Thompson, who could not
bring herself to refrain from the question.
"Because he looks at you in that way, mamma, and squeezes your
hand."
"Nonsense, child," said Mrs. Thompson; "hold your tongue. I don't
know what can have put such stuff into your head."

"But he does, mamma," said Mimmy, who rarely allowed her mother to
put her down.
Mrs. Thompson made no further answer, but again sat with her head
resting on her hand. She also, if the truth must be told, was thinking of
M. Lacordaire and his fondness for herself. He had squeezed her hand
and he had looked into her face. However much it may have been
nonsense on Mimmy's part to talk of such things, they had not the less
absolutely occurred. Was it really the fact that M. Lacordaire was in
love with her?
And if so, what return should she, or could she make to such a passion?
He had looked at her yesterday, and squeezed her hand to- day. Might it
not be probable that he would advance a step further to-morrow? If so,
what answer would she be prepared to make to him?
She did not think--so she said to herself--that she had any particular
objection to marrying again. Thompson had been dead now for four
years, and neither his friends, nor her friends, nor the world could say
she was wrong on that score. And as to marrying a Frenchman, she
could not say she felt within herself any absolute repugnance to doing
that. Of her own country, speaking of England as such, she, in truth,
knew but little--and perhaps cared less. She had gone to India almost as
a child, and England had not been specially kind to her on her return.
She had found it dull and cold, stiff, and almost ill-natured. People
there had not smiled on