Domestic Peace | Page 6

the Colonel, a little nettled at so soon finding a rival in his friend.
"What!" exclaimed the lawyer, without heeding the Colonel's question.
"Can nobody here tell us the name of this exotic flower?"
"Some lady companion!" said Montcornet.
"What next? A companion! wearing sapphires fit for a queen, and a
dress of Malines lace? Tell that to the marines, General. You, too,
would not shine in diplomacy if, in the course of your conjectures, you
jump in a breath from a German princess to a lady companion."
Montcornet stopped a man by taking his arm--a fat little man, whose
iron-gray hair and clever eyes were to be seen at the lintel of every
doorway, and who mingled unceremoniously with the various groups
which welcomed him respectfully.
"Gondreville, my friend," said Montcornet, "who is that quite charming
little woman sitting out there under that huge candelabrum?"
"The candelabrum? Ravrio's work; Isabey made the design."
"Oh, I recognized your lavishness and taste; but the lady?"
"Ah! I do not know. Some friend of my wife's, no doubt."
"Or your mistress, you old rascal."
"No, on my honor. The Comtesse de Gondreville is the only person
capable of inviting people whom no one knows."
In spite of this very acrimonious comment, the fat little man's lips did
not lose the smile which the Colonel's suggestion had brought to them.
Montcornet returned to the lawyer, who had rejoined a neighboring
group, intent on asking, but in vain, for information as to the fair
unknown. He grasped Martial's arm, and said in his ear:
"My dear Martial, mind what you are about. Madame de Vaudremont
has been watching you for some minutes with ominous attentiveness;
she is a woman who can guess by the mere movement of your lips what
you say to me; our eyes have already told her too much; she has
perceived and followed their direction, and I suspect that at this

moment she is thinking even more than we are of the little blue lady."
"That is too old a trick in warfare, my dear Montcornet! However, what
do I care? Like the Emperor, when I have made a conquest, I keep it."
"Martial, your fatuity cries out for a lesson. What! you, a civilian, and
so lucky as to be the husband-designate of Madame de Vaudremont, a
widow of two-and-twenty, burdened with four thousand napoleons a
year --a woman who slips such a diamond as this on your finger," he
added, taking the lawyer's left hand, which the young man
complacently allowed; "and, to crown all, you affect the Lovelace, just
as if you were a colonel and obliged to keep up the reputation of the
military in home quarters! Fie, fie! Only think of all you may lose."
"At any rate, I shall not lose my liberty," replied Martial, with a forced
laugh.
He cast a passionate glance at Madame de Vaudremont, who responded
only by a smile of some uneasiness, for she had seen the Colonel
examining the lawyer's ring.
"Listen to me, Martial. If you flutter round my young stranger, I shall
set to work to win Madame de Vaudremont."
"You have my full permission, my dear Cuirassier, but you will not
gain this much," and the young Maitre des Requetes put his polished
thumb-nail under an upper tooth with a little mocking click.
"Remember that I am unmarried," said the Colonel; "that my sword is
my whole fortune; and that such a challenge is setting Tantalus down to
a banquet which he will devour."
"Prrr."
This defiant roll of consonants was the only reply to the Colonel's
declaration, as Martial looked him from head to foot before turning
away.
The fashion of the time required men to wear at a ball white
kerseymere breeches and silk stockings. This pretty costume showed to
great advantage the perfection of Montcornet's fine shape. He was
five-and-thirty, and attracted attention by his stalwart height, insisted
on for the Cuirassiers of the Imperial Guard whose handsome uniform
enhanced the dignity of his figure, still youthful in spite of the stoutness
occasioned by living on horseback. A black moustache emphasized the
frank expression of a thoroughly soldierly countenance, with a broad,
high forehead, an aquiline nose, and bright red lips. Montcornet's

manner, stamped with a certain superiority due to the habit of
command, might please a woman sensible enough not to aim at making
a slave of her husband. The Colonel smiled as he looked at the lawyer,
one of his favorite college friends, whose small figure made it
necessary for Montcornet to look down a little as he answered his
raillery with a friendly glance.
Baron Martial de la Roche-Hugon was a young Provencal patronized
by Napoleon; his fate might probably be some splendid embassy. He
had won the Emperor by his