My Little Lady | Page 3

Brussels till to- morrow morning."
"You will not regret it," said his companion, as they turned back
towards the hotel, and walked on slowly together; "it is true there is not
much here to tempt you during the day; but numbers will arrive for the
four o'clock _table-d'hôte_. In the evening there will be quite a little
society, and we shall dance. I assure you, monsieur, that we also know
how to be gay at Chaudfontaine."
"I don't doubt it," answered Graham; "and though I don't care much
about dancing----"
"You don't care about dancing?" interrupted the Belgian with
astonishment; "but that is of your nation, Monsieur. You are truly an
extraordinary people, you English; you travel, you climb, you ride, you
walk, and you do not dance!"
"I think we dance too, sometimes," said the young Englishman,
laughing; "but I own that it is walking I care for most just now--the
country about here seems to be wonderfully pretty."
"In fact it is not bad," said the Belgian, with the air of paying it a
compliment; "and if you take care to return in time for the four o'clock
_table-d'hôte_, you cannot do better than make a little promenade to
gain an appetite for dinner. I can promise you an excellent one--they
keep an admirable cook. I entreat you not to think of leaving for
Brussels; and precisely you cannot go," he added, drawing out his
watch, "for it is just the hour that the train leaves, and I hear the whistle
at this moment."
And, in fact, though they could not see the train from where they stood,
they heard its shrill whistle as it rushed into the station on the other side

of the river.
"So it is decided," said Graham, "and I remain."
"And you do wisely, Monsieur," cried his companion; "believe me, you
will not regret passing a day in this charming little spot. Do they speak
much in England of Chaudfontaine, Monsieur?"
"Well, no," Horace was obliged to acknowledge, "they do not."
"Ah!" said the Belgian, a little disappointed; "but they speak of
Brussels, perhaps?"
"Oh! yes, every one knows Brussels," answered Graham.
"It is a beautiful city," remarked his companion, "and has a brilliant
society; but for my part, I own that at this season of the year I prefer the
retirement, the tranquillity of Chaudfontaine, where also one amuses
oneself perfectly well. I always spend two or three months here--in fact,
have been here for six weeks already this summer. Affairs called me to
Aix- la-Chapelle last week for a few days, and that was how I had the
good fortune to meet Monsieur last night."
"It was very lucky for me," said Horace. "I am delighted to be here. The
hotel seems to be very empty," he added. "I have seen nobody this
morning except one little girl."
"But no, the hotel is almost full--people are gone to mass, perhaps, or
are in bed, or are breakfasting. It is still early."
"That little girl," said Horace--"does she belong to the house?"
"You mean the little girl who ran against me as I came up to you just
now? No, the _propriétaire_ of the hotel has but one daughter,
Mademoiselle Cécile, a most amiable person. But I know that
child--her father is one of the _habitués_ of the hotel. She is much to be
pitied, poor little one!"
"Why?" asked Graham.

"Because her father--_ah! bon jour, Madame_--excuse me, Monsieur,
but I go to pay my respects to Madame la Comtesse!" cried the Belgian,
as an elderly red-faced lady, with fuzzy sandy hair, wearing a dingy,
many-flounced lilac barége gown, came towards them along the gravel
path.
"At last we see you back, my dear Monsieur!" she cried--"ah! how
many regrets your absence has caused!--of what an insupportable ennui
have we not been the victims! But you are looking better than when
you left us; your journey has done you good; it is plain that you have
not suffered from absence."
"Alas! Madame," cries the other, "you little know! And how, for my
part, can I venture to believe in regrets that have left no traces?
Madame is looking more charming, more blooming----"
Horace waited to hear no more; he left the pair standing and
complimenting each other on the sunny pathway, and wandered away
under the shade of the big trees, crossed the little stream and the white
dusty road beyond, and began to ascend the hills.
"What an ugly old woman!" thought the lad. "She and my friend seem
to be great allies; she must be at least ten years older than he is, and he
talks to her as if she were a pretty girl; but she is a Countess apparently,
and I suppose that counts for something. Oh! what a jolly