The Star-Chamber, Volume 1 | Page 7

unrelenting in proportion to his cowardice; and where an
injury could be securely inflicted, or a prostrate foe struck with
impunity, he never hesitated for a moment. Sir Giles himself was
scarcely so malignant and implacable.
A strong contrast to this dastardly debauchee was offered by the bolder
villain. Sir Giles Mompesson was a very handsome man, with a
striking physiognomy, but dark and sinister in expression. His eyes
were black, singularly piercing, and flashed with the fiercest fire when
kindled by passion. A finely-formed aquiline nose gave a hawk-like
character to his face; his hair was coal-black (though he was no longer
young), and hung in long ringlets over his neck and shoulders. He wore
the handsomely cut beard and moustache subsequently depicted in the
portraits of Vandyke, which suited the stern gravity of his countenance.
Rich, though sober in his attire, he always affected a dark colour, being
generally habited in a doublet of black quilted silk, Venetian hose, and
a murrey-coloured velvet mantle. His conical hat was ornamented with
a single black ostrich feather; and he carried a long rapier by his side, in
the use of which he was singularly skilful; being one of Vincentio
Saviolo's best pupils. Sir Giles was a little above the middle height,
with a well proportioned athletic figure; and his strength and address
were such, that there seemed good reason for his boast when he
declared, as he often did, "that he feared no man living, in fair fight, no,
nor any two men."
Sir Giles had none of the weaknesses of his partner. Temperate in his
living, he had never been known to commit an excess at table; nor were
the blandishments or lures of the fair sex ever successfully spread for

him. If his arm was of iron, his heart seemed of adamant, utterly
impenetrable by any gentle emotion. It was affirmed, and believed, that
he had never shed a tear. His sole passion appeared to be the
accumulation of wealth; unattended by the desire to spend it. He
bestowed no gifts. He had no family, no kinsmen, whom he cared to
acknowledge. He stood alone--a hard, grasping man: a bond-slave of
Mammon.
When it pleased him, Sir Giles Mompesson could play the courtier, and
fawn and gloze like the rest. A consummate hypocrite, he easily
assumed any part he might be called upon to enact; but the tone natural
to him was one of insolent domination and bitter raillery. He sneered at
all things human and divine; and there was mockery in his laughter, as
well as venom in his jests. His manner, however, was not without a
certain cold and grave dignity; and he clothed himself, like his purposes,
in inscrutable reserve, on occasions requiring it. So ominous was his
presence, that many persons got out of his way, fearing to come in
contact with him, or give him offence; and the broad walk at Paul's was
sometimes cleared as he took his way along it, followed by his band of
tipstaves.
If this were the case with persons who had no immediate ground of
apprehension from him, how much terror his sombre figure must have
inspired, when presented, as it was, to Madame Bonaventure, with the
aspect of a merciless creditor, armed with full power to enforce his
claims, and resolved not to abate a jot of them, will be revealed to the
reader in our next chapter.

CHAPTER III.
The French ordinary.
The month allowed by the notice expired, and Madame Bonaventure's
day of reckoning arrived.
No arrangement had been attempted in the interim, though abundant

opportunities of doing so were afforded her, as Sir Francis Mitchell
visited the Three Cranes almost daily. She appeared to treat the matter
very lightly, always putting it off when mentioned; and even towards
the last seemed quite unconcerned, as if entertaining no fear of the
result. Apparently, everything went on just as usual, and no one would
have supposed, from Madame Bonaventure's manner, that she was
aware of the possibility of a mine being sprung beneath her feet.
Perhaps she fancied she had countermined her opponents, and so felt
secure. Her indifference puzzled Sir Francis, who knew not whether to
attribute it to insensibility or over-confidence. He was curious to see
how she would conduct herself when the crisis came; and for that
purpose repaired to the tavern, about dinner-time, on the appointed day.
The hostess received him very graciously; trifled and jested with him as
was her custom, and looked all blandishments and smiles to him and
everybody else, as if nothing could possibly happen to disturb her
serenity. Sir Francis was more perplexed than ever. With the levity and
heedlessness of a Frenchwoman, she must have forgotten all about the
claim. What if he should venture to