Part 22 (2/2)
”Who invented that powder?”
”A French chemist. He has it of all colours, and can flood a scene in golden light, or the rose of dawn, or the crimson of sunset, or a pale silvery blueness that you would swear was moons.h.i.+ne. It has been used in all the Court ballets. I saw Madame once look as ghastly as death itself, and all the Court was seized with terror. Some blundering fool had burnt the wrong powder, which cast a greenish tint over the faces, and Henriette's long thin features had a look of death. It seemed the forecast of an early grave; and some of us shuddered, as at a prophecy of evil.”
”You might expect the worst in her case, knowing the wretched life she leads with Monsieur.”
”Yes, when she is with him; but that is not always. There are compensations.”
”If you mean scandal, I will not hear a word. She is adorable. The most sympathetic person I know-good even to her enemies-who are legion.”
”You had better not say that, for I doubt she has only one kind of enemy.”
”As how?”
”The admirers she has encouraged and disappointed. Yes, she is adorable, wofully thin, and, I fear, consumptive, but royal: and adorable, 'douceur et lumiere,' as Bossuet calls her. But to return to my ghost-party.”
”If you were wise, you would abandon the notion. I doubt that in spite of your powders your friends will never believe in a ghost.”
”Oh yes, they will. It shall be my business to get them in the proper temper.”
That idea of figuring in a picturesque habit, and in a halo of churchyard light, was irresistible. Hyacinth promised to conform to Malfort's plans, and to be ready to a.s.sume her phantom role whenever she was called upon.
Angela knew something of the scheme, and that there was to be another a.s.sembly at Millbank; but her sister had seemed disinclined to talk of the plan in her presence-a curious reticence in one whose sentiments and caprices were usually given to the world at large with perfect freedom. For once in her life Hyacinth had a secret air, and checked herself suddenly in the midst of her light babble at a look from De Malfort, who had urged her to keep her sister out of their midnight party.
”I pledge my honour that there shall be nothing to offend,” he told her, ”but I hope to have the wittiest c.o.xcombs in London, and we want no prudes to strangle every jest with a long-drawn lip and an alarmed eye. Your sister has a pale, fragile prettiness which pleases an eye satiated with the exuberant charms of your Rubens and t.i.tian women; but she is not handsome enough to give herself airs; and she is a little inclined that way. By the faith of a gentleman, I have suffered scowls from her that I would scarce have endured from Barbara!”
”Barbara! You are vastly free with her ladys.h.i.+p's name.”
”Not freer than she has ever been with her friends.h.i.+p.”
”Henri, if I thought--”
”What, dearest?”
”That you had ever cared for that-wanton--”
”Could you think it, when you know my life in England has been one long tragedy of loving in vain-of sighing only to be denied-of secret tears-and public submission.”
”Do not talk so,” she exclaimed, starting up from her low tabouret, and moving hastily to the open window, to fresh air and suns.h.i.+ne, rippling river and blue sky, escaping from an atmosphere that had become feverish.
”De Malfort, you know I must not listen to foolish raptures.”
”I know you have been refusing to hear for the last two years.”
They were on the terrace now, she leaning on the broad marble bal.u.s.trade, he standing beside her, and all the traffic of London moving with the tide below them.
”To return to our party,” she said, in a lighter tone, for that spurt of jealousy had betrayed her into seriousness. ”It will be very awkward not to invite my sister to go with me.”
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