Part 6 (1/2)

”But we are not dangerous to Montreal, sir.”

”Ah non, ma'm'selle.”

Then this was my first type to begin on, of our French society world.

Were they all like her? I watched the ladies and gentlemen who stood and sat chatting about, and saw that everyone else too made an art of charming. Grace also. She frequently pa.s.sed, and I could catch her silvery French sentences and cheerful laugh.

As a partner now took away my little Southern friend, I caught Chinic on the wing, got introduced once more, and found myself careering in a galop down the room with a large-looking girl--Mlle. Sylphe--whose activity was out of proportion to her figure, though in more harmony with her name. Her build was commanding, she was of dark complexion and hair, in manner demure, alluring with great power by the instrumentality of l.u.s.trous eyes, though secretly, I felt, like the tigress itself in cruelty to her victims. She was a magnificent figure, and gave me a merry dance. After it, she set about explaining the meaning of her garland decorations and the language of flowers, the Convent school at Sault-au-Recollet, dinner parties, and the young men of her acquaintance.

”You seem very fond of society?” I advanced.

”I adore society--it is my dream. I waltz, you see. I know it is wrong, and the church forbids it; but--I do not dance in Lent. After all,”

shrugging her shoulders, ”we can confess, you know, and when we are old it will suffice to repent and be devout. I shall begin to be excessively devout,” (toying with a jet cross on her necklace)--”the day I find my first grey hair.”

”You have then a number of years to waltz.”

Her dark eyes looked over my face as a possible conquest.

”I tremble when I think it is not for ever. But look at my aunt's and that of Madame de Rheims!”

These ladies were indeed distinguished by their hair; but I suspect that it was not the mere fact of its greyness to which she wished to draw my attention--rather it was to the manner in which they wore it, brushed up high and away from their foreheads, like dowagers of yore. Standing in a corner together very much each other's counterpart, both a trifle too dignified, they were obviously proud leaders of society. She watched my shades of expression, and cried:

”There is my favorite quadrille--La la-la-la-la-la-a-la,” softly humming and nodding her head, an action not common among the English.

”Pardon me, sir, your name is Mr. 'Aviland, I believe,” interrupted a young man with a close-cut, very thick, very black beard, and the waxed ends of his moustache fiercely turned up.

I bowed.

”Our Sovereign Lady De Rheims requests the pleasure of your conversation.”

On turning to Mlle. Sylphe to make my excuses, she smiled, saying with a regretful grimace: ”Obeissez.”

Mde. De Rheims stood with Mde. Fee, the aunt of Mile. Sylphe, near the musicians, receiving and surveying her subjects,--a woman of majestic presence. Nodding dismissal to the fierce moustache, she acknowledged my deep bow with a slight but gracious inclination.

”Madame Fee, permit me to introduce Monsieur Chamilly Haviland, a D'Argentenaye of Dormilliere,--and the last. My child, your attractions have been too exclusively of the 'West End.' You have lived among the English; enter now into _my_ society.” Mde. Fee smiled, and Mde. de Rheims taking a look at me continued: ”The stock is incomparable out of France. Remember, my child, that your ancestors were grande n.o.blesse,”

haughtily raising her head. A novel feeling of distinction was added to my swelling current of new pleasures.

A ruddy, simply-dressed, black-haired lady, but of natural and cultured manner, was now received by her with much cordiality, and I had an opportunity to survey the whole concourse and continue my observations.

Brought up as I had been for the last few years, I found my own people markedly foreign,--not so much in any obtrusive respect as in that general atmosphere to which we often apply the term.

In the first place there was the language--not patois as of _habitants_ and barbers, nor the mode of the occasional caller at our house, whose p.r.o.nunciation seemed an individual exception; but an entire a.s.semblage holding intercourse in dainty Parisian, exquisite as the famous dialect of the Brahmans. There was the graceful compliment, the ant.i.thetic description, the witty repartee. One could say the poetical or sententious without being insulted by a stare. Some of the ladies were beautiful, some were not, but they had for the most part a quite ideal degree of grace and many of them a kind of dignity not too often elsewhere found. Every person laughed and was happy through the homely cotillion that was proceeding. The feelings of the young seemed to issue and mingle in sympathy, with a freedom naturally delightful to my peculiar nature, and the triumphant strains of music excited my pulses.

Mde. De Rheims touched my arm and pointed individuals by name. ”That strong young man is a d'Irumberry--the pale one, a Le Ber--that young girl's mother is a Guay de Boisbriant. Do not look at her partner, he is some _canaille_.”

There was, true enough, some difference. The descendants of gentry were on the average marked with at least physical endowments quite distinctly above the rest of the race. But there was a ridiculous side, for I recognized some about whom my grandmother was used to make merry, such as the youth who could ”trace his ancestry five ways to Charles the Fat,” and the stout-built brothers in whose family there was a rule ”never to strike a man twice to knock him down.”. My grandmother said that ”those who could _not_ knock him down kept the tradition by not striking him once!”

Mde. De Rheims now introduced me to two people simultaneously--Sir Georges Mondelet, Chief-Justice, and the ruddy lady, Mde. Fauteux of Quebec. The Chief Justice was of that good old type, at sight of which the word gentil-homme springs naturally to one's lips He was small in figure, but his features were clearly cut, and the falling of the cheeks and deepening of lines produced by approach of age, had but imparted to them an increased, repose. His clear gaze and fine balance of expression denoted that remarkable common sense and personal honor for which I divined his judgments and conduct must be respected. His smile was charming, and displayed a set of well-preserved teeth. The few words he spoke to me were not remarkable. They were simple and kind like his movements.

To Mde. Fauteux I offered my arm, and conducted her into the large conservatory opening off the parlors, where we walked.