Part 54 (1/2)

Yet even o'er the lute neglected The wind of heaven will sometimes fly, And even thus the heart dejected, Will sometimes answer to a sigh!

II.

And yet to feel another's power May grasp the prize for which I pine, And others now may pluck the flower I cherished for this heart of mine!

No more, no more! The hand forsaking, The lute must fall, and s.h.i.+vered lie In silence: and my heart thus breaking, Responds not even to a sigh.

Miss Temple seemed busied with her shawl; perhaps she felt the cold.

Count Mirabel, next whom she sat, was about to a.s.sist her. Her face was turned to the water; it was streaming with tears. Without appearing to notice her, Count Mirabel leant forward, and engaged everybody's attention; so that she was un.o.bserved and had time to recover. And yet she was aware that the Count Mirabel had remarked her emotion, and was grateful for his quick and delicate consideration. It was fortunate that Westminster-bridge was now in sight, for after this song of Captain Armine, everyone became dull or pensive; even Count Mirabel was silent.

The ladies and Lord Montfort entered their britzka. They bid a cordial adieu to Count Mirabel, and begged him to call upon them in St.

James'-square, and the Count and Ferdinand were alone.

'_Cher_ Armine,' said the Count, as he was driving up Charing-cross, 'Catch told me you were going to marry your cousin. Which of those two young ladies is your cousin?'

'The fair girl; Miss Grandison.'

'So I understood. She is very pretty, but you are not going to marry her, are you?'

'No; I am not.'

'And who is Miss Temple?'

'She is going to be married to Lord Montfort.'

'_Diable!_ But what a fortunate man! What do you think of Miss Temple?'

'I think of her as all, I suppose, must.'

'She is beautiful: she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She marries for money, I suppose?'

'She is the richest heiress in England; she is much richer than my cousin.'

'_C'est drole_. But she does not want to marry Lord Montfort.'

'Why?'

'Because, my dear fellow, she is in love with you.'

'By Jove, Mirabel, what a fellow you are! What do you mean?'

'_Mon cher_ Armine, I like you more than anybody. I wish to be, I am, your friend. Here is some cursed _contretemps_. There is a mystery, and both of you are victims of it. Tell me everything. I will put you right.'

'Ah! my dear Mirabel, it is past even your skill. I thought I could never speak on these things to human being, but I am attracted to you by the same sympathy which you flatter me by expressing for myself. I want a confidant, I need a friend; I am most wretched.'

'_Eh! bien!_ we will not go to the French play. As for Jenny Vertpre, we can sup with her any night. Come to my house, and we will talk over everything. But trust me, if you wish to marry Henrietta Temple, you are an idiot if you do not have her.'

So saying, the Count touched his bright horse, and in a few minutes the cabriolet stopped before a small but admirably appointed house in Berkeley-square.