Part 61 (2/2)

'And they gave you no notice?'

'None: they must have heard somehow or other that my infernal marriage was off. They have all waited for that. And now that you see that affairs are past remedy; let us talk of other topics, if you will be so kind as to remain half an hour in this dungeon. I shall quit it directly; I shall go to gaol at once.'

Poor Glas...o...b..ry, he did not like to go, and yet it was a most melancholy visit. What could they converse about? Conversation, except on the interdicted subject of Ferdinand's affairs, seemed quite a mockery. At last, Ferdinand said, 'Dear Glas...o...b..ry, do not stay here; it only makes us both unhappy. Send Louis with some clothes for me, and some books. I will let you know before I leave this place. Upon reflection, I shall not do so for two or three days, if I can stay as long. See my lawyer; not that he will do anything; nor can I expect him; but he may as well call and see me. Adieu, dear friend.'

Glas...o...b..ry was about to retire, when Ferdinand called him back. 'This affair should be kept quiet,' he said. 'I told Louis to say I was out of town in Brook-street. I should be sorry were Miss Temple to hear of it, at least until after her marriage.'

Ferdinand was once more alone with the mirror, the loo-table, the hard sofa, the caricatures which he hated even worse than his host's portrait, the Hebrew Bible, and the Racing Calendar. It seemed a year that he had been shut up in this apartment, instead of a day, he had grown so familiar with every object. And yet the visit of Glas...o...b..ry had been an event, and he could not refrain from pondering over it. A spunging-house seemed such a strange, such an unnatural scene, for such a character. Ferdinand recalled to his memory the tower at Armine, and all its glades and groves, s.h.i.+ning in the summer sun, and freshened by the summer breeze. What a contrast to this dingy, confined, close dungeon! And was it possible that he had ever wandered at will in that fair scene with a companion fairer? Such thoughts might well drive a man mad. With all his errors, and all his disposition at present not to extenuate them, Ferdinand Armine could not refrain from esteeming himself unlucky. Perhaps it is more distressing to believe ourselves unfortunate, than to recognise ourselves as imprudent.

A fond mistress or a faithful friend, either of these are great blessings; and whatever may be one's sc.r.a.pes in life, either of these may well be sources of consolation. Ferdinand had a fond mistress once, and had Henrietta Temple loved him, why, he might struggle with all these calamities; but that sweet dream was past. As for friends, he had none, at least he thought not. Not that he had to complain of human nature. He had experienced much kindness from mankind, and many were the services he had received from kind acquaintances. With the recollection of Catch, to say nothing of Bond Sharpe, and above all, Count Mirabel, fresh in his mind, he could not complain of his companions. Glas...o...b..ry was indeed a friend, but Ferdinand sighed for a friend of his own age, knit to him by the same tastes and sympathies, and capable of comprehending all his secret feelings; a friend who could even whisper hope, and smile in a spunging-house.

The day wore away, the twilight shades were descending; Ferdinand became every moment more melancholy, when suddenly his constant ally, the waiter, rushed into the room. 'My eye, sir, here is a regular n.o.b enquiring for you. I told you it would be all right.'

'Who is it?'

'Here he is coming up.'

Ferdinand caught the triumphant tones of Mirabel on the staircase.

'Which is the room? Show me directly. Ah! Armine, _mon ami! mon cher!_ Is this your friends.h.i.+p? To be in this cursed hole, and not send for me! _C'est une mauvaise plaisanterie_ to pretend we are friends! How are you, good fellow, fine fellow, excellent Armine? If you were not here I would quarrel with you. There, go away, man.' The waiter disappeared, and Count Mirabel seated himself on the hard sofa.

'My dear fellow,' continued the Count, twirling the prettiest cane in the world, 'this is a _betise_ of you to be here and not send for me.

Who has put you here?'

'My dear Mirabel, it is all up.'

'Pah! How much is it?'

'I tell you I am done up. It has got about that the marriage is off, and Morris and Levison have nabbed me for all the arrears of my cursed annuities.'

'But how much?'

'Between two and three thousand.'

The Count Mirabel gave a whistle.

'I brought five hundred, which I have. We must get the rest somehow or other.'

'My dear Mirabel, you are the most generous fellow in the world; but I have troubled my friends too much. Nothing will induce me to take a sou from you. Besides, between ourselves, not my least mortification at this moment is some 1,500L., which Bond Sharpe let me have the other day for nothing, through Catch.'

'Pah! I am sorry about that, though, because he would have lent us this money. I will ask Bevil.'

'I would sooner die.'

'I will ask him for myself.'

'It is impossible.'

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