Part 9 (2/2)
It was wonderful and delightful to see how Captain Dalrymple placed himself on the best of terms with all these good people--how he patted Robineau on the back and complimented Madame, banished the cloud from Andre's brow, and summoned a smile to the pretty cheek of Suzette. One would have thought he had known them for years already, so thoroughly was he at home with every member of the wedding party.
Presently, he asked Suzette to dance. She blushed scarlet, and cast a pretty appealing look at her husband and her mother. I could almost guess what she whispered to the former by the motion of her lips.
”Monsieur Andre will, I am sure, spare Madame for one gallop,” said Dalrymple, with that kind of courtesy which accepts no denial. It was quite another tone, quite another manner. It was no longer the persuasive suavity of one who is desirous only to please, but the politeness of a gentleman to au inferior.
The cloud came back upon Andre's brow, and he hesitated; but Madame Roquet interposed.
”Spare her!” she exclaimed. ”_Dame_! I should think so! She has never left his arm all day. Here, my child, give me your shawl while you dance, and bake care not to get too warm, for the evening air is dangerous.”
And so Suzette took off her shawl, and Andre was silenced, and Dalrymple, in less than the half hour, was actually whirling away with his arm round little Phillis's dainty waist.
I am afraid that I proved a very indifferent _loc.u.m tenens_ for my brilliant friend, and that the good people thought me exceedingly stupid. I tried to talk to them, but the language tripped me up at every turn, and the right words never would come when they were wanted.
Besides, I felt uneasy without knowing exactly why. I could not keep from watching Dalrymple and Suzette. I could not help noticing how closely he held her; how he never ceased talking to her; and how the smiles and blushes chased each other over her pretty face. That I should have wit enough to observe these things proved that my education was progressing rapidly; but then, to be sure, I was studying under an accomplished teacher.
They danced for a long time. So long, that Andre became uneasy, and my available French was quite exhausted. I was heartily glad when Dalrymple brought back the little bride at last, flushed and panting, and (himself as cool as a diplomatist) a.s.sisted her with her shawl and resigned her to the protection of her husband.
”Why hast thou danced so long with that big Englishman?” murmured Andre, discontentedly. ”When _I_ asked thee, thou wast too tired, and now....”
”And now I am so happy to be near thee again,” whispered Suzette.
Andre softened directly.
”But to dance for twenty minutes....” began he.
”Ah, but he danced so well, and I am so fond of waltzing, Andre!”
The cloud gathered again, and an impatient reply was coming, when Dalrymple opportunely invited the whole party to a bowl of punch in an adjoining arbor, and himself led the way with Madame Roquet. The arbor was vacant, a waiter was placing the chairs, and the punch was blazing in the bowl. It had evidently been ordered during one of the pauses in the dance, that it might be ready to the moment--a little attention which called forth exclamations of pleasure from both Madame Roquet and Monsieur Robineau, and touched with something like a gleam of satisfaction even the grim visage of Monsieur Robineau's wife.
Dalrymple took the head of the table, and stirred the punch into leaping tongues of blue flame till it looked like a miniature Vesuvius.
”What diabolical-looking stuff!” I exclaimed. ”You might, to all appearance, be Lucifer's own cupbearer.”
”A proof that it ought to be devilish good,” replied Dalrymple, ladling it out into the gla.s.ses. ”Allow me, ladies and gentlemen, to propose the health, happiness, and prosperity of the bride and bridegroom. May they never die, and may they be remembered for ever after!”
We all laughed as if this was the best joke we had heard in our lives, and Dalrymple filled the gla.s.ses up again.
”What, in the name of all that's mischievous, can have become of Sullivan?” said he to me. ”I have not caught so much as a glimpse of him for the last hour.”
”When I last saw him, he was dancing.”
”Yes, with a pretty little dark-eyed girl in a blue dress. By Jove! that fellow will be getting into trouble if left to himself!”
”But the girl has her mother with her!”
”All the stronger probability of a scrimmage,” replied Dalrymple, sipping his punch with a covert glance of salutation at Suzette.
”Shall I see if they are among the dancers?”
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