"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.
"Is it not a great privilege, Monsieur, to be an Englishman?" she began with polite banter. "You are the conquerors, the millionaires; yours are the palaces, and the high and honorable places! But you, Monsieur, you are not too proud to patronize our little receptions."
"Pardon me, Madame, I am not English."
"Is that true? But you have the air."
"There is no air I could prefer to that of a man like Sir Georges Mondelet."
"Nor I too, in seriousness. That is the true French gentleman. He cares little even for his t.i.tle, and prefers to be called _Mr._ Mondelet, holding his judicial office in greater esteem. I once heard him say in joke, "that there could be many Knights but only one Chief Justice.""
"That is true," I said.
"Yes, it is true," she echoed. "Law is a n.o.ble philosophy, and its profession the most brilliant of the highways to fame."
"Do you know," she continued, "that we inherit our law from the Romans.
This beautiful system, this philosophic justice of our Province, is the imperial legacy bequeathed us by that Empire in which we once took our share as rulers of the world--the shadow of the mighty wings under which our ancestors reposed. We all have Roman, blood in our veins. Do you see that face there?--that is a Roman face. Our Church speaks Latin, and looks to the city of Caesar. Our own speech is a Latin tongue. The cla.s.sics of our young men"s study are still those that were current on the Forum. Our law is Roman law."
If the gaiety of the French world had satisfied me, what was not my wonder and joy at discovering in it a reflective side; and for half an hour I remained in a leafy alcove listening to her refined converse,--dealing with books like "Corinne," and "La Chaumiere Indienne,"--La Fontaine, Moliere, Montesquieu,--and especially interesting me in the society which moved around us, which as she touched it with her wand of history and eloquence, acquired an inconceivable interest for me, and I was for the first time proud of being a French-Canadian.
In the midst of these excitements, as I stood so listening, and now joined by two others,--
"Chamilly, my brother, I have come for you," suddenly broke in Grace; and stood before me all radiance, dropping somebody"s arm. Excusing myself, I took her in charge and we moved gaily off. Waltzing with her was so easy that it made me feel my own motion graceful; the swirl of mingled feelings impelled me to recognize how superior she was in other things, and to proudly set her off against each lovely or dignified or sprightly figure there; and when the music closed abruptly, we started laughing together for the conservatory of which I have spoken, at the end of the vast rooms. This conservatory ended in a circular enlargement divided into several nooks or bowers, and we wandered into one in which the moonlight came faintly on our faces through the gla.s.s and the vines.
Again the Greek head with the light upon it!
Strains of other music floated in. Every sense was enraptured.
"Let Alexandra go!" I thought. "Let me live as my people have discovered how to live."
"Mon cher, am I tending you faithfully."
"Charmingly, my sister."
She laughed at the way I said it, because I spoke with perfect resignation.
The thread running through all my other experiences of the evening had been admiration of Grace. Pleased as I was with this society, I had compared her with each of the best members of it, to her advantage. She had in her young way, the dignity of Madame de Rheims; all the gracefulness of the Southern girl with the pretty eyes; beauty as striking, though not the same as that girl"s sister; the gaiety of Chinic; and now I was to find that she was apparently as cultured as Mde. Fauteux. For she did talk seriously and brightly about books and languages and artistic subjects:
"I would abhor beyond everything a life of fashionable vanity. My desire for life is to always keep progressing."
Whilst she talked I was reflecting, and mechanically looking around at the divisions into nooks.
"Don"t you think this arrangement inviting, Chamilly? It has a history.
An engagement has taken place in each of these alcoves except one."
I looked around at them again; then asked:
"Which is the one?"
"The alcove we are in, mon frere."