Democratic Sentinel, Volume 6, Number 4, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 February 1882 — OLD STEP TO A NEW TUNE. [ARTICLE]

OLD STEP TO A NEW TUNE.

“One, two, three, four, five, six! One, two, three, four, five, six ! More evenly, monsieur, if you please. You must not rise so much on the four. Again ! Four, five, si x ! One, two, three, four, five, six!” with a monotonous regularity that seemed to tell, of a round of more or loss stupid pupils succeeding one another unendingly. But Mademoiselle Gervaux, f sshionable dancing mistress of Silver street, Golden Square, and every one admitted who had ever taken a lesson of her one of the prettiest girls to be met with in town or country, had quick, laughing eyes, which at present told of more interest than her business-like tone gave a hint of. She was of dark complexion, with rather vivid color, and below the middle height, and was more richly dressed than, knowing her station, one would have expected. Her present pupil had observed this ; and, bent as he was on attaining the object for which he had sought Silver street, and cn attaining it as quickly as possible, ho had yet given more attention than he otherwise would to his teacher’s personal appearance. It was only 11 o’clock in the morning, and, however dazzling such persons may appear at their weekly assemblies and evening classes, he had not expected to find such a paragon of neatness and taste at that hour in the morning. Circling round the room by oneself, with one’s hands hanging in an ostentatiously easy position, and one’s figure reflected in a number of full-length mirrors, is not a way in which a young man, even of little vanity, would care to present himself before a pretty girl; and the Vicomte Alphonse Carmignol, of the French navy, was quite as vain—having indeed such reason as a good-looking face and a slight figure can give a man to be so—as most young men. He was a Frenchman who had been for some time serving abroad, and with distinction. He had just arrived in London, and, rich, high-born and in a small way famous, he found himself warmly welcomed. Invitations to all the best houses flowed in ; and Monsieur le Vicomte found it necessary to get the assistance of friends well acquainted with London society before he could determine which of his cards he should use, and which he should tacitly or expressly lay aside. But of his many invitations one had been accepted beforehand, and, in fact, was the cause of his visit to England. He was engaged to be married, and had come over to be engaged to his fiancee —literally to be introduced to her, for they had never met. Their families had, in French fashion, made up the match, and the two persons whom English people would have considered most interested had never come together at all. This was Monday. On Wednesday week there was to be a state dinner at the French Embassy, followed by a ball, for the purpose of introducing Monsieur Alphonse to the daughter of the Marquis de la Penthiere, French Ambassador at St. James’. A little of English prejudice had been allowed to creep in, in deference to which the Vicomte had received a private invitation to tea on the same afternoon, until which time, owing to her absence on a visit in Shropshire, the young lady would be invisible. In one more week from that date they were to be married—a queer arrangement to the English minds, but to the two families, and indeed to the two persons who in English eyes would have been considered victims to it, the most natural state of things in the world. Oddly enough, the Vicomte could not dance the newest waltz which was then the rage in London. New descriptions of that dance succeeded one another so quickly that in these days it is easy for a sailor, French by birth and fashionable by station though he be, to return from the service of his country and find himself still ” at sea ” on the well-waxed boards of a ball-room. Such a state of things could not be permitted to continue, more especially as Mademoiselle de la Penthiere would certainly expect her fiancee to dance, and to dance well. So the Vicomte had called in Silver street one morning at an early hour, had sent up his card, and had been duly received by Mademoiselle Gervaux, and had taken his first lesson at once. She was not at all like the dancing-mistress whom, from the description given by the friends who had recommended him to apply to her, he had expected to see. But she evidently knew how to dance, and she was very handsome and ladylike ; and the young man found a new kind of pleasure in returning to take his second lesson. “Mademoiselle,” said he, as he stopped to rest and sat down on a stiffbacked chair, “shall I be perfect by Wednesday ?” In his French way, so entirely destitute of shyness, he had told her all about the important event which was to come off on that Wednesday, had explained how anxious he was to see his future wife, and how' graceful and charmante she was—she must be “ that angel of a demoiselle." But all this had taken place at the first lesson, and for some reason Monsieur le Vicomte on this occasion had said much less of the forthcoming event. “Assuredly, monsieur, mademoiselle shall have no reason to complain. But you are no doubt consumed with anxiety to see her ?” “Ah, am I not?” replied the Vicomte, with a French ejaculation. “But mademoiselle herself is entirely charming !” and the young man looked very sincere as he said this, though he added no word of emphasis ; while mademoiselle, who should have been hardened by long practice against the warmest flattery, seemed unaccountably embarrassed, and resumed the business of the hour with wonderful alacrity. If they were not already in love, they were rapidly approaching that stage;

and on this day, as the young Frenchman stood in the dingy street waiting for his cab, the gloomy faded neighborhood struck him with a full sense of incongruity, it seemed to accord so ill with the grace and elegance that stall impressed his mind. How much more at home, he thought, she would look in Eaton Square or in the spacious rooms at the Embassy! And unconsciously he breathed a hope that Mademoiselle de la Penthiere might be like her. Three more lessons—the calculation came naturally to him—-three more lessons, she had said, would make him perfect. Wherever he went during the next three days, to park, dinner or ball, the Vicomte could not avoid comparing all the ladies whom he met with his dancing mistress; and, when the last occasion actually came on which he was to see her, his eeys were open to the fact that he was in love—he, a Frenchman, a man of the world, 30 years old, and ready to range himself, was positively in love! So at the last lesson this little scene brought itself to pass. The pupil had taken his final turn with his teacher, and she had pronounced that only practice was needed to give him the smoothness of the perfect waltzer. “ I must bid you adieu, then ?” said he softly, taking her hand instead of making the low bow that, as a teacher of deportment, she could have exacted. “Yes, monsieur; I am certain that you will not forget the step. ” “Forget it, Adrienne ! Ah, could I ever forget it ?” And the Vicomte caught her in his arms and kissed her. The result was quite contrary to his expectations. First, she boxed his ears soundly, or rather one of them, and then burst into tears, which, whether caused bv rage or confusion, were certainly sincere and more effective. The Vicomte flung himself on his knees and set himself fervently to pacify her and put things on a proper footing. But mademoiselle was mortally offended. Never had he known such an offense regarded so severely. She was inconsolable ; and she was silent save for sobs. At last she suddenly made for the door, and Monsieur le Vicomte, his future bride, the event of the coming Wednesday, and the wrath of the families forgotten, in an ecstasy of repentance implored her to marry him, to be his wife. “ Monsieur,” replied she with dignity, stopping ■•hort, “you forget that you are to marry anotherl” “ But, Adnenne, my darling, listen ! I love only you 1” “ And what of your mother and the Marquis de la Penthiere ?” “I am thinking only of you!” cried he in a tone of despair, as the indignation of these persons occurred to him. “Nay, Monsieur, I will not suffer this madness. You have insulted me, but I will not exact such a punishment. Hear me. On one condition I will forgive you.” “ Whatever it be, I will win your par-

don.” “ I take you at your word. You will, before you marry —nay, at your first meeting with Mlle, de la Penthiere—tell her of your recent misconduct You have wronged her as much as myself.” “I have promised, Mlle. Adrienne,” he cried, with a groan. “ But what of you ?” “Of me?” said she proudly, bowing low. “I pardon you. Adieu, Monsieur!” And, before the young man could again interpose, she disappeared, the door closed behind her, and he was left alone in the unfurnished salon. “ Well, lam a fool!” he soliloquized, as he picked his way through Golden Square and Beak street. “I’d have married her, though what madame my mother would have said I don’t know, and, as Mademoiselle de la Penthiere, how I shall tell her I don’t know. But I’ve promised, and the Oarmignols keep their word,” he added with a groan, as he remembered how a few minutes earlier he had offered to break his most solemn engagement. Even at the French Embassy, that stately building which, flanking the Albert Gate, induces country cousins to ask what it is, a great ball is heralded by some slight but perceptible preparations ; but these were little apparent as the Vicomte was ushered up the spacious staircase to the smallest drawing-room. Here the Marquis de la Penthiere received him very cordially; for they were old friends, as far as men of different ages can be, and the Marquis had imbibed sufficient English prejudices not to have handed over his daughter to the most unexceptionable parti had not he felt sure that the man himself was one likely to make her happy. He was an indulgent sather, and she had been allowed much more liberty than French girls generally enjoy before marriage. Possibly, therefore, she was not quite so resigned to her fate as those around her supposed; but she gave no sign of discontent, and perhaps was waiting to see her future husband before she decided to oppose her father’s wishes. More probably she looked on the union as a matter of course. Mademoiselle de la Penthiere bowed low in answer to the Vicomte’s reverential salutation ; but, with the modesty of a young French girl, she shaded her face from his eyes with her large oriental fan, so that in the gathering dusk he could not at once determine what she was like, save that she was elegant, graceful and very beautifully dressed. After a few phrases of cordial courtesy, the Marquis glided from the room —a proceeding not at all in accordance with strict French etiquette—and the two were left together. Then the Vicomte knew that his time was come. It might be that he would not see her alone again until their marriage ; and he had promised “her” that she should be told of his recent strange forgetfulness. He drew a deep sigh—this was worse than a cutting-out expedition ! —then he braced himself up, and, after requesting permission to tell her something that was a little disagreeable, but which he would make as short a? possible, he received a gracious acquiescence, and, plunging in medias res, he told her all in as shamefaced a way as a Frenchman could. “ But Monsieur le Vicomte, do you—love—this—woman?” said the aristocratic beauty, in cold tones, from behind her fan, when he had told his story and made some sort of an apology. “Mademoiselle, I do love her; but, when I have known your charming virtues for a short time, pouf, they will drive away her memory! What chance shall I, who am so susceptible, have in your presence ? ” But it was evident from the Vicomte’s tone that he had no very sanguine expectations ihat such would be the case. “Well, monsieur, before I answer your compliment, I too have a confession to make. I also have a great friend in London; she is my foster-sister, and is a dancing-mistress, living in Silver street, near Golden Square. No, do not interrupt me; I will hear any reproaches you have to utter afterward. My father is indulgent, and I often visit her attended only by my maid. A week ago I returned unexpectedly from a country visit, and it chanced that while I was there my foster-sister was called away to fulfill a business engagement. I stayed a few minutes in her room practising some new music, when a gentleman’s card was brought up to me by the servant, who thought her mistress was still at home. Innocently curious, I looked at it and recognized the name as one very familiar to me. In a spirit of mischief I saw the gentleman, made appointments with him, and, with mademoiselle’s concurrence and in her name, gave him several lessons.” “Afon Dieu cried the Vicomte, snatching away the fan which she kept before het face. “Adrienne, my darling, am I not happy T

“And I?” said she. “You have not forgotten the rtepF’ . Very lucky it was that Monsieur le Marquis did not enter for several moments, or the lurking distrust which he, as a diplomatist, felt might have been considerably strengthened. A week later the marriage of the Vicomte and Mademoiselle de la Penthiere formed the most fashionable item in the Morning Post. And as people conned the description of the dresses and the presents, they expressed their pity for the two victims of French marriage customs. But not even yet has anything been known to have happened to them out of the common—not even yet; for these things happened in the most brilliant days of Louis Napoleon.