That Boy Of Norcott's

“I’d tell it if that boy of Norcott’s was not listening there at that window.”

“Yes, sir,” cried I; “I have heard every word, and mean to repeat it to my father when I see him.” “Tell him at the same time, then, that his grand dinner of twenty-eight has now come down to seventeen, and I ‘m not fully sure of three of these.”

I went down into the dining-room, and saw that places had been laid for twenty-eight, and as yet no alteration had been made in the table, so that it at once occurred to me this speech of Cleremont’s was a mere impertinence, – one of those insolent sallies he was so fond of. Nixon, too, had placed the name of each guest on his napkin, and he, at least, had not heard of any apologies.

Given in my honor, as this dinner was, I felt a most intense interest in its success. I was standing, as it were, on the threshold of life, and regarded the mode in which I should be received as an augury of good or evil. My father’s supremacy at home, the despotism he wielded, and the respect and deference he exacted, led me to infer that he exercised the same influence on the world at large; and that, as I had often heard, the only complaint against him in society was his exclusiveness. I canvassed these thoughts with myself for hours, as I sat alone in my room waiting till it was time to dress.

At last eight o’clock struck, and I went down into the drawing-room. Hotham was there, in a window recess, conversing in whispers with an Italian count, – one of our intimates, but of whom I knew nothing. They took no notice of me, so that I took up a paper and began to read. Cleremont came in soon after with a bundle of notes in his hand. “Has your father come down?” asked he, hastily; and then, without waiting for my reply, he turned and left the room. Madame next appeared. I have no words for my admiration of her, as, splendidly dressed and glittering with diamonds, she swept proudly in. That her beauty could have been so heightened by mere toilette seemed incredible, and as she read my wonderment in my face she smiled, and said: —

“Yes, Digby, I am looking my very best to fête your birthday.”

I would have liked to have told her how lovely she appeared to me, but I could only blush and gaze wonder-ingly on her.

“Button this glove, dear,” said she, handing to me her wrist all weighted and jingling with costly bracelets; and while, with trembling fingers, I was trying to obey her, my father entered and came towards us. He made her a low but very distant bow, tapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and then moved across to an arm-chair and sat down.

Cleremont now came in, and, drawing a chair beside my father’s, leaned over and said something in a whisper. Not seeming to attend to what he was saying, my father snatched, rather than took, the bundle of letters he held in his hand, ran his eyes eagerly over some of them, and then, crushing the mass in his grasp, he threw it into the fire.

“It is forty minutes past eight,” said he, calmly, but with a deadly pallor in his face. “Can any one tell me if that clock be right?”

“It is eight or ten minutes slow,” said Hotham.

“Whom do we wait for, Cleremont?” asked my father again.

“Steinmetz was de service with the King, but would come if he got free; and there’s Rochegude, the French Secretary, was to replace his chief. I ‘m not quite sure about the Walronds, but Craydon told me positively to expect him.”

“Do me the favor to ring the bell and order dinner,” said my father; and he spoke with measured calm.

“Won’t you wait a few minutes?” whispered Cleremont. “The Duke de Frialmont, I’m sure, will be here.”

“No, sir; we live in a society that understands and observes punctuality. No breach of it is accidental. Dinner, Nixon!” added he as the servant appeared.

The folding-doors were thrown wide almost at once, and dinner announced. My father gave his arm to Madame Cleremont, who actually tottered as she walked beside him, and as she sat down seemed on the verge of fainting. Just as we took our places, three young men, somewhat overdressed, entered hurriedly, and were proceeding to make their apologies for being late; but my father, with a chilling distance, assured them they were in excellent time, and motioned them to be seated.

Of the table laid for twenty-eight guests, nine places were occupied; and these, by some mischance, were scattered here and there with wide intervals. Madame Cleremont sat on my father’s right, and three empty places flanked his left hand.

I sat opposite my father, with two vacant seats on either side of me; Hotham nearest to me, and one of the strangers beside him. They conversed in a very low tone, but short snatches and half sentences reached me; and I heard the stranger say, “It was too bold a step; women are sure to resent such attempts.” Madame Cleremont’s name, too, came up three or four times; and the stranger said, “It’s my first dinner here, and the Bredars will not forgive me for coming.”

“Well, there’s none of them has such a cook as Norcott,” said Hotham.

“I quite agree with you; but I ‘d put up with a worse dinner for better company.”

I looked round at this to show I had heard the remark, and from that time they conversed in a whisper.

My father never uttered a word during the dinner. I do not know if he ate, but he helped himself and affected to eat. As for Madame, how she sat out those long two hours, weak and fainting as she was, I cannot tell. I saw her once try to lift her glass to her lips, but her hand trembled so, she set it down untasted, and lay back in her chair, like one dying out of exhaustion.

A few words and a faint attempt to laugh once or twice broke the dead silence of the entertainment, which proceeded, however, in all its stately detail, course after course, till the dessert was handed round, and Tokay, in small gilt glasses, was served; then my father rose slowly, and, drawing himself up to his full height, looked haughtily around him. “May I ask my illustrious friends,” said he, “who have this day so graciously honored me with their presence, to drink the health of my son, whose birthday we celebrate. There is no happier augury on entering life than to possess the friendship and good-will of those who stand foremost in the world’s honor. It is his great privilege to be surrounded this day by beauty and by distinction. The great in the arts of peace and war, and that loveliness which surpasses in its fascination all other rewards, are around me, and I call upon these to drink to the health of Digby Norcott.”

All rose and drank; Hotham lifted his glass high in air and tried a cheer, but none joined him; his voice died away, and he sat down; and for several minutes an unbroken silence prevailed.

My father at last leaned over towards Madame, and I. heard the word “coffee.” She arose and took his arm, and we all followed them to the drawing-room.

“I ‘m right glad it’s over,” said Hotham, as he poured his brandy over his coffee. “I’ve sat out a court-martial that wasn’t slower than that dinner.”

“But what’s the meaning of it all?” asked another. “Why and how came all these apologies?”

“You ‘d better ask Cleremont, or rather his wife,” muttered Hotham, and moved away.

“You ought to get into the open air; that’s the best thing for you,” I heard Cleremont say to his wife; but there was such a thorough indifference in the tone, it sounded less like a kindness than a sarcasm. She, however, drew a shawl around her, and moved down the steps into the garden. My father soon after retired to his own room, and Cleremont laughingly said, “There are no women here, and we may have a cigar;” and he threw his case across the table. The whole party were soon immersed in smoke.

I saw that my presence imposed some restraint on the conversation, and soon sought my room with a much sadder spirit and a heavier heart than I had left it two hours before.

CHAPTER XII. THE BALL

Musing and thinking and fretting together, I had fallen asleep on my sofa, and was awakened by Mr. Nixon lighting my candles, and asking me, in a very mild voice, if I felt unwell.

“No, nothing of the kind.”

“Won’t you go down, sir, then? It’s past eleven now, and there ‘s a good many people below.”

“Who have come?” asked I, eagerly.

“Well, sir,” said he, with a certain degree of hesitation, “they ‘re not much to talk about There’s eight or nine young gentlemen of the embassies – attachés like – and there’s fifteen or twenty officers of the Guides, and there’s some more that look like travellers out of the hotels; they ain’t in evening-dress.”

“Are there no ladies?”

“Yes; I suppose we must call them ladies, sir. There’s Madame Rigault and her two daughters.”

“The pastrycook?”

“Yes, sir; and there are the Demoiselles Janson, of the cigar-shop, and stunningly dressed they are too! Amber satin with black lace, and Spanish veils on their heads. And there’s that little Swedish girl – I believe she’s a Swede – that sells the iced drinks.”

“But what do you mean? These people have not been invited. How have they come here?”

“Well, sir, I must n’t tell you a lie; but I hope you ‘ll not betray me if I speak in confidence to you. Here’s how it all has happened. The swells all refused: they agreed together that they ‘d not come to dinner, nor come in the evening. Mr. Cleremont knows why; but it ain’t for me to say it.”

“But I don’t know, and I desire to know!” cried I, haughtily.

“Well, indeed, sir, it’s more than I can tell you. There ‘a people here not a bit correcter than herself that won’t meet her.”

“Meet whom?”

“Madame, sir, – Madame Cleremont.”

“Don’t dare to say another word,” cried I, passionately. “If you utter a syllable of disrespect to that name, I ‘ll fling you out of the window.”

“Don’t be afraid, Master Digby, I know my station, and I never forget it, sir. I was only telling you what you asked me, not a word more. The swells sent back your father’s cards, and there’s more than three hundred of them returned.”

“And where’s papa now?’ *