“To be sure,” replied the young man; and he relapsed into his cold and careless silence.
A moment after, he was forced to bend anew, and Dame Alo?se said,— “Did you ever see a merrier or more attractive face than that of your betrothed? Could any one have a fairer, whiter skin? Aren’t those clever hands; and isn’t her neck a perfect match in grace for a swan’s? How I envy you at times! and how lucky it is for you that you are a man, wicked scamp that you are! Isn’t my Fleur-de-Lys adorably lovely, and aren’t you dead in love with her?”
“Of course,” he replied, with his mind upon other things.
“But why don’t you talk to her?” suddenly observed Madame Alo?se, giving him a push. “Say something to her; you are wonderfully shy all of a sudden.”
We can assure our readers that shyness was neither one of the captain’s failings nor good points; but he tried to do what was required of him.
“Fair cousin,” said he, approaching Fleur-de-Lys, “what is the subject of your tapestry-work?”
“Fair cousin,” answered Fleur-de-Lys in an injured tone, “I have told you three times already: it is Neptune’s grotto.”
It was plain that Fleur-de-Lys was far more clear-sighted than her mother in regard to the captain’s cold and careless manners. He felt the necessity of making conversation.
“And what is all this Neptune-work for?” he asked.
“For the Abbey of Saint-Antoine des Champs,” said Fleur-de-Lys, without raising her eyes.
The captain picked up a corner of the tapestry.
“And who, my fair cousin, is this fat fellow with puffy cheeks, blowing his trumpet so vigorously?”
“That is Triton,” she answered.
There was still a somewhat offended tone about Fleur-de-Lys’ brief words. The captain saw that he must absolutely whisper something in her ear,—a compliment, a bit of nonsense, never mind what. He bent towards her accordingly, but his imagination suggested nothing tenderer or more familiar than this: “Why does your mother always wear a petticoat wrought with coats-of-arms, such as our grandmothers wore in the time of Charles VII? Do tell her, fair cousin, that it is no longer the fashion, and that her laurel-tree and her hinges emblazoned all over her gown make her look like a walking mantelpiece. Really, nobody sits upon their banner in that way now, I swear they don‘t!”
Fleur-de-Lys raised her lovely eyes full of reproach.
“Is that all you have to swear to me?” she said in a low voice.
Meantime good Dame Alo?se, enchanted to see them chatting thus confidently, said, as she played with the clasps of her prayer-book, — “What a touching picture of love!”
The captain, more and more embarrassed, fell back on the tapestry. “That really is a beautiful piece of work!” he exclaimed.
Upon this remark, Colombe de Gaillefontaine, another charming, fair-haired, white-skinned girl, in a high-necked blue damask gown, timidly ventured to address Fleur-de-Lys, in the hope that the handsome captain would reply: “My dear Gondelaurier, have you seen the tapestries at the Roche-Guyon house?”
“Isn’t that the house with the garden, which belongs to the linen-dealer of the Louvre?” asked Diane de Christeuil with a laugh; for she had fine teeth, and consequently laughed on every occasion.
“And where there is that big old tower belonging to the ancient wall of Paris,” added Amelotte de Montmichel, a pretty, curly-haired, rosy-cheeked brunette, who was as much given to sighing as the other was to laughing, without knowing why.
“My dear Colombe,” put in Dame Alo?se, “are you talking of the house which belonged to M. de Bacqueville in the reign of King Charles VI? It does indeed contain some superb high-warp tapestries.”
“Charles VI! Charles VI!” muttered the young captain, twirling his moustache. “Heavens! What a memory the good lady has for bygone things!”
Madame de Gondelaurier went on: “Beautiful tapestries, indeed. Such magnificent work that it is thought to be unique!”
At this instant Bérangère de Champchevrier, a slender little girl of seven, who was gazing into the square through the trefoils of the balcony railing, cried out,— “Oh, look, pretty godmother Fleur-de-Lys, see that dear dancing-girl dancing down there on the pavement, and playing on the tambourine among those common clowns!”
The shrill jingle of a tambourine was in fact heard by all.
“Some gipsy girl,” said Fleur-de-Lys, turning nonchalantly towards the square.