These Old Shades (34 page)

Léonie stood up in her under-dress of lace, ruffle upon ruffle of it falling over a great hoop to her ankles, and watched my lady shake out the folds of soft white brocade. Fanny flung it deftly over her head, so that not a hair was disturbed, pulled it over the hoop, twitched it into place, and told the maid to lace it up. Léonie’s feet peeped from beneath the lace petticoat in shoes of white satin with heels that were studded with tiny diamonds. Buckles flashed on them—yet another present from Avon. Léonie pointed her toe, and regarded the effect gravely.

Fanny came to arrange a lace fichu about Léonie’s shoulders. Out of the lace they rose, sloping and very white. Fanny shook out the ruffles, tied the ribbons, and fastened the two other roses into place over the knot with a pearl pin.

“Why, madame, what is that?” asked Léonie quickly. “It is not mine, I know!”

Fanny kissed her lightly.

“Oh, it is naught but a trifle, my love, that I had a mind to give you! I beg you will not heed it!”

Léonie flushed.

“Madame, you are very good to me! Thank you!”

Someone scratched on the door; the abigail went to open it, and came back into the room with a small silver tray, on which were two packages, and white roses in a silver holder.

“For mademoiselle,” smiled the maid.

Léonie ran forward.

“For me? Who sent them?” She bent over the tray to read the cards. “Rupert—M. Marling—M. Davenant! But how they are kind! Why do you all give me presents, madame?”

“My sweet, ‘tis your first appearance. I suspect Hugh asked Justin what flowers he should send.” She picked up the bouquet. “See, child, the holder is so cunningly wrought! What says the card?”

Léonie held it between her fingers.

“ ‘To Léon, from Hugh Davenant.’
Voyons
, I am not Léon to-night, but Mademoiselle de Bonnard! What can this be?—from M. Marling—oh, the little ring! Madame, look!” She slipped the wrappings from the last package, and disclosed a fan of delicately painted chicken-skin mounted on ivory sticks. “Oh, this clever Rupert! Madame, how did he know I wanted a fan?”

Fanny shook her head mysteriously.

“La, child, don’t ask me! Stop skipping round the room, stupid! Where are Justin’s pearls?”

“Oh, the pearls!” Léonie ran to the dressing-table, and extracted the long, milky string from one of the boxes there.

Fanny twisted it twice round her neck, cast another distracted glance at the clock, sprinkled scent on to a handkerchief, and over Léonie, gave a last twitch to the brocade gown, and hurried to the door.

“You will be so late!” Léonie cried. “All because you dressed me. I will wait for you, madame, shall I?”

“Yes, child, of course! I want to be there when Jus— when they see you. Come and sit with me while I finish my toilette.”

But Léonie was in no mood to sit still. She paraded in front of the mirror, curtsied to herself, fluttered her fan, and sniffed at her roses.

Rachel worked swiftly to-night, and soon my lady stood up in a gown of rose silk, with a petticoat of silver lace, and the most enormous hoop Léonie had ever seen. My lady whisked the haresfoot across her face again, slipped bracelets on to her arms, and fixed nodding feathers into her marvellous coiffure.

“Oh madame, it is very fine, I think!” said Léonie, pausing in her perambulations to and fro.

My lady pulled a face at her own reflection.

“It matters naught what I look like to-night,” she said. “Do you like the silver lace, child? And the shoes?” She lifted her skirts and showed a pretty ankle.

“Yes, madame. I like it—oh, much! Now let us go downstairs and show Monseigneur!”

“I am with you in a moment, my sweet life. Rachel, my fan and gloves! Léonie, hold your bouquet in the other hand, and slip the riband of your fan over your wrist. Yes, that is excellent. Now I am ready.”

“I am so excited I feel as though I should burst!” said Léonie.

“Child! Remember you are to put a guard on your tongue! Let me hear no ‘bursts’ or ‘pig-persons’ on your lips to-night, as you love me.”

“No, madame, I will remember. And not ‘breeches’ either!”

“Certainly not!” tittered Fanny, and sailed out to the staircase. At the head of it she paused, and stood aside. “Go before me, child. Slowly, slowly! Oh dear, you will break hearts, I know!” But this she said to herself.

Léonie went sedately down the broad stairway that was brilliantly lit to-night with branches of tall candles set in the niches of the wall. Below, in the hall, gathered about the fire, the gentlemen were waiting, his Grace with orders glittering on a coat of purple satin; Lord Rupert in pale blue, with much rich lacing, and an elegant flowered waistcoat; Marling in puce; and Davenant in maroon. Léonie paused half-way down the stairs and unfurled her fan.

“But look at me!” she said reprovingly.

They turned quickly at the sound of her voice, and saw her with candles on either side, a little figure, all white, from the ordered curls to the jewelled heels: white brocade cut low across the shoulders, white lace to form a petticoat, white roses at her breast and in her hand. Only her eyes were deep, sparkling blue, and her parted lips like cherries, her cheeks faintly flushed.

“You beauty!” gasped Rupert. “By—Gad, you beauty!”

His Grace went forward to the foot of the stairs, and held out his hands.

“Come,
ma belle
!”

She ran down to him. He bowed low over her hand, whereat she blushed, and curtsied a little way.

“I am nice, Monseigneur, do you not think? Lady Fanny did it all, and see, Monseigneur, she gave me this pin, and Rupert gave me the flow—no, the fan. It was M. Davenant gave me the flowers, and M. Marling this pretty ring!” She danced over to where they stood, just staring at her. “Thank you very much, all of you! Rupert, you are very grand to-night! I have never seen you so— so tidy, and
tout à fait beau
!”

Lady Fanny came down the stairs.

“Well, Justin? Have I succeeded?”

“My dear, you have surpassed yourself.” His eyes ran over her. “Your own toilette leaves nothing to be desired.”

“Oh!” She shrugged her shoulders. “I am naught to-night.”

“You are
très grande dame
, my dear,” he said.

“That, perhaps,” she nodded. “It was my intention.”

Rupert lifted his quizzing glass.

“You always look a beauty, Fan, I’ll say that for you.”

The lackeys about the great doorway suddenly sprang to attention.

“La, are they arriving already?” cried my lady. “Come, child!” She led the way into the big ballroom, that ran the length of the house. Léonie looked about her appreciatively.

“
Voyons
, this pleases me!” she said, and went up to one of the great baskets of flowers to inspect the frail blooms. “We are all very grand, and so is the house. Monseigneur, Rupert is beautiful, is he not?”

Avon surveyed his tall, rakish young brother.

“Would you call him beautiful?” he drawled.

“Devil take you, Justin!” spluttered his lordship.

A footman stood in the wide doorway, and rolled forth names. Rupert effaced himself, and Lady Fanny went forward.

An hour later it seemed to Léonie that the whole house was full of gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen. She had curtsied a hundred times; she still could hear my lady’s voice saying: “I have the honour to present to you Mademoiselle de Bonnard, madame, my brother’s ward.”

Very early in the evening Avon had come to her with a young man beside him: a young man dressed in the height of fashion, with orders on his breast, and a marvellous wig upon his head. Avon had said:

“My ward, Prince. Léonie, M. le Prince de Condé desires an introduction.”

She curtsied very low; Condé bent over her hand.

“But, mademoiselle is
ravissante
!” he murmured.

Léonie rose from her curtsy, and smiled shyly. M. le Prince laid a hand over his heart.

“Mademoiselle will honour me for this first dance?” he said.

She thought him a charming boy, no more. She put her hand on his arm, and smiled sunnily up at him.

“Yes, please, m’sieur. It is my very own ball! Is it not exciting?”

Condé, accustomed to débutantes who were properly bored, was enchanted with this frank enjoyment. The fiddlers struck up, the couples took their places behind him and Léonie.

“Must we go first?” she asked confidentially.

“But yes, mademoiselle, surely!” he smiled. “You lead your very own ball.”

Lady Fanny, standing by the door, touched Rupert’s arm.

“Who has the child got for partner? It should be a prince of the Blood at least, by the orders! Who is it?”

“Young Condé,” Rupert answered. “You wouldn’t know him, Fan. He’s only twenty or so.”

“La, how did Justin get him here so early?” gasped my lady. “He to lead her out! She’s made for life! Look, he’s laughing! Oh, she has captivated him, never fret!”

She turned her head to find Avon behind her. “Justin,
how
did you contrive to get Condé here so early? You’re a wizard, I vow!”

“Yes, it was well thought of, was it not?” said his Grace. “You will present her next to De Brionne. He is just come. Who is that child with the silver roses on her gown?”

“My dear, I don’t know! There are so many new faces I protest I cannot remember to whom they all belong! Justin, Condé is enchanted! There’s not a man in the room will not hasten to Léonie’s side having seen him so enraptured! Ah, madame!” She rustled away to greet a late-comer.

“I think I’ll go to the card-room and take charge there,” said Rupert ingenuously, and prepared to depart.

“Quite unnecessary, my child,” said his Grace, barring the way. “Hugh has it well in hand. You, boy, will lead out Mademoiselle de Vauvallon.”

“Oh, lud!” groaned Rupert, but he moved away to where Mademoiselle was seated.

When next Fanny had leisure to observe Léonie she saw her seated on a couch in an alcove, drinking negus with her partner. The two seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely. Fanny watched, well pleased, and presently, evading the group of young men who were one and all clamouring for an introduction, she took the Comte de Brionne over to the alcove, and presented him. Condé rose, and made a leg.

“Oh, mademoiselle, you must save one little minuet for me later!” he said. “When may it be?”

“We will meet somewhere,” said Léonie. “I know! Under the big palm over there, at—at ten minutes past eleven!” She twinkled. “That is like an adventure!”

“Mademoiselle, I shall be there!” Condé promised, laughing.

Fanny stepped forward.

“My brother’s ward, m’sieur. M. de Brionne, Léonie.”

Léonie set down her glass, rose, and curtsied. Her brow was wrinkled. Inexorably Fanny bore Condé away.

“Mademoiselle looks worried?” De Brionne gave her her glass again.

She turned to him, and smiled engagingly.

“M’sieur, I am very stupid. I cannot remember who you are!”

De Brionne was taken aback for a moment. It was not thus that young ladies were wont to address the son of Louis de Lorraine. But he could not resist the fascination of Léonie’s eyes. Moreover, where Condé had been pleased De Brionne would certainly not be affronted. He returned the smile.

“You are new come to Paris, mademoiselle?”

She nodded.

“Yes, m’sieur. Now let me think. I know! You are the son of the Comte d’Armagnac—M. le Grand!”

The Comte was much amused. It was probable that he had never before met a lady who pondered thus naïvely over his genealogy. He settled down to enjoy himself, and found that he was required to name most of the people who passed, for Léonie’s edification.

“Voyons, m’sieur,
you know everybody!” she said presently. “You are being very useful to me. Now tell me who it is dancing with Monseigneur?”

“Monseigneur?”

“Yes, the Duc—my—my guardian.”

“Oh—! That is Madame du Deffand.”

“Truly?” Léonie regarded the lady intently. “She amuses him, I think.”

“She is a very amusing lady,” said De Brionne gravely. “Did Condé point our notables out to you?”

“No—no.” Léonie dimpled. “We found such a lot of other things to talk about, m’sieur. He told me about duels, and what it is like to be a royal prince.”

De Brionne began to laugh.

“Did you ask him, mademoiselle?”

“Yes, m’sieur,” said Léonie innocently.

In the doorway Fanny was curtsying low to the Duc de Penthièvre, who had just arrived. He kissed her hand with pretty gallantry.

“My dear Lady Fanny! One was
bouleversé
when one learned of the return of the so charming Lady Fanny!”

“Ah, m’sieur!” She smiled, and spread out her fan.

Avon came up with Madame du Deffand on his arm.

“My dear Penthièvre, I am rejoiced to see you.”

“
Mon cher Duc! Madame, votre serviteur
.” He swept a bow. “Tell me, Alastair, where is this ward one hears tell of?”