Page:The European Magazine and London Review - Vol. 87.djvu/265



and his lady were in the middle of a game at chess, when the servant entered to announce Colonel Von Wartenstein.

“We are not at home,” said Clotilde, and John retired.

“He will take it amiss,” said the Baron.

“So much the better—then he will spare us his visit another time.”

“To display his malicious wit elsewhere at our expense.”

“Let him! If the Marchioness had banished him from her house in the same manner, there would have been no occasion given for the scandal that has arisen between herself and the Marquis. I will show that his impertinent glances are repelled by me, no less than his flattery.”

“But why avoid him?”

“Certainly not from fear, but rather from a love of convenience.”

“Often, Clotilde, the love of convenience renders life very inconvenient and disagreeable. The Colonel has a large acquaintance, and it is in his power to injure us much, if he be so disposed. He may know, perhaps, that we are both at home. In a word, love, I must think of making some excuse for you: I’ll say you were indisposed.”

“Truly, I do, at this moment, feel a violent head-ache,” said she, rising.

“One must avoid giving offence to any body,” said the Baron, with an affectionate embrace; but, to judge by the indifferent manner in which it was returned, he had for the moment fallen into disgrace with his wife.

Eschenburg nevertheless kept his word, and a few days afterwards contrived to detain the Colonel with them the whole evening.

“Well, my dear,” said he, the following morning to his wife, “I thank you for so kindly sacrificing your convenience to me, and receiving the hated guest with becoming civility.”

“But did you remark how every word that he uttered was accompanied by a longer glance at me; how his eye watched my every motion; and his foot was pressing mine every instant?”

“Mere bagatelles, dear child. In truth I am too vain to fear that such a man as Wartenstein will ever, I will not say, supplant me in your heart, but even obtain the smallest portion of your esteem.”—“Have I deserved such a suspicion?—but here he comes again round the corner,” exclaimed Clotilde, exclaimed Clotilde, “perhaps he is coming here.”

“Assuredly, he has promised me a rare coin out of his collection.”

“But this time, Eschenburg, spare me his detested presence, for the sake of the sacrifice I made to you yesterday.”

With that she skipped out of the room. When the Colonel was gone, Eschenburg related with a smile with what eagerness Wartenstein had kept his eye fixed upon the door, and had probably only detained him thus long with his wearisome gossip, in the hope of her making her appearance.

“Detestable creature!” cried Clotilde, “he will often rob me of your loved society, by his disgusting intrusion.”

But humours are not alike. A few weeks afterwards, Eschenburg strode up and down the room one afternoon yawning with ennui, and his wife was only half taken up with a romance, the leaves of which she turned from time to time. A carriage passed the house, and she sprang up so eagerly to look out of the window, that the volume fell upon the floor.

“Where is my book gone to?” said she, returning to her seat.

“Where your haste threw it,” answered her husband, laughing, and pointing to the floor.

“How rapidly the times change!” said she, stooping to pick up the book. “A year ago I should have needed neither the question, nor the trouble of stooping, because your gallantry would have prevented both.”

“A year ago, my dear, you would not have had recourse to a book for relief from my conversation.”

“But at that time, Eschenburg, you had not yet contracted the disgusting habit of yawning.”

“Because then your disposition