Page:The European Magazine and London Review - Vol. 87.djvu/266

 was always sprightly and agreeable.”

“But only recollect how amiable you used to be last year; how eagerly you caught at every opportunity of shewing me attention; how my poorest words, my slighest glance, would fill you with rapture.”

“Last year! my dear child.—But why heap reflection upon reflection, and bitterness upon bitterness? The days of our romantic hopes are passed; we now know that passion nourishes a great many which can find their fulfilment only in the land of dreams. Let us be contented with such little joy as may remain to us.”

With that he left the room, and Clotilde reflected with disgust upon the wide difference that unhappily exists between the luxuriant poetry of courtship, and the meagre, matter of fact prose of married life.

The hour of tea brought Eschenburg back, at length, and with him a host of company whom he had invited.

With a variety of topics before them, the party soon found material for a loud and lively conversation. Eschenburg, in particular, got entangled in a spirited contest with a charming lady, and acquitted himself with such politeness and gallantry, that Clotilde could think of nothing but revenge. And the Colonel, she conceived would be the most proper man for her purpose. He happened also to be almost the only gentleman near her not engaged in the general conversation, and he from time to time shewed her particular marks of attention.

The Baroness conversed much and familiarly with him; but, however earnestly she endeavoured to attract her husband’s attention by her sprightliness, he had no ears for any body but the Countess. Her vexation drew her deeper and deeper into conversation with Wartenstein.

“A charming social evening,” said Eschenburg to his lady, when the company had withdrawn.

“Delightful! Wartenstein can really make himself a great deal more agreeable than I had imagined.”

“Oh, but you should have observed the Countess—I should never have expected to find in a lady such a cultivated mind, so richly and variously stored.”

“Nor I, in a man so much politeness, in following every turn and caprice of conversation, and with such urbanity and such fertility of genius.”

“The Countess is better read in history than most men.”

“The Colonel is acquainted with every tender emotion of the female heart.”

“A man ought to marry, in order to know it thoroughly.”

Oh“Oh [sic], the Colonel in your place would have shewn me that small attention, I am convinced.” She pointed to the spot where the book had lain on the floor.

“And the Countess in your place, would certainly not have been guilty of that great neglect—the preferring a paltry romance to my conversation.”

Both were extremely nettled—both soon perceived that they ought not to have been so. In short, both sincerely repented what had passed, and felt anxious to prevent its recurrence. But neither would make the first advance; and several days passed over in mutual coolness. In the interim the Countess had set out for her country seat, without Eschenburg’s letting fall a single word of regret at her departure.

On the fourth day the Colonel paid them his promised visit. The undissembled friendliness with which Von Eschenburg received him, did not fail of its effect upon Clotilde.

“I believe I have extolled Wartenstein too highly, lately,” said she, as soon as he was gone, and offering her hand to her husband as she spoke.

“I willingly take upon myself a portion of that blame,” replied the Baron, embracing her.

“In fact the Colonel cannot be so dangerous as he is represented to be.”

“Now you see, my dear, our agreeable party has produced at least one good effect, namely, that of destroying, in some measure, your prejudice against Wartenstein.”

“But I cannot conceive how we both fell into so tetchy a mood.”

“Nevertheless that is a thing that often happens, my dear Clotilde. In the marriage state one must learn to forget.”

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