The Thin Red Line; and Blue Blood. Griffiths Arthur

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СКАЧАТЬ pretty, too," her friends had remarked, also ignoring the near neighbourhood of the singer.

      It did not seem to matter much. The stranger sat there calmly, proudly unconscious of all that was said about her. Pretty!—the epithet was well within the mark. Beautiful, rather—magnificently, splendidly beautiful, with a noble presence and almost queenly air. Her small, exquisitely-proportioned head, crowned with a coronet of deep chestnut hair, was well poised upon a long, slender neck; she had a refined, aristocratic face, with clear-cut features, a well-shaped, aquiline nose, with slender nostrils; a perfect mouth, great lustrous dark eyes, with brows and lashes rather darker than her hair. Her teeth were perfect—perhaps she knew it, for her lower lip hung down a little, constantly displaying their pearly whiteness, and adding somewhat to the decided outline of the firm well-rounded chin.

      Seated, her beauty claimed attention; but her appearance was still more attractive when she stood up and moved across the room, to take her seat at the piano. Her figure was tall and commanding, full, yet faultless in outline, as that of one in the prime of ripe, rich womanhood, and its perfect proportions were fully set off by her close-fitting but perfectly plain black dress.

      A little hum of approval greeted her from this well-bred audience as she sat down and swept her fingers with a flourish over the keys. Then, without further prelude, she sang a little French song in a pleasing, musical voice, without much compass, but well trained; before the applause ended she broke into a Spanish ballad, tender and passionate, which gained her still greater success; and thus accepted and approved amidst continual cries of "Brava!" and "Encore!" she was not allowed to leave her seat until she had sung at least a dozen times.

      When she arose from the piano Lady Essendine went up to her, patronising and gracious.

      "Oh! thank you so much. I don't know when I have heard anything so charming."

      Other ladies followed suit, and, amidst the general cries of approval, the beautiful singer was engaged a dozen deep to sing at other great houses in the town.

      Presently they pressed her to perform again. Was she not paid for it? No one, Lady Essendine least of all, thought for one moment of her protégée's fatigue, and the poor singer might have worked on till she fainted from exhaustion had not the son of the house interposed.

      "You must be tired, mademoiselle," said Lord Lydstone, coming up to the piano. "Surely you would like a little refreshment? Let me take you to the tea-room," and, offering his arm, he led her away, despite his mother's black looks and frowns of displeasure.

      "Lydstone is so impulsive," she whispered to the first confidant she could find. It was Colonel Wilders, one of the family—a poor relation, in fact, commonly called by them "Cousin Bill"—a hale, hearty, middle-aged man, with grey hair he was not ashamed of, but erect and vigorous, with a soldierly air. "I wish he would not advertise himself with such a person in this way."

      "A monstrously handsome person!" cried the blunt soldier, evidently cordially endorsing Lord Lydstone's taste.

      "That's not the question, Colonel Wilders; it was not my son's place to take her to the tea-room, and I am much annoyed. Will you, to oblige me, go and tell Lydstone I want to speak to him?"

      Cousin Bill, docile and obsequious, hurried off to execute her ladyship's commission. He found the pair chatting pleasantly together in a corner of the deserted tea-room, and delivered his message.

      "Oh, bother!" cried Lord Lydstone undutifully. "What can mother want with me?"

      "You had better go to her," said the colonel, who was a little afraid of his cousin, the female head of the house. "I will take your place here—that is to say, if mademoiselle will permit me."

      "Madame," corrected Lord Lydstone, who had been already put right himself. "Let me introduce you. Madame Cyprienne—my cousin, Colonel Wilders, of the Royal Rangers. I hope we shall hear you sing again to-night, unless you are too tired."

      "I shall do whatever miladi wishes," said Madame Cyprienne, in a deep but musical voice, with a slight foreign accent. "It is for her to command, me to obey. She has been very kind, you know," she went on to Colonel Wilders, who had taken Lydstone's seat by her side. "But for her I should have starved."

      "Dear me! how sad," said the colonel. "Was it so bad as that? How did it happen. Was M. Cyprienne unlucky?"

      She did not answer; and the colonel, wondering, looked up, to find her fine eyes filled with tears.

      "How stupid of me! What an idiot I am! Of course, your husband is –"

      She pointed to her black dress, edged with crape, but said nothing.

      "Yes, yes! I quite understand. Pray forgive me," stammered the colonel, and there followed an awkward pause.

      "Mine is a sad story," she said at length, in a sorrowful tone. "I was left suddenly alone, unprotected, without resources, in this strange country—to fight my own battle, to earn a crust of bread by my own exertions, or starve."

      "Dear, dear!" said the colonel, his sympathies fully aroused.

      "I should have starved, but for Lady Essendine. She heard of me. I was trying to dispose of some lace—some very old Spanish point. You are a judge of lace, monsieur?"

      "Of course, of course!" said the colonel, although, as a matter of fact, he did not know Spanish point from common écru.

      "This was some lace that had been in our family for generations. You must understand we were not always as you see me—poor; we belong to the old nobility. My husband was highly born, but when he died I dropped the title and became Madame Cyprienne. It was better, don't you think?"

      "Perhaps so; I am not sure," replied the colonel, hardly knowing what to say.

      "It was. The idea of a countess a pauper, begging her bread!"

      "What was your title, may I ask?" inquired the colonel, eagerly. These tender confidences, accompanied by an occasional encouraging glance from her bright eyes, were rapidly increasing the interest he took in her.

      "I am the Countess de Saint Clair," replied Madame Cyprienne, proudly; "but I do not assume the title now. I do not choose it to be known that I live by singing, and by selling the remnants of our family lace."

      "I hope Lady Essendine paid you a decent price," said the colonel, pleasantly.

      Madame Cyprienne shook her head, with a little laugh—

      "She has been very kind—exceedingly kind—but she knows how to drive a bargain: all women do."

      "What a shame! And have you sold it all? You had better entrust me with the disposal of the rest."

      "Oh! Colonel Wilders, I could not think of giving you so much trouble."

      "But I will; I should like to. Send it to me. My chambers are in Ryder Street; or, better still, I will call for it if you will tell me where," said the colonel, artfully.

      "I am lodging in a very poor place, not at all such as the Countess de Saint Clair should receive in. But I am not ashamed of it; it is in Frith Street, Soho, No. 29a; but I do not think you ought to come there."

      "A most delightful part of the town," said the colonel, who at the moment would have approved of Whitechapel or the New Cut. "When shall I call?"

      "In the afternoon. In the morning I am engaged in giving lessons. But come, we have lingered СКАЧАТЬ