Henrietta Temple by Benjamin Disraeli (read 50 shades of grey TXT) 📕

/> 'Ferdinand, will you sing?' said Miss Grandison.

'I cannot, Katherine.'

'Henrietta, ask Ferdinand to sing,' said Miss Grandison; 'he makes it a rule never to do anything I ask him, but I am sure you have more influence.'

Lord Montfort came to the rescue of Miss Temple. 'Miss Temple has spoken so often to us of your singing, Captain Armine,' said his lordship; and yet Lord Montfort, in this allegation, a little departed front the habitual exactitude of his statements.

'How very strange!' thought Ferdinand; 'her callousness or her candour baffles me. I will try to sing,' he continued aloud, 'but it is a year, really, since I have sung.'

In a voice of singular power and melody, and with an expression which increased as he proceeded, until the singer seemed scarcely able to control his emotions, Captain Armine thus proceeded:--


CAPTAIN ARMINE'S SONG.

I.

My heart is like a silent lute
Some faithless hand has thrown aside;
Those chords are dumb, those tones are mute,
That once sent forth a voice of pride!
Yet even o'er the lute neglected
The wind of heaven will sometimes fly,
And even thus the heart dejected,
Will sometimes answer to a sigh!

II.

And yet to feel another's power
May grasp the prize for which I pine,
And others now may pluck the flower
I cherished for this heart of mine!
No more, no more! The hand forsaking,
The lute must fall, and shivered lie
In silence: and my heart thus breaking,
Responds not even to a sigh.


Miss Temple seemed busied with her shawl; perhaps she felt the cold. Count Mirabel, next whom she sat, was about to assist her. Her face was turned to the water; it was streaming with tears. Without appearing to notice her, Count Mirabel leant forward, and engaged everybody's attention; so that she was unobserved and had time to recover. And yet she was aware that the Count Mirabel had remarked her emotion, and was grateful for his quick and delicate consideration. It was fortunate that Westminster-bridge was now in sight, for after this song of Captain Armine, everyone became dull or pensive; even Count Mirabel was silent.

The ladies and Lord Montfort entered their britzka. They bid a cordial adieu to Count Mirabel, and begged him to call upon them in St. James'-square, and the Count and Ferdinand were alone.

'_Cher_ Armine,' said the Count, as he was driving up Charing-cross, 'Catch told me you were going to marry your cousin. Which of those two young ladies is your cousin?'

'The fair girl; Miss Grandison.'

'So I understood. She is very pretty, but you are not going to marry her, are you?'

'No; I am not.'

'And who is Miss Temple?'

'She is going to be married to Lord Montfort.'

'_Diable!_ But what a fortunate man! What do you think of Miss Temple?'

'I think of her as all, I suppose, must.'

'She is beautiful: she is the most beautiful woman I ever saw. She marries for money, I suppose?'

'She is the richest heiress in England; she is much richer than my cousin.'

'_C'est drole_. But she does not want to marry Lord Montfort.'

'Why?'

'Because, my dear fellow, she is in love with you.'

'By Jove, Mirabel, what a fellow you are! What do you mean?'

'_Mon cher_ Armine, I like you more than anybody. I wish to be, I am, your friend. Here is some cursed _contretemps_. There is a mystery, and both of you are victims of it. Tell me everything. I will put you right.'

'Ah! my dear Mirabel, it is past even your skill. I thought I could never speak on these things to human being, but I am attracted to you by the same sympathy which you flatter me by expressing for myself. I want a confidant, I need a friend; I am most wretched.'

'_Eh! bien!_ we will not go to the French play. As for Jenny Vertpre, we can sup with her any night. Come to my house, and we will talk over everything. But trust me, if you wish to marry Henrietta Temple, you are an idiot if you do not have her.'

So saying, the Count touched his bright horse, and in a few minutes the cabriolet stopped before a small but admirably appointed house in Berkeley-square.

'Now, _mon cher,_' said the Count, 'coffee and confidence.'


CHAPTER XV.


_In Which the Count Mirabel Commences His Operations with
Great Success_.


IS THERE a more gay and graceful spectacle in the world than Hyde Park, at the end of a long sunny morning in the merry months of May and June? Where can we see such beautiful women, such gallant cavaliers, such fine horses, and such brilliant equipages? The scene, too, is worthy of such agreeable accessories: the groves, the gleaming waters, and the triumphal arches. In the distance, the misty heights of Surrey, and the bowery glades of Kensington.

It was the day after the memorable voyage from Richmond. Eminent among the glittering throng, Count Mirabel cantered along on his Arabian, scattering gay recognitions and bright words. He reined in his steed beneath a tree, under whose shade was assembled a knot of listless cavaliers. The Count received their congratulations, for this morning he had won his pigeon match.

'Only think of that old fool, Castlefyshe, betting on Poppington,' said the Count. 'I want to see him, old idiot! Who knows where Charley is?'

'I do, Mirabel,' said Lord Catchimwhocan. 'He has gone to Richmond with Blandford and the two little Furzlers.'

'That good Blandford! Whenever he is in love he always gives a dinner. It is a droll way to succeed.'

'Apropos, will you dine with me to-day, Mirabel?' said Mr. de Stockville.

'Impossible, my dear fellow; I dine with Fitz-warrene.'

'I say, Mirabel,' drawled out a young man, 'I saw you yesterday driving a man down to Richmond yourself. Who is your friend?'

'No one you know, or will know. 'Tis the best fellow that ever lived; but he is under my guidance, and I shall be very particular to whom he is introduced.'

'Lord! I wonder who he can be!' said the young man.

'I say, Mirabel, you will be done on Goshawk, if you don't take care, I can tell you that.'

'Thank you, good Coventry; if you like to bet the odds, I will take them.'

'No, my dear fellow, I do not want to bet, but at the same time------'

'You have an opinion that you will not back. That is a luxury, for certainly it is of no, use. I would advise you to enjoy it.'

'Well, I must say, Mirabel,' said Lord Catchimwhocan, 'I think the same about Goshawk.'

'Oh, no, Catch, you do not think so; you think you think. Go and take all the odds you can get upon Goshawk. Come, now, to-morrow you will tell me you have a very pretty book. Eh! _mon cher_ Catch?'

'But do you really think Goshawk will win?' asked Lord Cathimwhocan, earnestly.

'Certain!'

'Well, damned if I don't go and take the odds,' said his lordship.

'Mirabel,' said a young noble, moving his horse close to the Count, and speaking in a low voice, 'shall you be at home to-morrow morning?'

'Certainly. But what do you want?'

'I am in a devil of a scrape; I do not know what to do. I want you to advise me.'

'The Count moved aside with this cavalier. 'And what is it?' said he. 'Have you been losing?'

'No, no,' said the young man, shaking his head. 'Much worse. It is the most infernal business; I do not know what I shall do. I think I shall cut my throat.'

'_Betise!_ It cannot be very bad, if it be not money.'

'Oh, my dear Mirabel, you do not know what trouble I am in.'

'_Mon cher Henri, soyez tranquille,_' said the Count, in a kind voice. 'I am your friend. Rest assured, I will arrange it. Think no more of it until to-morrow at one o'clock, and then call on me. If you like, I am at your service at present.'

'No, no, not here: there are letters.'

'Ha, ha! Well, to-morrow, at one. In the meantime, do not write any nonsense.'

At this moment, the duchess, with a party of equestrians, passed and bowed to the Count Mirabel.

'I say, Mirabel,' exclaimed a young man, 'who is that girl? I want to know. I have seen her several times lately. By Jove, she is a fine creature!'

'Do not you know Miss Temple?' said the Count. 'Fancy a man not knowing Miss Temple! She is the only woman in London to be looked at.'

Now there was a great flutter in the band, and nothing but the name of Miss Temple was heard. All vowed they knew her very well, at least by sight, and never thought of anybody else. Some asked the Count to present them, others meditated plans by which that great result might be obtained; but, in the midst of all this agitation, Count Mirabel rode away, and was soon by the very lady's side.

'What a charming voyage yesterday,' said the Count to Miss Temple. 'You were amused?'

'Very.'

'And to think you should all know my friend Armine so well! I was astonished, for he will never go anywhere, or speak to anyone.'

'You know him intimately?' said Miss Temple.

'He is my brother! There is not a human being in the world I love so much! If you only knew him as I know him. Ah! _chere_ Miss Temple, there is not a man in London to be compared with him, so clever and so good! What a heart! so tender! and what talent! There is no one so _spirituel_.'

'You have known him long, Count?'

'Always; but of late I find a great change in him. I cannot discover what is the matter with him. He has grown melancholy. I think he will not live.'

'Indeed!'

'No, I am never wrong. That _cher_ Armine will not live.'

'You are his friend, surely------'

'Ah! yes; but I do not know what it is. Even me he cares not for. I contrive sometimes to get him about a little; yesterday, for instance; but to-day, you see, he will not move. There he is, sitting alone, in a dull hotel, with his eyes fixed on the ground, dark as night. Never was a man so changed. I suppose something has happened to him abroad. When you first knew him, I daresay now, he was the gayest of the gay?'

'He was indeed very different,' said Miss Temple, turning away her face.

'You have known that dear Armine a long time?'

'It seems a long time,' said Miss Temple.

'If he dies, and die he must, I do not think I shall ever be in very good spirits again,' said the Count. 'It is the only thing that would quite upset me. Now do not you think, Miss Temple, that our _cher_ Armine is the most interesting person you ever met?'