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Aulaire has just announced that the King of France is about to do? Surely General Washington would not. Ah, Madame! Could you but see him; but see the noble calm of his countenance, the commanding eye, the consummate majesty of his presence, you would say with me, 'there is no king like him!"
I remember only the first two lines.... It had reference to a comparison between the Russians and the French: 'L'aigle se plait aux regions austeres Ou le ramier ne saurait habiter... 'Digne de M. de Saint Aulaire! M. le Commandeur would every time exclaim.
Aulaire was the epitome of all that was most licentious, most unworthy, most brilliant in the Old Order, and was known throughout the kingdom by reputation or, more properly speaking, by lack of it. It was with a new-born and deep disgust that Calvert noted the attentions of this man, whose life he disdained to think of, to the beautiful girl beside him.
Aulaire had left him, pondering upon this strange meeting and the mysterious hints and threats thrown out. He could make nothing of them, but it was clear that some danger menaced those he loved in France, and he felt only too well assured that St. Aulaire would stop at nothing. Indeed, it did not need a personal and malignant enemy to bring terror and death to any in Paris, as he knew.
He was conscious of an almost contemptuous iciness in her greeting, and that mentally she was unfavorably comparing him, the simply dressed, serious young American before her, with the splendid courtiers who crowded around. Certain it was that she was much more gracious in manner to Monsieur le Baron de St. Aulaire, who had accompanied her into the salon and still remained at her side.
"Here is Monsieur Calvert, who will take me back over the ice, so I shall not have to trouble you," and she laughed in a relieved, if somewhat agitated, fashion as St. Aulaire, doffing his hat and scowling fiercely at Calvert, skated rapidly away.
Calvert stopped for an instant to take breath and pay his respects to Madame de Flahaut, who had ventured upon the ice in a chair-sleigh surrounded by her admirers, that Monsieur de St. Aulaire again presented himself before him.
"At last, Monsieur," he said, bowing low and laying his hand unsteadily on the small sword he wore at his side. "Well," replied Mr. Calvert, coldly, by no means pleased at the attention bestowed upon him so unexpectedly. Monsieur de St. Aulaire sober he found objectionable; Monsieur de St. Aulaire drunk was insufferable. "'Well' is a cold welcome, Mr.
Aulaire struggled to his feet and, wrenching his dress sword from its sheath, staggered toward Calvert, thrusting wildly and ineffectually at him. "Put up your sword, my lord," says Calvert, contemptuously, knocking up the silver blade with his own, which he had drawn. "We cannot fight with these toys.
So, it was in the society of such that Monsieur de St. Aulaire now talked and drank familiarly! "He has already been denounced and released," says Bertrand, moodily. "He will not be released this time," replies St. Aulaire, with so much evident satisfaction as to strike one of the other two drinkers with astonishment. "Not entirely a matter of patriotism, I judge?" he questioned, with a chuckle.
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