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Updated: May 15, 2025
Fareham and the Priest were playing chess at the other end of the long low room, by the light of a single candle. Papillon ran in at the door and ejaculated her disgust at De Malfort's desertion. "Was there ever such laziness? It's bad enough in Georgie to be so idle; but then, he has over-eaten himself." "And how do you know that I haven't over-eaten myself, mistress?" asked De Malfort.
"Why should they be disappointed of their ghost," said Hyacinth, "when it would be so easy for me to dress up as the nun and scare them all? This white satin gown of mine, with a few yards of white lawn arranged on my head and shoulders " "Ah, but you have not the lawn at hand to-night, or your woman to arrange your head," interjected De Malfort quickly.
"Do not talk so," she exclaimed, starting up from her low tabouret, and moving hastily to the open window, to fresh air and sunshine, rippling river and blue sky, escaping from an atmosphere that had become feverish. "De Malfort, you know I must not listen to foolish raptures." "I know you have been refusing to hear for the last two years."
The window was thrown open, and a figure appeared, clad in a white satin night-gown that glistened in the moonlight, with a deep collar of ermine, from which the handsomest face in London looked across the garden, to the spot where Fareham, the seconds, and the surgeon were grouped about De Malfort. It was Lady Castlemaine. She leant out of the window and called to them. "What has happened?
Dangerfield tore off his cravat, and wanted to bind it round his principal's waist; but Fareham repulsed him, and lashed into hot fury by the Frenchman's uncavalier-like ruse, met his adversary's thrusts with a deadly purpose, which drove De Malfort to reckless lunging and riposting, and the play grew fast and fierce, while the rattle of steel seemed never likely to end.
She flung herself on her knees by De Malfort's bed, and wept and raved at the brutality which had deprived the world of his charming company and herself of the only man she had ever loved. De Malfort, fevered and vexed at her intrusion, and at this renewal of fires long burnt out, had yet discretion enough to threaten her with his dire displeasure if she betrayed the secret of his illness.
"How I wish thou couldst see our river-terrace on my sister's visiting-day, when De Malfort is lolling on the marble balustrade, singing one of your favourite chansons to the guitar which he touches so exquisitely, and when Hyacinth's fine lady friends and foppish admirers are sitting about in the sunshine! Thou wouldst confess that even Renard's garden can show no gayer scene.
"We are a little kinder to Rubens at the Louvre," said De Malfort, noting her upward gaze; "for we allow his elaborate glorification of his Majesty's grandfather and grandmother about half a mile of wall. But I forgot, you have not seen Paris, nor those acres of gaudy colouring which Henri's vanity inflicted upon us.
She discovered that he possessed the gift of music, though not in the same remarkable degree as Henri de Malfort, who played the guitar exquisitely, and into whose hands you had but to put a musical instrument for him to extract sweetness from it. Lute or theorbo, viola or viol di gamba, treble or bass, came alike to his hand and ear.
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