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Updated: June 21, 2025
Arthur Papillon talked in a low voice with Amedee, explaining to him how Madame Fontaine's drawing-room was neutral ground, open to people of all parties.
And now on this Christmas evening, in the thickening twilight of the rambling old house, through long galleries, crooked passages, queer little turns at right angles, rooms opening out of rooms, half a dozen in succession, Squire Dan led the games, ordered about all the time by Papillon, whom he talked of admiringly as a high-mettled filly, declaring that she had more tricks than the running-horse he was training for Abingdon races.
Then came Schumann's Traumerei on the strings, Handel's Largo, Grieg's Papillon, and a ballade by Chaminade. Then again sang the prima-donna; old folksy songs, sketches from the operas grand and light, Faust, The Barber of Seville, La Fille de Madame Angot. In all his days Warburton had never heard such music. Doubtless he had even better; only at this period he was in love.
The article purported to be written by a correspondent in Newport, R. I., and read thus: "We are advised from Boston, that the government of the Massachusetts are fitting out a ship to go after the pirates, to be commanded by Captain Peter Papillon, and 'tis thought he will sail some time this month, wind and weather permitting."
"The sun went down, and the stars stole out of the deep blue vault, and trembled between us and those vast fields of heaven. Papillon watched their reflection in the river, or looked at the houses along the shore, few and far apart, where a solitary candle showed here and there. Fareham came and seated himself near us, but talked little.
One cannot fall in love at another's ordering, or be happy with a husband of another's choice. You will discover that for yourself, Papillon, perhaps, when you are a woman." "Oh, I mean to marry for wealth and station, as all the clever women do," said Papillon, with an upward jerk of her delicate chin. "Mrs. Lewin always says I ought to be a duchess.
"I don't care if I have no dinner to-day," said Papillon; "but I hope I shall be able to eat a mince pie. Why don't you love mince pies, madam? He" pointing to Denzil "says you do not." Denzil dined at the Abbey, where he was always made welcome. Lady Fareham had been warmly insistent upon his presence at their Christmas gaieties.
I laid aside my cigar, approached the piano, and sat down. I struck a few chords and found the instrument to be in remarkably good order. I played a Chopin Polonaise, I tinkled Grieg's Papillon, then I ceased. "That is to pay for my supper," I explained. Next I played Le Courier, and when I had finished that I turned again, rising. "That is to pay for my horse's supper," I said.
The request was not unnecessary, for when Colonel Papillon went forward, and, putting his hand on a man's shoulder, saying, "Mr. Quadling, I think," the police officer was scarcely able to restrain his surprise. The person thus challenged was very unlike any one he had seen before that day, Ripaldi most of all.
Denzil was in attendance upon aunt and niece. "If you want to come with us, you must invent a pretty walk, Sir Denzil," said Papillon. "I am tired of long lanes and ploughed fields." "I know of one of the pleasantest rambles in the shire across the woods to the Grange. And we can rest there for half an hour, if Mrs. Angela will allow us, and take a light refreshment."
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