Chapter 1

Seasons, Paris. Outside the window, the court-yard, with fountain, and little trees in large pots._

_Enter MR. NATHANIEL NOKES, with a small book in his hand, very smartly dressed, but in great haste, and with his shirt-collar much dishevelled. [Rings the bell violently.]_

What's the good of these confounded French phrase-books? Who wants to know how to ask for artichoke soup, or how far it is to Dijon? I want a button sewn on my shirt-collar, and there's not one word about that.

_Enter Waiter_.

_Nokes._ Hi! what's-your-name! _Voulez-vous--avoir--la--bonté--de--_[I'm always civil and very distinct, but, somehow, I can never make myself understood.] I am going to be married, my good man; to be married--_tout de suite_--immediately, and there is no time to change my--my _chemise d'homme_. [Come, he'll understand _that_.] I want this button--button, button, button sewn on. Here, here--_here_. [_Points to his throat._] Don't you see, you fool? [He thinks I want him to cut my throat. I shall never be in time at the Legation!] Idiot! Dolt! Send _Susan_, Susan, _à moi_, to me--or I'll kick you into the court-yard. [_Exit Waiter, with precipitation._]

_Nokes [alone]._ And this is what they call a highly-civilized country! Talk of "a strong government" at home: what's the use of its being strong, if it can't make foreigners speak our language? What's the good of missionary enterprise, when here's a Christian man, within twelve hours of London, who can't get a shirt-button sewn on for want of the Parisian accent? I said "button, button, button," plain enough, I'm sure; and a button's a button all the world over. If it had not been for that excellent Susan, the English chambermaid, I should have perished in this place, of what the coroner's inquests call "want of the necessaries of life." All depends, as every one knows, on a man's shirt-button: if _that_ goes wrong, everything goes, and one's attire is a wreck. But I suppose after to-day my wife will see to that,--though she is a Montmorenci. Constance de Montmorenci, that's her name: she's descended (she says) from a Constable of France. It's a more English-seeming name than _gendarme_, and I like her for that; but I am afraid we shan't have much in common--except my property. She don't speak English very fluently: she called me "my dove" the other day, instead of "my duck," which is ridiculous. She is not twenty, and I am over sixty,--which is perhaps also ridiculous.

Well, it's all Charles's fault, not mine. If he chooses to go and marry a beggar-girl without my consent, he must take the consequences,--if there are a dozen of them,--and support them how he can. "If you persist in this wicked and perverse resolve," said I, "_I'll_ marry also, before the year's out." And now I'm going to do it,--if I can only get this shirt-button sewn on. He shall not have a penny of what I have to leave behind me. The little Nokes-Montmorencis shall have it all. She's a most accomplished creature is Constance. Sings, they tell me,--for it's not in English, so I don't understand it,--divinely; plays ditto; draws ditto. Speaks every language (except English) with equal facility and--Thank goodness, here's Susan.

_Enter SUSAN, with housemaid's broom._

_Susan._ What do you please to want, sir?

_Nokes._ _You_, Susan; you, first of all, and then a shirt-button. I have not five minutes to spare. My bride is probably already at the Embassy, expressing her impatience in various continental tongues. _Vite_,--look sharp, Susan. [_Aside._] Admirable woman!--she carries buttons about with her. I wonder whether the Montmorenci will do that.--Take care!--don't run the needle into me!

_Susan._ You must not talk, sir, or else I can't help it. Please to hold your head up a little higher.

_Nokes._ I shall do that when I've married the Montmorenci. [_She pricks him._] Oh! oh!

_Susan._ I'm sure I hope as you'll be happy with her, sir; but you seem so fond of old England that I doubt whether you ought not to have chosen your wife from your native land. It seems a pity to be marrying in such haste, just because your poor nephew--_pray_ don't speak, sir, or I shall certainly run the needle into you--just because Mr. Charles has gone and wedded the girl of his choice.

_Nokes [passionately]._ Hold your tongue, Susan! [_She pricks him again._] Oh! oh!

_Susan._ There, sir, I told you what would happen. All I say is, I hope you may not marry in haste to repent at leisure. A fortnight is such a very short time to have known a lady before making her your bride. There, sir; I think the button will keep on now.

_Nokes._ Then I'm off, Susan. But, before I go, I must express my thanks to you for looking after me so attentively in this place. Here's a five-pound note for you. [_Aside_] I could almost find it in my heart to give her a kiss; but perhaps the Montmorenci wouldn't like it.

_Susan [gratefully]._ Oh, thank you, sir. May all happiness attend you, sir! and when you're married yourself, sir, don't be too hard upon that poor nephew of yours--

_Nokes [angrily]._ Be quiet. [_Exit hastily._]

_Susan [alone]._ Now, there's as kind-hearted an old gentleman as ever lived,--and as good a one, too, if it was not for pigheadedness and tantrums. The idea of a five-pound note merely for helping him to get his victuals! He's been just like a baby in this 'ere 'otel, and I've been a mother to him. He couldn't 'a' got a drop o' milk if it hadn't been for me. Poor dear old soul! What a pity it is he should have such a temper! He is taking a wife to-day solely to keep a hasty word uttered agen his nephew and heir. Mademoiselle Constance de Montmorenci! ah, I've heard of her before to-day. Nanette, the head-chambermaid here, was once her lady's-maid. _She's_ known her for more than a fortnight. Constance is a fine name, but it ain't quite the same as Constancy. Poor Mr. Nokes! What a mistake it was in him to drive all thoughts of matrimony off to the last, and then to come to Paris--of all places--to do it! What a curious thing is sympathy! He met her in the tidal train, and they were taken ill together on board the steamboat; that's how it came about. Poor old soul! He deserves a better fate. [_Takes her broom and leans on it reflectively._] Heigh-ho! His honest English face was pleasant to look upon in this here outlandish spot; and none has been so kind to me since my poor missis died and left me under this roof, without money enough to pay my passage back to England. I was glad enough to take service here; for why should I go back to a country where there is not a soul to welcome me? And yet I should like to see dear old England again, too. [_Tumult without. Mr. Nokes is seen rushing madly up the court-yard. Tumult in the passage; French and English voices at high pitch. Nokes without:_ Idiots! Frog-eaters! What is it I want? Nothing! nothing but to see France sunk in the sea!]

_Enter NOKES (dishevelled and purple with passion, with an open letter in his hand; bangs the door behind him)._

_Susan._ What is the matter, sir?

_Nokes._ Everything is the matter. You see this lily-white waistcoat; you see these matrimonial does [_points to his trousers_], these polished-leather boots, which are at this moment pinching me most confoundedly, though I don't feel it, because I'm in such a passion: well, they have been put on for nothing. I've been made a fool of by the Montmorenci. But if there's justice in heaven,--that is, in Paris,--if there's law in France, and blighted hopes are compensated in this country as they are at home, the hussy shall smart for it. Directly I'm married myself, I'll bring an action against her for breach of promise.

_Susan._ Married yourself, sir?

_Nokes._ Of course I'm going to be married,--at once, immediately,--within the week. There's only a week left to the end of the year. Do you suppose--does my nephew Charles suppose--no, for he knows me better--that I am not going to keep my word? that because the Montmorenci has played me false at the eleventh hour I am going to remain a bachelor for seven days longer? Never, Susan, never! [_Walks hastily up and down the room._]

_Susan._ Lor, sir, do pray be a little quiet, I am sure if any young woman was to see you in this state she must be uncommonly courageous to take charge of such a husband. Do, pray, tell me what has happened.

_Nokes._ Nothing has happened. That's what I complain of. Just as I drove up to the Legation this letter was handed to me. It is from the brother of the Montmorenci, and is supposed to be written in the English tongue. He regrets that matters between Mademoiselle his sister and myself have been advanced with such precipitation.

_Susan._ Well, sir, you _were_ rather in a hurry about it, I must say.

_Nokes._ Hurry! I was in nothing of the sort. We were in the same boat together for hours. We suffered agonies in company. And, besides, I had only three weeks at farthest to waste in making love to anybody. And now I've only one week,--all because this woman did not know her own mind.

_Susan._ How so, sir?

_Nokes._ Why, it seems she loves somebody else better. Her brother tells me--confound his impudence!--that this is only natural. At the same time, he allows I have some cause to complain, and therefore offers me the opportunity of a personal combat with what he is pleased to call the peculiar weapon of my countrymen, the pistol. Now, I should have said the peculiar weapon of my country was the umbrella. That is certainly the instrument I should choose if I were compelled to engage in mortal strife. But the idea of being shot in the liver in reparation for one's matrimonial injuries! To be laid up in that way when there is only a week left in which to woo and win another Mrs. Nokes! But what am I to do now? How am I to find a respectable young woman to take me at so short a notice?

_Susan._ There isn't many of that sort in Paris, sir, even if you gave 'em longer.

_Nokes._ Just so. Come, you're a sensible, good girl, and have helped me out of several difficulties; now, do you think you can help me out of this one?

_Susan [demurely]._ Have you got an almanac about you, sir?

_Nokes._ An almanac? Of course I have. I have given up the wine-trade, but I have not given up the habit so essential to business-men of carrying an almanac in my breast-pocket. Here it is.

_Susan [takes almanac and looks through it attentively]._ No, sir [_sighs_], it won't do.

_Nokes._ What won't do? What did you expect to find that _would_ do--in an almanac--in such a crisis as this?

_Susan._ Well, sir [_casting down her eyes_], I was looking to see if it was leap-year; but it isn't.

_Nokes._ What! You were going to offer to fill the place of the Montmorenci. You impudent little hussy! [_Aside_] Gad, she's uncommonly pretty, though. Prettier than the other. I noticed that when she was sewing on my shirt-button; only I didn't think it right, under the circumstances, to dwell upon the idea. But there can't be any harm in it _now_.

_Susan [sobbing]._ I am afraid I have made you angry with me, Mr. Nokes. I was only in fun, but I see now that it was taking a liberty.

_Nokes [very tenderly and chucking her under the chin]._ We should never take liberties, Susan. [_Kisses her._] Never. But don't cry, or you'll make your eyes red; and I rather like your eyes. [_Aside_] I didn't like to dwell upon the idea before, but she has got remarkably pretty eyes. It's a dreadful come-down from the Montmorenci, to be sure: still, one must marry _somebody_--within seven days. But then, again, I've written such flaming accounts of the other one to all my friends. I've asked Sponge and Rasper and Robinson to come down, and see us after the honeymoon at "the Tamarisks," my little place near Dover. And they are all eager to hear her sing and play, and to see her beautiful sketches in oil--Can _you_ sing, and play, and sketch in oil, Susan?

_Susan [gravely]._ I don't know, sir; I never tried.

_Nokes [aside]._ Then there's her hands. The Montmorenci's, as I wrote to Rasper, were like the driven snow; and Susan's--though I didn't like to dwell upon the idea--are more like snow on the second day, in London. To be sure she will have nothing to do as Mrs. Nokes except to wash 'em. Then she can speak French like a native, or at least what will seem to Robinson and the others like a native. Upon my life, I think I might do worse. But then, again, she'll have relatives,--awful relatives, whom I shall have to buy off, or, worse, who will _not_ be bought off. It's certainly a dreadful come-down. Susan [_hesitatingly_], Susan dear, what is your name?

_Susan._ Montem, sir; Susan Montem.

_Nokes [aside]._ By Jove! why, that's half-way to Montmorenci. It's not at all a bad name. But then what's the good of that if she's going to change it for Nokes? Oh, Montem, is it, Susan? And is your papa--your father--alive?

_Susan [sorrowfully]._ No, sir.

_Nokes._ That's capital!--I mean I'm _so_ sorry. Poor girl! Your father's dead, is he? You're sure he's dead?

_Susan [with her pocket-handkerchief to her eyes]._ Quite sure, sir.

_Nokes._ And your mamma,--your excellent mamma,--she's alive, at all events?

_Susan._ No, sir; I am an orphan.

_Nokes [aside]._ How delightful! I love orphans. I'm an orphan myself. Ah, but then she's sure to have brothers and sisters,--pipe-smoking, gin-drinking brothers, and sisters who will have married idle mechanics, with executions in their houses every quarter-day. Susan, my dear, how many brothers and sisters have you?

_Susan [sorrowfully]._ I have none, sir. When my dear missis died I was left quite alone in the world.

_Nokes._ I'm charmed to hear it [_embracing her_], adorable young woman! [_Bell rings without._] What are they pulling that bell about for? Confound them, it makes me nervous.

_Susan [meekly]._ I think they're wanting me, sir: you see, sir, I'm neglecting my work.

_Nokes [kissing her]._ No, you're not, Susan [_kisses her again_]: quite the contrary. So your name's Montem,--at present,--is it? How came that about?

_Susan._ Well, sir, I was left a foundling in the parish workhouse, at Salthill, near Eton. Nobody knew anything about me, and as I made my appearance there one Montem day, the board of guardians named me Montem.

_Nokes._ And how came you to be chambermaid at this hotel?

_Susan [seriously]._ It was through good Mr. Woodward, the curate at Salthill, that it happened, sir: he was my benefactor through life. Always kind to me at the workhouse, where he was chaplain, he got me a situation, as soon as I was old enough, with a lady. I lived with her first as housemaid, and then as her personal attendant, till she died under this roof.

_Nokes [aside]._ I don't wonder at that.

_Susan._ The people of the hotel here wanted an English chambermaid, and offered me the place, which, since my benefactor the clergyman was dead, I accepted thankfully.

_Nokes._ Poor girl! poor girl! [_Pats Susan's head._] There, there! your feelings do you the greatest credit; but don't cry, because it makes your eyes red. Now, look here, Susan; there's only one thing more. You are very soft-hearted, I perceive, and it must be distinctly understood between us that you need never intercede with me in favor of that scoundrel Charles. I won't have it. You wouldn't succeed, of course, but if I ever happen to get fond of you--I mean foolishly fond of you, of course--your importunity might be annoying. When you are once my wife, however, and keeping your own carriage, I confidently expect that you will behave as other people do in that station of life, and show no weakness in favor of your poor relations.

_Susan._ I will endeavor, sir, in case you are so good as to marry a humble girl like me, to do my dooty and please you in every way.

_Nokes._ That's well said, Susan. [_Kisses her._] You _have_ pleased me in a good many ways already. [_Aside_] I must say, though I didn't like to dwell upon the idea before--[_Tremendous ringing of bells, and sudden appearance of the mistress of the hotel. Tableau._]

_Mistress of the hotel [to Nokes]._ _O vieux polisson!_ [_To Susan_] _Coquine abominable!_

_Nokes [to Susan]._ What is this lunatic raving about?

_Susan._ She remarks that I haven't finished my work on the second floor.

_Nokes [impatiently]._ Tell her to go to--the ground floor. Tell her you are going to be married to me within the week, and order a wedding-breakfast--for two--immediately.

_Susan [aside]._ I can never tell her that, for she is a Frenchwoman, and wouldn't believe it. I'll tell her something more melodramatic. I'll say that Mr. Nokes is my father, who has suddenly recognized and discovered his long-lost child.--_Madame, c'est mon père longtemps absent, qui vous en prie d'accepter ses remerciments pour votre bonté à son enfant._

_Mistress of the hotel [all smiles, and with both hands outstretched]._ Milor, I do congratulate you. Fortunate Susan! You will nevare forget to recommend de hotel?

_Nokes._ Thank you, thank you; you're a sensible old woman. [_Aside_] She evidently sees no absurd disproportion in our years.--Breakfast, breakfast!--_déjeûner à la_ what-do-you-call-it! _champagne!_ [_Exit landlady, smiling and bowing_.]

_Nokes._ In the mean time, Susan, put on your bonnet and let's go out to--whatever they call Doctors' Commons here--and order a special license. [_Susan goes._] Stop a bit, Susan; you forget something. [_Kisses her._] [_Aside_] I did not like to dwell upon the idea before, but she's got a most uncommon pretty mouth.