Chapter 52

it. To them enter another_.

_1st Gentleman_. Why, Bernard, you look heated! what's the matter?

_Bernard_. Hot work, as looked at; cool enough, as done.

_2nd G_. A good antithesis, as usual, Bernard, But a shell too hard for the vulgar teeth Of our impatient curiosity.

_Bernard_. Most unexpectedly I found myself Spectator of a scene in a home-drama Worth all stage-tragedies I ever saw.

_All_. What was it? Tell us then. Here, take this seat.

[_He sits at the table, and pours out a glass of wine_.]

_Bernard_. I went to call on Seaford, and was told He had gone to town. So I, as privileged, Went to his cabinet to write a note; Which finished, I came down, and called his valet. Just as I crossed the hall I heard a voice-- "The Countess Lamballa--is she here to-day?" And looking toward the door, I caught a glimpse Of a tall figure, gaunt and stooping, drest In a blue shabby frock down to his knees, And on his left arm sat a little child. The porter gave short answer, with the door For period to the same; when, like a flash, It flew wide open, and the serving man Went reeling, staggering backward to the stairs, 'Gainst which he fell, and, rolling down, lay stunned. In walked the visitor; but in the moment Just measured by the closing of the door, Heavens, what a change! He walked erect, as if Heading a column, with an eye and face As if a fountain-shaft of blood had shot Up suddenly within his wasted frame. The child sat on his arm quite still and pale, But with a look of triumph in her eyes. He glanced in each room opening from the hall, Set his face for the stair, and came right on-- In every motion calm as glacier's flow, Save, now and then, a movement, sudden, quick, Of his right hand across to his left side: 'Twas plain he had been used to carry arms.

_3rd G_. Did no one stop him?

_Bernard_. Stop him? I'd as soon Have faced a tiger with bare hands. 'Tis easy In passion to meet passion; but it is A daunting thing to look on, when the blood Is going its wonted pace through your own veins. Besides, this man had something in his face, With its live eyes, close lips, nostrils distended, A self-reliance, and a self-command, That would go right up to its goal, in spite Of any _no_ from any man. I would As soon have stopped a cannon-ball as him. Over the porter, lying where he fell, He strode, and up the stairs. I heard him go-- I listened as it were a ghost that walked With pallid spectre-child upon its arm-- Along the corridors, from door to door, Opening and shutting. But at last a sting Of sudden fear lest he should find the lady, And mischief follow, shot me up the stairs. I met him at the top, quiet as at first; The fire had faded from his eyes; the child Held in her tiny hand a lady's glove Of delicate primrose. When he reached the hall, He turned him to the porter, who had scarce Recovered what poor wits he had, and saying, "The count Lamballa waited on lord Seaford," Turned him again, and strode into the street.

_1st G_. Have you learned anything of what it meant?

_Bernard_. Of course he had suspicions of his wife: For all the gifts a woman has to give, I would not rouse such blood. And yet to see The gentle fairy child fall kissing him, And, with her little arms grasping his neck, Peep anxious round into his shaggy face, As they went down the street!--it almost made A fool of me.--I'd marry for such a child!