It came upon him just at the right moment. It contrasted with all the dissipation he had seen, and it struck him the more strongly, because it could not possibly have been prepared as a moral lesson to make an impression. He saw the real, natural course of things--he heard in a few hours the result of the experience of a man of great vivacity, great talents, who had led a life of pleasure, and who had had opportunities of seeing and feeling all that it could possibly afford, at the period of the greatest luxury and dissipation ever known in France. No evidence could be stronger than Marmontel's in favour of virtue and of domestic life, nor could any one express it with more grace and persuasive eloquence.

It did Ormond infinite good. He required such a lesson at this juncture, and he was capable of taking it--it recalled him to his better self.

The good Abbe seemed to see something of what in Ormond's mind, and became still more interested about him.

"Ah, ca," said he to Marmontel, as soon as Ormond was gone, "that young man is worth something: I thought he was only _le bel Irlandois_, but I find he is much more. We must do what we can for him, and not let him leave Paris, as so many do, having seen only the worst part of our society."

Marmontel, who had also been pleased with him, was willing, he said, to do any thing in his power; but he could scarcely hope that they had the means of withdrawing from the double attraction of the faro-table and coquetry, a young man of that age and figure.

"Fear nothing, or rather hope every thing," said the Abbe: "his head and his heart are more in our favour, trust me, than his age and his figure are against us. To begin, my good Marmontel, did not you see how much he was struck and _edified_ by your reformation?"

"Ah! if there was another Mdlle. de Montigny for him, I should fear nothing, or rather hope every thing," said Marmontel "but where shall he find such another in all Paris?"

"In his own country, perhaps, all in good time," said the Abbe.

"In his own country?--True," cried Marmontel, "now you recall it to my mind, how eager he grew in disputing with Marivaux upon the distinction between _aimable_ and _amiable_. His description of an _amiable woman_, according to the English taste, was, I recollect, made _con amore_; and there was a sigh at the close which came from the heart, and which showed the heart was in England or Ireland."

"Wherever his heart is, _c'est bien place_," said the Abbe. "I like him--we must get him into good company--he is worthy to be acquainted with your amiable and _aimable_ Madame de Beauveau and Madame de Seran."

"True," said Marmontel; "and for the honour of Paris, we must convince him that he has taken up false notions, and that there is such a thing as conjugal fidelity and domestic happiness here."

"Bon. That is peculiarly inc.u.mbent on the author of _Les Contes Moraux_," said the Abbe.

It happened, fortunately for our hero, that Madame de Connal was, about this time, engaged to pa.s.s a fortnight at the country house of Madame de Clairville. During her absence, the good Abbe had time to put in execution all his benevolent intentions, and introduced his young friend to some of the really good company of Paris. He pointed out to him at Madame Geoffrin's, Madame de Tencin's, Madame du Detfand's, and Madame Trudaine's, the difference between the society at the house of a rich farmer general--or at the house of one connected with the court, and with people in place and political power--and the society of mixed rank and literature. The mere pa.s.sing pictures of these things, to one who was not to live in Paris, might not, perhaps, except as a matter of curiosity, be of much value; but his judicious friend led Ormond from these to make comparisons and deductions which were of use to him all his life afterwards.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

One morning when Ormond awoke, the first thing he heard was, that a _person_ from Ireland was below, who was very impatient to see him. It was Patrickson, Sir Ulick O'Shane's confidential man of business.

"What news from Castle Hermitage?" cried Ormond, starting up in his bed, surprised at the sight of Patrickson.

"The best that can be--never saw Sir Ulick in such heart--he has a share of the loan, and--"

"And what news of the Annalys?" interrupted Ormond.

"I know nothing about them at all, sir," said Patrickson, who was a methodical man of business, and whose head was always intent upon what he called the main chance. "I have been in Dublin, and heard no country news."

"But have you no letter for me? and what brings you over so suddenly to Paris?"

"I have a letter for you somewhere here, sir--only I have so many 'tis hard to find," said Patrickson, looking carefully over a parcel of letters in his pocket-book, but with such a drawling slowness of manner as put Ormond quite out of patience. Patrickson laid the letters on the bed one by one. "That's not it--and that's not it; that's for Monsieur un tel, marchand, rue ----; that packet's from the Hamburgh merchants--What brings me over?--Why, sir, I have business enough, Heaven knows!"

Patrickson was employed not only by Sir Ulick O'Shane, but by many Dublin merchants and bankers, to settle business for them with different houses on the continent. Ormond, without listening to the various digressions he made concerning the persons of mercantile consequence to whom the letters were addressed, or from whom they were answers, pounced upon the letter in Sir Ulick's handwriting directed to himself, and tore it open eagerly, to see if there was any news of the Annalys. None--they were in Devonshire. The letter was merely a few lines on business--Sir Ulick had now the opportunity he had foreseen of laying out Ormond's money in the loan most advantageously for him; but there had been an omission in the drawing up of his power of attorney, which had been done in such a hurry on Ormond's leaving home. It gave power only to sell out of the Three per Cents.; whereas much of Ormond's money was in the Four per Cents. Another power, Patrickson said, was necessary, and he had brought one for him to sign. Patrickson in his slow manner descanted upon the folly of signing papers in a hurry, just when people were getting into carriages, which was always the way with young gentlemen, he said. He took care that Ormond should do nothing in a hurry now; for he put on his spectacles, and read the power, sparing him not a syllable of the law forms and repet.i.tions. Ormond wrote a few kind lines to Sir Ulick, and earnestly besought him to find out something more about the Annalys. If Miss Annaly were married, it must have appeared in the papers. What delayed the marriage? Was Colonel Albemarle dismissed or accepted?--Where was he?--Ormond said he would be content if Sir Ulick could obtain an answer to that single plain question.

All the time Ormond was writing, Patrickson never stirred his forefinger from the spot where the signature was to be written at the bottom of the power of attorney.

"Pray," said Ormond, looking up from the paper he going to sign, "pray, Patrickson, are you really and truly an Irishman?"

"By the father's side, I apprehend, sir--but my mother was English.

Stay, sir, if you please--I must witness it."

"Witness away," said Ormond; and after having signed this paper, empowering Sir Ulick to sell 30,000_l_. out of the Four per cents., Ormond lay down, and wishing him a good journey, settled himself to sleep; while Patrickson, packing up his papers, deliberately said, "He hoped to be in London _in short_; but that he should go by Havre de Grace, and that he should be happy to execute any commands for Mr.

Ormond there or in Dublin." More he would have said, but finding Ormond by this time past reply, he left the room on tiptoe. The next morning Madame de Connal returned from the country, and sent Ormond word that she should expect him at her a.s.sembly that night.

Every body complimented Madame de Connal upon the improvement which the country air had made in her beauty--even her husband was struck with it, and paid her his compliments on the occasion; but she stood conversing so long with Ormond, that the faro-players grew impatient: she led him to the table, but evidently had little interest herself in the game. He played at first with more than his usual success, but late at night his fortune suddenly changed; he lost--lost--till at last he stopped, and rising from table, said he had no more money, and he could play no longer. Connal, who was not one of the players, but merely looking on, offered to lend him any sum he pleased. "Here's a rouleau--here are two rouleaus--what will you have?" said Connal.

Ormond declined playing any more: he said that he had lost the sum he had resolved to lose, and there he would stop. Connal did not urge him, but laughing said, that a resolution to _lose_ at play was the most extraordinary he had ever heard.

"And yet you see I have kept it," said Ormond.

"Then I hope you will next make a resolution to win," said Connal, "and no doubt you will keep that as well--I prophesy that you will; and you will give fortune fair play to-morrow night." Ormond simply repeated that he should play no more. Madame de Connal soon afterwards rose from the table, and went to talk to Mr. Ormond. She said she was concerned for his loss at play this night. He answered, as he felt, that it was a matter of no consequence to him--that he had done exactly what he had determined; that in the course of the whole time he had been losing this money he had had a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt in society, had seen a vast deal of human nature and manners, which he could not otherwise have seen, and that he thought his money exceedingly well employed.

"But you shall not lose your money," said Dora; "when next you play it shall be on my account as well as your own--you know this is not only a compliment, but a solid advantage. The bank has certain advantages--and it is fair that you should share them. I must explain to you," continued Madame de Connal--"they are all busy about their own affairs, and we may speak in English at our ease--I must explain to you, that a good portion of my fortune has been settled, so as to be at my own disposal--my aunt, you know, has also a good fortune--we are partners, and put a considerable sum into the faro bank. We find it answers well. You see how handsomely we live. M. de Connal has his own share. We have nothing to do with _that_. If you would take my advice," continued she, speaking in a very persuasive tone, "instead of forswearing play, as you seem inclined to do at the first reverse of fortune, you would join forces with us; you cannot imagine that _I_ would advise you to any thing which I was not persuaded would be advantageous to you--you little know how much I am interested." She checked herself, blushed, hesitated, and hurried on--"you have no ties in Ireland--you seem to like Paris--where can you spend your time more agreeably?"

"More agreeably--nowhere upon earth!" cried Ormond. Her manner, tone, and look, at this moment were so flattering, so bewitching, that he was scarcely master of himself. They went to the boudoir--the company had risen from the faro-table, and, one after another, had most of them departed. Connal was gone--only a few remained in a distant apartment, listening to some music. It was late. Ormond had never till this evening stayed later than the generality of the company, but he had now an excuse to himself, something that he had long wished to have an opportunity of saying to Dora, when she should be quite alone; it was a word of advice about le Comte de Belle Cha.s.se--her intimacy with him was beginning to be talked of. She had been invited to a bal pare at the Spanish amba.s.sador's for the ensuing night--but she had more inclination to go to a bal masque, as Ormond had heard her declare. Now certain persons had whispered that it was to meet the Comte de Belle Cha.s.se that she intended to go to this ball; and Ormond feared that such whispers might be injurious to her reputation. It was difficult to him to speak, because the counsels of the friend might be mistaken for the jealous fears of a lover. With some embarra.s.sment he delicately, timidly, hinted his apprehensions.

Dora, though naturally of a temper apt to take alarm at the touch of blame, and offence at the tone of advice, now in the most graceful manner thanked her friend for his counsel; said she was flattered, gratified, by the interest it showed in her happiness--and she immediately yielded her will, her _fantaisie_, to his better judgment.

This compliance, and the look with which it was accompanied, convinced him of the absolute power he possessed over her heart. He was enchanted with Dora--she never looked so beautiful; never before, not even in the first days of his early youth, had he felt her beauty so attractive.

"Dear Madame de Connal, dear Dora!" he exclaimed.

"Call me Dora," said she: "I wish ever to be Dora to Harry Ormond. Oh!

Harry, my first, my best, my only friend, I have enjoyed but little real happiness since we parted."

Tears filled her fine eyes--no longer knowing where he was, Harry Ormond found himself at her feet. But while he held and kissed in transport the beautiful hand, which was but feebly withdrawn, he seemed to be suddenly shocked by the sight of one of the rings on her finger.

"My wedding-ring," said Dora, with a sigh. "Unfortunate marriage!"

That was not the ring on which Ormond's eyes were fixed.

"Dora, whose gray hair is this?"

"My father's," said Dora, in a tremulous voice.

"Your father!" cried Ormond, starting up. The full recollection of that fond father, that generous benefactor, that confiding friend, rushed upon his heart.

"And is this the return I make!--Oh, if he could see us at this instant!"

"And if he could," cried Dora, "oh! how he would admire and love you, Ormond, and how he would--"

Her voice failed, and with a sudden motion she hid her face with both her hands.

"He would see you, Dora, without a guide, protector, or friend; surrounded with admirers, among profligate men, and women still more profligate, yet he would see that you have preserved a reputation of which your father would be proud."

"My father! oh, my poor father!" cried Dora: "Oh! generous, dear, ever generous Ormond!"

Bursting into tears--alternate pa.s.sions seizing her--at one moment the thoughts of her father, the next of her lover, possessed her imagination.