to time, to smile at
Lafontaine's frivolities, it was but a feeble one, and she sat, with
pallid lips and a hectic spot on her statue-like cheek, gazing on the
carpet. I attempted to take some share in the conversation; but all my
powers of speech were gone, my tongue refused to utter, and I remained the
most complete and unfortunate contrast to my lively friend, who was now
engaged in detailing the attempt on the royal life to Madame la Marechal,
whose later arrival had prevented their witnessing it in person. My nearer
view of the Marquis did not improve the sketch which Lafontaine had given
of his commanding-officer. He was a tall, stiff, but soldierly-looking
person, with an expression, which, as we are disposed to approve or the
reverse, might be called strong sense or sullen temper. But he had some
reputation in the service as a bold, if not an able officer. He had saved
the French troops in America by his daring, from the effects of some
blunders committed by the giddiness of their commander-in-chief; and as
his loyalty was not merely known but violent, and his hatred of the new
faction in France not merely determined but furious, he was regarded as
one of the pillars of the royal cause. The Marquis was evidently in
ill-humour, whether with our introduction or with his bride; yet it was
too early for a matrimonial quarrel, and too late for a lover's one.
Clotilde was evidently unhappy, and after a few common-places we took our
leave; the Marquis himself condescending to start from his seat, and shut
the door upon our parting bow. The stage had now lost all interest for
me, and I prevailed on Lafontaine, much against his will, to leave the
house. The lobby was crowded, the rush was tremendous, and after
struggling our way, with some hazard of our limbs, we reached the door
only just in time to see Montrecour escorting the ladies to their
carriage.

All was over for the night; and my companion, who now began to think that
he had tormented me too far, was drawing me slowly, and almost
unconsciously, through the multitude, when a flourish of trumpets and
drums announced that their Majesties were leaving the theatre. The life
guards rode up; and the rushing of the crowd, the crash of the carriages,
the prancing and restiveness of the startled horses, and the quarrelling
of the coachmen and the Bow Street officers, produced a scene of uproar.
My first thought was the hazard of Clotilde, and I hastened to the spot
wher