Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 435 | Page 5

doubt my own perspicacity, and to imagine that I
had now a far more interesting object of study than M. Jerome and his
diamond ring. Madame de Mourairef was an exceedingly affable
person; and the English family aforesaid, whom I have reason to
believe were Cockney tradesfolks, pronounced her to be very
high-bred--without a fault, indeed, if it had not been for that horrid
habit of smoking, which, as they judiciously observed, however, was a
peculiar characteristic of the Russians. I am afraid, they would have set
her down as a vulgar wretch, had they not been forewarned that she
was aristocratic. The French lady seemed to look upon the foreign one
as an intruder, and scarcely deigned to turn her eyes in that direction.

Probably this was because she was so charming, and monopolised so
much of the attention of us gentlemen.
'They no sooner looked than they loved,' says Rosalind. This was not,
perhaps, quite the case with M. Jerome and the Russian princess, who
took care to let it be known that she was a widow; but in a very few
days what is called 'a secret sympathy' evidently sprang into existence.
The former, of course, made the first advances. His diplomatic and
seductive arts were not, however, put to a great test, for in three days
the lady manifestly felt uneasy until he presented himself at dinner; and
in a week, I met them walking arm in arm on the bridge. It was easy to
see that he was on his good behaviour; and from some fragments of
conversations I overheard between them when they met in the passage
opposite my door, I learned that he was 'doing the melancholy dodge,'
as in the vernacular we would express it; and had many harrowing
revelations to make as to the manner in which his heart had been trifled
with by unfeeling beauties.
'There is a tide in the affairs of an hôtel:' I am in a mood for quoting
from my favourite authors; and whereas we had at one time sat down
nearly twenty to table, we suddenly found ourselves to be only
three--M. Jerome, the princess, and myself. A kind of intimacy was the
natural result. We made ourselves mutually agreeable; and I was not at
all surprised, when one evening Madame de Mourairef invited us two
gentlemen to take tea with her in her little sitting-room. Both accepted
joyfully; and though I am persuaded that M. Jerome would have
preferred a tête-à-tête, he accepted my companionship with tolerable
grace. We strolled together, indeed, on the quay for half an hour. It was
raining slightly, and I had a cough; but I have too good an opinion of
human nature to imagine that my new acquaintance kept me out by his
fascinating conversation, in order to make me catch a desperate cold,
that would send me wheezing to bed.
The tea was served, as I suppose it is served in Russia, very weak, with
a plentiful admixture of milk and accompaniment of biscuits glacés.
Madame de Mourairef did the honours in an inexpressibly graceful
manner; and I observed that there was a delightful intimacy between

her and her maid Penelope, that quite upset my ideas of northern
serfdom. I think they even once exchanged a wink, but of this I am not
sure. There is nothing like experience to expand one's ideas, and I made
up my mind to re-examine the whole of my notions of Muscovite
vassalage. M. Jerome seemed less struck by these circumstances than
myself--being probably too much absorbed in contemplation of our
hostess--but even he could not avoid exclaiming, 'that if that were the
way in which serfs were treated, he should like to be a serf--of such a
mistress!'
'You Frenchmen are so gallant!' was the reply.
A little while afterwards, somebody proposed a game of whist. There
was an objection to 'dead-man,' and Penelope, with a semi-oriental
salaam, offered to 'take a hand.' Madame de Mourairef was graciously
pleased to order her to do so. We shuffled, cut, and played; and when
midnight came, and it was necessary to retire, I felt almost afraid to
examine into my own heart, lest I might find that the soubrette
appeared to me at least as high-bred as the mistress.
We spent some delightful evenings in this manner, and perhaps still
more delightful days, for by degrees we became inseparable, and all our
walks and drives were made in common. The garçon often looked
maliciously at me, even offered once or twice to develop his Art of
Love; but I did not choose to be interrupted in my physiognomical
studies, and gave him no opportunity.
A picnic was proposed, and agreed upon. We intended at first to go to
Chambord; but there was danger of