which, as she considered, would harmonise perfectly with the odious balzerine. All this was done with such marvellous dexterity of feature that the only inference open to the young gentleman behind the counter was that F. and I had been accomplices in duplicity throughout the whole transaction. I can stand a good deal—but I was not going to stand that. I desired him instantly—instantly—to pack up the mousseline-de-soie, and to give me the bill. I can have no doubt that my countenance must, in a certain degree, have betrayed the exceeding exasperation of mind under which I was labouring, inasmuch as dear Flora, now in full retreat, attempted no further act of hostility than a faint sigh, in which, as I thought, resignation was not altogether unmixed with satisfaction. “Oh! John, how can you be so foolish?” was the only word which passed between us; for, on my side, my dignity was far too seriously compromised to admit of further argument. Between ourselves, I may be permitted to say that the severity of manner was entirely assumed, and indeed I am not altogether without the impression that the look of blank consternation upon F.’s features was not an exact index to her internal emotions at the moment.
I must not linger too long in this—the vestibule of my public career—so be it sufficient to say that I discharged the bill in a very emphatic way—seized the parcel myself with a look at the shopman, which convinced him that the sooner he left off bowing, and offering to convey it to the carriage for me, the better for himself—and when F. was safely deposited in the phaeton, dashed off at once in the direction of Hanover Square.
Flora. “Oh! John dear—mind the Hansom! Where are we going?”
Jones. “To Mrs. Smith’s.”
Our quarrel was of short duration, for I am bound to say that F. appeared to have forgotten all about the gravel, and Jemmy’s wardrobe, and whilst she placed one of her little hands upon my arm, kept on smiling in the direction of Langham Church, in a manner which did not seem to be at all indicative of internal agony. We were soon at the portal of Mrs. Smith’s studio. I confess that it is not without a feeling of awe that I ever enter one of these establishments. There is a sort of gloomy solemnity about the tall attendant who jerks the door open at one effort, and gazes at you with preternatural respect. The graceful Page who glides upstairs before you to introduce you to the presence; the magnificent ladies who, having completed their negotiations in the upper regions, sweep past you with a bold stare as you endeavour to back out of the way of their amazing draperies; the ministering Houris attached to the establishment, with longer waists and bandeaux larger and glossier than are ever seen in real life; the demure repose of the show-room; the manner in which orders are whispered about regardless of expense; when taken in conjunction with your own internal consciousness of the entirely trumpery nature of the business on which you have come there yourself;—all combine to inspire me with a feeling of dread upon these occasions, in which F. does not seem to participate. That excellent person is quite capable of tearing away even Madame herself from a Duchess, and demanding that lady’s attention to some trivial detail connected with a bonnet-cap! I feel my cheeks growing red at F.’s shameless pertinacity, and try to hide behind a mantilla, or endeavour to throw an expression into my face which is intended to convey to the by-standers the idea that F. does not belong to my party. It is, however, of no use. I am invariably dragged forward and exposed. The truth seems to be that men are as much misplaced in these labyrinths of gauze, and silks, and satins, as a lady would be in a cavalry-charge, or at a cattle-show. We have not the nerve for it.
I knew it was worse than idle for me to struggle against my destiny when once fairly committed to the terrors of this establishment, so I permitted the page to carry the mousseline-de-soie up-stairs without remonstrance. Indeed, at L. & A.’s both Flora and I had thought it exceedingly pretty; but when the parcel was opened by a young lady who officiated in the studio, and who glanced at its contents in a contemptuous way, I did not feel by any means so certain that we had not made a mistake. F., however, was not to be put down, but, in her own turn, scarcely condescended to pay any attention to the murmured remonstrances of the attendant sylph, whilst she stood entranced before the identical pink crape bonnet which had left so indelible a mark upon her internal consciousness some days before. My favourite pointer, Don, when he snuffs the first partridge of the season, on the 1st of September, at 7.45, a.m., in a fresh turnip-field, is affected much in the same way as dear Flora appeared to be with the pink crape bonnet. She passed her hand into my arm, without removing her eye from the fascinating object, and, slowly raising her parasol, and pointing at the P.C.B., whispered gently: “There it is, dear!”
Certainly it was very pretty: but if we had ever been inclined to indulge any doubt as to the propriety of the purchase, our hesitation was at once removed by an assurance from the young lady before-mentioned, that this particular bonnet was known as “Le chapeau rose à l’Impératrice trompée.” It appeared that on the occasion of Madame’s last visit to Paris, a friend of hers, likewise an eminent artiste, had conceived the design of this bonnet, and had mentioned the general outlines of her idea to a few intimate friends, who in their turn mentioned the matter to a few intimate friends, until at last it was spoken of in the presence of the French Empress. The Imperial Eugenie would have that bonnet, and no other: but there was a difficulty. Madame Hortense Babillard had not given in her adhesion to the Napoleonian ideas; she was still Orleanist—pure blood. However, an emissary from the château was appointed to conduct the negotiations between the Court and the atéliers of Madame Babillard. Madame B. conceived the idea of inflicting a blow on the dynasty of the parvenus. The Empress was to wear the bonnet on a given day, at a review on the plain of Satory, which was to take place at 2 p.m. It was calculated that the Empress would leave St. Cloud at