"I see a bonnet and a lace vail," said another, rising suddenly and pushing through the crowd. "I'll wager it's a 'danseuse' of the Grand Opera."
"Look at Merode!" remarked the former, as he pointed to the last speaker. "See how he thrusts himself forward there. Watch, and you'll see him bow and smile to her, as if they had been old acquaintances."
The guess was so far unlucky, that Merode had no sooner come within sight of the carriage-window, than he was seen to bring his hand to the salute, and remain in an attitude of respectful attention till the equipage moved on.
"Well, Merode, who is it?--who are they?" cried several together, as he fell back among his comrades.
"It's our new adjutant-general, parbleu!" said he, "and he caught me staring at his pretty wife."
"Colonel Mahon!" said another, laughing; "I wish you joy of your gallantry, Merode." "And worse, still," broke in a third, "she is not his wife. She never could obtain the divorce to allow her to marry again. Some said it was the husband--a Dutchman, I believe--refused it; but the simple truth is, she never wished it herself."
"How, not wish it?" remarked three or four in a breath.
"Why should she? Has she not every advantage the position could give her, and her liberty into the bargain? If we were back again in the old days of the Monarchy, I agree with you, she could not go to court; she would receive no invitations to the 'petits soupers' of the Trianon, nor be asked to join the discreet hunting-parties at Fontainebleu; but we live in less polished days; and if we have little virtue, we have less hypocrisy."
"Voila!" cried another, "only I, for one, would never believe that we are a jot more wicked or more dissolute than those powdered and perfumed scoundrels that played courtier in the King's bed-chamber."
"There, they are getting out, at the 'Tour d'Argent!'" cried another. "She _is_ a splendid figure, and what magnificence in her dress!"
"Mahon waits on her like a laquais," muttered a grim old lieutenant of infantry.
"Rather like a well-born cavalier, I should say," interposed a young hussar. "His manner is all that it ought to be--full of devotion and respect."
"Bah!" said the former; "a soldier's wife, or a soldier's mistress--for it's all one--should know how to climb up to her place on the baggage-wagon, without three lazy rascals to catch her sleeve or her petticoats for her."