Villette

and Lucy be silent, that I may hear the singing?«
    They were then thundering in a chorus, under cover of which all the previous dialogue had taken place.
    »
You
hear the singing, mama! Now, I will wager my studs – which are genuine – against your paste brooch –«
    »My paste brooch, Graham? Profane boy! you know that it is a stone of value.«
    »Oh! that is one of your superstitions: you were cheated in the business.«
    »I am cheated in fewer things than you imagine. How do you happen to be acquainted with young ladies of the court, John? I have observed two of them pay you no small attention during the last half hour.«
    »I wish you would not observe them.«
    »Why not? Because one of them satirically levels her eye-glass at me? She is a pretty, silly girl: but are you apprehensive that her titter will discomfit the old lady?«
    »The sensible, admirable old lady! Mother, you are better to me than ten wives yet.«
    »Don't be demonstrative, John, or I shall faint, and you will have to carry me out; and if that burden were laid upon you, you would reverse your last speech, and exclaim, ›Mother, ten wives could hardly be worse to me than you are?‹«
     
    The concert over, the Lottery »au bénéfice des Pauvres« came next: the interval between was one of general relaxation, and the pleasantest imaginable stir and commotion. The white flock was cleared from the platform; a busy throng of gentlemen crowded it instead, making arrangements for the drawing; and amongst these – the busiest of all – re-appeared that certain well-known form, not tall but active, alive with the energy and movement of three tall men. How M. Paul did work! How he issued directions, and at the same time, set his own shoulder to the wheel! Half-a-dozen assistants were at his beck to remove the pianos, etc.; no matter, he must add to their strength his own. The redundancy of his alertness was half-vexing, half-ludicrous: in my mind I both disapproved and derided most of this fuss. Yet, in the midst of prejudice and annoyance, I could not, while watching, avoid perceiving a certain not disagreeable naïveté in all he did and said; nor could I be blind to certain vigorous characteristics of his physiognomy, rendered conspicuous now by the contrast with a throng of tamer faces: the deep, intent keenness of his eye, the power of his forehead – pale, broad, and full – the mobility of his most flexible mouth. He lacked the calm of force, but its movement and its fire he signally possessed.
    Meantime the whole hall was in a stir; most people rose and remained standing, for a change; some walked about, all talked and laughed. The crimson compartment presented a peculiarly animated scene. The long cloud of gentlemen, breaking into fragments, mixed with the rainbow line of ladies; two or three officer-like men approached the King and conversed with him. The Queen, leaving her chair, glided along the rank of young ladies, who all stood up as she passed; and to each in turn I saw her vouchsafe some token of kindness – a gracious word, look or smile. To the two pretty English girls, Lady Sara and Ginevra Fanshawe, she addressed several sentences; as she left them, both, and especially the latter, seemed to glow all over with gratification. They were afterwards accosted by several ladies, and a little circle of gentlemen gathered round them; amongst these – the nearest to Ginevra – stood the Count de Hamal.
    »This room is stiflingly hot;« said Dr. Bretton, rising with sudden impatience. »Lucy – mother – will you come a moment to the fresh air?«
    »Go with him, Lucy;« said Mrs. Bretton. »I would rather keep my seat.«
    Willingly would I have kept mine also, but Graham's desire must take precedence of my own; I accompanied him.
    We found the night-air keen; or at least, I did: he did not seem to feel it; but it was very still, and the star-sown sky spread cloudless. I was wrapped in a fur shawl. We took some turns on the pavement; in passing under a lamp, Graham encountered my eye.
    »You look pensive, Lucy: is it on my account?«
    »I was only fearing that you were grieved.«
    »Not at all: so be of good cheer – as I am. Whenever I die, Lucy, my persuasion is that it will not be of heart-complaint. I may be stung, I may seem to droop for a time, but no pain or malady of sentiment has yet gone through my whole system. You have always seen me cheerful at home?«
    »Generally.«
    »I am glad she laughed at my mother. I would