Ellice Quentin, and other storiesHawthorne, Julian
General
Ellice Quentin, and other stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
The band was playing the second movement of the Sinfonie, and while the
music lasted, she sat in quiet and pleased attention, her chin resting
on her half-opened hand, and her glance directed musingly towards the
little group of statuary that stands at the outer extremity of the
concert-ground. The old gentleman, meanwhile, studied the programme
and took a pull or two at the schoppen of beer which the kellner had
brought him. When at length the intermission came, the two engaged in
conversation, and then all the sparkle and mischievous charm of the
young lady's face came to the surface; and if she had been beautiful
before, her loveliness was now well-nigh intolerable. Presently the old
gentleman lit a cigar, and, getting up from the table, walked off to
smoke it, leaving his daughter temporarily alone.
It will not be necessary for me to observe at this point, that I was
already in love: although I do not think I had yet realised the fact
myself. Never having experienced any sensations of the kind before, I
perhaps failed to attribute to them their full significance. But an
incident which now occurred informed my ignorance. A guttural voice
from somewhere behind me made itself heard above the low hum of general
conversation round about. 'Ach Herrje!' it exclaimed, in a tone of
impertinent admiration, 'was für eine Schönheit!'
I turned about in pure amazement, unable to believe that any human
being could have the audacity to launch his impudence against this
gracious paragon. But I could not doubt the evidence of my own senses.
An overgrown young lieutenant of cavalry was sitting at a table close
by, his hands resting on the hilt of his long sabre, and his pale-blue
prominent eyes fixed insolently upon my young lady--I say, upon _mine_!
There was in his manner an insufferable swagger and self-complacent
conceit which would have been hard enough to put up with at any time,
but which under these circumstances made my hands turn cold and my face
hot with ire. I knew something of the fellow--he was a certain Von
Wurst, reputed to be immensely rich, and he occupied the first _étage_
of the same building whose sky parlour was dedicated to my muse. He
had a scandalous reputation in Dresden as a gambler and libertine; and
if I had never troubled myself to verify the reports of his ill-fame
heretofore, I had not the least hesitation about believing the worst of
them now.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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