The black wolf's breed : $b A story of France in the Old world and the New, happening in the reign of Louis XIV — John Shaqi
The black wolf's breed : $b A story of France in the Old world and the New, happening in the reign of Louis XIVDickson, Harris
History
The black wolf's breed : $b A story of France in the Old world and the New, happening in the reign of Louis XIV
Dickson, Harris
France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction
To his insinuating argument, even in this matter, at length I yielded;
surrendered with the better grace perhaps, that he provided a most
excellent piece of steel, which he said had seen good service. I tried
its temper, and the edge being keen, I laid my own aside with sore
misdoubtings, casting off an old friend to strap on a new. He now
added a touch of rouge here and there, a black line to my brows and in
the corners of my eyes, stepping back ever and anon to observe the
effect. It galled me raw, yet I must perforce submit. When the whole
job was finished, and I was allowed to sit, I gained no comfort. My
clothes were too tight in some places, while in others I rocked about
as loose as a washerwoman's arm in her scrubbing tub.
Jerome must now give me some lessons in deportment, he called it. It
was but another name for a smirking and a-bowing and a-grimacing, what
was denominated the "etiquette of the court." Jerome sat himself
contented down, and put me through my paces like some farrier showing
off a foundered nag. I more than half believed he was all the while
making game of me, yet I knew no better. At any rate it was the
veriest nonsense.
After a series of rehearsals Jerome withdrew to make himself ready,
leaving me to practice my new acquirements of gait, of gesture, and of
speech. What had taken me the better part of a laborious day he
accomplished in a short half hour. Coming back unannounced he caught
me bowing and scraping before a mirror, like a man stricken with
idiocy. I felt as shamed as though I had been detected hiding in face
of the enemy.
Jerome mocked and taunted me into a fine rage, which he deftly pacified
in wonderment at himself. I should never have known him again for the
plain Jerome. Arrayed in much the same character of finery which
bedecked me, I could give no accurate description of his dress, except
that with glossy wig and a bit of color in his cheeks he strutted
valiantly as a crowing cock in his own barnyard.
"Come, Placide, we are going to a ball; we can do nothing in our quest
to-night."
"To a what?"
"A ball. I thought it might be well to have you look in upon Madame
M--'s and recite your lessons. It is to be a famous gathering and well
worth your seeing."
I was in a whirl, a stupor, by this time, and obeyed implicitly;
beside, it required such an infinite skill to keep my sword from
swinging between my legs and throwing me down, I had no time to
consider of minor matters. He led the way and I followed meekly as a
lap-dog.
At the great entrance gate we became entangled in a medley of soldiers,
coachmen, torch-bearers and servants coming and going--such a babel of
strange oaths--I wished I were safe again in the quiet of Biloxi. I
pleaded with Jerome to turn again, but he was inexorable.
"I expect to find out something to-night," he explained.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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