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
Of this ball I remember nothing but that the slippery floor, in which a
man could see his own face, kept me in deadly fear lest my sword trip
me. Jerome was gay and talkative, pointing out many people of whom I
had heard, but they did not look so great after all.
"For sake of heaven man, wear not so long a face; it is not the funeral
of thy mistress I have brought thee to."
I marveled that so many old ladies should carry such young faces or
perchance their hair had turned gray earlier than was its wont in the
colonies. And, too, they seemed sadly disfigured with boils, for on
the chin or cheek of nearly every one there showed a patch of black
sticking-plaster. Poor things! I sorrowed for them, it was so
humiliating. Verily, I pitied them all, and speculated on the
wonderful compensations of Providence. With all their wealth and rank,
their lordly castles and their jewels, these noble dames could not
purchase that which the humblest serving-maid in Quebec had, and to
spare--a clear skin and sunny locks.
I touched upon these matters to Jerome, but he only laughed
immoderately. He was ever a light-headed young spark who gave no
contemplation to deeper questions than present enjoyment.
Of a sudden my wits almost left me at a terrible outcry from one end of
the great hall, a cry not of human beings but of wild beasts, muffled
and menacing. The dancing, the music, the hum of voices ceased, and a
thick silence as of direst fear fell upon them all. Then there came a
loud crackling and shattering of glass, a woman's scream, the first of
very many. This for aught I know might have been a usual happening at
a ball, I had never been to one before.
I looked for Jerome. He was gone, speeding toward a young lady
surpassing fair, with whom he had been speaking but a few moments
since. I fain would have assisted him, for the damsel appeared wofully
beset, but the whole throng of mincing lords and screaming ladies, in
the rankest riot, over-ran me. They swept me from my feet and bore me
back to the farthest wall, where I found myself pinned tight and fast
against a window.
What the danger was I could not see, but it must have been dolorous
from the headlong terror of their flight. Soon by the thinning of the
crowd through the doors I saw the cause. It was a motley and a moving
spectacle. For by some mischance a flock of sheep had broken into the
ball-room, and frightened out of their shallow senses by the lights and
music, they rushed pell-mell here and there, upsetting without
discrimination whatever stood in their path.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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