I believe, ere he finish'd his tardy toilet, That Lord Alfred had spoil'd, and flung by in a pet, Half a dozen white neckcloths, and look'd for the nonce Twenty times in the glass, if he look'd in it once.
I believe that he split up, in drawing them on, Three pair of pale lavender gloves, one by one.
And this is the reason, no doubt, that at last, When he reach'd the Casino, although he walk'd fast, He heard, as he hurriedly enter'd the door, The church clock strike Twelve.
XXVII.
The last waltz was just o'er.
The chaperons and dancers were all in a flutter.
A crowd block'd the door: and a buzz and a mutter Went about in the room as a young man, whose face Lord Alfred had seen ere he enter'd that place, But a few hours ago, through the perfumed and warm Flowery porch, with a lady that lean'd on his arm Like a queen in a fable of old fairy days, Left the ballroom.
XXVIII.
The hubbub of comment and praise Reach'd Lord Alfred as just then he enter'd.
"Ma foi!"
Said a Frenchman beside him, . . . "That lucky Luvois Has obtained all the gifts of the gods . . . rank and wealth, And good looks, and then such inexhaustible health!
He that hath shall have more; and this truth, I surmise, Is the cause why, to-night, by the beautiful eyes Of la charmante Lucile more distinguish'd than all, He so gayly goes off with the belle of the ball."
"Is it true," asked a lady aggressively fat, Who, fierce as a female Leviathan, sat By another that look'd like a needle, all steel And tenuity--"Luvois will marry Lucile?"
The needle seem'd jerk'd by a virulent twitch, As though it were bent upon driving a stitch Through somebody's character.
"Madam," replied, Interposing, a young man who sat by their side, And was languidly fanning his face with his hat, "I am ready to bet my new Tilbury that, If Luvois has proposed, the Comtesse has refused."
The fat and thin ladies were highly amused.
"Refused! . . . what! a young Duke, not thirty, my dear, With at least half a million (what is it?) a year!"
"That may be," said a third; "yet I know some time since Castelmar was refused, though as rich, and a Prince.
But Luvois, who was never before in his life In love with a woman who was not a wife, Is now certainly serious."
XXIX.
The music once more Recommenced.
XXX.
Said Lord Alfred, "This ball is a bore!"
And return'd to the inn, somewhat worse than before.
XXXI.
There, whilst musing he lean'd the dark valley above, Through the warm land were wand'ring the spirits of love.
A soft breeze in the white window drapery stirr'd;
In the blossom'd acacia the lone cricket chirr'd;
The scent of the roses fell faint o'er the night, And the moon on the mountain was dreaming in light.
Repose, and yet rapture! that pensive wild nature Impregnate with passion in each breathing feature!
A stone's throw from thence, through the large lime-trees peep'd In a garden of roses, a white chalet, steep'd In the moonbeams. The windows oped down to the lawn;
The casements were open; the curtains were drawn;
Lights stream'd from the inside; and with them the sound Of music and song. In the garden, around A table with fruits, wine, tea, ices, there set, Half a dozen young men and young women were met.
