Georgette Heyer - Powder and Patch

He was answered by ribald protests.

“I’ll not listen to your verse on an empty stomach,” declared the Vicomte. “Belike I shall appreciate it when in my cups.”

“You have no soul,” said Philip sadly.

“But I have a stomach, petit Anglais, and it cries aloud for sustenance.” “I weep for you,” said Philip. “Why do I waste my poetic gems upon you?” Saint-Dantin took him by the elbow and led him to the door.

“Parbleu, Philippe, it’s what we wish to know. You shall expound to us at dinner.”

Midway through the meal the Vicomte remembered something. He nodded across the table to Philip, who was engaged in a lively and witty argument with De Bergeret. “A propos, Philippe. Your so dear friend has been talking about you!”

“Which so dear friend?” asked Philip. “Jules, if you maintain in the face of my exposition that Jeanne de Fontenay can rival la Salévier in the matter of-”

“But attend!” insisted the Vicomte. “The Englishman-the Bancroft-peste, what a name for my tongue!”

Philip broke off in the middle of his discourse. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight “Bancroft? What does he say of me?”

“A great deal, if all I hear is true.” Philip set down his glass.

“Indeed! Now, what might you have heard, De Ravel?”

“It would appear that ce cher Bancroft feels no love for you, mon pauvre. If De Graune is to be believed, he resents your presence here. He says he has been deceived in you. It is all very sad.”

“Yes,” said Philip. He frowned. “Very sad. But what does he say?” “He divulges your close-guarded secret,” said the Vicomte solemnly. “Oh!” Philip turned in his chair and leaned his elbows on the table. “It is possible that I shall have a word to say to M. Bancroft. Continue, Charles!”

“He speaks of a lady in ‘Leetle Feeteldean’ who has blue, blue eyes, and-” “Shall we pass over her eyes?” smiled Philip.

“But certainly! Her hair-”

“And her hair? In fact, shall we pass over all her attractions?” “He is very much in love,” loudly whispered De Bergeret. Philip flashed a smile at him.

“Very much, Jules. Proceed, Vicomte.” The Vicomte sipped his wine.

“M. Bancroft, he told of your-ah-infatuation. He described the lady-oh, fully!” The thin lips were growing into a straight, smiling line, tightly compressed. Philip nodded. “Allons! Allons!”

“Vicomte, does the gossip of the gaming-hells amuse you?” asked Saint-Dantin sharply. But the Vicomte was a mischief-loving soul. He disregarded the rebuke. “A pretty piece,” he called her, “but no more than a simple country wench. By name-” “Oh, have done!” exclaimed Saint-Dantin impatiently.

“But no!” Philip waved him aside. “I am very interested in what m’sieur has to say.” “By name, Cleone. We have it from M. Bancroft that she falls in love with him for his beaux yeux and his so charming manner.”

“Ah!” Philip’s chin sank into his cupped palms. “Et puis?”

“It is further recorded that one M. Philippe Jettan importuned her with his clumsy attentions, so that M. Bancroft was compelled to teach this M. Philippe a sharp lesson. And when one asks, ‘What of the pretty Cleone?’ he shrugs his shoulders and replies, very superbly, that he wearied of her as of all others.”

Saint-Dantin’s crisp voice cut into the sudden silence.

“Philippe, fill your glass. Paul here tells me of a pass he conceived in his duel with Mardry

last month. A-”

“I will ask Paul to show me that pass,” said Philip. He leant back in his chair and laughed softly. A moment later he had resumed his interrupted discussion with De Bergeret. Afterwards Saint-Dantin took him aside.

“Philippe, I would not have had that happen at my table! Charles is incorrigible!” “On the contrary, I am grateful to him,” replied Philip. “I might not have heard else. Now I will shut that fellow’s mouth.”

“How?” asked Saint-Dantin blankly. Philip made an imaginary pass in the air.

“Short of killing him,” objected Saint-Dantin, “I don’t see-” “Kill him? Not I! I may count on you to-uphold me?” “Of course. But what do you mean to do?”

“First I will reverse the tables. I will punish him. Then I will assure him that my friends will espouse my cause if he again mentions my lady’s name in public.” Saint-Dantin nodded.

“I’ll vouch for those here tonight.”

“Wait! Any mention of her name will be reported to me, and I shall send François to administer a little beating. It is well.”

The Comte laughed outright.

“Oh, Philippe, thou art a young hot-head! Is this Cleone of so great account?” Philip drew himself up.

“She is the lady whom I hope one day to make my wife.”

“Comment? Your wife? Ah, voyons! cela change l’affaire! I did not know that. Stop his talk, by all means.”

“It’s what I am going to do,” said Philip. “Scélérat!” “With a vile taste for pink, hein? You’ll call upon me?” “If you please. And, I think, De Bergeret.”

“Saint-Dantin, a wager!” called De Vangrisse. “What are you talking of so earnestly?” “Of pink coats,” answered Philip. “Oh, my rondeau! Where is it?” “Devil take your rondeau!” cried the Vicomte, “Come and hazard a throw with me.” “A l’instant!” Philip untied the ribbon about his rondeau and spread out the parchment. “I insist that you shall listen to this product of my brain!” He mounted a chair amid derisive cheers, and bowed right and left in mock solemnity. “To the Pearl that Trembles in her Ear.” Cette petite perle qui tremblotte

Au bout ton oreille, et qui chuchotte

Je ne sais quoi de tendre et de malin, A l’air à la fois modeste et coquin, Si goguenarde est elle et si dévote.

regarder c’est toute une gavotte Où 1’on s’avance, se penche, et pivote,

Lors que tu branles d’un mouvement fin Cette petite perle.

’est une étoile dans le ciel qui flotte- Un vif éclair qui luit dans une grotte-

Un feu follet qui hors de mon chemin M’attire, m’éblouit, m’égare-”

Philip paused for his final effect. Arose Saint-Dantin, and like a flash interjected:

“Enfin,

Elle m’embête-saperlipopOtte!-

Cette petite perle

Outraged, Philip threw the parchment at his head.

“Philippe, do you go to De Farraud’s tonight?” asked De Bergeret suddenly. He was lounging on the couch in Philip’s room, watching Philip adjust his patches. “De Farraud’s? I’d not thought of it. Whom shall I meet there?” “Your very obedient,” said De Bergeret, flourishing his hat.

“The prospect does not entice me,” answered Philip. “No, don’t retort! Don’t speak. Don’t move!” He leaned forward, shifting a candle to throw its light on his face, and frowned at his reflection. The white hand that held the haresfoot wavered an instant, and then alighted at the corner of his mouth. Philip sat back, studying the effect.

“Whom else shall I meet, Jules?”

“The usual people, I fancy. And some others, no doubt.”

“De Farraud’s friends are so very mixed,” deplored Philip. “Do you suppose that De Chambert will be present?”

“Nothing is more certain,” yawned De Bergeret. “But it will be amusing, and the play will be high, which is all that matters.”

“But De Chambert wears puce small-clothes,” objected Philip.

“Does he? Mordieu, I’d like to see that! Puce smallclothes, forsooth! And what docs our Philippe wear?”

Philip glanced lovingly down at his pearl-grey breeches.

“Grey, and palest pink, with lacings of silver.” He slipped out of his gaily-hued robe, and stood up. De Bergeret levelled his eyeglass at him.

“Parbleu, Philippe! Grey lace!” Philip shook out his ruffles. “A sweet conceit, hein? But wait! François, my vest!”

His valet brought it, and helped Philip to put it on. It was a very exquisite confection of pink and silver brocade.

De Bergeret was interested.

“I’ll swear you designed that, Philippe! Now for the coat!”

When Philip had at last succeeded in entering into the coat it was some ten minutes later. François stepped back, panting; Philip arranged his sword to his satisfaction. “A careless sprinkling of rubies, hein! One in the cravat, one here, another in my wig. And on my fingers, so …!”

“Perfect!” applauded De Bergeret. “Tonnerre de Dieu, pink humming-birds on your stockings!”

François beamed and clasped his hands, gazing in rapt admiration at Philip’s startlingly clocked legs.

Philip laughed.

“Do they please your artistic soul, Jules? And are they to be wasted on De Farraud? I had intended to go to the Saint-Clammond rout, where I know I shall meet Clothilde. Come with me!”

De Bergeret shook his head.

“I promised De Vangrisse I’d be at De Farraud’s some time tonight. Forget the lovely Clothilde, Philippe. Bethink you, your so dear friend Bancroft will come to Farraud’s in De Chambert’s train!”

Philip was fixing a long ruby earring in his right ear, but he stopped suddenly, and looked over his shoulder at De Bergeret.

“Comment?”

“Why, you leap to my bait!” said De Bergeret, amused. “I thought you could not resist so great an attraction!”

Philip fixed the ruby and swept found for his cloak and hat.

“Faith, that can I not. I come, Jules, I come! François, thou rogue, my snuffbox! Would that he may be wearing that salmon-pink! François, my cane! Jules, you are sitting on my cloak!

Sangdieu! my new cloak!” He swept De Bergeret off the coat, and shook out the soft, rose-lined folds. “God be praised, it is unhurt!” With a deft movement he swung it over his shoulders and fastened it. “My hat! Jules, what think you of my hat?” “A grey hat! Philippe, what an audacity! You are really coming to De Farraud’s?” “To meet the so dear M. Bancroft. En avant, Jules!”

De Bergeret went to the glass,

“Cultivate a more restful manner, mon petit! I am not to be hurried. Do you like this mixture of violet and cream?”