Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 152: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ce ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. 139 man leaped down from behind, and came up to the window, touching his hat. “Does the coachman know the way?” I in- quired. “ What, Miss?” asked the man, as if struck with stupid amazement: “know the way, Miss?” “ Yes—that is what I said. Does he know the way, I repeat ?” “Of course he does, Miss,” was the lacquey’s prompt rejoinder. ‘“ He could not possibly fail re “Ah! I feared that you were taking the wrong route,” I said, “ because I did not exactly recog- nise y “T can assure you, Miss, it is the right one,” interjected the footman: “but of course, if you would prefer, Miss, that any other route should be taken e “No, no,” I ejaculated; “it is all right! I am sorry to have given this trouble and to have stopped the carriage. Pray proceed !” Again the footman leapt up behind—the coach- man touched his horses with the whip—and away sped the equipage, while I sank back ashamed and mortified at having suddenly given way to sus- picions which I felt to be so unfounded. On we went: several minutes elapsed—and now I said to myself, “ Surely Great Ormond Street ought to be reached by this time?” Scarcely had I made this reflection, when on looking forth from the window, I perceived that we were in a street of very different appearance from that where I dwelt; for it was larger and handsomer, and seemed to be in amore fashionable quarter. The equipage dashed up to the door of a fine house; and there it stopped. Down leapt the footman; he opened the door of the carriage and lowered the steps with the haste and fracas which always accompany these proceedings, and which lacqueys seem to think is an indispensable portion of their duty. “ But where am 1?” I asked in bewilderment, though searcely with any degree of terror—for I thought simply that some egregious mistake must have been made, and I saw that my personal free- dom stood not for a moment the slightest chance of being compromised by coercion, as several per- sons were passing in the street, and there was a policeman standing near a lamp-post at a little distance. “ Where are you, Miss?” repeated the footman, again with an air of stupid amazement, as if he knew himself to be all right in his own proceedings and fancied that it was I who was in confusion about mine. “ Why, Miss, at home.” _ “At home?” I ejaculated. “Not my home! not in Great Ormond Street !” * No. Miss—to be sure not! it’s master’s,” “Your master’s house?” I said, growing im- patient. “But is not your master the Marquis of Campanella ?” “Yes, Miss—the Marquis of Campanella,” re- peated the footman, giving it out loudly and sen- tentiously, as he had ere now done at the entrance of the theatre, as if for the behoof of the passers- by I exclaimed, in continued bewilderment. “Oh, yes, Miss,” responded the footman: “he has only been here for the last few days.” “Then your master has moved very recently ?” Kxtraordinary !— and I to know nothing about it! But the Marchioness and the Countess Beatrice P” “Oh, yes, Miss!” said the footman prom ptly. “They are here ?” I demanded. “Ob, yes—to be sure, Miss!”—and again he glanced around upon the passers-by as if proud of being in any way connected with the parade of all these high-sounding names, “But it is impossible I can alight now,” I said: “you have made a mistake—you thought that by . the fact of my at once accepting the use of this carriage, I wished to be brought here! Ah! by the bye,” I suddenly demanded, “ since the Mar- quis and his family are here, at this house—for whom was the carriage waiting at the theatre P” “Why, for you, Miss, to be sure!” responded the footman, with an air of the most ingenuous wonder that such a question should be put; and he really began to survey me by aid of the gaslight as if he thought I was taking leave of my senses. “Well,” [said to myself, “ all this is very stupid on my part!—the whole affair becomes as clear as daylight! Beatrice or the Marchioness—but most likely Beatrice—must have been at the house, or else at the theatre—or must have met Beda—or something of the kind at all events they must know of poor Mary’s illness and that my carriage was in use in conveying Beda from place to place; and they have sent their own equipage to be placed at my service. It was all my fault for not telling this footman that I wanted to be taken to Great Ormond Street: and so, as I gave no special in- structions, hoe naturally supposed the carriage was sent to bring me here—and hither I have accord- ingly been brought.” Thought travels infinitely more quickly through the brain than a pen on the paper; so that the reader must comprehend that all these reflections which have taken me some minutes to write and will take him some moments to read, flitted through my imagination in the space of half-a-dozen seconds. I fancied I saw i all as clearly and lucidly as possible! “Well,” I said, “I must alight for a moment: it would be most rude and discourteous to do other- wise! But pray remain here at the door, for I shall have to depart in a few moments again!” “To be sure, Miss,” replied the footman, touch- ing his hat: and then he held his arm for me to descend from the carriage. I tripped lightly out—-the front door already stood open—and another footman was stationed there. The gas-lamp suspended inside illuminated a spacious and handsome hall and revealed a superb marble staircase. I hastened into the house: the second footman to whom I have alluded closed the front door, and hastened to lead the way up the grand staircase. Statues, vases, pictures—in @ word, all the evidences of wealth, good taste, and luxury met the eye on every side: but the house with its appointments was totally different from the one where I had last seen tho Marquis and Marchioness of Campanella and Beatrice di Car- boni. This circumstance appeared to me to be utterly insignificant; for if the Marquis had moved it was from one ready-furnished mansion to an- other, because when he had first come to London it was only to stay a limited time—and though he had now far exceeded the veriod to which hia com (C OOO) K< Sa tienen meena (EO)