F. Colburn (Francis Colburn) Adams
Chapter 19
parvenues."
It is a high old house this of Madame Flamingo. We speak approvingly
of all we see, her pride is stimulated, she quickens her
conversation. "I think you said two bottles, gentlemen? Our
sparkling Moselle is pronounced a gem by connoisseurs." And again
flaunting her embroidered apron, she trips hurriedly out of the
room. While she is gone we turn to view its human furniture. Yonder,
in a cozy alcove, stands a marble-topped pier-table, at which are
seated two gentlemen of great respectability in the community,
playing whist with fair but frail partners. Near them, on a soft
lounge, is seated a man of portly person and venerable appearance
(his hair is snowy white, and he has a frank, open countenance),
holding converse with, and evidently enamoured of a modest and
beautiful girl, of some sixteen summers, who has just taken her seat
at the opposite end. Madame Flamingo addresses this man as "Judge."
His daylight duty is known to be that of presiding over a criminal
court. The girl with whom he nervously holds conversation, and whose
bright, Italian eyes, undulating black hair, Grecian face and fair
features, swelling bust and beautifully-chiseled shoulders, round
polished arms and tapering hands, erect figure, so exactly dressed
in black brocade, and so reserve in her demeanor, is the Anna Bonard
of this history. "Judge!" she says in reply to a question he has
advanced, and turning disdainfully upon him her great black eyes,
walks gracefully out of the room.
Sitting on a sofa opposite is a slender youth, somewhat flashily
dressed. His complexion is sandy, there is something restless in his
manner; and in his features, which are sharp and watchful, is that
which indicates a mind weak and vacillating. He sits alone,
seemingly thoughtful, and regarding with a jealous eye the insidious
manner in which the venerable judge addresses the beautiful Anna, in
whom you must know, reader, he has a deep and passionate interest.
As Anna passes out of the room he, like one in despair, rests his