untry like England."

"Except Ireland, where all your best mate comes from,"
said the Major's lady; proceeding, as is not unusual with
patriots of her nation, to make comparisons greatly in
favour of her own country.  The idea of comparing the
market at Bruges with those of Dublin, although she had
suggested it herself, caused immense scorn and derision
on her part.  "I'll thank ye tell me what they mean by
that old gazabo on the top of the market-place," said
she, in a burst of ridicule fit to have brought the old
tower down.  The place was full of English soldiery as
they passed.  English bugles woke them in the morning;
at nightfall they went to bed to the note of the British
fife and drum:  all the country and Europe was in arms,
and the greatest event of history pending:  and honest
Peggy O'Dowd, whom it concerned as well as another,
went on prattling about Ballinafad, and the horses in the
stables at Glenmalony, and the clar't drunk there; and
Jos Sedley interposed about curry and rice at Dumdum;
and Amelia thought about her husband, and how best
she should show her love for him; as if these were
the great topics of the world.

Those who like to lay down the History-book, and to
speculate upon what MIGHT have happened in the world,
but for the fatal occurrence of what actually did take
place (a most puzzling, amusing, ingenious, and profitable
kind of meditation), have no doubt often thought to
themselves what a specially bad time Napoleon took to
come back from Elba, and to let loose his eagle from
Gulf San Juan to Notre Dame.  The historians on our
side tell us that the armies of the allied powers were
all providentially on a war-footing, and ready to bear
down at a moment's notice upon the Elban Emperor.
The august jobbers assembled at Vienna, and carving
out the kingdoms of Europe according to their wisdom,
had such causes of quarrel among themselves as might
have set the armies which had overcome Napoleon to
fight against each other, but for the return of the object
of unanimous hatred and fear.  This monarch had an army
in full force because he had jobbed to himself Poland,
and was determined to keep it:  another had robbed half
Saxony, and was bent upon maintaining his acquisition:
Italy was the object of a third's solicitude.  Each was
protesting against the rapacity of the other; and could the
Corsican but have waited in prison until all these parties
were by the ears, he might have returned and reigned
unmolested.  But what would have become of our story
and all our friends, then?  If all the drops in it were dried
up, what would become of the sea?

In the meanwhile the business of life and living, and
the pursuits of pleasure, especially, went on as if no end
were to be expected to them, and no enemy in front.
When our travellers arrived at Brussels, in which their
regiment was quartered, a great piece of good fortune,
as all said, they found themselves in one of the gayest
and most brilliant little capitals in Europe, and where
all the Vanity Fair booths were laid out with the most
tempting liveliness and splendour.  Gambling was here in
profusion, and dancing in plenty:  feasting was there to
fill with delight that great gourmand of a Jos:  there
was a theatre where a miraculous Catalani was delighting
all hearers:  beautiful rides, all enlivened with martial
splendour; a rare old city, with strange costumes and
wonderful architecture, to delight the eyes of little Amelia,
who had never before seen a foreign country, and fill
her with charming surprises: so that now and for a few
weeks' space in a fine handsome lodging, whereof the
expenses were borne by Jos and Osborne, who was flush
of money and full of kind attentions to his wife--for
about a fortnight, I say, during which her honeymoon
ended, Mrs. Amelia was as pleased and happy as any
little bride out of England.

Every day during this happy time there was novelty
and amusement for all parties.  There was a church to
see, or a picture-gallery--there was a ride, or an opera.
The bands of the regiments were making music at all
hours.  The greatest folks of England walked in the Park
--there was a perpetual military festival.  George, taking
out his wife to a new jaunt or junket every night, was
quite pleased with himself as usual, and swore he was
becoming quite a domestic character.  And a jaunt or
a junket with HIM!  Was it not enough to set this little
heart beating with joy?  Her letters home to her mother
were filled with delight and gratitude at this season.  Her
husband bade her buy laces, millinery, jewels, and
gimcracks of all sorts.  Oh, he was the kindest, best, and
most generous of men!

The sight of the very great company of lords and ladies
and fashionable persons who thronged the town, and
appeared in every public place, filled George's truly British
soul with intense delight.  They flung off that happy
frigidity and insolence of demeanour which occasionally
characterises the great at home, and appearing in
numberless public places, condescended to mingle with the
rest of the company whom they met there.  One night
at a party given by the general of the division to which
George's regiment belonged, he had the honour of dancing
with Lady Blanche Thistlewood, Lord Bareacres'
daughter; he bustled for ices and refreshments for the
two noble ladies; he pushed and squeezed for Lady
Bareacres' carriage; he bragged about the Countess when
he got home, in a way which his own father could not
have surpassed.  He called upon the ladies the next day;
he rode by their side in the Park; he asked their party
to a great dinner at a restaurateur's, and was quite
wild with exultation when they agreed to come.  Old
Bareacres, who had not much pride and a large appetite,
would go for a dinner anywhere.

"I.hope there will be no women besides our own
party," Lady Bareacres said, after reflecting upon the
invitation which had been made, and accepted with too
much precipitancy.

"Gracious Heaven, Mamma--you don't suppose the
man would bring his wife," shrieked Lady Blanche, who
had been languishing in George's arms in the newly
imported waltz for hours the night before.  "The men are
bearable, but their women--"

"Wife, just married, dev'lish pretty woman, I hear,"
the old Earl said.

"Well, my dear Blanche," said the mother, "I suppose,
as Papa wants to go, we must go; but we needn't know
them in England, you know." And so, determined to cut
their new acquaintance in Bond Street, these great folks
went to eat his dinner at Brussels, and condescending to
make him pay for their pleasure, showed their dignity
by making his wife uncomfortable, and carefully excluding
her from the conversation.  This is a species of dignity
in which the high-bred British female reigns supreme.  To
watch the behaviour of a fine lady to other and humbler
women, is a very good sport for a philosophical frequenter
of Vanity Fair.

This festival, on which honest George spent a great
deal of money, was the very dismallest of all the
entertainments which Amelia had in her honeymoon.  She
wrote the most piteous accounts of the feast home to
her mamma:  how the Countess of Bareacres would not
answer when spoken to; how Lady Blanche stared at her
with her eye-glass; and what a rage Captain Dobbin was
in at their behaviour; and how my lord, as they came
away from the feast, asked to see the bill, and pronounced
it a d-- bad dinner, and d-- dear.  But though Amelia
told all these stories, and wrote home regarding
her guests' rudeness, and her own discomfiture,
old Mrs. Sedley was mightily pleased nevertheless,
and talked about Emmy's friend, the Countess of
Bareacres, with such assiduity that the news how his son
was entertaining peers and peeresses actually came to
Osborne's ears in the City.

Those who know the present Lieutenant-General Sir
George Tufto, K.C.B., and have seen him, as they may
on most days in the season, padded and in stays, strutting
down Pall Mall with a rickety swagger on his high-heeled
lacquered boots, leering under the bonnets of passers-
by, or riding a showy chestnut, and ogling broughams in
the Parks--those who know the present Sir George Tufto
would hardly recognise the daring Peninsular and Waterloo
officer.  He has thick curling brown hair and black
eyebrows now, and his whiskers are of the deepest
purple.  He was light-haired and bald in 1815, and stouter
in the person and in the limbs, which especially have
shrunk very much of late.  When he was about seventy
years of age (he is now nearly eighty), his hair, which
was very scarce and quite white, suddenly grew thick,
and brown, and curly, and his whiskers and eyebrows
took their present colour.  Ill-natured people say that
his chest is all wool, and that his hair, because it never
grows, is a wig.  Tom Tufto, with whose father he quarrelled
ever so many years ago, declares that Mademoiselle
de Jaisey, of the French theatre, pulled his
grandpapa's hair off in the green-room; but Tom is
notoriously spiteful and jealous; and the General's wig has
nothing to do with our story.

One day, as some of our friends of the --th were
sauntering in the flower-market of Brussels, having been
to see the Hotel de Ville, which Mrs. Major O'Dowd
declared was not near so large or handsome as her
fawther's mansion of Glenmalony, an officer of rank, with
an orderly behind him, rode up to the market, and
descending from his horse, came amongst the flowers, and
selected the very finest bouquet which money could buy.
The beautiful bundle being tied up in a paper, the officer
remounted, giving the nosegay into the charge of his
military groom, who carried it with a grin, following his
chief, who rode away in great state and self-satisfaction.

"You should see the flowers at Glenmalony," Mrs.
O'Dowd was remarking.  "Me fawther has three Scotch
garners with nine helpers.  We have an acre of hot-houses,
and pines as common as pays in the sayson.  Our greeps
weighs six pounds every bunch of 'em, and upon me
honour and conscience I think our magnolias is as big
as taykettles."

Dobbin, who never used to "draw out" Mrs. O'Dowd
as that wicked Osborne delighted in doing (much to
Amelia's terror, who implored him to spare her), fell
back in the crowd, crowing and sputtering until he
reached a safe distance, when he exploded amongst the
astonished market-people with shrieks of yelling laughter.

"Hwhat's that gawky guggling about?" said Mrs.
O'Dowd.  "Is it his nose bleedn?  He always used to say
'twas his nose bleedn, till he must have pomped all the
blood out of 'um.  An't the magnolias at Glenmalony
as big as taykettles, O'Dowd?"

"'Deed then they are, and bigger, Peggy," the Major
said.  When the conversation was interrupted in the
manner stated by the arrival of the officer who purchased
the bouquet.

"Devlish fine horse--who is it?" George asked.

"You should see me brother Molloy Malony's horse,
Molasses, that won the cop at the Curragh," the Major's
wife was exclaiming, and was continuing the family
history, when her husband interrupted her by saying--

"It's General Tufto, who commands the ---- cavalry
division"; adding quietly, "he and I were both shot in
the same leg at Talavera."

"Where you got your step," said George with a laugh.
"General Tufto! Then, my dear, the Crawleys are come."

Amelia's heart fell--she knew not why.  The sun did
not seem to shine so bright.  The tall old roofs and
gables looked less picturesque all of a sudden, though
it was a brilliant sunset, and one of the brightest and
most beautiful days at the end of May.





CHAPTER XXIX


Brussels

Mr. Jos had hired a pair of horses for his open carriage,
with which cattle, and the smart London vehicle, he made
a very tolerable figure in the drives about Brussels.
George purchased a horse for his private riding, and
he and Captain Dobbin would often accompany the
carriage in which Jos and his sister took daily excursions
of pleasure.  They went out that day in the park for their
accustomed diversion, and there, sure enough, George's
remark with regard to the arrival of Rawdon Crawley and
his wife proved to be correct.  In the midst of a little
troop of horsemen, consisting of some of the very greatest
persons in Brussels, Rebecca was seen in the prettiest
and tightest of riding-habits, mounted on a beautiful
little Arab, which she rode to perfection (having acquired
the art at Queen's Crawley, where the Baronet, Mr.
Pitt, and Rawdon himself had given her many lessons),
and by the side of the gallant General Tufto.

"Sure it's the Juke himself," cried Mrs. Major O'Dowd
to Jos, who began to blush violently; "and that's Lord
Uxbridge on the bay.  How elegant he looks!  Me brother,
Molloy Malony, is as like him as two pays."

Rebecca did not make for the carriage; but as soon
as she perceived her old acquaintance Amelia seated in
it, acknowledged her presence by a gracious nod and
smile, and by kissing and shaking her fingers playfully
in the direction of the vehicle.  Then she resumed her
conversation with General Tufto, who asked "who the
fat officer was in the gold-laced cap?" on which Becky
replied, "that he was an officer in the East Indian service."
But Rawdon Crawley rode out of the ranks of his
company, and came up and shook hands heartily with
Amelia, and said to Jos, "Well, old boy, how are you?"
and stared in Mrs. O'Dowd's face and at.the black cock's
feathers until she began to think she had made a
conquest of him.

George, who had been delayed behind, rode up almost
immediately with Dobbin, and they touched their caps to
the august personages, among whom Osborne at once
perceived Mrs. Crawley.  He was delighted to see Rawdon
leaning over his carriage familiarly and talking to Amelia,
and met the aide-de-camp's cordial greeting with more
than corresponding warmth.  The nods between Rawdon
and Dobbin were of the very faintest specimens of
politeness.

Crawley told George where they were stopping with
General Tufto at the Hotel du Parc, and George made
his friend promise to come speedily to Osborne's own
residence.  "Sorry I hadn't seen you three days ago,"
George said.  "Had a dinner at the Restaurateur's--rather a
nice thing.  Lord Bareacres, and the Countess, and Lady
Blanche, were good enough to dine with us--wish we'd
had you." Having thus let his friend know his claims to be
a man of fashion, Osborne parted from Rawdon, who
followed the august squadron down an alley into which
they cantered, while George and Dobbin resumed their
places, one on each side of Amelia's carriage.

"How well the Juke looked," Mrs. O'Dowd remarked.
"The Wellesleys and Malonys are related; but, of course,
poor I would never dream of introjuicing myself unless
his Grace thought proper to remember our family-tie."

"He's a great soldier," Jos said, much more at ease
now the great man was gone.  "Was there ever a battle
won like Salamanca?  Hey, Dobbin?  But where was it he
learnt his art?  In India, my boy!  The jungle's the school
for a general, mark me that.  I knew him myself, too,
Mrs. O'Dowd:  we both of us danced the same evening
with Miss Cutler, daughter of Cutler of the Artillery, and
a devilish fine girl, at Dumdum."

The apparition of the great personages held them
all in talk during the drive; and at dinner; and until the
hour came when they were all to go to the Opera.

It was almost like Old England.  The house was filled
with familiar British faces, and those toilettes for which
the British female has long been celebrated.  Mrs.
O'Dowd's was not the least splendid amongst these, and
she had a curl on her forehead, and a set of Irish diamonds
and Cairngorms, which outshone all the decorations
in the house, in her notion.  Her presence used to
excruciate Osborne; but go she would upon all parties of
pleasure on which she heard her young friends were bent.
It never entered into her thought but that they must be
charmed with her company.

"She's been useful to you, my dear," George said to
his wife, whom he could leave alone with less scruple
when she had this society.  "But what a comfort it is that
Rebecca's come:  you will have her for a friend, and we
may get rid now of this damn'd Irishwoman."  To this
Amelia did not answer, yes or no:  and how do we know
what her thoughts were?

The coup d'oeil of the Brussels opera-house did not
strike Mrs. O'Dowd as being so fine as the theatre in
Fishamble Street, Dublin, nor was French music at all
equal, in her opinion, to the melodies of her native country.
She favoured her friends with these and other opinions
in a very loud tone of voice, and tossed about a
great clattering fan she sported, with the most splendid
complacency.

"Who is that wonderful woman with Amelia, Rawdon,
love?" said a lady in an opposite box (who, almost always
civil to her husband in private, was more fond than
ever of him in company).

"Don't you see that creature with a yellow thing in
her turban, and a red satin gown, and a great watch?"

"Near the pretty little woman in white?" asked a
middle-aged gentleman seated by the querist's side, with
orders in his button, and several under-waistcoats, and
a great, choky, white stock.

"That pretty woman in white is Amelia, General:  you
are remarking all the pretty women, you naughty man."

"Only one, begad, in the world!" said the General, delighted,
and the lady gave him a tap with a large bouquet
which she had.

"Bedad it's him," said Mrs. O'Dowd; "and that's the
very bokay he bought in the Marshy aux Flures!" and
when Rebecca, having caught her friend's eye, performed
the little hand-kissing operation once more, Mrs. Major
O'D., taking the compliment to herself, returned the salute
with a gracious smile, which sent that unfortunate
Dobbin shrieking out of the box again.

At the end of the act, George was out of the box in a
moment, and he was even going to pay his respects to
Rebecca in her loge.  He met Crawley in the lobby, however,
where they exchanged a few sentences upon the
occurrences of the last fortnight.

"You found my cheque all right at the agent's?
George said, with a knowing air.

"All right, my boy," Rawdon answered.  "Happy to give
you your revenge.  Governor come round?"

"Not yet," said George, "but he will; and you know I've
some private fortune through my mother.  Has Aunty
relented?"

"Sent me twenty pound, damned old screw.  When shall
we have a meet?  The General dines out on Tuesday.
Can't you come Tuesday?  I say, make Sedley cut off his
moustache.  What the devil does a civilian mean with a
moustache and those infernal frogs to his coat!  By-bye.
Try and come on Tuesday"; and Rawdon was going-off
with two brilliant young gentlemen of fashion, who were,
like himself, on the staff of a general officer.

George was only half pleased to be asked to dinner on
that particular day when the General was not to dine.  "I
will go in and pay my respects to your wife," said he; at
which Rawdon said, "Hm, as you please," looking very
glum, and at which the two young officers exchanged
knowing glances.  George parted from them and strutted
down the lobby to the General's box, the number of which
he had carefully counted.

"Entrez," said a clear little voice, and our friend found
himself in Rebecca's presence; who jumped up, clapped
her hands together, and held out both of them to George,
so charmed was she to see him.  The General, with the
orders in his button, stared at the newcomer with a sulky
scowl, as much as to say, who the devil are you?

"My dear Captain George!" cried little Rebecca in an
ecstasy.  "How good of you to come.  The General and I
were moping together tete-a-tete.  General, this is my
Captain George of whom you heard me talk."

"Indeed," said the General, with a very small bow; "of
what regiment is Captain George?"

George mentioned the --th:  how he wished he could
have said it was a crack cavalry corps.

"Come home lately from the West Indies, I believe.
Not seen much service in the late war.  Quartered here,
Captain George?"--the General went on with killing
haughtiness.

"Not Captain George, you stupid man; Captain Osborne,"
Rebecca said.  The General all the while was looking
savagely from one to the other.

"Captain Osborne, indeed! Any relation to the L--
Osbornes?"

"We bear the same arms," George said, as indeed was
the fact; Mr. Osborne having consulted with a herald in
Long Acre, and picked the L-- arms out of the peerage,
when he set up his carriage fifteen years before.  The
General made no reply to this announcement; but took
up his opera-glass--the double-barrelled lorgnon was not
invented in those days--and pretended to examine the
house; but Rebecca saw that his disengaged eye was
working round in her direction, and shooting out
bloodshot glances at her and George.

She redoubled in cordiality.  "How is dearest Amelia?
But I needn't ask: how pretty she looks!  And who is that
nice good-natured looking creature with her--a flame of
yours?  O, you wicked men!  And there is Mr. Sedley
eating ice, I declare: how he seems to enjoy it!  General, why
have we not had any ices?"

"Shall I go and fetch you some?" said the General,
bursting with wrath.

"Let ME go, I entreat you," George said.

"No, I will go to Amelia's box.  Dear, sweet girl!  Give
me your arm, Captain George"; and so saying, and with a
nod to the General, she tripped into the lobby.  She gave
George the queerest, knowingest look, when they were
together, a look which might have been interpreted,
"Don't you see the state of affairs, and what a fool I'm
making of him?"  But he did not perceive it.  He was
thinking of his own plans, and lost in pompous admiration
of his own irresistible powers of pleasing.

The curses to which the General gave a low utterance,
as soon as Rebecca and her conqueror had quitted him,
were so deep, that I am sure no compositor would
venture to print them were they written down.  They came
from the General's heart; and a wonderful thing it is to
think that the human heart is capable of generating such
produce, and can throw out, as occasion demands, such
a supply of lust and fury, rage and hatred.

Amelia's gentle eyes, too, had been fixed anxiously on
the pair, whose conduct had so chafed the jealous General;
but when Rebecca entered her box, she flew to her
friend with an affectionate rapture which showed itself, in
spite of the publicity of the place; for she embraced her
dearest friend in the presence of the whole house, at least
in full view of the General's glass, now brought to bear
upon the Osborne party.  Mrs. Rawdon saluted Jos, too,
with the kindliest greeting: she admired Mrs. O'Dowd's
large Cairngorm brooch and superb Irish diamonds, and
wouldn't believe that they were not from Golconda direct.
She bustled, she chattered, she turned and twisted,
and smiled upon one, and smirked on another, all in full
view of the jealous opera-glass opposite.  And when the
time for the ballet came (in which there was no dancer
that went through her grimaces or performed her comedy
of action better), she skipped back to her own box, leaning
on Captain Dobbin's arm this time.  No, she would
not have George's: he must stay and talk to his dearest,
best, little Amelia.

"What a humbug that woman is!" honest old Dobbin
mumbled to George, when he came back from Rebecca's
box, whither he had conducted her in perfect silence, and
with a countenance as glum as an undertaker's.  "She
writhes and twists about like a snake.  All the time she
was here, didn't you see, George, how she was acting at
the General over the way?"

"Humbug--acting!  Hang it, she's the nicest little
woman in England," George replied, showing his white
teeth, and giving his ambrosial whiskers a twirl.  "You
ain't a man of the world, Dobbin.  Dammy, look at her
now, she's talked over Tufto in no time.  Look how he's
laughing!  Gad, what a shoulder she has!  Emmy, why
didn't you have a bouquet?  Everybody has a bouquet."

"Faith, then, why didn't you BOY one?" Mrs. O'Dowd
said; and both Amelia and William Dobbin thanked her
for this timely observation.  But beyond this neither of
the ladies rallied.  Amelia was overpowered by the flash
and the dazzle and the fashionable talk of her worldly rival.
Even the O'Dowd was silent and subdued after Becky's
brilliant apparition, and scarcely said a word more about
Glenmalony all the evening.

"When do you intend to give up play, George, as you
have promised me, any time these hundred years?" Dobbin
said to his friend a few days after the night at the
Opera.  "When do you intend to give up sermonising?"
was the other's reply.  "What the deuce, man, are you
alarmed about?  We play low; I won last night.  You
don't suppose Crawley cheats?  With fair play it comes
to pretty much the same thing at the year's end."

"But I don't think he could pay if he lost," Dobbin
said; and his advice met with the success which advice
usually commands.  Osborne and Crawley were repeatedly
together now.  General Tufto dined abroad almost constantly.
George was always welcome in the apartments
(very close indeed to those of the General) which the
aide-de-camp and his wife occupied in the hotel.

Amelia's manners were such when she and George visited
Crawley and his wife at these quarters, that they had
very nearly come to their first quarrel; that is, George
scolded his wife violently for her evident unwillingness to
go, and the high and mighty manner in which she comported
herself towards Mrs. Crawley, her old friend; and
Amelia did not say one single word in reply; but with her
husband's eye upon her, and Rebecca scanning her as she
felt, was, if possible, more bashful and awkward on the
second visit which she paid to Mrs. Rawdon, than on her
first call.

Rebecca was doubly affectionate, of course, and would
not take notice, in the least, of her friend's coolness.  "I
think Emmy has become prouder since her father's name
was in the--since Mr. Sedley's MISFORTUNES," Rebecca
said, softening the phrase charitably for George's ear.

"Upon my word, I thought when we were at Brighton
she was doing me the honour to be jealous of me; and
now I suppose she is scandalised because Rawdon, and I,
and the General live together.  Why, my dear creature,
how could we, with our means, live at all, but for a friend
to share expenses?  And do you suppose that Rawdon is
not big enough to take care of my honour?  But I'm very
much obliged to Emmy, very," Mrs. Rawdon said.

"Pooh, jealousy!" answered George, "all women are
jealous."

"And all men too.  Weren't you jealous of General
Tufto, and the General of you, on the night of the Opera?
Why, he was ready to eat me for going with you to visit
that foolish little wife of yours; as if I care a pin for
either of you," Crawley's wife said, with a pert toss of
her head.  "Will you dine here?  The dragon dines with the
Commander-in-Chief.  Great news is stirring.  They say
the French have crossed the frontier.  We shall have a
quiet dinner."

George accepted the invitation, although his wife was a
little ailing.  They were now not quite six weeks married.
Another woman was laughing or sneering at her expense,
and he not angry.  He was not even angry with himself,
this good-natured fellow.  It is a shame, he owned to himself;
but hang it, if a pretty woman WILL throw herself in
your way, why, what can a fellow do, you know?  I AM
rather free about women, he had often said, smiling and
nodding knowingly to Stubble and Spooney, and other
comrades of the mess-table; and they rather respected
him than otherwise for this prowess.  Next to conquering
in war, conquering in love has been a source of pride,
time out of mind, amongst men in Vanity Fair, or how
should schoolboys brag of their amours, or Don Juan be
popular?

So Mr. Osborne, having a firm conviction in his own
mind that he was a woman-killer and destined to conquer,
did not run counter to his fate, but yielded himself
up to it quite complacently.  And as Emmy did not say
much or plague him with her jealousy, but merely became
unhappy and pined over it miserably in secret, he chose
to fancy that she was not suspicious of what all his
acquaintance were perfectly aware--namely, that he was
carrying on a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley.  He
rode with her whenever she was free.  He pretended
regimental business to Amelia (by which falsehood she was
not in the least deceived), and consigning his wife to
solitude or her brother's society, passed his evenings in
the Crawleys' company; losing money to the husband and
flattering himself that the wife was dying of love for him.
It is very likely that this worthy couple never absolutely
conspired and agreed together in so many words:  the one
to cajole the young gentleman, whilst the other won his
money at cards: but they understood each other perfectly
well, and Rawdon let Osborne come and go with entire
good humour.

George was so occupied with his new acquaintances
that he and William Dobbin were by no means so much
together as formerly.  George avoided him in public and
in the regiment, and, as we see, did not like those
sermons which his senior was disposed to inflict upon him.
If some parts of his conduct made Captain Dobbin
exceedingly grave and cool; of what use was it to tell George
that, though his whiskers were large, and his own
opinion of his knowingness great, he was as green as a
schoolboy? that Rawdon was making a victim of him as he had
done of many before, and as soon as he had used him
would fling him off with scorn?  He would not listen:  and
so, as Dobbin, upon those days when he visited the
0sborne house, seldom had the advantage of meeting his
old friend, much painful and unavailing talk between
them was spared.  Our friend George was in the full career
of the pleasures of Vanity Fair.

There never was, since the days of Darius, such a brilliant
train of camp-followers as hung round the Duke of
Wellington's army in the Low Countries, in 1815; and
led it dancing and feasting, as it were, up to the very
brink of battle.  A certain ball which a noble Duchess
gave at Brussels on the 15th of June in the above-named
year is historical.  All Brussels had been in a state of
excitement about it, and I have heard from ladies who
were in that town at the period, that the talk and interest
of persons of their own sex regarding the ball was much
greater even than in respect of the enemy in their front.
The struggles, intrigues, and prayers to get tickets were
such as only English ladies will employ, in order to gain
admission to the society of the great of their own nation.

Jos and Mrs. O'Dowd, who were panting to be asked,
strove in vain to procure tickets; but others of our friends
were more lucky.  For instance, through the interest of
my Lord Bareacres, and as a set-off for the dinner at the
restaurateur's, George got a card for Captain and Mrs.
Osborne; which circumstance greatly elated him.  Dobbin,
who was a friend of the General commanding the division
in which their regiment was, came laughing one
day to Mrs. Osborne, and displayed a similar invitation,
which made Jos envious, and George wonder how the
deuce he should be getting into society.  Mr. and Mrs.
Rawdon, finally, were of course invited; as became the
friends of a General commanding a cavalry brigade.

On the appointed night, George, having commanded
new dresses and ornaments of all sorts for Amelia, drove
to the famous ball, where his wife did not know a single
soul.  After looking about for Lady Bareacres, who cut
him, thinking the card was quite enough--and after
placing Amelia on a bench, he left her to her own
cogitations there, thinking, on his own part, that he had
behaved very handsomely in getting her new clothes, and
bringing her to the ball, where she was free to amuse
herself as she liked.  Her thoughts were not of the
pleasantest, and nobody except honest Dobbin came to
disturb them.

Whilst her appearance was an utter failure (as her
husband felt with a sort of rage), Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's
debut was, on the contrary, very brilliant.  She arrived
very late.  Her face was radiant; her dress perfection.  In
the midst of the great persons assembled, and the eye-
glasses directed to her, Rebecca seemed to be as cool
and collected as when she used to marshal Miss Pinkerton's
little girls to church.  Numbers of the men she knew
already, and the dandies thronged round her.  As for the
ladies, it was whispered among them that Rawdon had
run away with her from out of a convent, and that she
was a relation of the Montmorency family.  She spoke
French so perfectly that there might be some truth in
this report, and it was agreed that her manners were
fine, and her air distingue.  Fifty would-be partners
thronged round her at once, and pressed to have the
honour to dance with her.  But she said she was engaged,
and only going to dance very little; and made her way at
once to the place where Emmy sate quite unnoticed, and
dismally unhappy.  And so, to finish the poor child at
once, Mrs. Rawdon ran and greeted affectionately her
dearest Amelia, and began forthwith to patronise her.
She found fault with her friend's dress, and her
hairdresser, and wondered how she could be so chaussee,
and vowed that she must send her corsetiere the next
morning.  She vowed that it was a delightful ball; that
there was everybody that every one knew, and only a
VERY few nobodies in the whole room.  It is a fact, that
in a fortnight, and after three dinners in general society,
this young woman had got up the genteel jargon so well,
that a native could not speak it better; and it was only
from her French being so good, that you could know she
was not a born woman of fashion.

George, who had left Emmy on her bench on entering
the ball-room, very soon found his way back when
Rebecca was by her dear friend's side.  Becky was just
lecturing Mrs. Osborne upon the follies which her
husband was committing.  "For God's sake, stop him from
gambling, my dear," she said, "or he will ruin himself.
He and Rawdon are playing at cards every night, and you
know he is very poor, and Rawdon will win every shilling
from him if he does not take care.  Why don't you prevent
him, you little careless creature?  Why don't you
come to us of an evening, instead of moping at home
with that Captain Dobbin?  I dare say he is tres aimable;
but how could one love a man with feet of such size?
Your husband's feet are darlings--Here he comes.  Where
have you been, wretch?  Here is Emmy crying her eyes
out for you.  Are you coming to fetch me for the quadrille?"
And she left her bouquet and shawl by Amelia's
side, and tripped off with George to dance.  Women only
know how to wound so.  There is a poison on the tips of
their little shafts, which stings a thousand times more
than a man's blunter weapon.  Our poor Emmy, who had
never hated, never sneered all her life, was powerless in
the hands of her remorseless little enemy.

George danced with Rebecca twice or thrice--how many
times Amelia scarcely knew.  She sat quite unnoticed in
her corner, except when Rawdon came up with some
words of clumsy conversation:  and later in the evening,
when Captain Dobbin made so bold as to bring her
refreshments and sit beside her.  He did not like to ask her
why she was so sad; but as a pretext for the tears which
were filling in her eyes, she told him that Mrs. Crawley
had alarmed her by telling her that George would go on
playing.

"It is curious, when a man is bent upon play, by what
clumsy rogues he will allow himself to be cheated,"
Dobbin said; and Emmy said, "Indeed." She was thinking of
something else.  It was not the loss of the money that
grieved her.

At last George came back for Rebecca's shawl and
flowers.  She was going away.  She did not even
condescend to come back and say good-bye to Amelia.  The
poor girl let her husband come and go without saying a
word, and her head fell on her breast.  Dobbin had been
called away, and was whispering deep in conversation
with the General of the division, his friend, and had not
seen this last parting.  George went away then with the
bouquet; but when he gave it to the owner, there lay a
note, coiled like a snake among the flowers.  Rebecca's
eye caught it at once.  She had been used to deal with
notes in early life.  She put out her hand and took the
nosegay.  He saw by her eyes as they met, that she was
aware what she should find there.  Her husband hurried her
away, still too intent upon his own thoughts, seemingly,
to take note of any marks of recognition which might
pass between his friend and his wife.  These were,
however, but trifling.  Rebecca gave George her hand with one
of her usual quick knowing glances, and made a curtsey
and walked away.  George bowed over the hand, said
nothing in reply to a remark of Crawley's, did not hear it
even, his brain was so throbbing with triumph and
excitement, and allowed them to go away without a word.

His wife saw the one part at least of the bouquet-scene.
It was quite natural that George should come at Rebecca's
request to get her her scarf and flowers:  it was no
more than he had done twenty times before in the course
of the last few days; but now it was too much for her.
"William," she said, suddenly clinging to Dobbin, who was
near her, "you've always been very kind to me--I'm--
I'm not well.  Take me home."  She did not know she called
him by his Christian name, as George was accustomed to
do.  He went away with her quickly.  Her lodgings were
hard by; and they threaded through the crowd without,
where everything seemed to be more astir than even in the
ball-room within.

George had been angry twice or thrice at finding his
wife up on his return from the parties which he
frequented:  so she went straight to bed now; but although
she did not sleep, and although the din and clatter, and
the galloping of horsemen were incessant, she never heard
any of these noises, having quite other disturbances to
keep her awake.

Osborne meanwhile, wild with elation, went off to a
play-table, and began to bet frantically.  He won repeatedly. "Everything succeeds with me to-night," he said.
But his luck at play even did not cure him of his restlessness,
and he started up after awhile, pocketing his winnings,
and went to a buffet, where he drank off many
bumpers of wine.

Here, as he was rattling away to the people around,
laughing loudly and wild with spirits, Dobbin found him.
He had been to the card-tables to look there for his
friend.  Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comrade
was flushed and jovial.

''Hullo, Dob!  Come and drink, old Dob!  The Duke's
wine is famous.  Give me some more, you sir"; and he
held out a trembling glass for the liquor.

"Come out, George," said Dobbin, still gravely; "don't
drink."

"Drink!  there's nothing like it.  Drink yourself, and
light up your lantern jaws, old boy.  Here's to you."

Dobbin went up and whispered something to him, at
which George, giving a start and a wild hurray, tossed off
his glass, clapped it on the table, and walked away
speedily on his friend's arm.  "The enemy has passed the
Sambre," William said, "and our left is already engaged.
Come away.  We are to march in three hours."

Away went George, his nerves quivering with excitement
at the news so long looked for, so sudden when it
came.  What were love and intrigue now?  He thought
about a thousand things but these in his rapid walk to his
quarters--his past life and future chances--the fate which
might be before him--the wife, the child perhaps, from
whom unseen he might be about to part.  Oh, how he
wished that night's work undone!  and that with a clear
conscience at least he might say farewell to the tender
and guileless being by whose love he had set such little
store!

He thought over his brief married life.  In those few
weeks he had frightfully dissipated his little capital.  How
wild and reckless he had been!  Should any mischance
befall him:  what was then left for her?  How unworthy he
was of her.  Why had he married her?  He was not fit for
marriage.  Why had he disobeyed his father, who had been
always so generous to him?  Hope, remorse, ambition,
tenderness, and selfish regret filled his heart.  He sate
down and wrote to his father, remembering what he had
said once before, when he was engaged to fight a duel.
Dawn faintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewell
letter.  He sealed it, and kissed the superscription.  He
thought how he had deserted that generous father, and of
the thousand kindnesses which the stern old man had
done him.

He had looked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered;
she lay quiet, and her eyes seemed closed, and he
was glad that she was asleep.  On arriving at his quarters
from the ball, he had found his regimental servant already
making preparations for his departure:  the man
had understood his signal to be still, and these arrangements
were very quickly and silently made.  Should he go
in and wake Amelia, he thought, or leave a note for her
brother to