It was nearly five o'clock when MadamePerrault returned. When she saw Jules, she showed no surprise, but smiled upon him broadly and extended her hand. Mademoiselle Blanche lapsed into silence and, as her mother talked, with a superabundance of gesture and with tireless vivacity, she could feel Jules' eyes fixed upon her. She knew that Jules hardly heard what was being said, and when he rose to take his departure, she made no effort to detain him.
"I should like to come again," he said to the girl.
"Some afternoon, perhaps," Madame Perrault suggested amiably. "Blanche always rests between three and four, but after that she could see you."
"But I am at my office till six."
"Ah, yes!" Madame Perrault exclaimed with a smile. "That wicked journalist! You must tell him we were vexed with his article."
"Then may I come in the evening? Perhaps you'll let me take you to the theatre some night?"
Madame Perrault clapped her hands. "That would be perfect!"
Mademoiselle Blanche said nothing, butit was to her that Jules directed his next remark.
"Perhaps to-morrow night; I will come at eight o'clock."
Madame Perrault displayed her gleaming teeth patched with gold, and her daughter merely bowed and said, "Thank you."
As Jules was putting on his overcoat in the little hall, he heard a voice say:
"Il est très gentil, ce monsieur," but though he listened he could not catch the reply. He was radiantly happy, however. When he reached the street, he felt like running; with an effort he controlled himself, and walked buoyantly home with a smile on his face. He would take Madeleine out to dinner, as he used to take his mother when they celebrated his holidays!
The next night, promptly at eight o'clock, Jules appeared in the littlesalonin therue St. Honoré, bearing his offering of flowers to Mademoiselle Blanche. Madame Perrault gave him the quiet reception of an old friend, and he felt as if he had long been in the habit of calling at the apartment. Madame Perrault informed him that she had just risen from dinner, and asked him to drink a cup of coffee. Then the three figures sat in the dimly-lighted room and talked; that is, Jules and Madame Perrault talked, for Blanche ventured a remark only when a question was put to her.
A few moments later, Madame Perrault went into the next room where she was occupied with the little maid in making a dress; so Jules was left alone with her daughter. They had very little to say to each other, and Jules was content to sit in silence and rapt adoration. As he looked ather, her name kept singing in his mind: Blanche! He wondered if he should ever dare to address her in this way. How beautiful she was as she sat there, the soft light of the fire falling on her face and hands, and on the folds of her gown! He was glad she was so quiet; he hated women that talked all the time. That was the great fault with Madame Perrault; if she said less, he would like her, in spite of her powder and paint. Since hearing that she was engaged, and wanted to get her daughter married, Jules' feelings toward her had softened.
It was nearly ten o'clock before they left for the theatre. Jules called a cab, and all three squeezed into it with a great deal of laughter on the part of Madame Perrault. As they rattled over the rough pavement, the noise was so great that they could not talk, and Jules gave himself up to contemplating the serious face of Mademoiselle Blanche. The thought that he was riding with her to the scene of her triumphs thrilled him. He felt as if he were having a share in her performance, as if her glory were reflected on him. Ah, if Dufresne and Leroux couldsee him now! How they would be impressed, and how they would envy him!
Before bidding his friends good-night, he asked if he might not take them home; he would remain till the end of the performance, anyway, he said. Instead of entering the theatre at once, he sauntered along theBoulevardtoward theplace de la Bastille. What were the other performers to him? Without Mademoiselle Blanche theCirque Parisienwould not be worth visiting. He did not return to the theatre till it was nearly time for her to appear. Réju was standing at the door, and made a sign for him to pass in without paying. Jules accepted the invitation with a twinge of conscience. He wondered what Réju would think if he discovered Durand's imposition.
After the performance, Jules waited at the stage-door for half an hour till Mademoiselle Blanche appeared again. Then he asked her and her mother to take supper with him at one of the restaurants in theBoulevard. Madame Perrault consented amiably, and they entered a littlecafé, where a half-dozen young men and girls were sitting rounda table, playing cards. Jules wanted to order a bottle of champagne; but Mademoiselle Blanche objected; he could scarcely keep from smiling when she said she would much rather have beer. So he called for three bocks and some cheese sandwiches, and over this simple repast they became very gay. Madame Perrault was the liveliest of the three, and she amused Jules by a description of herfiancé, who had been in love with her, she said, long before her marriage with Blanche's father. She seemed to think it was very droll that he should want to marry her now; she had told him he would do much better to marry Blanche, or to wait till Jeanne grew up. Under the warmth of her humor, Jules' prejudices against her disappeared, and he found himself growing fond of her. At that moment he longed to confide in her, to tell her all about his infatuation for her daughter, and to ask her advice about the best way of pleasing the girl.
When they had left thecafé, and Jules had taken his friends home and dismissed the cab, he fell again into the depression of the week before. As he walked to theruede Lisbonnein the damp night, he blamed Durand for having introduced him to the Perraults. If he hadn't met Mademoiselle Blanche he might have gone on living comfortably, enjoyed his daily work, his little dinners, his visits to the theatre, his comfortable apartment, with Madeleine to look after his wants. Now he was upset, at sea. He hated the routine of the office; the vulgar stories of Dufresne and Leroux disgusted him; the apartment was cold and lonely; Madeleine was always interfering with him. He resolved not to go to theCirqueagain; he would try to forget Mademoiselle Blanche and her mother's chatter. But when he went to bed it was of her that he thought, and he dreamed that he saw her again, in her white silk tights, climbing hand over hand to the top of the Circus, tumbling through the air, and bouncing with a thud to her feet on the padded net.
The next morning he felt better, and he called himself a fool for his misery of the night before. As he looked back on the evening, he decided that, of course, if they hadn't liked him, they would not haveallowed him to take them to the theatre and back, and to acaféfor supper. He wondered what they would think if he called for them again that night. Perhaps it would be better to wait for two or three days. But at the end of the afternoon he felt so impatient to see Mademoiselle Blanche that he determined to risk seeming intrusive. So he bought another bunch of white roses, and at eight o'clock he reappeared in the apartment. Madame Perrault greeted him just as she had done the night before, without a suggestion of surprise in her manner. This made him feel so bold that he did not apologize, as he had intended to do, but took his place by the fire as if he had a right to be there.
In this way, Jules Le Baron's courtship began. It seemed to him a strange courtship. It taught him a great many things,—among others, how little he knew about women. As he had lived in Paris all of his thirty years, with the exception of his three memorable months in America, he thought he understood women; now he saw his mistake. He had not led a particularly good life, though it was so much better than thelives of most of his acquaintances that he considered himself a man of rather superior character. If he had studied his character more carefully, he would have discovered that his superiority was not a matter of morals, but of taste and temperament. Vice seemed to him vulgar, and it made him uncomfortable; so in its grosser forms he had always avoided it. He had, however, the Parisian's frank, ingenuous, almost innocent fondness for the humorously indecent, and his attitude toward life was wholly French. The mention of virtue made him laugh and shrug his shoulders. Most women, he thought, were naturally the inferiors of men; so the better he understood the character of Mademoiselle Blanche, the more surprised he grew. Indeed, there were times when he felt awed in her presence and ashamed of himself. She seemed to know the world and yet to be untainted by it, to turn away instinctively from its evil phases. If her innocence had been ignorant, he could not have respected it; the knowledge that she had lived in the midst of temptation made her goodness seem almost sublime.
Jules fell into the habit of calling for the Perraults in the evening, and he soon became recognized at theCirqueas their escort. Réju, who still showed respect for him as a journalist, admitted him to the theatre every night without charge, and he was also permitted to enter the sacred precincts beyond the stage-door, where, instead of waiting on the sidewalk, he stood in a cold corridor, dimly lighted by sputtering lamps. After the performance, he sometimes took his friends into the littlecaféfor beer and sandwiches, and occasionally Madame Perrault would prepare a supper at home.
Jules' equilibrium became restored again; he made fewer mistakes at the office and he even deceived the twins, who had come to the conclusion that he must be in love. With Madeleine, in spite of his first confidences, he had little to say about Mademoiselle Blanche, and she did not dare ask him questions. His silence and his improved appetite, together with his renewed amiability, made her hope that he had recovered from his infatuation, and she felt easier in mind.
On the Saturday evening following his first call on Mademoiselle Blanche, while Jules was sitting in the little apartment, he asked the girl if they might not pass Sunday together. "We might drive through theBoisinto the country," he suggested.
She had been looking into the fire, and she glanced at him hesitatingly. "We always go to mass on Sunday morning," she said.
For a moment Jules appeared confused. "But can't you go to early mass?"
Madame Perrault, who was in the next room, called out: "It's no use trying to persuade her not to go to high mass, monsieur. She'd think something terrible was going to happen to her if she didn't go. Now, I go at eight o'clock; so I have the rest of the day free."
Jules looked at Mademoiselle Blanche and smiled, and she smiled back.
"I like to hear the music," she explained apologetically.
"Oh, she's too religious forthisworld," Madame Perrault laughed. "I believe she'd go to mass every morning of her life if shedidn't have to stay up so late at night. She ought to be in a convent instead of a circus."
"In a convent!" Jules exclaimed, in mock alarm.
"Don't you ever go to church?" the girl asked, turning to Jules.
He looked confused again. "I? Well, no. To tell the truth, I haven't been in a church for nearly ten years. Oh, yes I have. I went to a funeral two years ago at the Trinity."
"But weren't you—weren't you brought up to go to church?"
"Brought up to go to church? Oh, yes; my mother went to church every Sunday of her life. I used to go with her after my father died."
A long silence followed. Mademoiselle Blanche turned again to the fire, and Jules had a sensation of extreme unpleasantness. Like many Parisians, he never thought about religion. He had been so affected by the skepticism of his associates that he had no real belief in any doctrine. He saw now for the first time that serious complications might arise from his religious indifference.It was very disagreeable, he thought, to be confronted with it in this way. Indeed, the more he thought about it, the more annoyed he became. He felt that he must justify himself in some way. So at last he spoke up: "I suppose you're shocked because I don't go to church, aren't you, mademoiselle?"
Mademoiselle Blanche looked down at her hands lying folded in her lap.
"I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" he repeated, trying to laugh. "Why are you sorry? I rather like it. I never did enjoy going to church."
"We don't go to church to enjoy it, do we?" she asked gently.
He sank back in his seat, and looked at her. "No, I suppose not." Then, after a moment, he suddenly leaned forward. "We can't all be good like you, mademoiselle. Perhaps if I had known you always, I should go to church. I'd do anything to please you."
"But you ought not to go to please me. You ought to go for your own good."
"So you think it does good, then—going to church?"
"I'm sure of it," she replied, gazing into the fire. "Sometimes,—when I feel unhappy because I haven't seen the girls for so long, and because I must be separated from them so much, or when Aunt Sophie complains about Jeanne, or Jeanne has been unkind to Louise, or disobedient, then, after I've been to church, I feel better."
"Why do you feel better?" he asked, more to keep her talking than because he cared for her answer.
"Because I feel sure," she went on, holding her head down, "I feel sure it will all come out right—if I only have faith. Jeanne is a good girl; she's never disobedient or unkind with me."
"Then you worry about Jeanne?"
"Yes—sometimes."
"But you don't worry so much after you've been at church?"
"No."
"And that is why you like to go to church?"
"That's one reason. But there are others—a great many others."
He felt like laughing at the simplicity ofher reasoning, and yet he was touched. He had a sudden desire to take her in his arms and stroke her soft hair and tell her he loved her. Then he heard her mother's step in the next room, and this roused him.
"I should like to go to church with you sometimes," he said. "May I?"
"Take him to-morrow, Blanche," cried Madame Perrault, and at that moment Jules could have kissed her, too. "There's going to be a special service atSt. Philippe de Rouleat ten o'clock. The music will be good."
That was how Jules first happened to go to church with Mademoiselle Blanche. After mass they walked up theChamps Élyséesand then along theavenue du Bois de Boulogne, in the midst of the multitude of promenaders. A few of the men recognized the girl, and turned to look after her. She seemed not to see them, but Jules did, and he felt very proud to be her escort. She looked very pretty in her tight-fitting black jacket and little hat tipped with fur, her cheeks scarlet with the early frost. She was the last person in the crowd, Jules thought, who would betaken for an acrobat. It seemed to him wonderful that she should appear so unlike the marvel that she was, and this lack of resemblance to herself made her the more attractive to him.
After that day, Jules went to church with Mademoiselle Blanche every Sunday. At first the sight of the priests in their vestments, of the altar-boys in their white surplices, of the white altar gleaming with candles and plate and enshrouded in incense, and the reverberation of the organ, mingled with the voices singing the music of the mass, all reminded him so strongly of his mother, that his old affection for her swept over him, and brought tears to his eyes.
His own disbelief had made him doubt even the faith of others. It had also inspired him with the hatred for priests, so common even among Parisians of traditions like his own. Now, as he watched them, chanting at the altar, they seemed harmless as other men. He tried, as he went mechanically through the service, to count the men he knew who went to church. Nearly all of his acquaintances, he found, scoffed at it.Then gradually the service became subtly mingled with his love for the girl beside him, and for her sake he loved it. The organ seemed to sing her praise exultingly. He would have liked to tell her of this fancy, but he did not dare; he knew it would shock her. In a short time, going through the mass with her grew to mean to him an expression of his love, a spiritual exaltation which he offered as a tribute, not to God, but to her.
By the month of November, Jules had identified himself with Madame Perrault and her daughter. He took his position as their friend and recognized escort so quickly and so quietly that he was himself surprised by it. There were moments when he had a fear that it was all an illusion, that some night he should find the stage-door of theCirqueslammed in his face.
It was while watching Mademoiselle Blanche in the ring that he found it most difficult to realize his happiness. He actuallyknewthis wonderful creature in white tights who darted from trapeze to trapeze, who posed like a marble statue on the rope, who shot through the air like a thunderbolt! He saw her every day; he loved her, and she knew that he loved her. Sometimes he fancied that she loved him in return—from an expression in her face, a glance of her eyes, a blush, a tremor when his hand touchedhers. He did not dare speak to her about his love; he doubted if he should ever dare to speak; at a word he feared his happiness might be shattered.
Sometimes on Sunday afternoons he drove with Mademoiselle Blanche and her mother into the country, and on Sunday nights he would dine and pass the evening with them in the little apartment. Occasionally he had long talks with the mother; in these he told about his family and about his property, laying stress on the fact that even if he lost his place at the office his income was large enough to support him. She told him, in return, about her own family and her husband's, and gave him a humorous account of her sister-in-law, Blanche's Aunt Sophie.
"Blanche is a little like her," she said. "Sophie takes everythingau grand sérieux. Then she's strict with the children, and that's a great mistake, for Jeanne hates restraint, and Louise doesn't need it."
She also told him amusing stories about Monsieur Berthier's devotion to her. He had offered himself to her while she was at the convent where she was educated, nearBoulogne, and she had refused him twice. Her family had objected to her marriage with Blanche's father, simply because he was an acrobat. No, she hadn't fallen in love with him at the circus. She never saw him perform till a short time before she became engaged to him. Ah, it had been hard for her to be separated from him so much. Sometimes she travelled with him in his long journeys; but while the children were very young, she couldn't. Blanche had been such a consolation to him. Madame Perrault believed that husband and wife ought never to be separated; it was bad for both of them. If she had her life to live over again, she would always travel with her husband, no matter how far he went.
Most of Jules' talk with Madame Perrault, however, consisted of a discussion of the qualities of her daughter, whose praises she constantly sang for him. Blanche's ambition, she said, was to provide dowries for her sisters; she had already accumulated a few thousand francs, and these she had set aside for the girls. She never seemed to think that she herself needed adot. Ah, sometimesMadame was very much worried about her daughter's future. Blanche could not marry any of the other performers; they were not worthy of her, and their coarseness and roughness shocked her. Of course, they were good enough in their way, but their way was not Blanche's way.
Then, as Madame became more familiar with Jules, she also grew more confidential. Yes, Blanche had had a great many admirers. The young Prince of Luperto had fallen desperately in love with her in Bucharest three years before, and he had followed her all over Europe. But she had refused to notice any of his letters,—and oh,mon Dieu!such letters! Madame had read every one of them, and she had met the Prince the night he tried to force himself into Blanche's dressing-room. He seemedsucha gentleman, and he had the most beautiful eyes! But Blanche,—she was so frightened. She cried and cried, and for weeks she was in terror of her life! Then there were others,—so many, so many. One by one, Madame Perrault unfolded their histories to Jules, and he listened in raptattention, with a growing appreciation of the daughter's charms and of the mother's amiability.
Jules often wondered why he did not hear more talk about the circus in the little apartment. The subject was rarely mentioned. Mademoiselle Blanche displayed no nervousness before or after her performance. She practised a little in the morning at home, she said, to keep her muscles limber; she had done the same things on the trapeze so often that they had become easy to her. Once Jules met in the apartment the oily little Frenchman who always held the rope when Mademoiselle Blanche climbed to the top of theCirque, and then he learned for the first time that Monsieur Pelletier was Mademoiselle's agent. "And he is such a trial to us," the mother explained when he was gone. "He makes such bad terms, and we have to pay him such a high percentage; and then he sometimes mixes up our dates, and we don't know what to do. Ah, if we could only have some one to take care of our affairs that we could trust. It is so hard for two unprotected women."
Jules thought of this speech many times. Indeed, he fairly brooded over it. For several weeks he had felt that his career was too limited; he hated the thought of being tied down to his business all his life. He was made for something better than that, for a grander, a more conspicuousrôle.
In his youth he had thought of the army, then of a diplomatic career; for a time, too, of the stage. But he had been too poor to enter either of the first two professions, and for the stage he was unfitted by temperament. Now, in his imagination a brilliant career stretched before him, combining both glory and love. Up to the present he had not lived; his life was about to begin. The world seemed to open out to him! He would travel from one end of the earth to the other in an unbroken march of triumph. Even Paris lost attractiveness for him and seemed uninteresting and petty; he pitied the poorboulevardierswho were bound to a wretched routine of existence, who loved it simply because they knew of no other. He would not only visit America again—this time not in a sordid capacity, friendless andlonely, but surrounded by a retinue—he would go also to Russia, to India, to Australia, perhaps to Japan and the other countries of the remote East. The night when he was first enchanted by this vision, he could not sleep for excitement till nearly four o'clock. Then he saw the vision realized, only to be shattered by Madeleine's cracked voice, and her injunction that it was time for him to get up and go to his work.
In the evening, when he saw his friends again, he found them very unhappy; they had just received news from Jeanne that Aunt Sophie was very ill, threatened with pneumonia. Madame Perrault was in tears, and Mademoiselle Blanche's eyes showed that she, too, had been crying. The next day, they said, Jeanne had promised to write, and the next night Jules learned that bad news had been received. The doctor pronounced the case pneumonia, and said the patient was in great danger. Mamma must come on, Jeanne wrote. But Madame explained to Jules with sobs that she could not leave Blanche.
"And my poor Jeanne, what will she do, a child of fourteen with only the little Louise to help her."
Then Jules became inspired. His faithful Madeleine—she would save the situation. Madame Perrault might go to Boulogne by the first train, and Madeleine would take her place, would be a second mother to Mademoiselle Blanche, accompany her to the theatre, help her to dress, come back with her, keep her from being lonely. Jules wanted to rush off at once, and bring Madeleine to therue St. Honoré, for inspection and approval.
Then the girl's quiet wisdom asserted itself. Jeanne had said there was no immediate danger; so if Mamma took the train in the morning, that would be in quite time enough. After theirpetit déjeunerthey might call on Madeleine, or Monsieur Jules might tell them if she would come. Then Jules burst into a eulogy of Madeleine's qualities: he had never before realized what a good soul she was. He would bring her with him, he said, in the morning, on his way to the office; he knew she would be glad to come.
On this occasion Jules had a chance to display his executive ability. After leaving his friends at the Circus, he drove home furiously, found Madeleine sound asleep in the big chair by the fireplace, woke her up, and explained the situation.
"Now, my dear Madeleine," he said at the end, "you are to go to that poor girl and take her mother's place; she will love you, and you will love her. So be good to her for my sake, Madeleine," and he leaned over, and patted the old woman's wrinkled hand affectionately. Madeleine was moved, chiefly, however, by Jules' unwonted tenderness. She had never known an actress, not to speak of a performer in a circus, and she felt alarmed at the thought of meeting one. But she felt sure that Mademoiselle Blanche must be good. Hadn't Jules said so? Jules had not said that he was in love with Mademoiselle; he trusted Madeleine to find that out for herself; he also trusted Madeleine to find out a few other things for him. Secretly he was blessing the chance that enabled him to send Madeleine to Mademoiselle; for the moment he did not even thinkof the personal discomfort it would cause himself.
That night Jules told his friends that Madeleine had consented to come, and he promised to bring her with him in the morning. Madeleine was greatly agitated, and rose unusually early to make an elaborate toilette. She rarely went out, save to the shops and to mass; so she had not kept up with the fashions, and her best dress was made in a mode long before discarded. She was a very grotesque figure as she walked in her queer little bonnet with long ribbons flying from it, and her wide skirts. When they reached the apartment in therue St. Honoré, Jules thought he saw an expression of amusement in Madame Perrault's face, but Blanche greeted Madeleine with great kindliness. Then the mother explained that she had just received a letter from Jeanne, saying Aunt Sophie was in no immediate danger, but begging her to come as soon as possible. Jules saw that both his friends were pleased with Madeleine, and it was quickly arranged that she should install herself in the apartment that day, and at fouro'clock Madame Perrault would leave for Boulogne. He departed radiantly happy, with the promise to return at three to take Madame to the station. He secured leave of absence from the office, and on his return to the apartment he found Madeleine there, helping Mademoiselle Blanche to make a new dress.
"I'll be ready in a minute," Madame Perrault cried from the adjoining room.
"Are you coming with us, mademoiselle?" Jules asked.
"No, I won't let her," her mother replied. "It's too cold, and it would tire her. You aren't afraid to ride alone in a cab with me, are you?"
Jules was surprised by her vivacity; he knew that she was greatly worried about her sister, yet in the midst of her agitation she could joke. If he had known her less he would have supposed that she was a woman of little feeling. She presently flounced out of the room, putting on her gloves and smiling.
"Madeleine and Blanche have become great friends," she said. "I'm afraid I shallbe jealous of her. When I come back there won't be any place for me." Then she took her daughter by both hands and Jules saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. "Good-bye, dear," she said, kissing the girl on both cheeks. "You must write to me every day, and I'll write to you. In a week, at least, I shall be back. I have a presentiment that Sophie will improve as soon as I get there."
Mademoiselle Blanche clung tightly to her mother, and kissed her again and again.
"There, there! Now, my child—there!" With a parting embrace, Madame Perrault tore herself away, crying as she passed out of the door, "Good-bye, Madeleine. Take care of the little one! And remember Monsieur Jules is coming back to dinner. I'm going to invite him."
This was the first time she had ever called Jules by his first name, and on hearing it he felt a thrill of joy. She hurried before him down the steep stairs, wiping her eyes. When they entered the cab, she had controlled herself again, and was smiling as usual.
The cab rattled so noisily over the pavement that during most of the ride to the station they kept silent. They arrived there half an hour ahead of time, and this they spent in walking up and down the platform.
"You must be very kind to my Blanche while I'm away," said Madame Perrault. "She will be very lonely. She hasn't been separated from me before since her father died."
Jules assured her that he would be a second mother to her. He would take her and Madeleine to theCirqueevery night, and in the morning on his way to the office he would call to ask if he could do her any service. "She'll be spoiled when you come back," he concluded with a smile.
For a moment they walked without speaking. The station was so cold that their breaths made vapour in the air. Yet Jules felt warm enough; his whole being seemed to glow.
"There's something I want to tell you."
She made a sign with her head that she was listening.
"I'm in love with Mademoiselle Blanche,"he said, impressively, finding a delicious relief in speaking the words.
She smiled roguishly into his face.
"Is that all?"
They looked into each other's eyes, and read there a mutual understanding.
"Then you've known all along?"
"Of course, from the very first, from the first night you came into the dressing-room, and pretended to be a reporter."
"Ah, I thought you had forgiven that."
"So I have—that is, there was nothing to forgive. You didn't deceive me."
"Do you mean that you knew at the time I wasn't a reporter? And Blanche—she knew too?"
"No, poor dear, she didn't know. Yet it was plain as daylight. Ah, my friend, I haven't lived fifty years for nothing. Don't you suppose I could tell from your looks and your manner, and what you said, and what youdidn'tsay,—don't you suppose I could tell from all that, what you had come for?"
Jules looked into her face again.
"How good you are!" he sighed.
She burst out laughing.
"Good? I am not good. Blanche taught me that years ago. There's nothing like having a good daughter to take a mother down. She makes me feel ashamed every day of my life."
"That's just the way she makes me feel," Jules cried, delighted to find that some one else shared his feeling. "Then she's so gentle and so kind," he rhapsodized, "and she thinks so little about herself! Do you—do you think——Oh, that's what almost drives me to despair sometimes. I hardly dare go near her. I hardly dare to speak to her."
Madame Perrault took a deep breath.
"You almost make me feel young again," she said, with a smile.
"Do you think I could make her love me?" Jules asked, marvelling at his own humility.
"Do you mean that you want to know whether I think she's in love with you or not?" Madame Perrault said briskly. "Ah, my friend, I can't answer that question. You must ask her yourself."
"Then you give me permission to ask her? You are willing? You have no objection?"He stopped suddenly, and looked radiantly at Madame Perrault's face. "Howgoodyou are, madame!" he repeated.
She began to laugh again,—a peculiar, gurgling laugh that came from her throat.
"Why should I object? You are a good fellow. You would make Blanche a good husband. It's time for her to get married. She needs some one to protect her. I can't follow her about all the rest of my life. She is twenty-two. Why shouldn't she marry?"
Jules' ardor was cooled by this practical reasoning; it made him practical too. He told Madame Perrault again of his little property. He could well afford to marry, he said. He loved Mademoiselle Blanche with all his heart; he couldn't live without her; he would give up everything for her; he would follow her everywhere. Ah, if he only knew whether she cared for him or not! She was so strange, so reserved. It was so hard to tell with a girl like her.
"You are right there, my friend. She has great reserve. With my Jeanne or Louise, I should know everything. But with Blanche,non!But I never pry into her secrets; I have learned better. She has a great deal of inner life; she thinks a great deal; she is not like the other flighty women that you see in the circus. If she had not been born to the circus, if she had been brought up as Louise has been, she would be areligieuse."
Jules would have become rhapsodical again if the whistle of the train had not sounded, and he was obliged hurriedly to help Madame Perrault into her compartment. He shook the hand that she offered him, received a few last messages, and he watched the train as it pulled out of the station. Then, with a sigh, he turned and walked back to his office.
After the departure of Madeleine, Jules would have found his apartment cheerless, if he had not used it merely for sleeping. As soon as he rose in the morning, he went to Madame Perrault's, where he breakfasted with Mademoiselle Blanche. In spite of her duties elsewhere, Madeleine kept his rooms in order, and his new domestic arrangements did not in the least inconvenience him. Indeed, he liked them, and he almost dreaded the return of Mademoiselle's mother. This would probably not take place for several weeks, however, for the illness of her aunt Sophie proved to be very tedious, though after the first ten days she was pronounced out of danger. Madeleine had speedily won the affections of Mademoiselle Blanche, and she secretly confided to Jules that the girl was an angel.
"I knew you'd think so," Jules replied. "I've thought so ever since I first saw her."
"Ah, but it's wicked that she should have to do those dreadful things every night!" Madeleine cried, rolling her eyes, and throwing up her hands in horror. "It freezes my blood."
"But she likes it," Jules explained.
"Ah, it's wicked just the same, the poor child!"
Madeleine had speedily adapted herself to her duties as dresser to Mademoiselle Blanche, and her nightly trips to the theatre were the most exciting experiences of her life. After seeing the plunge from the top of the Circus, however, she had refused to look at it again. "It freezes my blood," she would repeat, whenever Jules referred to it. "It's too horrible!"
"But she makes a lot of money by it," Jules insisted.
"She would do much better to stay poor," Madeleine replied, with a tartness that was rare with her and made Jules burst out laughing.
"Madeleine," he said, confidentially. "Madeleine, come over here."
Madeleine bent her head towards him with a smile on her face.
"Madeleine, do you think there's any one—any one that she cares about particularly—any one you know? Eh?"
Madeleine's wrinkles deepened, as the smile spread over her face and lighted her faded eyes.
"Ah, Monsieur Jules, she is very fond of her sisters. She is always talking about them, especially aboutla petiteJeanne. Then she's very fond of her mamma, too, of course."
"Madeleine, you're trying to plague me now. You know I don't mean that. I mean any—any—?"
"Any gentleman, Monsieur Jules?" the old woman asked.
"Yes, Madeleine, any gentleman."
Madeleine grew thoughtful.
"She often speaks of Monsieur Berthier, who is going to marry her mother. She says he's very kind to her sisters."
"And is that all, Madeleine? Doesn't she speak of any one else? Doesn't she ever speak of—of me?"
"Oh, yes, Monsieur Jules, she thinks you've been very good to her and her mother. She often speaks of that."
This was all the information that Jules could extract from Madeleine. On several occasions he tried her again, but though she seemed amused by his questions, she evaded them. Once he said to her:
"Madeleine, how would you like to go away with me—to travel—a long distance?"
Madeleine carefully considered the question. Then she replied simply:
"I should not like to leave Paris, Monsieur Jules, but, if you wanted me to go, I would go."
After that, Madeleine was less worried. She had little to say, and, like most silent people, she observed and thought a great deal. For Mademoiselle Blanche she had conceived a genuine affection, and she looked forward with regret to the time when she would have to leave therue St. Honoréfor Jules' lonely apartment.
One Saturday night, on their return from the Circus, Jules asked Mademoiselle Blanche if she were going to high mass the next day as usual. He was surprised when she replied that she was going at eight o'clock instead.
"But that is too early," he said. "You won't have sleep enough."
"I'm going to communion," she explained.
"Oh!"
He could not understand why this announcement should impress him as it did. He had supposed that of course she went to communion; she had probably gone to confession early in the afternoon before thematinée. Once again he felt awed by her goodness. How strange it was that she should be in the confessional at three o'clock, and two hours later perform in her fleshings before a crowd of people! The very publicity of her life seemed to exalt the simplicity and the purity of her character.
Jules was so absorbed in thinking of these things that he did not speak again till the cab reached therue St. Honoré. Then, as he helped Mademoiselle out, he said:
"I'll go to church with you to-morrow, if you will let me. You won't leave before half-past seven, will you?"
She protested that he ought not to get up so early; he needed a good night's rest after his hard work of the week. But helaughed and waved his hand to her in parting, and told her not to wait for him after a quarter to eight; now that he didn't have Madeleine to call him, he might not wake up in time.
He was in time, however, and as he walked to church in the cold December air with Mademoiselle by his side, he felt repaid for his sacrifice. She wore a tight-fitting fur coat and a black cloth dress, with the little fur-trimmed hat he had admired when he first walked with her in theChamps Élysées. Her face was protected by a thick dotted veil, but under it he could see her sparkling eyes and the color in her cheeks.
"I'm paying you a very great compliment," he said, as they hurried along towardsSt. Philippe de Roule. "I haven't got up so early on a Sunday since I was a boy."
She smiled in reply; it was too cold for her to speak. He could see her breath steaming faintly through the veil.
He felt a curious desire to hear her voice again; he did not realize that her devotion to the Church made her seem more remotefrom him, but he had an unpleasant consciousness that his own lack of religious faith created a barrier between them.
In the church he kept glancing from the priest celebrating the mass, to her. She was absorbed in reading her prayer-book, and she did not once look up at him. He compared her as she appeared then with her appearance in the glamor of the circus ring. She was the same person, yet different. She represented to him a kind of miracle. How humble she was, how sweet and good, as she knelt there!
When the priest began to distribute the communion and Blanche left her seat and joined the throng approaching the altar, Jules was touched with a tenderness he had never felt before. He buried his face in his hands, and prayed that he might be made worthy of her. He did not dare pray for her love; a certain sense of shame at having neglected God and church for so many years, at having lived solely for his own gratification, kept him from that; but if he had examined his motives, he would have found that this was really what he was praying for.He deceived himself so easily that he instinctively felt that he might be able to deceive God too.
On leaving the church, Jules proposed that they go to a restaurant for breakfast. "We'll make a holiday of it," he said, "and drink to your Aunt Sophie's health."
But Blanche protested that Madeleine would expect them, and would be worried if she were not back by half-past nine.
"Then we'll go out at one o'clock. I'll take you over to Bertiny's, in theChamps Élysées. It's very gorgeous; the twins took me there once to celebrate Dufresne's luck when he won five hundred francs at the races."
Though the sun was shining, it was still very cold, and as they hurried to the little apartment Jules could see that she was trembling. Madeleine had prepared some hot coffee for them and some eggs, and over these they were very gay. Jules was in a particularly good humor, and Mademoiselle Blanche laughed at his jokes, though most of them she had heard before. She had a very pretty laugh, he thought,—like hermother's, though not so deep and gurgling. After breakfast her face flushed from her walk and she looked even prettier than she appeared in the church.
As Madeleine cleared away the table, Blanche began to water the flowers by the window, and Jules opened the copy of thePetit Journalthat he had bought on the way from the church. He kept glancing up at Mademoiselle, however, and each time he looked at her he had a new sensation of pleasure. How domestic she looked in the little dress of gray wool that she had put on after her return from mass! She seemed to create an atmosphere of home around her. In her belt were the roses he had given her the night before, still fresh and sparkling with drops of water from her fingers. How good it was, he thought, that he could be with her like this! How lonely his own apartment would be to him when Madame Perrault came back! He almost wished that she would never return, that she would marry Monsieur Berthier, and they might go on in this way forever. He laughed at the thought, and just then Mademoiselle turned her head.
"Monsieur seems to be amused," she said. "What is he smiling at?"
"I'm smiling because I'm so happy," Jules replied. "Don't you smile when you're happy?"
She took a seat by the table, where she rested one hand.
"No, I don't think I do," she said, apparently giving the question serious consideration. "When I am very happy I look serious. Then mamma sometimes fancies I feel sad."
He took a cigarette-case from his pocket and began to smoke.
"Do you know," he said at last, "I shall be sorry when your mother returns?"
"Sorry?"
"Yes, because Madeleine will come back to me then, and I shall have to stay at home. I can't come any more as I do now."
A look of alarm appeared in her face. "But why can't you come just the same?" she asked, innocently.
He burst out laughing, and he felt a sudden desire to pat her on the cheek as he might have done to a child. What a childshe was, anyway! Yet he would not have wished her to be different; she seemed to him just what a young girl should be.
"When your mother comes, I can't take breakfast with you any more, and I can't come early on Sunday mornings and stay all day. I shall have to go back to my lonely apartment."
"But you have Madeleine," she said, with a faint smile.
"Madeleine, yes, and she is good enough in her way." Then he suddenly threw his cigarette into the fireplace, and bent toward her. "Don't you know," he whispered, in a voice so low that Madeleine, who was moving about in the next room, could not hear him, "can't you see that it'syouI shall miss? Can't you see that you've become everything in the world to me? Without you, dear Blanche, I shouldn't care to live. Before I met you I didn't know what life really was—I didn't know what love was. I loved you the first time I saw you, and the more I've seen you, the better I've known you, the dearer you've become to me. I don't think I ever really understoodwhat it was to be pure and good till I knew you. You've made me ashamed of myself. Sometimes I feel as if I had no right to go near you. But I do love you, Blanche, and they say love helps a man to be good. I haven't dared to tell you this before; I've been afraid to ask you if you loved me. But this morning in church, it all came over me so—so that I must tell you. Blanche," he went on, taking her hand, "you aren't offended with me for saying this, are you? I love you so much—I can't help loving you. If you'll only love me a little, dear, I'll be satisfied. Won't you tell me if you do care for me a little—just a little?"
He knelt by her side, and tried to look into her face; but she turned her head away, and he saw that her neck was crimson. Her bosom kept rising and falling convulsively. Then he pressed toward her and clasped her in his arms and kissed her again and again,—on the face, the forehead, the hair, even on her ears when she buried her head on his shoulder. His lips were wet with her tears, and he felt radiantly, exultantly happy.
"I love you, I love you!" he kept repeating.
For the first time he felt sure that his love was returned; but he was not satisfied. He wanted to hear her speak out her love. His lips were on her cheek, and she was lying motionless in his arms, as he whispered:
"Won't you say that you love me, dear? Just three words. That isn't much, and it will make me the happiest man that ever lived."
Instead of speaking, she put her arms on his shoulders, as a child might have done, and he pressed her close to his breast again. Then he heard a noise behind him, and he saw Madeleine standing, big-eyed, in the doorway; she seemed too startled to move. He rose quickly to his feet, and still holding Blanche's hand, he said:
"Madeleine, come here!"
She came forward timidly, as if afraid she might be punished for her intrusion.
"Mademoiselle Blanche is going to be my wife, Madeleine."
Madeleine held out her arms to the girl,and for a moment they stood clasped in each other's embrace.
"Ah, Monsieur Jules," the old woman cried, "I pray God your mother can look down from heaven and see what a good daughter she's getting!"
After confessing his love, Jules experienced, mingled with his exultation, a feeling of bewildered amazement at his own boldness. This was followed by a poignant regret that he hadn't spoken before. Now, however, that his weeks of doubt and of intermittent misery were over, he gave himself up to his happiness, which manifested itself in a wild exuberance of spirits.
In a short time he was speaking humorously of those weeks, ridiculing himself as if he had already become different, almost another person from what he had been then. He told Blanche about his tortures, and even succeeded in extorting a confession from her that she had been in love with him since the first Sunday when he had called at the apartment and acknowledged Durand's duplicity; she, too, had had her doubts and her fears. Then they became very confidential, and by the time the morning was over, and they foundthemselves in the restaurant, they felt as if they had known each other intimately for years.
In spite of Blanche's protests, Jules ordered a bottle of champagne and an elaborate luncheon.
"I suppose I ought to have asked Madeleine to come," he said, "but I wanted to be alone with you. Some day before your mother returns, we'll have anotherfête, and take Madeleine with us."
In the morning, when he spoke about a definite engagement, and she protested that her mother must be consulted, he had told her of his talk with Madame Perrault at the railway station. Now he went on to make plans for their marriage. There was no reason, he argued, why they should wait a long time; her mother had been engaged to Monsieur Berthier for three years, but she would not marry till Blanche had a protector. Jules liked to talk of himself in this character; it gave him a feeling of importance. So, altogether, he went on, the sooner the marriage took place the better. He would give up his place in the wool-house, and devote himselfto his wife's career; for, of course, they couldn't be separated. They would be very happy travelling about, from one end of the world to the other.
It never occurred to either of them that Blanche might retire from the ring after marriage. She herself seemed to regard the circus as part of her life; she had been born in it, and she belonged to it as long as she was able to perform. As for Jules, he could not have dissociated her from the thought of the circus. Even now he felt as if he had himself become wedded to it, that he had acquired a kind of proprietary interest in it. He discussed Blanche's professional engagements as if they were his own. Why, he asked, couldn't the marriage take place during the weeks that intervened between her engagement at theCirque Parisienand her appearance in Vienna? Jeanne and Louise could come up to Paris for Christmas and the New Year, and be present at the ceremony. By that time he would have his affairs arranged so that he could go with her to Vienna.
Of course, they must dismiss Pelletier aftertheir marriage. Jules would take charge of his wife's affairs; his capacity for business would enable him to make good terms for her. He would plan wonderful tours; he would write to America, perhaps, and secure engagements for her there; artists were wonderfully well paid in America, better than in any other country, and they would enjoy seeing the new world together.
Blanche listened to his talk with a touching confidence; she seemed to think it natural that he should speak as if he had authority over her. She made no protest against any of his suggestions, though she repeated that nothing could be decided till her mother returned to Paris.
"But we'll write to your mother," said Jules. "We'll write to her this very day—this afternoon when we go back."
For a moment her face clouded.
"What's the matter? Don't you want me to write to your mother?"
She did not reply at once. When she did speak, she kept her eyes fixed on her plate.
"It will be so hard to be separated from her."
Jules laughed, and bent toward her.
"But you can't stay with her always," he said tenderly. "Then we'll take Madeleine with us. That will be a capital plan. She's strong and healthy, though she's over sixty, and she won't mind the travelling. Besides, we shall be in Vienna three months, and we'll rent a little apartment. It will be like being at home."
He spoke as if their future were settled, and his tone of confidence seemed to reassure her.
"I should like to have Madeleine," she said simply. "She is so good."
On their return to the apartment, they devoted themselves to writing long letters to Madame Perrault. Jules' letter was full of rhapsodies, of promises to be kind to the girl who had consented to be his wife, and of his plans for the future. They read their letters to each other, or rather Jules read all of his, and Blanche read part of hers, firmly refusing to allow him to hear the rest. They spent a very happy afternoon together, and in the evening Madeleine had a sumptuous dinner for them, with an enormousbunch of fresh roses on the table. In the evening they went to theComédie Française, to finish what Jules declared to be the happiest day of his life.
Jules counted that day as the beginning of his real career. He looked back on himself during the years he had lived before it almost with pity. Since leaving thelycée, he had been merely a drudge, a piece of mechanism in the odious machinery of business. He had been content enough, but with the contentment of ignorance. How lonely and sordid his existence out of the office had been! He thought of his solitary dinners incafés, surrounded by wretched beings like himself deprived of the happiness that comes from home and from an honest love. To the twins and his other comrades at the office he said nothing of the change that had taken place in his life; he was afraid they would chaff him; of course, when they heard he was going to marry an acrobat, they would make foolish jokes and treat him with a familiar levity. He determined not to tell them of his marriage until the eve of his departure from business; he would have togive the firm at least a fortnight's notice; but he would merely explain to Monsieur Mercier that he intended to devote a few months to travel, and thought of going to America.
Madame Perrault replied at once to Jules' letter. She made no pretence of being surprised by the news it contained; and she expressed her pleasure at the engagement, and gave her consent. But they must not make any definite plans until her return to Paris. That would be in about two weeks, for Aunt Sophie was very much better now and rapidly gaining strength, though she had as yet been unable to leave her bed. As soon as Sophie could go out, she was to be carried to the house of her cousin, Angélique Magnard, who would give her the best of care. Then Madame Perrault would be able to take Jeanne and Louise to Paris for the holidays; the girls were wild to see their dear Blanche again and to meet Jules. Monsieur Berthier talked of coming with them; he, too, was eager to make the acquaintance of Blanche's future husband.
After these preliminaries, Madame Perraultdevoted herself to practical matters. She felt it her duty to inform Monsieur Jules that Blanche had nodot; she had earned a great deal of money, but most of it had been spent in maintaining the family; since the death of her father she had been their sole support. Of course, after marriage, her daughter's earnings would belong to Jules; but he must distinctly understand that he was taking a penniless bride. After her own marriage, Madame Perrault would have no fear for the future; Monsieur Berthier had promised of his own accord to provide for the girls; indeed, it was chiefly for their sake that, at the age of fifty-three, she was willing to marry again. So Blanche would no longer have her family dependent on her.
Jules replied with an impassioned letter. He didn't care whether Blanche had adotor not. He wanted to marry her because he loved her, because without her his life would be unendurable: he would marry her if she were the poorest girl in France. It took him several pages to say this, and he read the letter with satisfaction, and thenaloud to Blanche, who laughed over it, and gave him a timid little kiss in acknowledgment of his devotion. He thought he had done a commendable act, and he felt convinced that every word he had written was true.
At the office Jules grew reserved, and he resented haughtily the familiarities of the twins. Indeed, to all of his companions in the wool-house he could not help displaying the superiority he felt. He would be there only a few weeks longer, and he acted as if he were conferring a favor on his employer by staying. The twins spent many hours in discussing the change in him; but they could not discover the cause.
"You ought to have heard him talk to old Mercier the other day," said Leroux. "You'd think he was the President receiving a deputation."
Early in November, Blanche received a letter from her mother, saying Aunt Sophie was so much better that they had decided to move her the next day, and two days later she would herself leave Boulogne with the girls and Monsieur Berthier. Jules wasboth glad and sorry to hear the news,—sorry because his longtête-à-têteswith Blanche would end for a time, and glad because he would be able to arrange definitely with her mother for the marriage. Madeleine grieved at parting with the girl, but was consoled when Jules explained that she would probably be needed every night at the circus after Madame Perrault's return, for, of course, Monsieur Berthier would want to take hisfiancéeto the theatres. In speaking of Monsieur Berthier, Jules had adopted a facetious tone, which half-amused and half-pained Blanche.
"How droll it will be," he said one day, "to have two pairs of lovers billing and cooing together."
"Mamma doesn't bill and coo," the girl replied, with just a suggestion of resentment in her tone. "She's too sensible." Then Jules patted her affectionately on the cheek, and told her she mustn't take what he said so seriously.
"Monsieur Berthier must be a very good man, or he wouldn't get such a good wife," he said lightly. Then, with a comic lookin his eyes, he added as an afterthought: "What a very good person I must be!"
The next night, when Jules appeared in therue St. Honoréfor dinner, he found the little apartment crowded. Madame Perrault embraced him, and by addressing him as "my son," seemed to receive him formally into the family. Then she introduced the two girls, who were much larger than he had imagined them to be. Jeanne, rosy-cheeked and black-eyed, approached him fearlessly, and offered her hand with a smile; Louise, fair and slight, with her light brown hair braided down her back, looked frightened, and blushed furiously when she received her salutation. The little fat man standing in front of the mantel, Jules recognized at once from his pointed white beard and laughing eyes.
"I should have known you in a crowd on theBoulevard," Jules said, as he extended his hand. "You're exactly like your photograph."
"And you are even better-looking than Mathilde said you were," Monsieur Berthier replied. "Ah, little one," he went on,turning to Blanche, and giving her a pinch on the arm, "you're getting a fine, handsome husband."
Jules tried to make friends with the girls. With Jeanne he had no difficulty; she was quite ready to banter with him, and he found her pert and quick-witted. Louise, however, was so shy that he could extract only monosyllables from her. She seemed to him very like Blanche, only less pretty. Jeanne had Blanche's beauty, more highly-colored and exuberant; her snapping black eyes showed, too, that she had a will and a temper of her own. Jules began to chaff her, to make her show her spirit, but she parried his jests good-humoredly, and she retaliated very smartly.
"I don't see how you ever dared to fall in love with Blanche," she said. "Aren't you afraid of her?"
"Afraid of her?" Jules laughed. "Why should I be afraid of her?"
"Oh, I don't know. I suppose because she's so good. I'm afraid of her sometimes. And I'm afraid of Louise when she gets her pious look on. How did you happen tofall in love with her? Do tell me. I'll never tell in the world."
"I just saw her, that's all," Jules explained with mock gravity. "Isn't that enough?"
"In the circus?"
Jules nodded.
"Then you fell in love with her because she does such wonderful things, and looks so beautiful in the ring. Now, you wouldn't have fallen in love if you'd just met her like any one else."
"But it was because she wasn't like anyone else that I did fall in love with her," Jules insisted, with the air of carrying on the joke.
"But if she'd never been in the circus—if you'd just met her here, or anywhere else except in the circus—do you think you would have fallen in love with her then?"
"Of course I should," Jules replied unhesitatingly, though he knew he was lying.
Jeanne shrugged her shoulders and looked skeptical.
"I wish I could be in the circus," she said, "and get flowers, and be admired, andearn a lot of money like Blanche. And isn't it the funniest thing," she went on, growing more confidential, "Blanche doesn't care about it at all."
"About the flowers, and being admired, and all that?"
"Yes. And she says the circus isn't a good place for a young girl. But I say if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me. Anyway, if mamma doesn't let me do what Blanche does, I'm going on the stage when I grow up."
Jules was amused by her talk, and drew her out by deft questions. While she was animatedly describing her life in the convent of Boulogne, where the nuns were always holding up Louise as a model of good behavior to her, dinner was announced, and they all went out into the dining-room, where Jules and Blanche had passed so many hours together. This time Jules' place was between Jeanne and Louise. Jeanne went on with her chatter, and Louise scarcely spoke, save to Blanche, with whom she kept exchanging affectionate smiles.
"The girls are vexed with me," saidMadame Perrault, "because I won't let them go to the Circus to-night."
The pale face of Louise brightened with eagerness and Jeanne turned to her mother and cried pleadingly:
"Oh, I think it's a shame. The first time we've been in Paris, too, and we want to see Blanche perform again so much! Why can't we go, mamma? Please, please let us go."
"Oh, let the children go," said Monsieur Berthier good-naturedly. "It would be cruel to send them to bed early their first night in Paris."
Then Jules added his voice in the girls' behalf, but Madame Perrault shook her head decidedly.
"I can't have them up so late. Besides, they need to rest after their journey. If you are good, Jeanne, and don't tease me to go to-night, I'll take you and Louise to thematinéeon Saturday."