The family found itself back on the Boulevard Raspail. The Darbois had not cared to leave their box. After every act, Mlle. Frahender carried their comments and tender messages to Esperance. François Darbois had great difficulty in constraining himself to remain in the noisy vestibule. He suffered too acutely at seeing his daughter, that pure and delicate child, the focus of every lorgnette, the subject of every conversation. Several phrases he had overheard from a group of men had brought him to his feet in a frenzy; then he fell back in his place like one stunned. Nevertheless there had not been one offensive word. It was all praise.
The philosopher held his daughter in his arms, pressed close against his heart, and tears ran down his cheeks.
"It is the first time, and shall be the last, that I wish to see you on the stage, dear little daughter. It is too painful for me, and what is worst of all I fear it will take you away from me."
Esperance replied trembling, "Pardon me, Oh! pardon me, it is such a force that impels me. I am sorry you suffer so. Oh! don't give way, I beg of you!"
She fell on her knees before her father, sobbing and kissing his hands.
Sardou, who was expected, came in just then, and his exuberance was dashed to the ground when he witnessed the trouble the family were in.
"Come, this is foolishness," he said, helping Esperance to her feet.
Then turning to the old Mademoiselle, "Here, dear lady, take this child away to compose herself, wash the tears off her poor little face, and hurry back, for I am dying of hunger."
Madame Darbois remembered that she was the hostess, and disappeared to see if everything was ready in the dining-room.
As soon as he was left alone with the philosopher, the author exclaimed, "In the name of God, man, is this where philosophy leads you? You are torturing that child whom you adore! Oh! yes, you are distressed, I know. The public has this evening taken possession of your daughter, but you are powerless to prevent it, and now is the time for you to apply to yourself your magnetic maxims. Esperance is one of those creatures who are only born once in a hundred years or so; some come as preservers, like Joan of Arc; others serve as instruments of vengeance of some occult power" (Sardou was an ardent believer in the occult). "Your child is a force of nature, and nothing can prevent her destiny. The fact that you have seen her brilliant development in spite of the grey environment of her first sixteen years, should convince you of the uselessness of your protests or regrets. The career that she has chosen is bristling with dangers, and full of disillusions, and gives free rein to a pitiless horde of calumniators. That cannot be helped. Your task, my friend," he added more calmly, "is to protect your daughter, and above all to assure her of a refuge of tenderness, and love and understanding."
Esperance came back, followed by her mother and the old Mademoiselle. Her father held out his arms to her and whispered, "You were wonderful, darling; I am happy to…."
He could not go on, and put his hot lips against her beautiful pure forehead to avoid the embarrassment that distressed him so powerfully.
Thanks to Sardou's gifts as araconteur, the supper passed off pleasantly enough. This great man could unfold the varied pages of his mind with disconcerting ease. He knew everything, and could talk and act with inimitable vivacity. His anecdotes were always instructive, drawn from his manifold sources of knowledge in art or science. Mlle. Frahender was stupified by so much eclecticism, the philosopher forgot his grief, Madame Darbois realized for the first time that there might exist a brain worthy of comparison with her husband's. As to Esperance, she was living in a dream of what the future would unfold. One evening had sufficed for her to conquer Paris, to capture the provinces, and arouse the foreigner, frequently so indifferent to great artistic achievements.
The young pupil pursued her courses at the Conservatoire, in spite of Sardou's remonstrances that she would find it fatiguing. The modesty and simplicity of her return to the midst of her comrades restored her to the popularity her triumph had endangered.
"She is, you know, quite a 'sport,'" pronounced a sharp young person, who was destined to take the parts of the aggressive modern female.
A tall young man, with a grave face and settled manner, approaching baldness, in spite of his twenty-three years, pressed Jean Perliez's hand affectionately. "Don't give in, old fellow, keep up hope. You never know!"
Jean smiled sadly, shaking his head. He looked at Esperance, who was lovelier than ever. He had waited for her at the foot of the stairway, for the intimacy of the two families gave him a chance to know when to expect his glorious little friend.
"Why, how pale you are, Jean!" she exclaimed at sight of him. "What is the matter with you?"
"What is the matter with me?" he murmured.
"What is the matter with him?" echoed several of the students.
Esperance alone was not aware what was the matter with him, poor fellow, for, in spite of the encouragement of François Darbois, Jean would say nothing. He realized the shock that it would be to Esperance. She liked him so much as a friend! On the long walks they took, with Genevieve Hardouin and Mlle. Frahender, she had very often frankly confided to him that she did not want to think about getting married for years and years!
"I want to live for my art," she would say, "and I will never marry an artist!"
He had then thought very seriously of giving up the theatre and becoming a barrister, as his father had always wished him to do, but that would mean that he would lose the chance of seeing Esperance so often.
Jean Perliez had become great friends with Maurice Renaud, the girl's cousin. They both talked of her and loved her, but Maurice's love was more selfish, less deeply rooted. He was not jealous of Perliez; he was sorry for him and counselled him to speak up, since his uncle, the professor, was in sympathy with him.
"No," said Jean, "she is really too young to understand."
Maurice shrugged his shoulders. "It is true that Esperance is not yet seventeen, but her intelligence has always been ahead of her years. At twelve she could outdo me by the logic of her reasoning on the mysteries of religion. We both adore, my dear Jean, a very extraordinary little person. I will get out of your way gracefully, if you succeed; but I have a presentiment that neither you nor I will be the lucky fellow. I shall console myself, but you, take care!"
Esperance suspected nothing of the different emotions she was causing. Her youth guarded her against any betrayal of the senses. She thought that love was the natural result of marriage. The great passions as the poets sang them exalted her spirit, made her heart beat faster, but for her they remained in the realms of the ideal.
A horrible catastrophe occurred in Belgium, leaving the inhabitants of the lower quarter of Brussels without shelter or clothing. Relief was organized on all sides, and the Theatre-Française announced a great representation ofHernanito be given as a benefit for the sufferers in the Royal Theatre de la Monnaie in Brussels. The star who had undertaken "Dona Sol" fell ill ten days before the performance was due. The Comedie was much embarrassed, for the usual understudy of the indisposed actress was an amiable echo, with little talent. Mounet-Sully thought immediately of Esperance and obtained permission to make whatever arrangements he could with her. His arrival at the Darbois home occasioned great excitement.
"I claim your indulgence in the name of charity, Monsieur," he said to François. "The Comedie-Française finds itself in the most awkward quandary. We have prepared a big gala performance at La Monnaie, to raise money for all those poor Belgian sufferers."
"Oh! I have seen the notices," said Esperance, "with artistes of the Comedie, even in the smaller rôles. What would I not give to see that production!"
Mounet-Sully smiled. "If your father will give his permission, Mademoiselle, you can certainly see it; for I have come to ask you to take part therein."
"What do you mean?" asked M. Darbois curiously.
"Our 'Dona Sol' is sick, very sick, and her understudy is not equal to such an occasion. The last examination you passed inHernanidelighted us with your manner of interpreting the rôle. We will give you all the rehearsals you need at the Comedie; you will be assisting at a work of charity, and you will be recompensed for whatever outlay or expense that you may incur."
Esperance drew herself up. "If my father will give his consent for me to make my own reply…."
"Yes," said the professor simply.
"Then I will say … thank you, father dear," she said, tremulously, "I will say that I am happier than I can possibly tell you, at the great honour you have done me, but that I do not want any recompense."
Mounet-Sully started to speak.
"Oh! no, I beg you, do not spoil my joy."
"Then, we will take care of your travelling expenses, and those of your party."
She contracted her beautiful eyebrows a little. "Oh! M. Mounet-Sully, I am rich just now, think of all the money that I have made these four months that we have been giving Victorien Sardou's play. I don't want anything, I am glad, so glad…."
She kissed her father and her mother impulsively, and also the astonished old Mademoiselle.
"What about me?" asked Mounet-Sully gaily; "do I not get my reward?"
She held up her forehead for a salutation from the artist, who took leave of the family, glowing with delight at the good news he had to carry back to the Comedie.
"To-morrow you will get a schedule of rehearsals," he called from the doorway.
Madame Darbois was worried about the journey, and Mlle. Frahender agreed to accompany Esperance. It was decided that Marguerite should go to look after them. The faithful soul had practically brought up the child; her zeal and devotion were unfailing.
But M. Darbois raised the objection, "You should have a man with you."
The door bell rang, then they heard a voice, "In the salon? Don't bother to announce me, I'll go up!"
Maurice Renaud entered immediately, followed by Jean Perliez.
"Well, my boy," said François Darbois to his nephew, "you are quite a stranger; it must be a month since we saw you last. You are most welcome."
He shook hands cordially with both young men. He was struck by Jean's sad expression and hollow cheeks. "You are not looking like yourself, my friend."
Jean did not hear this, he was gazing at Esperance, so pretty in her feather toque.
"We are come, uncle, expressly to ask your permission to accompany my cousin to Brussels. We were told of the project yesterday by Mounet-Sully, and if you approve…."
"On my word, my dear fellow," cried out the professor, delightedly, "you will do me a real service, I was just considering about writing to Esperance's godfather!"
"What a narrow escape! papa darling, and what a horrid surprise you were plotting without giving any sign!"
"Then you prefer this arrangement? You accept Maurice and Jean as your knights-errant? I am delighted with the arrangement, and I hope that Mlle. Frahender will raise no objection."
The gentle old lady smiled at them all. She was very fond of JeanPerliez, and Maurice Renaud's high spirits delighted her.
It was decided that Jean, as most responsible, should be in charge of all the details of the journey. François Darbois led him into the library and entrusted him with a goodly sum of money.
"This should cover your expenses. I count upon you, my young friend, and I thank you."
He paused a moment, then asked affectionately, "Have you no hope?"
"None," replied Jean, simply, "but what does it matter, but to-day, at least, I am quite happy!"
Two days after this visit, the notice of the first rehearsals was received. Esperance was at the theatre long before the hour required, and went at once towards the stage. The curtain had just been raised, and the lamp of the servant dusting served only to lighten the gloom. Followed by Mlle. Frahender, the young girl traversed the corridor ornamented with marble busts and pictures of the famous artists who had made the house of Molière more illustrious by their talent. With beating heart, she descended the four steps that led to the stage.
There she stopped shivering. She seemed to see shadows drawing near her, and her hand clenched that of the old Mademoiselle.
"What is it, Esperance?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"Was that not Talma, down there, and Mlle. Clairon and Mlle. Mars, andRachel, that magnificent, expressive masque there … look?"
Mounet-Sully came in. Esperance still seemed in a dream.
"Your pardon, master, the atmosphere of glory that one breathes here has intoxicated me a little."
During the rehearsal the music of the voice of the new "Dona Sol" blended charmingly with the powerful accents of the great actor, so that all the artists listened with emotion and delight.
In the final act, when "Dona Sol," beside herself, raises her poignard to "Don Ruy Gomez," saying, "I am of the family, uncle," there was an outburst of "Bravos" for Esperance, who, erect and trembling, shoulders thrown back, had just sobbed these words in a vibrant voice between clenched teeth. With her pale face and out-stretched arm, she might have been the statue of despair struggling with destiny.
Madame Darbois was heavy hearted to have her go. It was the first time that she had been parted from her daughter for even a few days. She often looked at her husband, hoping that he would understand her anxiety and urge her not to go, too. Jean and Maurice came to escort Esperance, who had been ready for a long time. Mlle. Frahender was carrying a cardboard box, containing two bonnets and a light cloth, in which to wrap her hat in in the train. All the rest of her belongings were contained in a little attaché case of grey duck, so flat that it seemed impossible that it could contain anything.
When Madame Darbois saw them drive away, she was filled with distress, and as there was maternal anxiety in the mother's breast, so was there foreboding of evil in the father's mind.
"I hope nothing bad will happen," thought the good woman, "but railway accidents are so common nowadays."
"Who will she be seeing while she is away? What is destiny providing for her? My child is not armed against adventure," the philosopher was thinking.
The two looked at each other, divining the miserable anxiety to which the other was prey.
The rough, strident notes of Adhemar Meydieux's voice suddenly broke upon this atmosphere of gentle melancholy—"Well! what is this I hear? Esperance has gone; it is madness! I read in my paper this morning that she is going to play 'Dona Sol' at Brussels! So I have come to escort her."
François wrung his hand without saying a word.
"What is the matter with you," went on Adhemar, "you seem to have changed into pillars of salt. I know very well that the theatre is Sodom and Gomorrah in one, but wait a little before you give way entirely! Who is going with my goddaughter?"
"Mlle. Frahender, Marguerite, Maurice Renaud and Jean Perliez," the poor mother hastened to say.
"And what an escort," jeered Adhemar. "The old mademoiselle will be open-mouthed before her pupil, she knows nothing of life. Provided that Esperance obeys the commandments of the Church and does not miss Mass on Sunday, she will be satisfied. Her piety and her sudden love of the theatre coincide with her attempt to save a soul; but I tell you that she cannot see farther than the end of her nose, which, though long enough in all conscience, doesn't furnish elevation for much view. And," he continued, pleased with his wit, "Maurice Renaud, that wild rascal, is he apt to inspire respect for Esperance? As to Jean Perliez, the poor little ninny is head over heels in love with her. I don't suppose that you have noticed it?"
"Not only noticed it, but encouraged the young man," said François, "and he would be a very honourable and desirable son-in-law."
"My poor friend, my good fellow," and Adhemar collapsed in a chair and rubbed his hands together; "my poor dear friend, and you believe that Esperance…?"
He laughed aloud.
"I will thank you to drop that tone of irony which is offensive both to my wife and to myself," said the professor rising. "If it pleases you to follow your goddaughter to Brussels, do so. I must leave you; I have some proofs to correct.Au revoir, Meydieux!"
The old blunderer began to realize that he had overstepped the limits of decorum.
"But why did she go this morning, instead of by the train with all the other artists this evening?"
"Esperance," explained Madame Darbois, "left early in order to have time to see Brussels, which everyone says is a charming city. I think it is quite natural, my dear Meydieux, that you want to join your goddaughter! I will telegraph to her at once!"
"No, no," replied Meydieux, very hurriedly. "I would much rather surprise her. I beg you not to warn her."
"As you will then. I shall not interfere."
Meantime seated in the Brussels express, Esperance had fixed her attention on the constantly changing horizon, and was giving herself up to myriad impressions as they went fleeting by. The great plains rolling interminably out of sight pleased her; the light mist rising from the earth seemed to her the breath of the shivering tall grasses, offering the sun the drops of dew which glinted at the summit of their slender stems. She too, on this beautiful autumn morning, felt herself expanding towards the sky. Her fresh lips were offering themselves to the kisses of life. She was at that moment a vision of the radiance of youth. Maurice was so struck by her beauty that he drew a little sketch, and resolved to do her portrait, just as she was at that moment. No love entered into this admiration; he saw as a painter, he dreamed as an artist! Jean Perliez looked at the sketch, then at the model, and was left dazzled and dolorous. Finally magnetized by the looks fixed upon her, Esperance turned her head away with a little cry of surprise. Mlle. Frahender, who had been asleep, opened her eyes, and straightened the angle of her bonnet. Esperance shook her pretty head laughing, while Maurice exhibited his sketch and announced to his cousin his desire to paint her portrait.
"How pleased my father will be," she cried. "I thank you in advance for the joy that you will give him."
The conversation became general, animated, merry, just what was to be expected at their happy age. Soon after the train stopped; they had arrived at Brussels.
Jean Perliez jumped lightly on to the platform. Mlle. Frahender adjusted her hat, after having carefully folded up her bonnet, and Maurice helped Marguerite to count the pieces of luggage. Just as Esperance was getting out to help her old companion, she had a feeling of reaction, her face grew pale with fright at an impression she could not define: two long arms were stretched towards her. And she recalled the hallucination or vision she had seen in her own mirror at home, on the day when she had tried to interrogate destiny.
Count Albert Styvens was standing on the platform before her, holding out his arms, his hands open. Totally dazed without understanding herself why it should be so, the young girl closed her eyes. She felt herself lifted, and set down upon the ground. Although the movement had been one of perfect respect, she felt angry with this man for having imposed his will upon her. When she looked at him he was already speaking to Mlle. Frahender, whom he recollected having seen in Esperance's room at the Vaudeville.
"Will you not both take my mother's carriage?" he asked.
His voice, slow, correct, a little distant, fell on the ear of the young actress.
"But," Jean objected quickly, "I have engaged the landau from theGrand Hotel."
"Very well, we three can go in that," said the Count, as he guided the old lady and the young one towards a perfectly appointedcoupé, drawn by two magnificent sorrels.
Esperance, who had been brimful of joy, not ten minutes before, at finding herself in Brussels, now felt a cloud upon her spirits. The manner, almost the authority, of this tall, young man of distinction, but of no beauty, of no magnetism, depressed her. She did not wish to have him take it upon himself to conduct her small affairs, and she stepped into the Countess Styvens's beautiful carriage with the feeling that she was leaving her liberty behind.
Albert Styvens got into the hotel landau with the two other young men. They knew the Count very slightly, and regarded him with some curiosity. Although but twenty-seven, he had a reputation for austerity most unusual for one of his age.
As the carriage drew up at the hotel, all three young men jumped lightly out to be ready to help the girl. Mlle. Frahender was received on the Count's arm. At the same instant Esperance had bounded out of the other door, pleased to have escaped the obligation of thanking the Legation Secretary.
When she entered the suite that had been reserved, she stopped a moment in silent astonishment before the flowering vases and ribbon-bedecked baskets that filled the reception-room with their rich colours and delicate perfumes. All that for her! She threw her hat quickly on a chair and ran from vase to basket, from basket to vase. The first card she drew out said Jean Perliez. She looked for him to thank him, but he had slipped away to hide his confusion. For he had taken such pains to order that bouquet through the hotel manager, never foreseeing that others might have had the same idea! A pretty basket of azaleas came from the Director of the Monnaie. In the middle of the room, on a marble table with protruding golden feet, stood a huge basket of orchids of every shade—this orgy of rare flowers was an attention from the Count. The girl grew red as she raised her eyes to thank him. He was looking at her so strangely that she stammered and fled into the next room, where she had seen Mlle. Frahender disappear.
"That man frightens me," she whispered, pressing close to her old friend.
"Who frightens you, dear child?"
"Count Styvens."
"That gentlemanly young man, who is so considerate?"
Esperance did not dare to speak her thought. "That is not the way that others look at me." She was ashamed to entertain such an idea!
Themaître d'hôtelknocked discreetly to announce lunch.
"Oh! let us begin at once, so that we shall not lose any time in seeing Brussels!"
They set out in great spirits, following wherever the caprice of Esperance led them. "Already a famous woman, and what a child she is," Maurice observed aside to Jean. They had a long ramble, zigzagging extravagantly about the city. The adorable little artist appreciated the beauty of the lovely capital, and the church of Saint Gudule delighted her. They took a cab to go to the Bois de la Cambre. Esperance was much affected by the horses, who led a hard life up and down the little streets, which were so picturesque in their unevenness.
The little expedition was not over until half-past seven. Visitors' cards attracted Mlle. Frahender's attention. They were from the Minister Prince de Bernecourt and the Count Albert Styvens, Secretary of the Legation. Feeling that she would not see the Count gave the young artist the sensation of relief comparable to that of a prisoner walking straight out of his jail into freedom.
During dinner Esperance was quite exuberant and proposed a hand attrente-et-unas soon as dessert was finished. "After that, we will go to bed very early, to have our best looks ready for to-morrow, will we not, my little lady?" she said, placing her slender hand on the wrinkled fingers of Mlle. Frahender. "My little lady" was the pet name Esperance often gave her.
Maurice was only moderately receptive of the idea of a game oftrente-et-un, but after consulting the clock, he was reassured. "By ten o'clock I shall be free."
The next morning Marguerite had some difficulty in waking her young mistress, who was sleeping soundly. Esperance enquired as soon as her own eyes were well opened, what kind of night her chaperone had passed. "Deliciously restful, and you, my dear child, how did you sleep?"
"I never woke once. Oh! what a sun. Have you seen what a glorious day it is?"
"It is the forerunner of good news," Jean cried out from the next room.
"Who knows?" said Esperance.
The telephone at her bedside rung. Marguerite picked up the receiver, and announced dejectedly, "M. Meydieux wishes to speak to Mademoiselle."
"My godfather in Brussels!… You see, Jean, that I was right to doubt your omen."
The young people burst out laughing.
"Really," continued Esperance, "I feel that he is going to spoil my trip here. I don't like him, and his advice never coincides with that of my father, whom I love so much."
Meantime M. Meydieux was getting impatient on the telephone.
"Tell him that I am not up yet, and ask him to lunch with us at twelve-thirty. Then," she explained to Mlle. Frahender, who had just come into her room, all powdered, all pinned and bonneted for the morning, "he will not dare to bother me when everybody else is present."
Marguerite was still answering M. Meydieux's excited questions: "What! at half-past nine not up, that is shameful! I must talk to her … I will come to lunch, oh yes! but above all I must talk to her."
Esperance was motioning violently to Marguerite to hang up the receiver, but Mlle. Frahender objected to this lack of courtesy, so the young girl giving way to her remonstrance yielded gracefully. She even re-requested Marguerite, who knew her godfather's culinary preferences, to order a lunch that he would like. Then she dressed in haste to allow herself plenty of time to write to her family. They had already exchanged telegrams, but she knew that her father would like to have a long letter, giving him the minutes, so to speak, of herself. A tender gratitude swelled up in her, and her eyes were wet as she evoked the image of these two beloved beings reading her letter, commenting upon it, and entering completely for those moments into the life of their child. As soon as the letter was finished, she asked Mlle. Frahender to go with her to post it, so that she could herself speed it on its way to them. She had a strong desire to get out-doors, even if only for a half-hour.
As they turned into the square, Esperance stopped, clutching her aged friend by the arm. "Look there," she said.
There were two men side by side in deep conversation. Esperance had instantly recognized Count Albert and her godfather. How did Adhemar Meydieux happen to know the Secretary of the Legation?
They had just passed the post-office, so Esperance posted her letter without being seen by either of them, and returned to the hotel. Lunch time brought together all the guests except the godfather, who would not enter until the exact minute, if he had to wait in the corridor…. He thought it witty to behave so. His hateful, stupid mind flattered itself on being original. Therefore as the half-hour began to strike he was pompously ushered in, watch in hand.
"I am here, you see, to the tick," he said noisily, kissing the forehead his goddaughter pressed forward to him. Then, turning to the waiter, "You can serve without delay," he said. "I like my food hot."
Mlle. Frahender, although she was well acquainted with the abrupt ways of the godfather, frowned at him with disapprobation. Nevertheless, thanks to Maurice, who made a point of laughing at everything Adhemar said, they had a gay luncheon, and Adhemar himself, appreciating the consideration shown for his palate, cast aside his ill humour and enjoyed with full indulgence the present hour, the savoury food and the plentiful wine.
At the end of the meal he examined the room. "On my word, my girl, they have given you the royal suite: that must come pretty expensive."
"M. Darbois," said Jean Perliez, "gave me a very liberal sum of money, with instructions to spare nothing for our little queen."
"There you have it, if that is not the exaggeration of a lover! Little Queen! You are pouring poison in continuous doses into this little head, which is already full of nonsense. Esperance will end by taking herself seriously; she is already far too dictatorial for a child of seventeen." He added to himself, "She must be corrected, I will do it myself!"
Esperance raised her eyelids, and her clear blue eyes seemed to pierce the eyeballs of the foolish blunderer, until he fluttered his lashes and closed his eyes to escape the powerful silent denial of his authority.
"Very well," he said, succeeding in half opening his eyes, "look at me as much as you like, that does not keep me from distrusting you, my child. You are nice-looking, you have a pretty voice, you may some day develop some talent; but you know, your inexperience is obvious, and I am very anxious to know how you will pull through to-night."
"Do not disturb yourself, M. Meydieux, Esperance had a triumph at the last rehearsal at the Française." (Mlle. Frahender nodded agreement.) "I believe," Jean continued, "that she is going to receive a perfect ovation this evening."
"I believe it too," added the old lady, "and permit me to state, my dear sir, that you judge my young pupil very unfairly. She is just as modest, just as gentle, as she was a year ago, and those who love her may be well reassured of that fact. Since you are among them," she went on boldly, "you should realize it and rejoice in it."
Adhemar shrugged his shoulders. "They are all mad, even the old saint!"
They left the table. He stopped before a basket of flowers. "Who sent you those, my child?"
"Count Albert Styvens," replied Jean.
"Ah! He does things well," commented Adhemar, but he did not breathe a word concerning his conversation with the Count that morning.
Before there was time for a reply a waiter entered with a card. "M.Mounet-Sully would like to come up."
"Oh! yes," cried out the young artist with delight.
A little startled at finding five people in the room, Mounet-Sully regained his assurance as he recognized Jean and Maurice.
"My dear child, we rehearse at two-thirty," he said to Esperance, "so be prompt, because we have heard that the Queen will be there, though you may not see her. She is not well enough to come out in the evening."
The young girl blushed with excitement. "It is fortunate that I shall not see her, I think that I should be paralyzed!"
"Perhaps she will send for you after the rehearsal," returned the tragedian. "She is a patroness of art, and very kind to artists."
"Will His Majesty, King Leopold, come this evening?" demandedMeydieux, with great interest.
"Certainly," Mounet-Sully assured him.
Then, as he was about to go, he turned, "Have you received your invitation for…?"
The door opened. Count Albert, being introduced by themaître d'hôtel, had heard the last words.
"I am just delivering it myself," he said, handing Mlle. Frahender a card which she read to Esperance—"His Excellence, the Count de Bernecourt, Minister of Belgium to France, and the Princess, hope that Mlle. Frahender and Mlle. Esperance Darbois will join them for supper after the play, at midnight, at their house."
"But I cannot accept without the permission of my father," saidEsperance.
The raucous and heavy voice of the godfather pronounced, "I will assume the responsibility. Your mother encouraged me to watch over you. I consider that this is an honour which you should not decline."
"Especially as His Majesty the King will have you presented," replied the Count.
"Nevertheless," said Esperance, "I want my father's approval. I will go down and telephone to Paris."
"I will accompany you," said the diplomat quickly.
She stopped short, and her expression implied distress. Jean went forward at once. "I will go and secure the connection for you," he said; "I will wait for you downstairs."
The Count made a scarcely perceptible gesture, as if to stop him; but he restrained himself and followed the girl in silence out of the room. He rang, the lift stopped before them, empty. Albert Styvens went forward, but Esperance drew back, and then she said, quickly, "I will go down by the stairs."
And light as a breath, she was gone.
Alone in the lift, the young Count felt for a moment abashed, but he speedily recovered himself, and when Esperance reached the bottom of the stairs she found him waiting for her.
As she leaped down the last step, she again felt herself lifted and deposited upon her feet.
"What are you doing?" she cried angrily, startled and offended.
The rapid half-embrace had been almost brutal. Esperance could still feel on her delicate skin the pressure of the man's strong fingers.
He apologized, and was sincerely repentant. He had acted without reflection; he had forgotten his great strength which had this time served him ill. He was violently attracted by this charming little creature, with whom he admitted to himself that he was deeply in love; he, who up to this time had always avoided women as if he feared them.
The telephonic communication was lengthy. François Darbois gave his consent to his daughter to attend the supper. Madame Darbois was distracted, and must find out what dress Esperance would wear.
"I will keep on my costume from the last act ofHernani," she answered, and after a gentle farewell, Esperance hastened to the theatre for the rehearsal.
The Director of the Monnaie announced that Her Majesty had come and that they could begin. Hugo's masterpiece was magnificently presented. The greatest artists filled even minor rôles. Mounet-Sully surpassed himself, and Esperance drew cries of admiration from that select but critical audience.
Count Albert was seated in the orchestra stalls with his mother. The Countess Styvens, widowed after five years, had bestowed upon her son all the affection she had cherished for her husband. She had never left him, but had had him educated under her own supervision, giving him at the age of nine, as tutor, a Jesuit who was one of the most austere, if also one of the most learned, of the Order. The young man was a perfect pupil, studious, ever disdaining the pleasures of his age. His childhood passed in the grey and pious atmosphere in which his mother steeped herself. His youth developed under the rule of his preceptor, a pale youth, without laughter, without aspirations. The physicians had never been able to persuade the Countess to let her son have the joy of travel of sea and mountain, so he had to be satisfied with the physical exercises she permitted. So he gave himself up to gymnastics with enthusiasm, expending his youthful vigour against his drill professor, and the Japanese who taught him jiu-jitsu. The boy's strength became quite remarkable. But his pale face, disproportionately long arms, and reputation for austerity, had made him the mark, from the very first days of his diplomatic career, for the gossips, ballad makers, and authors of questionable cabaret skits.
The day he heard that he was serving as Turk's head in a Brussels music-hall, he went instantly behind the scenes of the theatre and demanded to see the Director, who was in conversation with the author of the piece. He went right up to them. "I," he said, raising his hat politely, "am Count Albert Styvens. I shall be very glad to have you suppress the scene, which, I understand, is intended to caricature me."
The Manager, a prosperous brewer, who had become proprietor of a theatre for the pleasure of producing revues, which if not witty were certainly vulgar, shrugged his heavy shoulders.
"You expect me to lose money! That act is one of the best we have got."
"And you, sir?" Albert turned on the author, a man of doubtful reputation, always on the alert for any occasion of scandal in others.
"Oh! of course I am sorry to offend you, but I can't take off the piece."
The last word was not out of his mouth when the Count grabbed both of them by the napes of their necks and knocked their heads together till the blood spurted from their surprised faces. Their cries were heard even by the audience. Reporters came running to witness this unbilled spectacle. The stage hands tried to free the Manager, but desisted when one received a terrible smash from the Count's fist, and another a kick that sent him through space. When the two men were reduced to rags, Albert held them upright and addressed them:
"I am going into the hall to see the show. I advise you to withdraw the scene we spoke of and to which I object."
Then he quietly re-arranged his clothes and went into the auditorium where the audience were very noisy and laughing at the news the journalists had reported. Count Albert was one of the best known figures about Brussels, where his father had played a very important part in the foreign affairs of the country, and enjoyed, for more than twenty years, the confidence of King Leopold. When he died his wife was still a young and very beautiful woman, and his great fortune had made the only heir of the family already famous. The Count was astonished at the clamorous ovation that received him. He would have liked to impose silence on the people, but he was a poor orator, and very timid; he kept silence and wont to his seat. He was popular from that day, and greatly respected.
At the Monnaie, as soon as the rehearsal was over, the Queen sent for Esperance and Mounet-Sully. The Queen assured the tragedian of the admiration that she had long felt for him, for Mounet-Sully played almost every year in Brussels; but all her kindly enthusiasm was directed towards Esperance.
"What a perfectly delicious voice!" she said. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen, Madame."
The Queen undid a bracelet from her arm.
"Accept this modest souvenir of your first appearance in our city,Mademoiselle."
The young girl trembled with emotion. After she had kissed the royal hand, she tried to clasp upon her wrist the jewel she had just received. The Countess Styvens, who had just approached, helped her gently.
"My mother admired you very much," said the Count, joining them.
Esperance raised her eyes and looked at the mother of the young man. She was dressed in mauve; her temples, prematurely grey, accentuated the delicacy of her complexion. Her whole person breathed constant goodness, sacrifice without regret. The young artist loved at sight this woman she was beholding for the first time, and at the same time she had a presentiment that this charming and elegant lady would not remain a stranger to her during her life.
The Queen desired Count Styvens to accompany the young girl, who was forced to take his arm to her dressing-room. She walked quickly, in a hurry to rid herself of her strange cavalier, who pretended to be oblivious of her nervous haste. Esperance requested him to convey to the Countess, his mother, her gratitude for her kindness. Albert Styvens bowed without speaking, and left her in a glow of delight.
At the hotel there was no topic except the rehearsal and the reception the Queen had given Esperance. The godfather examined the bracelet set with sapphires and diamonds. He put on his glasses, counted the stones, shook his head and grunted, "It is a superb bracelet, do you realize that, child?"
"I realize that it is superb because it is a testimony of good will offered by this kind Sovereign. That is what makes it so valuable to me."
"What a haughty child!"
And Adhemar began to laugh, the laugh with which realism strives to destroy dreams. Mlle. Frahender gently removed the bracelet from the hands of the objectionable old meddler.
"You must rest and avoid excitement, dear, dear child," she said, leading Esperance to her room, after bowing to Adhemar. Maurice and Jean, who had witnessed the godfather's want of tact, reasoned with him.
"In my opinion, M. Meydieux, you annoy my cousin too much, and for no reason. You forget that she has created for herself a position beyond her years, and you treat her like a child not out of the school-room."
"Well, isn't it all for her good?" screamed out Adhemar in a fury. "The rest of you burn incense before her; she will be destroyed by pride and that will be your fault!"
"No such thing," returned Maurice with equal energy. "She is adorable in her simplicity and has remained as really childlike, as trusting and light-hearted as anyone in the world. You cast a gloom on her spirits, you try to curb her spontaneity, you want her bourgeoisie like yourself, but you will never succeed, I give you my word for it, and that is a blessing."
"Oh!" retorted Adhemar, stung to the quick, "What do you mean by that, you fine painter fellow? You are glad enough to have these bourgeoisie that you scorn pay for your pictures!"
"If I make pictures and anybody buys them, that is proof enough that they are idiots. But my hatred of the bourgeoisie only extends to the category to which you belong; those who, ever since they were born, have found their food ready under their noses; those who, never using their ten fingers, never using their brains, live only to increase inherited incomes; hearts locked by greed, narrow minds unwilling to hear the just claims of the humble, of those who work and suffer for them; enemies of progress, enemies of their country."
"Oh! oh! oh!" screamed Meydieux.
"Yes, refusing to perform the sole function the State expects of them."
"And that is?"
"To become a husband, a father, a parent."
"You are insolent! It is not worth my while to reply to you. You may tell my goddaughter…."
The door opened, and Esperance, who had been kept awake by the noise of their voices, appeared to know what was the matter!
"Ah! there you are. I will say good-bye! Your cavaliers annoy me."
He threw a furious glance towards Jean, who had not spoken a word. It is a fact that the majority of people cherish more rancour against the witness of an insult than against the insulter himself.
"I will not be present at your triumph—as they call it. I am going to your father and shall tell him everything."
"My father, godfather, knows that I always tell the truth; he will await my return to judge my actions and those of my dear comrades."
Adhemar pulled on his hat and stormed out of the room, swelling with wounded dignity.
Esperance blew a kiss to the two young men.
"Now I am going to sleep until dinner time. I have just three-quarters of an hour. Do not forget, my loyal attendants, that we dine at six-thirty," she added with a sweeping courtesy, and disappeared, light of heart at the departure of her godfather.
The performance was an unparalleled triumph for the players and little "Dona Sol" received the most flattering part of the success. The King, knowing that the Queen had already favoured this delightful child, would not be outdone in generosity, and sent to the dressing-room of the new star a very beautiful ring, set with a magnificent pearl and two diamonds. Esperance, who had never had any jewellery except a gold chain that her mother's aunt had left her and the little ring her father had given her for her first communion, found herself, in one day, possessor of two ornaments which the most fastidious worldling would not have disdained. She put the ring immediately on her first finger, since it was a little loose for the ring finger, and looked at herself in the glass, arranging a lock of hair with the ringed hand, raising an eyebrow and laughing delightedly to see the effect produced by the ring. Count Albert watched her from the neighbouring room where he was waiting. His face was of a livid pallor. His heart beat so fast that he felt weak, and was forced to sit down. He was out of his senses. All the frenzy of youth, repressed so long, mounted in a wave to his brain.
Marguerite, coming to dress her mistress, announced that the gentlemen were waiting. She quickly threw on a cloak, saying, "I am ready."
Mounet-Sully and Count Albert entered together. The Count offered his arm to the old Mademoiselle, and Esperance, free of the contact that disturbed her, joyfully accepted the tragedian's assistance.
The supper was charming, and proved to the young girl that the feasts of artists and men of the world do not end in the orgies described by the odious godfather. The young girl was at the right of the Prince with Mounet-Sully opposite, at the right of the Princess. None of the guests could help noticing the Count's agitation. The Military Aide, representing King Leopold, Baron von Berger, was an old friend of the Styvens's family. He was uneasy, and when he saw the young Count preparing to take the ladies home, "No, no, my boy," he said to him in a low tone, "You are not yourself—you are distraught. I am afraid that you have been hard hit."
"You are not mistaken," replied the young man, "I burn like a devil, and at the same time I am as happy as a god."
"Well, now I am going to escort these ladies, and to-morrow I will have a talk with you."
Esperance slept badly and woke late. The old Mademoiselle was sitting beside her, spectacles across her nose, reading the papers. Her kind face was beaming. She was cutting out and putting aside certain articles, then she pinned them in order, all ready to send to M. and Madame Darbois.
The young girl was touched, and raising herself in bed, flung her arms about the old lady.
"What a dear you are, and how I love you!"
Mlle. Frahender at that moment had her reward for all the little sacrifices she had made for her pupil.
The critics were dithyrambic in their discourses concerning the new "Dona Sol," but the casual reporters were, as always, indiscreet, and disguised the truth under little prevarications, fantastic and suggestive. After having read two or three of the articles, Esperance pushed them all aside. She took the name of all the critics, and wrote them little notes of thanks, while Mlle. Frahender added the addresses. In the neighbouring room a discussion was going on between her knight-attendants. Esperance did not gather its cause, although certain phrases were audible.
"No, I tell you," Maurice was saying, "if it is worth while at all, I must be the one."
"I could always demand a correction," replied Jean.
"Correction of what? It is simply one of those ambiguous phrases which are used every day. Why notice it?"
The sound of Esperance's voice cut short their discussion.
"What are you talking about?" she called out.
"Nothing at all," returned Maurice, "that is, only stupid things you would not understand."
"That is not a very gallant morning greeting, cousin, but you have not forgotten your promise to lake me to the Museum this morning, I hope."
"Yes, my dear, we will go to the Museum in a very little while."
She heard the door close.
"Are you still there, Jean?" she called.
"And at your service," he replied.
"There is nothing I need, thank you. I just want to know what correction you were talking about."
"It is a private affair of Maurice's," stammered the young actor.
"I see, thank you."
After lunch the travellers set out for the Museum. Maurice was surprised and delighted by the instinct that guided his cousin towards the best that was in the pictures. He explained to her in the language affected by painters the reason for certain unreal shadows in a certain picture, and the necessity for them, the tact a painter must use in managing his light, the difficulty of foreshortening. He told her the well-known anecdote of Delacroix replying to the professor who objected that he had put a full face eye in a profile, "But, my dear master, I have tried everything and that is the only eye that gives the profile its proper value." And the professor of the great painter-to-be, after several sketches on the transparent paper over his pupil's canvas, said to him, "You are entirely right. Keep that full face eye."
They left the Museum, animated by different feelings. The more that Maurice discovered his cousin's noble qualities, the delicacy of her feelings, the strength of her loyalty, the more he felt of protective affection for this child who was so pure, so free, and who had made her entry so bravely into the whirlpool where things are generally turbulent, and most brutal in the brutal side of Parisian life. The admiration of his twenty years, for Esperance's alluring beauty, was purified into a friendship which he felt growing deeper and stronger. As to Jean Perliez, he had become more and more resigned that his love should remain forever in the shade, unlimited devotion for all time, all his being offered in sacrifice to the frail idol, who went her way star-gazing, unsuspecting all the time that she was trampling upon hearts under her foot.
M. and Madame Darbois had received the telegram announcing the return of their daughter, and were at the station to meet her. Esperance saw them and would have jumped out before the train had fully slopped. Maurice held her just in time.
"No foolishness there, little cousin. Your bodyguards must return you intact to your family's four arms. One more moment of patience. What a hurry you are in to be rid of us."
She held out her little hands to the two young men. "Oh, naughty Maurice! You know very well that I shall never forget these three days we have passed together, when you have been so good to me and taught me so very much."
Maurice kissed her boldly; Jean put his lips very respectfully to the warm, soft little hand.
The train stopped and the Darbois family were in an instant reunited. Mlle. Frahender declined escort to her convent. François Darbois installed her in a landau, and after he had thanked her heartily for her kindness to his daughter, gave the address to the coachman, who drove away with the old lady holding her inevitable little package on her lap, and steadying her old-fashioned little attaché case on the seat opposite.
The Darbois family took their places in another carriage. Esperance must sit between her father and mother, leaning close to them, caressing them endlessly, and dropping her little blonde head on her mother's shoulder.
"Oh! how long it seems since I have seen you," she kept repeating.
She held her father's hand and pressed it against her heart. It seemed to her suddenly as if she had suffered from that absence of three days, and yet she could not specify at what moment she had wished herself back with them. She recounted all the little events that had taken place during the three eventful days.
"You know," she explained to her father, "I am bringing you all the newspaper articles. Then I have the letter from the President of the Committee, and the beautiful presents from the King and Queen."
The carriage stopped at the Boulevard Raspail. Theconciergecame forward.
"I am sure I hope that Mademoiselle has had a success."
Esperance looked at her with astonishment, but the woman's husband came up with a newspaper in his hand, which he unfolded to display the picture of Esperance just beneath the headlines.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, "they will make me odious to the public.Mounet-Sully was so wonderful. Worms so fine in his monologue…."
Sadness overcame her.
She was still sad when she entered her own room. She touched all the familiar little objects, and kissed the feet of the ivory Virgin upon her mantel-piece with great emotion. She thanked her mother with a look when she saw the fresh marguerites in the two enamel vases. In comparison with the luxury of her apartment at the Grand Hotel in Brussels, the simple surroundings of her own room charmed her anew. She swayed for a moment in her rocking-chair, sat down on her low stool, knelt upon her bed to straighten the branch of box beneath the silver crucifix her mother had given her when she was seventeen.
Marguerite came in with the trunk and luggage.
"What is that?" asked Esperance, spying a big box fastened with nails.
"I don't know anything about it, Mademoiselle. They gave it to me at the hotel saying it was for you."
The box on being opened displayed a magnificent basket of orchids.Attached by a white ribbon was a card—"Countess Styvens."
Esperance grew pale; she took the card from her mother's hands, fearing that she might be mistaken. It was indeed the Countess and not the Count. She breathed again! Marguerite and the maid carried the basket into the salon; then the young girl went into the library with her mother. The newspaper clippings were spread out on the table, and the two famous trinkets had been taken from their cases. Madame Darbois clasped and unclasped her hands.
"Oh! but they are too beautiful, simply too beautiful!" she said.
And the philosopher, half in indignation, half in indulgence, exclaimed, "My poor child, you can not possibly wear such jewels at your age!"
"Ah!" said Esperance with disappointment, "I cannot wear them?"
"Why, no, it is out of the question."
"You will be able to wear them in a play, at the theatre," said Madame Darbois, but her tone lacked assurance, for she did not know whether that would be possible either.
M. Darbois had turned his attention to the notices, having pushed aside the descriptive paragraphs. He read them and gave them to his wife.
"Your godfather came to complain to us of Maurice, of Jean Perliez, and of yourself. You all displeased him; tell us just what happened?"
Esperance recounted the happenings with perfect impartiality, adding honestly that she had done nothing to try to persuade her godfather to remain. The philosopher smiled.
"Very well, let us forget all that. We will take up our happy lifeagain, that has been interrupted by your triumphs," he added sadly.And then, as the women were preparing to leave the library, "Tell me,Esperance, who is the Countess Styvens?"
"A great lady at court, and oh! so charming."
"Is Count Albert Styvens of the Legation any relation of hers?"
"Yes, father, he is her son. But why do you ask that?"
"Your godfather spoke to me of this young man, who, it seems, wants to complete his studies in philosophy."
The poor little star trembled. She was on the point of confessing all her presentiments, her terrors, to her father…. But he had just sat down to his desk and seemed already indifferent to what was going on around him. She went softly out of the library, following her mother, who was bearing away the newspaper excerpts and the royal jewel cases.
In the beautiful house which Countess Styvens occupied with her son, an animated discussion was taking place at the same moment between Baron von Berger and Count Albert.
"I advise you, my boy," the Baron was saying brusquely, "to ask for another post. You, so sensible, too sensible, for a man of your age, in fact it's a little ridiculous…."
"That has nothing to do with it," returned the younger man coolly.
"All very well, but my quasi-paternal duty is to stop you before certain danger. You admit that you adore this young star of seventeen, the daughter of a philosopher of high standing. You do not intend, I suppose, to make her your mistress?"
Albert Styvens felt the blood run into his temples, but he did not answer.
The Baron continued, more determinedly, "You do not intend to propose her as a daughter-in-law to your mother?"
For an instant a vertigo froze the young man's being. His heart stopped beating, his throat contracted with a terrific pressure of blood. He did not answer a word.
"In God's name," cried the Baron violently, "am I in the presence of a woman or a man?"
"A man," said Count Albert, getting to his feet. "A man whose anger is held in check by his respect, but who can endure no more," he added, throwing back his arms to allow his chest to dilate still farther. "I am going to answer you; please listen without interruption."
Then, after a moment more of silence, he declared, "Yes, I am desperately in love with this young girl, and I am going to try everything, not to make her love me, for that she probably never will—but that she will let herself be loved. What will come of it, I have not the least idea. I want her and no one else. I will commit no disloyal act, I give you my word for that. If she should become my wife, it would be with my mother's full permission. I beg you now, my dear Baron, to say nothing further about it; I am old enough to regulate my life, as much as the divine guiding force which you call 'Destiny' permits."
He came up to the Baron, clasped his hand in a firm grasp, and reaching for his hat, added, "I want to get out in the air. Shall we go together?"
The Baron recognized the opposition of an unchangeable will to his own, which no discussion could influence.