The news of the engagement of Esperance and the Count Styvens was known all over Paris. Letters came to the farm of Penhouet, done up in packets. Many expressed to the philosopher and his wife their joy at hearing that their daughter had decided to leave a career so … so very … in which … in fact that…! Every absurd prejudice, so puritanly ingrained in the minds of most middle class divisions and sections and even amongst the more cultivated, was endlessly repeated upon with the usual banalities in the large correspondence of their friends and others. Poor actors, so misunderstood! so misrepresented! The philosopher showed all the letters to Esperance, who shrugged her shoulders, astonished to find there was so much prejudice in the world against her beloved calling. One letter, however, she took quite seriously. It was written by the most eminent of all the Academicians. One sentence in the epistle wounded the poor child very deeply. "Now I shall be able to go about your election with more confidence and security. Dare I admit to you, my dear Professor, that the only obstacle I encountered, and which seemed to me insurmountable, was the career chosen by that lovely child, your daughter, whose talent we all admire so much! Now I can start my campaign, and I am very sure, my dear Darbois, of achieving our ambition without much difficulty. Therefore, perhaps, I shall not altogether deserve your thanks."
What Genevieve had said was patently true; her father had sacrificed his dearest hope for her, and he had done it so all unostentatiously…. Ah! how she loved her father, who was unlike other men! He was standing there before her, smiling, a little scornful of all these little souls. And as he handed her another letter—"No, father dear, no, I beg you. Pardon me the wrong that I have been doing you; I admire you and I love you, dear papa, but leave me with the noble feeling of your supreme kindness; I would rather not know any more of the little meannesses of the world."
She climbed on her father's knees and covered his forehead with kisses.
"Look," said Mme. Darbois, holding up a letter "eight pages from your godfather."
Esperance jumped up laughing, "That I certainly shall not read."
"I am going to write to the Countess that I give up my art…." And swift as a shadow she was gone.
The philosopher sat hesitating, his expression troubled. Had he the right to compel this sacrifice, knowing, realizing, as he did, that his child had based all the happiness of her life on the career she was now voluntarily giving up for his sake? Germaine looked at him questioningly.
"Do you believe, my dear, that I ought to let Esperance write to the Countess, as she proposes? I fear that she is making this sacrifice to gratify my vanity."
"François!" exclaimed Mme. Darbois indignantly.
"My pride, if you prefer it," he said. "But what is such a satisfaction in comparison with the happiness of a life? To me it seems very unjust!"
Germaine adored her husband and her daughter, but she believed more, than in anything in the world, in the noble genius of the philosopher.
"Esperance's sacrifice," she said, "is very slight. She is making a superb marriage into one of the noblest, richest families in Belgium. Albert worships the ground she walks on. The Countess will be more than indulgent to her. She is realizing the most perfect future a young girl can hope for. I see nothing to regret, because she is making a slight concession to her father."
François looked a little sadly at this mother who had never comprehended her daughter's psychology. He knew that for this sweet woman the happiness of life began with her husband and ended with him.
He did not want to argue and rose, saying, "I must do some work."
Ho kissed the unlined forehead of his beloved wife, and then as he was leaving the room added, "Tell Esperance I should like to see her letter before she sends it."
Esperance sat at her desk in her own room, but she sat with her head in her hands, unable to begin her letter. Presently Genevieve came in.
"Is anything the matter, dear?"
Esperance told her what had just happened downstairs.
"I have learned once more that all your reasonings and counsels are always wise, dear sister…. I am sitting trying how to write to the Countess to tell her that I am not going back to the stage!"
Genevieve kissed her. Esperance let her head fall on her friend's bosom, and raising her eyes to her face, said slowly, "But oh! I have not the courage."
Genevieve knelt beside the desk, and dipping the pen in the ink, put a fresh sheet of paper before Esperance, saying with a laugh, "Mlle., get on with your task. I am the school mistress to see that you write properly!"
The smile she brought to Esperance's lips chased away the nebulous uncertainties, and so she wrote her letter to her dear little "Countess-mama," as she had called her since her engagement. When her mother came with the philosopher's message and saw the letter, she was delighted with the phrasing and thanked her daughter warmly for the joy it would give her father.
"Ah! mama, I believe that I am the happiest of the three Darbois, dear ridiculous mama!" And she gave her a quick embrace.
Life was again travelling the simple, daily country round. It was after lunch, three days after Esperance had written her letter.
"Why so pensive, little daughter? Where were your thoughts?"
Esperance jumped up at this question from her father.
"I was dreaming. I am so sorry. I was in Belgium, near the Countess Styvens when my letter would be brought in to her, for, as nearly as I can make out, it ought to arrive to-day."
"No," said M. Darbois, "that letter has not been delivered; it is still in my desk."
Their faces expressed the great astonishment that they felt.
"You did not like it, papa?"
"Very much, very much. It is quite good—and—and pathetic."
"Then, darling papa?"
"I want to talk with you a little more before you send it."
Everyone drank their coffee a little quicker, and five minutes later François found himself alone with his daughter. Even Mme. Darbois had withdrawn, afraid that she might show her own anxiety too much.
"I am listening to you, papa."
"You are going to answer my questions with perfect frankness,Esperance?"
"Yes, father."
"Had you thought of writing to Countess Styvens before you read that letter?"
He drew the Academician's letter from his portfolio and placed it before her.
"No, father, dear."
"Then it was on my account, and to facilitate my admittance to theAcademy, that you wrote?"
"Oh! no," replied Esperance quickly, "I would not do you that injustice, knowing how much you love me, and knowing the purity of your heart, the nobility of your ambition. I am sacrificing what I believe, perhaps wrongly, to be my happiness, to the demands of a misunderstanding world. I knew, when I read that letter, that I had no right to drag a man of your merit, my dear mother, and all the family, into the troubles of a life in which they have no real interest. I did not want you to have the sympathy of the world. Sympathy is too often akin to scorn!"
François would have spoken, but Esperance interrupted him.
"Oh! father darling. You are so good. Don't torment me further, send the letter. I am still so new to this role. I need your sincere, your constant help."
Just then Marguerite came in and handed the philosopher a letter, bearing an armorial seal, which had just come from Palais. He quickly opened it, seemed surprised and passed it to his daughter.
"What! The Duchess de Castel-Montjoie is at Palais," she said. Then she read: "My dear Philosopher, the Princess and I will come, if agreeable to you, after five. I name this hour because the Princess's yacht has to leave to take up friends who are waiting for us at Brehat."
"What time is it?" said Esperance, turning round.
The professor consulted his watch.
"Twenty minutes past three. Quick, Marguerite, tell the men to harness the victoria with the two horses at once."
A quarter of an hour later the carriage was ready to leave. When it had disappeared round the corner from the farm, Genevieve and her friend prepared to go for a walk. Esperance told her mother and Mlle. Frahender that they would be back again in half an hour. They climbed down the cliff, and were soon out of earshot of everyone—they were quite alone. "Genevieve, Genevieve," said Esperance, "I feel that a new danger is threatening me, ready to destroy all my new illusions. Do not leave me, darling."
"What is it that you fear?"
"I can only be sure of one thing, I am in such horrible distress, and that is that the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is at the bottom of this visit. Ah! if I could be sure that I should never see him again, never, never!…"
And she cried in her great distress like a little child.
Genevieve stayed at her side, without saying a word, only stroking her hands from time to time. Presently Esperance grew calmer.
"Come," she said, rising from the boulder on which they had seated themselves. "We must dress to receive the enemy's emissaries." Her voice was light, but her heart was heavy.
Maurice, who had been strolling not far off with Jean, came up and noticing Esperance's tearful eyes, said: "What is the matter?"
"I dread this visit," exclaimed Esperance.
"What is the reason of this sudden call?" ejaculated Maurice.
"I think I can guess," said the actor.
"Well, tell me!"
"But if I should be wrong?" said Jean.
"What a frightful lot of circumlocution," cried Maurice impatiently, pretending to tear out his hair.
But Esperance replied, "No, Jean, you are not mistaken. I can guess your thoughts. I am afraid, as I just now said to Genevieve, that the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is connected in some way with this visit of the Princess and her friend!"
"If the Duke comes here, but I do not believe he will, Jean and I will not leave him alone a minute. I assure you that he will get more of our company than he will appreciate. But, knowing that the Count is not here, I do not think he will come. He is too correct for that! Come, let us dance in honour of Albert!"
Taking his cousin's hands and Genevieve's, he nodded his head to Jean to do the same thing, and led them into a whirlwind dance upon the sands of the beach, until the girls laughed as though no heavy thoughts were weighing in their hearts.
Two hours later the victoria arrived from Palais. The young people could see that it contained only two ladies and the philosopher, and Genevieve breathed again.
The Princess descended lightly before the front door. She kissedEsperance, and after speaking to Mme. Darbois, had Maurice, Jean andGenevieve presented to her.
"You did the portrait of which the Duke de Morlay has spoken so highly?"
Maurice bowed.
"Would it be impertinence if I asked you to let me see it?" she said with a smile.
"I thank you, Madame; you flatter me by your request."
The Dowager Duchess, with whom the Princess had been spending three weeks at her Château of Castel-Montjoie, was now presented to Mme. Darbois. She was a lovable and delightful old lady, with a great appreciation of art and science. Both ladies had been present with the Duke at the last Conservatoire competition, and they expressed to Esperance, Genevieve and Jean the enjoyment their performances had given them. The Duchess was much struck by Genevieve's proud beauty, and said to Maurice, "Ah! Monsieur, what another beautiful portrait you could make! This young lady is much more beautiful close to than even on the stage!" And she added a kind and appreciative word for the classic talent of Jean Perliez.
Tea was to be served in the little beautiful convolvulus garden. When they entered this shelter, which a poet might have designed, the Duchess exclaimed enviously, "What a heavenly spot. Who is the inspired person who has arranged this mysterious flowery retreat for you?"
The philosopher pointed to Maurice and the girls.
The Princess admired it, and the conversation rippled on. "We are come to trouble your bower with a plea for charity! Every year, the Duchess gives a garden party in her beautiful park at Montjoie for the benefit of the 'Orphans of the Fishermen.' There is a little open-air theatre, where some of the greatest actors have appeared. Little rustic booths, shops where you pay a great deal for nothing at all, and a thousand other distractions. We are come, the Duchess and I, drawn by a very pretty star, Esperance. She will not deny us her light, our lovely little star?" she concluded, bending towards Esperance.
"But, Madame," murmured Esperance, "my decision—my promises do not depend on myself alone, now."
The Duchess extracted a letter from her gold mesh bag and held it towards her.
"You are perfectly right, my dear child," she said easily. "I also foresaw that objection, so I wrote to your fiancé, even before speaking to you, for which I must apologize, and here is his answer."
Esperance read the little missive bearing the Styvens's arms and handed it back to the Duchess.
"I will not be," she said smiling sadly, "more royalist than the king.Madame, I am at the service of your work."
This was a great delight to the two kindly disposed women, but the young girl's heart was torn because her fiancé would not see! It is true that his letter ended with the words, "I agree with both hands to whatever Esperance shall decide," so that little choice was left.
The garden party was to be the twentieth of September. It was then the end of August.
"And of what nature is to be the modest contribution I can make to your fête?" asked Esperance, half humorously.
"Modest! Of course you will be the principal attraction. My guests, knowing that they will see you for the last time before Count Styvens carries his little idol away from the public…."
Esperance was saying to herself, "so this cultivated, broad-minded lady thinks just as the others do."
The Princess continued, "We want you to play with your fiancé the Liszt symphonic poem that you played one evening at the Legation; and to take part in some tableaux vivants that we are all to appear in. The Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is directing and staging this part of the programme. The performance will be given only by people we know—no professionals."
The Princess had spoken quite quickly, without reflection. She blushed slightly when she remembered Esperance and Jean Perliez, but she had made the mistake and there was no way of calling it back. She thought that Esperance belonged to that circle where a compliment effaces what might seem like an impertinence.
At first the name of the Duke de Morlay had fallen like a pebble in the stream and began to ripple the waters; a spreading circle of thoughts, fears, resentments began to move in every heart. The philosopher himself was troubled, for he had been prompted by Maurice to observe the assiduous attractions of the Duke, and the agitation he caused Esperance whenever they had been together. Esperance and Genevieve both grew pale. The young painter raised his head, ready for some sort of a return reply. Without hesitation he had decided on the plan to follow. He must not only be invited to the fête, which would be easy enough; he must take part in it, so as to be able to shadow and watch the manoeuvres of the over agreeable Duke.
"If you will allow me, Madame," he said boldly, "I should like to contribute my mite to your fête by painting the scenery?"
The Princess clapped her hands with delight at the suggestion and this new support.
"How pleased my cousin de Morlay will be," she exclaimed. "He has just been saying to me, 'For the scenery we shall require a painter, a real artist.'"
"A professional," said Maurice, bowing ironically.
The Princess was somewhat provoked, but she appeared not to notice the rather pointed remark.
"You might also design the costumes for the tableaux vivants," she continued.
"My cousin," exclaimed Esperance, "has a great gift for arrangement and composition. You will be able to judge for yourself soon; I will show you how beautifully he has painted my portrait."
"True. May we see it now?"
This made a welcome change for the four young people. They all went towards the "Five Divisions of the World." The Duchess stopped every now and then on the way to admire the sea and the luminous quality of the air. She was really amazed when she was shown the picture. It had been installed in the little court, under a kind of alcove that Maurice had made for it. He had found in his aunt's "reliquary" some pretty hangings which hid the alcove, and the picture lost nothing by the arrangement of drapery.
"You have indeed a beautiful portrait there," said the Princess sincerely. "Every year for his birthday I give my husband some work of art. If you do not find me too unworthy a subject it shall be signed this year, 'Maurice Renaud.'"
The young man bowed. "I shall be very happy indeed, Madame, and very highly honoured."
"Then, as our friend and collaborator," said the Duchess, "you must, I think, come with us at once so as to be able to get to work with the Duke without delay."
"Give me time to pack by bag, Madame," returned the triumphantMaurice, "and I will join you at the carriage."
"I will come and help with your packing, cousin. You will excuse me?" she added turning to the Princess.
And Esperance, followed by Genevieve and Jean Perliez disappeared together.
As soon as she was sure she was out of ear-shot Esperance threw her arms about her cousin's neck. "You were simply wonderful."
"Yes," joined in Maurice, "the enemy has fallen into the ambush, as Baron van Berger would say. I will be back as soon as possible, but I must take time to rout our amiable Duke. He is the real enemy, and the most difficult opponent, but I am confident. With my most diabolical scheming, little cousin, I am going to have great fun. All the same, I foresee that I sha'n't be able to stay away long." And he kissed Genevieve's hand tenderly.
They soon finished the packing, and Jean closed the suitcase, and the young people arrived at the carriage just as it drew up.
"How very good it is of you to accept this sudden demand upon your services with such good grace!"
"I must remind you, Madame, that I suggested the work myself and I am glad to do it. I am also quite happy to be carried off by you, as it is such an unlooked-for pleasure."
Two days later the professor had a letter from Maurice, which he read aloud to the family as they drank their coffee.
"My dear Uncle,—This letter is to be shared by the whole community. I have found a world gone mad in this magnificent château. We are twenty-two at table. I have been cordially welcomed by all the strangers, to whom this cursed Duke, delightful fellow, has graciously presented me. I set to work at once to unravel and discover the plans of Charles de Morlay. But more anon. This is the programme: an orchestra composed of excellent artists are to play while the guests arrive, inspect each other, and take their places. We begin with a little ballet, entitled,The Moon in Search of Pierrot, acted and danced by some very good amateurs. I am to paint the drop for this ballet, and the authors (it has taken three of them to elaborate the stupidest scenario you ever yawned through) have called for a Scandinavian design and I have promised it, and shall paint it at Penhouet. Then, the great attraction, the tableaux vivants. That is where I lay in wait for our astute Duke. I will spare you details of nine of the tableaux. There are to be twelve, but Esperance appears only in three, which are the best. In one she represents Andromeda fastened to the rock, and Perseus (the Duke) delivers her after overcoming the dragon. In the second, the 'Judgment of Paris,' she appears as Aphrodite, to whom Paris (the Duke) gives the apple. The third is 'Europa and the Bull,' Europa being personified by Esperance. The Duke does not wish to look ridiculous in a bull's hide, so takes liberties with the legend and transforms the bull into a centaur. I have said 'Amen' to everything. Finally to complete the fête, which will no doubt be well attended and very profitable, there will be little shops of all kinds. Esperance is to sell flowers from the Duchess's gardens. I have my own idea on this point, which I shall later confide to you. I can easily get her fiancé to agree. Your nephew, dear uncle, should live in the land of honey for the future. I have already had orders for three portraits, and of three pretty women, which assures me that the portraits will be successful. Ahem! I am taking all my notes to-day and will be with you the day after to-morrow. It is up to you, dear uncle, to distribute in unequal or suitable doses my respects and love and affection amongst all those anxious to receive such privileges. Your affectionately devoted, Maurice."
"It seems to me," said Genevieve, as she left the dining-room with Esperance, "that your cousin has arranged everything very well, and that you ought to be quite happy and content."
"Oh! I know very well that I shall be taken care of, but how can I struggle against the tumultuous ideas that assail me? The vision of the Duke has haunted me ever since Maurice left. I have never seen the château, but I am sure that I shall recognize it. I would like to fall ill with some complaint that would send me to sleep and sleep. Oh! if I could get a little ugly for a little while, just long enough to make the Duke lose interest in me, I should be so glad. Dear Genevieve, can't you give me a little dose of the elixir of your happiness. I need it sorely just now."
The girls had been walking as they talked down to the little beach at Penhouet. The sea was at low tide, and the golden sand, dried by the sun, offered them a restful couch. They stretched themselves out upon it, and Esperance soon fell asleep. Jean Perliez appeared on the crest of the little hill that hides the bay from the sightseeker. Genevieve signed to him to come down quietly. He had a telegram, a dispatch from Belgium. He pinned it to Esperance's hat lying on the sand at her side, and dropping down close to Genevieve, began to talk in low tones. For both he and Genevieve were uneasy concerning their little friend.
A farm dog at the moment began to bark furiously. Esperance woke quickly, looking pale and worried, with her hands pressed on her frightened heart. She saw the telegram and opened it quickly.
"Albert will be here this evening by the second boat. What time is it?" She showed a little emotion, but only a little, though she felt deeply.
She looked towards the sun.
"It can't be four yet."
Jean took out his watch.
"Twenty to four," he said.
"The boat can't get here before five-thirty. Quick, quick, run, Jean, and ask to have some conveyance got ready. I must go and tell my father and get his permission to go with you and Genevieve to meet my fiancée. Ah! what good luck!" she said with a long breath, "What good luck!"
François Darbois was delighted for his daughter to go and meet Albert, and departed so radiantly that he said to his wife, "I believe she is getting to love this brave Albert?"
Genevieve, who had heard, as had also Jean, said to the young man in a low voice, "But, my God! suppose she is beginning to love the Duke?"
The boat approached the little quay of Palais slowly with Count Styvens standing well forward, his tall figure silhouetted against the grey of the sea. He caught sight of Esperance immediately, as she stood up in the brake, waving her handkerchief. Great happiness was in his heart, and in his haste to be ashore, he went to assist them to lay down the gangplank, and was at the carriage in a second, kissing most tenderly the hand Esperance held out to him. A great basket was placed on the seat. The girls blushed with pleasure, for a sweet odour was wafted to them from it.
All the way home Esperance heard from Albert in detail all that had happened to him since she had last seen him. She talked incessantly, as if to drown her thoughts under a sea of nonsense. At the farm the young man could see the pleasure they all showed at his return. Of course he was somewhat astonished to learn that Maurice was absent with the Duchess, for he had not yet heard of the events that had happened during his absence.
They all gathered together in the dining-room. The Count took out of his pocket a little case, and asking Esperance to give him her hand, slipped on to her middle finger a magnificent engagement ring. Somehow her hand went cold as death as Albert held it, and her face contracted strangely.
"Do you regret your word already, Esperance?" he asked in a nervous, low voice.
"No, no, Albert," she said quickly, nervously twisting the ring on her finger, "but this is a very serious moment, and you know that I incline to taking things seriously here," and she put her hand across her heart. Then she smiled, pressed his hand, and showed the ring to Genevieve. They all examined and admired the beautiful jewel. When the philosopher turned to praise it Albert had disappeared.
The basket was opened revealing a bouquet of magnificent white orchids, marvellously fresh, held in a white scarf with embroidered ends.
When they assembled for dinner an hour later Esperance was not present, and Albert began to look uneasy. But they had not long to wait, and when she did appear she was dressed all in white, an embroidered scarf fastened about her waist, and several orchids arranged like a coronet in her hair. At that moment she seemed almost supernaturally beautiful.
"What a pity that Maurice is not here! You are so lovely this evening," said Genevieve.
"Oh," said Esperance smiling, "that is not the only reason you regret his absence?"
Next day they were surprised to get no word from the painter to tell them which boat he would take. It was warm and they had coffee served in the convolvulus bower. The breeze came through an opening from the sea.
"Look! isn't that a pretty boat?" cried out Genevieve.
A white yacht was sailing slowly towards Penhouet. The philosopher got his glasses.
"It is the Princess's flag," he exclaimed.
"Yes, yes," agreed Albert, "it is the Belgian flag. Listen, there is the salute."
Jean ran to the farm, calling back, "I will answer it. All right, M.Darbois?"
The flag sank and rose three times, then the yacht headed straight for the little bay. Genevieve climbed on a high rock and clapped her hands. "It is he, oh! it is he."
She turned radiantly back to the party in the grove. Her "It is he" made Albert smile. It was so charming, so sincere that they all shared the quality of her joy.
It was indeed Maurice returning on the Princess's yacht. The tide was so high that the boat could get quite close.
Everyone went down to the beach where the waves were washing the little rocks. Albert jumped on the largest rock which seemed to recede to sea with him. Genevieve would have followed him but he cried out, "Look out, it is very deep here."
She stayed where she was, but so woebegone did her face become that Albert leapt ashore again, and before she knew what he was doing, picked her up, and was back on the slippery rock with her.
"Oh! the bold lad!" said the Professor.
The little sloop had been launched and Maurice could easily land on the big rock. He kissed Genevieve, and told the Count of his delight in seeing him again. Then he looked around him. The water surrounded them on all sides. He looked at Genevieve questioningly, but by way of response Albert simply picked her up again and went ashore with her. Maurice was quick and agile, he was even strong in a nervous way, but Albert's strength and agility filled him with wonder.
Esperance congratulated the Count on his prowess and his kind thought in enabling Genevieve to see Maurice a little sooner.
"It is because I know what that joy is myself," he answered simply.
Esperance's eyes grew moist as she turned to Albert.
"You are so good, you always do the right thing. I am prouder every day to be loved by you."
During dinner Maurice gave them an account of all that had happened to him, with many new incidents.
"I am not telling you anything new," he added to Albert when they were alone. "You know as well as I do that the Duke is in love with Esperance. We all know it here."
Albert agreed with a rather sad smile that he did know it.
"Now that my cousin is your fiancée, he is too much of a gentleman to seek her, but he certainly wants to be near her, to talk to her, in short to flirt with her."
"You believe that he would dare?"
"My dear cousin," said Maurice, half jestingly, half serious. "I believe him capable of anything, but he knows that you are here … and perhaps is afraid to take liberties."
"To put an end to his manoeuvrings we must somehow make him look ridiculous, and expose his folly. The fête, I think, will give us our chance."
Albert said, "I will follow your advice, Maurice."
"Very good. I will give you particulars of my plans. By the way, I have brought all your invitations. I will go and deliver them." So they went to seek the others, and Maurice gave each one a card with a personal invitation for the twentieth of September. Genevieve blushed.
"I am invited as well," she said.
"Of course; and I believe the amiable Duchess intends to ask you to recite the poem she has written. It is very touching. I will find it for you to-morrow. Ah! yes, you have made a great impression on that delightful lady. She talked about you to me all the time. You would have supposed she was doing it to please me."
Genevieve became purple. It was the first time Maurice had expressed himself so frankly. When they left the table she led Esperance aside and kissed her until she almost stifled her.
"Oh! how happy I am, and how I love him!"
Maurice and Jean passed by talking so busily that they did not see the girls.
"You are sure?"
"Absolutely. Since I have been away for four whole days I am convinced more than ever that I adore that girl and shall not be happy without her."
"You have written to your father?"
"Not yet. I must first of all talk to Genevieve."
"You are not afraid of what she will say? Of her answer?"
Maurice smiled.
"I want first to tell her of my future plans, and to have a confidential chat with her about everything."
"You will be my best man, old fellow," he went on, clapping Jean on the shoulder. "You have chosen the role of actor, with the temperament of a spectator; strange lover!"
"Like any other man I follow my Destiny. You were born for happiness, Maurice, one has only to look at you to be convinced of it. You breathe forth life, you love, you conquer. Youth radiates from you. I have asked myself a hundred times why I have chosen this career, and I am persuaded that I must live, if at all, the life of others."
"Are you very upset—unhappy?" asked Maurice.
"No, oh no; I don't suffer much, but of course I am a little disturbed. I am like a reflection. Esperance's happiness elates, her sorrow depresses me. I love her purely as an idealist. I would like Count Albert to look like the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, and still keep the noble soul that we know he possesses. If your cousin should die, I truly believe that I would die. My life would be without aim, without soul; bereft of light, the reflection would vanish."
They walked slowly down to the beach to join Albert and the girls. The night had broken soft and limpid, full of stars, full of dreams. They sat down on the sand, silently admiring the prospect. The waves broke regularly as if scanning the poem of silence. A fresh scent rose from the rocks which were clothed with sea moss. Far away a dog was barking. The young people were silent, united in a mood of wonder before the depths and lights of the night.
On the fifteenth of September the girls had to tear themselves away from their quiet retreat at Belle-Isle, and leave Penhouet and all else to travel with Mlle. Frahender, Jean and Maurice to the Château de Montjoie. When they arrived there, at ten in the evening, Esperance recognised the Duke in the distance as soon as the carriage stopped. He was looking out of one of the great windows above the terrace. He was, in fact, awaiting the coming of Esperance. But he pretended not to have seen the carriage and continued to gaze up at the stars. Esperance trembled and her lips were icy cold. Albert had also seen the Duke, and was not deceived by his attitude. He had resolved to be calm, but a sullen, unbidden anger arose within him.
When the housekeeper had installed the two girls in a tower of theChâteau, she left with them a little Breton peasant girl.
"She will be devoted to your service," she said. "Her name is Jeanette. Her room is above yours and, when you ring this bell, she will wait upon you at once."
Esperance threw herself on her bed, still dressed, for her heart was overflowing.
"Ah! why, why is Albert so trusting? Why did he let me come here?Would it not have been better to have run the risk of offending theDuchess?"
And when Genevieve tried to reason with her, "I am suffering, little sister," she replied, "I am so unhappy; for the sight of the Duke at the window distressed me. I tremble at the idea of seeing him again, and yet I long for the time when I can give him my hand."
"But this is serious," said Genevieve. "I thought you had recovered from all that nonsense, or rather, I thought you would be less affected."
She helped Esperance to undress. The poor child let her do so without a word.
She slept badly, haunted by dreams and troubled with nightmare. At six o'clock in the morning she woke up feverishly, and rang for the maid.
The little Breton appeared five minutes later, her eyes still full of sleep, her cap crooked.
"Will you get me a little warm water?" asked Esperance. "It is coldfrom the tap."
"It is too early, I am afraid. Mademoiselle must please to wait a little."
"Well, be as quick as you can, please. I want to go for a walk in the park while there is no one about."
The little Breton laughed. "You won't run any danger of finding anyone at this hour. What will the ladies take for breakfast?"
"Two cups of chocolate, please," said Genevieve, beginning to get up.
"Be so good as to make haste, Jeanette, get us our hot water and our chocolate, like a good girl and say nothing to anyone."
Jeanette looked in the mirror, adjusted her cap, put back a stray lock of hair, and opened the door. But she stopped, looking at the girls craftily.
"Which way were you going, Mademoiselle?"
"That all depends. Which way is the prettiest?"
"When you leave the Château you must turn to your right and walk to the first thicket. About ten minutes through the thicket and you will come out on the big terrace. That is where they always take the guests and say how beautiful it is!"
"Thank you," said Genevieve, "to the right, then the thicket and the terrace. We aren't likely to meet anyone?"
"Nobody is abroad but the cats at this hour, and…."
Outside the door she made a face like a mischievous child who had just played a trick. Running rapidly across the long corridors, she mounted to the second storey, opened an ante-chamber which led to another room and knocked lightly. The Duke opened the door.
"You here, Jeanette! What is it?"
"My godfather," she said very low, "the young ladies are getting up now, and I think they are going to walk in the grove to the right of the Château."
"They are going … alone?"
"Certainly. No one else is awake, but they may be going to meet their lovers."
"Why did you come to tell me yourself, instead of sending my man?"
"Because he is a lazy fellow who would have taken an hour to dress and then would have told a lie and said I told him too late."
"Very well, run along now, and don't get caught."
So Jeanette sped quickly towards the kitchen to get the hot water in a great copper can, which she half emptied on the way to ease the weight.
As soon as they were dressed, Esperance and Genevieve made quick work of their chocolate, and started out. It was very still.
"It is the Sleeping Beauty's wood," said Esperance.
They went towards the grove they saw on their right. At the entrance to it Esperance closed her parasol and stopped suddenly, pressing Genevieve's hand.
"Some one has been here already."
They both stopped motionless, listening. Not a sound. They slowly continued on their way, but the thicket did not lead to the terrace, and ended in a little enclosed dell. On a pedestal a figure ofLove in Chainsoverlooked a stone bench.
"We have lost our way," said Genevieve. "Let us go back."
"No it is charming here. Let us go on to the bench. I am a little tired and my heart is beating so…. What was that?"
She put her companion's hand above her heart.
"Why what is the matter with you. Why are you so nervous?"
"Ah!" replied Esperance, with great apprehension of she knew not what, "I feel as if I could not struggle…. The presence in this house of the Duke de Morlay overcomes me. I don't know whether that is love; but at least it tells me that I do not love Albert. Come dear, let us rest a moment."
Just then a man stepped out from the thicket and barred their way.
The Duke stood before them.
Esperance uttered one cry and fell in a faint.
The Duke started forward to catch her, but Genevieve repulsed him.
"It is a cowardly trick you have played on us, sir. I understand now that we did not lose our way but were duped by your orders."
As she spoke, she was trying to support Esperance, but almost falling herself under the weight of the inert body. She cried at her own impotence, but she was obliged to accept the Duke's help to get Esperance as far as the marble bench.
"Try," she said holding out Esperance's tiny handkerchief, "to get me a little water."
"Instantly, Mademoiselle … there is a fountain near at hand."
When he came back Genevieve moistened the poor child's temples. TheDuke was very pale.
"Mademoiselle, believe me that I am greatly upset at what has happened. I had no idea…!"
"I shall be very glad to excuse you. Esperance looks a little better, had you not better go away?"
"But I cannot leave you all alone like this."
He took Esperance's hand, and it seemed to him that warmth came back into it.
Esperance opened her eyes. Still half unconscious, she looked at him curiously, then she cried sharply out, "Have mercy, go away, go away!"
And she gave way to hysterical sobs.
The Duke said humbly, "I will leave you."
And then kneeling before her, "Forgive me, I am going; I am leaving you … but I entreat you to forgive me."
He was sincere in what he said. Both girls felt it.
Esperance had risen gently.
"I am betrothed to Count Styvens," she said. "You know that. I know that my emotion just now was foolish, but I am sick at heart and I am not always able to control myself. You are good, I see that. Please help me to cure myself. I will be grateful to you all my life."
"I give you my word…." his voice trembled. "I will make myself…." and he went away.
As soon as they were left alone the two girls took counsel as to whatcourse they should pursue. Esperance, in despair, threw herself onGenevieve's judgment, and Genevieve asked permission to consultMaurice.
"Could we not keep it as a secret?"
"I am afraid, darling, that that would not be right. We are sure ofMaurice's discretion, and we need advice as well as help."
Esperance looked at her companion.
"How could the Duke have known? Oh! I suppose the little Breton girl who waits on us was the culprit. We must get rid of her. We have only three days to spend here, and then, too, I am sure that the Duke will keep his word. I was struck by his pallor, and his eyes when he looked at you were full of tears, but I believe he was sincere; there is less to fear from staying than fleeing perhaps, since we know that. Let us go back."
She helped her dear little friend to get up and they returned to the house as they had come. Mademoiselle Frahender was just coming out to look for them.
"Here we are, little lady, don't scold," said Esperance playfully.
The little old lady shook her head chidingly.
"You do not look well, my child. You are up too early. Six o'clock, that pert little Breton told me, when I found her fumbling in our trunks. When I told her that I was going to complain of her she said, 'Oh! don't do that, Madame, my godfather, the Duke de Morlay, would never forgive me!"
The girls looked at each other.
"I promise to say nothing, but you must watch her carefully."
They were just going in when Maurice joined them, out of breath.
"Hello! cousin. Where do you spring from?"
"I have been looking for you for half an hour to give you the programme, edited by Jean and enlivened by your humble servant. Here you are, and here you are, naughty lady, who gives no word of warning to her lover of early morning escapades."
"Oh! Maurice, it was I who led Genevieve astray, and I am doubly repentant. She will tell you why."
Maurice grew serious.
"What means that haggard face, cousin, and the collar of your dress is all wet? Come, come, Genevieve herself seems ill at ease. I would like to know what you two have been up to."
"Well! take her into that grove, you will find a bench there, and she will tell you all about it. I am going to rest," replied Esperance.
Genevieve and Maurice sat down in the grove. After she had told him what had happened, she added, "What seems to me to make it really serious is that I believe the Duke to be in earnest."
"Love and flirtation often look alike," said the young man shrugging his shoulders.
"I don't think so," said the girl with conviction, and continued sadly, "Esperance is fighting against this infatuation with all her strength, but I am very uneasy. And if the Duke should love her enough to offer to marry her!"
"You think that likely?"
"What can resist love? Tell me that."
And her beautiful eyes, swimming with tears, looked anxiously, trustingly into the young man's face.
"I tell you what I truly believe. And that is, that Esperance loves the Duke."
The young painter meditated for a long time.
"Come on, we must go back," he said finally. "We must get ready for the rehearsal." He left the girl with exhortations to reason with his cousin.
"What the deuce is our will for if we can't exercise it?"
"Maurice, I am brave and determined, you know that. My sister and I have struggled unaided, she since she was thirteen! I since I was eight. I thought that she was enough to fill all my life, and now…."
"And now," he asked tenderly, taking her hand.
"All my life is yours! I should not tell you this, but you can judge by my doing so the impotence of will against…."
She drew away her hand hastily, ran to the staircase and disappeared. He heard the door open and his cousin's voice saying, "How pale you are, Genevieve!"
"What are you dreaming about, Cousin Maurice?" said Albert, putting his hand gently on his shoulder.
That hand felt to Maurice as heavy as remorse.
"Let us go and see what is going on," said the young painter. "There is Jean coming to look for us now."
In the great hall of the Château a charming theatre had been built. Everything was ready for the rehearsal. An enormous revolving platform held three wooden squares which would serve as frames for the tableaux vivants. The mechanism had been arranged by an eminent Parisian engineer. A curtain decorated by Maurice served as background. There were eleven little dressing rooms, seven for the women, four for the men.
Maurice saw the Duke seated straddlewise on a chair, and smoking a cigarette. The three men went up to him before he was aware of their presence. At sound of Albert's voice he sprang to his feet, almost as if expecting an attack. His nostrils were dilated, his face set. In an instant he resumed his usual manner, and shook hands with the young men.
"You were asleep?" suggested the Count.
"No, I was dreaming, and I think you must have figured in my dream."
"Let us hear of the dream."
"Oh! no, dreams ought not to be told!"
And he pretended to busy himself with some orders.
The guests who were to take part in the tableaux vivants began slowly to stream in. Maurice took Jean aside and told him what had happened that morning.
"You must keep watch too. I am not going to leave the Duke."
When Esperance and Genevieve came in, Maurice caught the Duke's expression in a mirror. He saw him move away and join a distant group where he lingered chatting. Jean thought Esperance looked uneasy. Albert came up to her and kissed her hand. She smiled sadly. She was looking for some one. The Duke had disappeared before she had seen him.
After a long discussion it was decided to have a dress rehearsal. Esperance was not in the first picture so she would have had ample time to have dressed at leisure, but nevertheless she put her things on quite feverishly. Her costume consisted only, it is true, of a light peplum over a flesh-coloured foundation. Genevieve helped her to dress. In each dressing-room was one of Maurice's designs illustrating just how the dress, hair, etc., were to be arranged. For Andromeda, Esperance was to have bare feet, and wear on her hair a garland of flowers.
The three first tableaux revolved before the Duke and his staff, composed of Albert, Jean, Maurice and some of the distinguished guests; and the order was given to summon the artists for the second set, which was composed of the next three pictures.
The first tableaux of the second group represented Circe with the companions of Ulysses changed into swine. The marvellous Lady Rupper was to represent Circe. She entered dramatically, half nude, her tunic open to her waist, caught at intervals by diamond clasps, her peplum held in place by a garland of bay leaves. She was very beautiful. Her husband, a wealthy American, laughed at sight of her, a coarse laugh, the laugh of all Germans, even when Americanized.
The second picture represented Judith and Holofernes. The beautiful brunette, the Marquise de Chaussey, in a daring costume designed by Maurice, held in her hand a magnificent scimitar, the property of Morlay-La-Branche. She was to pose, raising the curtain, as in the picture of Regnault.
The third picture was the deliverance of Andromeda. When Esperance appeared, so slender, so fragile, her long hair waving in floods of pale gold almost to the floor, a murmur of almost sacred admiration rang through the hall. Lady Rupper approached her, and taking the child's hair in her hands, cried out, "Oh! my dear, it is more beautiful than the American gold."
The Duke came up to Esperance.
"I should have preferred enchaining you to delivering you,Mademoiselle."
"I can speak now in the person of Andromeda and thank you for that deliverance … which you promised," she answered with a little smile.
She had spoken so low that only the Duke could hear the ending which he alone understood. He had promised to deliver her from his love, but at that instant he revolted against the thought and the admonition.
"Why not?" he muttered to himself. "She must be happier with me than with that insufferable bore! I will keep my word until she herself absolves me from it."
They had to arrange her pose against the rock. Maurice and Albert helped her, while the Duke watched from a distance, and criticized the effect. All at once he cried out, "That is perfect. Don't move. Now the mechanician must mark the place to set the fetters for the hands and feet."
Maurice stepped back by the Duke to judge of the effect.
"It is excellent," he said, looking only, thinking only as an artist. "That child has a beauty of proportion, a dazzling grace, and the most lovely face imaginable."
As the Duke did not speak, Maurice looked at him. He was standing upright, leaning against a table, pale as death.
"Are you ill?" asked Maurice.
"No … no…."
He passed his hand across his forehead and said in an unnatural voice, "Will you see to it please, that they do not leave her suspended that way too long? Tell Albert to raise her head, it seems to me that she is going to faint."
He started forward.
"I will go," said Maurice, stopping him.
When the machinist finished screwing the rings in the rock Maurice asked whether it would not be better to repeat this tableaux at once. The Duke approved. The terrifying dragon was properly arranged on the ground—the wonderful dragon which was the design of a renowned sculptor and perfectly executed by Gerard in papier maché. Perseus (the Duke) with one foot on the head of the vanquished monster, bent towards Andromeda. The breath of her half-opened mouth was hot on his lips, and he could hear the wild beating of her little heart. He felt an infinite tenderness steal over him, and when a tear trembled on the young girl's eyelashes he forgot everything, wiped the tear away tenderly with the end of his finger and kissed it lovingly. Happily the turning stage was almost out of sight and nobody except Genevieve had caught sight of the incident.
Esperance breathed, "God, my God!"
The Duke raised the poor child, and said to her very low, "I love you,Esperance."
She murmured, "You must not … you must not."
While he was loosing her chains he continued, "I love you and I will do anything to win your love."
She strengthened herself desperately.
"You do not need to do anything for it, alas!"
And she fled.
When the Count came to find her, there was only the Duke talking to the stage hands.
"Where is Esperance?"
"I have no idea," replied Charles de Morlay dryly.
Albert turned on his heel, delighted to see the Duke out of humour.
Genevieve caught up with Andromeda who was running away out of breath, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Genevieve saw her enter the grove leading to the clearing and there she joined her.
"Esperance, my darling, my little sister, stop, I beg you."
Her voice calmed the girl. She caught hold of one of the branches and clung to it, gasping.
"Genevieve, Genevieve, why am I here?"
Her eyes shone with a wild light. She seemed to be absolutely exalted.
"He loves me, he loves me…."
"And I love him." And she threw herself in her friend's arms. "I am as happy as you now, for I love…. The thick cloud that hung over everything is gone. Everything is bright and beautiful. This dark grove is sparkling with sunlight and…?"
Genevieve stopped her.
"Little sister, you are raving. Your pulse is racing with fever. We must go back. Think of poor Albert."
Esperance drew herself up proudly, replying, "I will never betray him,I will tell the truth, and I will become the wife of the Duke."
"You are talking wildly, dearest, the Duke will not marry you."
"He will marry me, I swear it!"
"Albert will enter the Chartist Monastery and the Countess Styvens will die of sorrow."
"The Countess Styvens," said Esperance slowly.
As the sweet face of the mother came before her mind's eye she began to tremble all over.
Maurice had followed the girls into the grove, and he found them now in each other's arms.
"Genevieve," said Esperance, "not a word of what I have said!"
"Have you both gone crazy? They are looking everywhere for Esperance for the 'Judgment of Paris,' and here you are congratulating and kissing each other!"
"Cousin, I needed the air, don't scold. Genevieve looked for me and found me before anybody else, and I kissed her because I love her most."
She spoke fast and laughed nervously.
"Who freed you from your chains?"
"Perseus, it was his duty!"
"And now he is going to give you an apple."
"Then," she said very prettily, "I must try to deserve it. Come help me to make myself beautiful."
She led Genevieve away by the hand.
Maurice remained rooted to the spot. Somehow he guessed what sudden change had operated upon his cousin's spirit. Something must have taken place in the corridor between these two! He murmured sadly, "Poor Albert, poor little cousin!"
The young Count appeared before him in his most radiant humour.
"I have just met Esperance," he said. "She was joyous, brilliant, I have never before seen her so happy!"
Maurice gnawed his moustache, and moved rather angrily.
"We should never have come here," he said, "success has turned her head."
"She was born for success," said the Count. "I often ask myself whether I have a right to accept the sacrifice she is making for me."
"My dear friend, when things are well you should leave them alone."
"When you love as I love, you desire above everything the happiness of the one you love."
"Unless the one you love should prefer someone else to you?"
"You are wrong, Maurice. I would sacrifice myself for Esperance's happiness if I knew she wanted to marry another man."
Maurice shrugged his shoulders.
"We are not of the same race. Your blood runs colder in your veins than mine, for mine boils. But, perhaps you have a better understanding of these things?"
And he left the Count to go and help the Duke prepare the "Judgment ofParis."
Three young girls had been chosen for this tableau. Mlle. de Berneuve, a beautiful brunette (Hera); Mlle. Lebrun, with flaming hair (Athene); and Esperance, delicately blonde, was to represent Aphrodite, to whom the shepherd Paris would award the prize for beauty.
To personify Aphrodite the girl wore a long pink tunic, with a peplum of the same colour heavily embroidered. Her hair was piled high on her head, leaving the lovely nape of her neck half covered by her draperies, her exquisitely delicate arms emerging from a sleeveless tunic. To represent the shepherd Paris, the Duke was wearing a short tunic embroidered with agate beads to hold the stuff down, and a sheep skin. A red cap was on his head. He was magnificent to look upon.
The stage began to revolve. Paris held out his apple to Aphrodite, who went crimson at his glance. The girl's blushes did not escape the audience, where the comments varied according to the person who made them.
Maurice, Genevieve, and Jean understood what Esperance read in Paris's eyes. A sad smile gave a melancholy grace to the lovely Aphrodite. Both the actors had forgotten that they were not alone. Hypnotized under the gaze of Paris, the young girl made a gesture towards him. A sharp, "Don't move" from the prompter brought her back to herself. She turned her head, saw the audience, with the eyes and glasses of everyone focussed upon her. It seemed to her that they must all know her secret. She tottered; and supported herself upon Athene. She must have fallen from the frame and been badly hurt, if the Duke had not caught her just in time. A cry escaped from the audience. The Marquis de Montagnac gave a sign to the stage hands to stop revolving the stage.
Albert climbed up on the stage at once. He thrust Paris quickly aside, picked up the girl and carried her out on to the terrace. Maurice and Jean followed him. She was not unconscious, but she could not speak and she recognized no one. Genevieve knelt beside her. At first delicacy—discretion—held the spectators back, but curiosity soon drove them forward. But the Duke did not appear. He had seemingly vanished.
The Doctor of the Château was called from playing croquet. He began by ordering the crowd away. Esperance was stretched out on an easy chair on the terrace. The Doctor looked at her for a moment, amazed at her beauty, then sat beside her, feeling her pulse. Genevieve described what had happened. He listened attentively.
"There is nothing serious," he said, "only a little exhaustion and collapse. I will go and mix a soothing drink for her."
Esperance, still unconscious, was carried by her fiancé to her room, where Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender put her to bed. Albert went back to wait for the Doctor. Maurice went in search of Charles de Morlay. He met a forester, who told him that the Duke had gone for a ride in the forest, and had sent word to the Duchess that he might not be back to lunch.
Maurice returned disturbed and thoughtful. Genevieve was waiting for him with the news that the Doctor had himself administered a sleeping draught to Esperance which he said should make her sleep at least five hours.
"So much the better! That will give us a little time to consider and to decide what is to be done. The truth is that we ought to clear out this very day! Love is a miscreant!"
"Not always, fortunately," murmured Genevieve.
"You, Genevieve, have a balanced mind, calm, just. If only my cousin had your equilibrium!"
"Oh! Maurice, Maurice…."
A tear ran down Genevieve's eyelashes. She closed her eyes. He took the lovely head in his hands and his lips rested on her pure forehead. They remained so for one marvellous, never-to-be-forgotten second.
When he left her Maurice met Albert Styvens. They walked side by side towards the woods.
"I am very much alarmed," said the Count, "not about Esperance's health, but about her state of mind. I am a poor psychologist, but my love for your cousin has sharpened my wits. It seems to me that the Duke is trying to make Esperance love him."
"Possibly; I had not noticed."
"Yes, Maurice, you have noticed and you have no right to deny it. I want to ask your advice. The Duke and I both love your cousin. One of us must lose. Just now I repulsed the Duke so rudely that he could have demanded satisfaction, but I foresee that he will let it pass. That attitude, so unusual to his temperament, proves that he wants to avoid scandal. Why? What is his object?"
"I don't know," said Maurice. "He has gone riding in the forest, probably to calm his nerves with solitude. He loves your fiancée, but his honour forces him to respect her."
"Perhaps," said Albert.
"I think," said Maurice, "that we should all leave this evening or to-morrow morning at the latest. Esperance is not ill, only worn out. She is easily exhausted."
"And if she loves the Duke?" pursued the Count.
"Then it is my place to ask you what you are going to do about it?"
Albert was silent a minute, then raising his pale face, answered slowly: "If she loves the Duke, I shall have to ask him what are his intentions; and if, as I believe, he wishes to marry her, I shall die a Chartist!"
The third gong vibrated, announcing lunch.
After lunch, Albert, Maurice, Jean, and Genevieve settled themselves under a great oak, which was said to have been planted by a delightful little Duchess of Castel-Montjoie, who had been celebrated at Court during the Regency. A marble table and a heavy circular bench made this wild corner quite cosy, and sheltered from the sun and from the curious. The tree was just opposite the tower where Esperance was sleeping so deeply, and Mlle. Frahender was to give a signal from the window when she awoke. Neither of them felt much inclined for conversation, for their eyes were fixed on the window opposite. About half-past four Mlle. Frahender appeared, and Genevieve hastened to the room.
Esperance was sitting up in bed, remembering nothing.
"Albert, Maurice, and Jean are over there. Do you wish to see them?"
Esperance rose up quickly, wrapping a robe of blue Japanese crêpe embroidered in pink wisterias about her, and gracefully fastened up her hair.
"Let them come, if you please, now."
The young men entered and stopped in amazement at the change that had already taken place in her. Instead of finding her a wreck they discovered her pink, gay and laughing.