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Zibeline, by Philippe de Massa
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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Zibeline, Complete, by Phillipe de Massa
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Zibeline, Complete
Author: Phillipe de Massa
Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3934]
Last Updated: August 23, 2016
Language: English
Character set encoding: UTF-8
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZIBELINE, COMPLETE ***
Produced by David Widger
</pre>
<h1>
ZIBELINE
</h1>
<p>
<br /><br />
</p>
<h2>
By Philippe De Massa
</h2>
<p>
<br /><br />
</p>
<h3>
Translated By D. Knowlton Ranous
</h3>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<blockquote>
<p class="toc">
<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
</p>
<p>
<br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ALEXANDRE-PHILIPPE-REGNIER DE MASSA </a><br /><br />
<a href="#link2H_4_0002"> LETTER FROM JULES CLARETIE TO THE AUTHOR </a><br /><br />
<a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>ZIBELINE</b> </a><br /><br /><br /> <a
href="#link2H_4_0004"> <b>BOOK 1.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>LES FRERES-PROVENCAUX <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>BIRDS OF PREY <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>THE GAME <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>THE RESULT <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>A DESPERATE RESOLUTION <br /><br />
<a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>THE FAREWELL <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>THE VOW <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>IN SEARCH OF GLORY <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>GENERAL DE PREROLLES <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>EUGENIE GONTIER <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>RIVAL BEAUTIES <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2H_4_0017"> <b>BOOK 2.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>THE INDUSTRIAL ORPHAN ASYLUM
<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>A WOMAN’S INSTINCT
<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>DEFIANCE OF MRS.
GRUNDY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>FRATERNAL
ADVICE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>THE LADY
BOUNTIFUL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a>A
MODERN TARTUFE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>BROKEN
TIES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> <b>BOOK 3.</b> </a> <br /><br />
<a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>ZIBELINE RECEIVES <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>A DASHING AMAZON <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a>AN UNEXPECTED MEETING <br /><br />
<a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a>THE MILITARY REVIEW <br /><br />
<a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a>THE CHALLENGE <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a>THE AMAZON HAS A FALL <br /><br />
<a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a>AN UNCONSCIOUS AVOWAL <br /><br />
<a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a>DISTRACTION <br /><br /> <a
href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a>THE VOW REDEEMED
<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a>THE MARQUISE DE
PREROLLES <br /><br />
</p>
</blockquote>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<h2>
ALEXANDRE-PHILIPPE-REGNIER DE MASSA
</h2>
<p>
MARQUIS DE MASSA, soldier, composer, and French dramatist, was born in
Paris, December 5, 1831. He selected the military career and received a
commission in the cavalry after leaving the school of St. Cyr. He served
in the Imperial Guards, took part in the Italian and Franco-German Wars
and was promoted Chief of Squadron, Fifth Regiment, Chasseurs a Cheval,
September 10, 1871. Having tendered his resignation from active service,
he was appointed a lieutenant-colonel in the territorial army February 3,
1880. He has been decorated with the Legion of Honor.
</p>
<p>
The Marquis de Massa is known as a composer of music and as a dramatic
author and novelist. At the Opera Comique there was represented in 1861
Royal-Cravate, written by him. Fragments of two operas by him were
performed at the Paris Conservatory of Music in 1865, and in 1868. The
list of his principal plays follows: ‘Le Service en campagne, comedy
(1882); La Cicatrice, comedy (1885); Au Mont Ida, Fronsac a La Bastille,
and La Coeur de Paris, all in 1887; La Czarine and Brouille depuis Magenta
(1888), and La Bonne Aventure—all comedies—1889. Together with
Petipa he also wrote a ballet Le Roi d’Yvetot (1866); music by Charles
Labarre. He further wrote Zibeline, a most brilliant romance (1892) with
an Introduction by Jules Claretie; crowned by the Academie Francaise. This
odd and dainty little story has a heroine of striking originality, in
character and exploits. Her real name is Valentine de Vermont, and she is
the daughter of a fabulously wealthy French-American dealer in furs, and
when, after his death, she goes to Paris to spend her colossal fortune,
and to make restitution to the man from whom her father won at play the
large sum that became the foundation of his wealth, certain lively
Parisian ladies, envying her her rich furs, gave her the name of Zibeline,
that of a very rare, almost extinct, wild animal. Zibeline’s American
unconventionality, her audacity, her wealth, and generosity, set all Paris
by the ears. There are fascinating glimpses into the drawing-rooms of the
most exclusive Parisian society, and also into the historic greenroom of
the Comedie Francaise, on a brilliant “first night.” The man to whom she
makes graceful restitution of his fortune is a hero of the Franco-Mexican
and Franco-Prussian wars, and when she gives him back his property, she
throws her heart in with the gift. The story is an interesting study of a
brilliant and unconventional American girl as seen by the eyes of a clever
Frenchman.
</p>
<p>
Later came ‘La Revue quand meme, comedy, (1894); Souvenirs et Impressions
(1897); La Revue retrospective, comedy (1899); and Sonnets’ the same year.
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
PAUL HERVIEU
de l’Academe Francaise.
</pre>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<h2>
LETTER FROM JULES CLARETIE TO THE AUTHOR
</h2>
<h3>
MY DEAR FRIEND:
</h3>
<p>
I have often declared that I never would write prefaces! But how can one
resist a fine fellow who brings one an attractive manuscript, signed with
a name popular among all his friends, who asks of one, in the most
engaging way, an opinion on the same—then a word, a simple word of
introduction, like a signal to saddle?
</p>
<p>
I have read your Zibeline, my dear friend, and this romance—your
first—has given me a very keen pleasure. You told me once that you
felt a certain timidity in publishing it. Reassure yourself immediately. A
man can not be regarded as a novice when he has known, as you have, all
the Parisian literary world so long; or rather, perhaps, I may more
accurately say, he is always a novice when he tastes for the first time
the intoxication of printer’s ink.
</p>
<p>
You have the quickest of wits and the least possible affectation of
gravity, and you have made as well known in Mexico as in Paris your
couplets on the end of the Mexican conflict with France. ‘Tout Mexico y
passera!’ Where are they, the ‘tol-de-rols’ of autumn?
</p>
<p>
Yesterday I found, in a volume of dramatic criticism by that terrible and
charming Jules Barbey d’Aurevilly, an appreciation of one of your comedies
which bears a title very appropriate to yourself: ‘Honor.’ “And this play
does him honor,” said Barbey d’Aurevilly, “because it is charming, light,
and supple, written in flowing verse, the correctness of which does not
rob it of its grace.”
</p>
<p>
That which the critic said of your comedy I will say of your romance. It
is a pretty fairy-story-all about Parisian fairies, for a great many
fairies live in Paris! In fact, more are to be found there than anywhere
else! There are good fairies and bad fairies among them. Your own
particular fairy is good and she is charming. I am tempted to ask whether
you have drawn your characters from life. That is a question which was
frequently put to me recently, after I had published ‘L’Americaine.’ The
public longs to possess keys to our books. It is not sufficient for them
that a romance is interesting; it must possess also a spice of scandal.
</p>
<p>
Portraits? You have not drawn any—neither in the drawing-rooms where
Zibeline scintillates, nor in the foyer of the Comedie Francaise, where
for so long a time you have felt yourself at home. Your women are visions
and not studies from life—and I do not believe that you will object
to my saying this.
</p>
<p>
You should not dislike the “romantic romance,” which every one in these
days advises us to write—as if that style did not begin as far back
as the birth of romance itself: as if the Princess of Cleves had not
written, and as if Balzac himself, the great realist, had not invented,
the finest “romantic romances” that can be found—for example, the
amorous adventure of General de Montriveau and the Duchesse de Langlais!
</p>
<p>
Apropos, in your charming story there is a General who pleases me very
much. How was it that you did not take, after the fashion of Paul de
Molenes, a dashing cavalry officer for your hero?—you, for whom the
literary cavalier has all the attractions of a gentleman and a soldier?
</p>
<p>
Nothing could be more piquant, alert, chivalrous—in short, worthy of
a Frenchman—than the departure of your hero for the war after that
dramatic card-party, which was also a battle—and what a battle!—where,
at the end of the conflict, he left his all upon the green cloth. That is
an attractive sketch of the amiable comedienne, who wishes for fair
weather and a smooth sea for the soldier lover who is going so far away.
It seems to me that I have actually known that pretty girl at some time or
another! That chapter is full of the perfume of pearl powder and iris! It
is only a story, of course, but it is a magnificent story, which will
please many readers.
</p>
<p>
The public will ask you to write others, be sure of that; and you will do
well, my dear friend, for your own sake and for ours, to follow the
precept of Denis Diderot: “My friends, write stories; while one writes
them he amuses himself, and the story of life goes on, and that is less
gay than the stories we can tell.”
</p>
<p>
I do not know precisely whether these last words, which are slightly
pessimistic, are those of the good Diderot himself. But they are those of
a Parisian of 1892, who has been able to forget his cares and annoyances
in reading the story that you have told so charmingly.
</p>
<p>
With much affection to you, and wishing good luck to Zibeline, I am
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
Your friend, JULES CLARETIE
de l’Academie Francaise.
APRIL 26, 1892.
</pre>
<p>
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</p>
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<p>
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</p>
<h1>
ZIBELINE
</h1>
<p>
<a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
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</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
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<h2>
BOOK 1.
</h2>
<p>
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</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
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<h2>
CHAPTER I. LES FRERES-PROVENCAUX.
</h2>
<p>
In the days of the Second Empire, the Restaurant des Freres-Provencaux
still enjoyed a wide renown to which its fifty years of existence had
contributed more than a little to heighten its fame.
</p>
<p>
This celebrated establishment was situated near the Beaujolais Gallery of
the Palais-Royal, close to the narrow street leading to the Rue Vivienne,
and it had been the rendezvous of epicures, either residents of Paris or
birds of passage, since the day it was opened.
</p>
<p>
On the ground floor was the general dining-room, the gathering-place for
honest folk from the provinces or from other lands; the next floor had
been divided into a succession of private rooms, comfortably furnished,
where, screened behind thick curtains, dined somewhat “irregular” patrons:
lovers who were in either the dawn, the zenith, or the decline of their
often ephemeral fancies. On the top floor, spacious salons, richly
decorated, were used for large and elaborate receptions of various kinds.
</p>
<p>
At times the members of certain social clubs gave in these rooms
subscription balls of anacreontic tendencies, the feminine element of
which was recruited among the popular gay favorites of the period.
Occasionally, also, young fellows about town, of different social rank,
but brought together by a pursuit of amusement in common, met here on
neutral ground, where, after a certain hour, the supper-table was turned
into a gaming-table, enlivened by the clinking of glasses and the rattle
of the croupier’s rake, and where to the excitement of good cheer was
added that of high play, with its alternations of unexpected gains and
disastrous losses.
</p>
<p>
It was at a reunion of this kind, on the last evening in the month of May,
1862, that the salons on the top floor were brilliantly illuminated. A
table had been laid for twenty persons, who were to join in a banquet in
honor of the winner of the great military steeplechase at La Marche, which
had taken place a few days before. The victorious gentleman-rider was,
strange to say, an officer of infantry—an unprecedented thing in the
annals of this sport.
</p>
<p>
Heir to a seigneurial estate, which had been elevated to a marquisate in
the reign of Louis XII, son of a father who had the strictest notions as
to the preservation of pure blood, Henri de Prerolles, early initiated
into the practice of the breaking and training of horses, was at eighteen
as bold and dashing a rider as he was accomplished in other physical
exercises; and although, three years later, at his debut at St. Cyr, he
expressed no preference for entering the cavalry service, for which his
early training and rare aptitude fitted him, it was because, in the long
line of his ancestors—which included a marshal of France and a
goodly number of lieutenants-general—all, without exception, from
Ravenna to Fontenoy, had won renown as commanders of infantry.
</p>
<p>
At the outbreak of the French Revolution, Henri’s grandfather, who had
distinguished himself in the American War for Independence, left his
native land only when he was in the last extremity. As soon as
circumstances permitted, he reentered France with his son, upon whom
Napoleon conferred a brevet rank, which the recipient accepted of his free
will. He began his military experience in Spain, returned safe and well
from the retreat from Russia, and fought valiantly at Bautzen and at
Dresden. The Restoration—by which time he had become chief of his
battalion—could not fail to advance his career; and the line was
about to have another lieutenant-general added to its roll, when the
events of 1830 decided Field-Marshal the Marquis de Prerolles to sheathe
his sword forever, and to withdraw to his own estate, near the forest of
l’Ile-d’Adam, where hunting and efforts toward the improvement of the
equine race occupied his latter years.
</p>
<p>
He died in 1860, a widower, leaving two children: Jeanne, recently married
to the Duc de Montgeron, and his son Henri, then a pupil in a military
school, who found himself, on reaching his majority, in possession of the
chateau and domains of Prerolles, the value of which was from fifteen to
eighteen hundred thousand francs.
</p>
<p>
Having been made sub-lieutenant by promotion on the first day of October,
1861, the young Marquis, already the head of his house and a military
leader, asked and obtained the favor of being incorporated with a
battalion of chasseurs garrisoned at Vincennes.
</p>
<p>
Exact in the performance of his military duties, and at the same time
ardent in the pursuit of pleasure, he was able, thanks to his robust
health, to conciliate the exigencies of the one with the fatigues of the
other.
</p>
<p>
Unfortunately, Henri was fond of gaming, and his natural impetuosity,
which showed itself by an emulation of high standards in his military
duties, degenerated into recklessness before the baccarat-table. At the
end of eighteen months, play, and an expensive liaison with an actress,
had absorbed half his fortune, and his paternal inheritance had been
mortgaged as well. The actress was a favorite in certain circles and had
been very much courted; and this other form of rivalry, springing from the
glitter of the footlights, added so much the more fuel to the
prodigalities of the inflammable young officer.
</p>
<p>
Affairs were in this situation when, immediately after Henri’s triumph at
the race-track, a bettor on the opposite side paid one of his wagers by
offering to the victor a grand dinner at the Freres-Provencaux.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
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</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER II. BIRDS OF PREY
</h2>
<p>
The hero of the night was seated at the middle of one side of the table,
in the place of honor. For his ‘vis-a-vis’ he had his lively friend Fanny
Dorville, star of the Palais Royal, while at his right sat Heloise Virot,
the “first old woman,” or duenna, of the same theatre, whose well known
jests and eccentricities added their own piquancy to gay life in Paris.
The two artists, being compelled to appear in the after-piece at their
theatre that evening, had come to the dinner made up and in full stage
costume, ready to appear behind the footlights at the summons of the
call-boy.
</p>
<p>
The other guests were young men accustomed to the surroundings of the
weighing-stand and the betting-room, at a time when betting had not yet
become a practice of the masses; and most of them felt highly honored to
rub elbows with a nobleman of ancient lineage, as was Henri de Prerolles.
</p>
<p>
Among these persons was Andre Desvanneaux, whose father, a churchwarden at
Ste.-Clotilde, had attained a certain social prestige by his good works,
and Paul Landry, in his licentiate in a large banking house in Paris. The
last named was the son of a ship-owner at Havre, and his character was
ambitious and calculating. He cherished, under a quiet demeanor, a strong
hope of being able to supply, by the rapid acquisition of a fortune, the
deficiencies of his inferior birth, from which his secret vanity suffered
severely. Being an expert in all games of chance, he had already
accumulated, while waiting for some brilliant coup, enough to lead a life
of comparative elegance, thus giving a certain satisfaction to his
instincts. He and Henri de Prerolles never yet had played cards together,
but the occasion was sure to come some day, and Paul Landry had desired it
a long time.
</p>
<p>
The company, a little silent at first, was becoming somewhat more
animated, when a head-waiter, correct, and full of a sense of his own
importance, entered the salon, holding out before him with both hands a
large tray covered with slender glasses filled with a beverage called “the
cardinal’s drink,” composed of champagne, Bordeaux, and slices of
pineapple. The method of blending these materials was a professional
secret of the Freres-Provencaux.
</p>
<p>
Instantly the guests were on their feet, and Heloise, who had been served
first, proposed that they should drink the health of the Marquis, but,
prompted by one of her facetious impulses, instead of lifting the glass to
her own lips, she presented it to those of the waiter, and, raising her
arm, compelled him to swallow the contents. Encouraged by laughter and
applause, she presented to him a second glass, then a third; and the
unhappy man drank obediently, not being able to push away the glasses
without endangering the safety of the tray he carried.
</p>
<p>
Fanny Dorville interceded in vain for the victim; the inexorable duenna
had already seized a fourth glass, and the final catastrophe would have
been infallibly brought about, had not providence intervened in the person
of the call-boy, who, thrusting his head through the half-open doorway,
cried, shrilly:
</p>
<p>
“Ladies, they are about to begin!”
</p>
<p>
The two actresses hastened away, escorted by Andre Desvanneaux, a modern
Tartufe, who, though married, was seen everywhere, as much at home behind
the scenes as in church.
</p>
<p>
Coffee and liqueurs were then served in a salon adjoining the large
dining-room, which gave the effect of a private club-room to this part of
the restaurant.
</p>
<p>
Cigars were lighted, and conversation soon turned on feminine charms and
the performances of various horses, particularly those of Franc-Comtois,
the winner of the military steeplechase. This animal was one of the
products of the Prerolles stud, and was ordinary enough on flat ground,
but a jumper of the first rank.
</p>
<p>
At last the clock struck the half hour after eleven, and some of the
guests had already manifested their intention to depart, when Paul Landry,
who had been rather silent until then, said, carelessly:
</p>
<p>
“You expect to sleep to-night in Paris, no doubt, Monsieur de Prerolles?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no,” Henri replied, “I am on duty this week, and am obliged to return
to Vincennes early in the morning. So I shall stay here until it is time
for me to go.”
</p>
<p>
“In that case, might we not have a game of cards?” proposed Captain
Constantin Lenaieff, military attache to the suite of the Russian
ambassador.
</p>
<p>
“As you please,” said Henri.
</p>
<p>
This proposal decided every one to remain. The company returned to the
large dining-room, which, in the mean time, had been again transformed
into a gaming-hall, with the usual accessories: a frame for the
tally-sheet, a metal bowl to hold rejected playing-cards set in one end of
the table, and, placed at intervals around it, were tablets on which the
punter registered the amount of the stakes.
</p>
<p>
On reentering this apartment, Henri de Prerolles approached a sort of
counter, and, drawing from his pocket thirty thousand francs in
bank-notes, he exchanged them for their value in mother-of-pearl “chips”
of different sizes, representing sums from one to five, ten, twenty-five,
or a hundred louis. Paul Landry took twenty-five thousand francs’ worth;
Constantin Unaieff, fifteen thousand; the others, less fortunate or more
prudent, took smaller sums; and about midnight the game began.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER III. THE GAME
</h2>
<p>
It began quietly enough, the two principal players waiting, before making
any bold strokes, to see how the luck should run. The first victory was in
favor of Henri, who, at the end of a hand dealt by Constantin Lenaieff,
had won about three hundred Louis. Just at this moment the two women
returned, accompanied by Desvanneaux.
</p>
<p>
“I had some difficulty in persuading our charming friends to return,” said
he; “Mademoiselle Dorville was determined that some one should escort her
to her own house.”
</p>
<p>
“You, perhaps, Desvanneaux,” said Henri, twisting up the ends of his
moustache.
</p>
<p>
“Not at all,” said Fanny; “I wished Heloise to go with me. I have noticed
that when I am here you always lose. I fear I have the evil eye.”
</p>
<p>
“Say, rather, that you have no stomach,” said Heloise. “Had you made your
debut, as I made mine, with Frederic Lemaitre in ‘Thirty Years in the Life
of an Actor’”
</p>
<p>
“It certainly would not rejuvenate her,” said Henri, finishing the
sentence.
</p>
<p>
“Marquis, you are very impertinent,” said the duenna, laughing. “As a
penalty, you must lend me five louis.”
</p>
<p>
“With the greatest pleasure.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you!”
</p>
<p>
And, as a new hand was about to be dealt, Heloise seated herself at one of
the tables. This time Paul Landry put fifteen thousand francs in the bank.
</p>
<p>
“Will you do me the favor to cut the cards?” he asked of Fanny, who stood
behind Henri’s chair.
</p>
<p>
“What! in spite of my evil eye, Monsieur?”
</p>
<p>
“I do not fear that, Mademoiselle. Your eyes have always been too
beautiful for one of them to change now.”
</p>
<p>
Stale as was this compliment, it had the desired effect, and the young
woman thrust vertically into the midst of the pack the cards he held out
to her.
</p>
<p>
“Play, messieurs,” said the banker.
</p>
<p>
“Messieurs and Madame,” corrected Heloise, placing her five chips before
her, while Henri, at the other table, staked the six thousand francs which
he had just won.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t put up more than there is in the bank,” objected Paul Landry,
throwing a keen glance at the stakes. Having assured himself that on the
opposing side to this large sum there were hardly thirty louis, he dealt
the cards.
</p>
<p>
“Eight!” said he, laying down his card.
</p>
<p>
“Nine!” said Heloise.
</p>
<p>
“Baccarat!” said Henri, throwing two court-cards into the basket.
</p>
<p>
The rake rattled on the losing table, but after the small stakes of the
winners had been paid, the greater part of the six thousand francs passed
into the hands of the banker.
</p>
<p>
Five times in succession, at the first deal, the same thing happened; and
at the sixth round Heloise won six hundred francs, and Henri found himself
with no more counters.
</p>
<p>
“This is the proper moment to retire!” said the duenna, rising from the
table. “Are you coming, Fanny?”
</p>
<p>
“I beg you, let us go now,” murmured Mademoiselle Dorville in the ear of
her lover.
</p>
<p>
Her voice was caressing and full of tender promise. The young man
hesitated an instant. But to desert the game at his first loss seemed to
him an act unworthy of his reputation, and, as between love and pride, the
latter finally prevailed.
</p>
<p>
“I have only an hour or two more to wait. Can not you go home by
yourself?” he replied to Fanny’s appeal, while Heloise exchanged her
counters for tinkling coin, forgetting, no doubt, to reimburse her
creditor, who, in fact, gave no thought to the matter.
</p>
<p>
Henri accompanied the two women to a coach at the door, which had been
engaged by the thoughtful and obliging Desvanneaux; and, pressing tenderly
the hand of his mistress, he murmured:
</p>
<p>
“Till to-morrow!”
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow!” she echoed, her heart oppressed with sad forebodings.
</p>
<p>
Desvanneaux, whose wife was very jealous of him, made all haste to regain
his conjugal abode.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER IV. THE RESULT
</h2>
<p>
Meanwhile, Paul Landry had begun badly, and had had some ill turns of
luck; nevertheless, feeling that his fortune was about to change, he
raised the stakes.
</p>
<p>
“Does any one take him up?” asked Constantin Lenaeiff.
</p>
<p>
“I do,” said De Prerolles, who had returned to the table.
</p>
<p>
And, seizing a pencil that lay on the card-table, he signed four cheques
of twenty-five thousand francs each. Unfortunately for him, the next hand
was disastrous. The stakes were increased, and the bank was broken several
times, when Paul Landry, profiting by a heavy gain, doubled and redoubled
the preceding stakes, and beheld mounting before him a pile of cheques and
counters.
</p>
<p>
But, as often happens in such circumstances, his opponent, Henri de
Prerolles, persisted in his vain battle against ill-luck, until at three
o’clock in the morning, controlling his shaken nerves and throwing down
his cards, without any apparent anger, he said:
</p>
<p>
“Will you tell me, gentlemen, how much I owe you?”
</p>
<p>
After all accounts had been reckoned, he saw that he had lost two hundred
and ninety thousand francs, of which two hundred and sixty thousand in
cheques belonged to Paul Landry, and the thirty thousand francs’ balance
to the bank.
</p>
<p>
“Monsieur de Prerolles,” said Paul Landry, hypocritically, “I am ashamed
to win such a sum from you. If you wish to seek your revenge at some other
game, I am entirely at your service.”
</p>
<p>
The Marquis looked at the clock, calculated that he had still half an hour
to spare, and, not more for the purpose of “playing to the gallery” than
in the hope of reducing the enormous sum of his indebtedness, he replied:
</p>
<p>
“Will it be agreeable to you to play six hands of bezique?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly, Monsieur. How much a point?”
</p>
<p>
“Ten francs, if that is not too much.”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all! I was about to propose that amount myself.”
</p>
<p>
A quick movement of curiosity ran through the assembly, and a circle was
formed around the two opponents in this exciting match.
</p>
<p>
Every one knows that bezique is played with four packs of cards, and that
the number of points may be continued indefinitely. The essential thing is
to win at least one thousand points at the end of each hand; unless a
player does this he is said to “pass the Rubicon,” becoming twice a loser—that
is, the victor adds to his own score the points lost by his adversary.
Good play, therefore, consists largely in avoiding the “Rubicon” and in
remaining master of the game to the last trick, in order to force one’s
adversary over the “Rubicon,” if he stands in danger of it. The first two
hands were lost by Landry, who, having each time approached the “Rubicon,”
succeeded in avoiding it only by the greatest skill and prudence.
Immediately his opponent, still believing that good luck must return to
him, began to neglect the smaller points in order to make telling strokes,
but he became stranded at the very port of success, as it were; so that,
deducting the amount of his first winning, he found at the end of the
fifth hand that he had lost six thousand points. Notwithstanding his
wonderful self-control, it was not without difficulty that the young
officer preserved a calm demeanor under the severe blows dealt him by
Fortune. Paul Landry, always master of himself, lowered his eyes that
their expression of greedy and merciless joy should not be seen. The
nearer the game drew to its conclusion, the closer pressed the circle of
spectators, and in the midst of a profound silence the last hand began.
Favored from the beginning with the luckiest cards, followed by the most
fortunate returns, Paul Landry scored successively “forty, bezique,” five
hundred and fifteen hundred. He lacked two cards to make the highest point
possible, but Henri, by their absence from his own hand, could measure the
peril that menaced him. So, surveying the number of cards that remained in
stock, he guarded carefully three aces of trumps which might help him to
avert disaster. But, playing the only ace that would allow him to score
again, Paul Landry announced coldly, laying on the table four queens of
spades and four knaves of diamonds:
</p>
<p>
“Four thousand five hundred!” This was the final stroke. The last hand had
wiped out, by eight thousand points, the possessions of Landry’s
adversary. The former losses of the unfortunate Marquis were now augmented
by one hundred and forty thousand francs. Henri became very pale, but,
summoning all his pride to meet the glances of the curious, he arose, rang
a bell, and called for a pen and a sheet of stamped paper. Then, turning
to Paul Landry, he said, calmly “Monsieur, I owe you four hundred thousand
francs. Debts of honor are payable within twenty-four hours, but in order
to realize this sum, I shall require more time. How long a delay will you
grant me?”
</p>
<p>
“As long as you wish, Monsieur.”
</p>
<p>
“I thank you. I ask a month.”
</p>
<p>
A waiter appeared, bringing the pen and paper.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, your word will be sufficient for me,” said Landry.
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me!” said the Marquis. “One never knows what may happen. I insist
that you shall accept a formal acknowledgment of the debt.”
</p>
<p>
And he wrote:
</p>
<p>
“I, the undersigned, acknowledge that I owe to Monsieur Paul Landry the
sum of four hundred thousand francs, which I promise to pay in thirty
days, counting from this date.”
</p>
<p>
He dated, signed, and folded the paper, and handed it to Paul Landry.
Then, glancing at the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter before four,
he said:
</p>
<p>
“Permit me to take leave of you, gentlemen. I have barely time to reach
Vincennes before roll-call.”
</p>
<p>
He lighted a cigar, saluted the astonished assembly with perfect coolness,
slowly descended the stairs, and jumped into his carriage, the chasseur of
the restaurant holding open the door for him.
</p>
<p>
“To Vincennes!” he cried to the coachman; “and drive like the devil!”
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER V. A DESPERATE RESOLUTION
</h2>
<p>
The chimneys and roofs of the tall houses along the boulevards stood out
sharp and clear in the light of the rising sun. Here and there squads of
street-cleaners appeared, and belated hucksters urged their horses toward
the markets; but except for these, the streets were deserted, and the
little coupe that carried Caesar and his misfortunes rolled rapidly toward
the Barriere du Trone.
</p>
<p>
With all the coach-windows lowered, in order to admit the fresh morning
air, the energetic nobleman, buffeted by ill-luck, suddenly raised his
head and steadily looked in the face the consequences of his defeat. He,
too, could say that all was lost save honor; and already, from the depths
of his virile soul, sprang the only resolution that seemed to him worthy
of himself.
</p>
<p>
When he entered his own rooms in order to dress, his mind was made up; and
although, during the military exercises that morning, his commands were
more abrupt than usual, no one would have suspected that his mind was
preoccupied by any unusual trouble.
</p>
<p>
He decided to call upon his superior officer that afternoon to request
from him authorization to seek an exchange for Africa. Then he went
quietly to breakfast at the pension of the officers of his own rank, who,
observing his calm demeanor, in contrast to their own, knew that he must
be unaware of the important news just published in the morning journals.
General de Lorencez, after an unsuccessful attack upon the walls of
Puebla, had been compelled to retreat toward Orizaba, and to intrench
there while waiting for reenforcements.
</p>
<p>
This military event awakened the liveliest discussions, and in the midst
of the repast a quartermaster entered to announce the reply to the report,
first presenting his open register to the senior lieutenant.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! By Jove, fellows! what luck!” cried that officer, joyously.
</p>
<p>
“What is it?” demanded the others in chorus.
</p>
<p>
“Listen to this!” And he read aloud: “‘General Order: An expedition corps,
composed of two divisions of infantry, under the command of General Forey,
is in process of forming, in order to be sent to Mexico on urgent
business. The brigade of the advance guard will be composed of the First
Regiment of Zouaves and the Eighteenth Battalion of infantry. As soon as
these companies shall be prepared for war, this battalion will proceed by
the shortest route to Toulon; thence they will embark aboard the Imperial
on the twenty-sixth day of June next.’”
</p>
<p>
Arousing cheer drowned the end of the reading of this bulletin, the tenor
of which gave to Henri’s aspirations an immediate and more advantageous
prospect immediate, because, as his company was the first to march, he was
assured of not remaining longer at the garrison; more advantageous,
because the dangers of a foreign expedition opened a much larger field for
his chances of promotion.
</p>
<p>
Consequently, less than a month remained to him in which to settle his
indebtedness. After the reading of the bulletin, he asked one of his
brother officers to take his place until evening, caught the first train
to town, and, alighting at the Bastille, went directly to the Hotel de
Montgeron, where he had temporary quarters whenever he chose to use them.
</p>
<p>
“Is the Duke at home?” he inquired of the Swiss.
</p>
<p>
Receiving an affirmative reply, he crossed the courtyard, and was soon
announced to his brother-in-law, the noble proprietor of La Sarthe, deputy
of the Legitimist opposition to the Corps Legislatif of the Empire.
</p>
<p>
The Duc de Montgeron listened in silence to his relative’s explanation of
his situation. When the recital was finished, without uttering a syllable
he opened a drawer, drew out a legal paper, and handed it to Henri,
saying:
</p>
<p>
“This is my marriage contract. Read it, and you will see that I have had,
from the head of my family, three hundred and fifteen thousand livres
income. I do not say this to you in order to contrast my riches with your
ruin, but only to prove to you that I was perfectly well able to marry
your sister even had she possessed no dot. That dot yields seven hundred
and fifteen thousand francs’ income, at three per cent. We were married
under the law of community of goods, which greatly simplifies matters when
husband and wife have, as have Jeanne and myself, but one heart and one
way of looking at things. To consult her would be, perhaps, to injure her.
To-morrow I will sell the necessary stock, and ere the end of the week
Monsieur Durand, your notary and ours, shall hold at your disposal the
amount of the sum you lost last night.”
</p>
<p>
The blood rose to the cheeks of the young officer.
</p>
<p>
“I—I” he stammered, pressing convulsively the hands of his
brother-in-law. “Shall I let you pay the ransom for my madness and folly?
Shall I a second time despoil my sister, already robbed by me of one half
her rightful share? I should die of shame! Or, rather—wait a moment!
Let us reverse our situations for an instant, and if you will swear to me
that, were you in my place, you would accept—Ah, you see! You
hesitate as much now as you hesitated little a moment ago in your simple
and cordial burst of generosity: Consequently, I refuse!”
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean to do, then?”
</p>
<p>
“To sell Prerolles immediately-to-day, if possible. This determination
troubles you because of the grief it will cause Jeanne. It will grieve me,
too. And the courage to tell this to her is the only effort to which my
strength is unequal. Only you can tell it in such a way as to soften the
blow—”
</p>
<p>
“I will try to do it,” said the Duke.
</p>
<p>
“I thank you! As to the personal belongings and the family portraits,
their place is at Montgeron, is it not?”
</p>
<p>
“That is understood. Now, one word more, Henri.”
</p>
<p>
“Speak!”
</p>
<p>
“Have you not another embarrassment to settle?”
</p>
<p>
“I have indeed, and the sooner the better. Unhappily—”
</p>
<p>
“You have not enough money,” finished the Duke. “I have received this
morning twenty-five thousand francs’ rent from my farms. Will you allow me
to lend them to you?”
</p>
<p>
“To be repaid from the price of the sale? Very willingly, this time.”
</p>
<p>
And he placed in an envelope the notes handed him by his brother-in-law.
</p>
<p>
“This is the last will and testament of love,” said the Marquis, as he
departed, to give the necessary instructions to his notary.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER VI. THE FAREWELL
</h2>
<p>
His debts were easily reckoned. He owed eight hundred thousand francs to
the Credit Foncier; four hundred thousand to Paul Landry; more than one
hundred thousand to various jewellers and shopkeepers; twenty-five
thousand to the Duc de Montgeron. It was necessary to sell the chateau and
the property at one million four hundred thousand francs, and the posters
advertising the sale must be displayed without delay.
</p>
<p>
Then he must say farewell to Fanny Dorville. Nothing should disturb a
sensible mind; the man who, with so much resolution, deprives himself of
his patrimonial estates should not meet less bravely the separation
imposed by necessity.
</p>
<p>
As soon as Henri appeared in Fanny’s boudoir, she divined that her
presentiments of the previous night had not deceived her.
</p>
<p>
“You have lost heavily?” she asked.
</p>
<p>
“Very heavily,” he replied, kissing her brow.
</p>
<p>
“And it was my fault!” she cried. “I brought you bad luck, and that wretch
of a Landry knew well what he was about when he made me cut the cards that
brought you misfortune!”
</p>
<p>
“No, no, my dear-listen! The only one in fault was I, who allowed myself,
through false pride, to be persuaded that I should not seem to fear him.”
</p>
<p>
“Fear him—a professional gambler, who lives one knows not how!
Nonsense! It is as if one should fight a duel with a fencing-master.”
</p>
<p>
“What do you wish, my dear? The evil is done—and it is so great—”
</p>
<p>
“That you have not the means to pay the sum? Oh, but wait a moment.”
</p>
<p>
And taking up a casket containing a superb collar of pearls, she said:
</p>
<p>
“This is worth fourteen thousand francs. You may well take them from me,
since it was you that gave them to me.”
</p>
<p>
No doubt, she had read De Musset, and this action was perhaps a refection
of that of Marion, but the movement was sincere. Something of the stern
pride of this other Rolla was stirred; a sob swelled his bosom, and two
tears—those tears that rise to a soldier’s eyes in the presence of
nobility and goodness—fell from his eyes upon the hair of the poor
girl.
</p>
<p>
“I have not come to that yet,” he said, after a short silence. “But we
must part—”
</p>
<p>
“You are about to marry?” she cried.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no!”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, so much the better!”
</p>
<p>
In a few words he told her of his approaching departure, and said that he
must devote all his remaining time to the details of the mobilization of
troops.
</p>
<p>
“So—it is all over!” said Fanny, sadly. “But fear nothing! I have
courage, and even if I have the evil eye at play, I know of something that
brings success in war. Will you accept a little fetich from me?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but you persist in trying to give me something,” he said, placing on
a table the sealed envelope he had brought.
</p>
<p>
“How good you are!” she murmured. “Now promise me one thing: let us dine
together once more. Not at the Provencaux, however. Oh, heavens! no! At
the Cafe Anglais—where we dined before the play the first time we—”
</p>
<p>
The entrance of Heloise cut short the allusion to a memory of autumn.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, it is you,” said Fanny nervously. “You come apropos.”
</p>
<p>
“Is there a row in the family?” inquired Heloise.
</p>
<p>
“As if there could be!”
</p>
<p>
“What is it, then?”
</p>
<p>
“You see Henri, do you not?”
</p>
<p>
“Well, yes, I do, certainly. What then?”
</p>
<p>
“Then look at him long and well, for you will not see him again in many a
day. He is going to Mexico!”
</p>
<p>
“To exploit a mine?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, Heloise,” the officer replied, “a mine that will make the walls of
Puebla totter.”
</p>
<p>
“In that case, good luck, my General!” said the duenna, presenting arms
with her umbrella.
</p>
<p>
Fanny could not repress a smile in spite of her tears. Her lover seized
this moment to withdraw from her arms and reach the stairs.
</p>
<p>
“And now, Marquis de Prerolles, go forth to battle!” cried the old actress
to him over the banisters, with the air of an artist who knows her proper
cue.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER VII. THE VOW
</h2>
<p>
Notwithstanding the desire expressed by his mistress, Henri firmly decided
not to repeat that farewell scene.
</p>
<p>
The matter that concerned him most was the wish not to depart without
having freed himself wholly from his debt to Paul Landry. Fortunately,
because of a kindly interest, as well as on account of the guaranty of the
Duc de Montgeron, a rich friend consented to advance the sum; so that, one
week before the day appointed for payment, the losing player was able to
withdraw his signature from the hands of his greedy creditor.
</p>
<p>
Relieved from this anxiety, Henri had asked, the night before the day set
for departure, for leave of absence for several hours, in order to visit
for the last time a spot very dear to him, upon whose walls placards now
hung, announcing the sale of the property to take place on the following
morning.
</p>
<p>
No one received warning of this visit in extremis save the steward, who
awaited his master before the gates of the chateau, the doors and windows
of which had been flung wide open.
</p>
<p>
At the appointed hour the visitor appeared at the end of the avenue,
advancing with a firm step between two hedges bordered with poplars,
behind which several brood-mares, standing knee-deep in the rich grass,
suckled their foal.
</p>
<p>
The threshold of the gate crossed, master and man skirted the lawn,
traversed the garden, laid out in the French fashion, and, side by side,
without exchanging a word, mounted the steps of the mansion. Entering the
main hall, the Marquis, whose heart was full of memories of his childhood,
stopped a long time to regard alternately the two suites of apartments
that joined the vestibule to the two opposite wings. Making a sign to his
companion not to follow him, Henri then entered the vast gallery, wherein
hung long rows of the portraits of his ancestors; and there, baring his
head before that of the Marshal of France whose name he bore, he vowed
simply, without excitement, and in a low tone, either to vanquish the
enemy or to add, after the manner of his forbears, a glorious page to his
family’s history.
</p>
<p>
The object of his pilgrimage having thus been accomplished, the Marquis
ordered the steward to see that all the portraits were sent to the Chateau
de Montgeron; then, after pressing his hand in farewell, he returned to
the station by the road whence he had come, avoiding the village in order
to escape the curious eyes of the peasantry.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER VIII. IN SEARCH OF GLORY
</h2>
<p>
The next morning the 18th battalion of ‘chasseurs’, in dress uniform, with
knapsacks on their backs and fully armed, awaited in the Gare de Lyon the
moment to board the train destined to transport them to the coast.
</p>
<p>
At a trumpet-call this movement was executed in silence, and in perfect
order; and only after all the men were installed did the functionaries who
kept the crowd in order take their own places in the carriages, leaving a
throng of relatives and friends jostling one another upon the quay.
</p>
<p>
Fanny Dorville and her friend the duenna tried in vain to reach the
compartment wherein Henri had his place, already in marching order; the
presence of the Duc and the Duchesse de Montgeron prevented the two women
from approaching him. Nevertheless, at the moment when the train began to
move slowly out of the station, an employee found the means to slip into
the hands of the Marquis a small packet containing the little fetich which
his mistress had kept for him. It was a medallion of the Holy Virgin,
which had been blessed at Notre-Dame des-Victoires, and it was attached to
a long gold chain.
</p>
<p>
Thirty-six hours later, on the evening of the 26th of June, the battalion
embarked aboard the Imperial, which, with steam up, was due to leave the
Toulon roadstead at daybreak. At the moment of getting under weigh, the
officer in charge of the luggage, who was the last to leave the shore,
brought several despatches aboard the ship, and handed to Lieutenant de
Prerolles a telegram, which had been received the evening before at the
quay.
</p>
<p>
The Marquis opened it and read: “Chateau and lands sold for 1,450,000
francs. Everything paid, 1600 francs remain disposable.”
</p>
<p>
“That is to say,” thought the officer, sadly, “I have my pay and barely
three thousand francs’ income!”
</p>
<p>
Leaning both elbows upon the taffrail, he gazed long at the shores of
France, which appeared to fly toward the horizon; then, brusquely turning
his eyes to the quarters filled with the strong figures and manly faces of
the young foot-soldiers of the 18th battalion, he said to himself that
among such men, under whatever skies or at whatever distance, one found
his country—glancing aloft where floated above his head the folds of
his flag.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER IX. THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE
</h2>
<p>
Twenty-three years after the events already recorded, on a cold afternoon
in February, the Bois de Boulogne appeared to be draped in a Siberian
mantle rarely seen at that season. A deep and clinging covering of snow
hid the ground, and the prolonged freezing of the lakes gave absolute
guaranty of their solidity.
</p>
<p>
A red sun, drowned in mist, threw a mild radiance over the landscape, and
many pedestrians stamped their feet around the borders of the lake
belonging to the Skaters’ Club, and watched the hosts of pretty women
descending from their carriages, delighted at the opportunity afforded
them, by this return of winter, to engage in their favorite exercise.
</p>
<p>
Received on her arrival by one of the attendants posted at the entrance,
each of the fair skaters entered in turn a small building reserved for
ladies, whence she soon came forth in full skating array, ready to risk
herself on the ice, either alone or guided by the hand of some expert
cavalier.
</p>
<p>
Here and there, around the enclosure, large garden-seats, shaped like
sentry-boxes, were reserved for the mothers and sisters of the members of
the club, so that they could observe, from a comfortable shelter, the
evolutions of those in whom they were interested.
</p>
<p>
Within two of these nooks, side by side, sat the Duchesse de Montgeron,
president, and the Comtesse Desvanneaux, vice-president of the Charity
Orphan Asylum; the latter had come to look on at the first essay on the
ice of her daughter, Madame de Thomery; the former, to judge the skill of
her brother, General the Marquis de Prerolles, past-master in all
exercises of strength and skill.
</p>
<p>
At forty-five years of age, the young General had preserved the same grace
and slenderness that had distinguished him when he had first donned the
elegant tunic of an officer of chasseuys. His hair, cut rather short, had
become slightly gray on his temples, but his jaunty moustache and
well-trimmed beard were as yet innocent of a single silver thread. The
same energy shone in his eyes, the same sonority rang in his voice, which
had become slightly more brusque and authoritative from his long-continued
habit of command.
</p>
<p>
In a small round hat, with his hands in the pockets of an outing-jacket,
matching his knickerbockers in color, he strolled to and fro near his
sister, now encouraging Madame de Thomery, hesitating on the arm of her
instructor, now describing scientific flourishes on the ice, in rivalry
against the crosses dashed off by Madame de Lisieux and Madame de Nointel—two
other patronesses of the orphanage—the most renowned among all the
fashionable skaters. This sort of tourney naturally attracted all eyes,
and the idlers along the outer walks had climbed upon the paling in order
to gain a better view of the evolutions, when suddenly a spectacle of
another kind called their attention to the entrance-gate in their rear.
</p>
<p>
Passing through the Porte Dauphine, and driven by a young woman enveloped
in furs, advanced swiftly, over the crisp snow, a light American sleigh,
to which was harnessed a magnificent trotter, whose head and shoulders
emerged, as from an aureole, through that flexible, circular ornament
which the Russians call the ‘douga’.
</p>
<p>
Having passed the last turn of the path, the driver slackened her grasp,
and the horse stopped short before the entrance. His owner, throwing the
reins to a groom perched up behind, sprang lightly to the ground amid a
crowd of curious observers, whose interest was greatly enhanced by the
sight of the odd-looking vehicle.
</p>
<p>
The late-comer presented her card of invitation to the proper functionary,
and went across the enclosure toward the ladies’ salon.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! there is Zibeline!” cried Madame Desvanneaux, with an affected air.
“Do you know her?” she inquired of the Duchesse de Montgeron.
</p>
<p>
“Not yet,” the Duchess replied. “She did not arrive in Paris until the end
of spring, just at the time I was leaving town for the seashore. But I
know that she says her real name is Mademoiselle de Vermont, and that she
was born in Louisiana, of an old French family that emigrated to the
North, and recently became rich in the fur trade-from which circumstance
Madame de Nointel has wittily named her ‘Zibeline.’ I know also that she
is an orphan, that she has an enormous fortune, and has successively
refused, I believe, all pretenders who have thus far aspired to her hand.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes—gamblers, and fortune-hunters, in whose eyes her millions
excuse all her eccentricities.”
</p>
<p>
“Do I understand that she has been presented to you?” asked the Duchess,
surprised.
</p>
<p>
“Well, yes-by the old Chevalier de Sainte-Foy, one of her so-called
cousins—rather distant, I fancy! But the independent airs of this
young lady, and her absolute lack of any respectable chaperon, have
decided me to break off any relations that might throw discredit on our
patriarchal house,” Madame Desvanneaux replied volubly, as ready to cross
herself as if she had been speaking of the devil!
</p>
<p>
The Duchess could not repress a smile, knowing perfectly that her
interlocutor had been among the first to demand for her son the hand of
Mademoiselle de Vermont!
</p>
<p>
During this dialogue, the subject of it had had time to cast aside her fur
cloak, to fasten upon her slender, arched feet, clad in dainty, laced
boots, a pair of steel skates, with tangent blades, and without either
grooves or straps, and to dart out upon this miniature sheet of water with
the agility of a person accustomed to skating on the great lakes of
America.
</p>
<p>
She was a brunette, with crisply waving hair, a small head, well-set, and
deep yet brilliant eyes beneath arched and slightly meeting brows. Her
complexion was pale, and her little aquiline nose showed thin, dilating
nostrils. Her rosy lips, whose corners drooped slightly, revealed dazzling
teeth, and her whole physiognomy expressed an air of haughty disdain,
somewhat softened by her natural elegance.
</p>
<p>
Her cloth costume, which displayed to advantage her slender waist and
graceful bust, was of simple but elegant cut, and was adorned with superb
trimmings of black fox, which matched her toque and a little satin-lined
muff, which from time to time she raised to her cheek to ward off the
biting wind.
</p>
<p>
Perhaps her skirt was a shade too short, revealing in its undulations a
trifle too much of the dainty hose; but the revelation was so shapely it
would have been a pity to conceal it!
</p>
<p>
“Very bad form!” murmured Madame Desvanneaux.
</p>
<p>
“But one can not come to a place like this in a skirt with a train,” was
the more charitable thought of the Duchess.
</p>
<p>
Meantime the aforesaid tournament went on in the centre of the sheet of
ice, and Zibeline, without mingling with the other skaters, contented
herself with skirting the borders of the lake, rapidly designing a chain
of pierced hearts on the smooth surface, an appropriate symbol of her own
superiority.
</p>
<p>
Annoyed to see himself eclipsed by a stranger, the General threw a
challenging glance in her direction, and, striking out vigorously in a
straight line, he sped swiftly toward the other end of the lake.
</p>
<p>
Stung to the quick by his glance, Mademoiselle de Vermont darted after
him, passed him halfway along the course, and, wheeling around with a
wide, outward curve, her body swaying low, she allowed him to pass before
her, maintaining an attitude which her antagonist might interpret as a
salute, courteous or ironic, as he chose.
</p>
<p>
By this time the crowd was gradually diminishing. The daylight was waning,
and a continued sound of closing gates announced the retreat of the gay
world toward Paris.
</p>
<p>
Zibeline alone, taking advantage of the free field, lingered a few moments
to execute some evolutions in the deepening twilight, looking like the
heroines in the old ballads, half-visible, through the mists, \ to the
vivid imagination of the Scottish bards.
</p>
<p>
Henri de Prerolles had entered his sister’s carriage, in company with
Madame Desvanneaux and Madame Thomery, and during the drive home, these
two gentle dames—for the daughter was worthy of the mother—did
not fail to sneer at the fair stranger, dilating particularly upon the
impropriety of the challenging salute she had given to the General, with
whom she was unacquainted.
</p>
<p>
“But my brother could hardly request his seconds to call upon her for
that!” laughingly said the Duchess who, it seemed, had decided to defend
the accused one in all attacks made upon her.
</p>
<p>
“Look! Here she comes! She is passing us again. One would think she was
deliberately trying to do it!” exclaimed Madame Desvanneaux, just before
their carriage reached the Arc de Triomphe.
</p>
<p>
Zibeline’s sleigh, which had glided swiftly, and without hindrance, along
the unfrequented track used chiefly by equestrians, had indeed overtaken
the Duchess’s carriage. Turning abruptly to the left, it entered the open
gateway belonging to one of the corner houses of the Rond-Point de
l’Etoile.
</p>
<p>
“Decidedly, the young lady is very fond of posing,” said the General, with
a shrug, and, settling himself in his corner, he turned his thoughts
elsewhere.
</p>
<p>
Having deposited her two friends at their own door, the Duchess ordered
the coachman to take her home, and at the foot of the steps she said to
her brother:
</p>
<p>
“Will you dine with us to-night?”
</p>
<p>
“No, not to-night,” he replied, “but we shall meet at the theatre.”
</p>
<p>
And, crossing the court, he entered his little bachelor apartment, which
he had occupied from time to time since the days when he was only a
sub-lieutenant.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER X. GENERAL DE PREROLLES
</h2>
<p>
The sub-lieutenant had kept his word, and the progress of his career
deserves detailed mention.
</p>
<p>
He was a lieutenant at the taking of Puebla, where he was first to mount
in the assault of the Convent of Guadalupita. Captain of the Third Zouaves
after the siege of Oajaca, he had exercised, during the rest of the
expedition, command over a mounted company, whose duty was to maintain
communications between the various columns, continuing, at the same time,
their operations in the Michoacan.
</p>
<p>
This confidential mission, requiring as much power to take the initiative
as it demanded a cool head, gave the Marquis opportunity to execute, with
rapidity and decision, several master-strokes, which, in the following
circumstances, won for him the cross of the Legion of Honor.
</p>
<p>
The most audacious of the guerrillas who had devastated this fertile
country was a chief called Regulas. He pillaged the farms, stopped railway
trains, boldly demanding ransom from captives from the municipal
governments of large towns. He was continually, active, and always
inaccessible.
</p>
<p>
Warned by his scouts that the followers of this villain menaced the town
of Pazcuaro, Captain de Prerolles prepared himself eagerly to meet them.
He overtook them in a night march, and fell upon them unexpectedly, just
as they were holding up the diligence from Morelia to Guadalajara. His
plans had been so well laid that not a man escaped. What was the surprise
of the French officer to find, among the travellers, delivered by himself
from certain death, Paul Landry, the principal cause of his ruin, who the
chances of war now laid under obligations to him!
</p>
<p>
“This is my revenge,” said the Captain, simply, to Landry, attempting to
avoid his thanks, and returning to him intact his luggage, of which the
chinacos had not had time to divide the contents.
</p>
<p>
Reconciled in Algiers with his regiment, Henri de Prerolles did not again
quit the province of Constantine except to serve in the army of the Rhine,
as chief of battalion in the line, until the promotions which followed the
declaration of war in 1870. Officer of the Legion of Honor for his
gallantry at Gravelotte and at St. Privat, and assigned for his ability to
the employ of the chief of corps, he had just been called upon to assume
command of his former battalion of chasseurs, when the disastrous
surrender of Metz left him a prisoner of war in the hands of the Germans.
</p>
<p>
Profoundly affected by this disaster, but learning that the conflict still
continued, he refused to avail himself of the offer of comparative freedom
in the city, provided he would give his parole not to attempt to escape.
He was therefore conducted to a distant fortress near the Russian
frontier, and handed over to the captain of the landwehr, who received
instructions to keep a strict guard over him.
</p>
<p>
This officer belonged to the engineering corps, and directed, at the same
time, the work of repairs within the citadel, in charge of a civilian
contractor.
</p>
<p>
Taking into consideration the rank of his prisoner, the captain permitted
the Marquis to have with him his orderly, an Alsatian, who twice a day
brought from the inn his chief’s repasts. This functionary had permission
also, from ten o’clock in the morning until sunset, to promenade in the
court under the eye of the sentinel on guard at the entrance. At five
o’clock in the evening, the officer of the landwehr politely shut up his
guest in his prison, double-locked the door, put the key in his pocket,
and appeared no more until the next morning.
</p>
<p>
The middle of November had arrived; heavy snows had already fallen, and
the prisoner amused himself by constructing fortifications of snow—a
work which his amiable jailer followed with a professional interest,
giving him advice regarding modifications proper to introduce in the
defense of certain places, himself putting a finger in the pie in support
of his demonstration.
</p>
<p>
This sort of amusement was followed so industriously that in a few days a
kind of rampart was erected in front of the casemate of the fortress,
behind which, by stooping a little, a man of ordinary height could easily
creep along unseen by the sentinel.
</p>
<p>
While pursuing his work of modelling in snow, the Marquis de Prerolles had
taken care to observe the goings and comings of the civilian contractor,
who, wearing a tall hat and attired in a black redingote, departed
regularly every day at half-past four, carrying a large portfolio under
his arm. To procure such a costume and similar accessories for himself was
easy, since the Marquis’s orderly spoke the language of the country; and
to introduce them into the prison, hidden in a basket of provisions, was
not difficult to accomplish.
</p>
<p>
To execute all this required only four trips to and fro. At the end of
forty-eight hours, the necessary aids to escape were in the proper place,
hidden under the snow behind the bastion. More than this, the clever
Alsatian had slipped a topographical map of the surrounding country
between two of the plates in the basket. According to the scale, the
frontier was distant only about five leagues, across open country,
sparsely settled with occasional farms which would serve as
resting-places.
</p>
<p>
By that time, the plan of escape was drawn up. Upon the day fixed for his
flight, the Marquis assumed his disguise, rolled up his own uniform to
look like a man asleep in his bed, lying after the fashion of a sleeping
soldier; and pleading a slight illness as an excuse for not dining that
evening, and, not without emotion, curled himself up behind the snowy
intrenchment which his jailer himself had helped to fashion. That worthy
man, only too glad to be able to rejoin his ‘liebe frau’ a little earlier
than usual, peeped through the half-open door of the prisoner’s room and
threw a glance at the little cot-bed.
</p>
<p>
“Good-night, Commander!” said the honest fellow, in a gentle voice.
</p>
<p>
Then he double-locked the door, according to custom, and disappeared
whistling a national air. A quarter of an hour later the contractor left
the place, and as soon as the functionary who had seen him depart was
relieved by another, the prisoner left his hiding-place, crossed the
drawbridge in his turn, simulating the gait of his twin, and, without any
hindrance, rejoined his orderly at the place agreed upon. The trick was
played!
</p>
<p>
A matter of twenty kilometres was a mere trifle for infantry troopers.
They walked as lightly as gymnasts, under a clear sky, through the fields,
guided by the lights in the farmhouses, and at nine o’clock, having passed
the frontier, they stumbled upon a post of Cossacks ambuscaded behind a
hedge!
</p>
<p>
Unfortunately, at that time the Franco-Russian alliance was still in
embryo, and an agreement between the two neighboring States interdicted
all passage to Frenchmen escaping from the hands of their conquerors. The
two deserters were therefore conducted to the major of the nearest
garrison, who alone had the right to question them.
</p>
<p>
As soon as they were in his presence, Henri could not restrain a start of
surprise, for he recognized Constantin Lenaieff, one of his adversaries on
the fatal night of the Freres-Provencaux.
</p>
<p>
“Who are you?” demanded the Major, brusquely.
</p>
<p>
“A dealer in Belgian cattle, purveyor to the German intendant,” hazarded
the prisoner, who had his reply all prepared.
</p>
<p>
“You—nonsense! You are a French officer; that is plain enough to be
seen, in spite of your disguise.”
</p>
<p>
The Major advanced a step in order to examine the prisoner more closely.
</p>
<p>
“Good heavens!” he muttered, “I can not be mistaken—”
</p>
<p>
He made a sign to his soldiers to retire, then, turning to Henri, he said:
</p>
<p>
“You are the Marquis de Prerolles!” and he extended his hand cordially to
the former companion of his pleasures.
</p>
<p>
In a few words Henri explained to him the situation.
</p>
<p>
“My fate is in your hands,” he concluded. “Decide it!”
</p>
<p>
“You are too good a player at this game not to win it,” Lenaieff replied,
“and I am not a Paul Landry, to dispute it with you. Here is a letter of
safe-conduct made out in due form; write upon it any name you choose. As
for myself, I regard you absolutely as a Belgian citizen, and I shall make
no report of this occurrence. Only, let me warn you, as a matter of
prudence, you would do well not to linger in this territory, and if you
need money—”
</p>
<p>
“I thank you!” replied the nobleman, quickly, declining with his customary
proud courtesy. “But I never shall forget the service you have rendered
me!”
</p>
<p>
A few moments later, the two travellers drove away in a carriage toward
the nearest railway, in order to reenter France by way of Vienna and
Turin.
</p>
<p>
They passed the Austrian and Italian frontiers without difficulty; but at
the station at Modena a too-zealous detective of the French police, struck
with the Alsatian accent of the orderly, immediately decided that they
were two Prussian spies, and refused to allow them to proceed, since they
could show him no passports.
</p>
<p>
“Passports!” cried Henri de Prerolles, accompanying his exclamation with
the most Parisian oath that ever had reverberated from the Rue Laffitte to
the Madeleine.
</p>
<p>
“Here is my passport!” he added, drawing from his pocket his officer’s
cross, which he had taken good care not to allow to become a souvenir in
the hands of his jailer. “And if that does not satisfy you, give me a
pen.”
</p>
<p>
Suiting the action to the word, he seized a pen and wrote out the
following telegram:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“DEPUTY OF WAR, TOURS:
“Escaped from prisons of the enemy, I demand admittance to France,
and official duties suitable to my rank, that I may cooperate in the
national defence.
“DE PREROLLES, Commandant.”
</pre>
<p>
He handed the paper to the police agent, saying: “Do me the favor to
forward this despatch with the utmost expedition.”
</p>
<p>
As soon as the agent had glanced at the message, he swept a profound
salute. “Pass on, Commandant,” said he, in a tone of great respect.
</p>
<p>
Promoted to a higher rank, and appointed commander of a regiment of foot,
the Lieutenant-Colonel de Prerolles rejoined the army of Chanzy, which,
having known him a long time, assigned to him the duties of a
brigadier-general, and instructed him to cover his retreat from the Loire
on the Sarthe.
</p>
<p>
In the ensuing series of daily combats, the auxiliary General performed
all that his chief expected of him, from Orleans to the battle of Maus,
where, in the thick of the fight, a shell struck him in the breast. It is
necessary to say that on the evening before he had noticed that the little
medallion which had been given to him by Fanny Dorville, worn from its
chain by friction, had disappeared from his neck. Scoffing comrades smiled
at the coincidence; the more credulous looked grave.
</p>
<p>
The wound was serious, for, transported to the Chateau de Montgeron, a few
leagues distant, the Marquis was compelled to remain there six months
before he was in fit condition to rejoin his command. Toward the end of
his convalescence, in June, 1871, the brother and sister resolved to make
a pious pilgrimage to the cradle of their ancestors.
</p>
<p>
Exactly nine years had elapsed since the castle and lands had been sold at
auction and fallen into the possession of a company of speculators, who
had divided it and resold it to various purchasers. Only the farm of
Valpendant, with a house of ancient and vast construction, built in the
time of Philippe-Auguste, remained to an old tenant, with his dependencies
and his primitive methods of agriculture.
</p>
<p>
Leaving the train at the Beaumont tunnel, the two travellers made their
way along a road which crosses the high plateau that separates the forest
of Carnelle from the forest of the Ile-d’Adam, whence one can discern the
steeple of Prerolles rising above the banks of the Oise.
</p>
<p>
From this culminating point they beheld the chateau transformed into a
factory, the park cut up into countryseats, the fields turned into
market-gardens! With profound sadness the brother and the sister met each
other’s glance, and their eyes filled with tears, as if they stood before
a tomb on All Souls’ Day.
</p>
<p>
“No expiation is possible,” said Henri to Jeanne, pressing her hand
convulsively. “I must go—I must move on forever and ever, like the
Wandering Jew.”
</p>
<p>
Thanks to the influence of the Duke of Montgeron, whose faithful
constituents had sent him to the National Assembly, his brother-in-law had
been transferred to a regiment of zouaves, of which he became colonel in
1875, whereupon he decided to remain in Africa during the rest of his
life.
</p>
<p>
But Tunis and Tonquin opened new horizons to him. Landing as a
brigadier-general at Haiphong, he was about to assume, at Bac-Ninh, his
third star, when the Minister of War, examining the brilliant record of
this officer who, since 1862, never had ceased his service to his country,
called him to take command of one of the infantry divisions of the army of
Paris, a place which he had occupied only a few months before the events
related in the preceding chapter.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XI. EUGENIE GONTIER
</h2>
<p>
Few salons in Paris have so imposing an air as the foyer of the dramatic
artists of the Comedie Francaise, a rectangular room of fine proportions,
whose walls are adorned with portraits of great actors, representing the
principal illustrations of the plays that have been the glory of the house
Mademoiselle Duclos, by Largilliere; Fleury, by Gerard; Moliere crowned,
by Mignard; Baron, by De Troy, and many others.
</p>
<p>
At the left of the entrance, separated by a large, high mirror which faced
the fireplace, two other canvases, signed by Geffroy, represent the foyer
itself, in costumes of the classic repertoire, the greater part of the
eminent modern ‘societaires’, colleagues and contemporaries of the great
painter.
</p>
<p>
Between the windows, two pedestals, surmounted by busts of Mademoiselle
Clairon and Mademoiselle Dangeville, stood, one on each side of the great
regulator—made by Robin, clockmaker to the king—which
dominated the bust of Moliere—after Houdon—seeming to keep
guard over all this gathering of artistic glory.
</p>
<p>
Opposite this group, hanging above a large table of finely chiselled iron,
were two precious autographs under glass: a brevet of pension, dated 1682,
signed Louis and countersigned Colbert; an act of notary, dated 1670,
bearing the signature of Moliere, the master of the house.
</p>
<p>
Disposed about the room were sofas, armchairs, and tete-a-tete seats in
oak, covered with stamped green velvet.
</p>
<p>
Here, at the first representations of new plays, or at important revivals
of old ones, flocked literary notables and the regular frequenters of the
theatre, eager to compliment the performers; here, those favored strangers
who have the proper introduction, and who wish to see the place at close
range, are graciously conducted by the administrator-general or by the
officer for the week.
</p>
<p>
Here it was that the Marquis de Prerolles appeared in the evening after
his experience at the skating-pond. He had dressed, and had dined in great
haste at a restaurant near the theatre.
</p>
<p>
The posters announced a revival of ‘Adrienne Lecouvreur’, with
Mademoiselle Gontier in the principal role, in which she was to appear for
the first time.
</p>
<p>
Eugenie Gontier was, it was said, the natural daughter of a great foreign
lord, who had bequeathed to her a certain amount of money. Therefore, she
had chosen the theatrical life less from necessity than from inclination.
</p>
<p>
She was distinguished in presence, a great favorite with the public, and
had a wide circle of friends, among whom a rich banker, the Baron de
Samoreau, greatly devoted to her, had made for her investments
sufficiently profitable to enable her to occupy a mansion of her own, and
to open a salon which became a favorite rendezvous with many persons
distinguished in artistic, financial, and even political circles. Talent
being the guaranty of good companionship, this salon became much
frequented, and General de Prerolles had become one of its most assiduous
visitors.
</p>
<p>
The first act had begun. Although the charming artist was not to appear
until the second act, she had already descended from her dressing-room,
and, finding herself alone in the greenroom, was putting a final touch to
her coiffure before the mirror when the General entered.
</p>
<p>
He kissed her hand gallantly, and both seated themselves in a retired
corner between the fireplace and the window.
</p>
<p>
“I thank you for coming so early,” said Eugenie. “I wished very much to
see you to-night, in order to draw from your eyes a little of your courage
before I must face the footlights in a role so difficult and so superb.”
</p>
<p>
“The fire of the footlights is not that of the enemy—above all, for
you, who are so sure of winning the battle.”
</p>
<p>
“Alas! does one ever know? Although at the last rehearsal Monsieur Legouve
assured me that all was perfect, look up there at that portrait of Rachel,
and judge for yourself whether I have not reason to tremble at my audacity
in attempting this role after such a predecessor.”
</p>
<p>
“But you yourself caused this play to be revived,” said Henri.
</p>
<p>
“I did it because of you,” Eugenie replied.
</p>
<p>
“Of me?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. Am I not your Adrienne, and is not Maurice de Saxe as intrepid as
you, and as prodigal as you have been? Was he not dispossessed of his
duchy of Courlande, as you were of your—”
</p>
<p>
A gesture from Henri prevented her from finishing the sentence.
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me!” said she. “I had forgotten how painful to you is any
reference to that matter. We will speak only of your present renown, and
of the current of mutual sympathy that attracts each of us toward the
other. For myself, that attraction began on the fourteenth of last July.
You had just arrived at Paris, and a morning journal, in mentioning the
troops, and the names of the generals who appeared at the review, related,
apropos of your military exploits, many exciting details of your escape
during the war. Do you recall the applause that greeted you when you
marched past the tribunes? I saw you then for the first time, but I should
have known you among a thousand! The next day—”
</p>
<p>
“The next day,” Henri interrupted, “it was my turn to applaud you. I had
been deprived a long time of the pleasures of the theatre, of which I am
very fond, and I began by going to the Comedie Francaise, where you
played, that night, the role of Helene in ‘Mademoiselle de la Seigliere.’
Do you remember?”
</p>
<p>
“Do I remember! I recognized you instantly, sitting in the third row in
the orchestra.”
</p>
<p>
“I had never seen you until then,” Henri continued, “but that sympathetic
current was soon established, from the moment you appeared until the end
of the second piece. As it is my opinion that any officer is sufficiently
a gentleman to have the right to love a girl of noble birth, I fell
readily under the spell in which she whom you represented echoed my own
sentiments. Bernard Stamply also had just returned from captivity, and the
more enamored of you he became the more I pleased myself with fancying my
own personality an incarnation of his, with less presumption than would be
necessary for me to imagine myself the hero of which you spoke a moment
ago. After the play, a friend brought me here, presented me to you—”
</p>
<p>
“And the sympathetic current did the rest!” added Eugenie Gontier, looking
at him tenderly. “Since then you have consecrated to me a part of whatever
time is at your disposal, and I assure you that I never have been so
happy, nor have felt so flattered, in my life.”
</p>
<p>
“Second act!” came the voice of the call-boy from the corridor.
</p>
<p>
“Will you return here after the fourth act?” said the actress, rising. “I
shall wish to know how you find me in the great scene, and whether there
is another princess de Bouillon among the audience—beware of her!”
</p>
<p>
“You know very well that there is not.”
</p>
<p>
“Not yet, perhaps, but military men are so inconstant! By and by,
Maurice!” she murmured, with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“By and by, Adrienne!” Henri replied, kissing her hand.
</p>
<p>
He accompanied her to the steps that led to the stage, and, lounging along
the passage that ends at the head of the grand stairway, he entered the
theatre and hastened to his usual seat in the third row of the orchestra.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XII. RIVAL BEAUTIES
</h2>
<p>
It was Tuesday, the subscription night; the auditorium was as much the
more brilliant as the play was more interesting than on other nights. In
one of the proscenium boxes sat the Duchesse de Montgeron with the
Comtesse de Lisieux; in another the Vicomtesse de Nointel and Madame
Thomery. In the first box on the left Madame Desvanneaux was to be seen,
with her husband and her son, the youthful and recently rejected pretender
to the hand of Mademoiselle de Vermont.
</p>
<p>
Among the subscription seats in the orchestra sat the Baron de Samoreau,
the notary Durand, treasurer of the Industrial Orphan Asylum; the
aide-de-camp of General Lenaieff, beside his friend the Marquis de
Prerolles. One large box, the first proscenium loge on the right, was
still unoccupied when the curtain rose on the second act.
</p>
<p>
The liaison of Eugenie Gontier with the Marquis de Prerolles was not a
mystery; from the moment of her entrance upon the scene, it was evident
that she “played to him,” to use a phrase in theatrical parlance. Thus,
after the recital of the combat undertaken in behalf of Adrienne by her
defender—a recital which she concluded in paraphrasing these two
lines:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
‘Paraissez, Navarrois, Maures et Castilians,
Et tout ce que l’Espagne a produit de vaillants,’
</pre>
<p>
many opera-glasses were directed toward the spectator to whom the actress
appeared to address herself, when suddenly a new object of interest
changed the circuit of observation. The door of the large, right-hand box
opened, and Zibeline appeared, accompanied by the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy,
an elderly gallant, carefully dressed and wearing many decorations, and
whose respectable tale of years could give no occasion for malicious
comment on his appearance in the role of ‘cavalier servente’. Having
assisted his companion to remove her mantle, he profited by the instant of
time she took to settle her slightly ruffled plumage before the mirror, to
lay upon the railing of the box her bouquet and her lorgnette. Then he
took up a position behind the chair she would occupy, ready to assist her
when she might deign to sit down. His whole manner suggested a chamberlain
of the ancient court in the service of a princess.
</p>
<p>
Mademoiselle de Vermont disliked bright colors, and wore on this occasion
a robe of black velvet, of which the ‘decolletee’ bodice set off the
whiteness of her shoulders and her neck, the latter ornamented with a
simple band of cherry-colored velvet, without jewels, as was suitable for
a young girl. Long suede gloves, buttoned to the elbow, outlined her
well-modelled arms, of which the upper part emerged, without sleeves, from
lace ruffles gathered in the form of epaulets.
</p>
<p>
The men admired her; the women sought some point to criticise, and had the
eyes of Madame Desvanneaux been able to throw deadly projectiles, her
powerful lorgnette would have become an instrument of death for the object
of her resentment.
</p>
<p>
“This morning,” said the irreconcilable matron, “she showed us her ankles;
this evening she allows us to see the remainder.”
</p>
<p>
“I should have been very well pleased, however—” murmured young
Desvanneaux, with regret.
</p>
<p>
“If you had married her, Victor,” said his mother, “I should have taken
full charge of her wardrobe, and should have made some decided changes, I
assure you.”
</p>
<p>
Perfectly indifferent to the general curiosity, Zibeline in her turn
calmly reviewed the audience. After exploring the boxes with her
opera-glass, she lowered it to examine the orchestra stalls, and,
perceiving the Marquis, she fixed her gaze upon him. Undoubtedly she knew
the reason for the particular attention which he paid to the stage,
because, until the end of the act, her glance was divided alternately
between the General and the actress.
</p>
<p>
As the curtain fell on this act the spectators turned their backs to the
footlights, and Lenaieff, indicating Zibeline to his friend, said in his
slightly Slavonic accent:
</p>
<p>
“Who is that pretty woman, my dear Henri?”
</p>
<p>
“One of Jules Verne’s personages, a product of the land of furs.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you know her?”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all. I have a prejudice against girls that are too rich. Why do
you ask?”
</p>
<p>
“Because it seems to me that she looks at you very attentively.”
</p>
<p>
“Indeed! I had not noticed it.”
</p>
<p>
In saying this, the General—exaggerated! He had been perfectly well
aware of the gaze of Mademoiselle de Vermont, but whether he still
cherished a slight resentment against the lady, or whether her appearance
really displeased him, he cut the conversation short and went to pay his
respects to the occupants of several boxes.
</p>
<p>
Evidently Zibeline knew few persons in society, for no visitor appeared in
her box. However, after the next act she made a sign to M. Durand. That
gentleman rejoined the Baron de Samoreau in the corridor and took him to
meet Zibeline, and a sort of council appeared to be going on in the rear
of her box.
</p>
<p>
“What the deuce can she be talking about to them?” said Desvanneaux to his
wife.
</p>
<p>
“A new offer of marriage, probably. They say she declares she will marry
no one of lower rank than a prince, in order to complete our chagrin!
Perhaps they have succeeded in finding one for her!”
</p>
<p>
The instructions that Mademoiselle de Vermont gave to the two men must
have been easy to execute, for neither the notary nor the banker seemed to
raise the least objection. The conversation was finished, and both
gentlemen saluted her, preparing to take leave, when she said to M.
Durand:
</p>
<p>
“You understand that the meeting is for tomorrow?”
</p>
<p>
“At five o’clock,” he replied.
</p>
<p>
“Very well. I will stop for you at your door at a quarter of an hour
before that time.”
</p>
<p>
The fourth act had begun, that scene in which Adrienne accomplishes her
generous sacrifice in furnishing herself the ransom which must deliver her
unfaithful lover. The rapt attention that Zibeline paid to this scene, and
the slight movements of her head, showed her approval of this
disinterested act. Very touching in her invocation to her “old Corneille,”
Mademoiselle Gontier was superb at the moment when the comedienne, knowing
at last who is her rival, quotes from Racine that passage in ‘Phedre’
which she throws, so to speak, in the face of the patrician woman:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
.... Je sais ses perfidies,
OEnone! et ne suis point de ces femmes hardies
Qui, goutant dans la crime une honteuse paix,
Ont su se faire un front qui ne rougit jamais.
</pre>
<p>
From the place she was to obliged to take in the arrangement of the scene,
the apostrophe and the gestures of the actress appeared to be
unconsciously directed toward Mademoiselle de Vermont, who could not
restrain a startled movement.
</p>
<p>
“Look! One would think that Zibeline took that allusion for herself,” said
Madame Desvanneaux, whom nothing escaped.
</p>
<p>
On reentering the greenroom, after two well-deserved recalls, Eugenie
Gontier was soon surrounded by a throng of admirers who had come to
congratulate her upon her success.
</p>
<p>
“Were you pleased, Henri?” she said in a low tone to the General.
</p>
<p>
“Enthusiastically!” he replied.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, then I can die happy!” she said, laughingly.
</p>
<p>
As she traversed the ranks of her admirers to go to change her costume for
the last act, she found herself face to face with Zibeline, who, having
quickly recovered from her emotion, was advancing on the arm of the
Chevalier de Sainte-Foy.
</p>
<p>
“My dear child,” said the old nobleman to the actress, “I bring to you
Mademoiselle de Vermont, who wishes to say to you herself—”
</p>
<p>
“That Mademoiselle must be very tired of listening to our praises,”
interrupted Zibeline. “But if the tribute of a foreigner can prove to her
that her prestige is universal, I beg that she will accept these flowers
which I dared not throw to her from my box.”
</p>
<p>
“Really, Mademoiselle, you embarrass me!” Eugenie replied, somewhat
surprised.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, you need not fear to take them—they are not poisoned!” added
Zibeline, smiling.
</p>
<p>
And, after a gracious inclination of her head, to which the actress
responded with a deep courtesy, Zibeline took again the arm of her escort
in order to seek her carriage, without waiting for the end of the play.
</p>
<p>
Three-quarters of an hour later, as, the audience was leaving the theatre,
M. Desvanneaux recounted to whoever chose to listen that Mademoiselle de
Vermont had passed the whole of the last ‘entr’acte’ in the greenroom
corridor, in a friendly chat with Eugenie Gontier.
</p>
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<h2>
BOOK 2.
</h2>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XIII. THE INDUSTRIAL ORPHAN ASYLUM
</h2>
<p>
When the prefectoral axe of the Baron Haussmann hewed its way through the
Faubourg St. Germain in order to create the boulevard to which this
aristocratic centre has given its flame, the appropriation of private
property for public purposes caused to disappear numerous ancient
dwellings bearing armorial devices, torn down in the interest of the
public good, to the equalizing level of a line of tramways. In the midst
of this sacrilegious upheaval, the Hotel de Montgeron, one of the largest
in the Rue St. Dominique, had the good fortune to be hardly touched by the
surveyor’s line; in exchange for a few yards sliced obliquely from the
garden, it received a generous addition of air and light on that side of
the mansion which formerly had been shut in.
</p>
<p>
The Duke lived there in considerable state. His electors, faithful in all
things, had made of their deputy a senator who sat in the Luxembourg, in
virtue of the Republican Constitution, as he would have sat as a peer of
France had the legitimate monarchy followed its course. He was a great
lord in the true meaning of the word: gracious to the humble, affable
among his equals, inclined, among the throng of new families, to take the
part of the disinherited against that of the usurpers.
</p>
<p>
In Mademoiselle de Prerolles he had found a companion animated with the
same sentiments, and the charitable organization, meeting again at the
Duchess’s residence, on the day following the revival of ‘Adrienne
Lecouvreuer’, to appoint officers for the Industrial Orphan Asylum, could
not have chosen a president more worthy or more devoted.
</p>
<p>
Besides such austere patronesses as Madame Desvanneaux and her daughter,
the organization included several persons belonging to the world of
fashion, such as Madame de Lisieux and Madame de Nointel, whose influence
was the more effective because their circle of acquaintance was more
extensive. The gay world often fraternizes willingly with those who are
interested in philanthropic works.
</p>
<p>
The founders of the Industrial Orphan Asylum intended that the institution
should harbor, bring up, and instruct as great a number as possible of the
children of infirm or deceased laborers.
</p>
<p>
The secretary, M. Andre Desvanneaux, churchwarden of Ste.-Clotilde, as was
his father before him, and in addition a Roman count, had just finished
his address, concluding by making the following double statement: First,
the necessity for combining all available-funds for the purchase of the
land required, and for the building of the asylum itself; second, to
determine whether the institution could be maintained by the annual
resources of the organization.
</p>
<p>
“I should like to observe,” said the Duchesse de Montgeron, “that the
first of these two questions is the only order of the day. Not counting
the purchase of the land, the architect’s plan calls for an estimate of
five hundred thousand francs in round numbers.”
</p>
<p>
“And we have on hand—” said the Comtesse de Lisieux.
</p>
<p>
“One hundred and sixty-odd thousand francs from the first subscriptions,”
said M. Desvanneaux. “It has been decided that the work shall not begin
until we have disposed of half of the sum total. Therefore, the difference
we have to make up at present is about one hundred and forty thousand
francs. In order to realize this sum, the committee of action proposes to
organize at the Palais de l’Industrie a grand kermess, with the assistance
of the principal artists from the theatres of Paris, including that of
Mademoiselle Gontier, of the Comedie Francaise,” added the secretary, with
a sly smile on observing the expression of General de Prerolles.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” Henri promptly rejoined. “That will permit Monsieur Desvanneaux to
combine very agreeably the discharge of his official duties with the
making of pleasant acquaintances!”
</p>
<p>
“The object of my action in this matter is above all suspicion,” remarked
the churchwarden, with great dignity, while his wife darted toward him a
furious glance.
</p>
<p>
“You? Come, come!” continued the General, who took a mischievous delight
in making trouble for the worthy Desvanneaux. “Every one knows quite well
that you have by no means renounced Satan, his pomps—”
</p>
<p>
“And his good works!” added Madame de Nointel, with a burst of laughter
somewhat out of place in this formal gathering for the discussion of
charitable works.
</p>
<p>
“We are getting outside of the question,” said the Duchess, striking her
bell. “Moreover, is not the assistance of these ladies necessary?”
</p>
<p>
“Indispensable,” the secretary replied. “Their assistance will greatly
increase the receipts.”
</p>
<p>
“What sum shall we decide upon as the price of admission?” asked Madame de
Lisieux.
</p>
<p>
“Twenty francs,” said Desvanneaux. “We have a thousand tickets printed
already, and, if the ladies present wish to solicit subscriptions, each
has before her the wherewithal to inscribe appropriate notes of appeal.”
</p>
<p>
“To be drawn upon at sight,” said the Comtesse de Lisieux, taking a pen.
“A tax on vanity, I should call it.”
</p>
<p>
She wrote rapidly, and then read aloud:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“MY DEAR BARON:
“Your proverbial generosity justifies my new appeal. You will
accept, I am sure, the ten tickets which I enclose, when you know
that your confreres, the Messieurs Axenstein, have taken double that
number.”
</pre>
<p>
“And here,” said the Vicomtesse de Nointel, “is a tax on gallantry.” And
she read aloud:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“MY DEAR PRINCE:
“You have done me the honor to write to me that you love me. I
suppose I ought to show your note to my husband, who is an expert
swordsman; but I prefer to return to you your autograph letter for
the price of these fifteen tickets. Go—and sin again, should your
heart prompt you!”
</pre>
<p>
“But that is a species of blackmail, Madame!” cried Madame Desvanneaux.
</p>
<p>
“The end justifies the means,” replied the Vicomtesse gayly. “Besides, I
am accountable only to the Duc de Montgeron. What is his opinion?”
</p>
<p>
“I call it a very clever stroke,” said the Duke.
</p>
<p>
“You hear, Madame! Only, of course, not every lady has a collection of
similar little notes!” said the Vicomtesse de Nointel.
</p>
<p>
The entrance of M. Durand, treasurer of the society, interrupted the
progress of this correspondence.
</p>
<p>
“Do not trouble yourselves so much, Mesdames,” said the notary. “The
practical solution of the matter I am about to lay before you, if Madame
the president will permit me to speak.”
</p>
<p>
“I should think so!” said the Duchess. “Speak, by all means!”
</p>
<p>
“A charitable person has offered to assume all the expenses of the
affair,” said the notary, “on condition that carte blanche is granted to
her in the matter of the site. In case her offer is accepted, she will
make over to the society, within three months, the title to the real
estate, in regular order.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you guarantee the solvency of this person?” demanded M. Desvanneaux,
who saw the project of the kermess falling to the ground.
</p>
<p>
“It is one of my rich clients; but I have orders not to reveal her name
unless her offer is accepted.”
</p>
<p>
The unanimity with which all hands were raised did not even give time to
put the question.
</p>
<p>
“Her name?” demanded the Duchess.
</p>
<p>
“Here it is,” replied the notary, handing her a visiting card.
</p>
<p>
“‘Valentine de Vermont,’” she read aloud.
</p>
<p>
“Zibeline?” cried Madame de Nointel. “Bravo! I offer her the assurance of
my esteem!”
</p>
<p>
“And I also,” added Madame de Lisieux.
</p>
<p>
“I can not offer mine,” said Madame Desvanneaux, dryly. “A young woman who
is received nowhere!”
</p>
<p>
“So generous an act should open all doors to her, beginning with mine,”
said the Duchesse de Montgeron. “I beg that you will tell her so from me,
Monsieur Durand.”
</p>
<p>
“At once, Madame. She is waiting below in her carriage.”
</p>
<p>
“Why did you not say so before? I must beg her myself to join us here,”
said the master of the house, leaving the room in haste.
</p>
<p>
“See how any one can purchase admission to our world in these days!”
whispered Madame Desvanneaux in her daughter’s ear.
</p>
<p>
“Heavens! yes, dear mother! The only question is whether one is able to
pay the price.”
</p>
<p>
We must render justice to the two titled patronesses by saying that the
immediate admission of Mademoiselle de Vermont to their circle seemed to
them the least they could do, and that they greeted her appearance, as she
entered on the arm of the Duke, with a sympathetic murmur which put the
final stroke to the exasperation of the two malicious dames.
</p>
<p>
“You are very welcome here, Mademoiselle,” said the Duchess, advancing to
greet her guest. “I am delighted to express to you, in behalf of all these
ladies, the profound gratitude with which your generous aid inspires
them!”
</p>
<p>
“It is more than I deserve, Madame la Duchesse!” said Valentine. “The
important work in which they have taken the initiative is so interesting
that each of us should contribute to it according to his means. I am alone
in Paris, without relatives or friends, and these ladies have furnished me
the means to cure my idleness; so it is I, rather, who am indebted to
them.”
</p>
<p>
Whether this speech were studied or not, it was pronounced to be in very
good taste, and the stranger’s conquest of the assemblage was more and
more assured.
</p>
<p>
“Since you wish to join us,” resumed the Duchess, “allow me to present to
you these gentlemen: Monsieur Desvanneaux, our zealous general secretary—”
</p>
<p>
“I have already had the pleasure of seeing Monsieur at my house,” said
Valentine, “also Madame Desvanneaux; and although I was unable to accede
to their wishes, I retain, nevertheless, the pleasantest recollections of
their visit.”
</p>
<p>
“Good hit!” whispered Madame de Nointel to her neighbor.
</p>
<p>
“The Marquis de Prerolles, my brother,” the Duchess continued.
</p>
<p>
“The smiles of Fortune must be sweet, Mademoiselle,” said the General,
bowing low.
</p>
<p>
“Not so sweet as those of Glory, General,” Zibeline replied, with a pretty
air of deference.
</p>
<p>
“She possesses a decidedly ready wit,” said Madame de Lisieux in a
confidential aside.
</p>
<p>
“Now, ladies,” added the president, “I believe that the best thing we can
do is to leave everything in the hands of Mademoiselle and our treasurer.
The examination of the annual resources will be the object of the next
meeting. For to-day, the meeting is adjourned.”
</p>
<p>
Then, as Mademoiselle de Vermont was about to mingle with the other
ladies, the Duchess detained her an instant, inquiring:
</p>
<p>
“Have you any engagement for this evening, Mademoiselle?”
</p>
<p>
“None, Madame.”
</p>
<p>
“Will you do us the honor to join us in my box at the opera?”
</p>
<p>
“But—I have no one to accompany me,” said Zibeline. “I dismissed my
cousin De Sainte-Foy, thinking that I should have no further need of his
escort to-day.”
</p>
<p>
“That does not matter at all,” the Duchess replied. “We will stop for you
on our way.”
</p>
<p>
“I should not like to trouble you so much, Madame. If you will allow me, I
will stop at your door at whatever hour will be agreeable to you, and my
carriage shall follow yours.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well. At nine o’clock, if you please. They sing Le Prophete tonight,
and we shall arrive just in time for the ballet.”
</p>
<p>
“The ‘Skaters’ Ballet,’” said the General.
</p>
<p>
This remark recalled to Mademoiselle her triumph of the evening before.
“Do you bear a grudge against me?” she said, with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“Less and less of one,” the General replied.
</p>
<p>
“Then, let us make a compact of peace,” said Zibeline, holding out her
hand in the English fashion.
</p>
<p>
With these words she left the room on the arm of the Duke, who claimed the
honor of escorting her to her carriage.
</p>
<p>
“Shall you go to the opera also?” asked the Duchess of her brother.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but later. I shall dine in town.”
</p>
<p>
“Then-au-revoir—this evening!”
</p>
<p>
“This evening!”
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XIV. A WOMAN’S INSTINCT
</h2>
<p>
The General had been more favorably impressed with Zibeline’s appearance
than he cared to show. The generous action of this beautiful girl, her
frankness, her ease of manner, her cleverness in repartee, were likely to
attract the attention of a man of his character. He reproached himself
already for having allowed himself to be influenced by the rancorous
hostility of the Desvanneaux, and, as always happens with just natures,
the sudden change of his mind was the more favorable as his first opinion
had been unjust.
</p>
<p>
Such was the theme of his reflections on the route from the Hotel de
Montgeron to that of Eugenic Gontie’s, with whom he was engaged to dine
with some of her friends, invited to celebrate her success of the evening
before.
</p>
<p>
On entering her dining-room Eugenie took the arm of Lenaieff, placed Henri
de Prerolles on her left and Samoreau opposite her—in his character
of senior member, so that no one could mistake his transitory function
with that of an accredited master of the house.
</p>
<p>
The four other guests were distinguished writers or artists, including the
painter Edmond Delorme, and, like him, all were intimate friends of the
mistress of the house.
</p>
<p>
Naturally the conversation turned upon the representation of Adrienne, and
on the applause of the fashionable audience, usually rather
undemonstrative.
</p>
<p>
“Never have I received so many flowers as were given to me last night,”
said Eugenic, displaying an enormous beribboned basket which ornamented
the table. “But that which particularly flattered me,” she added, “was the
spontaneous tribute from that pretty foreigner who sought me in the
greenroom expressly to offer me her bouquet.”
</p>
<p>
“The young lady in the proscenium box, I will wager,” said Lenaieff.
</p>
<p>
“Precisely. I know that they call her Zibeline, but I did not catch her
real name.”
</p>
<p>
“It is Mademoiselle de Vermont,” said Edmond Delorme. “She is, in my
opinion, the most dashing of all the Amazons in the Bois de Boulogne. The
Chevalier de Sainte-Foy brought her to visit my studio last autumn, and I
am making a life-size portrait of her on her famous horse, Seaman, the
winner of the great steeplechase at Liverpool, in 1882.”
</p>
<p>
“What were you pencilling on the back of your menu while you were
talking?” asked the actress, curiously.
</p>
<p>
“The profile of General de Prerolles,” the painter replied. “I think that
his mare Aida would make a capital companion picture for Seaman, and that
he himself would be an appropriate figure to adorn a canvas hung on the
line opposite her at the next Salon!”
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me, dear master!” interrupted the General. “Spare me, I pray, the
honor of figuring in this equestrian contradance. I have not the means to
bequeath to posterity that your fair model possesses—”
</p>
<p>
“Is she, then, as rich as they say?” inquired one of the guests.
</p>
<p>
“I can answer for that,” said the Baron de Samoreau. “She has a letter of
credit upon me from my correspondent in New York. Last night, during an
entr’acte, she gave me an order to hold a million francs at her disposal
before the end of the week.”
</p>
<p>
“I know the reason why,” added Henri.
</p>
<p>
“But,” Lenaieff exclaimed, “you told me that you did not know her!”
</p>
<p>
“I have made her acquaintance since then.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! Where?” Eugenie inquired, with interest.
</p>
<p>
“At my sister’s house, during the meeting of a charitable society.”
</p>
<p>
“Had it anything to do with the society for which Monsieur Desvanneaux
asked me to appear in a kermess?”
</p>
<p>
“Well, yes. In fact, he has gone so far as to announce that he is assured
of your cooperation.”
</p>
<p>
“I could not refuse him,” said Eugenie. “Under the mantle of charity, the
holy man paid court to me!”
</p>
<p>
“I knew well enough that he had not yet laid down his arms forever,” said
the General.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, he is not the only one. His son-in-law also honored me with an
attack.”
</p>
<p>
“What, Monsieur de Thomery? Well, that is a good joke!”
</p>
<p>
“But what is funnier yet,” continued the actress, “is the fact that the
first-named gentleman was on his knees, just about to make me a
declaration, apparently, when the second was announced! Immediately the
father-in-law jumped to his feet, entreating me not to allow them to meet.
I was compelled to open for him the door leading to the servants’ stairway—”
</p>
<p>
“And what did you do with the other man?” asked Lenaieff, laughing loudly.
</p>
<p>
“I rid myself of him in the same way. At a sign from me, my maid announced
the name of the father-in-law, and the alarmed son-in-law escaped by the
same road! Oh, but I know them! They will come back!”
</p>
<p>
“Under some other pretext, however,” said the General. “Because
Mademoiselle de Vermont’s million francs have destroyed their amorous
designs.”
</p>
<p>
“So now we see Zibeline fairly launched,” remarked the banker. “Since the
Duchesse de Montgeron has taken her up, all the naughty tales that have
been fabricated about her will go to pieces like a house of cards.”
</p>
<p>
“That is very probable,” the General concluded, “for she has made a
complete conquest of my sister.”
</p>
<p>
At these words a slight cloud passed over the actress’s face. The
imagination of a jealous mistress sees rivals everywhere; especially that
of an actress.
</p>
<p>
After dinner, while her other guests went into the smoking-room, Eugenic
made a sign to her lover to remain with her, and seated herself beside
him.
</p>
<p>
“I wish to ask you a question, Henri,” said she.
</p>
<p>
“What is it?”
</p>
<p>
“Do you still love me?”
</p>
<p>
“What reason have you to doubt it?”
</p>
<p>
“None that warrants me in reproaching you for anything. But so many things
separate us! Your career, to which you owe everything! Your social
standing, so different from mine! Oh, I know that you are sincere, and
that if you ever have a scruple regarding our liaison, you will not be
able to hide it from me. It is this possibility of which I think.”
</p>
<p>
“You are quite wrong, I assure you. Did I hide myself last night in order
to prove openly my admiration for you? Did I appear to disclaim the
allusions which you emphasized in seeming to address me in the course of
your role?”
</p>
<p>
“No, that is true. Shall I make a confession? When I am on the stage, I
fear nothing, because there the points of comparison are all in my favor,
since you can say to yourself: ‘This woman on whom all eyes are fixed,
whose voice penetrates to the depths of the soul—this woman,
beautiful, applauded, courted, belongs to me—wholly to me,’ and your
masculine vanity is pleasantly flattered. But later, Henri! When the rouge
is effaced from my lips, when the powder is removed from my cheeks—perhaps
revealing some premature line caused by study and late hours—if,
after that, you return to your own circle, and there encounter some fresh
young girl, graceful and blooming, the object, in her turn, of the fickle
admiration of the multitude, forgetful already of her who just now charmed
them—tell me, Henri! do you not, as do the others, covet that
beautiful exotic flower, and must not the poor comedienne weep for her
lost prestige?”
</p>
<p>
“It is Mademoiselle de Vermont, then, who inspires you with this
apprehension,” said the General, smiling.
</p>
<p>
“Well, yes, it is she!”
</p>
<p>
“What childishness! Lenaieff will tell you that I have never even looked
at her.”
</p>
<p>
“Last night, perhaps—but to-day?”
</p>
<p>
“We exchanged no more than a dozen words.”
</p>
<p>
“But the more I think of her visit to the greenroom, the more inexplicable
it appears to me.”
</p>
<p>
“You need not be surprised at that: she does nothing that any one else
does.”
</p>
<p>
“These things are not done to displease you.”
</p>
<p>
“I may agree as to that; but what conclusion do you draw?”
</p>
<p>
“That she is trying to turn your head.”
</p>
<p>
“My head! You jest! I might be her father.”
</p>
<p>
“That is not always a reason—”
</p>
<p>
Nevertheless, Henri’s exclamation had been so frank that Eugenie felt
somewhat reassured.
</p>
<p>
“Are you going so soon?” she said, seeing him take his hat.
</p>
<p>
“I promised my sister to join her at the opera. Besides, this is your
reception night, and I leave you to your duties as hostess. To-morrow, at
the usual hour-and we will talk of something else, shall we not?”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, dearest, that is all I ask!” said Eugenie.
</p>
<p>
He attempted to kiss her hand, but she held up her lips. He pressed his
own upon them in a long kiss, and left her.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XV. DEFIANCE OF MRS. GRUNDY
</h2>
<p>
For more than fifty years the first proscenium box on the ground floor, to
the left, at the Opera, had belonged exclusively to ten members of the
jockey Club, in the name of the oldest member of which the box is taken.
When a place becomes vacant through any cause, the nine remaining
subscribers vote on the admission of a new candidate for the vacant chair;
it is a sort of academy within the national Academy of Music.
</p>
<p>
When this plan was originated, that particular corner was called “the
infernal box,” but the name has fallen into desuetude since the dedication
of the fine monument of M. Gamier. Nevertheless, as it is counted a high
privilege to be numbered among these select subscribers, changes are rare
among them; besides, the members are not, as a rule, men in their first
youth. They have seen, within those walls, the blooming and the renewal of
several generations of pretty women; and the number of singers and dancers
to whom they have paid court in the coulisses is still greater.
</p>
<p>
From their post of observation nothing that occurs either before or behind
the curtain escapes their analysis—an analysis undoubtedly
benevolent on the part of men who have seen much of life, and who accord
willingly, to their younger fellow-members, a little of that indulgence of
which they stand in need themselves.
</p>
<p>
An event so unexpected as the enthronement of Zibeline in one of the two
large boxes between the columns, in company with the Duchesse de
Montgeron, Madame de Lisieux, and Madame de Nointel, did not escape their
observation and comment.
</p>
<p>
“The Duchess is never thoughtless in her choice of associates,” said one
of the ten. “There must be some very powerful motive to induce her to
shield with her patronage a foreigner who sets so completely at defiance
anything that people may say about her.”
</p>
<p>
“Nonsense! What is it, after all, that they say about this young woman?”
demanded the senior member of the party. “That she rides alone on
horseback. If she were to ride with a groom, some one would be sure to say
that he was her lover. They say that she drives out without any female
chaperon beside her in the carriage. Well, if she had one, they would
probably find some other malicious thing to say. Paris has become like a
little country town in its gossip.”
</p>
<p>
“And all this,” added a third member, “because she is as lovely as a
dream, and because she drives the handsomest turnout in the Bois. If she
were ugly, and contented herself with a hired carriage, she would be
absolved without confession!”
</p>
<p>
“Where the deuce does Christian charity come in, in all this gossip?” said
Henri de Prerolles to himself, who had just entered the box and overheard
the last remarks. “Will you grant me your hospitality until the beginning
of the next act, gentlemen?” he said aloud. “My sister’s box is full of
guests and transient visitors; she can not admit even me!”
</p>
<p>
The General was a great favorite with the members of the club. One of them
rose to offer him his place.
</p>
<p>
“I shall stay only a moment, to escape a cloud of questioners in the
foyer. Every one that stops me asks—”
</p>
<p>
“About the new recruit in the Duchess’s box, eh?” said a member. “We, too,
wish to inquire about her; we are all leagued together.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you, no,” said the General.
</p>
<p>
“But if it is a secret—”
</p>
<p>
“There is no secret about it,” the General replied; and in a few words he
explained the enigma.
</p>
<p>
“Why, then,” exclaimed the senior member, “she is indeed the fowl that
lays the golden eggs! What a lucky bird will be the one that mates with
her!”
</p>
<p>
The rising curtain sent the spectators back to their places. The augurs of
the Duchess’s box reinstalled themselves before it where they could
examine at their ease through their lorgnettes the fair stranger of whom
so much had been said; and, mounting to the next floor, the General was at
last able to find room among his sister’s guests.
</p>
<p>
“You can see for yourself that our young friend is altogether charming,”
whispered Madame de Nointel, behind the shelter of her fan, and indicating
Zibeline.
</p>
<p>
“If you pronounce her so, Madame, she can receive no higher praise,” said
Henri.
</p>
<p>
“Say at once that you think me exasperating,” laughed the lady.
</p>
<p>
“Was it not you that first called her Zibeline?” Henri inquired.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but she calls herself Valentine—which rhymes, after all. Not
richly enough for her, I know, but her means allow her to do without the
supporting consonant. See how beautiful she is to-night!”
</p>
<p>
In fact, twenty-four hours had sufficed to change the lonely stranger of
the day before into the heroine of this evening, and the satisfaction that
shone in her face tempered the somewhat haughty and disdainful expression
that had hitherto characterized her.
</p>
<p>
“You have not yet said ‘good-evening’ to Mademoiselle de Vermont, Henri,”
said the Duchess to her brother, and he changed his place in order to act
upon her hint.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, is it you, General?” said Zibeline, affecting not to have seen him
until that moment. “It seems that music interests you less than comedy.”
</p>
<p>
“What has made you form that opinion, Mademoiselle?”
</p>
<p>
“The fact that you arrive much later at the opera than at the Comedie
Francaise.”
</p>
<p>
“Have you, then, kept watch upon my movements?”
</p>
<p>
“Only a passing observation of signs—quite allowable in warfare!”
</p>
<p>
“But I thought we had made a compact of peace.”
</p>
<p>
“True enough, we did make it, but suppose it were only an armistice?”
</p>
<p>
“You are ready, then, to resume hostilities?” said Henri.
</p>
<p>
“Now that I have Madame la Duchesse, your sister, for an ally, I fear no
enemies.”
</p>
<p>
“Not even if I should call for aid upon the camp of Desvanneaux?”
</p>
<p>
“Alceste leagued with Tartufe? That idea never occurred to Moliere,” said
Zibeline, mischievously.
</p>
<p>
“Take care!” said the Duchess, interrupting this skirmishing, “you will
fall over into the orchestra! It is growing late, and if Mademoiselle de
Vermont does not wish to remain to see the final conflagration, we might
go now, before the crowd begins to leave.”
</p>
<p>
“I await your orders, Madame la Duchesse,” said Zibeline, rising.
</p>
<p>
The other ladies followed her example, receiving their cloaks from the
hands of their cavaliers, and the occupants of the box made their exit in
the following order: Zibeline, on the arm of the Duke; the Comtesse de
Lisieux, leaning upon M. de Nointel; Madame de Nointel with the General;
the Duchess bringing up the procession with M. de Lisieux.
</p>
<p>
As soon as they reached the outer lobby their footmen ran to find their
carriages, and that of the Duc de Montgeron advanced first.
</p>
<p>
“I beg, Madame, that you will not trouble yourself to wait here until my
carriage comes,” said Mademoiselle de Vermont to the Duchess, who
hesitated to leave her guest alone.
</p>
<p>
“Since you wish it, I will leave you, then,” said the Duchess, “and we
thank you for giving us your society this evening. My brother will
accompany you to your carriage.”
</p>
<p>
When Zibeline’s vehicle drove up to the entrance in its turn, the General
conducted his charge to the door of a marvellously equipped brougham, to
which was harnessed a carriage-horse of powerful frame, well suited to the
kind of vehicle he drew.
</p>
<p>
A thaw had begun, not yet transforming the gutters into yellow torrents
rushing toward the openings of the sewer, but covering the streets with
thick, black mud, over which the wheels rolled noiselessly.
</p>
<p>
“Your carriage is late, is it not?” said Zibeline, after the General had
handed her into the brougham.
</p>
<p>
“My carriage?” said the General. “Behold it!”
</p>
<p>
He pointed to a passing fiacre, at the same time hailing the driver.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t call him. I will take you home myself,” said Zibeline, as if such a
suggestion were the most natural thing in the world.
</p>
<p>
“You know that in France it is not the custom,” said the General.
</p>
<p>
“What! Do you bother yourself with such things at your age?”
</p>
<p>
“If my age seems to you a sufficient guaranty, that is different. I accept
your invitation.”
</p>
<p>
“To the Hotel de Montgeron,” said Zibeline to her footman.
</p>
<p>
“I never shall forget your sister’s kindness to me,” she continued, as the
carriage rolled away. “She fulfils my idea of the great lady better than
any other woman I have seen.”
</p>
<p>
“You may be proud of her friendship,” said Henri. “When once she likes a
person, it is forever. I am like her in that respect. Only I am rather
slow in forming friendships.”
</p>
<p>
“And so am I.”
</p>
<p>
“That is obvious, else you would have been married ere this.”
</p>
<p>
“No doubt—to some one like young Desvanneaux, perhaps. You are very
flattering! If you think that I would sacrifice my independence for a man
like that—”
</p>
<p>
“But surely you do not intend to remain unmarried.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps I shall—if I do not meet my ideal.”
</p>
<p>
“All women say that, but they usually change their minds in the end.”
</p>
<p>
“Mine is one and indivisible. If I do not give all I give nothing.”
</p>
<p>
“And shall you wait patiently until your ideal presents himself?”
</p>
<p>
“On the contrary, I am always looking for him.”
</p>
<p>
“Did you come to Europe for that purpose?”
</p>
<p>
“For that and for nothing else.”
</p>
<p>
“And suppose, should you find your ideal, that he himself raises
obstacles?”
</p>
<p>
“I shall try to smooth them away.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you believe, then, that the power of money is irresistible?”
</p>
<p>
“Far from it! A great fortune is only a trust which Providence has placed
in our hands, in order that we may repair, in its name, the injustices of
fate. But I have another string to my bow.”
</p>
<p>
“What is it?”
</p>
<p>
“The force of my will.”
</p>
<p>
“You have plenty of that! But suppose, by some impossible chance, your
ideal resists you even then?”
</p>
<p>
“Then I know what will remain for me to do.”
</p>
<p>
“You will resort to the pistol?”
</p>
<p>
“Not for him, but for myself,” she replied, in a tone so resolute as to
exclude any suggestion of bravado.
</p>
<p>
Zibeline’s horse, which was a rapid trotter, now stopped before the Hotel
de Montgeron, arriving just in advance of the Duchess’s carriage, for
which the Swiss was watching at the threshold of the open Porte cochere.
He drew himself up; the brougham entered the gate at a swift pace,
described a circle, and halted under the marquee at the main entrance. The
General sprang lightly to the ground.
</p>
<p>
“I thank you, Mademoiselle,” bowing, hat in hand, to his charming
conductor.
</p>
<p>
“Call me Valentine, please,” she responded, with her usual ease of manner.
</p>
<p>
“Even in the character of a stage father, that would be rather too
familiar,” said the Marquis.
</p>
<p>
“Not so much so as to call me Zibeline,” said Mademoiselle de Vermont,
laughing.
</p>
<p>
“Ha! ha! You know your sobriquet, then?”
</p>
<p>
“I have known it a long time! Good-night, General! We shall meet again.”
</p>
<p>
Then, addressing her footman, she said in English: “Home!”
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XVI. FRATERNAL ADVICE
</h2>
<p>
Like all residences where the owners receive much company, the Hotel de
Montgeron had a double porte-cochere. Just as the Swiss opened the outer
gate to allow the departure of Mademoiselle de Vermont, the two carriages
crossed each other on the threshold. In fact, Henri had had hardly time to
cross the courtyard to mount to his own apartments before his
brother-in-law and his sister stopped him at the foot of the steps. He
rejoined them to say good-night.
</p>
<p>
“Won’t you come and take a cup of tea with us in the little salon?” they
asked.
</p>
<p>
“Willingly,” was his response. He followed them, and all three seated
themselves beside a table which was already laid, and upon which the
boiling water sang in the kettle.
</p>
<p>
“Leave us,” said the Duchess to the butler. “I will serve tea myself. Did
Mademoiselle de Vermont bring you home?” she asked, when the servant had
retired.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” said Henri, “in proposing to do so she mentioned my discreet age,
which appeared to her to make the thing all right! If I had declined her
invitation, I should have seemed to pose as a compromising person! That is
the reason why I accepted.”
</p>
<p>
“You did quite right. What do you really think of her?”
</p>
<p>
“She is very different from what I had fancied her: I find her frank,
intellectual, full of originality. I have only one fault to mention: she
is too rich.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, surely, you do not expect her to ruin herself to please you.”
</p>
<p>
“I should think not! Besides, what would be the object?”
</p>
<p>
“To permit you to fall in love with her.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that is what you are thinking of, is it?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly, for, if need be, perhaps you would make a sacrifice to your
feelings.”
</p>
<p>
“In what way?”
</p>
<p>
“In the toleration of a few remaining millions which she might retain, so
that when you marry her neither of you will be reduced to absolute
beggary!”
</p>
<p>
“Marry her!—I?” cried the General, astonished.
</p>
<p>
“What is there to prevent your doing so?”
</p>
<p>
“The past, my dear sister. To speculate upon my title and my rank in order
to make a wealthy marriage? To quit my nomad’s tent for a fixed residence
other than that where the Prerolles have succeeded one another from
generation to generation? Never! Of all our ancient prejudices, that is
the only one I cherish. Besides, I am free at present to serve my country
under any form of government which it may please her to adopt. But, with
his hereditary estates lost, through his own fault, shall he who has
nothing left to him but his name form a mere branch of another family? He
has no right to do so.”
</p>
<p>
This declaration was categorical. Madame de Montgeron bent her head; her
jesting vein was quenched in a moment.
</p>
<p>
After a moment of silence the Duke spoke.
</p>
<p>
“There are scruples that one does not discuss,” he said. “But, on the
other hand, if I do not deceive myself, there are others which can be
adjusted to suit circumstances.”
</p>
<p>
“What circumstances?” said the General.
</p>
<p>
“The subject is rather delicate—especially to mention before you, my
dear Jeanne.”
</p>
<p>
“I was just about to propose that I should retire,” said the Duchess.
“Good-night, Henri!” And she bent to kiss him.
</p>
<p>
“You are not vexed?” said her brother, embracing her tenderly.
</p>
<p>
“What an idea! Good-night!”
</p>
<p>
“Am I always to be considered as occupying the stool of repentance?” Henri
inquired, as soon as his sister had left the room.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but you will not be offended if I interrogate you a little, after
the manner of a judge?” said the Duke.
</p>
<p>
“Quite the contrary. Go on; I will listen.”
</p>
<p>
“Had you not just now expressed yourself very distinctly in disfavor of
any project of marriage because of perfectly unimpeachable principles, I
should not permit myself to make any allusion to your private life. Every
man is his own master in his choice of liaisons, and on that head is
answerable only to his own conscience. In these days, moreover, art is on
a level with birth, and talent with military glory. You see that I am
quite modern in my ideas! However—”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, there is a reserve?”
</p>
<p>
“Without liability. Mademoiselle Gontier is surrounded by great luxury.
She maintains an expensive house and keeps an open table. Her annual
salary and her income can not possibly cover these expenses. Whence does
she obtain further resources?”
</p>
<p>
“From the investments made for her by the Baron de Samoreau.”
</p>
<p>
“Without her having to pay a commission of any kind? A most remarkable
case of disinterestedness!”
</p>
<p>
“I never have sought to examine the matter particularly,” said Henri.
</p>
<p>
“And is that the way you keep yourself informed? A future
general-in-chief!”
</p>
<p>
“I was not aware that I am in an enemy’s country.”
</p>
<p>
“No, but you are in a conquered country, which is still more dangerous.
Oh, no one will attack you face to face at the point of the sword. But
behind your back, in the shadow, you have already massed against you
various rejected swains, the Desvanneaux of the coulisses, jealous of a
preference which wounds their own vanity, and the more ready to throw
discredit—were they able—upon a man of your valor, because
they are better armed against him with the logic of facts.”
</p>
<p>
“What logic, in heaven’s name?”
</p>
<p>
“That which emanates from the following dilemma: Either Danae is obliged
to hide from Jupiter—or, rather, from Maecenas—her intimacy
with you—and you are only a lover who simply loves her—or else
Maecenas is an epicurean who has no objection to share his fortune
philosophically; so that ostensibly you sit at the feast without paying
the cost—which is worse yet.”
</p>
<p>
“Does any one dare to say that of me?” cried the General, springing from
his chair.
</p>
<p>
“They are beginning to say it,” the Duke replied, his eyes fixed on his
brother-in-law, who paced to and fro, gnawing his moustache. “I ask your
pardon for throwing such a bucket of ice-water on you, but with men of
your constitution—”
</p>
<p>
“Pleurisy is not mortal,” Henri interrupted briefly. “I know. Don’t worry
about me.”
</p>
<p>
“I knew you would understand,” said the Duke, going toward the door of his
own apartments. “That is the reason why I have not spared you a thorough
ducking!”
</p>
<p>
“I thank you,” said the General, as he was about to leave the room. “I
will talk to you about this tomorrow. The night brings counsel.”
</p>
<p>
Wrapped in thought, he made his way to the little suite of apartments
between the ground floor and the first story which he occupied, and which
had a separate door opening on the Rue de Bellechase.
</p>
<p>
At the foot of the stairs, in a coach-house which had been transformed
into a chamber, slept the orderlies beneath the apartment of their chief.
This apartment, composed of four rooms, was of the utmost simplicity,
harmonizing with the poverty of its occupant, who made it a point of honor
not to attempt to disguise his situation.
</p>
<p>
The ante-chamber formed a military bureau for the General and his chief
orderly.
</p>
<p>
The salon, hung with draperies to simulate a tent, had no other decoration
than some trophies of Arabian arms, souvenirs of raids upon rebellious
tribes.
</p>
<p>
More primitive still was the bedroom, furnished with a simple canteen bed,
as if it were put up in a temporary camp, soon to be abandoned.
</p>
<p>
The only room which suggested nothing of the anchorite was the
dressing-room, furnished with all the comforts and conveniences necessary
to an elegant and fastidious man of the world.
</p>
<p>
But his real luxury, which, by habit and by reason of his rank, the
General had always maintained, was found among his horses, as he devoted
to them all the available funds that could be spared from his salary.
Hence the four box-stalls placed at his disposal in the stables of his
brother-in-law were occupied by four animals of remarkably pure blood,
whose pedigrees were inscribed in the French stud-book. Neither years, nor
the hard service which their master had seen, had deteriorated any of his
ability as a dashing horseman. His sober and active life having even
enabled him to preserve a comparatively slender figure, he would have
joined victoriously in the races, except that his height made his weight
too heavy for that amusement.
</p>
<p>
Entering his own domain, still overwhelmed, with the shock of the
revelations and the gossip of which he never had dreamed, he felt himself
wounded to the quick in all those sentiments upon which his ‘amour propre’
had been most sensitive.
</p>
<p>
The more he pondered proudly over his pecuniary misfortunes, the more
grave the situation appeared to him, and the more imperious the necessity
of a rupture.
</p>
<p>
When it had been a question of dismissing Fanny Dorville, an actress of
humble standing, his parting gift, a diamond worth twenty-five thousand
francs, had seemed to him a sufficient indemnity to cancel all accounts.
</p>
<p>
But now, in the presence of an artiste of merit, who had given herself
without calculation and who loved him for himself alone, how, without
wounding her heart and her dignity, could he break violently a chain so
light yesterday, so heavy to-day?
</p>
<p>
To indulge in tergiversation, to invent some subterfuge to cover his
retreat—he did not feel himself capable of such a course; moreover,
his manoeuvre would be quickly suspected by a clever woman whom nothing
escaped.
</p>
<p>
To ask to be sent back to Africa, just at the time when his intelligent
and practical instruction in the latest grand manoeuvres had drawn all
eyes upon him, would compromise, by an untimely retirement, the advantages
of this new office, the object of his ambition.
</p>
<p>
For the first time this nobleman, always prompt and radical in his
decisions, found himself hesitating; and, such is the power of human
egotism even in generous natures, he felt almost incensed against Eugenie,
the involuntary cause of his hesitation.
</p>
<p>
After weighing everything carefully in his mind, he finally said to
himself that an open confession, sincere and unrestricted, would be the
best solution of the difficulty; and just as the first light of day came
to dissipate the shadow that overcast his mind, when his orderly entered
to open the blinds in his chamber, he formed a fixed resolution as to his
course.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XVII. THE LADY BOUNTIFUL
</h2>
<h3>
Valentine de Vermont was not yet twenty-two years old.
</h3>
<p>
Her birth had cost the life of her mother, and, brought up by an active
and enterprising man, her education had been directed by plain
common-sense, rather masculine, perhaps, but without injury to her
personal attractions, nor to those of her delicate and lofty spirit.
</p>
<p>
Her father, who was endowed with a veritable genius for commercial action,
had monopolized more than the fur-trade of Alaska and of Hudson’s Bay.
From year to year he had extended the field of his operations: in Central
America, dealing in grains and salt meats; in Europe in wines and brandy;
commodities always bought at the right time, in enormous quantities, and,
without pausing in transshipment from one country to another, carried in
vessels belonging to him and sailing under the English flag.
</p>
<p>
Without giving her any unnecessary instruction as to the management of his
affairs, he wished his daughter to possess sufficient knowledge of them to
handle herself the wealth that she would receive as a dowry and at his
death; and he decided that she should not contract a marriage except under
the law of the separation of goods, according to the custom generally
adopted in the United States.
</p>
<p>
An attack of paralysis having condemned him to his armchair, he
consecrated the remainder of his days to settling all his enterprises, and
when he died, about two years before the arrival of Valentine in Paris,
that young lady found herself in the possession of more than one hundred
and twenty million francs, nearly all invested in English, American, and
French State bonds.
</p>
<p>
At the expiration of her period of mourning, the wealthy heiress could
then live in London, New York, or Paris, at her pleasure; but the French
blood that ran in her veins prevented her from hesitating a moment, and
she chose the last named of the three cities for her abode.
</p>
<p>
Being passionately fond of saddle and driving-horses, she did not stop in
England without taking the necessary time to acquire everything of the
best for the fitting-up of a stable, and after a time she established
herself temporarily in a sumptuous apartment in the Place de l’Etoile,
furnished with a taste worthy of the most thorough Parisian.
</p>
<p>
On the evening after her appearance at the Opera, just as she left her
breakfast-table, M. Durand presented himself at her dwelling with the
architect’s plan for the building of the orphan asylum, and declared
himself ready to take her orders regarding the plan, as well as on the
subject of the gift of money to the Society.
</p>
<p>
“I have resolved,” said Zibeline, “to transform into an asylum, following
a certain plan, the model farm belonging to the estate that I have
recently purchased through you. If I required carte blanche in choosing
the site, it was because I desire that Monsieur Desvanneaux shall have
nothing to do with the matter until the day when I shall put the committee
in possession of the building and its premises, which I have engaged to
furnish, free of all expense to the Society. I shall employ my own
architect to execute the work, and I shall ask you to indemnify, for me,
the architect who has drawn up this first plan, which will remain as the
minimum expense incurred on my part. But I wish to be the only person to
superintend the arrangements, and to be free to introduce, without
control, such improvements as I may judge suitable. Should the committee
demand a guaranty, I have on deposit with Monsieur de Samoreau a million
francs which I intend to use in carrying out these operations. Half of
that sum may be consigned to the hands of some one they may wish to
choose; the other half will serve to pay the laborers in proportion to
their work. In order to insure even greater regularity, have the kindness
to draw up, to cover the interval that will elapse before I make my final
definite donation, a provisionary document, setting forth the engagement
that I have undertaken to carry out.”
</p>
<p>
“Here it is,” said the notary; “I have already prepared it.”
</p>
<p>
Having examined the document carefully, to assure herself that all
statements contained therein were according to her intentions, Zibeline
took her pen and wrote at the foot of the page: “Read and approved,” and
signed the paper.
</p>
<p>
“Mademoiselle appears to be well accustomed to business habits,” observed
M. Durand, with a smile.
</p>
<p>
“That is because I have been trained to them since childhood,” she
replied. “My plan is to place this document myself in the hands of Madame
la Duchesse de Montgeron.”
</p>
<p>
“You can do so this very afternoon, if you wish. Thursday is her reception
day,” said the notary, rising with a bow, preparatory to taking his leave.
</p>
<p>
“I shall take good care not to fail to call,” earnestly replied the fair
Lady Bountiful.
</p>
<p>
She telephoned immediately to her head-groom, ordering ham to bring around
her brougham at three o’clock.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XVIII. A MODERN TARTUFE
</h2>
<p>
At the same hour that the elegant carriage of Zibeline was conducting her
to the Hotel de Montgeron, M. Desvanneaux descended from a modest fiacre
at the gate of the hotel occupied by Eugenie Gontier.
</p>
<p>
The first impulse of the actress—who was engaged in studying a new
role in her library—was not to receive her importunate visitor; but
a sudden idea changed her determination, and she gave the order to admit
him.
</p>
<p>
“This is the first time that I have had the high favor of being admitted
to this sanctuary,” said the churchwarden, kissing with ardor the hand
that the actress extended to him.
</p>
<p>
“Don’t let us have so great a display of pious manifestations,” she said,
withdrawing her hand from this act of humility, which was rather too
prolonged. “Sit down and be sensible,” she added.
</p>
<p>
“Can one be sensible when he finds himself at your feet, dear
Mademoiselle? At the feet of the idol who is so appropriately enthroned
among so many artistic objects!” replied the honey-tongued Prudhomme,
adjusting his eyeglasses. “The bust of General de Prerolles, no doubt?” he
added, inquiringly, scrutinizing a marble statuette placed on the high
mantelpiece.
</p>
<p>
“You are wrong, Monsieur Desvanneaux; it is that of Moliere!”
</p>
<p>
“I beg your pardon!—I am standing so far below it! I, too, have on
my bureau a bust of our great Poquelin, but Madame Desvanneaux thinks that
this author’s style is somewhat too pornographic, and has ordered me to
replace his profane image by the more edifying one of our charitable
patron, Saint Vincent de Paul.”
</p>
<p>
“Is it to tell me of your family jars that you honor me with this visit?”
said Eugenie.
</p>
<p>
“No, indeed! It was rather to escape from them, dear Mademoiselle! But
alas! my visit has also another object: to release you from the promise
you were so kind as to make me regarding the matter of our kermess; a
project now unfortunately rendered futile by that Zibeline!”
</p>
<p>
“Otherwise called ‘Mademoiselle de Vermont.’”
</p>
<p>
“I prefer to call her Zibeline—that name is better suited to a
courtesan.”
</p>
<p>
“You are very severe toward her!”
</p>
<p>
“I can not endure hypocrites!” naively replied the worthy man.
</p>
<p>
“She appeared to me to be very beautiful, however,” continued Eugenie
Gontier, in order to keep up the conversation on the woman who she felt
instinctively was her rival.
</p>
<p>
“Beautiful! Not so beautiful as you,” rejoined M. Desvanneaux, gallantly.
“She is a very ambitious person, who throws her money at our heads, the
better to humiliate us.”
</p>
<p>
“But, since it is all in the interest of the Orphan Asylum—”
</p>
<p>
“Say, rather, in her own interest, to put herself on a pedestal because of
her generosity! Oh, she has succeeded at the first stroke! Already, at the
Hotel de Montgeron they swear by her; and if this sort of thing goes on, I
shall very soon be regarded only as a pariah!”
</p>
<p>
“Poor Monsieur Desvanneaux!”
</p>
<p>
“You pity me, dear Mademoiselle? I thank you! The role of consoler is
truly worthy of your large heart, and if you do not forbid me to hope—”
said this modern Tartufe, approaching Eugenie little by little.
</p>
<p>
“Take care!” said she; “suppose the General should be hidden under that
table, like Orgon!”
</p>
<p>
“The General!” exclaimed Desvanneaux; “he is too much occupied elsewhere!”
</p>
<p>
“Occupied with whom?”
</p>
<p>
“With Zibeline, probably. He never left her side all the evening, last
night at the Opera.”
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me! He was here until after ten o’clock.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but afterward—when the opera was over?”
</p>
<p>
“Well, what happened when the opera was over?” Eugenie inquired, forcing
herself to hide her emotion.
</p>
<p>
“They went away together! I saw them—I was watching them from behind
a column. What a scandal!”
</p>
<p>
“And your conclusion on all this, Monsieur Desvanneaux?”
</p>
<p>
“It is that the General is deceiving you, dear Mademoiselle.”
</p>
<p>
“With that young girl?”
</p>
<p>
“A bold hussy, I tell you! A Messalina! Ah, I pity you sincerely in my
turn! And should a devoted consoler, a discreet avenger, be able to make
you forget this outrage to your charms, behold me at your feet, devoting
to you my prayers, awaiting only a word from you to become the most
fortunate among the elect—”
</p>
<p>
A loud knock at the outer door spared Mademoiselle Gontier the trouble of
repelling her ridiculous adorer, who promptly scrambled to his feet at the
sound.
</p>
<p>
“A visitor!” he murmured, turning pale. “Decidedly, I have no luck—”
</p>
<p>
“Monsieur le Marquis de Prerolles is in the drawing-room,” a domestic
announced.
</p>
<p>
“Beg him to wait,” said Eugenie, reassured by this visit, which was
earlier than the usual hour. “You see that you are badly informed,
Monsieur Desvanneaux,” she added.
</p>
<p>
“For heaven’s sake, spare me this embarrassing meeting!” said the
informer, whose complexion had become livid.
</p>
<p>
“I understand. You fear a challenge?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, no, not that! My religious principles would forbid me to fight a
duel. But the General would not fail to rally me before my wife regarding
my presence here, and Madame Desvanneaux would be pitiless.”
</p>
<p>
“Own, however, that you richly deserve a lesson, Lovelace that you are!
But I will take pity on you,” said Eugenie, opening a door at the end of
the room. “The servants’ stairway is at the end of that corridor. You know
the way!” she added, laughing.
</p>
<p>
“I am beginning to know it, dear Mademoiselle!” said the pitiful beguiler,
slipping through the doorway on tiptoe.
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XIX. BROKEN TIES
</h2>
<p>
After picking up a chair which, in his alarm, the fugitive had overturned
in his flight, Mademoiselle Gontier herself opened the door leading to the
drawing-room.
</p>
<p>
“Come in, Henri!” said she, lifting the portiere.
</p>
<p>
“Do I disturb you?” the General inquired, entering the library.
</p>
<p>
“Never! You know that well! But how gravely you asked the question!”
</p>
<p>
“For the reason that I wish to speak to you about serious matters, my dear
Eugenie.”
</p>
<p>
The image of Zibeline passed before the eyes of the actress. That which
Desvanneaux had revealed, in accusing the girl of debauchery, now appeared
plausible to her, if considered in another way.
</p>
<p>
“You are about to marry!” she exclaimed.
</p>
<p>
They were the same words pronounced by Fanny Dorville in similar
circumstances.
</p>
<p>
“Never! You know that well enough!” he replied, in his turn.
</p>
<p>
“Speak, then!” said she, sinking upon a chair and motioning him to a seat
before her.
</p>
<p>
He obeyed, and sitting so far forward upon his chair that his knees
touched her skirt, he took both her hands in his own, and said gently:
</p>
<p>
“You know how much I love you, and how much I esteem you. You know, too,
the story of my life: my past follies, and also the honorable career I
have run in order to atone for them morally, for in a material sense they
are irreparable—according to my ideas, at least. This career has
been fortunate. I have reached the highest rank that a soldier can attain
to-day. But my rapid promotion, however justifiable it may be, has none
the less awakened jealousy. The nature of my services being above all
possibility of suspicion, calumny has sought another quarter at which to
strike, and at this moment it is my delicacy which is impugned.”
</p>
<p>
“Your delicacy, Henri! What do you mean?” asked Eugenie, in an altered
voice.
</p>
<p>
“Our friendship is well known. You are rich, and I have only my pay: the
antithesis is flagrant! The gossips comment upon it, and exploit the fact
against me.”
</p>
<p>
“Against you!” cried Eugenie, indignantly.
</p>
<p>
“Against me—yes. I have proof of it. A man in private life would be
justified in ignoring such gossip, but for a man in my profession
ambiguity has no place, nor has compromise. Himself a severe judge of the
conduct of others, he must not afford them a single instance whereby they
can accuse him of not following his own precepts.”
</p>
<p>
And, as his companion remained silent and startled before an explanation
so unexpected, he added:
</p>
<p>
“You say nothing, my love. You must divine the depth of my chagrin at the
prospect of a necessary separation, and you are sufficiently charitable
not to remind me that I ought to have made these tardy reflections before
I yielded to a fascination which made me close my eyes to facts.”
</p>
<p>
“I reproach you with nothing, Henri,” said Eugenie in a trembling voice.
“I myself yielded to the same enchantment, and in abandoning myself to it,
I did not foresee that some day it might be prejudicial to your honor. A
singular moral law is that of the world!” she pursued, growing more
excited. “Let General de Prerolles be the lover of Madame de Lisieux or of
Madame de Nointel; let him sit every day at their tables—if there be
only a husband whose hand he may clasp in greeting, no one will call this
hospitable liaison a crime! But let him feel anything more than a passing
fancy for Eugenie Gontier, who violates no conjugal vow in loving him, but
whose love he is not rich enough to buy—even were that love for sale—oh,
then, everyone must point at him the finger of scorn! As for myself, it
seems that it was useless for me to resist so many would-be lovers in
order to open my door more freely to the man of my choice—an action
which no one holds against me, however, because I am only an actress, and
the public classes us in a separate category, so that they may more
readily offer up to us the incense with which they smother us! Be it so!
There are also in my profession disinterested hearts which may serve as
examples—and I pretend to the very highest rank as an actress in
every role I assume, even in this city. Take back your liberty, Henri!”
</p>
<p>
“I have most unwillingly offended you,” said he, sadly.
</p>
<p>
“You? Ah, no! I know that you are loyal and sincere, and I could not
harbor resentment against you after your avowal. You would have lacked
self-confidence had you acted otherwise. But,” she continued, “have you
indeed told me all?”
</p>
<p>
“All!” he replied, without hesitation.
</p>
<p>
“Will you give me your word of honor that no other woman stands between
you and me?”
</p>
<p>
“I swear it to you!”
</p>
<p>
“I thank you! You are incapable of lying. Whatever happens, you never will
have a better friend than I, for your just pride is still more dear to me
than my own. If you cease to come to the theatre, and appear no more at my
receptions, that will be sufficient to insure the silence of gossip
concerning us. Go without remorse, Henri! But come back to see me
sometimes—quietly, without the knowledge of the envious—will
you not?”
</p>
<p>
“Do you doubt it?” he responded, folding her tenderly in his arms.
</p>
<p>
“Yes and no! But if this is our supreme farewell, do not tell me so!”
</p>
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<h2>
BOOK 3.
</h2>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XX. ZIBELINE RECEIVES
</h2>
<p>
The Duchesse de Montgeron had no children, and her most tender affections
were concentrated upon her husband and her brother. The scruples which
caused the latter to forswear matrimony grieved her deeply, for, knowing
the inflexibility of his character, she was sure that no one in the world
could make him alter his decision.
</p>
<p>
Thus, on one side the title of the Duc de Montgeron was destined to pass
to a collateral branch of the family; and on the other, the title of
Marquis de Prerolles would become extinct with the General.
</p>
<p>
But, although she now considered it impossible to realize the project
which she had momentarily cherished, she continued to show the same
kindness to Mademoiselle de Vermont. She would have regarded any other
course as unworthy of her, since she had made the first advances;
moreover, the young girl’s nature was so engaging that no one who
approached her could resist her charm.
</p>
<p>
Very reserved or absolutely frank, according to the degree of confidence
with which she was treated, Valentine had sufficient intuition to avoid a
lack of tact.
</p>
<p>
She was, in feminine guise, like ‘L’Ingenu’ of Voltaire, struck, as was
Huron, with all that was illogical in our social code; but she did not
make, after his fashion, a too literal application of its rules, and knew
where to draw the line, if she found herself on the point of making some
hazardous remark, declaring frankly: “I was about to say something
foolish!” which lent originality to her playful conversation.
</p>
<p>
After receiving from Valentine’s hands the contract signed in presence of
the notary, for the benefit of the Orphan Asylum, the president of the
society did not fail to give a dinner in honor of the new patroness.
</p>
<p>
As she was a foreigner she was placed in the seat of honor at the table,
to the great displeasure of Madame Desvanneaux, who was invited to take
the second place, in spite of her title of vice-president.
</p>
<p>
“It is because of her millions that she was placed before me,” she said in
an undertone to her husband, as soon as the guests had returned to the
drawing-room. And, giving orders that her carriage should be summoned
immediately, she left the house without speaking to any one, and with the
air of a peeress of England outraged in her rights of precedence!
</p>
<p>
This was, for the hostile pair, a new cause of grievance against Zibeline.
When she, in her turn, gave at her home a similar dinner, a fortnight
later, she received from them, in reply to her invitation, which was
couched in the most courteous terms, a simple visiting card, with the
following refusal: “The Comte and the Comtesse Desvanneaux, not being in
the habit of accepting invitations during Lent, feel constrained to
decline that of Mademoiselle de Vermont.”
</p>
<p>
The dinner was only the more gay and cordial.
</p>
<p>
Valentine’s household was conducted on a footing more elegant than
sumptuous.
</p>
<p>
The livery was simple, but the appearance of her people was
irreproachable. The butler and the house servants wore the ordinary
dress-coat and trousers; the powdered footmen wore short brown coats,
ornamented, after the English fashion, with metal buttons and a false
waistcoat; the breeches were of black velveteen, held above the knee by a
band of gold braid, with embroidered ends, which fell over black silk
stockings. At the end of the ante-chamber where this numerous personnel
was grouped, opened a long gallery, ornamented with old tapestries
representing mythological subjects in lively and well-preserved coloring.
This room, which was intended to serve as a ballroom at need, was next to
two large drawing-rooms. The walls of one were covered with a rich
material, on which hung costly paintings; the furniture and the ceiling of
the other were of oak, finely carved, relieved with touches of gold in
light and artistic design.
</p>
<p>
Everywhere was revealed an evident desire to avoid an effect of heaviness
and ostentation, and this was especially noticeable in the dining-room,
where the pure tone of the panels and the moulding doubled the intensity
of the light thrown upon them. Upon the table the illumination of the
apartment was aided by two large candelabra of beautifully chiselled
silver, filled with candles, the light of which filtered through a forest
of diaphanous little white shades.
</p>
<p>
The square table was a veritable parterre of flowers, and was laid for
twelve guests, three on each side.
</p>
<p>
The young mistress of the house was seated on one side, between the Duc de
Montgeron and the Marquis de Prerolles. Facing her sat the Duchesse de
Montgeron, between General Lenaieff and the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy.—Laterally,
on one hand appeared Madame de Lisieux, between M. de Nointel and the
painter Edmond Delorme; on the other, Madame de Nointel, between M. de
Lisieux and the Baron de Samoreau.
</p>
<p>
Never, during the six weeks that Valentine had had friendly relations with
the Duchess, had she appeared so self-possessed, or among surroundings so
well fitted to display her attractions of mind and of person. She was a
little on the defensive on finding herself in this new and unexpected
society, but she felt, this evening, that she was in the midst of a
sympathetic and admiring circle, and did the honors of her own house with
perfect ease, finding agreeable words and showing a delicate forethought
for each guest, and above all displaying toward her protectress a charming
deference, by which the Duchess felt herself particularly touched.
</p>
<p>
“What a pity!” she said to herself, glancing alternately at Zibeline and
at her brother, between whom a tone of frank comradeship had been
established, free from any coquetry on her side or from gallantry on his.
</p>
<p>
The more clearly Henri divined the thoughts of his sister, the more he
affected to remain insensible to the natural seductions of his neighbor,
to whom Lenaieff, on the contrary, addressed continually, in his soft and
caressing voice, compliments upon compliments and madrigals upon
madrigals!
</p>
<p>
“Take care, my dear Constantin!” said Henri to him, bluntly. “You will
make Mademoiselle de Vermont quite impossible. If you go on thus, she will
take herself seriously as a divinity!”
</p>
<p>
“Fortunately,” rejoined Zibeline, “you are there, General, to remind me
that I am only a mortal, as Philippe’s freedman reminded his master every
morning.”
</p>
<p>
“You can not complain! I serve you as a confederate, to allow you to
display your erudition,” retorted the General, continuing his persiflage.
</p>
<p>
But he, too, was only a man, wavering and changeable, to use Montaigne’s
expression, for his eyes, contradicting the brusqueness of his speech,
rested long, and not without envy, on this beautiful and tempting fruit
which his fate forbade him to gather. The more he admired her freshness,
and the more he inhaled her sweetness, the more the image of Eugenie
Gontier was gradually effaced from his memory, like one of those tableaux
on the stage, which gauze curtains, descending from the flies, seem to
absorb without removing, gradually obliterating the pictures as they fall,
one after another.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XXI. A DASHING AMAZON
</h2>
<p>
On leaving the table, the fair “Amphitryonne” proposed that the gentlemen
should use her private office as a smoking-room, and the ladies followed
them thither, pretending that the odor of tobacco would not annoy them in
the least, but in reality to inspect this new room.
</p>
<p>
Edmond Delorme had finished his work that very morning, and the enormous
canvas, with its life-size subject, had already been hung, lighted from
above and below by electric bulbs, the battery for which was cleverly
hidden behind a piece of furniture.
</p>
<p>
The portrait, bearing a striking resemblance to the original, was indeed
that of “the most dashing of all the Amazons on the Bois,” to quote the
words of the artist, who was a better painter of portraits than of
animals, but who, in this case, could not separate the rider from her
steed.
</p>
<p>
Seaman, a Hungarian bay, by Xenophon and Lena Rivers, was drawn in
profile, very erect on his slender, nervous legs. He appeared, on the side
nearest the observer, to be pawing the ground impatiently with his hoof, a
movement which seemed to be facilitated by his rider, who, drawn in a
three-quarters view and extending her hand, allowed the reins to fall over
the shoulders of her pure-blooded mount.
</p>
<p>
“What do you think of it?” Zibeline inquired of General de Prerolles.
</p>
<p>
“I think you have the air of the commander of a division of cavalry,
awaiting the moment to sound the charge.”
</p>
<p>
“I shall guard her well,” said Zibeline, “for she would be sure to be put
to rout by your bayonets.”
</p>
<p>
“Not by mine!” gallantly exclaimed Lenaieff. “I should immediately lower
my arms before her!”
</p>
<p>
“You!—perhaps! But between General de Prerolles and myself the
declaration of war is without quarter. Is it not, General?” said
Valentine, laughing.
</p>
<p>
“It is the only declaration that fate permits me to make to you,
Mademoiselle,” Henri replied, rather dryly, laying emphasis on the double
sense of his words.
</p>
<p>
This rejoinder, which nothing in the playful attack had justified,
irritated the Duchess, but Valentine appeared to pay no attention to it,
and at ten o’clock, when a gypsy band began to play in the long gallery,
she arose.
</p>
<p>
“Although we are a very small party,” she said, “would you not like to
indulge in a waltz, Mesdames? The gentlemen can not complain of being
crowded here,” she added, with a smile.
</p>
<p>
M. de Lisieux and M. de Nointel, as well as Edmond Delorme, hastened to
throw away their cigarettes, and all made their way to the long gallery.
The Baron de Samoreau and the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy remained alone
together.
</p>
<p>
The Duchess took the occasion to speak quietly to her brother.
</p>
<p>
“I assure you that you are too hard with her,” she said. “There is no need
to excuse yourself for not marrying. No one dreams of such a thing—she
no more than any one else. But she seems to have a sentiment of friendship
toward you, and I am sure that your harshness wounds her.”
</p>
<p>
A more experienced woman than Madame de Montgeron, who had known only a
peaceful and legitimate love, would have quickly divined that beneath her
brother’s brusque manner lurked a budding but hopeless passion, whence
sprang his intermittent revolt against the object that had inspired it.
</p>
<p>
This revolt was not only against Zibeline’s fortune; it included her
all-pervading charm, which penetrated his soul. He was vexed at his sister
for having brought them together; he was angry with himself that he had
allowed his mind to be turned so quickly from his former prejudices; and,
however indifferent he forced himself to appear, he was irritated against
Lenaieff because of the attentions which that gentleman showered upon
Zibeline, upon whom he revenged himself by assuming the aggressive
attitude for which the Duchess had reproached him.
</p>
<p>
In a still worse humor after the sisterly remonstrance to which he had
just been compelled to listen, he seated himself near the entrance of the
gallery, where the gypsy band was playing one of their alluring waltzes,
of a cadence so different from the regular and monotonous measure of
French dance music.
</p>
<p>
The three couples who were to compose this impromptu ball, yielded quickly
to the spell of this irresistible accompaniment.
</p>
<p>
“Suppose Monsieur Desvanneaux should hear that we danced on the eve of
Palm Sunday?” laughingly pro-tested Madame de Lisieux.
</p>
<p>
“He would report it at Rome,” said Madame de Nointel.
</p>
<p>
And, without further regard to the compromising of their souls, each of
the two young women took for a partner the husband of the other.
</p>
<p>
Mademoiselle de Vermont had granted the eager request of Lenaieff that she
would waltz with him, an occupation in which the Russian officer acquitted
himself with the same respectful correctness that had formerly obtained
for him the high favor of some grand duchess at the balls in the palace of
Gatchina.
</p>
<p>
He was older and stouter than his brother-in-arms, Henri de Prerolles, and
a wound he had received at Plevna slightly impeded his movements, so that
he was unable to display the same activity in the dance as the other
waltzers, and contented himself with moving a ‘trois temps’, in an
evolution less in harmony with the brilliancy of the music.
</p>
<p>
Henri, on the contrary, who had been a familiar friend of the Austrian
ambassador at the time when the Princess de Metternich maintained a sort
of open ballroom for her intimates, had learned, in a good school, all the
boldness and elegance of the Viennese style of dancing.
</p>
<p>
But he sat immovable, as did also Edmond Delorme, because of the lack of
partners; and, not wishing to take the second place after Lenaieff, his
rival, he would not for the world abandon his role of spectator, unless
some one forced him to it.
</p>
<p>
“Suppose we have a cotillon figure, in order to change partners?” said
Valentine suddenly, during a pause, after she had thanked her partner.
</p>
<p>
And, to set the example, she took, from a basket of flowers, a rosebud,
which she offered to Henri.
</p>
<p>
“Will you take a turn with me?” she said, with the air of the mistress of
the house, who shows equal courtesy to all her guests.
</p>
<p>
“A deux temps?” he asked, fastening the rosebud in his buttonhole.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, I prefer that,” she replied.
</p>
<p>
He passed his arm around her waist, and they swept out upon the polished
floor, he erect and gallant, she light and supple as a gazelle, her chin
almost resting upon her left hand, which lay upon her partner’s shoulder,
her other hand clasped in his.
</p>
<p>
At times her long train swirled in a misty spiral around her, when they
whirled about in some corner; then it spread out behind her like a great
fan when they swept in a wide curve from one end of the gallery to the
other.
</p>
<p>
During the feverish flight which drew these two together, their breasts
touched, the bosom of the enchantress leaned against the broad chest of
the vigorous soldier, her soft hair caressed his cheek, he inhaled a
subtle Perfume, and a sudden intoxication overflowed his heart, which he
had tried to make as stern and immobile as his face.
</p>
<p>
“How well you waltz!” murmured Zibeline, in his ear.
</p>
<p>
“I am taking my revenge for my defeat on the ice,” he replied, clasping
her a little closer, in order to facilitate their movements.
</p>
<p>
“The prisoners you take must find it very difficult to escape from your
hands,” she said, with a touch of malice.
</p>
<p>
“Does that mean that already you wish to reclaim your liberty?”
</p>
<p>
“Not yet—unless you are fatigued.”
</p>
<p>
“Fatigued! I should like to go thus to the end of the world!”
</p>
<p>
“And I, too,” said Zibeline, simply.
</p>
<p>
By common consent the other waltzers had stopped, as much for the purpose
of observing these two as for giving them more space, while the wearied
musicians scraped away as if it were a contest who should move the faster,
themselves or the audacious couple.
</p>
<p>
“What a pity!” again said the Duchess to her husband, whose sole response
was a shrug of his shoulders as he glanced at his brother-in-law.
</p>
<p>
At the end of his strength, and with a streaming brow, the gypsy leader
lowered his bow, and the music ceased.
</p>
<p>
Henri de Prerolles, resuming his sang-froid, drew the hand of Mademoiselle
de Vermont through his arm, and escorted her to her place among the other
ladies.
</p>
<p>
“Bravo, General!” said Madame de Lisieux. “You have won your decoration, I
see,” she added, indicating the rosebud which adorned his buttonhole.
</p>
<p>
“What shall we call this new order, ladies?” asked Madame de Nointel of
the circle.
</p>
<p>
“The order of the Zibeline,” Valentine replied, with a frank burst of
laughter.
</p>
<p>
“What?—do you know—” stammered the author of the nickname,
blushing up to her ears.
</p>
<p>
“Do not disturb yourself, Madame! The zibeline is a little animal which is
becoming more and more rare. They never have been found at all in my
country, which I regret,” said Mademoiselle de Vermont graciously.
</p>
<p>
The hour was late, and the Duchess arose to depart. The Chevalier de
Sainte-Foy, exercising his function as a sort of chamberlain, went to
summon the domestics. Meanwhile Valentine spoke confidentially to Henri.
</p>
<p>
“General,” said she, “I wish to ask a favor of you.”
</p>
<p>
“I am at your orders, Mademoiselle.”
</p>
<p>
“I am delighted with the success of this little dinner,” Valentine
continued, “and I wish to give another after Easter. My great desire is to
have Mademoiselle Gontier—with whom I should like to become better
acquainted—recite poetry to us after dinner. Would you have the
kindness to tell her of my desire?”
</p>
<p>
“I!” exclaimed the General, amazed at such a request.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, certainly. If you ask her, she will come all the more willingly.”
</p>
<p>
“You forget that I am not in the diplomatic service, Mademoiselle.”
</p>
<p>
“My request annoys you? Well, we will say no more about it,” said
Zibeline. “I will charge Monsieur de Samoreau with the negotiations.”
</p>
<p>
They rejoined the Duchess, Zibeline accompanying her to the vestibule,
always evincing toward her the same pretty air of deference.
</p>
<p>
The drive home was silent. The Duke and the Duchess had agreed not to
pronounce the name of Mademoiselle de Vermont before Henri, who racked his
brain without being able to guess what strange motive prompted the young
girl to wish to enter into closer relations with the actress.
</p>
<p>
A letter from Eugenie was awaiting him. He read:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“Two weeks have elapsed since you have been to see me. I do not ask
whether you love me still, but I do ask you, in case you love
another, to tell me so frankly.
“ARIADNE.”
</pre>
<p>
“So I am summoned to the confessional, and am expected to accuse myself of
that which I dare not avow even to my own heart! Never!” said Henri,
crushing the note in his hand. “Besides, unless I deceive myself, Ariadne
has not been slow in seeking a consoling divinity! Samoreau is at hand, it
appears. He played the part of Plutus before; now he will assume that of
Bacchus,” thought the recreant lover, in order to smother his feeling of
remorse.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XXII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
</h2>
<p>
The life of General de Prerolles was uniformly regulated. He arose at
dawn, and worked until the arrival of his courier; then he mounted his
horse, attired in morning military costume.
</p>
<p>
After his ride, he visited the quartermaster-general of his division,
received the report of his chief of staff, and gave necessary orders. It
was at this place, and never at the General’s own dwelling, that the
captains or subaltern officers presented themselves when they had occasion
to speak to him.
</p>
<p>
At midday he returned to breakfast at the Hotel de Montgeron where,
morning and evening, his plate was laid; and soon after this meal he
retired to his own quarters to work with his orderly, whose duty it was to
report to him regarding the numerous guns and pieces of heavy ordnance
which make the object of much going and coming in military life.
</p>
<p>
After signing the usual number of documents, the General would mount
another of his horses, and at this hour would appear in civilian attire
for an afternoon canter. After this second ride he would pass an hour at
his club, but without ever touching a card, no matter what game was in
progress.
</p>
<p>
He dined at different places, but oftenest with his sister, where by this
time a studied silence was preserved on the subject of Zibeline. This,
however, did not prevent him from thinking of her more and more.
</p>
<p>
Mademoiselle de Vermont had not been seen again in the Bois de Boulogne
since the night of her dinner, although Henri had sought in vain to meet
her in the mornings in the bridle-path, and afternoons in the Avenue des
Acacias.
</p>
<p>
He decided that probably she did not wish to ride during Holy Week; but
when several days had passed after Easter, and still she was not seen
amusing herself in her usual fashion, he said to himself that perhaps it
would be the proper thing to make what is called “a dinner-call.”
</p>
<p>
There are some women whose fascination is so overwhelming as to cause the
sanest of lovers to commit themselves, whence comes the slightly vulgar
expression, “He has lost his bearings.” Henri began to feel that he was in
this state when he presented himself at Zibeline’s home. A domestic
informed him that Mademoiselle had been absent a week, but was expected
home that evening. He left his card, regretting that he had not waited
twenty-four hours more.
</p>
<p>
It was now the middle of April, the time when the military governor of
Paris is accustomed to pass in review the troops stationed on the
territory under his command, and this review was to take place the next
morning.
</p>
<p>
The order for the mobilizing of his own division having been received and
transmitted, Henri’s evening was his own, and he resolved to pass it with
Lenaieff, feeling certain that his colleague at least would speak to him
of Zibeline.
</p>
<p>
The aide-de-camp general lived at the Hotel Continental, much frequented
by Russians of distinction. Henri found his friend just dressing for
dinner, and well disposed to accept his proposition.
</p>
<p>
As they descended the stairs, they passed an imposing elderly man, with
white moustache and imperial, still very erect in his long redingote with
military buttons—a perfect type of the German officer who gets
himself up to look like the late Emperor William I. This officer and the
French general stopped on the stairs, each eyeing the other without
deciding whether he ought to salute or not, as often happens with people
who think they recognize some one, but without being able to recall where
or in what circumstances they have met before.
</p>
<p>
It was Henri whose memory was first revived.
</p>
<p>
“Captain, you are my prisoner!” he said, gayly, seizing the stranger by
the collar.
</p>
<p>
“What! The Commandant de Prerolles!” cried the elderly man, in a
reproachful tone, from which fifteen years had not removed the bitterness.
</p>
<p>
“I know who he is!” said Lenaieff. “Monsieur is your former jailer of the
frontier fortress!”
</p>
<p>
The officer of the landwehr attempted to withdraw from the hand that held
him.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I don’t intend to let you escape! You are coming to dine with us, and
we will sign a treaty of peace over the dessert,” said Henri, clasping the
officer’s hand affectionately.
</p>
<p>
His tone was so cordial that the stranger allowed himself to be persuaded.
A quarter of an hour later all three were seated at a table in the Cafe
Anglais.
</p>
<p>
“I present to you General Lenaieff,” said Henri to his guest. “You should
be more incensed against him than against me, for, if he had done his
duty, you would probably have had me imprisoned again.”
</p>
<p>
“Not imprisoned—shot!” the Captain replied, with conviction.
</p>
<p>
“In that case I regret my complicity still less,” said Lenaieff, “for
otherwise I should have lost an excellent friend, and, had Prerolles been
shot, he never could have made me acquainted with the delicious
Mademoiselle de Vermont!”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! So that is what you are thinking of?” Henri said to himself.
</p>
<p>
“I do not know the young lady of whom you speak,” the German interrupted;
“but I know that, for having allowed the Commandant to escape, I was
condemned to take his place in the prison, and was shut up there for six
months, in solitary confinement, without even seeing my wife!”
</p>
<p>
“Poor Captain! How is the lady?” Henry inquired.
</p>
<p>
“Very well, I thank you.”
</p>
<p>
“Will you permit us to drink her health?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly, Monsieur.”
</p>
<p>
“Hock! hoch!” said Henri, lifting his glass.
</p>
<p>
“Hock! hoch!” responded the ex-jailer, drinking with his former prisoner.
</p>
<p>
This delicate toast began to appease the bitterness of the good man; while
the memories of his escape, offering a diversion to Henri’s mind, put him
in sympathetic humor with the stranger.
</p>
<p>
“‘Ah! There are mountains that we never climb but once,’” he said. “We
three, meeting in Paris, can prove the truth of that proverb.”
</p>
<p>
“Not only in Paris,” said Lenaieff. “If you were in Saint Petersburg,
Henri, you might, any evening, see your old flame, Fanny Dorville.”
</p>
<p>
“Does she keep a table d’hote?”
</p>
<p>
“No, indeed, my boy. She plays duenna at the Theatre Michel, as that fat
Heloise used to do at the Palais-Royal. She must have died long ago, that
funny old girl!”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all. She is still living, and is a pensioner of the Association of
Dramatic Artists! But, pardon me, our conversation can hardly be amusing
to our guest.”
</p>
<p>
“No one can keep a Frenchman and a Russian from talking about women! The
habit is stronger than themselves!” said the old officer, with a hearty
laugh.
</p>
<p>
“Well, and you, Captain,” said Lenaieff: “Have you not also trodden the
primrose path in your time?”
</p>
<p>
“Gentlemen, I never have loved any other woman than my own wife,” replied
the honest German, laying his large hand upon his heart, as if he were
taking an oath. “That astonishes you Parisians, eh?” he added
benevolently.
</p>
<p>
“Quite the contrary! It assures us peace of mind!” said Lenaieff. “To your
health, Captain!”
</p>
<p>
“And yours, Messieurs!”
</p>
<p>
And their glasses clinked a second time.
</p>
<p>
“Apropos,” said Lenaieff to Henri, “the military governor has asked me to
accompany him to-morrow to the review at Vincennes. I shall then have the
pleasure of seeing you at the head of your division.”
</p>
<p>
“Teufel!” exclaimed the German officer; “it appears that the Commandant de
Prerolles has lost no time since we took leave of each other.”
</p>
<p>
“Thanks to you, Monsieur! Had you not allowed me to withdraw from your
society, I should certainly not have reached my present rank! To your
health, Captain!”
</p>
<p>
“To yours, General!”
</p>
<p>
Succeeding bumpers finally dissipated entirely the resentment of the
former jailer, and when they parted probably never to meet again—he
and his prisoner had become the best friends in the world.
</p>
<p>
“Meine besten complimente der Frau Hauptmannin!” said Henri to him, in
leaving him on the boulevard.
</p>
<p>
“Lieber Gott! I shall take good care not to own to her that I dined with
you.”
</p>
<p>
“And why, pray?”
</p>
<p>
“Because there is one thing for which she never will forgive you.”
</p>
<p>
“What is that?”
</p>
<p>
“The fact that you were the cause of her living alone for six months!”
</p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XXIII. THE MILITARY REVIEW
</h2>
<p>
The different troops, assembled for review, were massed on the
parade-ground at Vincennes, facing the tribunes.
</p>
<p>
In the centre, the artillery brigade, surrounded by two divisions of
infantry, was drawn up in two straight columns, connected by regiments;
each division of infantry, in double columns, was connected by brigades.
</p>
<p>
These six columns were separated by spaces varying from twenty to
twenty-five metres.
</p>
<p>
In the background, the cavalry division was lined up in columns; behind
that was its artillery, in the same order of formation.
</p>
<p>
At a given signal, the troops advanced five hundred metres, and, as soon
as they halted, drums, clarinets and trumpets beat and sounded from all
parts of the field, saluting the arrival of the military governor of
Paris.
</p>
<p>
This functionary, followed by his staff, in the midst of which group
glittered the brilliant Russian uniform of the aide-decamp General
Leniaeff, rode slowly past the front and the flanks of the massed body,
the troops facing to the left or the right as he passed.
</p>
<p>
This inspection finished, he took up his stand before the pillars at the
entrance, and the march past began by battalions en masse, in the midst of
the acclamations of numerous spectators who had come to witness this
imposing display, well calculated to stir patriotic pride.
</p>
<p>
The enthusiasm increased; the Prerolles division marched past after its
artillery, and, as always, the martial and distinguished profile of its
general produced its usual effect on the public.
</p>
<p>
He rode Aida, his favorite mare, an Irish sorrel of powerful frame, with
solid limbs, whose horizontal crupper and long tail indicated her race;
she was one of those animals that are calm and lively at the same time,
capable of going anywhere and of passing through all sorts of trials.
</p>
<p>
After its parade, the infantry, whose part in the affair was finished,
retraced their steps and took up a position on the other side of the field
of manoeuvres, facing the north, and in front of rising ground, in
preparation for the discharge of musketry.
</p>
<p>
During this time the artillery brigade, re-formed in battle array on the
parade-ground, detached six batteries, which advanced at a trot to within
one hundred and fifty metres of the tribunes, where they discharged a
volley. The long pieces were run rapidly to right and left, unmasking the
cavalry, which, after a similar volley from its own batteries, appeared
behind them in battle order, and executed a galloping march, its third
line held in reserve.
</p>
<p>
A few moments later all the troops rejoined the infantry on the ground set
apart for rest and for the purpose of partaking of a cold repast,
consisting of potted meats, with which each man was furnished.
</p>
<p>
Nothing more picturesque could be imagined than this temporary camp, with
its stacked arms, knapsacks lying on the ground, holes dug in the ground
in which to kindle fires, and the clattering of cans. On the other side of
the field the artillerymen and cavalrymen ate, holding their reins under
their arms, while their officers stood around some temporary table, served
by canteen men of the united divisions. Tiny columns of blue smoke rose
where coffee was making, and everywhere were the swift movement and
sprightly good-fellowship in which the soldier feels himself in his
natural element.
</p>
<p>
The curious spectators crowded themselves in front of the banner, while in
the centre of the square the military governor of Paris, and the other
officers, talked with some privileged persons who had been able to present
themselves among them.
</p>
<p>
Descending from his mount a little apart from the group, and plunged in
thought, the former sub-lieutenant of ‘chasseurs a pied’ gazed at the old
fortress, the sight of which recalled so many sad memories.
</p>
<p>
Vincennes had been his first garrison, and its proximity to Paris had been
disastrous for him. There he had entered one morning, stripped of his
fortune!
</p>
<p>
And what a series of disasters had followed! But for his heavy losses upon
that fatal night, he would not have been compelled to sell Prerolles, the
income of which, during his long absence, would have sufficed to lessen
the tax on the land, transmissible, had events turned out otherwise, to
some heir to his name. If only fate had not made Paul Landry cross his
path!
</p>
<p>
“Good morning, General!” came the sound of a fresh, gay voice behind,
which sent a thrill through him.
</p>
<p>
He turned and saw Zibeline, who had just stopped a few steps distant from
him, sitting in her carriage, to which was harnessed a pretty pair of
cobs, prancing and champing their bits.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, it is you, Mademoiselle!” he said, carrying his hand to the visor of
his kepi, fastened under his chin.
</p>
<p>
“I found your card last night,” said Zibeline, “and I have come here this
morning to return your call!”
</p>
<p>
Then, leaning back in her driving-seat in order to reveal Edmond Delorme
installed beside her, she added:
</p>
<p>
“I have brought also my painter-in-ordinary. We have watched the review
together, and he is as enthusiastic as I over the picturesque effect of
this improvised bivouac. See! He is so much occupied with his sketch that
I can not get a word out of him.”
</p>
<p>
It was Aida, whose bridle was held by a dragoon, that served as a model
for the artist’s pencil.
</p>
<p>
“Will you permit me?” he said to Henri.
</p>
<p>
“It appears decidedly, that my mare has caught your eye,” replied the
General, approaching the carriage and resting his spurred foot on its
step.
</p>
<p>
“She has superb lines,” said the painter, without interrupting his
drawing.
</p>
<p>
“Well, I am curious to know whether she could beat Seaman,” said Zibeline.
“Are you willing to run a race with me, General?”
</p>
<p>
“As you please—some morning when you return to the Bois.”
</p>
<p>
“You noticed my absence, then?”
</p>
<p>
“I assure you that I did,” Henri replied, earnestly.
</p>
<p>
Then, fearing that he had said too much, he added:
</p>
<p>
“I, and many others!”
</p>
<p>
“Good! You were almost making a pretty speech to me, but, as usual, the
disavowal was not slow in coming. Fortunately, here comes your friend
Lenaieff, who is hastening to make amends to me.”
</p>
<p>
“What good fortune to meet you here, Mademoiselle!” cried Constantin, who,
having perceived Valentine from a distance, had taken an abrupt leave of
his general-in-chief.
</p>
<p>
“I know that you have called to see me several times,” said she, “but I
was in the country.”
</p>
<p>
“So early in the month of April?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh! not to live there. Monsieur de Perolles knows that I have promised to
build our Orphan Asylum at a certain distance from Paris, and hardly three
weeks remain to me before I must hand over the property. If I am not ready
on the day appointed, Monsieur Desvanneaux will be sure to seize my
furniture, and I could not invite you any more to dinner, Messieurs! A
propos, General, Monsieur de Samoreau has failed in his negotiations.
Mademoiselle Gontier refuses to come to recite at my next soiree!”
</p>
<p>
“What necessity is there for you to make her acquaintance?” demanded
Henri.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, that is my secret!”
</p>
<p>
During this conversation a hired fiacre, well appointed, had stopped
beside the road, and Eugenie Gontier descended from it, inquiring of an
officer belonging to the grounds where she could find General de
Prerolles. When the officer had pointed out the General to her, she
started to walk toward him; but, on seeing her former lover leaning
familiarly against the door of Zibeline’s carriage, she immediately
retraced her steps and quickly reentered her own.
</p>
<p>
“There is no longer any doubt about it!” said Mademoiselle de Vermont, who
had been observing Eugenie’s movements. “Mademoiselle Gontier has made a
fixed resolution to avoid meeting me.”
</p>
<p>
“That is because she is jealous of you!” said Lenaieff naively.
</p>
<p>
“Jealous? And why?” said Zibeline, blushing.
</p>
<p>
Visibly embarrassed, Henri drew out his watch in order to avert his
countenance.
</p>
<p>
“Midday!” he cried. “This is the hour for the return of the troops to
their barracks. You would do well not to delay in starting for home,
Mademoiselle. The roads will be very crowded, and your horses will not be
able to trot. I beg your pardon for taking away your model, my dear
Delorme, but I really must be off.”
</p>
<p>
“It is all the same to me; I have finished my sketch,” said the painter,
closing his portfolio.
</p>
<p>
At this moment, as the military governor passed near them, on his way to
the crossway of the Pyramid, Henri made a movement as if to rejoin him.
</p>
<p>
“Do not disturb yourself, General de Prerolles,” said the military
governor. “The compliments which I have made you on the fine appearance of
your troops are probably not so agreeable to you as those to which you are
listening at present!”
</p>
<p>
And saluting Mademoiselle de Vermont courteously, he went his way.
</p>
<p>
“Now you are free, Henri. Suppose we accompany Mademoiselle back to
Paris?” suggested Lenaieff, seeming to read his friend’s mind.
</p>
<p>
“What an honor for me!” Valentine exclaimed.
</p>
<p>
The General made a sign to his orderly, who approached to receive his
instructions.
</p>
<p>
“Tell the brigadier-generals that I am about to depart. I need no more
escort than two cavalrymen for General Lenaieff and myself. Now I am
ready, Mademoiselle,” Henri continued, turning toward Valentine. “If you
will be guided by me, we should do well to reach the fortifications by way
of the Lake of Saint-Mande.”
</p>
<p>
She made a little sound with her tongue, and the two cobs set off in the
direction indicated, the crowds they passed stopping to admire their high
action, and asking one another who was that pretty woman who was escorted
by two generals, the one French, the other a foreigner.
</p>
<p>
“I must look like a treaty of peace in a Franco-Russian alliance!” said
Zibeline, gayly.
</p>
<p>
The sun shone brightly, the new leaves were quivering on the trees, the
breeze bore to the ear the echo of the military bands.
</p>
<p>
Animated by the sound, the two cobs went ahead at a great pace, but they
were kept well in hand by their mistress, who was dressed this morning in
a simple navy-blue costume, with a small, oval, felt hat, ornamented with
two white wings, set on in a manner that made the wearer resemble a
valkyrie. Her whip, an unnecessary accessory, lay across the seat at her
right, on which side of the carriage Henri rode.
</p>
<p>
The General’s eyes missed none of the graceful movements of the young
girl. And his reflections regarding her, recently interrupted, returned in
full force, augmenting still more his regret at the inexorable fate that
separated him from her. “What a pity!” he thought in his turn, repeating
unconsciously the phrase so often uttered by his sister.
</p>
<p>
Arrived at the Place du Trene, Valentine stopped her horses a moment, and
addressed her two cavaliers:
</p>
<p>
“I thank you for your escort, gentlemen. But however high may be your
rank, I really can not go through Paris looking like a prisoner between
two gendarmes! So good-by! I shall see you this evening perhaps, but
good-by for the present.”
</p>
<p>
They gave her a military salute, and the carriage disappeared in the
Faubourg St. Antoine, while the two horsemen followed the line of the
quays along the Boulevard Diderot.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XXIV. THE CHALLENGE
</h2>
<p>
That person who, in springtime, between ten o’clock and midday, never has
walked beside the bridle-path in the Bois de Boulogne, under the deep
shade of the trees, can form no idea of the large number of equestrians
that for many years have been devoted to riding along that delightful and
picturesque road.
</p>
<p>
To see and to be seen constitutes the principal raison d’etre of this
exercise, where the riders traverse the same path going and coming, a man
thus being able to meet more than once the fair one whom he seeks, or a
lady to encounter several times a cavalier who interests her.
</p>
<p>
On this more and more frequented road, the masculine element displayed
different costumes, according to the age and tastes of each rider. The
young men appeared in careless array: leggins, short coats, and small
caps. The older men, faithful to early traditions, wore long trousers,
buttoned-up redingotes, and tall hats, like those worn by their fathers,
as shown in the pictures by Alfred de Dreux.
</p>
<p>
For the feminine element the dress is uniform. It consists of a
riding-habit of black or dark blue, with bodice and skirt smoothly molded
to the form by one of the two celebrated habit-makers, Youss or Creed. The
personal presence alone varied, according to the degree of perfection of
the model.
</p>
<p>
A cylindrical hat, a little straight or turned-over collar, a cravat tied
in a sailor’s knot, a gardenia in the buttonhole, long trousers and
varnished boots completed the dress of these modern Amazons, who, having
nothing in common with the female warriors of ancient times, are not
deprived, as were those unfortunates, of any of their feminine charms.
</p>
<p>
The military element is represented by officers of all grades from
generals to sub-lieutenants, in morning coats, with breeches and high
boots, forbidden under the Second Empire, but the rule at present.
</p>
<p>
At the top of the Pre-Catelan, the path is crossed by the Bagatelle road
to the lakes, a point of intersection situated near a glade where the
ladies were fond of stopping their carriages to chat with those passing on
horseback. A spectator might have fancied himself at the meet of a
hunting-party, lacking the whippers-in and the dogs.
</p>
<p>
A few days after the review at Vincennes, on a bright morning in May, a
file of victorias and pony-chaises were strung out along this sylvan
glade, and many persons had alighted from them. Announcing their arrival
by trumpet-blasts, two or three vehicles of the Coaching Club, headed by
that of the Duc de Mont had discharged a number of pretty passengers,
whose presence soon caused the halt of many gay cavaliers.
</p>
<p>
Several groups were formed, commenting on the news of the day, the scandal
of the day before, the fete announced for the next day.
</p>
<p>
More serious than the others, the group surrounding Madame de Montgeron
strolled along under the trees in the side paths which, in their windings,
often came alongside of the bridle-path.
</p>
<p>
“What has become of Mademoiselle de Vermont, Duchess?” inquired Madame de
Lisieux, who had been surprised not to find Zibeline riding with their
party.
</p>
<p>
“She is in the country, surrounded by masons, occupied in the building of
our Orphan Asylum. The time she required before making over the property
to us expires in two weeks.”
</p>
<p>
“It is certainly very singular that we do not know where we are to go for
the ceremonies of inauguration,” said Madame Desvanneaux, in her usual
vinegary tones.
</p>
<p>
“I feel at liberty to tell you that the place is not far away, and the
journey thence will not fatigue you,” said the president, with the air of
one who has long known what she has not wished to reveal heretofore.
</p>
<p>
“The question of fatigue should not discourage us when it is a matter of
doing good,” said M. Desvanneaux. “Only, in the opinion of the founders of
the Orphan Asylum, it should be situated in the city of Paris itself.”
</p>
<p>
“The donor thought that open fields and fresh air would be better for the
children.”
</p>
<p>
“Land outside of Paris costs very much less, of course; that is probably
the real reason,” said M. Desvanneaux.
</p>
<p>
“Poor Zibeline! you are well hated!” Madame de Nointel could not help
saying.
</p>
<p>
“We neither like nor dislike her, Madame. We regard her as indifferently
as we do that,” the churchwarden replied, striking down a branch with the
end of his stick, with the superb air of a Tarquin.
</p>
<p>
Still gesticulating, he continued:
</p>
<p>
“The dust that she throws in the eyes of others does not blind us, that is
all!”
</p>
<p>
The metaphor was not exactly happy, for at that instant the unlucky man
received full in his face a broadside of gravel thrown by the hoofs of a
horse which had been frightened by the flourishing stick, and which had
responded to the menace by a violent kick.
</p>
<p>
This steed was none other than Seaman, ridden by Mademoiselle de Vermont.
She had recognized the Duchess and turned her horse back in order to offer
her excuses for his misconduct, the effects of which Madame Desvanneaux
tried to efface by brushing off the gravel with the corner of her
handkerchief.
</p>
<p>
“What has happened?” asked General de Prerolles, who at that moment
cantered up, mounted on Aida.
</p>
<p>
“Oh, nothing except that Mademoiselle has just missed killing my husband
with that wicked animal of hers!” cried the Maegera, in a fury.
</p>
<p>
“Mademoiselle might turn the accusation against him,” Madame de Nointel
said, with some malice. “It was he who frightened her horse.”
</p>
<p>
The fiery animal, with distended veins and quivering nostrils, snorted
violently, cavorted sidewise, and tried to run. Zibeline needed all her
firmness of grasp to force him, without allowing herself to be thrown, to
stand still on the spot whence had come the movement that had alarmed him.
</p>
<p>
“Your horse needs exercise,” said Henri to the equestrienne. “You ought to
give him an opportunity to do something besides the formal trot around
this path.”
</p>
<p>
“I should be able to do so, if ever we could have our match,” said
Zibeline. “Will you try it now?”
</p>
<p>
“Come on!”
</p>
<p>
She nodded, gave him her hand an instant, and they set off, side by side,
followed by Zibeline’s groom, no less well mounted than she, and wearing
turned-over boots, bordered with a band of fawn-colored leather, according
to the fashion.
</p>
<p>
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</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXV. THE AMAZON HAS A FALL
</h2>
<p>
They were a well-matched pair: he, the perfect type of the elegant and
always youthful soldier; she, the most dashing of all the Amazons in the
Bois, to quote the words of Edmond Delorme.
</p>
<p>
Everyone was familiar with the personal appearance of both riders, and
recognized them, but until now Mademoiselle de Vermont had always ridden
alone, and now to see her accompanied by the gallant General, whose
embroidered kepi glittered in the sunlight, was a new spectacle for the
gallery.
</p>
<p>
The people looked at them all the more because Seaman was still prancing,
but without unseating his mistress, who held him at any gait or any degree
of swiftness that pleased her.
</p>
<p>
“What a good seat you have!” said Henri.
</p>
<p>
“That is the first real compliment you ever have paid me. I shall
appropriate it immediately, before you have time to retract it,” Zibeline
replied.
</p>
<p>
At the circle of Melezes, Henri proposed to turn to the right, in order to
reach Longchamp.
</p>
<p>
“A flat race! You are joking!” Zibeline cried, turning to the left, toward
the road of La Vierge,
</p>
<p>
“You don’t intend that we shall run a steeplechase, I hope.”
</p>
<p>
“On the contrary, that is exactly my intention! You are not afraid to try
it, are you?”
</p>
<p>
“Not on my own account, but on yours.”
</p>
<p>
“You know very well that I never am daunted by any obstacle.”
</p>
<p>
“Figuratively, yes; but in riding a horse it is another matter.”
</p>
<p>
“All the more reason why I should not be daunted now,” Zibeline insisted.
</p>
<p>
When they arrived at the public square of the Cascades, in front of the
Auteuil hippodrome, she paused a moment between the two lakes, uncertain
which course to take.
</p>
<p>
It was Thursday, the day of the races. The vast ground, enclosed on all
sides by a fence, had been cleared, since early morning, of the boards
covering the paths reserved for pedestrians on days when there was no
racing; but it was only eleven o’clock, and the place was not yet open to
the paying public. Several workmen, in white blouses, went along the
track, placing litters beside the obstacles where falls occurred most
frequently.
</p>
<p>
“Do you think the gatekeeper will allow us to enter at this hour?”
Zibeline asked.
</p>
<p>
“I hope not!” Henri replied.
</p>
<p>
“Well, then, I shall enter without his permission! You are free to declare
me the winner. I shall be left to make a walkover, I see!” And setting off
at a gallop along the bridle-path, which was obstructed a little farther
on by the fence itself, she struck her horse resolutely, and with one
audacious bound sprang over the entrance gate. She was now on the
steeplechase track.
</p>
<p>
“You are mad!” cried the General, who, as much concerned for her safety as
for his own pride, urged on his mare, and, clearing the fence, landed
beside Zibeline on the other side.
</p>
<p>
“All right!” she cried, in English, dropping her whip, as the starter
drops the flag at the beginning of a race.
</p>
<p>
The die was cast. Henri bent over Aida’s neck, leaning his hands upon her
withers in an attitude with which experience had made him familiar, and
followed the Amazon, determined to win at all hazards.
</p>
<p>
Zibeline’s groom, an Englishman, formerly a professional jockey, had
already jumped the fence, in spite of the cries of the guard, who ran to
prevent him, and coolly galloped after his mistress, keeping at his usual
distance.
</p>
<p>
The first two hedges, which were insignificant obstacles for such horses,
were crossed without effort.
</p>
<p>
“Not the brook, I beg of you!” cried Henri, seeing that, instead of
running past the grand-stand, Zibeline apparently intended to attempt this
dangerous feat.
</p>
<p>
“Come on! Seaman would never forgive me if I balk at it!” she cried,
riding fearlessly down the slope.
</p>
<p>
The good horse gathered up his four feet on the brink, took one vigorous
leap, appearing for a second to hover over the water; then he fell lightly
on the other side of the stream, with a seesaw movement, to which the
intrepid Amazon accommodated herself by leaning far back. The rebound
threw her forward a little, but she straightened herself quickly and went
on.
</p>
<p>
The General, who had slackened his pace that he might not interfere with
her leap, gave vent to a sigh of relief. He pressed Aida’s flanks firmly,
and the big Irish mare jumped after her competitor, with the majestic
dignity of her race.
</p>
<p>
Reassured by the ‘savoir-faire’ of his companion, the former winner of the
military steeplechase felt revive within himself all his ardor for the
conflict, and he hastened to make up the distance he had lost.
</p>
<p>
The two horses, now on the west side of the racetrack, were almost
neck-and-neck, and it would have been difficult to prognosticate which had
the better chance of victory. Zibeline’s light weight gave Seaman the
advantage, but Aida gained a little ground every time she leaped an
obstacle; so that, after passing the hurdles and the third hedge, the
champions arrived simultaneously at the summit of the hill, from which
point the track extends in a straight line, parallel with the Allee des
Fortifications.
</p>
<p>
Feeling himself urged on still harder, the English horse began to lay back
his ears and pull so violently on the rein that his rider had all she
could do to hold him, and lacked sufficient strength to direct his course.
Seeing Zibeline’s danger, Henri hastened to slacken his horse’s pace, but
it was too late: the almost perpendicular declivity of the other side of
the hill added fresh impetus to the ungovernable rush of Seaman, who
suddenly became wild and reckless.
</p>
<p>
The situation was all the more critical for the reason that the next
obstacle was a brook, only two metres wide, but of which the passage was
obstructed on the farther side of the track by heavy beams, laid one on
top of another, solidly riveted and measuring one metre and ten
millimetres from the base to the summit. The excited horse charged
obliquely toward this obstruction with all his might. Paying no more
attention to the pressure upon his bit, he rose in the air, but as he had
not given himself sufficient time to take plenty of room for the leap, his
hoofs struck violently against the top beam, the force of resistance of
which threw him over on one side; his hindquarters turned in the air, and
he fell in a heap on the other side of the obstacle, sending up a great
splash of water as he went into the brook.
</p>
<p>
Had Zibeline been crushed by the weight of the horse in this terrible
fall, or, not having been able to free herself from him, had she been
drowned under him? Henri uttered a hoarse cry, struck his spurs into the
sides of his mare, crossed the brook breathlessly, stopping on the other
side as soon as he could control his horse’s pace; then, rushing back, he
leaped to the ground to save the poor girl, if there was still time to do
so.
</p>
<p>
Zibeline lay inanimate on the grass, her face lying against the earth. By
a lucky chance, the horse had fallen on his right side, so that his
rider’s limbs and skirt had not been caught. Unhorsed by the violence of
the shock, Zibeline had gone over the animal’s head and fallen on the
other side of the brook. Her Amazon hat, so glossy when she had set out,
was now crushed, and her gloves were torn and soiled with mud; which
indicated that she had fallen on her head and her hands.
</p>
<p>
Henri knelt beside her, passed his arm around her inert and charming body,
and drew her tenderly toward him. Her eyes were half-open and dull, her
lips pale; her nose, the nostrils of which were usually well dilated, had
a pinched look; and a deadly pallor covered that face which only a moment
before had been so rosy and smiling.
</p>
<p>
These signs were the forerunners of death, which the officer had
recognized so many times on the battlefield. But those stricken ones had
at least been men, devoting themselves to the risks of warfare; while in
the presence of this young girl lying before him, looking upon this victim
of a reckless audacity to which he felt he had lent himself too readily,
the whole responsibility for the accident seemed to him to rest upon his
own shoulders, and a poignant remorse tore his heart.
</p>
<p>
He removed her cravat, unhooked her bodice, laid his ear against her
breast, from which an oppressed breathing still arose.
</p>
<p>
Two laborers hurried to open the gate and soon arrived at the spot with a
litter, guided by the groom, whose horse had refused to jump the brook,
and who since then had followed the race on foot outside the track. While
the General placed Zibeline on the litter, the groom took Aida by the
bridle, and the sad procession made its way slowly toward the enclosure
surrounding the weighing-stand.
</p>
<p>
As for Seaman, half submerged in the stream, and with an incurable
fracture of the leg, nothing was left to do for the poor animal but to
kill him.
</p>
<p>
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<h2>
CHAPTER XXVI. AN UNCONSCIOUS AVOWAL
</h2>
<p>
Walking slowly, step by step, beside her whose power had so quickly and so
wholly subjugated him, watching over her removal with more than paternal
solicitude, Henri de Prerolles, sustained by a ray of hope, drew a
memorandum-book from his pocket, wrote upon a slip of paper a name and an
address, and, giving it to the groom, ordered him to go ahead of the
litter and telephone to the most celebrated surgeon in Paris, requesting
him to go as quickly as possible to the domicile of Mademoiselle de
Vermont, and, meantime, to send with the greatest despatch one of the
eight-spring carriages from the stables.
</p>
<p>
It was noon by the dial on the grand-stand when the litter was finally
deposited in a safe place. The surgeon could hardly arrive in less than
two hours; therefore, the General realized that he must rely upon his own
experience in rendering the first necessary aid.
</p>
<p>
He lifted Valentine’s hand, unbuttoned the glove, laid his finger on her
pulse, and counted the pulsations, which were weak, slow, and irregular.
</p>
<p>
While the wife of the gate-keeper kept a bottle of salts at the nostrils
of the injured girl, Henri soaked a handkerchief in tincture of arnica and
sponged her temples with it; then, pouring some drops of the liquid into a
glass of water, he tried in vain to make her swallow a mouthful. Her
teeth, clenched by the contraction of muscles, refused to allow it to pass
into her throat. At the end of half an hour, the inhalation of the salts
began to produce a little effect; the breath came more regularly, but that
was the only symptom which announced that the swoon might soon terminate.
The landau with the high springs arrived. The General ordered the top laid
back, and helped to lift and place upon the cushions on the back seat the
thin mattress on which Zibeline lay; then he took his place on the front
seat, made the men draw the carriage-top back into its proper position,
and the equipage rolled smoothly, and without a jar, to its destination.
On the way they met the first carriages that had arrived at the Auteuil
hippodrome, the occupants of which little suspected what an exciting
dramatic incident had occurred just before the races. Zibeline’s servants,
by whom she was adored, awaited their mistress at the threshold, and for
her maids it was an affair of some minutes to undress her and lay her in
her own bed. During this delay, the surgeon, who had hastened to answer
the call, found Henri nervously walking about from one drawing-room to the
other; and, having received information as to the details of the fall, he
soon entered the bedchamber. While awaiting the sentence of life or of
death which must soon be pronounced, he who considered himself the chief
cause of this tragic event continued to pace to and fro in the gallery—that
gallery where, under the intoxication of a waltz, the demon of temptation
had so quickly demolished all his resolutions of resistance. A half-hour—an
age!—elapsed before the skilled practitioner reappeared. “There is
no fracture,” he said, “but the cerebral shock has been such that I can
not as yet answer for the consequences. If the powerful reactive medicine
which I have just given should bring her back to her senses soon, her
mental faculties will suffer no harm. If not, there is everything to fear.
I will return in three hours,” he added. Without giving a thought to the
conventionalities, Henri entered the bedchamber, to the great astonishment
of the maids, and, installing himself at the head of the bed, he decided
not to leave that spot until Valentine had regained her senses, should she
ever regain them. An hour passed thus, while Henri kept the same attitude,
erect, attentive, motionless, with stray scraps of his childhood’s prayers
running through his brain. Suddenly the heavy eyelids of the wounded girl
were lifted; the dulness of the eyes disappeared; her body made an
involuntary attempt to change its position; the nostrils dilated; the lips
quivered in an effort to speak. Youth and life had triumphed over death.
With painful slowness, she tried to raise her hand to her head, the seat
of her pain, where, though half paralyzed, thought was beginning to
return. Her eyes wandered to and fro in the shadowy room, seeking to
recognize the surroundings. A ray of light, filtering through the
window-curtains, showed her the anxious face bending tenderly over her.
“Henri!” she murmured, in a soft, plaintive voice. That name, pronounced
thus, the first word uttered after her long swoon, revealed her secret.
Never had a more complete yet modest avowal been more simply expressed;
was it not natural that he should be present at her reentrance into life,
since she loved him? With women, the sentiment of love responds to the
most diverse objects. The ordinary young girl of Zibeline’s age, either
before or after her sojourn in a convent, considers that a man of thirty
has arrived at middle age, and that a man of forty is absolutely old.
Should she accept a man of either of these ages, she does it because a
fortune, a title, or high social rank silences her other tastes, and her
ambition does the rest. But, with an exceptional woman, like Mademoiselle
de Vermont, brought up in view of wide horizons, in the midst of plains
cleared by bold pioneers, among whom the most valorous governed the
others, a man like General de Prerolles realized her ideal all the more,
because both their natures presented the same striking characteristics:
carelessness of danger, and frankness carried to its extremest limit.
Therefore, this declaration—to use the common expression—entirely
free from artifice or affectation, charmed Henri for one reason, yet, on
the other hand, redoubled his perplexity. How could he conciliate his
scruples of conscience with the aspirations of his heart? The problem
seemed then as insoluble as when it had been presented the first time. But
Valentine was saved. For the moment that was the essential point, the only
one in question. The involuntary revelation of her secret had brought the
color to her cheeks, the light to her eyes, a smile to her lips, in spite
of the leaden band that seemed still pressing upon her head. “How you have
frightened me!” said Henri, in a low voice, seating himself on the side of
the bed and taking her hand. “Is that true?” she asked, softly pressing
his fingers. “Hush!” he said, making a movement to enjoin silence. She
obeyed, and they remained a few moments thus. Nevertheless, he reflected
that the account of the accident would soon be spread everywhere, that
Valentine’s new friends would hear about it as soon as they arrived at the
race-track that day, and that he could no longer prolong his stay beside
her.
</p>
<p>
“Are you leaving me so soon?” Valentine murmured, when he said that he
must go.
</p>
<p>
“I am going to tell my sister and the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy of your
mishap.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” she replied, as if already she had no other desire than to
follow his wishes.
</p>
<p>
He gave the necessary orders, and again took his place beside the bed,
awaiting the second visit of the doctor, whose arrival was simultaneous
with that of the Duchess.
</p>
<p>
This time the verdict was altogether favorable, with no mention of the
possibility of any aggravating circumstances. An inevitable feverishness,
and a great lassitude, which must be met with absolute repose for several
days, would be the only consequences of this dangerous prank.
</p>
<p>
The proprieties resumed their normal sway, and it was no longer possible
for Henri to remain beside the charming invalid.
</p>
<p>
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</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXVII. DISTRACTION
</h2>
<p>
The Duchesse de Montgeron, who had passed the rest of the day with
Mademoiselle de Vermont, did not return to her own dwelling until eight
o’clock that evening, bearing the most reassuring news.
</p>
<p>
Longing for fresh air and exercise, Henri went out after dinner, walked
through the Champs-Elysees, and traversed the crossing at l’Etoile, in
order to approach the spot where Zibeline lay ill.
</p>
<p>
If one can imagine the feelings of a man of forty-five, who is loved for
himself, under the most flattering and unexpected conditions, one can
comprehend the object of this nocturnal walk and the long pause that Henri
made beneath the windows of Zibeline’s apartment. A small garden,
protected by a light fence, was the only obstacle that separated them. But
how much more insuperable was the barrier which his own principles had
raised between this adorable girl and himself.
</p>
<p>
Had he not told his sister, confided to Eugenie Gontier, and reiterated to
any one that would listen to him, the scruples which forbade him ever to
think of marriage? To change this decision, in asking for the hand of
Mademoiselle de Vermont, would-in appearance, at least—sacrifice to
the allurement of wealth the proud poverty which he had long borne so
nobly.
</p>
<p>
But the demon of temptation was then, as always, lurking in the shadow,
the sole witness of this duel to the death between prejudice and love.
</p>
<p>
When he returned to his rooms he found another note from his former
mistress:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“You have just had a terrible experience, my dear friend. Nothing
that affects you can be indifferent to me. I beg you to believe,
notwithstanding the grief which our separation causes me, in all the
prayers that I offer for your happiness.
“ARIADNE.”
</pre>
<p>
“My happiness? My torture, rather!” he said, the classic name of Ariadne
suggesting the idea that the pseudonym of Tantalus might well be applied
to himself.
</p>
<p>
But he had long kept a rule to write as little as possible, and was
guarded in making reply to any letter, especially to such a communication
as this.
</p>
<p>
When he left the house the next morning, on his way to attend to military
duties, he learned that his sister had gone away early on an excursion to
one of the suburbs, and that she would not return until evening. As the
Duchess was the only person who had been initiated into the mystery
surrounding Zibeline on the subject of the building of the Orphan Asylum,
it was evident that she had gone to take her place in the directing of the
work.
</p>
<p>
In the afternoon Henri called to inquire for the invalid, and was received
by the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy. She had had a quiet night; a little fever
had appeared toward morning, and, above all, an extreme weakness,
requiring absolute quiet and freedom from any excitement. On an open
register in the reception-room were inscribed the names of all those
persons who had called to express their interest in Mademoiselle de
Vermont: Constantin Lenaieff, the Lisieux, the Nointels, Edmond Delorme,
the Baron de Samoreau, and others. Only the Desvanneaux had shown no sign
of life. Their Christian charity did not extend so far as that.
</p>
<p>
Henri added his name to the list, and for several days he returned each
morning to inscribe it anew, feeling certain that, as soon as Valentine
was able to be placed half-reclining on a couch, she would give orders
that he should be admitted to her presence. But nothing of the kind
occurred.
</p>
<p>
On the evening of the fifth day after the accident, the Duchess informed
her brother that their young friend had been taken to the country, where
it was thought a complete cure would sooner be effected.
</p>
<p>
This hasty departure, made without any preliminary message, caused Henri
to feel the liveliest disappointment.
</p>
<p>
Had he deceived himself, then? Was it, after all, only by chance that she
had so tenderly pronounced his name, and had that familiar appellative
only been drawn from her involuntarily because of her surprise at
beholding his unexpected presence at her bedside?
</p>
<p>
Regarding the matter from this point of view, the whole romance that he
had constructed on a fragile foundation had really never existed save in
his own imagination!
</p>
<p>
At this thought his self-esteem suffered cruelly. He felt a natural
impulse to spring into a carriage and drive to the dwelling of Eugenie
Gontier, and there to seek forgetfulness. But he felt that his bitterness
would make itself known even there, and that such a course would be
another affront to the dignity of a woman of heart, whose loyalty to
himself he never had questioned.
</p>
<p>
Try to disguise it as he would, his sombre mood made itself apparent,
especially to his brother-in-law, who had no difficulty in guessing the
cause, without allowing Henri to suspect that he divined it.
</p>
<p>
The date for the formal transfer of the Orphan Asylum to the committee had
been fixed for the fifteenth day of May.
</p>
<p>
On the evening of the fourteenth, at the hour when the General was signing
the usual military documents in his bureau, a domestic presented to him a
letter which, he said, had just been brought in great haste by a messenger
on horseback:
</p>
<p>
The superscription, “To Monsieur the General the Marquis de Prerolles,”
was inscribed in a long, English hand, elegant and regular. The orderly
gave the letter to his chief, who dismissed him with a gesture before
breaking the seal. The seal represented, without escutcheon or crown, a
small, wild animal, with a pointed muzzle, projecting teeth, and shaggy
body, under which was a word Henri expected to find: Zibeline!
</p>
<p>
The letter ran thus:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“MY DEAR GENERAL:
“An officer, like yourself, whose business it is to see that his
orders are obeyed, will understand that I have not dared, even in
your favor, to infringe on those imposed upon me by the doctor.
But those orders have been withdrawn! If you have nothing better to
do, come to-morrow, with your sister, to inspect our asylum, before
Monsieur Desvanneaux takes possession of it!
“Your military eye will be able to judge immediately whether
anything is lacking in the quarters. Yours affectionately,
“VALENTINE DE VERMONT.
“P.S.—Poor Seaman is dead! I beg you to carry this sad news to his
friend Aida. V.”
</pre>
<p>
If a woman’s real self is revealed in her epistolary style, finesse,
good-humor, and sprightliness were characterised in this note. Zibeline’s
finesse had divined Henri’s self-deception; her good-humor sought to
dissipate it; and her sprightliness was evidenced by her allusions to M.
Desvanneaux and the loss of her horse.
</p>
<p>
When they found themselves reunited at the dinner-hour, the Duchess said
simply to her brother:
</p>
<p>
“You must have received an invitation to-day from Mademoiselle de Vermont.
Will you accompany us tomorrow?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, certainly. But where? How? At what hour?”
</p>
<p>
“We must leave here at one o’clock. Don’t disturb yourself about any other
detail—we shall look after everything.”
</p>
<p>
“Good! I accept.”
</p>
<p>
As he was not so curious as the Desvanneaux, it mattered little to him to
what place they took him, so long as he should find Zibeline at the end of
the journey.
</p>
<p>
At the appointed hour the brother and sister drove to the Gare du Nord.
The Duke, a director of the road, who had been obliged to attend a
convocation of the Council until noon, had preceded them. He was waiting
for them beside the turnstile at the station, having already procured
their tickets and reserved a carriage in one of the omnibus trains from
Paris to Treport which make stops at various suburban stations.
</p>
<p>
“Will it be a very long journey?” Henri asked, on taking his place in the
carriage.
</p>
<p>
“Barely three-quarters of an hour,” said the Duke, as the train started on
its way.
</p>
<p>
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</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VOW REDEEMED
</h2>
<p>
The third road, constructed between the two lines which met at Creil,
passing, the one by way of Chantilly, the other, by Pontoise, was not in
existence in 1871, when, after the war, Jeanne and Henri de Prerolles went
to visit the spot, already unrecognizable, where they had passed their
childhood. L’Ile-d’Adam was at that time the nearest station; to day it is
Presles, on the intermediate line, which they now took.
</p>
<p>
“This is our station,” said Madame de Montgeron, when the train stopped at
Montsoult. They descended from the carriage, and found on the platform two
footmen, who conducted them to a large char-a-banc, to which were
harnessed four dark bay Percherons, whose bridles were held by postilions
in Zibeline’s livery, as correct in their appearance as those belonging to
the imperial stables, when the sojourn of the court was at Compiegne or at
Fontainebleau.
</p>
<p>
“Where are we going now, Jeanne?” asked Henri, whose heart seemed to him
to contract at the sight of Maffliers, which he knew so well.
</p>
<p>
“A short distance from here,” his sister replied.
</p>
<p>
The horses set off, and, amid the sound of bells and the cracking of
whips, the carriage reached the national road from Paris to Beauvais,
which, from Montsoult, passes around the railway by a rapid descent, from
the summit of which is visible, on the right, the Chateau of Franconville;
on the left, the village of Nerville perched on its crest.
</p>
<p>
One of the footmen on the rear seat held the reins, and a quarter of an
hour later the carriage stopped just before arriving at the foot of
Valpendant.
</p>
<p>
Valpendant had formerly been a feudal manor within the confines of
Ile-de-France, built midway upon a hill, as its name indicated. On the
side toward the plain was a moat, and the castle itself commanded the view
of a valley, through which ran the little stream called Le Roi, which
flows into the river Oise near the hamlet of Mours. Acquired in the
fifteenth century by the lords of Prerolles, it had become an agricultural
territory worked for their profit, first by forced labor, and later by
farmers.
</p>
<p>
Even recently, the courtyard, filled with squawking fowls and domestic
animals of all kinds, and the sheds crowded with agricultural implements
piled up in disorder, presented a scene of confusion frequent among
cultivators, and significant of the alienation of old domains from their
former owners.
</p>
<p>
“We have arrived!” said the Duchess, alighting first.
</p>
<p>
“What, is it here?” Henri exclaimed, his heart beating more quickly.
</p>
<p>
“Your old farm was for sale just at the time that Mademoiselle de Vermont
was seeking an appropriate site for the Orphan Asylum. This spot appeared
to her to combine all the desirable conditions, and she has wrought the
transformation you are about to behold. It might as well be this place as
another,” the Duchess added. “In my opinion, it is a sort of consolation
offered to us by fate.”
</p>
<p>
“Be it so!” said Henri, in a tone of less conviction.
</p>
<p>
He followed his sister along the footpath of a bluff, which as children
they had often climbed; while the carriage made a long detour in order to
reach the main entrance to the grounds.
</p>
<p>
The footpath, winding along near the railway embankment, ended at a
bridge, where Zibeline awaited the three visitors. A significant pressure
of her hand showed Henri how little cause he had had for his
apprehensions.
</p>
<p>
They entered. Seen from the main entrance, the metamorphosis of the place
was complete.
</p>
<p>
The old tower that had served as a barn alone remained the same; it was
somewhat isolated from the other building, and had been repaired in the
style of its period, making a comfortable dwelling for the future director
of the Asylum. Mademoiselle de Vermont occupied it temporarily.
</p>
<p>
On each side of the grounds, standing parallel, rose two fine buildings:
on the ground floor of each were all the customary rooms and accessories
found on model farms; on the upper floors were dormitories arranged to
receive a large number of children of both sexes. There were schoolrooms,
sewing-rooms, a chapel-in short, nothing was lacking to assist in the
children’s intellectual and manual education.
</p>
<p>
“You have done things royally,” said the Duke to the happy donor, when,
having finished the inspection of the premises, they returned to the
directors’ room, indicated by a plate upon its door.
</p>
<p>
As for Henri, silent and absorbed, he hesitated between the dread of
facing a new emotion and the desire to go once more to gaze upon the tower
of Prerolles, hardly more than two kilometres distant.
</p>
<p>
“What is the matter with you, General?” Zibeline asked, observing that he
did not appear to take pleasure in the surprise she had prepared.
</p>
<p>
“I lived here many years a long time ago,” he replied. “I am thinking of
all that it recalls to me; and, if you would not consider it discourteous
on my part, I should like to leave you for a little time to make a
pilgrimage on foot around the neighborhood.”
</p>
<p>
“Would you like to have me take you myself? I have a little English cart
which can run about anywhere,” said Zibeline.
</p>
<p>
The proposition was tempting. The sweetness of a tete-a-tete might
diminish the bitterness of recollections. He accepted.
</p>
<p>
She ordered the cart brought around, and they climbed into the small
vehicle, which was drawn by a strong pony, driven by Zibeline herself.
</p>
<p>
“Which way?” she asked, when they had passed through the gates.
</p>
<p>
“To the right,” he said, pointing to a rough, half-paved slope, an
abandoned part of what had been in former days the highway, which now
joins the new road at the Beaumont tunnel.
</p>
<p>
Passing this point, and leaving on their left the state road of
l’Ile-d’Adam, they drove through a narrow cross-cut, between embankments,
by which one mounts directly to the high, plateau that overlooks the town
of Presles.
</p>
<p>
The hill was steep, and the pony was out of breath. They were compelled to
stop to allow him to rest.
</p>
<p>
“It is not necessary to go any farther,” said Henri to his companion. “I
need only to take a few steps in order to see what interests me.”
</p>
<p>
“I will wait for you here,” she replied, alighting after him. “Don’t be
afraid to leave me alone. The horse will not move; he is used to
stopping.”
</p>
<p>
He left her gathering daisies, and walked resolutely to the panoramic
point of view, where a strange and unexpected sight met his eyes!
</p>
<p>
All that had once been so dear to him had regained its former aspect. The
kitchen-gardens had given place to the rich pastures, where yearling colts
frisked gayly. The factory had disappeared, and the chateau had been
restored to its original appearance. The walls enclosing the park had been
rebuilt, and even several cleared places indicated the sites of cottages
that had been pulled down.
</p>
<p>
Henri de Prerolles could hardly believe his eyes! Was he the sport of a
dream or of one of those mirages which rise before men who travel across
the sandy African deserts? The latitude and the position of the sun
forbade this interpretation. But whence came it, then? What fairy had
turned a magic ring in order to work this miracle?
</p>
<p>
A crackling of dry twigs under a light tread made him turn, and he beheld
Zibeline, who had come up behind him.
</p>
<p>
The fairy was there, pale and trembling, like a criminal awaiting arrest.
</p>
<p>
“Is it you who have done this?” Henri exclaimed, with a sob which no human
strength could have controlled.
</p>
<p>
“It is I!” she murmured, lowering her eyes. “I did it in the hope that
some day you would take back that which rightfully belongs to you.”
</p>
<p>
“Rightfully, you say? By what act?”
</p>
<p>
“An act of restitution.”
</p>
<p>
“You never have done me any injury, and nothing authorizes me to accept
such a gift from Mademoiselle de Vermont.”
</p>
<p>
“Vermont was the family name of my mother. When my father married her, he
obtained leave to add it to his own. I am the daughter of Paul Landry.”
</p>
<p>
“You!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. The daughter of Paul Landry, whose fortune had no other origin than
the large sum of which he despoiled you.”
</p>
<p>
Henri made a gesture of denial.
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me!” Zibeline continued. “He was doubly your debtor, since this
sum had been increased tenfold when you rescued him from the Mexicans who
were about to shoot him. ‘This is my revenge!’ you said to him, without
waiting to hear a word from him. Your ruin was the remorse of his whole
life. I knew it only when he lay upon his deathbed. Otherwise—”
</p>
<p>
She paused, then raised her head higher to finish her words.
</p>
<p>
“Never mind!” she went on. “That which he dared not do while living, I set
myself to do after his death. When I came to Paris to inquire what had
become of the Marquis de Prerolles, your glorious career answered for you;
but even before I knew you I had become the possessor of these divided
estates, which, reunited by me, must be restored to your hands. You are
proud, Henri,” she added, with animation, “but I am none less proud than
you. Judge, then, what I have suffered in realizing our situation: I,
overwhelmed with riches, you, reduced to your officer’s pay. Is that a
satisfaction to your pride? Very well! But to my own, it is the original
stain, which only a restitution, nobly accepted by you, ever can efface!”
</p>
<p>
She paused, looking at him supplicatingly, her hands clasped. As he
remained silent, she understood that he still hesitated, and continued:
</p>
<p>
“To plead my cause, to vanquish your resistance, as I am trying now to
triumph over it, could be attempted with any chance of success only by a
dear and tender friend; that is the reason why I sought to establish
relations with—”
</p>
<p>
“With Eugenie Gontier?”
</p>
<p>
“But she would not consent to it—all the worse for her! For, since
then, you and I have come to know each other well. Your prejudices have
been overcome one by one. I have observed it well. I am a woman, and even
your harshness has not changed my feelings, nor prevented me from
believing that, in spite of yourself, you were beginning to love me. Have
I been deceiving myself?—tell me!”
</p>
<p>
“You know that you have not, since, as I look at you and listen to you, I
know not which I admire more-your beauty or the treasures of your heart!”
</p>
<p>
“Then come!”
</p>
<p>
“Whither?”
</p>
<p>
“To Prerolles, where all is ready to receive you.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, since this is a tale from the Arabian Nights, let us follow it to
the end! I will go!” said Henri.
</p>
<p>
Browsing beside the road, the pony, left to himself, had advanced toward
them, step by step, whinnying to his mistress. Valentine and Henri
remounted the cart; which soon drew up before the gates of the chateau,
where, awaiting them, reinstated in his former office, stood the old
steward, bent and white with years.
</p>
<p>
The borders of the broad driveway were of a rich, deep green. Rose-bushes
in full bloom adorned the smooth lawns. The birds trilled a welcome in
jumping from branch to branch, and across the facade of the chateau the
open windows announced to the surrounding peasantry the return of the
prodigal master.
</p>
<p>
At the top of the flight of steps Valentine stepped back to allow Henri to
pass before her; then, changing her mind, she advanced again.
</p>
<p>
“No, you are at home,” she said. “It is I that must enter first!”
</p>
<p>
He followed her docilely, caring no longer to yield to any other will than
hers.
</p>
<p>
Within the chateau, thanks to the complicity of the Duchess, the
furnishings resembled as closely as possible those of former days. The
good fairy had completed successfully two great works: the restoration of
the chateau and the building of the asylum. The inhabitants of the one
would be so much the better able to foresee the needs of the other.
</p>
<p>
Having explored one of the wings, they returned to the central hall.
Mademoiselle de Vermont made a sign to the steward to remain there, and
beckoned to Henri to accompany her to the historic gallery. After they had
entered it, she closed the door. The family portraits had been rehung in
their former places, in chronological order, and, in its proper place,
figured that of the General of Division the Marquis de Prerolles, in full
uniform, mounted on Aida, the portrait being the work of Edmond Delorme.
</p>
<p>
At this sight, touched to the depths of his heart, Henri knelt before
Valentine, and carried her hand to his lips.
</p>
<p>
“I adore you!” he said, without attempting to hide the tears of gratitude
that fell upon those generous hands.
</p>
<p>
“Do you, indeed?” Zibeline murmured.
</p>
<p>
“You shall see!” he replied, rising. “Come, in your turn.”
</p>
<p>
He led her before the portrait of the ancestral marshal of France, and
said:
</p>
<p>
“Twenty-three years ago I vowed before that portrait either to vanquish
the enemy or to regain with honor all that I had lost at play. I have kept
my word. Will you be my wife?”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, you know my heart is yours!” Zibeline whispered, hiding her face upon
his shoulder.
</p>
<p>
The door at the end of the gallery opened; the Duc and the Duchesse de
Montgeron appeared. Henri took Zibeline’s hand and approached them.
</p>
<p>
“The Marquise de Prerolles!” he said, presenting her to his sister and her
husband.
</p>
<p>
<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
<!-- H2 anchor --> </a>
</p>
<div style="height: 4em;">
<br /><br /><br /><br />
</div>
<h2>
CHAPTER XXIX. THE MARQUISE DE PREROLLES
</h2>
<p>
The next day a special train landed the fair patronesses at the station of
Presles, whence Zibeline’s carriages conducted them to Valpendant.
</p>
<p>
The deed of gift was signed before M. Durand and his colleague, a notary
of Pontoise.
</p>
<p>
This formality fulfilled, M. Desvanneaux, whose own role, for a moment
overshadowed, appeared to him to renew its importance, took the floor and
said:
</p>
<p>
“It remains to us, Mesdames, to assure the support of the Orphan Asylum by
means of an annual income.”
</p>
<p>
“The Marquis and the Marquise de Prerolles assume this responsibility,”
said the ministerial officer, treasurer of the Asylum. “This mutual
engagement will form the object of a special clause in the drawing up of
their contract.”
</p>
<p>
In this way was the news of the approaching marriage between Valentine and
Henri announced to the Society.
</p>
<p>
“The little intriguer!” murmured the churchwarden, nudging the elbow of
his Maegera.
</p>
<p>
The General, who noted the effect which this announcement had produced
upon the peevish pair, divined the malicious words upon the hypocritical
lips. He drew the husband aside, and put one hand upon his shoulder.
</p>
<p>
“Desvanneaux,” he said, “you have known me twenty-five years, and you know
that I am a man of my word. If ever a malevolent word from you regarding
my wife should come to my ears, I shall elongate yours to such a degree
that those of King Midas will be entirely eclipsed! Remember that!”
</p>
<p>
The ceremony took place six weeks later, in the church of St.
Honore-d’Eylau, which was not large enough to hold the numerous public and
the brilliant corps of officers that assisted.
</p>
<p>
The witnesses for the bridegroom were the military governor of Paris and
the Duc de Montgeron. Those of the bride were the aide-de-camp General
Lenaieff, in full uniform, wearing an astrachan cap and a white cloak with
the Russian eagle fastened in the fur; and the Chevalier de Sainte-Foy.
</p>
<p>
On the evening before, a last letter from his former mistress had come to
the General:
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
“I have heard all the details of your romance, my dear Henri. Its
conclusion is according to all dramatic rules, and I congratulate
you without reserve.
“If, on the eve of contracting this happy union, an examination of
your conscience should suggest to you some remorse for having
abandoned me so abruptly, let me say that no shadow, not even the
lightest, must cloud the serenity of this joyous day: I am about to
leave the stage forever, to become the wife of the Baron de
Samoreau!
“Always affectionately yours,
“EUGENIE GONTIER.”
</pre>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:
All that was illogical in our social code
Ambiguity has no place, nor has compromise
But if this is our supreme farewell, do not tell me so!
Chain so light yesterday, so heavy to-day
Every man is his own master in his choice of liaisons
If I do not give all I give nothing
Indulgence of which they stand in need themselves
Life goes on, and that is less gay than the stories
Men admired her; the women sought some point to criticise
Only a man, wavering and changeable
Ostensibly you sit at the feast without paying the cost
Paris has become like a little country town in its gossip
The night brings counsel
Their Christian charity did not extend so far as that
There are mountains that we never climb but once
You are in a conquered country, which is still more dangerous
</pre>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
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