diff options
Diffstat (limited to '3971-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 3971-0.txt | 9084 |
1 files changed, 9084 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/3971-0.txt b/3971-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea0ab54 --- /dev/null +++ b/3971-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9084 @@ +Project Gutenberg’s Jacqueline, Complete, by Th. Bentzon (Mme. Blanc) + +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: Jacqueline, Complete + +Author: (Mme. Blanc) Th. Bentzon + +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3971] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACQUELINE, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +JACQUELINE + +By (Mme. Blanc) Therese Bentzon + + +With a Preface by M. THUREAU-DANGIN, of the French Academy + + + + +TH. BENTZON + +It is natural that the attention and affection of Americans should +be attracted to a woman who has devoted herself assiduously to +understanding and to making known the aspirations of our country, +especially in introducing the labors and achievements of our women to +their sisters in France, of whom we also have much to learn; for simple, +homely virtues and the charm of womanliness may still be studied with +advantage on the cherished soil of France. + +Marie-Therese Blanc, nee Solms--for this is the name of the author +who writes under the nom de plume of Madame Bentzon--is considered +the greatest of living French female novelists. She was born in an old +French chateau at Seine-Porte (Seine et Oise), September 21, 1840. +This chateau was owned by Madame Bentzon’s grandmother, the Marquise +de Vitry, who was a woman of great force and energy of character, “a +ministering angel” to her country neighborhood. Her grandmother’s first +marriage was to a Dane, Major-General Adrien-Benjamin de Bentzon, +a Governor of the Danish Antilles. By this marriage there was one +daughter, the mother of Therese, who in turn married the Comte de Solms. +“This mixture of races,” Madame Blanc once wrote, “surely explains a +kind of moral and intellectual cosmopolitanism which is found in my +nature. My father of German descent, my mother of Danish--my nom de +plume (which was her maiden-name) is Danish--with Protestant ancestors +on her side, though she and I were Catholics--my grandmother a sound and +witty Parisian, gay, brilliant, lively, with superb physical health +and the consequent good spirits--surely these materials could not have +produced other than a cosmopolitan being.” + +Somehow or other, the family became impoverished. Therese de Solms took +to writing stories. After many refusals, her debut took place in the +‘Revue des Deux Mondes’, and her perseverance was largely due to the +encouragement she received from George Sand, although that great woman +saw everything through the magnifying glass of her genius. But the +person to whom Therese Bentzon was most indebted in the matter of +literary advice--she says herself--was the late M. Caro, the famous +Sorbonne professor of philosophy, himself an admirable writer, “who put +me through a course of literature, acting as my guide through a vast +amount of solid reading, and criticizing my work with kindly severity.” + Success was slow. Strange as it may seem, there is a prejudice against +female writers in France, a country that has produced so many admirable +women-authors. However, the time was to come when M. Becloz found one +of her stories in the ‘Journal des Debats’. It was the one entitled ‘Un +Divorce’, and he lost no time in engaging the young writer to become one +of his staff. From that day to this she has found the pages of the Revue +always open to her. + +Madame Bentzon is a novelist, translator, and writer of literary essays. +The list of her works runs as follows: ‘Le Roman d’un Muet (1868); Un +Divorce (1872); La Grande Sauliere (1877); Un remords (1878); Yette and +Georgette (1880); Le Retour (1882); Tete folle (1883); Tony, (1884); +Emancipee (1887); Constance (1891); Jacqueline (1893). We need not enter +into the merits of style and composition if we mention that ‘Un +remords, Tony, and Constance’ were crowned by the French Academy, and +‘Jacqueline’ in 1893. Madame Bentzon is likewise the translator of +Aldrich, Bret Harte, Dickens, and Ouida. Some of her critical works +are ‘Litterature et Moeurs etrangeres’, 1882, and ‘Nouveaux romanciers +americains’, 1885. + + M. THUREAU-DANGIN + de l’Academie Francaise. + + + + +JACQUELINE + + + + +BOOK 1. + + + + +CHAPTER I. A PARISIENNE’S “AT HOME” + +Despite a short frock, checked stockings, wide turned-over collar, and +a loose sash around the waist of her blouse in other words, despite the +childish fashion of a dress which seemed to denote that she was not +more than thirteen or fourteen years of age, she seemed much older. An +observer would have put her down as the oldest of the young girls who on +Tuesdays, at Madame de Nailles’s afternoons, filled what was called “the +young girls’ corner” with whispered merriment and low laughter, while, +under pretence of drinking tea, the noise went on which is always +audible when there is anything to eat. + +No doubt the amber tint of this young girl’s complexion, the raven +blackness of her hair, her marked yet delicate features, and the general +impression produced by her dark coloring, were reasons why she seemed +older than the rest. It was Jacqueline’s privilege to exhibit that style +of beauty which comes earliest to perfection, and retains it longest; +and, what was an equal privilege, she resembled no one. + +The deep bow-window--her favorite spot--which enabled her to have a +reception-day in connection with that of her mamma, seemed like a great +basket of roses when all her friends assembled there, seated on +low chairs in unstudied attitudes: the white rose of the group was +Mademoiselle d’Etaples, a specimen of pale and pensive beauty, frail +almost to transparency; the Rose of Bengal was the charming Colette +Odinska, a girl of Polish race, but born in Paris; the dark-red rose +was Isabelle Ray-Belle she was called triumphantly--whose dimpled cheeks +flushed scarlet for almost any cause, some said for very coquetry. Then +there were three little girls called Wermant, daughters of an agent de +change--a spray of May roses, exactly alike in features, manners, and +dress, sprightly and charming as little girls could be. A little +pompon rose was tiny Dorothee d’Avrigny, to whom the pet name Dolly was +appropriate, for never had any doll’s waxen face been more lovely than +her little round one, with its mouth shaped like a little heart--a mouth +smaller than her eyes, and these were round eyes, too, but so bright, +and blue, and soft, that it was easy to overlook their too frequently +startled expression. + +Jacqueline had nothing in common with a rose of any kind, but she was +not the less charming to look at. Such was the unspoken reflection of a +man who was well able to be a judge in such matters. His name was Hubert +Marien. He was a great painter, and was now watching the clear-cut, +somewhat Arab--like profile of this girl--a profile brought out +distinctly against the dark-red silk background of a screen, much as +we see a cameo stand out in sharp relief from the glittering stone from +which the artist has fashioned it. Marien looked at her from a distance, +leaning against the fireplace of the farther salon, whence he could see +plainly the corner shaded by green foliage plants where Jacqueline had +made her niche, as she called it. The two rooms formed practically but +one, being separated only by a large recess without folding-doors, or +‘portires’. Hubert Marien, from his place behind Madame de Nailles’s +chair, had often before watched Jacqueline as he was watching her at +this moment. She had grown up, as it were, under his own eye. He had +seen her playing with her dolls, absorbed in her story-books, and +crunching sugar-plums, he had paid her visits--for how many years? He +did not care to count them. + +And little girls bloom fast! How old they make us feel! Who would have +supposed the most unpromising of little buds would have transformed +itself so soon into what he gazed upon? Marien, as an artist, had +great pleasure in studying the delicate outline of that graceful head +surmounted by thick tresses, with rebellious ringlets rippling over the +brow before they were gathered into the thick braid that hung behind; +and Jacqueline, although she appeared to be wholly occupied with her +guests, felt the gaze that was fixed upon her, and was conscious of its +magnetic influence, from which nothing would have induced her to escape +even had she been able. All the young girls were listening attentively +(despite their more serious occupation of consuming dainties) to +what was going on in the next room among the grown-up people, whose +conversation reached them only in detached fragments. + +So long as the subject talked about was the last reception at the French +Academy, these young girls (comrades in the class-room and at the weekly +catechising) had been satisfied to discuss together their own little +affairs, but after Colonel de Valdonjon began to talk complete silence +reigned among them. One might have heard the buzzing of a fly. Their +attention, however, was of little use. Exclamations of oh! and ah! and +protests more or less sincere drowned even the loud and somewhat hoarse +voice of the Colonel. The girls heard it only through a sort of general +murmur, out of which a burst of astonishment or of dissent would +occasionally break forth. These outbreaks were all the curious group +could hear distinctly. They sniffed, as it were, at the forbidden fruit, +but they longed to inhale the full perfume of the scandal that they felt +was in the air. That stout officer of cuirassiers, of whom some people +spoke as “The Chatterbox,” took advantage of his profession to tell many +an unsavory story which he had picked up or invented at his club. He +had come to Madame de Nailles’s reception with a brand-new concoction of +falsehood and truth, a story likely to be hawked round Paris with great +success for several weeks to come, though ladies on first hearing it +would think proper to cry out that they would not even listen to it, and +would pretend to look round them for their fans to hide their confusion. + +The principal object of interest in this scandalous gossip was a +valuable diamond bracelet, one of those priceless bits of jewelry seldom +seen except in show-windows on the Rue de la Paix, intended to be bought +only for presentation to princesses--of some sort or kind. Well, by +an extraordinary, chance the Marquise de Versannes--aye, the lovely +Georgine de Versannes herself--had picked up this bracelet in the +street--by chance, as it were. + +“It so happened,” said the Colonel, “that I was at her mother-in-law’s, +where she was going to dine. She came in looking as innocent as you +please, with her hand in her pocket. ‘Oh, see what I have found!’ she +cried. ‘I stepped upon it almost at your door.’ And the bracelet was +placed under a lamp, where the diamonds shot out sparkles fit to blind +the old Marquise, and make that old fool of a Versannes see a thousand +lights. He has long known better than to take all his wife says for +gospel--but he tries hard to pretend that he believes her. ‘My dear,’ +he said, ‘you must take that to the police.’--‘I’ll send it to-morrow +morning,’ says the charming Georgine, ‘but I wished to show you my good +luck.’ Of course nobody came forward to claim the bracelet, and a +month later Madame de Versannes appeared at the Cranfords’ ball with a +brilliant diamond bracelet, worn like the Queen of Sheba’s, high up on +her arm, near the shoulder, to hide the lack of sleeve. This piece of +finery, which drew everybody’s attention to the wearer, was the famous +bracelet picked up in the street. Clever of her!--wasn’t it, now?” + +“Horrid! Unlikely! Impossible.... What do you mean us to understand +about it, Colonel? Could she have...?” + +Then the Colonel went on to demonstrate, with many coarse insinuations, +that that good Georgine, as he familiarly called her, had done many more +things than people gave her credit for. And he went on to add: “Surely, +you must have heard of the row about her between Givrac and the +Homme-Volant at the Cirque?” + +“What, the man that wears stockinet all covered with gold scales? Do +tell us, Colonel!” + +But here Madame de Nailles gave a dry little cough which was meant to +impose silence on the subject. She was not a prude, but she disapproved +of anything that was bad form at her receptions. The Colonel’s +revelations had to be made in a lower tone, while his hostess endeavored +to bring back the conversation to the charming reply made by M. Renan to +the somewhat insipid address of a member of the Academie. + +“We sha’n’t hear anything more now,” said Colette, with a sigh. “Did you +understand it, Jacqueline?” + +“Understand--what?” + +“Why, that story about the bracelet?” + +“No--not all. The Colonel seemed to imply that she had not picked it up, +and indeed I don’t see how any one could have dropped in the street, in +broad daylight, a bracelet meant only to be worn at night--a bracelet +worn near the shoulder.” + +“But if she did not pick it up--she must have stolen it.” + +“Stolen it?” cried Belle. “Stolen it! What! The Marquise de Versannes? +Why, she inherited the finest diamonds in Paris!” + +“How do you know?” + +“Because mamma sometimes takes me to the Opera, and her subscription day +is the same as that of the Marquise. People say a good deal of harm of +her--in whispers. They say she is barely received now in society, that +people turn their backs on her, and so forth, and so on. However, that +did not hinder her from being superb the other evening at ‘Polyeucte’.” + +“So you only go to see ‘Polyeucte’?” said Jacqueline, making a little +face as if she despised that opera. + +“Yes, I have seen it twice. Mamma lets me go to ‘Polyeucte’ and +‘Guillaume Tell’, and to the ‘Prophete’, but she won’t take me to see +‘Faust’--and it is just ‘Faust’ that I want to see. Isn’t it provoking +that one can’t see everything, hear everything, understand everything? +You see, we could not half understand that story which seemed to +amuse the people so much in the other room. Why did they send back the +bracelet from the Prefecture to Madame de Versannes if it was not hers?” + +“Yes--why?” said all the little girls, much puzzled. + +Meantime, as the hour for closing the exhibition at the neighboring +hippodrome had arrived, visitors came pouring into Madame de Nailles’s +reception--tall, graceful women, dressed with taste and elegance, as +befitted ladies who were interested in horsemanship. The tone of the +conversation changed. Nothing was talked about but superb horses, leaps +over ribbons and other obstacles. The young girls interested themselves +in the spring toilettes, which they either praised or criticised as they +passed before their eyes. + +“Oh! there is Madame Villegry,” cried Jacqueline; “how handsome she is! +I should like one of these days to be that kind of beauty, so tall and +slender. Her waist measure is only twenty-one and two thirds inches. The +woman who makes her corsets and my mamma’s told us so. She brought us +one of her corsets to look at, a love of a corset, in brocatelle, all +over many-colored flowers. That material is much more ‘distingue’ than +the old satin--” + +“But what a queer idea it is to waste all that upon a thing that nobody +will ever look at,” said Dolly, her round eyes opening wider than +before. + +“Oh! it is just to please herself, I suppose. I understand that! +Besides, nothing is too good for such a figure. But what I admire most +is her extraordinary hair.” + +“Which changes its color now and then,” observed the sharpest of the +three Wermant sisters. “Extraordinary is just the word for it. +At present it is dark red. Henna did that, I suppose. Raoul--our +brother--when he was in Africa saw Arab women who used henna. They tied +their heads up in a sort of poultice made of little leaves, something +like tea-leaves. In twenty-four hours the hair will be dyed red, and +will stay red for a year or more. You can try it if you like. I think it +is disgusting.” + +“Oh! look, there is Madame de Sternay. I recognized her by her perfume +before I had even seen her. What delightful things good perfumes are!” + +“What is it? Is it heliotrope or jessamine?” asked Yvonne d’Etaples, +sniffing in the air. + +“No--it is only orris-root--nothing but orris-root; but she puts it +everywhere about her--in the hem of her petticoat, in the lining of her +dress. She lives, one might say, in the middle of a sachet. The thing +that will please me most when I am married will be to have no limit +to my perfumes. Till then I have to satisfy myself with very little,” + sighed Jacqueline, drawing a little bunch of violets from the loose +folds of her blouse, and inhaling their fragrance with delight. + +“‘Tiens’! here comes somebody who has to be contented with much less,” + said Yvonne, as a young girl joined their circle. She was small, +awkward, timid, and badly dressed. On seeing her Colette whispered “Oh! +that tiresome Giselle. We sha’n’t be able to talk another word.” + +Jacqueline kissed Giselle de Monredon. They were distant cousins, though +they saw each other very seldom. Giselle was an orphan, having lost +both her father and her mother, and was being educated in a convent +from which she was allowed to come out only on great occasions. Her +grandmother, whose ideas were those of the old school, had placed her +there. The Easter holidays accounted for Giselle’s unexpected arrival. +Wrapped in a large cloak which covered up her convent uniform, she +looked, as compared with the gay girls around her, like a poor sombre +night-moth, dazzled by the light, in company with other glittering +creatures of the insect race, fluttering with graceful movements, +transparent wings and shining corselets. + +“Come and have some sandwiches,” said Jacqueline, and she drew Giselle +to the tea-table, with the kind intention apparently of making her feel +more at her ease. But she had another motive. She saw some one who was +very interesting to her coming at that moment toward the table. That +some one was a man about forty, whose pointed black beard was becoming +slightly gray--a man whom some people thought ugly, chiefly because +they had never seen his somewhat irregular features illumined by a smile +which, spreading from his lips to his eyes, lighted up his face and +transformed it. The smile of Hubert Marien was rare, however. He +was exclusive in his friendships, often silent, always somewhat +unapproachable. He seldom troubled himself to please any one he did +not care for. In society he was not seen to advantage, because he +was extremely bored, for which reason he was seldom to be seen at +the Tuesday receptions of Madame de Nailles; while, on other days, he +frequented the house as an intimate friend of the family. Jacqueline had +known him all her life, and for her he had always his beautiful smile. +He had petted her when she was little, and had been much amused by the +sort of adoration she had no hesitation in showing that she felt for +him. He used to call her Mademoiselle ma femme, and M. de Nailles would +speak of him as “my daughter’s future husband.” This joke had been kept +up till the little lady had reached her ninth year, when it ceased, +probably by order of Madame de Nailles, who in matters of propriety was +very punctilious. Jacqueline, too, became less familiar than she had +been with the man she called “my great painter.” Indeed, in her heart of +hearts, she cherished a grudge against him. She thought he presumed on +the right he had assumed of teasing her. The older she grew the more he +treated her as if she were a baby, and, in the little passages of +arms that continually took place between them, Jacqueline was bitterly +conscious that she no longer had the best of it as formerly. She was no +longer as droll and lively as she had been. She was easily disconcerted, +and took everything ‘au serieux’, and her wits became paralyzed by an +embarrassment that was new to her. And, pained by the sort of sarcasm +which Marien kept up in all their intercourse, she was often ready to +burst into tears after talking to him. Yet she was never quite satisfied +unless he was present. She counted the days from one Wednesday to +another, for on Wednesdays he always dined with them, and she greeted +any opportunity of seeing him on other days as a great pleasure. This +week, for example, would be marked with a white stone. She would have +seen him twice. For half an hour Marien had been enduring the bore of +the reception, standing silent and self-absorbed in the midst of the gay +talk, which did not interest him. He wished to escape, but was always +kept from doing so by some word or sign from Madame de Nailles. +Jacqueline had been thinking: “Oh! if he would only come and talk to +us!” He was now drawing near them, and an instinct made her wish to rush +up to him and tell him--what should she tell him? She did not know. A +few moments before so many things to tell him had been passing through +her brain. + +What she said was: “Monsieur Marien, I recommend to you these little +spiced cakes.” And, with some awkwardness, because her hand was +trembling, she held out the plate to him. + +“No, thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said, affecting a tone of great +ceremony, “I prefer to take this glass of punch, if you will permit me.” + +“The punch is cold, I fear; suppose we were to put a little tea in it. +Stay--let me help you.” + +“A thousand thanks; but I like to attend to such little cookeries +myself. By the way, it seems to me that Mademoiselle Giselle, in her +character of an angel who disapproves of the good things of this life, +has not left us much to eat at your table.” + +“Who--I?” cried the poor schoolgirl, in a tone of injured innocence and +astonishment. + +“Don’t pay any attention to him,” said Jacqueline, as if taking her +under her protection. “He is nothing but a tease; what he says is only +chaff. But I might as well talk Greek to her,” she added, shrugging her +shoulders. “In the convent they don’t know what to make of a joke. Only +spare her at least, if you please, Monsieur Marien.” + +“I know by report that Mademoiselle Giselle is worthy of the most +profound respect,” continued the pitiless painter. “I lay myself at her +feet--and at yours. Now I am going to slip away in the English fashion. +Good-evening.” + +“Why do you go so soon? You can’t do any more work today.” + +“No, it has been a day lost--that is true.” + +“That’s polite! By the way”--here Jacqueline became very red and she +spoke rapidly--“what made you just now stare at me so persistently?” + +“I? Impossible that I could have permitted myself to stare at you, +Mademoiselle.” + +“That is just what you did, though. I thought you had found something to +find fault with. What could it be? I fancied there was something wrong +with my hair, something absurd that you were laughing at. You always do +laugh, you know.” + +“Wrong with your hair? It is always wrong. But that is not your fault. +You are not responsible for its looking like a hedgehog’s.” + +“Hedgehogs haven’t any hair,” said Jacqueline, much hurt by the +observation. + +“True, they have only prickles, which remind me of the susceptibility +of your temper. I beg your pardon I was looking at you critically. Being +myself indulgent and kindhearted, I was only looking at you from +an artist’s point of view--as is always allowable in my profession. +Remember, I see you very rarely by daylight. I am obliged to work as +long as the light allows me. Well, in the light of this April sunshine +I was saying to myself--excuse my boldness!--that you had reached the +right age for a picture.” + +“For a picture? Were you thinking of painting me?” cried Jacqueline, +radiant with pleasure. + +“Hold a moment, please. Between a dream and its execution lies a great +space. I was only imagining a picture of you.” + +“But my portrait would be frightful.” + +“Possibly. But that would depend on the skill of the painter.” + +“And yet a model should be--I am so thin,” said Jacqueline, with +confusion and discouragement. + +“True; your limbs are like a grasshopper’s.” + +“Oh! you mean my legs--but my arms....” + +“Your arms must be like your legs. But, sitting as you were just now, I +could see only your head, which is better. So! one has to be accountable +for looking at you? Mademoiselle feels herself affronted if any one +stares at her! I will remember this in future. There, now! suppose, +instead of quarrelling with me, you were to go and cast yourself into +the arms of your cousin Fred.” + +“Fred! Fred d’Argy! Fred is at Brest.” + +“Where are your eyes, my dear child? He has just come in with his +mother.” + +And at that moment Madame de Nailles, with her pure, clear voice--a +voice frequently compared to that of Mademoiselle Reichemberg, called: + +“Jacqueline!” + +Jacqueline never crossed the imaginary line which divided the two salons +unless she was called upon to do so. She was still summoned like a child +to speak to certain persons who took an especial interest in her, and +who were kind enough to wish to see her--Madame d’Argy, for example, +who had been the dearest friend of her dead mother. The death of that +mother, who had been long replaced by a stepmother, could hardly be +said to be deeply regretted by Jacqueline. She remembered her very +indistinctly. The stories of her she had heard from Modeste, her old +nurse, probably served her instead of any actual memory. She knew her +only as a woman pale and in ill health, always lying on a sofa. The +little black frock that had been made for her had been hardly worn +out when a new mamma, as gay and fresh as the other had been sick and +suffering, had come into the household like a ray of sunshine. + +After that time Madame d’Argy and Modeste were the only people who +spoke to her of the mother who was gone. Madame d’Argy, indeed, came on +certain days to take her to visit the tomb, on which the child read, as +she prayed for the departed: + + MARIE JACQUELINE ADELAIDE DE VALTIER + + BARONNE DE NAILLES + + DIED AGED TWENTY-SIX YEARS + +And such filial sentiment as she still retained, concerning the unknown +being who had been her mother, was tinged by her association with this +melancholy pilgrimage which she was expected to perform at certain +intervals. Without exactly knowing the reason why, Jacqueline was +conscious of a certain hostility that existed between Madame d’Argy and +her stepmother. + +The intimate friend of the first Madame de Nailles was a woman with +neither elegance nor beauty. She never had left off her widow’s weeds, +which she had worn since she had lost her husband in early youth. In the +eyes of Jacqueline her sombre figure personified austere, exacting Duty, +a kind of duty not attractive to her. That very day it seemed as if duty +inconveniently stepped in to break up a conversation that was deeply +interesting to her. The impatient gesture that she made when her mother +called her might have been interpreted into: Bother Madame d’Argy! + +“Jacqueline!” called again the silvery voice that had first summoned +her; and a moment after the young girl found herself in the centre of +a circle of grown people, saying good-morning, making curtseys, and +kissing the withered hand of old Madame de Monredon, as she had been +taught to do from infancy. Madame de Monredon was Giselle’s grandmother. +Jacqueline had been instructed to call her “aunt;” but in her heart she +called her ‘La Fee Gyognon’, while Madame d’Argy, pointing to her son, +said: “What do you think, darling, of such a surprise? He is home on +leave. We came here the first place-naturally.” + +“It was very nice of you. How do you do, Fred?” said Jacqueline, holding +out her hand to a very young man, in a jacket ornamented with gold lace, +who stood twisting his cap in his hand with some embarrassment “It is a +long time since we have seen each other. But it does not seem to me that +you have grown a great deal.” + +Fred blushed up to the roots of his hair. + +“No one can say that of you, Jacqueline,” observed Madame d’Argy. + +“No--what a may-pole!--isn’t she?” said the Baronne, carelessly. + +“If she realizes it,” whispered Madame de Monredon, who was sitting +beside Madame d’Argy on a ‘causeuse’ shaped like an S, “why does she +persist in dressing her like a child six years old? It is absurd!” + +“Still, she can have no reason for keeping her thus in order to make +herself seem young. She is only a stepmother.” + +“Of course. But people might make comparisons. Beauty in the bud +sometimes blooms out unexpectedly when it is not welcome.” + +“Yes--she is fading fast. Small women ought not to grow stout.” + +“Anyhow, I have no patience with her for keeping a girl of fifteen in +short skirts.” + +“You are making her out older than she is.” + +“How is that?--how is that? She is two years younger than Giselle, who +has just entered her eighteenth year.” + +While the two ladies were exchanging these little remarks, the Baronne +de Nailles was saying to the young naval cadet: + +“Monsieur Fred, we should be charmed to keep you with us, but possibly +you might like to see some of your old friends. Jacqueline can take you +to them. They will be glad to see you.” + +“Tiens!--that’s true,” said Jacqueline. “Dolly and Belle are yonder. You +remember Isabelle Ray, who used to take dancing lessons with us.” + +“Of course I do,” said Fred, following his cousin with a feeling of +regret that his sword was not knocking against his legs, increasing his +importance in the eyes of all the ladies who were present. He was not, +however; sorry to leave their imposing circle. Above all, he was glad +to escape from the clear-sighted, critical eyes of Madame de Nailles. +On the other hand, to be sent off to the girls’ corner, after +being insulted by being told he had not grown, hurt his sense of +self-importance. + +Meantime Jacqueline was taking him back to her own corner, where he was +greeted by two or three little exclamations of surprise, shaking hands, +however, as his former playmates drew their skirts around them, trying +to make room for him to sit down. + +“Young ladies,” said Jacqueline, “I present to you a ‘bordachien’--a +little middy from the practice-ship the Borda.” + +They burst out laughing: “A bordachien! A middy from the practice-ship!” + they cried. + +“I shall not be much longer on the practice-ship,” said the young man, +with a gesture which seemed as if his hand were feeling for the hilt of +his sword, which was not there, “for I am going very soon on my first +voyage as an ensign.” + +“Yes,” explained Jacqueline, “he is going to be transferred from +the ‘Borda’ to the ‘Jean-Bart’--which, by the way, is no longer the +‘Jean-Bart’, only people call her so because they are used to it. +Meantime you see before you “C,” the great “C,” the famous “C,” that is, +he is the pupil who stands highest on the roll of the naval school at +this moment.” + +There was a vague murmur of applause. Poor Fred was indeed in need of +some appreciation on the score of merit, for he was not much to look +upon, being at that trying age when a young fellow’s moustache is only +a light down, an age at which youths always look their worst, and are +awkward and unsociable because they are timid. + +“Then you are no longer an idle fellow,” said Dolly, rather teasingly. +“People used to say that you went into the navy to get rid of your +lessons. That I can quite understand.” + +“Oh, he has passed many difficult exams,” cried Giselle, coming to the +rescue. + +“I thought I had had enough of school,” said Fred, without making any +defense, “and besides I had other reasons for going into the navy.” + +His “other reasons” had been a wish to emancipate himself from +the excessive solicitude of his mother, who kept him tied to her +apron-strings like a little girl. He was impatient to do something for +himself, to become a man as soon as possible. But he said nothing of +all this, and to escape further questions devoured three or four little +cakes that were offered him. Before taking them he removed his gloves +and displayed a pair of chapped and horny hands. + +“Why--poor Fred!” cried Jacqueline, who remarked them in a moment, “what +kind of almond paste do you use?” + +Much annoyed, he replied, curtly: “We all have to row, we have also +to attend to the machinery. But that is only while we are cadets. Of +course, such apprenticeship is very hard. After that we shall get our +stripes and be ordered on foreign service, and expect promotion.” + +“And glory,” said Giselle, who found courage to speak. + +Fred thanked her with a look of gratitude. She, at least, understood his +profession. She entered into his feelings far better than Jacqueline, +who had been his first confidante--Jacqueline, to whom he had confided +his purposes, his ambition, and his day-dreams. He thought Jacqueline +was selfish. She seemed to care only for herself. And yet, selfish or +not selfish, she pleased him better than all the other girls he knew--a +thousand times more than gentle, sweet Giselle. + +“Ah, glory, of course!” repeated Jacqueline. “I understand how much that +counts, but there is glory of various kinds, and I know the kind that I +prefer,” she added in a tone which seemed to imply that it was not that +of arms, or of perilous navigation. “We all know,” she went on, “that +not every man can have genius, but any sailor who has good luck can get +to be an admiral.” + +“Let us hope you will be one soon, Monsieur Fred,” said Dolly. “You +will have well deserved it, according to the way you have distinguished +yourself on board the ‘Borda.’” + +This induced Fred to let them understand something of life on board the +practice-ship; he told how the masters who resided on shore ascended by +a ladder to the gun-deck, which had been turned into a schoolroom; how +six cadets occupied the space intended for each gun-carriage, where +hammocks hung from hooks served them instead of beds; how the chapel was +in a closet opened only on Sundays. He described the gymnastic feats in +the rigging, the practice in gunnery, and many other things which, had +they been well described, would have been interesting; but Fred was +only a poor narrator. The conclusion the young ladies seemed to reach +unanimously after hearing his descriptions, was discouraging. They cried +almost with one voice-- + +“Think of any woman being willing to marry a sailor.” + +“Why not?” asked Giselle, very promptly. + +“Because, what’s the use of a husband who is always out of your reach, +as it were, between water and sky? One would better be a widow. Widows, +at any rate, can marry again. But you, Giselle, don’t understand these +things. You are going to be a nun.” + +“Had I been in your place, Fred,” said Isabelle Ray, “I should rather +have gone into the cavalry school at Saint Cyr. I should have wanted to +be a good huntsman, had I been a man, and they say naval officers are +never good horsemen.” + +Poor Fred! He was not making much progress among the young girls. Almost +everything people talked about outside his cadet life was unknown to +him; what he could talk about seemed to have no interest for any one, +unless indeed it might interest Giselle, who was an adept in the art of +sympathetic listening, never having herself anything to say. + +Besides this, Fred was by no means at his ease in talking to Jacqueline. +They had been told not to ‘tutoyer’ each other, because they were +getting too old for such familiarity, and it was he, and not she, who +remembered this prohibition. Jacqueline perceived this after a while, +and burst out laughing: + +“Tiens! You call me ‘you,”’ she cried, “and I ought not to say +‘thou’ but ‘you.’ I forgot. It seems so odd, when we have always been +accustomed to ‘tutoyer’ each other.” + +“One ought to give it up after one’s first communion,” said the eldest +Mademoiselle Wermant, sententiously. “We ceased to ‘tutoyer’ our boy +cousins after that. I am told nothing annoys a husband so much as to +see these little familiarities between his wife and her cousins or her +playmates.” + +Giselle looked very much astonished at this speech, and her air of +disapproval amused Belle and Yvonne exceedingly. They began presently to +talk of the classes in which they were considered brilliant pupils, +and of their success in compositions. They said that sometimes very +difficult subjects were given out. A week or two before, each had had +to compose a letter purporting to be from Dante in exile to a friend in +Florence, describing Paris as it was in his time, especially the manners +and customs of its universities, ending by some allusion to the state of +matters between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. + +“Good heavens! And could you do it?” said Giselle, whose knowledge of +history was limited to what may be found in school abridgments. + +It was therefore a great satisfaction to her when Fred declared that he +never should have known how to set about it. + +“Oh! papa helped me a little,” said Isabelle, whose father wrote +articles much appreciated by the public in the ‘Revue des Deux +Mondes.’ “But he said at the same time that it was horrid to give such +crack-brained stuff to us poor girls. Happily, our subject this week is +much nicer. We have to make comparisons between La Tristesse d’Olympio, +Souvenir, and Le Lac’. That will be something interesting.” + +“The Tristesse d’Olympio?” repeated Giselle, in a tone of interrogation. + +“You know, of course, that it is Victor Hugo’s,” said Mademoiselle de +Wermant, with a touch of pity. + +Giselle answered with sincerity and humility, “I only knew that Le Lac +was by Lamartine.” + +“Well!--she knows that much,” whispered Belle to Yvonne--“just that +much, anyhow.” + +While they were whispering and laughing, Jacqueline recited, in a soft +voice, and with feeling that did credit to her instructor in elocution, +Mademoiselle X----, of the Theatre Francais: + + May the moan of the wind, the green rushes’ soft sighing, + The fragrance that floats in the air you have moved, + May all heard, may all breathed, may all seen, seem but trying + To say: They have loved. + +Then she added, after a pause: “Isn’t that beautiful?” + +“How dares she say such words?” thought Giselle, whose sense of +propriety was outraged by this allusion to love. Fred, too, looked +askance and was not comfortable, for he thought that Jacqueline had too +much assurance for her age, but that, after all, she was becoming more +and more charming. + +At that moment Belle and Yvonne were summoned, and they departed, full +of an intention to spread everywhere the news that Giselle, the little +goose, had actually known that Le Lac had been written by Lamartine. The +Benedictine Sisters positively had acquired that much knowledge. + +These girls were not the only persons that day at the reception who +indulged in a little ill-natured talk after going away. Mesdames d’Argy +and de Monredon, on their way to the Faubourg St. Germain, criticised +Madame de Nailles pretty freely. As they crossed the Parc Monceau +to reach their carriage, which was waiting for them on the Boulevard +Malesherbes, they made the young people, Giselle and Fred, walk ahead, +that they might have an opportunity of expressing themselves freely, the +old dowager especially, whose toothless mouth never lost an opportunity +of smirching the character and the reputation of her neighbors. + +“When I think of the pains my poor cousin de Nailles took to impress +upon us all that he was making what is called a ‘mariage raisonnable’! +Well, if a man wants a wife who is going to set up her own notions, her +own customs, he had better marry a poor girl without fortune! This one +will simply ruin him. My dear, I am continually amazed at the way people +are living whose incomes I know to the last sou. What an example for +Jacqueline! Extravagance, fast living, elegant self-indulgence.... Did +you observe the Baronne’s gown?--of rough woolen stuff. She told some +one it was the last creation of Doucet, and you know what that implies! +His serge costs more than one of our velvet gowns.... And then her +artistic tastes, her bric-a brac! Her salon looks like a museum or a +bazaar. I grant you it makes a very pretty setting for her and all +her coquetries. But in my time respectable women were contented with +furniture covered with red or yellow silk damask furnished by their +upholsterers. They didn’t go about trying to hunt up the impossible. ‘On +ne cherche pas midi a quatorze heures’. You hold, as I do, to the +old fashions, though you are not nearly so old, my dear Elise, and +Jacqueline’s mother thought as we think. She would say that her daughter +is being very badly brought up. To be sure, all young creatures nowadays +are the same. Parents, on a plea of tenderness, keep them at home, where +they get spoiled among grown people, when they had much better have the +same kind of education that has succeeded so well with Giselle; bolts on +the garden-gates, wholesome seclusion, the company of girls of their own +age, a great regularity of life, nothing which stimulates either +vanity or imagination. That is the proper way to bring up girls without +notions, girls who will let themselves be married without opposition, +and are satisfied with the state of life to which Providence may be +pleased to call them. For my part, I am enchanted with the ladies in the +Rue de Monsieur, and, what is more, Giselle is very happy among them; to +hear her talk you would suppose she was quite ready to take the veil. Of +course, that is a mere passing fancy. But fancies of that sort are +never dangerous, they have nothing in common with those that are passing +nowadays through most girls’ brains. Having ‘a day!’--what a foolish +notion: And then to let little girls take part in it, even in a corner +of the room. I’ll wager that, though her skirts are half way up her +legs, and her hair is dressed like a baby’s, that that little de Nailles +is less of a child than my granddaughter, who has been brought up by +the Benedictines. You say that she probably does not understand all +that goes on around her. Perhaps not, but she breathes it in. It’s +poison-that’s what it is!” + +There was a good deal of truth in this harsh picture, although it +contained considerable exaggeration. + +At this moment, when Madame de Monredon was sitting in judgment on the +education given to the little girls brought up in the world, and on the +ruinous extravagance of their young stepmothers, Madame de Nailles +and Jacqueline--their last visitors having departed--were resting +themselves, leaning tenderly against each other, on a sofa. Jacqueline’s +head lay on her mother’s lap. Her mother, without speaking, was stroking +the girl’s dark hair. Jacqueline, too, was silent, but from time to time +she kissed the slender fingers sparkling with rings, as they came within +reach of her lips. + +When M. de Nailles, about dinner-time, surprised them thus, he said, +with satisfaction, as he had often said before, that it would be hard to +find a home scene more charming, as they sat under the light of a lamp +with a pink shade. + +That the stepmother and stepdaughter adored each other was beyond a +doubt. And yet, had any one been able to look into their hearts at that +moment, he would have discovered with surprise that each was thinking of +something that she could not confide to the other. + +Both were thinking of the same person. Madame de Nailles was occupied +with recollections, Jacqueline with hope. She was absorbed in +Machiavellian strategy, how to realize a hope that had been formed that +very afternoon. + +“What are you both thinking of, sitting there so quietly?” said the +Baron, stooping over them and kissing first his wife and then his child. + +“About nothing,” said the wife, with the most innocent of smiles. + +“Oh! I am thinking,” said Jacqueline, “of many things. I have a secret, +papa, that I want to tell you when we are quite alone. Don’t be jealous, +dear mamma. It is something about a surprise--Oh, a lovely surprise for +you.” + +“Saint Clotilde’s day-my fete-day is still far off,” said Madame de +Nailles, refastening, mother-like, the ribbon that was intended to keep +in order the rough ripples of Jacqueline’s unruly hair, “and usually +your whisperings begin as the day approaches my fete.” + +“Oh, dear!--you will go and guess it!” cried Jacqueline in alarm. “Oh! +don’t guess it, please.” + +“Well! I will do my best not to guess, then,” said the good-natured +Clotilde, with a laugh. + +“And I assure you, for my part, that I am discretion itself,” said M. de +Nailles. + +So saying, he drew his wife’s arm within his own, and the three passed +gayly together into the dining-room. + + + + +CHAPTER II. A CLEVER STEPMOTHER + +No man took more pleasure than M. de Nailles in finding himself in his +own home--partly, perhaps, because circumstances compelled him to +be very little there. The post of deputy in the French Chamber is +no sinecure. He was not often an orator from the tribune, but he was +absorbed by work in the committees--“Harnessed to a lot of bothering +reports,” as Jacqueline used to say to him. He had barely any time to +give to those important duties of his position, by which, as is well +known, members of the Corps Legislatif are shamelessly harassed by +constituents, who, on pretence that they have helped to place the +interests of their district in your hands, feel authorized to worry you +with personal matters, such as the choice of agricultural machines, or a +place to be found for a wet-nurse. + +Besides his public duties, M. de Nailles was occupied by financial +speculations--operations that were no doubt made necessary by the style +of living commented on by his cousin, Madame de Monredon, who was as +stingy as she was bitter of tongue. The elegance that she found fault +with was, however, very far from being great when compared with the +luxury of the present day. Of course, the Baronne had to have her +horses, her opera-box, her fashionable frocks. To supply these very +moderate needs, which, however, she never insisted upon, being, so far +as words went, most simple in her tastes, M. de Nailles, who had not the +temperament which makes men find pleasure in hard work, became more +and more fatigued. His days were passed in the Chamber, but he never +neglected his interest on the Bourse; in the evening he accompanied his +young wife into society, which, she always declared, she did not care +for, but which had claims upon her nevertheless. It was therefore not +surprising that M. de Nailles’s face showed traces of the habitual +fatigue that was fast aging him; his tall, thin form had acquired a +slight stoop; though only fifty he was evidently in his declining years. +He had once been a man of pleasure, it was said, before he entered +politics. He had married his first wife late in life. She was a prudent +woman who feared to expose him to temptation, and had kept him as far as +possible away from Paris. + +In the country, having nothing to do, he became interested in +agriculture, and in looking after his estate at Grandchaux. He had been +made a member of the Conseil General, when unfortunately death too +early deprived him of the wise and gentle counsellor for whom he +felt, possibly not a very lively love, but certainly a high esteem and +affection. After he be came a widower he met in the Pyrenees, where, as +he was whiling away the time of seclusion proper after his loss, a young +lady who appeared to him exactly the person he needed to bring up his +little daughter--because she was extremely attractive to himself. Of +course M. de Nailles found plenty of other reasons for his choice, which +he gave to the world and to himself to justify his second marriage--but +this was the true reason and the only one. His friends, however, all +of whom had urged on him the desirability of taking another wife, in +consideration of the age of Jacqueline, raised many objections as soon +as he announced his intention of espousing Mademoiselle Clotilde Hecker, +eldest daughter of a man who had been, at one time, a prefect under +the Empire, but who had been turned out of office by the Republican +Government. He had a large family and many debts; but M. de Nailles had +some answer always ready for the objections of his family and friends. +He was convinced that Mademoiselle Hecker, having no fortune, would be +less exacting than other women and more disposed to lead a quiet life. + +She had been almost a mother to her own young brothers and sisters, +which was a pledge for motherliness toward Jacqueline, etc., etc. +Nevertheless, had she not had eyes as blue as those of the beauties +painted by Greuze, plenty of audacious wit, and a delicate complexion, +due to her Alsatian origin--had she not possessed a slender waist and +a lovely figure, he might have asked himself why a young lady who, in +winter, studied painting with the commendable intention of making her +own living by art, passed the summers at all the watering-places of +France and those of neighboring countries, without any perceptible +motive. + +But, thanks to the bandage love ties over the eyes of men, he saw only +what Mademoiselle Clotilde was willing that he should see. In the first +place he saw the great desirability of a talent for painting which, +unlike music--so often dangerous to married happiness--gives women who +cultivate it sedentary interests. And then he was attracted by the model +daughter’s filial piety as he beheld her taking care of her mother, who +was the victim of an incurable disorder, which required her by turns to +reside at Cauterets, or sometimes at Ems, sometimes at Aix in Savoy, +and sometimes even at Trouville. The poor girl had assured him that +she asked no happier lot than to live eight months of the year in the +country, where she would devote herself to teaching Jacqueline, for whom +at first sight she had taken a violent fancy (the attraction indeed was +mutual). She assured him she would teach her all she knew herself, and +her diplomas proved how well educated she had been. + +Indeed, it seemed as if only prejudice could find any objection to so +prudent and reasonable a marriage, a marriage contracted principally for +the good of Jacqueline. + +It came to pass, however, that the air of Grandchaux, which is situated +in the most unhealthful part of Limouzin, proved particularly hurtful to +the new Madame de Nailles. She could not live a month on her husband’s +property without falling into a state of health which she attributed to +malaria. M. de Nailles was at first much concerned about the condition +of things which seemed likely to upset all his plans for retirement in +the country, but, his wife having persuaded him that his position in +the Conseil General was only a stepping-stone to a seat in the Corps +Legislatif, where his place ought to be, he presented himself to the +electors as a candidate, and was almost unanimously elected deputy, the +conservative vote being still all powerful in that part of the country. + +His wife, it was said, had shown rare zeal and activity at the time of +the election, employing in her husband’s service all those little arts +which enable her sex to succeed in politics, as well as in everything +else they set their minds to. No lady ever more completely turned the +heads of country electors. It was really Madame de Nailles who took her +seat in the Left Centre of the Chamber, in the person of her husband. + +After that she returned to Limouzin only long enough to keep up her +popularity, though, with touching resignation, she frequently offered to +spend the summer at Grandchaux, even if the consequences should be +her death, like that of Pia in the Maremma. Her husband, of course, +peremptorily set his face against such self-sacrifice. + +The facilities for Jacqueline’s education were increased by their +settling down as residents of Paris. Madame de Nailles superintended +the instruction of her stepdaughter with motherly solicitude, seconded, +however, by a ‘promeneuse’, or walking-governess, which left her free to +fulfil her own engagements in the afternoons. The walking-governess is +a singular modern institution, intended to supply the place of the +too often inconvenient daily governess of former times. The necessary +qualifications of such a person are that she should have sturdy legs, +and such knowledge of some foreign language as will enable her during +their walks to converse in it with her pupil. Fraulein Schult, who +came from one of the German cantons of Switzerland, was an ideal +‘promeneuse’. She never was tired and she was well-informed. The number +of things that could be learned from her during a walk was absolutely +incredible. + +Madame de Nailles, therefore, after a time, gave up to her, not without +apparent regret, the duty of accompanying Jacqueline, while she herself +fulfilled those duties to society which the most devoted of mothers can +not wholly avoid; but the stepmother and stepdaughter were always to be +seen together at mass at one o’clock; together they attended the Cours +(that system of classes now so much in vogue) and also the weekly +instruction given in the catechism; and if Madame de Nailles, when, at +night, she told her husband all she had been doing for Jacqueline during +the day (she never made any merit of her zeal for the child’s welfare), +added: “I left Jacqueline in this place or in that, where Mademoiselle +Schult was to call for her,” M. de Nailles showed no disposition to ask +questions, for he well understood that his wife felt a certain delicacy +in telling him that she had been to pay a brief visit to her own +relatives, who, she knew, were distasteful to him. He had, indeed, very +soon discerned in them a love of intrigue, a desire to get the most they +could out of him, and a disagreeable propensity to parasitism. With the +consummate tact she showed in everything she did, Madame de Nailles kept +her own family in the background, though she never neglected them. She +was always doing them little services, but she knew well that there +were certain things about them that could not but be disagreeable to +her husband. M. de Nailles knew all this, too, and respected his wife’s +affection for her family. He seldom asked her where she had been during +the day. If he had she would have answered, with a sigh: “I went to see +my mother while Jacqueline was taking her dancing-lesson, and before she +went to her singing-master.” + +That she was passionately attached to Jacqueline was proved by the +affection the little girl conceived for her. “We two are friends,” both +mother and daughter often said of each other. Even Modeste, old Modeste, +who had been at first indignant at seeing a stranger take the place of +her dead mistress, could not but acknowledge that the usurper was no +ordinary step mother. It might have been truly said that Madame de +Nailles had never scolded Jacqueline, and that Jacqueline had never done +anything contrary to the wishes of Madame de Nailles. When anything went +wrong it was Fraulein Schult who was reproached first; if there was +any difficulty in the management of Jacqueline, she alone received +complaints. In the eyes of the “two friends,” Fraulein Schult was +somehow to be blamed for everything that went wrong in the family, +but between themselves an observer might have watched in vain for the +smallest cloud. Madame de Nailles, when she was first married, could +not make enough of the very ugly yet attractive little girl, whose tight +black curls and gypsy face made an admirable contrast to her own more +delicate style of beauty, which was that of a blonde. She caressed +Jacqueline, she dressed her up, she took her about with her like a +little dog, and overwhelmed her with demonstrations of affection, +which served not only to show off her own graceful attitudes, but gave +spectators a high opinion of her kindness of heart. + +When from time to time some one, envious of her happiness, pitied her +for being childless, Madame de Nailles would say: “What do you mean? I +have one daughter; she is enough for me.” + +It is a pity children grow so fast, and that little girls who were once +ugly sometimes develop into beautiful young women. The time came when +the model stepmother began to wish that Jacqueline would only develop +morally, intellectually, and not physically. But she showed nothing of +this in her behavior, and replied to any compliments addressed to her +concerning Jacqueline with as much maternal modesty as if the dawning +loveliness of her stepdaughter had been due to herself. + +“Her nose is rather too long-don’t you think so? And she will always be +too dark, I fear.” But she used always to add, “She is good enough and +pretty enough to pass muster with any critic--poor little pussy-cat!” + She became desirous to discover some tendency to ill-health in the plant +that was too ready to bloom into beauty and perfection. She would have +liked to be able to assert that Jacqueline’s health would not permit her +to sit up late at night, that fashionable hours would be injurious to +her, that it would be undesirable to let her go into society as long as +she could be kept from doing so. But Jacqueline persisted in never being +ill, and was calculating with impatience how many years it would be +before she could go to her first ball--three or four possibly. Was +Madame de Nailles in three or four years to be reduced to the position +of a chaperon? The young stepmother thought of such a possibility with +horror. Her anxiety on this subject, however, as well as several +other anxieties, was so well concealed that even her husband suspected +nothing. + +The complete sympathy which existed between the two beings he most loved +made M. de Nailles very happy. He had but one thing to complain of in +his wife, and that thing was very small. Since she had married she had +completely given up her painting. He had no knowledge of art himself, +and had therefore given her credit for great artistic capacity. The fact +was that in her days of poverty she had never been artist enough to make +a living, and now that she was rich she felt inclined to laugh at her +own limited ability. Her practice of art, she said, had only served to +give her a knowledge of outline and of color; a knowledge she utilized +in her dress and in the smallest details of house decoration and +furniture. Everything she wore, everything that surrounded her, was +arranged to perfection. She had a genius for decoration, for furniture, +for trifles, and brought her artistic knowledge to bear even on the +tying of a ribbon, or the arrangement of a nosegay. + +“This is all I retain of your lessons,” she said sometimes to Hubert +Marien, when recalling to his memory the days in which she sought his +advice as to how to prepare herself for the “struggle for life.” + +This phrase was amusing when it proceeded from her lips. +What!--“struggle for life” with those little delicate, soft, childlike +hands? How absurd! She laughed at the idea now, and all those who heard +her laughed with her; Marien laughed more than any one. He, who had +befriended her in her days of adversity, seemed to retain for the +Baroness in her prosperity the same respectful and discreet devotion he +had shown her as Mademoiselle Hecker. He had sent a wonderful portrait +of her, as the wife of M. de Nailles, to the Salon--a portrait that the +richer electors of Grandchaux, who had voted for her husband and who +could afford to travel, gazed at with satisfaction, congratulating +themselves that they had a deputy who had married so pretty a woman. It +even seemed as if the beauty of Madame de Nailles belonged in some sort +to the arrondissement, so proud were those who lived there of having +their share in her charms. + +Another portrait--that of M. de Nailles himself--was sent down to +Limouzin from Paris, and all the peasants in the country round were +invited to come and look at it. That also produced a very favorable +impression on the rustic public, and added to the popularity of their +deputy. Never had the proprietor of Grandchaux looked so grave, so +dignified, so majestic, so absorbed in deep reflection, as he looked +standing beside a table covered with papers--papers, no doubt, all +having relation to local interests, important to the public and to +individuals. It was the very figure of a statesman destined to high +dignities. No one who gazed on such a deputy could doubt that one day he +would be in the ministry. + +It was by such real services that Marien endeavored to repay the +friendship and the kindness always awaiting him in the small house in +the Parc Monceau, where we have just seen Jacqueline eagerly offering +him some spiced cakes. To complete what seemed due to the household +there only remained to paint the curiously expressive features of the +girl at whom he had been looking that very day with more than ordinary +attention. Once already, when Jacqueline was hardly out of baby-clothes, +the great painter had made an admirable sketch of her tousled head, +a sketch in which she looked like a little imp of darkness, and this +sketch Madame de Nailles took pains should always be seen, but it bore +no resemblance to the slender young girl who was on the eve of becoming, +whatever might be done to arrest her development, a beautiful young +woman. Jacqueline disliked to look at that picture. It seemed to do her +an injury by associating her with her nursery. Probably that was +the reason why she had been so pleased to hear Hubert Marien say +unexpectedly that she was now ready for the portrait which had been +often joked about, every one putting it off to the period, always +remote, when “the may-pole” should have developed a pretty face and +figure. + +And now she was disquieted lest the idea of taking her picture, which +she felt was very flattering, should remain inoperative in the +painter’s brain. She wanted it carried out at once, as soon as possible. +Jacqueline detested waiting, and for some reason, which she never talked +about, the years that seemed so short and swift to her stepmother seemed +to her to be terribly long. Marien himself had said: “There is a great +interval between a dream and its execution.” These words had thrown cold +water on her sudden joy. She wanted to force him to keep his promise--to +paint her portrait immediately. How to do this was the problem her +little head, reclining on Madame de Nailles’s lap after the departure of +their visitors, had been endeavoring to solve. + +Should she communicate her wish to her indulgent stepmother, who for +the most part willed whatever she wished her to do? A vague instinct--an +instinct of some mysterious danger--warned her that in this case her +father would be her better confidant. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE FRIEND OF THE FAY + +A week later M. de Nailles said to Hubert Marien, as they were smoking +together in the conservatory, after the usual little family dinner on +Wednesday was over: + +“Well!--when would you like Jacqueline to come to sit for her picture?” + +“What! are you thinking about that?” cried the painter, letting his +cigar fall in his astonishment. + +“She told me that you had proposed to make her portrait.” + +“The sly little minx!” thought Marien. “I only spoke of painting it some +day,” he said, with embarrassment. + +“Well! she would like that ‘some day’ to be now, and she has a reason +for wanting it at once, which, I hope, will decide you to gratify her. +The third of June is Sainte-Clotilde’s day, and she has taken it into +her head that she would like to give her mamma a magnificent present--a +present that, of course, we shall unite to give her. For some time past +I have been thinking of asking you to paint a portrait of my daughter,” + continued M. de Nailles, who had in fact had no more wish for the +portrait than he had had to be a deputy, until it had been put into his +head. But the women of his household, little or big, could persuade him +into anything. + +“I really don’t think I have the time now,” said Marien. + +“Bah!--you have whole two months before you. What can absorb you so +entirely? I know you have your pictures ready for the Salon.” + +“Yes--of course--of course--but are you sure that Madame de Nailles +would approve of it?” + +“She will approve whatever I sanction,” said M. de Nailles, with as much +assurance as if he had been master in his domestic circle; “besides, we +don’t intend to ask her. It is to be a surprise. Jacqueline is looking +forward to the pleasure it will give her. There is something very +touching to me in the affection of that little thing for--for her +mother.” M. de Nailles usually hesitated a moment before saying that +word, as if he were afraid of transferring something still belonging to +his dead wife to another--that dead wife he so seldom remembered in any +other way. He added, “She is so eager to give her pleasure.” + +Marien shook his head with an air of uncertainty. + +“Are you sure that such a portrait would be really acceptable to Madame +de Nailles?” + +“How can you doubt it?” said the Baron, with much astonishment. “A +portrait of her daughter!--done by a great master? However, of course, +if we are putting you to any inconvenience--if you would rather not +undertake it, you had better say so.” + +“No--of course I will do it, if you wish it,” said Marien, quickly, who, +although he was anxious to do nothing to displease Madame de Nailles, +was equally desirous to stand well with her husband. “Yet I own that +all the mystery that must attend on what you propose may put me to some +embarrassment. How do you expect Jacqueline will be able to conceal--” + +“Oh! easily enough. She walks out every day with Mademoiselle Schult. +Well, Mademoiselle Schult will bring her to your studio instead of +taking her to the Champs Elysees--or to walk elsewhere.” + +“But every day there will be concealments, falsehoods, deceptions. I +think Madame de Nailles might prefer to be asked for her permission.” + +“Ask for her permission when I have given mine? Ah, fa! my dear Marien, +am I, or am I not, the father, of Jacqueline? I take upon myself the +whole responsibility.” + +“Then there is nothing more to be said. But do you think that Jacqueline +will keep the secret till the picture is done?” + +“You don’t know little girls; they are all too glad to have something of +which they can make a mystery.” + +“When would you like us to begin?” + +Marien had by this time said to himself that for him to hold out longer +might seem strange to M. de Nailles. Besides, the matter, though in some +respects it gave him cause for anxiety, really excited an interest in +him. For some time past, though he had long known women and knew very +little of mere girls, he had had his suspicions that a drama was being +enacted in Jacqueline’s heart, a drama of which he himself was the hero. +He amused himself by watching it, though he did nothing to promote +it. He was an artist and a keen and penetrating observer; he employed +psychology in the service of his art, and probably to that might have +been attributed the individual character of his portraits--a quality to +be found in an equal degree only in those of Ricard. + +What particularly interested him at this moment was the assumed +indifference of Jacqueline while her father was conducting the +negotiation which was of her suggestion. When they returned to the salon +after smoking she pretended not to be the least anxious to know the +result of their conversation. She sat sewing near the lamp, giving all +her attention to the piece of lace on which she was working. Her father +made her a sign which meant “He consents,” and then Marien saw that the +needle in her fingers trembled, and a slight color rose in her face--but +that was all. She did not say a word. He could not know that for a week +past she had gone to church every time she took a walk, and had offered +a prayer and a candle that her wish might be granted. How very anxious +and excited she had been all that week! The famous composition of which +she had spoken to Giselle, the subject of which had so astonished the +young girl brought up by the Benedictine nuns, felt the inspiration of +her emotion and excitement. Jacqueline was in a frame of mind which made +reading those three masterpieces by three great poets, and pondering +the meaning of their words, very dangerous. The poems did not affect her +with the melancholy they inspire in those who have “lived and loved,” + but she was attracted by their tenderness and their passion. Certain +lines she applied to herself--certain others to another person. The very +word love so often repeated in the verses sent a thrill through all her +frame. She aspired to taste those “intoxicating moments,” those “swift +delights,” those “sublime ecstasies,” those “divine transports”--all the +beautiful things, in short, of which the poems spoke, and which were +as yet unknown to her. How could she know them? How could she, after an +experience of sorrow, which seemed to her to be itself enviable, retain +such sweet remembrances as the poets described? + +“Let us love--love each other! Let us hasten to enjoy the passing hour!” + so sang the poet of Le Lac. That passing hour of bliss she thought she +had already enjoyed. She was sure that for a long time past she had +loved. When had that love begun? She hardly knew. But it would last as +long as she might live. One loves but once. + +These personal emotions, mingling with the literary enchantments of the +poets, caused Jacqueline’s pen to fly over her paper without effort, and +she produced a composition so far superior to anything she usually wrote +that it left the lucubrations of her companions far behind. M. Regis, +the professor, said so to the class. He was enthusiastic about it, and +greatly surprised. Belle, who had been always first in this kind of +composition, was far behind Jacqueline, and was so greatly annoyed at +her defeat that she would not speak to her for a week. On the other +hand Colette and Dolly, who never had aspired to literary triumphs, were +moved to tears when the “Study on the comparative merits of Three +Poems, ‘Le Lac,’ ‘Souvenir,’ and ‘La Tristesse d’Olympio,’” signed +“Mademoiselle de Nailles,” received the honor of being read aloud. This +reading was followed by a murmur of applause, mingled with some hisses +which may have proceeded from the viper of jealousy. But the paper +made a sensation like that of some new scandal. Mothers and governesses +whispered together. Many thought that that little de Nailles had +expressed sentiments not proper at her age. Some came to the conclusion +that M. Regis chose subjects for composition not suited to young girls. +A committee waited on the unlucky professor to beg him to be more +prudent for the future. He even lost, in consequence of Jacqueline’s +success, one of his pupils (the most stupid one, be it said, in the +class), whose mother took her away, saying, with indignation, “One might +as well risk the things they are teaching at the Sorbonne!” + +This literary incident greatly alarmed Madame de Nailles! Of all things +she dreaded that her daughter should early become dreamy and romantic. +But on this point Jacqueline’s behavior was calculated to reassure her. +She laughed about her composition, she frolicked like a six-year-old +child; without any apparent cause, she grew gayer and gayer as the time +approached for the execution of her plot. + +The evening before the day fixed on for the first sitting, Modeste, the +elderly maid of the first Madame de Nailles, who loved her daughter, +whom she had known from the moment of her birth, as if she had been her +own foster-child, arrived at the studio of Hubert Marien in the Rue de +Prony, bearing a box which she said contained all that would be wanted +by Mademoiselle. Marien had the curiosity to look into it. It contained +a robe of oriental muslin, light as air, diaphanous--and so dazzlingly +white that he remarked: + +“She will look like a fly in milk in that thing.” + +“Oh!” replied Modeste, with a laugh of satisfaction, “it is very +becoming to her. I altered it to fit her, for it is one of Madame’s +dresses. Mademoiselle has nothing but short skirts, and she wanted to be +painted as a young lady.” + +“With the approval of her papa?” + +“Yes, of course, Monsieur, Monsieur le Baron gave his consent. But for +that I certainly should not have minded what the child said to me.” + +“Then,” replied Marien, “I can say nothing,” and he made ready for his +sitter the next day, by turning two or three studies of the nude, which +might have shocked her, with their faces to the wall. + +A foreign language can not be properly acquired unless the learner has +great opportunities for conversation. It therefore became a fixed habit +with Fraulein Schult and Jacqueline to keep up a lively stream of talk +during their walks, and their discourse was not always about the rain, +the fine weather, the things displayed in the shop-windows, nor the +historical monuments of Paris, which they visited conscientiously. + +What is near the heart is sure to come eventually to the surface +in continual tete-a-tete intercourse. Fraulein Schult, who was of +a sentimental temperament, in spite of her outward resemblance to a +grenadier, was very willing to allow her companion to draw from her +confessions relating to an intended husband, who was awaiting her at +Berne, and whose letters, both in prose and verse, were her comfort in +her exile. This future husband was an apothecary, and the idea that he +pounded out verses as he pounded his drugs in a mortar, and rolled out +rhymes with his pills, sometimes inclined Jacqueline to laugh, but she +listened patiently to the plaintive outpourings of her ‘promeneuse’, +because she wished to acquire a right to reciprocate by a few +half-confidences of her own. In her turn, therefore, she confided to +Fraulein Schult--moved much as Midas had been, when for his own relief +he whispered to the reeds--that if she were sometimes idle, inattentive, +“away off in the moon,” as her instructors told her by way of reproach, +it was caused by one ever-present idea, which, ever since she had been +able to think or feel, had taken possession of her inmost being--the +idea of being loved some day by somebody as she herself loved. + +“Was that somebody a boy of her own age?” + +Oh, fie!--mere boys--still schoolboys--could only be looked upon as +playfellows or comrades. Of course she considered Fred--Fred, for +example!--Frederic d’Argy--as a brother, but how different he was from +her ideal. Even young men of fashion--she had seen some of them on +Tuesdays--Raoul Wermant, the one who so distinguished himself as a +leader in the ‘german’, or Yvonne’s brother, the officer of chasseurs, +who had gained the prize for horsemanship, and others besides +these--seemed to her very commonplace by comparison. No!--he whom she +loved was a man in the prime of life, well known to fame. She didn’t +care if he had a few white hairs. + +“Is he a person of rank?” asked Fraulein Schult, much puzzled. + +“Oh! if you mean of noble birth, no, not at all. But fame is so superior +to birth! There are more ways than one of acquiring an illustrious name, +and the name that a man makes for himself is the noblest of all!” + +Then Jacqueline begged Fraulein Schult to imagine something like the +passion of Bettina for Goethe--Fraulein Schult having told her that +story simply with a view of interesting her in German conversation only +the great man whose name she would not tell was not nearly so old as +Goethe, and she herself was much less childish than Bettina. But, above +all, it was his genius that attracted her--though his face, too, was +very pleasing. And she went on to describe his appearance--till +suddenly she stopped, burning with indignation; for she perceived that, +notwithstanding the minuteness of her description, what she said was +conveying an idea of ugliness and not one of the manly beauty she +intended to portray. + +“He is not like that at all,” she cried. “He has such a beautiful +smile-a smile like no other I ever saw. And his talk is so +amusing--and--” here Jacqueline lowered her voice as if afraid to be +overheard, “and I do think--I think, after all, he does love me--just a +little.” + +On what could she have founded such a notion? Good heaven!--it was on +something that had at first deeply grieved her, a sudden coldness and +reserve that had come over his manner to her. Not long before she had +read an English novel (no others were allowed to come into her hands). +It was rather a stupid book, with many tedious passages, but in it she +was told how the high-minded hero, not being able, for grave reasons, to +aspire to the hand of the heroine, had taken refuge in an icy coldness, +much as it cost him, and as soon as possible had gone away. English +novels are nothing if not moral. + +This story, not otherwise interesting, threw a gleam of light on what, +up to that time, had been inexplicable to Jacqueline. He was above all +things a man of honor. He must have perceived that his presence troubled +her. He had possibly seen her when she stole a half-burned cigarette +which he had left upon the table, a prize she had laid up with other +relics--an old glove that he had lost, a bunch of violets he had +gathered for her in the country. Yes! When she came to think of it, +she felt certain he must have seen her furtively lay her hand upon that +cigarette; that cigarette had compromised her. Then it was he must have +said to himself that it was due to her parents, who had always shown him +kindness, to surmount an attachment that could come to nothing--nothing +at present. But when she should be old enough for him to ask her hand, +would he dare? Might he not rashly think himself too old? She must seek +out some way to give him encouragement, to give him to understand that +she was not, after all, so far--so very far from being a young lady--old +enough to be married. How difficult it all was! All the more difficult +because she was exceedingly afraid of him. + +It is not surprising that Fraulein Schult, after listening day after +day to such recitals, with all the alternations of hope and of +discouragement which succeeded one another in the mind of her precocious +pupil, guessed, the moment that Jacqueline came to her, in a transport +of joy, to ask her to go with her to the Rue de Prony, that the hero of +the mysterious love-story was no other than Hubert Marien. + +As soon as she understood this, she perceived that she should be placed +in a very false position. But she thought to herself there was no +possible way of getting out of it, without giving a great deal too much +importance to a very innocent piece of childish folly; she therefore +determined to say nothing about it, but to keep a strict watch in the +mean time. After all, M. de Nailles himself had given her her orders. +She was to accompany Jacqueline, and do her crochet-work in one corner +of the studio as long as the sitting lasted. + +All she could do was to obey. + +“And above all not a word to mamma, whatever she may ask you,” said +Jacqueline. + +And her father added, with a laugh, “Not a word.” Fraulein Schult felt +that she knew what was expected of her. She was naturally compliant, and +above all things she was anxious to get paid for as many hours of her +time as possible--much like the driver of a fiacre, because the more +money she could make the sooner she would be in a position to espouse +her apothecary. + +When Jacqueline, escorted by her Swiss duenna, penetrated almost +furtively into Marien’s studio, her heart beat as if she had a +consciousness of doing something very wrong. In truth, she had pictured +to herself so many impossible scenes beforehand, had rehearsed the +probable questions and answers in so many strange dialogues, had soothed +her fancy with so many extravagant ideas, that she had at last created, +bit by bit, a situation very different from the reality, and then threw +herself into it, body and soul. + +The look of the atelier--the first she had ever been in in her +life--disappointed her. She had expected to behold a gorgeous collection +of bric-a-brac, according to accounts she had heard of the studios of +several celebrated masters. That of Marien was remarkable only for its +vast dimensions and its abundance of light. Studies and sketches hung on +the walls, were piled one over another in corners, were scattered +about everywhere, attesting the incessant industry of the artist, whose +devotion to his calling was so great that his own work never satisfied +him. + +Only some interesting casts from antique bronzes, brought out into +strong relief by a background of tapestry, adorned this lofty hall, +which had none of that confusion of decorative objects, in the midst of +which some modern artists seem to pose themselves rather than to labor. + +A fresh canvas stood upon an easel, all ready for the sitter. + +“If you please, we will lose no time,” said Marien, rather roughly, +seeing that Jacqueline was about to explore all the corners of his +apartment, and that at that moment, with the tips of her fingers, she +was drawing aside the covering he had cast over his Death of Savonarola, +the picture he was then at work upon. It was not the least of his +grudges against Jacqueline for insisting on having her portrait painted +that it obliged him to lay aside this really great work, that he might +paint a likeness. + +“In ten minutes I shall be ready,” said Jacqueline, obediently taking +off her hat. + +“Why can’t you stay as you are? That jacket suits you. Let us begin +immediately.” + +“No, indeed! What a horrid suggestion!” she cried, running up to the box +which was half open. “You’ll see how much better I can look in a moment +or two.” + +“I put no faith in your fancies about your toilette. I certainly don’t +promise to accept them.” + +Nevertheless, he left her alone with her Bernese governess, saying: +“Call me when you are ready, I shall be in the next room.” + +A quarter of an hour, and more, passed, and no signal had been given. +Marien, getting out of patience, knocked on the door. + +“Have you nearly done beautifying yourself?” he asked, in a tone of +irony. + +“Just done,” replied a low voice, which trembled. + +He went in, and to the great amusement of Fraulein Schult, who was not +too preoccupied to notice everything, he stood confounded--petrified, +as a man might be by some work of magic. What had become of Jacqueline? +What had she in common with that dazzling vision? Had she been touched +by some fairy’s wand? Or, to accomplish such a transformation, had +nothing been needed but the substitution of a woman’s dress, fitted +to her person, for the short skirts and loose waists cut in a boyish +fashion, which had made the little girl seem hardly to belong to any +sex, an indefinite being, condemned, as it were, to childishness? How +tall, and slender, and graceful she looked in that long gown, the folds +of which fell from her waist in flowing lines, a waist as round and +flexible as the branch of a willow; what elegance there was in her +modest corsage, which displayed for the first time her lovely arms and +neck, half afraid of their own exposure. She still was not robust, +but the leanness that she herself had owned to was not brought into +prominence by any bone or angle, her dark skin was soft and polished, +the color of ancient statues which have been slightly tinted yellow by +exposure to the sun. This girl, a Parisienne, seemed formed on the model +of a figurine of Tanagra. Greek, too, was her small head, crowned only +by her usual braid of hair, which she had simply gathered up so as to +show the nape of her neck, which was perhaps the most beautiful thing in +all her beautiful person. + +“Well!--what do you think of me?” she said to Marien, with a searching +glance to see how she impressed him--a glance strangely like that of a +grown woman. + +“Well!--I can’t get over it!--Why have you bedizened yourself in that +fashion?” he asked, with an affectation of ‘brusquerie’, as he tried to +recover his power of speech. + +“Then you don’t like me?” she murmured, in a low voice. Tears came into +her eyes; her lips trembled. + +“I don’t see Jacqueline.” + +“No--I should hope not--but I am better than Jacqueline, am I not?” + +“I am accustomed to Jacqueline. This new acquaintance disconcerts +me. Give me time to get used to her. But once again let me ask, what +possessed you to disguise yourself?” + +“I am not disguised. I am disguised when I am forced to wear those +things, which do not suit me,” said Jacqueline, pointing to her gray +jacket and plaid skirt which were hung up on a hat-rack. “Oh, I know why +mamma keeps me like that--she is afraid I should get too fond of dress +before I have finished my education, and that my mind may be diverted +from serious subjects. It is no doubt all intended for my good, but I +should not lose much time if I turned up my hair like this, and what +harm could there be in lengthening my skirts an inch or two? My picture +will show her that I am improved by such little changes, and perhaps it +will induce hor to let me go to the Bal Blanc that Madame d’Etaples is +going to give on Yvonne’s birthday. Mamma declined for me, saying I was +not fit to wear a low-necked corsage, but you see she was mistaken.” + +“Rather,” said Marien, smiling in spite of himself. + +“Yes--wasn’t she?” she went on, delighted at his look. “Of course, +I have bones, but they don’t show like the great hollows under the +collar-bones that Dolly shows, for instance--but Dolly looks stouter +than I because her face is so round. Well! Dolly is going to Madame +d’Etaples’s ball.” + +“I grant,” said Marien, devoting all his attention to the preparation +of his palette, that she might not see him laugh, “I grant that you have +bones--yes, many bones--but they are not much seen because they are too +well placed to be obtrusive.” + +“I am glad of that,” said Jacqueline, delighted. + +“But let me ask you one question. Where did you pick up that queer gown? +It seems to me that I have seen it somewhere.” + +“No doubt you have,” replied Jacqueline, who had quite recovered from +her first shock, and was now ready to talk; “it is the dress mamma had +made some time ago when she acted in a comedy.” + +“So I thought,” growled Marien, biting his lips. + +The dress recalled to his mind many personal recollections, and for one +instant he paused. Madame de Nailles, among other talents, possessed +that of amateur acting. On one occasion, several years before, she had +asked his advice concerning what dress she should wear in a little play +of Scribe’s, which was to be given at the house of Madame d’Avrigny--the +house in all Paris most addicted to private theatricals. This +reproduction of a forgotten play, with its characters attired in the +costume of the period in which the play was placed, had had great +success, a success due largely to the excellence of the costumes. In the +comic parts the dressing had been purposely exaggerated, but Madame de +Nailles, who played the part of a great coquette, would not have been +dressed in character had she not tried to make herself as bewitching as +possible. + +Marien had shown her pictures of the beauties of 1840, painted by +Dubufe, and she had decided on a white gauze embroidered with gold, in +which, on that memorable evening, she had captured more than one heart, +and which had had its influence on the life and destiny of Marien. This +might have been seen in the vague glance of indignation with which he +now regarded it. + +“Never,” he thought, “was it half so pretty when worn by Madame de +Nailles as by her stepdaughter.” + +Jacqueline meantime went on talking. + +“You must know--I was rather perplexed what to do--almost all mamma’s +gowns made me look horribly too old. Modeste tried them on me one after +another. We burst out laughing, they seemed so absurd. And then we were +afraid mamma might chance to want the one I took. This old thing it was +not likely she would ask for. She had worn it only once, and then put +it away. The gauze is a little yellow from lying by, don’t you think so? +But we asked my father, who said it was all right, that I should look +less dark in it, and that the dress was of no particular date, which was +always an advantage. These Grecian dresses are always in the fashion. +Ah! four years ago mamma was much more slender than she is now. But we +have taken it in--oh! we took it in a great deal under the arms, but we +had to let it down. Would you believe it?--I am taller than mamma--but +you can hardly see the seam, it is concealed by the gold embroidery.” + +“No matter for that. We shall only take a three-quarters’ length,” said +Marien. + +“Oh, what a pity! No one will see I have a long skirt on. But I shall +be ‘decolletee’, at any rate. I shall wear a comb. No one would know the +picture for me--nobody!--You yourself hardly knew me--did you?” + +“Not at first sight. You are much altered.” + +“Mamma will be amazed,” said Jacqueline, clasping her hands. “It was a +good idea!” + +“Amazed, I do not doubt,” said Marien, somewhat anxiously. “But suppose +we take our pose--Stay!--keep just as you are. Your hands before you, +hanging down--so. Your fingers loosely clasped--that’s it. Turn your +head a little. What a lovely neck!--how well her head is set upon it!” + he cried, involuntarily. + +Jacqueline glanced at Fraulein Schult, who was at the farther end of the +studio, busy with her crochet. “You see,” said the look, “that he has +found out I am pretty--that I am worth something--all the rest will soon +happen.” + +And, while Marien was sketching in the graceful figure that posed before +him, Jacqueline’s imagination was investing it with the white robe of a +bride. She had a vision of the painter growing more and more resolved +to ask her hand in marriage as the portrait grew beneath his brush; of +course, her father would say at first: “You are mad--you must wait. +I shall not let Jacqueline marry till she is seventeen.” But long +engagements, she had heard, had great delights, though in France they +are not the fashion. At last, after being long entreated, she was sure +that M. and Madame de Nailles would end by giving their consent--they +were so fond of Marien. Standing there, dreaming this dream, which gave +her face an expression of extreme happiness, Jacqueline made a most +admirable model. She had not felt in the least fatigued when Marien at +last said to her, apologetically: “You must be ready to drop--I forgot +you were not made of wood; we will go on to-morrow.” + +Jacqueline, having put on her gray jacket with as much contempt for +it as Cinderella may have felt for her rags after her successes at the +ball, departed with the delightful sensation of having made a bold first +step, and being eager to make another. + +Thus it was with all her sittings, though some left her anxious and +unhappy, as for instance when Marien, absorbed in his work, had not +paused, except to say, “Turn your head a little--you are losing the +pose.” Or else, “Now you may rest for today.” + +On such occasions she would watch him anxiously as he painted swiftly, +his brush making great splashes on the canvas, his dark features wearing +a scowl, his chin on his breast, a deep frown upon his forehead, on +which the hair grew low. It was evident that at such times he had no +thought of pleasing her. Little did she suspect that he was saying to +himself: “Fool that I am!--A man of my age to take pleasure in seeing +that little head filled with follies and fancies of which I am the +object. But can one--let one be ever so old--always act--or think +reasonably? You are mad, Marien! A child of fourteen! Bah!--they make +her out to be fourteen--but she is fifteen--and was not that the age of +Juliet? But, you old graybeard, you are not Romeo!--‘Ma foi’! I am in a +pretty scrape. It ought to teach me not to play with fire at my age.” + +Those words “at my age” were the refrain to all the reflections of +Hubert Marien. He had seen enough in his relations with women to have +no doubt about Jacqueline’s feelings, of which indeed he had watched +the rise and progress from the time she had first begun to conceive +a passion for him, with a mixture of amusement and conceit. The most +cautious of men are not insensible to flattery, whatever form it may +take. To be fallen in love with by a child was no doubt absurd--a thing +to be laughed at--but Jacqueline seemed no longer a child, since for him +she had uncovered her young shoulders and arranged her dark hair on +her head with the effect of a queenly diadem. Not only had her dawning +loveliness been revealed to him alone, but to him it seemed that he had +helped to make her lovely. The innocent tenderness she felt for him had +accomplished this miracle. Why should he refuse to inhale an incense +so pure, so genuine? How could he help being sensible to its fragrance? +Would it not be in his power to put an end to the whole affair whenever +he pleased? But till then might he not bask in it, as one does in a warm +ray of spring sunshine? He put aside, therefore, all scruples. And when +he did this Jacqueline with rapture saw the painter’s face, no longer +with its scowl, but softened by some secret influence, the lines +smoothed from his brow, while the beautiful smile which had fascinated +so many women passed like a ray of light over his expressive mobile +features; then she would once more fancy that he was making love to her, +and indeed he said many things, which, without rousing in himself any +scruples of conscience, or alarming the propriety of Fraulein Schult, +were well calculated to delude a girl who had had no experience, and who +was charmed by the illusions of a love-affair, as she might have been by +a fairy-story. + +It is true that sometimes, when he fancied he might have gone too far, +Marien would grow sarcastic, or stay silent for a time. But this +change of behavior produced on Jacqueline only the same effect that +the caprices of a coquette produce upon a very young admirer. She grew +anxious, she wanted to find out the reason, and finally found some +explanation or excuse for him that coincided with her fancies. + +The thing that reassured her in such cases was her picture. If she could +seem to him as beautiful as he had made her look on canvas she was sure +that he must love her. + +“Is this really I? Are you sure?” she said to Marien with a laugh of +delight. “It seems to me that you have made me too handsome.” + +“I have hardly done you justice,” he replied. “It is not my fault if +you are more beautiful than seems natural, like the beauties in the +keepsakes. By the way, I hold those English things in horror. What do +you say of them?” + +Then Jacqueline undertook to defend the keepsake beauties with +animation, declaring that no one but a hopelessly realistic painter +would refuse to do justice to those charming monstrosities. + +“Good heavens!” thought Marien, “if she is adding a quick wit to her +other charms--that will put the finishing stroke to me.” + +When the portrait was sufficiently advanced, M. de Nailles came to the +studio to judge of the likeness. He was delighted: “Only, my friend, I +think,” he cried to Marien, endeavoring to soften his one objection +to the picture, “that you have given her a look--how can I put it?--an +expression very charming no doubt, but which is not that of +a child of her age. You know what I mean. It is something +tender--intense--profound, too feminine. It may come to her some day, +perhaps--but hitherto Jacqueline’s expression has been generally that of +a merry, mischievous child.” + +“Oh, papa!” cried the young girl, stung by the insult. + +“You may possibly be right,” Marien hastened to reply, “it was probably +the fatigue of posing that gave her that expression.” + +“Oh!” repeated Jacqueline, more shocked than ever. + +“I can alter it,” said the painter, much amused by her extreme despair. +But Marien thought that Jacqueline had not in the least that precocious +air which her father attributed to her, when standing before him she +gave herself up to thoughts the current of which he followed easily, +watching on her candid face its changes of expression. How could he +have painted her other than she appeared to him? Was what he saw an +apparition--or was it a work of magic? + +Several times during the sittings M. de Nailles made his appearance +in the studio, and after greatly praising the work, persisted in his +objection that it made Jacqueline too old. But since the painter saw +her thus they must accept his judgment. It was no doubt an effect of the +grown-up costume that she had had a fancy to put on. + +“After all,” he said to Jacqueline, “it is of not much consequence; you +will grow up to it some of these days. And I pay you my compliments in +advance on your appearance in the future.” + +She felt like choking with rage. “Oh! is it right,” she thought, “for +parents to persist in keeping a young girl forever in her cradle, so to +speak?” + + + + +CHAPTER IV. A DANGEROUS MODEL + +Time passed too quickly to please Jacqueline. Her portrait was finished +at last, notwithstanding the willingness Marien had shown--or so it +seemed to her--to retouch it unnecessarily that she might again and +again come back to his atelier. But it was done at last. She glided into +that dear atelier for the last time, her heart big with regret, with +no hope that she would ever again put on the fairy robe which had, she +thought, transfigured her till she was no longer little Jacqueline. + +“I want you only for one moment, and I need only your face,” said +Marien. “I want to change--a line--I hardly know what to call it, at +the corner of your mouth. Your father is right; your mouth is too grave. +Think of something amusing--of the Bal Blanc at Madame d’Etaples, or +merely, if you like, of the satisfaction it will give you to be done +with these everlasting sittings--to be no longer obliged to bear the +burden of a secret, in short to get rid of your portrait-painter.” + +She made him no answer, not daring to trust her voice. + +“Come! now, on the contrary you are tightening your lips,” said Marien, +continuing to play with her as a cat plays with a mouse--provided there +ever was a cat who, while playing with its mouse, had no intention +of crunching it. “You are not merry, you are sad. That is not at all +becoming to you.” + +“Why do you attribute to me your own thoughts? It is you who will be +glad to get rid of all this trouble.” + +Fraulein Schult, who, while patiently adding stitch after stitch to the +long strip of her crochet-work, was often much amused by the dialogues +between sitter and painter, pricked up her ears to hear what a Frenchman +would say to what was evidently intended to provoke a compliment. + +“On the contrary, I shall miss you very much,” said Marien, quite +simply; “I have grown accustomed to see you here. You have become one of +the familiar objects of my studio. Your absence will create a void.” + +“About as much as if this or that were gone,” said Jacqueline, in a hurt +tone, pointing first to a Japanese bronze and then to an Etruscan vase; +“with only this difference, that you care least for the living object.” + +“You are bitter, Mademoiselle.” + +“Because you make me such provoking answers, Monsieur. My feeling +is different,” she went on impetuously, “I could pass my whole life +watching you paint.” + +“You would get tired of it probably in the long run.” + +“Never!” she cried, blushing a deep red. + +“And you would have to put up with my pipe--that big pipe yonder--a +horror.” + +“I should like it,” she cried, with conviction. + +“But you would not like my bad temper. If you knew how ill I can +behave sometimes! I can scold, I can become unbearable, when this, for +example,” here he pointed with his mahlstick to the Savonarola, “does +not please me.” + +“But it is beautiful--so beautiful!” + +“It is detestable. I shall have to go back some day and renew my +impressions of Florence--see once more the Piazze of the Signora and +San Marco--and then I shall begin my picture all over again. Let us go +together--will you?” + +“Oh!” she cried, fervently, “think of seeing Italy!--and with you!” + +“It might not be so great a pleasure as you think. Nothing is such a +bore as to travel with people who are pervaded by one idea, and my +‘idee fixe’ is my picture--my great Dominican. He has taken complete +possession of me--he overshadows me. I can think of nothing but him.” + +“Oh! but you think of me sometimes, I suppose,” said Jacqueline, softly, +“for I share your time with him.” + +“I think of you to blame you for taking me away from the fifteenth +century,” replied Hubert Marien, half seriously. “Ouf!--There! it is +done at last. That dimple I never could manage I have got in for better +or for worse. Now you may fly off. I set you at liberty--you poor little +thing!” + +She seemed in no hurry to profit by his permission. She stood perfectly +still in the middle of the studio. + +“Do you think I have posed well, faithfully, and with docility all these +weeks?” she asked at last. + +“I will give you a certificate to that effect, if you like. No one could +have done better.” + +“And if the certificate is not all I want, will you give me some other +present?” + +“A beautiful portrait--what can you want more?” + +“The picture is for mamma. I ask a favor on my own account.” + +“I refuse it beforehand. But you can tell me what it is, all the same.” + +“Well, then--the only part of your house that I have ever been in is +this atelier. You can imagine I have a curiosity to see the rest.” + +“I see! you threaten me with a domiciliary visit without warning. Well! +certainly, if that would give you any amusement. But my house contains +nothing wonderful. I tell you that beforehand.” + +“One likes to know how one’s friends look at home--in their own setting, +and I have only seen you here at work in your atelier.” + +“The best point of view, believe me. But I am ready to do your bidding. +Do you wish to see where I eat my dinner?” asked Marien, as he took her +down the staircase leading to his dining-room. + +Fraulein Schult would have liked to go with them--it was, besides, her +duty. But she had not been asked to fulfil it. She hesitated a moment, +and in that moment Jacqueline had disappeared. After consideration, the +‘promeneuse’ went on with her crochet, with a shrug of her shoulders +which meant: “She can’t come to much harm.” + +Seated in the studio, she heard the sound of their voices on the floor +below. Jacqueline was lingering in the fencing-room where Marien was in +the habit of counteracting by athletic exercises the effects of a too +sedentary life. She was amusing herself by fingering the dumb-bells and +the foils; she lingered long before some precious suits of armor. Then +she was taken up into a small room, communicating with the atelier, +where there was a fine collection of drawings by the old masters. “My +only luxury,” said Marien. + +Mademoiselle Schult, getting impatient, began to roll up yards and +yards of crochet, and coughed, by way of a signal, but remembering +how disagreeable it would have been to herself to be interrupted in +a tete-a-tete with her apothecary, she thought it not worth while to +disturb them in these last moments. M. de Nailles’s orders had been that +she was to sit in the atelier. So she continued to sit there, doing what +she had been told to do without any qualms of conscience. + +When Marien had shown Jacqueline all his drawings he asked her: “Are you +satisfied?” + +But Jacqueline’s hand was already on the portiere which separated the +little room from Marien’s bedchamber. + +“Oh! I beg pardon,” she exclaimed, pausing on the threshold. + +“One would think you would like to see me asleep,” said Marien with some +little embarrassment. + +“I never should have thought your bedroom would have been so pretty. +Why, it is as elegant as a lady’s chamber,” said Jacqueline, slipping +into it as she spoke, with an exciting consciousness of doing something +she ought not to do. + +“What an insult, when I thought all my tastes were simple and severe,” + he replied; but he had not followed her into the chamber, withheld by +an impulse of modesty men sometimes feel, when innocence is led into +audacity through ignorance. + +“What lovely flowers you have!” said Jacqueline, from within. “Don’t +they make your head ache?” + +“I take them out at night.” + +“I did not know that men liked, as we do, to be surrounded by flowers. +Won’t you give me one?” + +“All, if you like.” + +“Oh! one pink will be enough for me.” + +“Then take it,” said Marien; her curiosity alarmed him, and he was +anxious to get her away. + +“Would it not be nicer if you gave it me yourself?” she replied, with +reproach in her tones. + +“Here is one, Mademoiselle. And now I must tell you that I want to +dress. I have to go out immediately.” + +She pinned the pink into her bodice so high that she could inhale its +perfume. + +“I beg your pardon. Thank you, and good-by,” she said, extending her +hand to him with a sigh. + +“Au revoir.” + +“Yes--‘au revoir’ at home--but that will not be like here.” + +As she stood there before him there came into her eyes a strange +expression, to which, without exactly knowing why, he replied by +pressing his lips fervently on the little hand he was still holding in +his own. + +Very often since her infancy he had kissed her before witnesses, but +this time she gave a little cry, and turned as white as the flower whose +petals were touching her cheek. + +Marien started back alarmed. + +“Good-by,” he said in a tone that he endeavored to make careless--but in +vain. + +Though she was much agitated herself she failed not to remark his +emotion, and on the threshold of the atelier, she blew a kiss back to +him from the tips of her gloved fingers, without speaking or smiling. +Then she went back to Fraulein Schult, who was still sitting in the +place where she had left her, and said: “Let us go.” + +The next time Madame de Nailles saw her stepdaughter she was dazzled by +a radiant look in her young face. + +“What has happened to you?” she asked, “you look triumphant.” + +“Yes--I have good reason to triumph,” said Jacqueline. “I think that I +have won a victory.” + +“How so? Over yourself?” + +“No, indeed--victories over one’s self give us the comfort of a good +conscience, but they do not make us gay--as I am.” + +“Then tell me--” + +“No-no! I can not tell you yet. I must be silent two days more,” said +Jacqueline, throwing herself into her mother’s arms. + +Madame de Nailles asked no more questions, but she looked at her +stepdaughter with an air of great surprise. For some weeks past she had +had no pleasure in looking at Jacqueline. She began to be aware that +near her, at her side, an exquisite butterfly was about for the first +time to spread its wings--wings of a radiant loveliness, which, +when they fluttered in the air, would turn all eyes away from other +butterflies, which had lost some of their freshness during the summer. + +A difficult task was before her. How could she keep this too precocious +insect in its chrysalis state? How could she shut it up in its dark +cocoon and retard its transformation? + +“Jacqueline,” she said, and the tones of her voice were less soft than +those in which she usually addressed her, “it seems to me that you +are wasting your time a great deal. You hardly practise at all; you do +almost nothing at the ‘cours’. I don’t know what can be distracting your +attention from your lessons, but I have received complaints which should +make a great girl like you ashamed of herself. Do you know what I am +beginning to think?--That Madame de Monredon’s system of education has +done better than mine.” + +“Oh! mamma, you can’t be thinking of sending me to a convent!” cried +Jacqueline, in tones of comic despair. + +“I did not say that--but I really think it might be good for you to make +a retreat where your cousin Giselle is, instead of plunging into follies +which interrupt your progress.” + +“Do you call Madame d’Etaples’s ‘bal blanc’ a folly?” + +“You certainly will not go to it--that is settled,” said the young +stepmother, dryly. + + + + +CHAPTER V. SURPRISES + +In all other ways Madame de Nailles did her best to assist in +the success of the surprise. On the second of June, the eve of +Ste.-Clotilde’s day, she went out, leaving every opportunity for the +grand plot to mature. Had she not absented herself in like manner the +year before at the same date--thus enabling an upholsterer to drape +artistically her little salon with beautiful thick silk tapestries which +had just been imported from the East? Her idea was that this year she +might find a certain lacquered screen which she coveted. The Baroness +belonged to her period; she liked Japanese things. But, alas! the +charming object that awaited her, with a curtain hung over it to prolong +the suspense, had nothing Japanese about it whatever. Madame de Nailles +received the good wishes of her family, responded to them with all +proper cordiality, and then was dragged up joyously to a picture hanging +on the wall of her room, but still concealed under the cloth that +covered it. + +“How good of you!” she said, with all confidence to her husband. + +“It is a picture by Marien!--A portrait by Marien! A likeness of +Jacqueline!” + +And he uncovered the masterpiece of the great artist, expecting to be +joyous in the joy with which she would receive it. But something strange +occurred. Madame de Nailles sprang back a step or two, stretching out +her arms as if repelling an apparition, her face was distorted, her head +was turned away; then she dropped into the nearest seat and burst into +tears. + +“Mamma!--dear little mamma!--what is it?” cried Jacqueline, springing +forward to kiss her. + +Madame de Nailles disengaged herself angrily from her embrace. + +“Let me alone!” she cried, “let me alone!--How dared you?” + +And impetuously, hardly restraining a gesture of horror and hate, she +rushed into her own chamber. Thither her husband followed her, anxious +and bewildered, and there he witnessed a nervous attack which ended in a +torrent of reproaches: + +Was it possible that he had, not seen the impropriety of those sittings +to Marien? Oh, yes! No doubt he was an old friend of the family, but +that did not prevent all these deceptions, all these disguises, and +all the other follies which he had sanctioned--he--Jacqueline’s +father!--from being very improper. Did he wish to take from her all +authority over his child?--a girl who was already too much disposed to +emancipate herself. Her own efforts had all been directed to curb this +alarming propensity--yes, alarming--alarming for the future. And all in +vain! There was no use in saying more. ‘Mon Dieu’! had he no trust in +her devotion to his child, in her prudence and her foresight, that he +must thwart her thus? And she had always imagined that for ten years she +had faithfully fulfilled a mother’s duties! What ingratitude from every +one! Mademoiselle Schult should be sent away at once. Jacqueline should +go to a convent. They would break off all intercourse with Marien. They +had conspired against her--every one. + +And then she wept more bitterly than ever--tears of rage, salt tears +which rubbed the powder off her cheeks and disfigured the face that had +remained beautiful by her power of will and self-control. But now the +disorder of her nerves got the better of precautions. The blonde +angel, whose beauty was on the wane, was transformed into a fury. +Her six-and-thirty years were fully apparent, her complexion appeared +slightly blotched, all her defects were obtrusive in contrast with the +precocious development of beauty in Jacqueline. She was firmly resolved +that her stepdaughter’s obtrusive womanhood should remain in obscurity a +very much longer time, under pretence that Jacqueline was still a child. +She was a child, at any rate! The portrait was a lie! an imposture! an +affront! an outrage! + +Meantime M. de Nailles, almost beside himself, fancied at first that +his wife was going mad, but in the midst of her sobs and reproaches he +managed to discover that he had somehow done her wrong, and when, with +a broken voice, she cried, “You no longer love me!” he did not know +what to do to prove how bitterly he repented having grieved her. He +stammered, he made excuses, he owned that he had been to blame, that he +had been very stupid, and he begged her pardon. As to the portrait, +it should be taken from the salon, where, if seen, it might become a +pretext for foolish compliments to Jacqueline. Why not send it at once +to Grandchaux? In short, he would do anything she wished, provided she +would leave off crying. + +But Madame de Nailles continued to weep. Her husband was forced at last +to leave her and to return to Jacqueline, who stood petrified in the +salon. + +“Yes,” he said, “your mamma is right. We have made a deplorable mistake +in what we have done. Besides, you must know that this unlucky picture +is not in the least like you. Marien has made some use of your features +to paint a fancy portrait--so we will let nobody see it. They might +laugh at you.” + +In this way he hoped to repair the evil he had done in flattering his +daughter’s vanity, and promoting that dangerous spirit of independence, +denounced to him a few minutes before, but of which, up to that time, he +had never heard. + +Jacqueline, in her turn, began to sob. + +Mademoiselle Schult had cause, too, to wipe her eyes, pretending a more +or less sincere repentance for her share in the deception. Vigorously +cross-questioned by Madame de Nailles, who called upon her to tell all +she knew, under pain of being dismissed immediately, she saw but one way +of retaining her situation, which was to deliver up Jacqueline, bound +hand and foot, to the anger of her stepmother, by telling all she knew +of the childish romance of which she had been the confidante. As a +reward she was permitted (as she had foreseen) to retain her place in +the character of a spy. + +It was a sad Ste.-Clotilde’s day that year. Marien, who came in the +evening, heard with surprise that the Baroness was indisposed and could +see no one. For twelve days after this he continued in disgrace, being +refused admittance when he called. Those twelve days were days of +anguish for Jacqueline. To see Marien no longer, to be treated with +coldness by her father, to see in the blue eyes of her stepmother--eyes +so soft and tender when they looked upon her hitherto--only a harsh, +mistrustful glare, almost a look of hatred, was a punishment greater +than she could bear. What had she done to deserve punishment? Of what +was she accused? She spoke of her wretchedness to Fraulein Schult, who, +perfidiously, day after day, drew from her something to report to Madame +de Nailles. That lady was somewhat consoled, while suffering tortures +of jealousy, to know that the girl to whom these sufferings were due was +paying dearly for her fault and was very unhappy. + +On the twelfth day something occurred which, though it made no noise in +the household, had very serious consequences. The effect it produced +on Jacqueline was decisive and deplorable. The poor child, after +going through all the states of mind endured by those who suffer +under unmerited disgrace--revolt, indignation, sulkiness, silent +obstinacy--felt unable to bear it longer. She resolved to humble +herself, hoping that by so doing the wall of ice that had arisen between +her stepmother and herself might be cast down. By this time she cared +less to know of what fault she was supposed to be guilty than to be +taken back into favor as before. What must she do to obtain forgiveness? +Explanations are usually worthless; besides, none might be granted +her. She remembered that when she was a small child she had obtained +immediate oblivion of any fault by throwing herself impulsively into the +arms of her little mamma, and asking her to forget whatever she had done +to displease her, for she had not done it on purpose. She would do the +same thing now. Putting aside all pride and obstinacy, she would go +to this mamma, who, for some days, had seemed so different. She would +smother her in kisses. She might possibly be repelled at first. She +would not mind it. She was sure that in the end she would be forgiven. + +No sooner was this resolution formed than she hastened to put it into +execution. It was the time of day when Madame de Nailles was usually +alone. Jacqueline went to her bedchamber, but she was not there, and a +moment after she stood on the threshold of the little salon. There she +stopped short, not quite certain how she should proceed, asking herself +what would be her reception. + +“How shall I do it?” she thought. “How had I better do it?” + +“Bah!” she answered these doubts. “It will be very easy. I will go in on +tiptoe, so that she can’t hear me. I will slip behind her chair, and +I will hug her suddenly, so tight, so tenderly, and kiss her till she +tells me that all has been forgiven.” + +As she thought thus Jacqueline noiselessly opened the door of the salon, +over which, on the inner side, hung a thick plush ‘portiere’. But as +she was about to lift it, the sound of a voice within made her stand +motionless. She recognized the tones of Marien. He was pleading, +imploring, interrupted now and then by the sharp and still angry voice +of her mamma. They were not speaking above their breath, but if she +listened she could hear them, and, without any scruples of conscience, +she did listen intently, anxious to see her way through the dark fog in +which, for twelve days, she had wandered. + +“I do not go quite so far as that,” said Madame de Nailles, dryly. “It +is enough for me that she produced an illusion of such beauty upon you. +Now I know what to expect--” + +“That is nonsense,” replied Marien--“mere foolishness. You jealous! +jealous of a baby whom I knew when she wore white pinafores, who has +grown up under my very eyes? But, so far as I am concerned, she exists +no longer. She is not, she never will be in my eyes, a woman. I shall +think of her as playing with her doll, eating sugar-plums, and so on.” + +Jacqueline grew faint. She shivered and leaned against the door-post. + +“One would not suppose so, to judge by the picture with which she has +inspired you. You may say what you like, but I know that in all this +there was a set purpose to insult me.” + +“Clotilde!” + +“In the first place, on no pretext ought you to have been induced to +paint her portrait.” + +“Do you think so? Consider, had I refused, the danger of awakening +suspicion? I accepted the commission most unwillingly, much put out +by it, as you may suppose. But you are making too much of an imaginary +fault. Consign the wretched picture to the barn, if you like. We will +never say another word about so foolish a matter. You promise me to +forget it, won’t you?... Dear! you will promise me?” he added, after a +pause. + +Madame de Nailles sighed and replied: “If not she it will be some one +else. I am very unhappy.... I am weak and contemptible....” + +“Clotilde!” replied Marien, in an accent that went to Jacqueline’s heart +like a knife. + +She fancied that after this she heard the sound of a kiss, and, with +her cheeks aflame and her head burning, she rushed away. She understood +little of what she had overheard. She only realized that he had +given her up, that he had turned her into ridicule, that he had said +“Clotilde!” to her mother, that he had called her dear--she!--the woman +she had so adored, so venerated, her best friend, her father’s wife, +her mother by adoption! Everything in this world seemed to be giving +way under her feet. The world was full of falsehood and of treason, and +life, so bad, so cruel, was no longer what she had supposed it to be. It +had broken its promise to herself, it had made her bad--bad forever. She +loved no one, she believed in no one. She wished she were dead. + +How she reached her own room in this state Jacqueline never knew. She +was aware at last of being on her knees beside her bed, with her face +hidden in the bed-clothes. She was biting them to stifle her desire to +scream. Her hands were clenched convulsively. + +“Mamma!” she cried, “mamma!” + +Was this a reproach addressed to her she had so long called by that +name? Or was it an appeal, vibrating with remorse, to her real mother, +so long forgotten in favor of this false idol, her rival, her enemy? + +Undoubtedly, Jacqueline was too innocent, too ignorant to guess the real +truth from what she had overheard. But she had learned enough to be no +longer the pure-minded young girl of a few hours before. It seemed to +her as if a fetid swamp now lay before her, barring her entrance into +life. Vague as her perceptions were, this swamp before her seemed more +deep, more dark, more dreadful from uncertainty, and Jacqueline felt +that thenceforward she could make no step in life without risk +of falling into it. To whom now could she open her heart in +confidence--that heart bleeding and bruised as if it had been trampled +one as if some one had crushed it? The thing that she now knew was +not like her own little personal secrets, such as she had imprudently +confided to Fraulein Schult. The words that she had overheard she could +repeat to no one. She must carry them in her heart, like the barb of an +arrow in a secret wound, where they would fester and grow more painful +day by day. + +“But, above all,” she said at length, rising from her knees, “let me +show proper pride.” + +She bathed her fevered face in cold water, then she walked up to her +mirror. As she gazed at herself with a strange interest, trying to see +whether the entire change so suddenly accomplished in herself had left +its visible traces on her features, she seemed to see something in her +eyes that spoke of the clairvoyance of despair. She smiled at herself, +to see whether the new Jacqueline could play the part, which--whether +she would or not--was now assigned to her. What a sad smile it was! + +“I have lost everything,” she said, “I have lost everything!” And she +remembered, as one remembers something in the far-off long ago, how that +very morning, when she awoke, her first thought had been “Shall I see +him to-day?” Each day she passed without seeing him had seemed to her a +lost day, and she had accustomed herself to go to sleep thinking of him, +remembering all he had said to her, and how he had looked at her. Of +course, sometimes she had been unhappy, but what a difference it seemed +between such vague unhappiness and what she now experienced? And then, +when she was sad, she could always find a refuge in that dear mamma--in +that Clotilde whom she vowed she would never kiss again, except with +such kisses as might be necessary to avoid suspicion. Kisses of that +kind were worth nothing. Quite the contrary! Could she kiss her father +now without a pang? Her father! He had gone wholly over to the side of +that other in this affair. She had seen him in one moment turn against +herself. No!--no one was left her!... If she could only lay her head in +Modeste’s lap and be soothed while she crooned her old songs as in the +nursery! But, whatever Marien or any one else might choose to say, she +was no longer a baby. The bitter sense of her isolation arose in her. +She could hardly breathe. Suddenly she pressed her lips upon the glass +which reflected her own image, so sad, so pale, so desolate. She put the +pity for herself into a long, long, fervent kiss, which seemed to say: +“Yes, I am all alone--alone forever.” Then, in a spirit of revenge, she +opened what seemed a safety-valve, preventing her from giving way to any +other emotion. + +She rushed for a little box which she had converted into a sort of +reliquary. She took out of it the half-burned cigarette, the old glove, +the withered violets, and a visiting-card with his name, on which three +unimportant lines had been written. She insulted these keepsakes, she +tore them with her nails, she trampled them underfoot, she reduced +them to fragments; she left nothing whatever of them, except a pile of +shreds, which at last she set fire to. She had a feeling as if she were +employed in executing two great culprits, who deserved cruel tortures +at her hands; and, with them, she slew now and forever the foolish fancy +she had called her love. By a strange association of ideas, the famous +composition, so praised by M. Regis, came back to her memory, and she +cried: + + “Je ne veux me souvenir.... me souvenir de rien!” + +“If I remember, I shall be more unhappy. All has been a dream. His +look was a dream, his pressure of my hand, his kiss on the last day, +all--all--were dreams. He was making a fool of me when he gave me that +pink which is now in this pile of ashes. He was laughing when he told me +I was more beautiful than was natural. Never have I been--never shall I +be in his eyes--more than the baby he remembers playing with her doll.” + +And unconsciously, as Jacqueline said these words, she imitated the +careless accent with which she had heard them fall from the lips of the +artist. And she would have again to meet him! If she had had thunder and +lightning at her command, as she had had the match with which she had +set fire to the memorials of her juvenile folly, Marien would have been +annihilated on the spot. She was at that moment a murderess at heart. +But the dinner-bell rang. The young fury gave a last glance at the +adornments of her pretty bedchamber, so elegant, so original--all blue +and pink, with a couch covered with silk embroidered with flowers. She +seemed to say to them all: “Keep my secret. It is a sad one. Be careful: +keep it safely.” The cupids on the clock, the little book-rest on a +velvet stand, the picture of the Virgin that hung over her bed, +with rosaries and palms entwined about it, the photographs of her +girl-friends standing on her writing table in pretty frames of +old-fashioned silk-all seemed to see her depart with a look of sympathy. + +She went down to the dining-room, resolved to prove that she would not +submit to punishment. The best way to brave Madame de Nailles was, she +thought, to affect great calmness and indifference, aye, even, if she +could, some gayety. But the task before her was more difficult than she +had expected. Apparently, as a proof of reconciliation, Marien had been +kept to dinner. To see him so soon again after his words of outrage was +more than she could bear. For one moment the earth seemed to sink under +her feet; she roused her pride by an heroic effort, and that sustained +her. She exchanged with the artist, as she always did, a friendly +“Good-evening!” and ate her dinner, though it nearly choked her. + +Madame de Nailles had red eyes; and Jacqueline made the reflection that +women who are thirty-five should never weep. She knew that her face +had not been made ugly by her tears, and this gave her a perverse +satisfaction in the midst of her misery. Of Marien she thought: “He +sits there as if he had been put ‘en penitence’.” No doubt he could not +endure scenes, and the one he had just passed through must have given +him the downcast look which Jacqueline noticed with contempt. + +What she did not know was that his depression had more than one cause. +He felt--and felt with shame and with discouragement--that the fetters +of a connection which had long since ceased to charm had been fastened +on his wrists tighter than ever; and he thought: “I shall lose all my +energy, I shall lose even my talent! While I wear these chains I shall +see ever before me--ah! tortures of Tantalus!--the vision of a new love, +fresh as the dawn which beckons to me as it passes before my sight, +which lays on me the light touch of a caress, while I am forced to see +it glide away, to let it vanish, disappear forever! And alas! that is +not all. If I have deceived an inexperienced heart by words spoken or +deeds done in a moment of weakness or temptation, can I flatter myself +that I have acted like an honest man?” + +This is what Marien was really thinking, while Jacqueline looked at +him with an expression she strove to make indifferent, but which he +interpreted, though she knew it not: “You have done me all the harm you +can.” + +M. de Nailles meantime went on talking, with little response from his +wife or his guest, about some vehement discussion of a new law going +on just then in the Chamber, and he became so interested in his own +discourse that he did not remark the constraint of the others. + +Marien at last, tired of responding in monosyllables to his remarks, +said abruptly, a short time before dessert was placed upon the table, +something about the probability of his soon going to Italy. + +“A pilgrimage of art to Florence!” cried the Baron, turning at once from +politics. “That’s good. But wait a little--let it be after the rising +of the Chamber. We will follow your steps. It has been the desire of my +wife’s life--a little jaunt to Italy. Has it not, Clotilde? So we will +all go in September or October. What say you?” + +“In September or October, whichever suits you,” said Marien, with +despair. + +Not one month of liberty! Why couldn’t they leave him to his Savanarola! +Must he drag about a ball and chain like a galley-slave? + +Clotilde rewarded M. de Nailles with a smile--the first smile she had +given him since their quarrel about Jacqueline. + +“My wife has got over her displeasure,” he said to himself, delightedly. + +Jacqueline, on her part, well remembered the day when Hubert had spoken +to her for the first time of his intended journey, and how he had added, +in a tone which she now knew to be badinage, but which then, alas! she +had believed serious: “Suppose we go together!” + +And her impulse to shed tears became so great, that when they left the +dinner-table she escaped to her own room, under pretence of a headache. + +“Yes--you are looking wretchedly,” said her stepmother. And, turning to +M. de Nailles, she added: “Don’t you think, ‘mon ami’, she is as yellow +as a quince!” Marien dared not press the hand which she, who had been +his little friend for years, offered him as usual, but this time with +repugnance. + +“You are suffering, my poor Jacqueline!” he ventured to say. + +“Oh! not much,” she answered, with a glance at once haughty and defiant, +“to-morrow I shall be quite well again.” + +And, saying this, she had the courage to laugh. + +But she was not quite well the next day; and for many days after she was +forced to stay in bed. The doctor who came to see her talked about “low +fever,” attributed it to too rapid growth, and prescribed sea-bathing +for her that summer. The fever, which was not very severe, was of great +service to Jacqueline. It enabled her to recover in quiet from the +effects of a bitter deception. + +Madame de Nailles was not sufficiently uneasy about her to be always +at her bedside. Usually the sick girl stayed alone, with her +window-curtains closed, lying there in the soft half-light that was +soothing to her nerves. The silence was broken at intervals by the voice +of Modeste, who would come and offer her her medicine. When Jacqueline +had taken it, she would shut her eyes, and resume, half asleep, her sad +reflections. These were always the same. What could be the tie between +her stepmother and Marien? + +She tried to recall all the proofs of friendship she had seen pass +between them, but all had taken place openly. Nothing that she could +remember seemed suspicious. So she thought at first, but as she thought +more, lying, feverish, upon her bed, several things, little noticed at +the time, were recalled to her remembrance. They might mean nothing, +or they might mean much. In the latter case, Jacqueline could not +understand them very well. But she knew he had called her “Clotilde,” + that he had even dared to say “thou” to her in private--these were +things she knew of her own knowledge. Her pulse beat quicker as she +thought of them; her head burned. In that studio, where she had passed +so many happy hours, had Marien and her stepmother ever met as lovers? + +Her stepmother and Marien! She could not understand what it meant. Must +she apply to them a dreadful word that she had picked up in the history +books, where it had been associated with such women as Margaret of +Burgundy, Isabeau of Bavaria, Anne Boleyn, and other princesses of very +evil reputation? She had looked it out in the dictionary, where the +meaning given was: “To be unfaithful to conjugal vows.” Even then she +could not understand precisely the meaning of adultery, and she +set herself to solve it during the long lonely days when she was +convalescent. When she was able to walk from one room to another, she +wandered in a loose dressing-gown, whose long, lank folds showed that +she had grown taller and thinner during her illness, into the room that +held the books, and went boldly up to the bookcase, the key of which +had been left in the lock, for everybody had entire confidence in +Jacqueline’s scrupulous honesty. Never before had she broken a promise; +she knew that a well-brought-up young girl ought to read only such +books as were put into her hands. The idea of taking a volume from those +shelves had no more occurred to her than the idea of taking money out of +somebody’s purse; that is, up to this moment it had not occurred to her +to do so; but now that she had lost all respect for those in authority +over her, Jacqueline considered herself released from any obligation +to obey them. She therefore made use of the first opportunity that +presented itself to take down a novel of George Sand, which she had +heard spoken of as a very dangerous book, not doubting it would throw +some light on the subject that absorbed her. But she shut up the volume +in a rage when she found that it had nothing but excuses to offer for +the fall of a married woman. After that, and guided only by chance, she +read a number of other novels, most of which were of antediluvian date, +thus accounting, she supposed, for their sentiments, which she found old +fashioned. We should be wrong, however, if we supposed that Jacqueline’s +crude judgment of these books had nothing in common with true criticism. +Her only object, however, in reading all this sentimental prose was to +discover, as formerly she had found in poetry, something that applied to +her own case; but she soon discovered that all the sentimental heroines +in the so-called bad books were persons who had had bad husbands; +besides, they were either widows or old women--at least thirty years +old! It was astounding! There was nothing--absolutely nothing--about +young girls, except instances in which they renounced their hopes of +happiness. What an injustice! Among these victims the two that most +attracted her sympathy were Madame de Camors and Renee Mauperin. But +what horrors surrounded them! What a varied assortment of deceptions, +treacheries, and mysteries, lay hidden under the outward decency and +respectability of what men called “the world!” Her young head became a +stage on which strange plays were acted. What one reads is good or bad +for us, according to the frame of mind in which we read it--according +as we discover in a volume healing for the sickness of our souls--or the +contrary. In view of the circumstances in which she found herself, what +Jacqueline absorbed from these books was poison. + +When, after the physical and moral crisis through which she had passed, +Jacqueline resumed the life of every day, she had in her sad eyes, +around which for some time past had been dark circles, an expression of +anxiety such as the first contact with a knowledge of evil might have +put into Eve’s eyes after she had plucked the apple. Her investigations +had very imperfectly enlightened her. She was as much perplexed as ever, +with some false ideas besides. When she was well again, however, she +continued weak and languid; she felt somehow as if, she had come back to +her old surroundings from some place far away. Everything about her now +seemed sad and unfamiliar, though outwardly nothing was altered. Her +parents had apparently forgotten the unhappy episode of the picture. +It had been sent away to Grandchaux, which was tantamount to its being +buried. Hubert Marien had resumed his habits of intimacy in the family. +From that time forth he took less and less notice of Jacqueline--whether +it were that he owed her a grudge for all the annoyance she had been the +means of bringing upon him, or whether he feared to burn himself in the +flame which had once scorched him more than he admitted to himself, who +can say? Perhaps he was only acting in obedience to orders. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. A CONVENT FLOWER + +One of Jacqueline’s first walks, after she had recovered, was to see her +cousin Giselle at her convent. She did not seek this friend’s society +when she was happy and in a humor for amusement, for she thought her a +little straightlaced, or, as she said, too like a nun; but nobody could +condole or sympathize with a friend in trouble like Giselle. It seemed +as if nature herself had intended her for a Sister of Charity--a Gray +Sister, as Jacqueline would sometimes call her, making fun of +her somewhat dull intellect, which had been benumbed, rather than +stimulated, by the education she had received. + +The Benedictine Convent is situated in a dull street on the left bank +of the Seine, all gardens and hotels--that is, detached houses. +Grass sprouted here and there among the cobblestones. There were no +street-lamps and no policemen. Profound silence reigned there. The +petals of an acacia, which peeped timidly over its high wall, dropped, +like flakes of snow, on the few pedestrians who passed by it in the +springtime. + +The enormous porte-cochere gave entrance into a square courtyard, on one +side of which was the chapel, on the other, the door that led into +the convent. Here Jacqueline presented herself, accompanied by her old +nurse, Modeste. She had not yet resumed her German lessons, and was +striving to put off as long as possible any intercourse with Fraulein +Schult, who had known of her foolish fancy, and who might perhaps renew +the odious subject. Walking with Modeste, on the contrary, seemed +like going back to the days of her childhood, the remembrance of which +soothed her like a recollection of happiness and peace, now very far +away; it was a reminiscence of the far-off limbo in which her young +soul, pure and white, had floated, without rapture, but without any +great grief or pain. + +The porteress showed them into the parlor. There they found several +pupils who were talking to members of their families, from whom they +were separated by a grille, whose black bars gave to those within +the appearance of captives, and made rather a barrier to eager +demonstrations of affection, though they did not hinder the reception of +good things to eat. + +“Tiens! I have brought you some chocolate,” said Jacqueline to Giselle, +as soon as her cousin appeared, looking far prettier in her black cloth +frock than when she wore an ordinary walking-costume. Her fair hair was +drawn back ‘a la Chinoise’ from a white forehead resembling that of a +German Madonna; it was one of those foreheads, slightly and delicately +curved, which phrenologists tell us indicate reflection and enthusiasm. + +But Giselle, without thanking Jacqueline for the chocolate, exclaimed at +once: “Mon Dieu! What has been the matter with you?” + +She spoke rather louder than usual, it being understood that +conversations were to be carried on in a low tone, so as not to +interfere with those of other persons. She added: “I find you so +altered.” + +“Yes--I have been ill,” said Jacqueline, carelessly, “sorrow has made me +ill,” she added, in a whisper, looking to see whether the nun, who was +discreetly keeping watch, walking to and fro behind the grille, might +chance to be listening. “Oh, ask me no questions! I must never tell +you--but for me, you must know--the happiness of my life is at an +end--is at an end--” + +She felt herself to be very interesting while she was speaking thus; her +sorrows were somewhat assuaged. There was undoubtedly a certain pleasure +in letting some one look down into the unfathomable, mysterious depths +of a suffering soul. + +She had expected much curiosity on the part of Giselle, and had resolved +beforehand to give her no answers; but Giselle only sighed, and said, +softly: + +“Ah--my poor darling! I, too, am very unhappy. If you only knew--” + +“How? Good heavens! what can have happened to you here?” + +“Here? oh! nothing, of course; but this year I am to leave the +convent--and I think I can guess what will then be before me.” + +Here, seeing that the nun who was keeping guard was listening, Giselle, +with great presence of mind, spoke louder on indifferent subjects till +she had passed out of earshot, then she rapidly poured her secret into +Jacqueline’s ear. + +From a few words that had passed between her grandmother and Madame +d’Argy, she had found out that Madame de Monredon intended to marry her. + +“But that need not make you unhappy,” said Jacqueline, “unless he is +really distasteful to you.” + +“That is what I am not sure about--perhaps he is not the one I think. +But I hardly know why--I have a dread, a great dread, that it is one of +our neighbors in the country. Grandmamma has several times spoken in my +presence of the advantage of uniting our two estates--they touch each +other--oh! I know her ideas! she wants a man well-born, one who has a +position in the world--some one, as she says, who knows something of +life--that is, I suppose, some one no longer young, and who has not much +hair on his head--like Monsieur de Talbrun.” + +“Is he very ugly--this Monsieur de Talbrun?” + +“He’s not ugly--and not handsome. But, just think! he is thirty-four!” + +Jacqueline blushed, seeing in this speech a reflection on her own taste +in such matters. + +“That’s twice my age,” sighed Giselle. + +“Of course that would be dreadful if he were to stay always twice your +age--for instance, if you were now thirty-five, he would be seventy, and +a hundred and twenty when you reached your sixtieth year--but really +to be twice your age now will only make him seventeen years older than +yourself.” + +In the midst of this chatter, which was beginning to attract the notice +of the nun, they broke off with a laugh, but it was only one of those +laughs ‘au bout des levres’, uttered by persons who have made up their +minds to be unhappy. Then Giselle went on: + +“I know nothing about him, you understand--but he frightens me. I +tremble to think of taking his arm, of talking to him, of being his +wife. Just think even of saying thou to him!” + +“But married people don’t say thou to each other nowadays,” said +Jacqueline, “it is considered vulgar.” + +“But I shall have to call him by his Christian name!” + +“What is Monsieur de Talbrun’s Christian name?” + +“Oscar.” + +“Humph! That is not a very pretty name, but you could get over the +difficulty--you could say ‘mon ami’. After all, your sorrows are less +than mine.” + +“Poor Jacqueline!” said Giselle, her soft hazel eyes moist with +sympathy. + +“I have lost at one blow all my illusions, and I have made a +horrible discovery, that it would be wicked to tell to any one--you +understand--not even to my confessor.” + +“Heavens! but you could tell your mother!” + +“You forget, I have no mother,” replied Jacqueline in a tone which +frightened her friend: “I had a dear mamma once, but she would enter +less than any one into my sorrows; and as to my father--it would make +things worse to speak to him,” she added, clasping her hands. “Have you +ever read any novels, Giselle?” + +“Hem!” said the discreet voice of the nun, by way of warning. + +“Two or three by Walter Scott.” + +“Oh! then you can imagine nothing like what I could tell you. How horrid +that nun is, she stops always as she comes near us! Why can’t she do as +Modeste does, and leave us to talk by ourselves?” + +It seemed indeed as if the Argus in a black veil had overheard part of +this conversation, not perhaps the griefs of Jacqueline, which were not +very intelligible, but some of the words spoken by Giselle, for, drawing +near her, she said, gently: “We, too, shall all grieve to lose you, my +dearest child; but remember one can serve God anywhere, and save one’s +soul--in the world as well as in a convent.” And she passed on, giving +a kind smile to Jacqueline, whom she knew, having seen her several times +in the convent parlor, and whom she thought a nice girl, notwithstanding +what she called her “fly-away airs”--“the airs they acquire from modern +education,” she said to herself, with a sigh. + +“Those poor ladies would have us think of nothing but a future life,” + said Jacqueline, shrugging her shoulders. + +“We ought to think of it first of all,” said Giselle, who had become +serious. “Sometimes I think my place should have been among these ladies +who have brought me up. They are so good, and they seem to be so happy. +Besides, do you know, I stand less in awe of them than I do of my +grandmother. When grandmamma orders me I never shall dare to object, +even if--But you must think me very selfish, my poor Jacqueline! I am +talking only of myself. Do you know what you ought to do as you go away? +You should go into the chapel, and pray with all your heart for me, that +I may be brought in safety through my troubles about which I have told +you, and I will do the same for yours, about which you have not told +me. An exchange of prayers is the best foundation for a friendship,” she +added; for Giselle had many little convent maxims at her fingers’ ends, +to which, when she uttered them, her sincerity of look and tone gave a +personal meaning. + +“You are right,” said Jacqueline, much moved. “It has done me good to +see you. Take this chocolate.” + +“And you must take this,” said Giselle, giving her a little illuminated +card, with sacred words and symbols. + +“Adieu, dearest-say, have you ever detested any one?” + +“Never!” cried Giselle, with horror. + +“Well! I do detest--detest--You are right, I will go into the chapel. I +need some exorcism.” + +And laughing at her use of this last word--the same little mirthless +laugh that she had uttered before--Jacqueline went away, followed by the +admiring glances of the other girls, who from behind the bars of their +cage noted the brilliant plumage of this bird who was at liberty. She +crossed the courtyard, and, followed by Modeste, entered the chapel, +where she sank upon her knees. The mystic half-light of the place, +tinged purple by its passage through the stained windows, seemed to +enlarge the little chancel, parted in two by a double grille, behind +which the nuns could hear the service without being seen. + +The silence was so deep that the low murmur of a prayer could now and +then be heard. The worshipers might have fancied themselves a hundred +leagues from all the noises of the world, which seemed to die out when +they reached the convent walls. + +Jacqueline read, and re-read mechanically, the words printed in letters +of gold on the little card Giselle had given her. It was a symbolical +picture, and very ugly; but the words were: “Oh! that I had wings like a +dove, for then would I flee away and be at rest.” + +“Wings!” she repeated, with vague aspiration. The aspiration seemed to +disengage her from herself, and from this earth, which had nothing more +to offer her. Ah! how far away was now the time when she had entered +churches, full of happiness and hope, to offer a candle that her prayer +might be granted, which she felt sure it would be! All was vanity! As +she gazed at the grille, behind which so many women, whose worldly lives +had been cut short, now lived, safe from the sorrows and temptations +of this world, Jacqueline seemed for the first time to understand why +Giselle regretted that she might not share forever the blessed peace +enjoyed in the convent. A torpor stole over her, caused by the dimness, +the faint odor of the incense, and the solemn silence. She imagined +herself in the act of giving up the world. She saw herself in a veil, +with her eyes raised to Heaven, very pale, standing behind the grille. +She would have to cut off her hair. + +That seemed hard, but she would make the sacrifice. She would accept +anything, provided the ungrateful pair, whom she would not name, could +feel sorrow for her loss--maybe even remorse. Full of these ideas, which +certainly had little in common with the feelings of those who seek to +forgive those who trespass against them, Jacqueline continued to imagine +herself a Benedictine sister, under the soothing influence of her +surroundings, just as she had mistaken the effects of physical weakness +when she was ill for a desire to die. Such feelings were the result of a +void which the whole universe, as she thought, never could fill, but it +was really a temporary vacuum, like that caused by the loss of a first +tooth. These teeth come out with the first jar, and nature intends them +to be speedily replaced by others, much more permanent; but children cry +when they are pulled out, and fancy they are in very tight. Perhaps they +suffer, after all, nearly as much as they think they do. + +“Mademoiselle!” said Modeste, touching her on the shoulder. + +“I was content to be here,” answered Jacqueline, with a sigh. “Do you +know, Modeste,” she went on, when they got out of doors, “that I have +almost made up my mind to be a nun. What do you say to that?” + +“Heaven forbid!” cried the old nurse, much startled. + +“Life is so hard,” replied her young mistress. + +“Not for you, anyhow. It would be a sin to say so.” + +“Ah! Modeste, we so little know the real truth of things--we can see +only appearances. Don’t you think that a linen band over my forehead +would be very becoming to me? I should look like Saint Theresa.” + +“And what would be the good of your looking like Saint Theresa, when +there would be nobody to tell you so?” said Modeste, with the practical +good-sense that never forsook her. “You would be beautiful for yourself +alone. You would not even be allowed a looking-glass just talk about +that fancy to Monsieur--we should soon see what he would say to such a +notion.” + +M. de Nailles, having just left the Chamber, was crossing the Pont de la +Concorde on foot at this moment. His daughter ran up to him, and caught +him by the arm. They walked homeward talking of very different things +from bolts and bars. The Baron, who was a weak man, thought in his heart +that he had been too severe with his daughter for some time past. As +he recalled what had taken place, the anger of Madame de Nailles in +the matter of the picture seemed to him to have been extreme and +unnecessary. Jacqueline was just at an age when young girls are apt to +be nervous and impressionable; they had been wrong to be rough with +one who was so sensitive. His wife was quite of his opinion, she +acknowledged (not wishing him to think too much on the subject) that she +had been too quick-tempered. + +“Yes,” she had said, frankly, “I am jealous; I want things to myself. I +own I was angry when I thought that Jacqueline was about to throw off +my authority, and hurt when I found she was capable of keeping up a +concealment--when I believed she was so open always with me. My behavior +was foolish, I acknowledge. But what can we do? Neither of us can go and +ask her pardon?” + +“Of course not,” said the father, “all we can do is to treat her with a +little more consideration for the future; and, with your permission, I +shall use her illness as an excuse for spoiling her a little.” + +“You have carte blanche, my dear, I agree to everything.” So M. de +Nailles, with his daughter’s arm in his, began to spoil her, as he had +intended. + +“You are still rather pale,” he said, “but sea-bathing will change all +that. Would you like to go to the seaside next month?” + +Jacqueline answered with a little incredulous smile: + +“Oh, certainly, papa.” + +“You don’t seem very sure about it. In the first place, where shall we +go? Your mamma seems to fancy Houlgate?” + +“Of course we must do what she wishes,” replied Jacqueline, rather +bitterly. + +“But, little daughter, what would you like? What do you say to Treport?” + +“I should like Treport very much, because there we should be near Madame +d’Argy.” + +Jacqueline had felt much drawn to Madame d’Argy since her troubles, for +she had been the nearest friend of her own mother--her own dead mother, +too long forgotten. The chateau of Madame d’Argy, called Lizerolles, was +only two miles from Treport, in a charming situation on the road to St. +Valery. + +“That’s the very thing, then!” said M. de Nailles. + +“Fred is going to spend a month at Lizerolles with his mother. You might +ride on horseback with him. He is going to enjoy a holiday, poor fellow! +before he has to be sent off on long and distant voyages.” + +“I don’t know how to ride,” said Jacqueline, still in the tone of a +victim. + +“The doctor thinks riding would be good for you, and you have time +enough yet to take some lessons. Mademoiselle Schult could take you +nine or ten times to the riding-school. And I will go with you the first +time,” added M. de Nailles, in despair at not having been able to +please her. “To-day we will go to Blackfern’s and order a habit--a +riding-habit! Can I do more?” + +At this, as if by magic, whether she would or not, the lines of sadness +and sullenness disappeared from Jacqueline’s face; her eyes sparkled. +She gave one more proof, that to every Parisienne worthy of the name, +the two pleasures in riding are, first to have a perfectly fitting +habit, secondly, to have the opportunity of showing how pretty she can +be after a new fashion. + +“Shall we go to Blackfern’s now?” + +“This very moment, if you wish it.” + +“You really mean Blackfern? Yvonne’s habit came from Blackfern’s!” + Yvonne d’Etaples was the incarnation of chic--of fashionable +elegance--in Jacqueline’s eyes. Her heart beat with pleasure when she +thought how Belle and Dolly would envy her when she told them: “I have +a myrtle-green riding-habit, just like Yvonne’s.” She danced rather than +walked as they went together to Blackfern’s. A habit was much nicer than +a long gown. + +A quarter of an hour later they were in the waiting-room, where the last +creations of the great ladies’ tailor, were displayed upon lay figures, +among saleswomen and ‘essayeuses’, the very prettiest that could be +found in England or the Batignolles, chosen because they showed off to +perfection anything that could be put upon their shoulders, from the +ugliest to the most extravagant. Deceived by the unusual elegance of +these beautiful figures, ladies who are neither young nor well-shaped +allow themselves to be beguiled and cajoled into buying things not +suited to them. Very seldom does a hunchbacked dowager hesitate to put +upon her shoulders the garment that draped so charmingly those of the +living statue hired to parade before her. Jacqueline could not help +laughing as she watched this way of hunting larks; and thought the +mirror might have warned them, like a scarecrow, rather than have +tempted them into the snare. + +The head tailor of the establishment made them wait long enough to +allow the pretty showgirls to accomplish their work of temptation. They +fascinated Jacqueline’s father by their graces and their glances, while +at the same time they warbled into his daughter’s ear, with a slightly +foreign’ accent: “That would be so becoming to Mademoiselle.” + +For ladies going to the seaside there were things of the most exquisite +simplicity: this white fur, trimmed with white velvet, for instance; +that jacket like the uniform of a naval officer with a cap to +match--“All to please Fred,” said Jacqueline, laughing. M. de Nailles, +while they waited for the tailor, chose two costumes quite as original +as those of Mademoiselle d’Etaples, which delighted Jacqueline all +the more, because she thought it probable they would displease her +stepmother. At last the magnificent personage, his face adorned with +luxuriant whiskers, appeared with the bow of a great artist or a +diplomatist; took Jacqueline’s measure as if he were fulfilling some +important function, said a few brief words to his secretary, and +then disappeared; the group of English beauties saying in chorus that +Mademoiselle might come back that day week and try it on. + +Accordingly, a week later Jacqueline, seated on the wooden-horse used +for this purpose, had the satisfaction of assuring herself that her +habit, fitting marvelously to her bust, showed not a wrinkle, any more +than a ‘gant de Suede’ shows on the hand; it was closely fitted to +a figure not yet fully developed, but which the creator of the +chef-d’oeuvre deigned to declare was faultless. Usually, he said, he +recommended his customers to wear a certain corset of a special cut, +with elastic material over the hips covered by satin that matched the +riding-habit, but at Mademoiselle’s age, and so supple as she was, +the corset was not necessary. In short, the habit was fashioned to +perfection, and fitted like her skin to her little flexible figure. +In her close-fitting petticoat, her riding-trousers and nothing else, +Jacqueline felt herself half naked, though she was buttoned up to her +throat. She had taken an attitude on her wooden horse such as might have +been envied by an accomplished equestrienne, her elbows held well back, +her shoulders down, her chest expanded, her right leg over the pommel, +her left foot in the stirrup, and never after did any real gallop give +her the same delight as this imaginary ride on an imaginary horse, she +looking at herself with entire satisfaction all the time in an enormous +cheval-glass. + + + + +BOOK 2. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. THE BLUE BAND + +Love, like any other human malady, should be treated according to the +age and temperament of the sufferer. Madame de Nailles, who was a very +keen observer, especially where her own interests were concerned, lent +herself with the best possible grace to everything that might amuse and +distract Jacqueline, of whom she had by this time grown afraid. Not that +she now dreaded her as a rival. The attitude of coldness and reserve +that the young girl had adopted in her intercourse with Marien, her +stepmother could see, was no evidence of coquetry. She showed, in her +behavior to the friend of the family, a freedom from embarrassment +which was new to her, and a frigidity which could not possibly have +been assumed so persistently. No! what struck Madame de Nailles was the +suddenness of this transformation. Jacqueline evidently took no further +interest in Marien; she had apparently no longer any affection for +herself--she, who had been once her dear little mamma, whom she +had loved so tenderly, now felt herself to be considered only as a +stepmother. Fraulein Schult, too, received no more confidences. What did +it all mean? + +Had Jacqueline, through any means, discovered a secret, which, in her +hands, might be turned into a most dangerous weapon? She had a way of +saying before the guilty pair: “Poor papa!” with an air of pity, as she +kissed him, which made Madame de Nailles’s flesh creep, and sometimes +she would amuse herself by making ambiguous remarks which shot arrows +of suspicion into a heart already afraid. “I feel sure,” thought +the Baroness, “that she has found out everything. But, no! it seems +impossible. How can I discover what she knows?” + +Jacqueline’s revenge consisted in leaving her stepmother in doubt. She +more than suspected, not without cause, that Fraulein Schult was false +to her, and had the wit to baffle all the clever questions of her +‘promeneuse’. + +“My worship of a man of genius--a great artist? Oh! that has all come +to an end since I have found out that his devotion belongs to an elderly +lady with a fair complexion and light hair. I am only sorry for him.” + +Jacqueline had great hopes that these cruel words would be reported--as +they were--to her stepmother, and, of course, they did not mitigate +the Baroness’s uneasiness. Madame de Nailles revenged herself for this +insult by dismissing the innocent echo of the impertinence--of course, +under some plausible pretext. She felt it necessary also to be very +cautious how she treated the enemy whom she was forced to shelter +under her own roof. Her policy--a policy imposed on her by force of +circumstances--was one of great indulgence and consideration, so that +Jacqueline, soon feeling that she was for the present under no control, +took the bit between her teeth. No other impression can adequately +convey an idea of the sort of fury with which she plunged into +pleasure and excitement, a state of mind which apparently, without any +transition, succeeded her late melancholy. She had done with sentiment, +she thought, forever. She meant to be practical and positive, a little +Parisienne, and “in the swim.” There were plenty of examples among those +she knew that she could follow. Berthe, Helene, and Claire Wermant were +excellent leaders in that sort of thing. Those three daughters of +the ‘agent de change’ were at this time at Treport, in charge of a +governess, who let them do whatever they pleased, subject only to be +scolded by their father, who came down every Saturday to Treport, on +that train that was called the ‘train des maris’. They had made friends +with two or three American girls, who were called “fast,” and Jacqueline +was soon enrolled in the ranks of that gay company. + +The cure that was begun on the wooden horse at Blackfern’s was completed +on the sea-shore. + +The girls with whom she now associated were nine or ten little imps of +Satan, who, with their hair flying in the wind and their caps over one +ear, made the quiet beach ring with their boy-like gayety. They were +called “the Blue Band,” because of a sort of uniform that they adopted. +We speak of them intentionally as masculine, and not feminine, because +what is masculine best suited their appearance and behavior, for, though +all could flirt like coquettes of experience, they were more like boys +than girls, if judged by their age and their costume. + +These Blues lived close to one another on that avenue that is edged +with chalets, cottages, and villas, whose lower floors are abundantly +provided with great glass windows, which seem to let the ocean into +their very rooms, as well as to lay bare everything that passes in them +to the public eye, as frankly as if their inmates bivouacked in the open +street. Nothing was private; neither the meals, nor the coming and going +of visitors. It must be said, however, that the inhabitants of these +glass houses were very seldom at home. Bathing, and croquet, or tennis, +at low water, on the sands, searching for shells, fishing with nets, +dances at the Casino, little family dances alternating with concerts, to +which even children went till nine o’clock, would seem enough to fill +up the days of these young people, but they had also to make boating +excursions to Cayeux, Crotoy, and Hourdel, besides riding parties in the +beautiful country that surrounded the Chateau of Lizerolles, where they +usually dismounted on their return. + +At Lizerolles they were received by Madame d’Argy, who was delighted +that they provided safe amusement for her son, who appeared in the midst +of this group of half-grown girls like a young cock among the hens of +his harem. Frederic d’Argy, the young naval officer, who was enjoying +his holiday, as M. de Nailles had said, was enjoying it exceedingly. +How often, long after, on board the ship Floye, as he paced the silent +quarter-deck, far from any opportunity of flirting, did he recall +the forms and faces of these young girls, some dark, some fair, some +rosy-half-women and half-children, who made much of him, and scolded +him, and teased him, and contended for his attentions, while no better +could be had, on purpose to tease one another. Oh! what a delightful +time he had had! They did not leave him to himself one moment. He had to +lift them into their saddles, to assist them as they clambered over the +rocks, to superintend their attempts at swimming, to dance with them all +by turns, and to look after them in the difficult character of Mentor, +for he was older than they, and were they not entrusted to his care? +What a serious responsibility! Had not Mentor even found himself too +often timid and excited when one little firm foot was placed in his +hand, when his arm was round one little waist, when he could render her +as a cavalier a thousand little services, or accept with gladness the +role of her consoler. He did everything he could think of to please +them, finding all of them charming, though Jacqueline never ceased to be +the one he preferred, a preference which she might easily have inferred +from the poor lad’s unusual timidity and awkwardness when he was brought +into contact with her. But she paid no attention to his devotion, +accepting himself and all he did for her as, in some sort, her personal +property. + +He was of no consequence, he did not count; what was he but her comrade +and former playfellow? + +Happily for Fred, he took pleasure in the familiarity with which she +treated him--a familiarity which, had he known it, was not flattering. +He was in the seventh heaven for a whole fortnight, during which he was +the recipient of more dried flowers and bows of ribbon than he ever got +in all the rest of his life--the American girls were very fond of giving +keepsakes--but then his star waned. He was no longer the only one. The +grown-up brother of the Wermants came to Treport--Raoul, with his air +of a young man about town--a boulevardier, with his jacket cut in the +latest fashion, with his cockle-shell of a boat, which he managed as +well on salt water as on fresh, sculling with his arms bare, a cigarette +in his mouth, a monocle in his eye, and a pith-helmet, such as is worn +in India. The young ladies used to gather on the sands to watch him as +he struck the water with the broad blade of his scull, near enough for +them to see and to admire his nautical ability. They thought all his +jokes amusing, and they delighted in his way of seizing his partner for +a waltz and bearing her off as if she were a prize, hardly allowing her +to touch the floor. + +Fred thought him, with his stock of old jokes, very ill-mannered. He +laughed at his sculling, and had a great mind to strike him after he +saw him waltzing with Jacqueline. But he had to acknowledge the general +appreciation felt for the fellow whom he called vulgar. + +Raoul Wermant did not stay long at Treport. He had only come to see his +sisters on his way to Dieppe, where he expected to meet a certain Leah +Skip, an actress from the ‘Nouveautes’. If he kept her waiting, however, +for some days, it was because he was loath to leave the handsome +Madame de Villegry, who was living near her friend Madame de Nailles, +recruiting herself after the fatigues of the winter season. Such being +the situation, the young girls of the Blue Band might have tried in vain +to make any impression upon him. But the hatred with which he inspired +Fred found some relief in the composition of fragments of melancholy +verse, which the young midshipman hid under his mattresses. It is not an +uncommon thing for naval men to combine a love of the sea with a love +of poetry. Fred’s verses were not good, but they were full of dejection. +The poor fellow compared Raoul Wermant to Faust, and himself to Siebel. +He spoke of + + The youth whose eyes were brimming with salt tears, + Whose heart was troubled by a thousand fears, + Poor slighted lover!-since in his heavy heart + All his illusions perish and depart. + +Again, he wrote of Siebel: + + O Siebel!--thine is but the common fate! + They told thee Fortune upon youth would wait; + ‘Tis false when love’s in question-and you may-- + +Here he enumerated all the proofs of tenderness possible for a woman to +give her lover, and then he added: + + You may know all, poor Siebel!--all, some day, + When weary of this life and all its dreams, + You learn to know it is not what it seems; + When there is nothing that can cheer you more, + All that remains is fondly to adore! + +And after trying in vain to find a rhyme for lover, he cried: + + Oh! tell me--if one grief exceeds another + Is not this worst, to feel mere friendship moves + To cruel kindness the dear girl he loves? + +Fred’s mother surprised him one night while he was watering with his +tears the ink he was putting to so sorry a use. She had been aware +that he sat up late at night--his sleeplessness was not the insomnia of +genius--for she had seen the glare of light from his little lamp burning +later than the usual bedtime of the chateau, in one of the turret +chambers at Lizerolles. + +In vain Fred denied that he was doing anything, in vain he tried to put +his papers out of sight; his mother was so persuasive that at last he +owned everything to her, and in addition to the comfort he derived from +his confession, he gained a certain satisfaction to his ‘amour-propre’, +for Madame d’Argy thought the verses beautiful. A mother’s geese are +always swans. But it was only when she said, “I don’t see why you should +not marry your Jacqueline--such a thing is not by any means impossible,” + and promised to do all in her power to insure his happiness, that Fred +felt how dearly he loved his mother. Oh, a thousand times more than he +had ever supposed he loved her! However, he had not yet done with the +agonies that lie in wait for lovers. + +Madame de Monredon arrived one day at the Hotel de la Plage, accompanied +by her granddaughter, whom she had taken away from the convent before +the beginning of the holidays. Since she had fully arranged the marriage +with M. de Talbrun, it seemed important that Giselle should acquire +some liveliness, and recruit her health, before the fatal wedding-day +arrived. M. de Talbrun liked ladies to be always well and always lively, +and it was her duty to see that Giselle accommodated herself to his +taste; sea-bathing, life in the open air, and merry companions, were the +things she needed to make her a little less thin, to give her tone, and +to take some of her convent stiffness out of her. Besides, she could +have free intercourse with her intended husband, thanks to the greater +freedom of manners permitted at the sea-side. Such were the ideas of +Madame de Monredon. + +Poor Giselle! In vain they dressed her in fine clothes, in vain they +talked to her and scolded her from morning till night, she continued to +be the little convent-bred schoolgirl she had always been; with downcast +eyes, pale as a flower that has known no sunlight, and timid to a point +of suffering. M. de Talbrun frightened her as much as ever, and she had +looked forward to the comfort of weeping in the arms of Jacqueline, who, +the last time she had seen her, had been herself so unhappy. But what +was her astonishment to find the young girl, who, a few weeks before, +had made her such tragic confidences through the grille in the convent +parlor, transformed into a creature bent on excitement and amusement. +When she attempted to allude to the subject on which Jacqueline had +spoken to her at the convent, and to ask her what it was that had then +made her so unhappy, Jacqueline cried: “Oh! my dear, I have forgotten +all about it!” But there was exaggeration in this profession of +forgetfulness, and she hurriedly drew Giselle back to the game of +croquet, where they were joined by M. de Talbrun. + +The future husband of Giselle was a stout young fellow, short and +thick-set, with broad shoulders, a large flat face, and strong jaws, +ornamented with an enormous pair of whiskers, which partly compensated +him for a loss of hair. He had never done anything but shoot and hunt +over his property nine months in the year, and spend the other three +months in Paris, where the jockey Club and ballet-dancers sufficed for +his amusement. He did not pretend to be a man whose bachelor life had +been altogether blameless, but he considered himself to be a “correct” + man, according to what he understood by that expression, which implied +neither talents, virtues, nor good manners; nevertheless, all the Blue +Band agreed that he was a finished type of gentleman-hood. Even Raoul’s +sisters had to confess, with a certain disgust, that, whatever people +may say, in our own day the aristocracy of wealth has to lower its flag +before the authentic quarterings of the old noblesse. They secretly +envied Giselle because she was going to be a grande dame, while all the +while they asserted that old-fashioned distinctions had no longer any +meaning. Nevertheless, they looked forward to the day when they, too, +might take their places in the Faubourg St. Germain. One may purchase +that luxury with a fortune of eight hundred thousand francs. + +The croquet-ground, which was underwater at high tide, was a long +stretch of sand that fringed the shingle. Two parties were formed, in +which care was taken to make both sides as nearly equal as possible, +after which the game began, with screams, with laughter, a little +cheating and some disputes, as is the usual custom. All this appeared +to amuse Oscar de Talbrun--exceedingly. For the first time during his +wooing he was not bored. The Misses Sparks--Kate and Nora--by their +“high spirits” agreeably reminded him of one or two excursions he had +made in past days into Bohemian society. + +He formed the highest opinion of Jacqueline when he saw how her +still short skirts showed pretty striped silk stockings, and how +her well-shaped foot was planted firmly on a blue ball, when she was +preparing to roquer the red one. The way in which he fixed his eyes upon +her gave great offense to Fred, and did it not alarm and shock Giselle? +No! Giselle looked on calmly at the fun and talk around her, as unmoved +as the stump of a tree, spoiling the game sometimes by her ignorance +or her awkwardness, well satisfied that M. de Talbrun should leave her +alone. Talking with him was very distasteful to her. + +“You have been more stupid than usual,” had been what her grandmother +had never failed to say to her in Paris after one of his visits, which +he alternated with bouquets. But at Treport no one seemed to mind her +being stupid, and indeed M. de Talbrun hardly thought of her existence, +up to the moment when they were all nearly caught by the first wave that +came rolling in over the croquet-ground, when all the girls took flight, +flushed, animated, and with lively gesticulation, while the gentlemen +followed with the box into which had been hastily flung hoops, balls, +and mallets. + +On their way Count Oscar condescendingly explained to Fred, as to a +novice, that the only good thing about croquet was that it brought men +and girls together. He was himself very good at games, he said, having +remarkably firm muscles and exceptionally sharp sight; but he went on to +add that he had not been able to show what he could do that day. The wet +sand did not make so good a croquet-ground as the one he had had made in +his park! It is a good thing to know one’s ground in all circumstances, +but especially in playing croquet. Then, dexterously passing from the +game to the players, he went on to say, under cover of giving Fred a +warning, that a man need not fear going too far with those girls from +America--they had known how to flirt from the time they were born. They +could look out for themselves, they had talons and beaks; but up to a +certain point they were very easy to get on with. Those other players +were queer little things; the three sisters Wermant were not wanting in +chic, but, hang it!--the sweetest flower of them all, to his mind, was +the tall one, the dark one--unripe fruit in perfection! “And a year +or two hence,” added M. de Talbrun, with all the self-confidence of an +expert, “every one will be talking about her in the world of society.” + +Poor Fred kept silent, trying to curb his wrath. But the blood mounted +to his temples as he listened to these remarks, poured into his ear by a +man of thirty-five, between puffs of his cigar, because there was +nobody else to whom he could make them. But they seemed to Fred very +ill-mannered and ill-timed. If he had not dreaded making himself absurd, +he would gladly have stood forth as the champion of the Sparks, the +Wermants, and all the other members of the Blue Band, so that he might +give vent to the anger raging in his heart on hearing that odious +compliment to Jacqueline. Why was he not old enough to marry her? What +right had that detestable Talbrun to take notice of any girl but his +fiancee? If he himself could marry now, his choice would soon be made! +No doubt, later--as his mother had said to him. But would Jacqueline +wait? Everybody was beginning to admire her. Somebody would carry her +off--somebody would cut him out while he was away at sea. Oh, horrible +thought for a young lover! + +That night, at the Casino, while dancing a quadrille with Giselle, he +could not refrain from saying to her, “Don’t you object to Monsieur de +Talbrun’s dancing so much with Jacqueline?” + +“Who?--I?” she cried, astonished, “I don’t see why he should not.” + And then, with a faint laugh, she added: “Oh, if she would only take +him--and keep him!” + +But Madame de Monredon kept a sharp eye upon M. de Talbrun. “It seems +to me,” she said, looking fixedly into the face of her future +grandson-in-law, “that you really take pleasure in making children skip +about with you.” + +“So I do,” he replied, frankly and good-humoredly. “It makes me feel +young again.” + +And Madame de Monredon was satisfied. She was ready to admit that most +men marry women who have not particularly enchanted them, and she had +brought up Giselle with all those passive qualities, which, together +with a large fortune, usually suit best with a ‘mariage de convenance’. + +Meantime Jacqueline piqued herself upon her worldly wisdom, which she +looked upon as equal to Madame de Monredon’s, since the terrible event +which had filled her mind with doubts. She thought M. de Talbrun would +do well enough for a husband, and she took care to say so to Giselle. + +“It is a fact,” she told her, with all the self-confidence of large +experience, “that men who are very fascinating always remain bachelors. +That is probably why Monsieur de Cymier, Madame de Villegry’s handsome +cousin, does not think of marrying.” + +She was mistaken. The Comte de Cymier, a satellite who revolved around +that star of beauty, Madame de Villegry, had been by degrees brought +round by that lady herself to thoughts of matrimony. + +Madame de Villegry, notwithstanding her profuse use of henna and many +cosmetics, which was always the first thing to strike those who saw her, +prided herself on being uncompromised as to her moral character. There +are some women who, because they stop short of actual vice, consider +themselves irreproachable. They are willing, so to speak, to hang out +the bush, but keep no tavern. In former times an appearance of evil was +avoided in order to cover evil deeds, but at present there are those +who, under the cover of being only “fast,” risk the appearance of evil. + +Madame de Villegry was what is sometimes called a “professional beauty.” + She devoted many hours daily to her toilette, she liked to have a crowd +of admirers around her. But when one of them became too troublesome, she +got rid of him by persuading him to marry. She had before this proposed +several young girls to Gerard de Cymier, each one plainer and more +insignificant than the others. It was to tell his dear friend that the +one she had last suggested was positively too ugly for him, that the +young attache to an embassy had come down to the sea-side to visit her. + +The day after his arrival he was sitting on the shingle at Madame de +Villegry’s feet, both much amused by the grotesque spectacle presented +by the bathers, who exhibited themselves in all degrees of ugliness and +deformity. Of course Madame de Villegry did not bathe, being, as she +said, too nervous. She was sitting under a large parasol and enjoying +her own superiority over those wretched, amphibious creatures who +waddled on the sands before her, comparing Madame X to a seal and +Mademoiselle Z to the skeleton of a cuttle-fish. + +“Well! it was that kind of thing you wished me to marry,” said M. de +Cymier, in a tone of resentment. + +“But, my poor friend, what would you have? All young girls are like +that. They improve when they are married.” + +“If one could only be sure.” + +“One is never sure of anything, especially anything relating to young +girls. One can not say that they do more than exist till they are +married. A husband has to make whatever he chooses out of them. You are +quite capable of making what you choose of your wife. Take the risk, +then.” + +“I could educate her as to morals--though, I must say, I am not much +used to that kind of instruction; but you will permit me to think that, +as to person, I should at least wish to see a rough sketch of what I may +expect in my wife before my marriage.” + +At that moment, a girl who had been bathing came out of the water a few +yards from them; the elegant outline of her slender figure, clad in a +bathing-suit of white flannel, which clung to her closely, was thrown +into strong relief by the clear blue background of a summer sky. + +“Tiens!--but she is pretty!” cried Gerard, breaking off what he was +saying: “And she is the first pretty one I have seen!” + +Madame de Villegry took up her tortoiseshell opera-glasses, which were +fastened to her waist, but already the young girl, over whose shoulders +an attentive servant had flung a wrapper--a ‘peignoir-eponge’--had run +along the boardwalk and stopped before her, with a gay “Good-morning!” + +“Jacqueline!” said Madame de Villegry. “Well, my dear child, did you +find the water pleasant?” + +“Delightful!” said the young girl, giving a rapid glance at M. de +Cymier, who had risen. + +He was looking at her with evident admiration, an admiration at which +she felt much flattered. She was closely wrapped in her soft, snow-white +peignoir, bordered with red, above which rose her lovely neck and head. +She was trying to catch, on the point of one little foot, one of her +bathing shoes, which had slipped from her. The foot which, when well +shod, M. de Talbrun, through his eyeglass, had so much admired, was +still prettier without shoe or stocking. It was so perfectly formed, so +white, with a little pink tinge here and there, and it was set upon so +delicate an ankle! M. de Cymier looked first at the foot, and then his +glance passed upward over all the rest of the young figure, which could +be seen clearly under the clinging folds of the wet drapery. Her form +could be discerned from head to foot, though nothing was uncovered but +the pretty little arm which held together with a careless grace the +folds of her raiment. The eye of the experienced observer ran rapidly +over the outline of her figure, till it reached the dark head and +the brown hair, which rippled in little curls over her forehead. Her +complexion, slightly golden, was not protected by one of those absurd +hats which many bathers place on top of oiled silk caps which fit them +closely. Neither was the precaution of oiled silk wanted to protect the +thick and curling hair, now sprinkled with great drops that shone like +pearls and diamonds. The water, instead of plastering her hair upon her +temples, had made it more curly and more fleecy, as it hung over her +dark eyebrows, which, very near together at the nose, gave to her eyes a +peculiar, slightly oblique expression. Her teeth were dazzling, and +were displayed by the smile which parted her lips--lips which were, if +anything, too red for her pale complexion. She closed her eyelids now +and then to shade her eyes from the too blinding sunlight. Those eyes +were not black, but that hazel which has golden streaks. Though only +half open, they had quickly taken in the fact that the young man sitting +beside Madame de Villegry was very handsome. + +As she went on with a swift step to her bathing-house, she drew out two +long pins from her back hair, shaking it and letting it fall down +her back with a slightly impatient and imperious gesture; she wished, +probably, that it might dry more quickly. + +“The devil!” said M. de Cymier, watching her till she disappeared into +the bathing-house. “I never should have thought that it was all her own! +There is nothing wanting in her. That is a young creature it is pleasant +to see.” + +“Yes,” said Madame de Villegry, quietly, “she will be very good-looking +when she is eighteen.” + +“Is she nearly eighteen?” + +“She is and she is not, for time passes so quickly. A girl goes to sleep +a child, and wakes up old enough to be married. Would you like to be +informed, without loss of time, as to her fortune?” + +“Oh! I should not care much about her dot. I look out first for other +things.” + +“I know, of course; but Jacqueline de Nailles comes of a very good +family.” + +“Is she the daughter of the deputy?” + +“Yes, his only daughter. He has a pretty house in the Parc Monceau and a +chateau of some importance in the Haute-Vienne.” + +“Very good; but, I repeat, I am not mercenary. Of course, if I should +marry, I should like, for my wife’s sake, to live as well as a married +man as I have lived as a bachelor.” + +“Which means that you would be satisfied with a fortune equal to your +own. I should have thought you might have asked more. It is true that +if you have been suddenly thunderstruck that may alter your +calculations--for it was very sudden, was it not? Venus rising from the +sea!” + +“Please don’t exaggerate! But you are not so cruel, seeing you are +always urging me to marry, as to wish me to take a wife who looks like a +fright or a horror.” + +“Heaven preserve me from any such wish! I should be very glad if my +little friend Jacqueline were destined to work your reformation.” + +“I defy the most careful parent to find anything against me at this +moment, unless it be a platonic devotion. The youth of Mademoiselle de +Nailles is an advantage, for I might indulge myself in that till we were +married, and then I should settle down and leave Paris, where nothing +keeps me but--” + +“But a foolish fancy,” laughed Madame de Villegry. “However, in return +for your madrigal, accept the advice of a friend. The Nailles seem to +me to be prosperous, but everybody in society appears so, and one never +knows what may happen any day. You would not do amiss if, before you +go on, you were to talk with Wermant, the ‘agent de change’, who has a +considerable knowledge of the business affairs of Jacqueline’s father. +He could tell you about them better than I can.” + +“Wermant is at Treport, is he not? I thought I saw him--” + +“Yes, he is here till Monday. You have twenty-four hours.” + +“Do you really think I am in such a hurry?” + +“Will you take a bet that by this time to-morrow you will not know +exactly the amount of her dot and the extent of her expectations?” + +“You would lose. I have something else to think of--now and always.” + +“What?” she said, carelessly. + +“You have forbidden me ever to mention it.” + +Silence ensued. Then Madame de Villegry said, smiling: + +“I suppose you would like me to present you this evening to my friends +the De Nailles?” + +And in fact they all met that evening at the Casino, and Jacqueline, +in a gown of scarlet foulard, which would have been too trying for any +other girl, seemed to M. de Cymier as pretty as she had been in her +bathing-costume. Her hair was not dressed high, but it was gathered +loosely together and confined by a ribbon of the same color as her gown, +and she wore a little sailor hat besides. In this costume she had been +called by M. de Talbrun the “Fra Diavolo of the Seas,” and she never +better supported that part, by liveliness and audacity, than she +did that evening, when she made a conquest that was envied--wildly +envied--by the three Demoiselles Wermant and the two Misses Sparks, +for the handsome Gerard, after his first waltz with Madame de Villegry, +asked no one to be his partner but Mademoiselle de Nailles. + +The girls whom he neglected had not even Fred to fall back upon, for +Fred, the night before, had received orders to join his ship. He had +taken leave of Jacqueline with a pang in his heart which he could +hardly hide, but to which no keen emotion on her part seemed to respond. +However, at least, he was spared the unhappiness of seeing the star of +De Cymier rising above the horizon. + +“If he could only see me,” thought Jacqueline, waltzing in triumph with +M. de Cymier. “If he could only see me I should be avenged.” + +But he was not Fred. She was not giving him a thought. It was the +last flash of resentment and hatred that came to her in that moment of +triumph, adding to it a touch of exquisite enjoyment. + +Thus she performed the obsequies of her first love! + +Not long after this M. de Nailles said to his wife: + +“Do you know, my dear, that our little Jacqueline is very much admired? +Her success has been extraordinary. It is not likely she will die an old +maid.” + +The Baronne assented rather reluctantly. + +“Wermant was speaking to me the other day,” went on M. de Nailles. “It +seems that that young Count de Cymier, who is always hanging around you, +by the way, has been making inquiries of him, in a manner that looks +as if it had some meaning, as to what is our fortune, our position. But +really, such a match seems too good to be true.” + +“Why so?” said the Baronne. “I know more about it than you do, from +Blanche de Villegry. She gave me to understand that her cousin was much +struck by Jacqueline at first sight, and ever since she does nothing +but talk to me of M. de Cymier--of his birth, his fortune, his +abilities--the charming young fellow seems gifted with everything. +He could be Secretary of Legation, if he liked to quit Paris: In the +meantime attache to an Embassy looks very well on a card. Attache to the +Ministry of the Foreign Affairs does not seem so good. Jacqueline would +be a countess, possibly an ambassadress. What would you think of that!” + +Madame de Nailles, who understood policy much better than her husband, +had suddenly become a convert to opportunism, and had made a change of +base. Not being able to devise a plan by which to suppress her young +rival, she had begun to think that her best way to get rid of her would +be by promoting her marriage. The little girl was fast developing into a +woman--a woman who would certainly not consent quietly to be set aside. +Well, then, it would be best to dispose of her in so natural a way. When +Jacqueline’s slender and graceful figure and the freshness of her bloom +were no longer brought into close comparison with her own charms, she +felt she should appear much younger, and should recover some of +her prestige; people would be less likely to remark her increasing +stoutness, or the red spots on her face, increased by the salt air which +was so favorable to young girls’ complexions. Yes, Jacqueline must be +married; that was the resolution to which Madame de Nailles had come +after several nights of sleeplessness. It was her fixed idea, replacing +in her brain that other fixed idea which, willingly or unwillingly, she +saw she must give up--the idea of keeping her stepdaughter in the shade. + +“Countess! Ambassadress!” repeated M. de Nailles, with rather a +melancholy smile. “You are going too fast, my dear Clotilde. I don’t +doubt that Wermant gave the best possible account of our situation; but +when it comes to saying what I could give her as a dot, I am very much +afraid. We should have, in that case, to fall back on Fred, for I +have not told you everything. This morning Madame d’Argy, who has done +nothing but weep since her boy went away, and who, she says, never will +get accustomed to the life of misery and anxiety she will lead as a +sailor’s mother, exclaimed, as she was talking to me: ‘Ah! there is but +one way of keeping him at Lizerolles, of having him live there as the +D’Argys have lived before him, quietly, like a good landlord, and +that would be to give him your daughter; with her he would be entirely +satisfied.’” + +“Ah! so that is the reason why she asked whether Jacqueline might not +stay with her when we go to Italy! She wishes to court her by proxy. But +I don’t think she will succeed. Monsieur de Cymier has the best chance.” + +“Do you suppose the child suspects--” + +“That he admires her? My dear friend, we have to do with a very +sharp--sighted young person. Nothing escapes the observation of +Mademoiselle ‘votre fille’.” + +And Madame de Nailles, in her turn, smiled somewhat bitterly. + +“Well,” said Jacqueline’s father, after a few moments’ reflection, “it +may be as well that she should weigh for and against a match before +deciding. She may spend several years that are difficult and dangerous +trying to find out what she wants and to make up her mind.” + +“Several years?” + +“Hang it! You would not marry off Jacqueline at once?” + +“Bah! many a girl, practically not as old as she, is married at sixteen +or seventeen.” + +“Why! I fancied you thought so differently!” + +“Our ways of thinking are sometimes altered by events, especially when +they are founded upon sincere and disinterested affection.” + +“Like that of good parents, such as we are,” added M. de Nailles, ending +her sentence with an expression of grateful emotion. + +For one moment the Baronne paled under this compliment. + +“What did you say to Madame d’Argy?” she hastened to ask. + +“I said we must give the young fellow’s beard time to grow.” + +“Yes, that was right. I prefer Monsieur de Cymier a hundred times over. +Still, if nothing better offers--a bird in the hand, you know--” + +Madame de Nailles finished her sentence by a wave of her fan. + +“Oh! our bird in the hand is not to be despised. A very handsome +estate--” + +“Where Jacqueline would be bored to death. I should rather see her +radiant at some foreign court. Let me manage it. Let me bring her out. +Give me carte blanche and let me have some society this winter.” + +Madame de Nailles, whether she knew it or not--probably she did, for she +had great skill in reading the thoughts of others--was acting precisely +in accordance with the wishes or the will of Jacqueline, who, having +found much enjoyment in the dances at the Casino, had made up her +mind that she meant to come out into society before any of her young +companions. + +“I shall not have to beg and implore her,” she said to herself, +anticipating the objections of her stepmother. “I shall only have +politely to let her suspect that such a thing may have occurred as +having had a listener at a door. I paid dearly enough for this hold over +her. I have no scruple in using it.” + +Madame de Nailles was not mistaken in her stepdaughter; she was very far +advanced beyond her age, thanks to the cruel wrong that had been done +her by the loss of her trust in her elders and her respect for them. Her +heart had had its past, though she was still hardly more than a child--a +sad past, though its pain was being rapidly effaced. She now thought +about it only at intervals. Time and circumstances were operating on her +as they act upon us generally; only in her case more quickly than usual, +which produced in her character and feelings phenomena that might have +seemed curious to an observer. She was something of a woman, something +of a child, something of a philosopher. At night, when she was dancing +with Wermant, or Cymier, or even Talbrun, or on horseback, an exercise +which all the Blues were wild about, she was an audacious flirt, a girl +up to anything; and in the morning, at low tide, she might be seen, with +her legs and feet bare, among the children, of whom there were many on +the sands, digging ditches, making ramparts, constructing towers and +fortifications in wet sand, herself as much amused as if she had been +one of the babies themselves. There was screaming and jumping, and +rushing out of reach of the waves which came up ready to overthrow the +most complicated labors of the little architects, rough romping of all +kinds, enough to amaze and disconcert a lover. + +But no one could have guessed at the thoughts which, in the midst of all +this fun and frolic, were passing through the too early ripened mind of +Jacqueline. She was thinking that many things to which we attach great +value and importance in this world are as easily swept away as the sand +barriers raised against the sea by childish hands; that everywhere there +must be flux and reflux, that the beach the children had so dug up would +soon become smooth as a mirror, ready for other little ones to dig it +over again, tempting them to work, and yet discouraging their industry. +Her heart, she thought, was like the sand, ready for new impressions. +The elegant form of M. de Cymier slightly overshadowed it, distinct +among other shadows more confused. + +And Jacqueline said to herself with a smile, exactly what her father and +Madame de Nailles had said to each other: + +“Countess!--who knows? Ambassadress! Perhaps--some day--” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. A PUZZLING CORRESPONDENCE + +“But I can not see any reason why we should not take Jacqueline with us +to Italy. She is just of an age to profit by it.” + +These words were spoken by M. de Nailles after a long silence at the +breakfast-table. They startled his hearers like a bomb. + +Jacqueline waited to hear what would come next, fixing a keen look upon +her stepmother. Their eyes met like the flash of two swords. + +The eyes of the one said: “Now, let us hear what you will answer!” while +the other strove to maintain that calmness which comes to some people in +a moment of danger. The Baroness grew a little pale, and then said, in +her softest tones: + +“You are quite right, ‘mon ami’, but Jacqueline, I think, prefers to +stay.” + +“I decidedly prefer to stay,” said Jacqueline. + +Her adversary, much relieved by this response, could not repress a sigh. + +“It seems singular,” said M. de Nailles. + +“What! that I prefer to pass a month or six weeks with Madame d’Argy? +Besides, Giselle is going to be married during that time.” + +“They might put it off until we come back, I should suppose.” + +“Oh! I don’t think they would,” cried the Baroness. “Madame de Monredon +is so selfish. She was offended to think we should talk of going away +on the eve of an event she considers so important. Besides, she has so +little regard for me that I should think her more likely to hasten the +wedding-day rather than retard it, if it were only for the pleasure of +giving us a lesson.” + +“I am sorry. I should have been glad to be, as she wished, one +of Giselle’s witnesses, but people don’t take my position into +consideration. If I do not take advantage of the recess--” + +“Besides,” interrupted Jacqueline, carelessly, “your journey must +coincide with that of Monsieur Marien.” + +She had the pleasure of seeing her stepmother again slightly change +color. Madame de Nailles was pouring out for herself a cup of tea with +singular care and attention. + +“Of course,” said M. de Nailles. His daughter pitied him, and cried, +with an increasing wish to annoy her stepmother: “Mamma, don’t you +see that your teapot has no tea in it? Yes,” she went on, “it must be +delightful to travel in Italy in company with a great artist who would +explain everything; but then one would be expected to visit all the +picture-galleries, and I hate pictures, since--” + +She paused and again looked meaningly at her stepmother, whose soft blue +eyes showed anguish of spirit, and seemed to say: “Oh, what a cruel hold +she has upon me!” Jacqueline continued, carelessly--“Picture-galleries I +don’t care for--I like nature a hundred times better. Some day I should +like to take a journey to suit myself, my own journey! Oh, papa, may I? +A journey on foot with you in the Tyrol?” + +Madame de Nailles was no great walker. + +“Both of us, just you and I alone, with our alpenstocks in our hands--it +would be lovely! But Italy and painters--” + +Here, with a boyish flourish of her hands, she seemed to send that +classic land to Jericho! + +“Do promise me, papa!” + +“Before asking a reward, you must deserve it,” said her father, +severely, who saw something was wrong. + +During her stay at Lizerolles, which her perverseness, her resentment, +and a repugnance founded on instincts of delicacy, had made her prefer +to a journey to Italy, Jacqueline, having nothing better to do, took it +into her head to write to her friend Fred. The young man received three +letters at three different ports in the Mediterranean and in the West +Indies, whose names were long associated in his mind with delightful and +cruel recollections. When the first was handed to him with one from his +mother, whose letters always awaited him at every stopping-place, the +blood flew to his face, his heart beat violently, he could have cried +aloud but for the necessity of self-command in the presence of his +comrades, who had already remarked in whispers to each other, and with +envy, on the pink envelope, which exhaled ‘l’odor di femina’. He hid his +treasure quickly, and carried it to a spot where he could be alone; +then he kissed the bold, pointed handwriting that he recognized at once, +though never before had it written his address. He kissed, too, more +than once, the pink seal with a J on it, whose slender elegance reminded +him of its owner. Hardly did he dare to break the seal; then forgetting +altogether, as we might be sure, his mother’s letter, which he knew +beforehand was full of good advice and expressions of affection, he +eagerly read this, which he had not expected to receive: + + + “LIZEROLLES, October, 5, 188- + + “MY DEAR FRED: + + “Your mother thinks you would be pleased to receive a letter from + me, and I hope you will be. You need not answer this if you do not + care to do so. You will notice, ‘par parenthese’, that I take this + opportunity of saying you and not thou to you. It is easier to + change the familiar mode of address in writing than in speaking, and + when we meet again the habit will have become confirmed. But, as I + write, it will require great attention, and I can not promise to + keep to it to the end. Half an hour’s chat with an old friend will + also help me to pass the time, which I own seems rather long, as it + is passed by your sweet, dear mother and myself at Lizerolles. Oh, + if you were only here it would be different! In the first place, + we should talk less of a certain Fred, which would be one great + advantage. You must know that you are the subject of our discourse + from morning to night; we talk only of the dangers of the seas, the + future prospects of a seaman, and all the rest of it. If the wind + is a little higher than usual, your mother begins to cry; she is + sure you are battling with a tempest. If any fishing-boat is + wrecked, we talk of nothing but shipwrecks; and I am asked to join + in another novena, in addition to those with which we must have + already wearied Notre Dame de Treport. Every evening we spread out + the map: ‘See, Jacqueline, he must be here now--no, he is almost + there,’ and lines of red ink are traced from one port to another, + and little crosses are made to show the places where we hope you + will get your letters--‘Poor boy, poor, dear boy!’ In short, + notwithstanding all the affectionate interest I take in you, this is + sometimes too much for me. In fact, I think I must be very fond of + thee not to have grown positively to hate thee for all this fuss. + There! In this last sentence, instead of saying you, I have said + thee! That ought to gild the pill for you! + + “We do not go very frequently to visit Treport, except to invoke for + you the protection of Heaven, and I like it just as well, for since + the last fortnight in September, which was very rainy, the beach is + dismal--so different from what it was in the summer. The town looks + gloomy under a cloudy sky with its blackened old brick houses! We + are better off at Lizerolles, whose autumnal beauties you know so + well that I will say nothing about them.--Oh, Fred, how often I + regret that I am not a boy! I could take your gun and go shooting + in the swamps, where there are clouds of ducks now. I feel sure + that if you were in my place, you could kill time without killing + game; but I am at the end of my small resources when I have played a + little on the piano to amuse your mother and have read her the + ‘Gazette de France’. In the evening we read a translation of some + English novel. There are neighbors, of course, old fogies who stay + all the year round in Picardy--but, tell me, don’t you find them + sometimes a little too respectable? My greatest comfort is in your + dog, who loves me as much as if I were his master, though I can not + take him out shooting. While I write he is lying on the hem of my + gown and makes a little noise, as much as to tell me that I recall + you to his remembrance. Yet you are not to suppose that I am + suffering from ennui, or am ungrateful, nor above all must you + imagine that I have ceased to love your excellent mother with all my + heart. I love her, on the contrary, more than ever since I passed + this winter through a great, great sorrow--a sorrow which is now + only a sad remembrance, but which has changed for me the face of + everything in this world. Yes, since I have suffered myself, I + understand your mother. I admire her, I love her more than ever. + + “How happy you are, my dear Fred, to have such a sweet mother,-- + a real mother who never thinks about her face, or her figure, or her + age, but only of the success of her son; a dear little mother in a + plain black gown, and with pretty gray hair, who has the manners and + the toilette that just suit her, who somehow always seems to say: + ‘I care for nothing but that which affects my son.’ Such mothers are + rare, believe me. Those that I know, the mothers of my friends, are + for the most part trying to appear as young as their daughters--nay, + prettier, and of course more elegant. When they have sons they make + them wear jackets a l’anglaise and turn-down collars, up to the age + when I wore short skirts. Have you noticed that nowadays in Paris + there are only ladies who are young, or who are trying to make + themselves appear so? Up to the last moment they powder and paint, + and try to make themselves different from what age has made them. + If their hair was black it grows blacker--if red, it is more red. + But there is no longer any gray hair in Paris--it is out of fashion. + That is the reason why I think your mother’s pretty silver curls so + lovely and ‘distingues’. I kiss them every night for you, after I + have kissed them for myself. + + “Have a good voyage, come back soon, and take care of yourself, dear + Fred.” + +The young sailor read this letter over and over again. The more he read +it the more it puzzled him. Most certainly he felt that Jacqueline gave +him a great proof of confidence when she spoke to him of some mysterious +unhappiness, an unhappiness of which it was evident her stepmother +was the cause. He could see that much; but he was infinitely far from +suspecting the nature of the woes to which she alluded. Poor Jacqueline! +He pitied her without knowing what for, with a great outburst of +sympathy, and an honest desire to do anything in the world to make her +happy. Was it really possible that she could have been enduring any +grief that summer when she had seemed so madly gay, so ready for a +little flirtation? Young girls must be very skilful in concealing their +inmost feelings! When he was unhappy he had it out by himself, he took +refuge in solitude, he wanted to be done with existence. Everybody knew +when anything went wrong with him. Why could not Jacqueline have let him +know more plainly what it was that troubled her, and why could she not +have shown a little tenderness toward him, instead of assuming, even +when she said the kindest things to him, her air of mockery? And then, +though she might pretend not to find Lizerolles stupid, he could see +that she was bored there. Yet why had she chosen to stay at Lizerolles +rather than go to Italy? + +Alas! how that little pink letter made him reflect and guess, and turn +things over in his mind, and wish himself at the devil--that little pink +letter which he carried day and night on his breast and made it crackle +as it lay there, when he laid his hand on the satin folds so near his +heart! It had an odor of sweet violets which seemed to him to overpower +the smell of pitch and of salt water, to fill the air, to perfume +everything. + +“That young fellow has the instincts of a sailor,” said his superior +officers when they saw him standing in attitudes which they thought +denoted observation, though with him it was only reverie. He would stand +with his eyes fixed upon some distant point, whence he fancied he could +see emerging from the waves a small, brown, shining head, with long hair +streaming behind, the head of a girl swimming, a girl he knew so well. + +“One can see that he takes an interest in nautical phenomena, that he +is heart and soul in his profession, that he cares for nothing else. Oh, +he’ll make a sailor! We may be sure of that!” + +Fred sent his young friend and cousin, by way of reply, a big packet +of manuscript, the leaves of which were of all sizes, over which he +had poured forth torrents of poetry, amorous and descriptive, under the +title: At Sea. + +Never would he have dared to show her this if the ocean had not lain +between them. He was frightened when his packet had been sent. His only +comfort was in the thought that he had hypocritically asked Jacqueline +for her literary opinion of his verses; but she could not fail, he +thought, to understand. + +Long before an answer could have been expected, he got another letter, +sky-blue this time, much longer than the first, giving him an account of +Giselle’s wedding. + + “Your mother and I went together to Normandy, where the marriage was + to take place after the manner of old times, ‘in the fashion of the + Middle Ages,’ as our friends the Wermants said to me, who might + perhaps not have laughed at it had they been invited. Madame de + Monredon is all for old customs, and she had made it a great point + that the wedding should not take place in Paris. Had I been + Giselle, I should not have liked it. I know nothing more elegant or + more solemn than the entrance of a bridal party into the Madeleine, + but we shall have to be content with Saint-Augustin. Still, the + toilettes, as they pass up the aisle, even there, are very + effective, and the decoration of the tall, high altar is + magnificent. Toc! Toc! First come the beadles with their + halberds, then the loud notes of the organ, then the wide doors are + thrown open, making a noise as they turn on their great hinges, + letting the noise of carriages outside be heard in the church; and + then comes the bride in a ray of sunshine. I could wish for nothing + more. A grand wedding in the country is much more quiet, but it is + old-fashioned. In the little village church the guests were very + much crowded, and outside there was a great mob of country folk. + Carpets had been laid down over the dilapidated pavement, composed + principally of tombstones. The rough walls were hung with scarlet. + All the clergy of the neighborhood were present. A Monsignor-- + related to the Talbruns--pronounced the nuptial benediction; his + address was a panegyric on the two families. He gave us to + understand that if he did not go back quite as far as the Crusades, + it was only because time was wanting. + + “Madame de Monredon was all-glorious, of course. She certainly + looked like an old vulture, in a pelisse of gray velvet, with a + chinchilla boa round her long, bare neck, and her big beak, with + marabouts overshadowing it, of the same color. Monsieur de Talbrun + --well! Monsieur de Talbrun was very bald, as bald as he could be. + To make up for the want of hair on his head, he has plenty of it on + his hands. It is horrid, and it makes him look like an animal. You + have no idea how queer he looked when he sat down, with his big, + pink head just peeping over the back of the crimson velvet chair, + which was, however, almost as tall as he is. He is short, you may + remember. As to our poor Giselle, the prettiest persons sometimes + look badly as brides, and those who are not pretty look ugly. Do + you recollect that picture--by Velasquez, is it not? of a fair + little Infanta stiffly swathed in cloth of gold, as becomes her + dignity, and looking crushed by it? Giselle’s gown was of point + d’Alencon, old family lace as yellow as ancient parchment, but of + inestimable value. Her long corsage, made in the fashion of Anne of + Austria, looked on her like a cuirass, and she dragged after her, + somewhat awkwardly, a very long train, which impeded her movement as + she walked. A lace veil, as hereditary and time-worn as the gown, + but which had been worn by all the Monredons at their weddings, the + present dowager’s included, hid the pretty, light hair of our dear + little friend, and was supported by a sort of heraldic comb and some + orange-flowers; in short, you can not imagine anything more heavy or + more ugly. Poor Giselle, loaded down with it, had red eyes, a face + of misery, and the air of a martyr. For all this her grandmother + scolded her sharply, which of course did not mend matters. ‘Du + reste’, she seemed absorbed in prayer or thought during the + ceremony, in which I took up the offerings, by the way, with a young + lieutenant of dragoons just out of the military school at Saint Cyr: + a uniform always looks well on such occasions. Nor was Monsieur de + Talbrun one of those lukewarm Christians who hear mass with their + arms crossed and their noses in the air. He pulled a jewelled + prayerbook out of his pocket, which Giselle had given him. Speaking + of presents, those he gave her were superb: pearls as big as + hazelnuts, a ruby heart that was a marvel, a diamond crescent that I + am afraid she will never wear with such an air as it deserves, and + two strings of diamonds ‘en riviere’, which I should suppose she + would have reset, for rivieres are no longer in fashion. The stones + are enormous. + + “But, poor dear! she could care little for such things. All she + wanted was to get back as quickly as she could into her usual + clothes. She said to me, again and again: ‘Pray God for me that I + may be a good wife. I am so afraid I may not be. To belong to + Monsieur de Talbrun in this world, and in the next; to give up + everything for him, seems so extraordinary. Indeed, I think I + hardly knew what I was promising.’ I felt sorry for her; I kissed + her. I was ready to cry myself, and poor Giselle went on: ‘If you + knew, dear, how I love you! how I love all my friends! really to + love, people must have been brought up together--must have always + known each other.’ I don’t think she was right, but everybody has + his or her ideas about such things. I tried, by way of consoling + her, to draw her attention to the quantities of presents she had + received. They were displayed on several tables in the smaller + drawing-room, but her grandmother would not let them put the name of + the giver upon each, as is the present custom. She said that it + humiliated those who had not been able to make gifts as expensive as + others. She is right, when one comes to think of it. Nor would she + let the trousseau be displayed; she did not think it proper, but I + saw enough to know that there were marvels in linen, muslin, silks, + and surahs, covered all over with lace. One could see that the + great mantua-maker had not consulted the grandmother, who says that + women of distinction in her day did not wear paltry trimmings. + + “Dinner was served under a tent for all the village people during + the two mortal hours we had to spend over a repast, in which Madame + de Monredon’s cook excelled himself. Then came complimentary + addresses in the old-fashioned style, composed by the village + schoolmaster who, for a wonder, knew what he was about; groups of + village children, boys and girls, came bringing their offerings, + followed by pet lambs decked with ribbons; it was all in the style + of the days of Madame de Genlis. While we danced in the salons + there was dancing in the barn, which had been decorated for the + occasion. In short; lords and ladies and laborers all seemed to + enjoy themselves, or made believe they did. The Parisian gentlemen + who danced were not very numerous. There were a few friends of + Monsieur de Talbrun’s, however--among them, a Monsieur de Cymier, + whom possibly you remember having seen last summer at Treport; he + led the cotillon divinely. The bride and bridegroom drove away + during the evening, as they do in England, to their own house, which + is not far off. Monsieur de Talbrun’s horses--a magnificent pair, + harnessed to a new ‘caleche’--carried off Psyche, as an old + gentleman in gold spectacles said near me. He was a pretentious old + personage, who made a speech at table, very inappropriate and much + applauded. Poor Giselle! I have not seen her since, but she has + written me one of those little notes which, when she was in the + convent, she used to sign Enfant de Marie. It begged me again to + pray earnestly for her that she might not fail in the fulfilment of + her new duties. It seems hard, does it not? Let us hope that + Monsieur de Talbrun, on his part, may not find that his new life + rather wearies him! Do you know what should have been Giselle’s + fate--since she has a mania about people being thoroughly acquainted + before marriage? What would two or three years more or less have + mattered? She would have made an admirable wife for a sailor; she + would have spent the months of your absence kneeling before the + altar; she would have multiplied the lamentations and the + tendernesses of your excellent mother. I have been thinking this + ever since the wedding-day--a very sad day, after all. + + “But how I have let my pen run on. I shall have to put on two + stamps, notwithstanding my thin paper. But then you have plenty of + time to read on board-ship, and this account may amuse you. Make + haste and thank me for it. + + “Your old friend, + + “JACQUELINE.” + +Amuse him! How could he be amused by so great an insult? What! thank her +for giving him over even in thought to Giselle or to anybody? Oh, how +wicked, how ungrateful, how unworthy! + +The six pages of foreign-post paper were crumpled up by his angry +fingers. Fred tore them with his teeth, and finally made them into a +ball which he flung into the sea, hating himself for having been so +foolish as to let himself be caught by the first lines, as a foolish +fish snaps at the bait, when, apropos to the church in which she would +like to be married, she had added “But we should have to be content with +Saint-Augustin.” + +Those words had delighted him as if they had really been meant for +himself and Jacqueline. This promise for the future, that seemed to +escape involuntarily from her pen, had made him find all the rest of her +letter piquant and amusing. As he read, his mind had reverted to that +little phrase which he now found he had interpreted wrongly. What a +fall! How his hopes now crumbled under his feet! She must have done it +on purpose--but no, he need not blacken her! She had written without +thought, without purpose, in high spirits; she wanted to be witty, to be +droll, to write gossip without any reference to him to whom her letter +was addressed. That we who some day would make a triumphal entry into +St. Augustin would be herself and some other man--some man with whom +her acquaintance had been short, since she did not seem to feel in that +matter like Giselle. Some one she did not yet know? Was that sure? She +might know her future husband already, even now she might have made her +choice--Marcel d’Etaples, perhaps, who looked so well in uniform, or +that M. de Cymier, who led the cotillon so divinely. Yes! No doubt it +was he--the last-comer. And once more Fred suffered all the pangs of +jealousy. It seemed to him that in his loneliness, between sky and sea, +those pangs were more acute than he had ever known them. His comrades +teased him about his melancholy looks, and made him the butt of all +their jokes in the cockpit. He resolved, however, to get over it, and +at the next port they put into, Jacqueline’s letter was the cause of his +entering for the first time some discreditable scenes of dissipation. + +At Bermuda he received another letter, dated from Paris, where +Jacqueline had rejoined her parents, who had returned from Italy. She +sent him a commission. Would he buy her a riding-whip? Bermuda was +renowned for its horsewhips, and her father had decided that she must go +regularly to the riding-school. They seemed anxious now to give her, as +preliminary to her introduction into society, not only such pleasures as +horseback exercise, but intellectual enjoyment also. She had been taken +to the Institute to hear M. Legouve, and what was better still, in +December her stepmother would give a little party every fortnight and +would let her sit up till eleven o’clock. She was also to be taken to +make some calls. In short, she felt herself rising in importance, but +the first thing that had made her feel so was Fred’s choice of her to be +his literary confidant. She was greatly obliged to him, and did not know +how she could better prove to him that she was worthy of so great an +honor than by telling him quite frankly just what she thought of his +verses. They were very, very pretty. He had talent--great talent. Only, +as in attending the classes of M. Regis she had acquired some little +knowledge of the laws of versification, she would like to warn him +against impairing a thought for the benefit of a rhyme, and she pointed +out several such places in his compositions, ending thus: + +“Bravo! for sunsets, for twilights, for moonshine, for deep silence, for +starry nights, and silvery seas--in such things you excel; one feels as +if one were there, and one envies you the fairy scenes of ocean. But, I +implore you, be not sentimental. That is the feeble part of your poetry, +to my thinking, and spoils the rest. By the way, I should like to ask +you whose are those soft eyes, that silky hair, that radiant smile, and +all that assortment of amber, jet, and coral occurring so often in your +visions? Is she--or rather, are they--black, yellow, green, or tattooed, +for, of course, you have met everywhere beauties of all colors? Several +times when it appeared as if the lady of your dreams were white, I +fancied you were drawing a portrait of Isabelle Ray. All the girls, your +old friends, to whom I have shown At Sea, send you their compliments, +to which I join my own. Each of them will beg you to write her a sonnet; +but first of all, in virtue of our ancient friendship, I want one +myself. + + “JACQUELINE.” + +So! she had shown to others what was meant for her alone; what +profanation! And what was more abominable, she had not recognized that +he was speaking of herself. Ah! there was nothing to be done now but to +forget her. Fred tried to do so conscientiously during all his cruise in +the Atlantic, but the moment he got ashore and had seen Jacqueline, he +fell again a victim to her charms. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. BEAUTY AT THE FAIR + +She was more beautiful than ever, and her first exclamation on seeing +him was intended to be flattering: “Ah! Fred, how much you have +improved! But what a change! What an extraordinary change! Why, look at +him! He is still himself, but who would have thought it was Fred!” + +He was not disconcerted, for he had acquired aplomb in his journeys +round the globe, but he gave her a glance of sad reproach, while Madame +de Nailles said, quietly: + +“Yes, really--How are you, Fred? The tan on your face is very +becoming to you. You have broadened at the shoulders, and are now a +man--something more than a man, an experienced sailor, almost an old +seadog.” + +And she laughed, but only softly, because a frank laugh would have shown +little wrinkles under her eyes and above her cheeks, which were getting +too large. + +Her toilette, which was youthful, yet very carefully adapted to her +person, showed that she was by no means as yet “laid on the shelf,” as +Raoul Wermant elegantly said of her. She stood up, leaning over a table +covered with toys, which it was her duty to sell at the highest price +possible, for the place of a meeting so full of emotions for Fred was a +charity bazaar. + +The moment he arrived in Paris the young officer had been, so to speak, +seized by the collar. He had found a great glazed card, bidding him +to attend this fair, in a fashionable quarter, and forthwith he had +forgotten his resolution of not going near the Nailles for a long time. + +“This is not the same thing,” he said to himself. “One must not let +one’s self be supposed to be stingy.” So with these thoughts he went to +the bazaar, very glad in his secret heart to have an excuse for breaking +his resolution. + +The fair was for the benefit of sufferers from a fire--somewhere or +other. In our day multitudes of people fall victims to all kinds of +dreadful disasters, explosions of boilers, explosions of fire-damp, of +everything that can explode, for the agents of destruction seem to be in +a state of unnatural excitement as well as human beings. Never before, +perhaps, have inanimate things seemed so much in accordance with the +spirit of the times. Fred found a superb placard, the work of Cheret, a +pathetic scene in a mine, banners streaming in the air, with the words +‘Bazar de Charite’ in gold letters on a red ground, and the courtyard of +the mansion where the fair was held filled with more carriages than one +sees at a fashionable wedding. In the vestibule many footmen were in +attendance, the chasseurs of an Austrian ambassador, the great hulking +fellows of the English embassy, the gray-liveried servants of old +Rozenkranz, with their powdered heads, the negro man belonging to Madame +Azucazillo, etc., etc. At each arrival there was a frou-frou of satin +and lace, and inside the sales room was a hubbub like the noise in an +aviary. Fred, finding himself at once in the full stream of Parisian +life, but for the moment not yet part of it, indulged in some of those +philosophic reflections to which he had been addicted on shipboard. + +Each of the tables showed something of the tastes, the character, the +peculiarities of the lady who had it in charge. Madame Sterny, who had +the most beautiful hands in the world, had undertaken to sell gloves, +being sure that the gentlemen would be eager to buy if she would only +consent to try them on; Madame de Louisgrif, the ‘chanoiness’, whose +extreme emaciation was not perceived under a sort of ecclesiastical +cape, had an assortment of embroideries and objects of devotion, +intended only for ladies--and indeed for only the most serious among +them; for the table that held umbrellas, parasols and canes suited to +all ages and both sexes, a good, upright little lady had been chosen. +Her only thought was how much money she could make by her sales. Madame +Strahlberg, the oldest of the Odinskas, obviously expected to sell only +to gentlemen; her table held pyramids of cigars and cigarettes, but +nothing else was in the corner where she presided, supple and frail, +not handsome, but far more dangerous than if she had been, with her +unfathomable way of looking at you with her light eyes set deep under +her eyebrows, eyes that she kept half closed, but which were yet so +keen, and the cruel smile that showed her little sharp teeth. Her dress +was of black grenadine embroidered with silver. She wore half mourning +as a sort of announcement that she was a widow, in hopes that this +might put a stop to any wicked gossip which should assert that Count +Strahlberg was still living, having got a divorce and been very glad +to get it. Yet people talked about her, but hardly knew what to bring +against her, because, though anything might be suspected, nothing was +known. She was received and even sought after in the best society, on +account of her wonderful talents, which she employed in a manner as +perverse as everything else about her, but which led some people to call +her the ‘Judic des salons’. Wanda Strahlberg was now holding between her +lips, which were artificially red, in contrast to the greenish paleness +of her face, which caused others to call her a vampire, one of the +cigarettes she had for sale. With one hand, she was playing, graceful as +a cat, with her last package of regalias, tied with green ribbon, which, +when offered to the highest bidder, brought an enormous sum. Her sister +Colette was selling flowers, like several other young girls, but while +for the most part these waited on their customers in silence, she was +full of lively talk, and as unblushing in her eagerness to sell as a +‘bouquetiere’ by profession. She had grown dangerously pretty. Fred was +dazzled when she wanted to fasten a rose into his buttonhole, and then, +as he paid for it, gave him another, saying: “And here is another thrown +in for old acquaintance’ sake.” + +“Charity seems to cover many things,” thought the young man as he +withdrew from her smiles and her glances, but yet he had seen nothing so +attractive among the black, yellow, green or tattooed ladies about whom +Jacqueline had been pleased to tease him. + +“Fred!” + +It was Jacqueline’s voice that arrested him. It was sharp and almost +angry. She, too, was selling flowers, while at the same time she was +helping Madame de Nailles with her toys; but she was selling with that +decorum and graceful reserve which custom prescribes for young girls. +“Fred, I do hope you will wear no roses but mine. Those you have are +frightful. They make you look like a village bridegroom. Take out those +things; come! Here is a pretty boutonniere, and I will fasten it much +better in your buttonhole--let me.” + +In vain did he try to seem cold to her; his heart thawed in spite of +himself. She held him so charmingly by the lapel of his coat, touching +his cheek with the tip end of an aigrette which set so charmingly on the +top of the most becoming of fur caps which she wore. Her hair was turned +up now, showing her beautiful neck, and he could see little rebellious +hairs curling at their own will over her pure, soft skin, while she, +bending forward, was engaged in his service. He admired, too, her +slender waist, only recently subjected to the restraint of a corset. +He forgave her on the spot. At this moment a man with brown hair, tall, +elegant, and with his moustache turned up at the ends, after the old +fashion of the Valois, revived recently, came hurriedly up to the table +of Madame de Nailles. Fred felt that that inimitable moustache reduced +his not yet abundant beard to nothing. + +“Mademoiselle Jacqueline,” said the newcomer, “Madame de Villegry has +sent me to beg you to help her at the buffet. She can not keep pace with +her customers, and is asking for volunteers.” + +All this was uttered with a familiar assurance which greatly shocked the +young naval man. + +“You permit me, Madame?” + +The Baroness bowed with a smile, which said, had he chosen to interpret +it, “I give you permission to carry her off now--and forever, if you +wish it.” + +At that moment she was placing in the half-unwilling arms of Hubert +Marien an enormous rubber balloon and a jumping-jack, in return for +five Louis which he had laid humbly on her table. But Jacqueline had +not waited for her stepmother’s permission; she let herself be borne +off radiant on the arm of the important personage who had come for her, +while Colette, who perhaps had remarked the substitution for her two +roses, whispered in Fred’s ear, in atone of great significance “Monsieur +de Cymier.” + +The poor fellow started, like a man suddenly awakened from a happy +dream to face the most unwelcome of realities. Impelled by that natural +longing, that we all have, to know the worst, he went toward the buffet, +affecting a calmness which it cost him a great effort to maintain. As +he went along he mechanically gave money to each of the ladies whom he +knew, moving off without waiting for their thanks or stopping to choose +anything from their tables. He seemed to feel the floor rock under his +feet, as if he had been walking the deck of a vessel. At last he reached +a recess decorated with palms, where, in a robe worthy of ‘Peau d’Ane’ +in the story, and absolutely a novelty in the world of fashions robe all +embroidered with gold and rubies, which glittered with every movement +made by the wearer--Madame de Villegry was pouring out Russian tea +and Spanish chocolate and Turkish coffee, while all kinds of deceitful +promises of favor shone in her eyes, which wore a certain tenderness +expressive of her interest in charity. A party of young nymphs formed +the court of this fair goddess, doing their best to lend her their aid. +Jacqueline was one of them, and, at the moment Fred approached, she was +offering, with the tips of her fingers, a glass of champagne to M. +de Cymier, who at the same time was eagerly trying to persuade her to +believe something, about which she was gayly laughing, while she shook +her head. Poor Fred, that he might hear, and suffer, drank two mouthfuls +of sherry which he could hardly swallow. + +“One who was really charitable would not hesitate,” said M. de Cymier, +“especially when every separate hair would be paid for if you chose. +Just one little curl--for the sake of the poor. It is very often done: +anything is allowable for the sake of the poor.” + +“Maybe it is because, as you say, that it is very often done that I +shall not do it,” said Jacqueline, still laughing. “I have made up my +mind never to do what others have done before me.” + +“Well, we shall see,” said M. de Cymier, pretending to threaten her. + +And her young head was thrown back in a burst of inextinguishable +laughter. + +Fred fled, that he might not be tempted to make a disturbance. When he +found himself again in the street, he asked himself where he should +go. His anger choked him; he felt he could not keep his resentment to +himself, and yet, however angry he might be with Jacqueline, he would +have been unwilling to hear his mother give utterance to the very +sentiments that he was feeling, or to harsh judgments, of which he +preferred to keep the monopoly. It came into his mind that he would pay +a little visit to Giselle, who, of all the people he knew, was the least +likely to provoke a quarrel. He had heard that Madame de Talbrun did not +go out, being confined to her sofa by much suffering, which, it might be +hoped, would soon come to an end; and the certainty that he should find +her if he called at once decided him. Since he had been in Paris he had +done nothing but leave cards. This time, however, he was sure that the +lady upon whom he called would be at home. He was taken at once into the +young wife’s boudoir, where he found her very feeble, lying back upon +her cushions, alone, and working at some little bits of baby-clothes. He +was not slow to perceive that she was very glad to see him. She flushed +with pleasure as he came into the room, and, dropping her sewing, +held out to him two little, thin hands, white as wax. “Take that +footstool--sit down there--what a great, great pleasure it is to see you +back again!” She was more expansive than she had been formerly; she had +gained a certain ease which comes from intercourse with the world, but +how delicate she seemed! Fred for a moment looked at her in silence, +she seemed so changed as she lay there in a loose robe of pale blue +cashmere, whose train drawn over her feet made her look tall as it +stretched to the end of the gilded couch, round which Giselle had +collected all the little things required by an invalid--bottles, boxes, +work-bag, dressing-case, and writing materials. + +“You see,” she said, with her soft smile, “I have plenty to occupy +me, and I venture to be proud of my work and to think I am creating +marvels.” + +As she spoke she turned round on her closed hand a cap that seemed +microscopic to Fred. + +“What!” he cried, “do you expect him to be small enough to wear that!” + +“Him! you said him; and I am sure you will be right. I know it will be a +boy,” replied Giselle, eagerly, her fair face brightened by these words. +“I have some that are still smaller. Look!” and she lifted up a pile of +things trimmed with ribbons and embroidery. “See; these are the first! +Ah! I lie here and fancy how he will look when he has them on. He will +be sweet enough to eat. Only his papa wants us to give him a name that +I think is too long for him, because it has always been in the +family--Enguerrand.” + +“His name will be longer than himself, I should say, judging by the +dimensions of this cap,” said Fred, trying to laugh. + +“Bah!” replied Giselle, gayly, “but we can get over it by calling him +Gue-gue or Ra-ra. What do you think? The difficulty is that names of +that kind are apt to stick to a boy for fifty years, and then they seem +ridiculous. Now a pretty abbreviation like Fred is another matter. But +I forget they have brought up my chocolate. Please ring, and let them +bring you a cup. We will take our luncheon together, as we used to do.” + +“Thank you, I have no appetite. I have just come from a certain buffet +where I lost it all.” + +“Oh! I suppose you have been to the Bazaar--the famous Charity Fair! You +must have made a sensation there on your return, for I am told that the +gentlemen who are expected to spend the most are likely to send their +money, and not to show themselves. There are many complaints of it.” + +“There were plenty of men round certain persons,” replied Fred, dryly. +“Madame de Villegry’s table was literally besieged.” + +“Really! What, hers! You surprise me! So it was the good things she gave +you that make you despise my poor chocolate,” said Giselle, rising on +her elbow, to receive the smoking cup that a servant brought her on a +little silver salver. + +“I didn’t take much at her table,” said Fred, ready to enter on his +grievances. “If you wish to know the reason why, I was too indignant to +eat or drink.” + +“Indignant?” + +“Yes, the word is not at all too strong. When one has passed whole +months away from what is unwholesome and artificial, such things as +make up life in Paris, one becomes a little like Alceste, Moliere’s +misanthrope, when one gets back to them. It is ridiculous at my age, and +yet if I were to tell you--” + +“What?--you puzzle me. What can there be that is unwholesome in selling +things for the poor?” + +“The poor! A pretty pretext! Was it to benefit the poor that that odious +Countess Strahlberg made all those disreputable grimaces? I have seen +kermesses got up by actresses, and, upon my word, they were good form in +comparison.” + +“Oh! Countess Strahlberg! People have heard about her doings until they +are tired of them,” said Giselle, with that air of knowing everything +assumed by a young wife whose husband has told her all the current +scandals, as a sort of initiation. + +“And her sister seems likely to be as bad as herself before long.” + +“Poor Colette! She has been so badly brought up. It is not her fault.” + +“But there’s Jacqueline,” cried Fred, in a sudden outburst, and already +feeling better because he could mention her name. + +“Allons, donc! You don’t mean to say anything against Jacqueline?” cried +Giselle, clasping her hands with an air of astonishment. “What can she +have done to scandalize you--poor little dear?” + +Fred paused for half a minute, then he drew the stool in the form of +an X, on which he was sitting, a little nearer to Giselle’s sofa, and, +lowering his voice, told her how Jacqueline had acted under his very +eyes. As he went on, watching as he spoke the effect his words produced +upon Giselle, who listened as if slightly amused by his indignation, the +case seemed not nearly so bad as he had supposed, and a delicious sense +of relief crept over him when she to whom he told his wrongs after +hearing him quietly to the end, said, smiling: + +“And what then? There is no great harm in all that. Would you have had +her refuse to go with the gentleman Madame de Villegry had sent to fetch +her? And why, may I ask, should she not have done her best to help by +pouring out champagne? An air put on to please is indispensable to a +woman, if she wishes to sell anything. Good Heavens! I don’t approve any +more than you do of all these worldly forms of charity, but this kind of +thing is considered right; it has come into fashion. Jacqueline had the +permission of her parents, and I really can’t see any good reason why +you should complain of her. Unless--why not tell me the whole truth, +Fred? I know it--don’t we always know what concerns the people that we +care for? And I might possibly some day be of use to you. Say! don’t you +think you are--a little bit jealous?” + +Less encouragement than this would have sufficed to make him open his +heart to Giselle. He was delighted that some woman was willing he should +confide in her. And what was more, he was glad to have it proved that +he had been all wrong. A quarter of an hour later Giselle had comforted +him, happy herself that it had been in her power to undertake a task of +consolation, a work in which, with sweet humility, she felt herself at +ease. On the great stage of life she knew now she should never play any +important part, any that would bring her greatly into view. But she felt +that she was made to be a confidant, one of those perfect confidants +who never attempt to interfere rashly with the course of events, but +who wait upon the ways of Providence, removing stones, and briers +and thorns, and making everything turn out for the best in the end. +Jacqueline, she said, was so young! A little wild, perhaps, but what +a treasure! She was all heart! She would need a husband worthy of her, +such a man as Fred. Madame d’Argy, she knew, had already said something +on the subject to her father. But it would have to be the Baroness that +Fred must bring over to their views; the Baroness was acquiring more and +more influence over her husband, who seemed to be growing older every +day. M. de Nailles had evidently much, very much upon his mind. It was +said in business circles that he had for some time past been given to +speculation. Oscar said so. If that were the case, many of Jacqueline’s +suitors might withdraw. Not all men were so disinterested as Fred. + +“Oh! As to her dot--what do I care for her dot?” cried the young man. “I +have enough for two, if she would only be satisfied to live quietly at +Lizerolles!” + +“Yes,” said the judicious little matron, nodding her head, “but who +would like to marry a midshipman? Make haste and be a lieutenant, or an +ensign.” + +She smiled at herself for having made the reward depend upon exertion, +with a sort of maternal instinct. It was the same instinct that would +lead her in the future to promise Enguerrand a sugar-plum if he said his +lesson. “Nobody will steal your Jacqueline till you are ready to carry +her off. Besides, if there were any danger I could give you timely +warning.” + +“Ah! Giselle, if she only had your kind heart--your good sense.” + +“Do you think I am better and more reasonable than other people? In +what way? I have done as so many other girls do; I have married without +knowing well what I was doing.” + +She stopped short, fearing she might have said too much, and indeed Fred +looked at her anxiously. + +“You don’t regret it, do you?” + +“You must ask Monsieur de Talbrun if he regrets it,” she said, with a +laugh. “It must be hard on him to have a sick wife, who knows little of +what is passing outside of her own chamber, who is living on her reserve +fund of resources--a very poor little reserve fund it is, too!” + +Then, as if she thought that Fred had been with her long enough, she +said: “I would ask you to stay and see Monsieur de Talbrun, but he won’t +be in, he dines at his club. He is going to see a new play tonight which +they say promises to be very good.” + +“What! Will he leave you alone all the evening?” + +“Oh! I am very glad he should find amusement. Just think how long it is +that I have been pinned down here! Poor Oscar!” + + + + +CHAPTER X. GISELLE’S CONSOLATION + +The arrival of the expected Enguerrand hindered Giselle from pleading +Fred’s cause as soon as she could have wished. Her life for twenty-four +hours was in great danger, and when the crisis was past, which M. de +Talbrun treated very indifferently, as a matter of course, her first cry +was “My baby!” uttered in a tone of tender eagerness such as had never +been heard from her lips before. + +The nurse brought him. He lay asleep swathed in his swaddling clothes +like a mummy in its wrappings, a motionless, mysterious being, but he +seemed to his mother beautiful--more beautiful than anything she had +seen in those vague visions of happiness she had indulged in at the +convent, which were never to be realized. She kissed his little purple +face, his closed eyelids, his puckered mouth, with a sort of respectful +awe. She was forbidden to fatigue herself. The wet-nurse, who had been +brought from Picardy, drew near with her peasant cap trimmed with +long blue streamers; her big, experienced hands took the baby from his +mother, she turned him over on her lap, she patted him, she laughed at +him. And the mother-happiness that had lighted up Giselle’s pale face +died away. + +“What right,” she thought, “has that woman to my child?” She envied +the horrid creature, coarse and stout, with her tanned face, her bovine +features, her shapeless figure, who seemed as if Nature had predestined +her to give milk and nothing more. Giselle would so gladly have been in +her place! Why wouldn’t they permit her to nurse her baby? + +M. de Talbrun said in answer to this question: + +“It is never done among people in our position. You have no idea, of all +it would entail on you--what slavery, what fatigue! And most probably +you would not have had milk enough.” + +“Oh! who can tell? I am his mother! And when this woman goes he will +have to have English nurses, and when he is older he will have to go to +school. When shall I have him to myself?” + +And she began to cry. + +“Come, come!” said M. de Talbrun, much astonished, “all this fuss about +that frightful little monkey!” + +Giselle looked at him almost as much astonished as he had been at her. +Love, with its jealousy, its transports, its anguish, its delights had +for the first time come to her--the love that she could not feel for her +husband awoke in her for her son. She was ennobled--she was transfigured +by a sense of her maternity; it did for her what marriage does for some +women--it seemed as if a sudden radiance surrounded her. + +When she raised her infant in her arms, to show him to those who came +to see her, she always seemed like a most chaste and touching +representation of the Virgin Mother. She would say, as she exhibited +him: “Is he not superb?” Every one said: “Yes, indeed!” out of +politeness, but, on leaving the mother’s presence, would generally +remark: “He is Monsieur de Talbrun in baby-clothes: the likeness is +perfectly horrible!” + +The only visitor who made no secret of this impression was Jacqueline, +who came to see her cousin as soon as she was permitted--that is, as +soon as her friend was able to sit up and be prettily dressed, as became +the mother of such a little gentleman as the heir of all the Talbruns. +When Jacqueline saw the little creature half-smothered in the lace +that trimmed his pillows, she burst out laughing, though it was in the +presence of his mother. + +“Oh, mon Dieu!” she cried, “how ugly! I never should have supposed we +could have been as ugly as that! Why, his face is all the colors of the +rainbow; who would have imagined it? And he crumples up his little face +like those things in gutta-percha. My poor Giselle, how can you bear to +show him! I never, never could covet a baby!” + +Giselle, in consternation, asked herself whether this strange girl, +who did not care for children, could be a proper wife for Fred; but her +habitual indulgence came to her aid, and she thought: + +“She is but a child herself, she does not know what she is saying,” and +profiting by her first tete-a-tete with Jacqueline’s stepmother, she +spoke as she had promised to Madame de Nailles. + +“A matchmaker already!” said the Baroness, with a smile. “And so soon +after you have found out what it costs to be a mother! How good of you, +my dear Giselle! So you support Fred as a candidate? But I can’t say I +think he has much chance; Monsieur de Nailles has his own ideas.” + +She spoke as if she really thought that M. de Nailles could have any +ideas but her own. When the adroit Clotilde was at a loss, she was +likely to evoke this chimerical notion of her husband’s having an +opinion of his own. + +“Oh! Madame, you can do anything you like with him!” + +The clever woman sighed: + +“So you fancy that when people have been long married a wife retains +as much influence over her husband as you have kept over Monsieur de +Talbrun? You will learn to know better, my dear.” + +“But I have no influence,” murmured Giselle, who knew herself to be her +husband’s slave. + +“Oh! I know better. You are making believe!” + +“Well, but we were not talking about me, but--” + +“Oh! yes. I understood. I will think about it. I will try to bring over +Monsieur de Nailles.” + +She was not at all disposed to drop the meat for the sake of the shadow, +but she was not sure of M. de Cymier, notwithstanding all that Madame de +Villegry was at pains to tell her about his serious intentions. On the +other hand, she would have been far from willing to break with a man so +brilliant, who made himself so agreeable at her Tuesday receptions. + +“Meantime, it would be well if you, dear, were to try to find out what +Jacqueline thinks. You may not find it very easy.” + +“Will you authorize me to tell her how well he loves her? Oh, then, I am +quite satisfied!” cried Giselle. + +But she was under a mistake. Jacqueline, as soon as she began to speak +to her of Fred’s suit, stopped her: + +“Poor fellow! Why can’t he amuse himself for some time longer and let +me do the same? Men seem to me so strange! Now, Fred is one who, just +because he is good and serious by nature, fancies that everybody else +should be the same; he wishes me to be tethered in the flowery meads of +Lizerolles, and browse where he would place me. Such a life would be an +end of everything--an end to my life, and I should not like it at all. I +should prefer to grow old in Paris, or some other capital, if my husband +happened to be engaged in diplomacy. Even supposing I marry--which I do +not think an absolute necessity, unless I can not get rid otherwise of +an inconvenient chaperon--and to do my stepmother justice, she knows +well enough that I will not submit to too much of her dictation!” + +“Jacqueline, they say you see too much of the Odinskas.” + +“There! that’s another fault you find in me. I go there because Madame +Strahlberg is so kind as to give me some singing-lessons. If you only +knew how much progress I am making, thanks to her. Music is a thousand +times more interesting, I can tell you, than all that you can do as +mistress of a household. You don’t think so? Oh! I know Enguerrand’s +first tooth, his first steps, his first gleams of intelligence, and all +that. Such things are not in my line, you know. Of course I think your +boy very funny, very cunning, very--anything you like to fancy him, but +forgive me if I am glad he does not belong to me. There, don’t you see +now that marriage is not my vocation, so please give up speaking to me +about matrimony.” + +“As you will,” said Giselle, sadly, “but you will give great pain to a +good man whose heart is wholly yours.” + +“I did not ask for his heart. Such gifts are exasperating. One does not +know what to do with them. Can’t he--poor Fred--love me as I love him, +and leave me my liberty?” + +“Your liberty!” exclaimed Giselle; “liberty to ruin your life, that’s +what it will be.” + +“Really, one would suppose there was only one kind of existence in your +eyes--this life of your own, Giselle. To leave one cage to be shut up +in another--that is the fate of many birds, I know, but there are +others who like to use their wings to soar into the air. I like that +expression. Come, little mother, tell me right out, plainly, that your +lot is the only one in this world that ought to be envied by a woman.” + +Giselle answered with a strange smile: + +“You seem astonished that I adore my baby; but since he came great +things seem to have been revealed to me. When I hold him to my breast +I seem to understand, as I never did before, duty and marriage, family +ties and sorrows, life itself, in short, its griefs and joys. You can +not understand that now, but you will some day. You, too, will gaze +upon the horizon as I do. I am ready to suffer; I am ready for +self-sacrifice. I know now whither my life leads me. I am led, as it +were, by this little being, who seemed to me at first only a doll, for +whom I was embroidering caps and dresses. You ask whether I am satisfied +with my lot in life. Yes, I am, thanks to this guide, this guardian +angel, thanks to my precious Enguerrand.” + +Jacqueline listened, stupefied, to this unexpected outburst, so unlike +her cousin’s usual language; but the charm was broken by its ending with +the tremendously long name of Enguerrand, which always made her laugh, +it was in such perfect harmony with the feudal pretensions of the +Monredons and the Talbruns. + +“How solemn and eloquent and obscure you are, my dear,” she answered. +“You speak like a sibyl. But one thing I see, and that is that you are +not so perfectly happy as you would have us believe, seeing that you +feel the need of consolations. Then, why do you wish me to follow your +example?” + +“Fred is not Monsieur de Talbrun,” said the young wife, for the moment +forgetting herself. + +“Do you mean to say--” + +“I meant nothing, except that if you married Fred you would have had the +advantage of first knowing him.” + +“Ah! that’s your fixed idea. But I am getting to know Monsieur de Cymier +pretty well.” + +“You have betrayed yourself,” cried Giselle, with indignation. “Monsieur +de Cymier!” + +“Monsieur de Cymier is coming to our house on Saturday evening, and +I must get up a Spanish song that Madame Strahlberg has taught me, to +charm his ears and those of other people. Oh! I can do it very well. +Won’t you come and hear me play the castanets, if Monsieur Enguerrand +can spare you? There is a young Polish pianist who is to play our +accompaniment. Ah, there is nothing like a Polish pianist to play +Chopin! He is charming, poor young man! an exile, and in poverty; but he +is cared for by those ladies, who take him everywhere. That is the sort +of life I should like--the life of Madame Strahlberg--to be a young +widow, free to do what I pleased.” + +“She may be a widow--but some say she is divorced.” + +“Oh! is it you who repeat such naughty scandals, Giselle? Where shall +charity take refuge in this world if not in your heart? I am going--your +seriousness may be catching. Kiss me before I go.” + +“No,” said Madame de Talbrun, turning her head away. + +After this she asked herself whether she ought not to discourage Fred. +She could not resolve on doing so, yet she could not tell him what was +false; but by eluding the truth with that ability which kind-hearted +women can always show when they try to avoid inflicting pain, she +succeeded in leaving the young man hope enough to stimulate his +ambition. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. FRED ASKS A QUESTION + +Time, whatever may be said of it by the calendars, is not to be measured +by days, weeks, and months in all cases; expectation, hope, happiness +and grief have very different ways of counting hours, and we know from +our own experience that some are as short as a minute, and others as +long as a century. The love or the suffering of those who can tell just +how long they have suffered, or just how long they have been in love, is +only moderate and reasonable. + +Madame d’Argy found the two lonely years she passed awaiting the return +of her son, who was winning his promotion to the rank of ensign, so +long, that it seemed to her as if they never would come to an end. She +had given a reluctant consent to his notion of adopting the navy as a +profession, thinking that perhaps, after all, there might be no harm +in allowing her dear boy to pass the most dangerous period of his youth +under strict discipline, but she could not be patient forever! She +idolized her son too much to be resigned to living without him; she felt +that he was hers no longer. Either he was at sea or at Toulon, where +she could very rarely join him, being detained at Lizerolles by the +necessity of looking after their property. With what eagerness she +awaited his promotion, which she did not doubt was all the Nailles +waited for to give their consent to the marriage; of their happy +half-consent she hastened to remind them in a note which announced the +new grade to which he had been promoted. Her indignation was great on +finding that her formal request received no decided answer; but, as her +first object was Fred’s happiness, she placed the reply she had received +in its most favorable light when she forwarded it to the person whom +it most concerned. She did this in all honesty. She was not willing +to admit that she was being put off with excuses; still less could she +believe in a refusal. + +She accepted the excuse that M. de Nailles gave for returning no decided +answer, viz.: that “Jacqueline was too young,” though she answered him +with some vehemence: “Fred was born when I was eighteen.” But she had to +accept it. Her ensign would have to pass a few more months on the +coast of Senegal, a few more months which were made shorter by the +encouragement forwarded to him by his mother, who was careful to +send him everything she could find out that seemed to be, or that +she imagined might be, in his favor; she underlined such things and +commented upon them, so as to make the faintest hypothesis seem a +certainty. Sometimes she did not even wait for the post. Fred would +find, on putting in at some post, a cablegram: “Good news,” or “All goes +well,” and he would be beside himself with joy and excitement until, +on receiving his poor, dear mother’s next letter, he found out on how +slight a foundation her assurance had been founded. + +Sometimes, she wrote him disagreeable things about Jacqueline, as if she +would like to disenchant him, and then he said to himself: “By this, I +am to understand that my affairs are not going on well; I still count +for little, notwithstanding my promotion.” Ah! if he could only +have had, so near the beginning of his career, any opportunity of +distinguishing himself! No brilliant deed would have been too hard for +him. He would have scaled the very skies. Alas! he had had no chance +to win distinction, he had only had to follow in the beaten track of +ordinary duty; he had encountered no glorious perils, though at St. +Louis he had come very near leaving his bones, but it was only a case of +typhoid fever. This fever, however, brought about a scene between M. de +Nailles and his mother. + +“When,” she cried, with all the fury of a lioness, “do you expect to +come to the conclusion that my son is a suitable match for Jacqueline? +Do you imagine that I shall let him wait till he is a post-captain to +satisfy the requirements of Mademoiselle your daughter--provided he does +not die in a hospital? Do you think that I shall be willing to go +on living--if you can call it living!--all alone and in continual +apprehension? Why do you let him keep on in uncertainty? You know his +worth, and you know that with him Jacqueline would be happy. Instead of +that--instead of saying once for all to this young man, who is more in +love with her than any other man will ever be: ‘There, take her, I give +her to you,’ which would be the straightforward, sensible way, you go on +encouraging the caprices of a child who will end by wasting, in the +life you are permitting her to lead, all the good qualities she has and +keeping nothing but the bad ones.” + +“Mon Dieu! I can’t see that Jacqueline leads a life like that!” said M. +de Nailles, who felt that he must say something. + +“You don’t see, you don’t see! How can any one see who won’t open his +eyes? My poor friend, just look for once at what is going on around you, +under your own roof--” + +“Jacqueline is devoted to music,” said her father, good-humoredly. +Madame d’Argy in her heart thought he was losing his mind. + +And in truth he was growing older day by day, becoming more and more +anxious, more and more absorbed in the great struggle--not for life; +that might exhaust a man, but at least it was energetic and noble--but +for superfluous wealth, for vanity, for luxury, which, for his own +part, he cared nothing for, and which he purchased dearly, spurred on to +exertion by those near to him, who insisted on extravagances. + +“Oh! yes, Jacqueline, I know, is devoted to music,” went on Madame +d’Argy, with an air of extreme disapproval, “too much so! And when she +is able to sing like Madame Strahlberg, what good will it do her? +Even now I see more than one little thing about her that needs to +be reformed. How can she escape spoiling in that crowd of Slavs and +Yankees, people of no position probably in their own countries, with +whom you permit her to associate? People nowadays are so imprudent about +acquaintances! To be a foreigner is a passport into society. Just think +what her poor mother would have said to the bad manners she is adopting +from all parts of the globe? My poor, dear Adelaide! She was a genuine +Frenchwoman of the old type; there are not many such left now. Ah!” + continued Madame d’Argy, without any apparent connection with her +subject, “Monsieur de Talbrun’s mother, if he had one, would be truly +happy to see him married to Giselle!” + +“But,” faltered M. de Nailles, struck by the truth of some of these +remarks, “I make no opposition--quite the contrary--I have spoken +several times about your son, but I was not listened to!” + +“What can she say against Fred?” + +“Nothing. She is very fond of him, that you know as well as I do. +But those childish attachments do not necessarily lead to love and +marriage.” + +“Friendship on her side might be enough,” said Madame d’Argy, in the +tone of a woman who had never known more than that in marriage. “My poor +Fred has enthusiasm and all that, enough for two. And in time she will +be madly in love with him--she must! It is impossible it should be +otherwise.” + +“Very good, persuade her yourself if you can; but Jacqueline has a +pretty strong will of her own.” + +Jacqueline’s will was a reality, though the ideas of M. de Nailles may +have been illusion. + +“And my wife, too!” resumed the Baron, after a long sigh. “I don’t +know how it is, but Jacqueline, as she has grown up, has become like an +unbroken colt, and those two, who were once all in all to each other, +are now seldom of one mind. How am I to act when their two wills cross +mine, as they often do? I have so many things on my mind. There are +times when--” + +“Yes, one can see that. You don’t seem to know where you are. And do +you think that the disposition she shows to act, as you say, like an +unbroken colt, is nothing to me? Do you think I am quite satisfied +with my son’s choice? I could have wished that he had chosen for his +wife--but what is the use of saying what I wished? The important thing +is that he should be happy in his own way. Besides, I dare say the young +thing will calm down of her own accord. Her mother’s daughter must be +good at heart. All will come right when she is removed from a circle +which is doing her no good; it is injuring her in people’s opinion +already, you must know. And how will it be by-and-bye? I hear people +saying everywhere: ‘How can the Nailles let that young girl associate so +much with foreigners?’ You say they are old school-fellows, they went to +the ‘cours’ together. But see if Madame d’Etaples and Madame Ray, under +the same pretext, let Isabelle and Yvonne associate with the Odinskas! +As to that foolish woman, Madame d’Avrigny, she goes to their house +to look up recruits for her operettas, and Madame Strahlberg has one +advantage over regular artists, there is no call to pay her. That is the +reason why she invites her. Besides which, she won’t find it so easy to +marry Dolly.” + +“Oh! there are several reasons for that,” said the Baron, who could see +the mote in his neighbor’s eye, “Mademoiselle d’Avrigny has led a life +so very worldly ever since she was a child, so madly fast and lively, +that suitors are afraid of her. Jacqueline, thank heaven, has never yet +been in what is called the world. She only visits those with whom she is +on terms of intimacy.” + +“An intimacy which includes all Paris,” said Madame d’Argy, raising her +eyes to heaven. “If she does not go to great balls, it is only because +her stepmother is bored by them. But with that exception it seems to me +she is allowed to do anything. I don’t see the difference. But, to be +sure, if Jacqueline is not for us, you have a right to say that I am +interfering in what does not concern me.” + +“Not at all,” said the unfortunate father, “I feel how much I ought to +value your advice, and an alliance with your family would please me more +than anything.” + +He said the truth, for he was disturbed by seeing M. de Cymier so slow +in making his proposals, and he was also aware that young girls in our +day are less sought for in marriage than they used to be. His friend +Wermant, rich as he was, had had some trouble in capturing for Berthe a +fellow of no account in the Faubourg St. Germain, and the prize was not +much to be envied. He was a young man without brains and without a sou, +who enjoyed so little consideration among his own people that his wife +had not been received as she expected, and no one spoke of Madame de +Belvan without adding: “You know, that little Wermant, daughter of the +‘agent de change’.” + +Of course, Jacqueline had the advantage of good birth over Berthe, +but how great was her inferiority in point of fortune! M. de Nailles +sometimes confided these perplexities to his wife, without, however, +receiving much comfort from her. Nor did the Baroness confess to her +husband all her own fears. In secret she often asked herself, with the +keen insight of a woman of the world well trained in artifice and who +possessed a thorough knowledge of mankind, whether there might not be +women capable of using a young girl so as to put the world on a +wrong scent; whether, in other words, Madame de Villegry did not talk +everywhere about M. de Cymier’s attentions to Mademoiselle de Nailles +in order to conceal his relations to herself? Madame de Villegry indeed +cared little about standing well in public opinion, but rather the +contrary; she would not, however, for the world have been willing, +by too openly favoring one man among her admirers, to run the risk of +putting the rest to flight. No doubt M. de Cymier was most assiduous in +his attendance on the receptions and dances at Madame de Nailles’s, but +he was there always at the same time as Madame de Villegry herself. They +would hold whispered conferences in corners, which might possibly have +been about Jacqueline, but there was no proof that they were so, except +what Madame de Villegry herself said. “At any rate,” thought Madame de +Nailles, “if Fred comes forward as a suitor it may stimulate Monsieur de +Cymier. There are men who put off taking a decisive step till the last +moment, and are only to be spurred up by competition.” + +So every opportunity was given to Fred to talk freely with Jacqueline +when he returned to Paris. By this time he wore two gold-lace stripes +upon his sleeve. But Jacqueline avoided any tete-a-tete with him as if +she understood the danger that awaited her. She gave him no chance of +speaking alone with her. She was friendly--nay, sometimes affectionate +when other people were near them, but more commonly she teased him, +bewildered him, excited him. After an hour or two spent in her society +he would go home sometimes savage, sometimes desponding, to ponder in +his own room, and in his own heart, what interpretation he ought to put +upon the things that she had said to him. + +The more he thought, the less he understood. He would not have confided +in his mother for the world; she might have cast blame on Jacqueline. +Besides her, he had no one who could receive his confidences, who would +bear with his perplexities, who could assist in delivering him from +the network of hopes and fears in which, after every interview with +Jacqueline, he seemed to himself to become more and more entangled. + +At last, however, at one of the soirees given every fortnight by Madame +de Nailles, he succeeded in gaining her attention. + +“Give me this quadrille,” he said to her. + +And, as she could not well refuse, he added, as soon as she had taken +his arm: “We will not dance, and I defy you to escape me.” + +“This is treason!” she cried, somewhat angrily. “We are not here to +talk; I can almost guess beforehand what you have to say, and--” + +But he had made her sit down in the recess of that bow-window which +had been called the young girls’ corner years ago. He stood before her, +preventing her escape, and half-laughing, though he was deeply moved. + +“Since you have guessed what I wanted to say, answer me quickly.” + +“Must I? Must I, really? Why didn’t you ask my father to do your +commission? It is so horribly disagreeable to do these things for one’s +self.” + +“That depends upon what the things may be that have to be said. I should +think it ought to be very agreeable to pronounce the word on which the +happiness of a whole life is to depend.” + +“Oh! what a grand phrase! As if I could be essential to anybody’s +happiness? You can’t make me believe that!” + +“You are mistaken. You are indispensable to mine.” + +“There! my declaration has been made,” thought Fred, much relieved that +it was over, for he had been afraid to pronounce the decisive words. + +“Well, if I thought that were true, I should be very sorry,” said +Jacqueline, no longer smiling, but looking down fixedly at the pointed +toe of her little slipper; “because--” + +She stopped suddenly. Her face flushed red. + +“I don’t know how to explain to you;” she said. + +“Explain nothing,” pleaded Fred; “all I ask is Yes, nothing more. There +is nothing else I care for.” + +She raised her head coldly and haughtily, yet her voice trembled as she +said: + +“You will force me to say it? Then, no! No!” she repeated, as if to +reaffirm her refusal. + +Then, alarmed by Fred’s silence, and above all by his looks, he who had +seemed so gay shortly before and whose face now showed an anguish such +as she had never yet seen on the face of man, she added: + +“Oh, forgive me!--Forgive me,” she repeated in a lower voice, holding +out her hand. He did not take it. + +“You love some one else?” he asked, through his clenched teeth. + +She opened her fan and affected to examine attentively the pink +landscape painted on it to match her dress. + +“Why should you think so? I wish to be free.” + +“Free? Are you free? Is a woman ever free?” + +Jacqueline shook her head, as if expressing vague dissent. + +“Free at least to see a little of the world,” she said, “to choose, to +use my wings, in short--” + +And she moved her slender arms with an audacious gesture which had +nothing in common with the flight of that mystic dove upon which she had +meditated when holding the card given her by Giselle. + +“Free to prefer some other man,” said Fred, who held fast to his idea +with the tenacity of jealousy. + +“Ah! that is different. Supposing there were anyone whom I liked--not +more, but differently from the way I like you--it is possible. But you +spoke of loving!” + +“Your distinctions are too subtle,” said Fred. + +“Because, much as it seems to astonish you, I am quite capable of seeing +the difference,” said Jacqueline, with the look and the accent of a +person who has had large experience. “I have loved once--a long time +ago, a very long time ago, a thousand years and more. Yes, I loved some +one, as perhaps you love me, and I suffered more than you will ever +suffer. It is ended; it is over--I think it is over forever.” + +“How foolish! At your age!” + +“Yes, that kind of love is ended for me. Others may please me, others do +please me, as you said, but it is not the same thing. Would you like +to see the man I once loved?” asked Jacqueline, impelled by a juvenile +desire to exhibit her experience, and also aware instinctively that to +cast a scrap of past history to the curious sometimes turns off their +attention on another track. “He is near us now,” she added. + +And while Fred’s angry eyes, under his frowning brows, were wandering +all round the salon, she pointed to Hubert Marien with a movement of her +fan. + +Marien was looking on at the dancing, with his old smile, not so +brilliant now as it had been. He now only smiled at beauty collectively, +which was well represented that evening in Madame de Nailles’s salon. +Young girls ‘en masse’ continued to delight him, but his admiration as +an artist became less and less personal. + +He had grown stout, his hair and beard were getting gray; he was +interested no longer in Savonarola, having obtained, thanks to his +picture, the medal of honor, and the Institute some months since had +opened its doors to him. + +“Marien? You are laughing at me!” cried Fred. + +“It is simply the truth.” + +Some magnetic influence at that moment caused the painter to turn his +eyes toward the spot where they were talking. + +“We were speaking of you,” said Jacqueline. + +And her tone was so singular that he dared not ask what they were +saying. With humility which had in it a certain touch of bitterness he +said, still smiling: + +“You might find something better to do than to talk good or evil of a +poor fellow who counts now for nothing.” + +“Counts for nothing! A fellow to be pitied!” cried Fred, “a man who has +just been elected to the Institute--you are hard to satisfy!” + +Jacqueline sat looking at him like a young sorceress engaged in sticking +pins into the heart of a waxen figure of her enemy. She never missed an +opportunity of showing her implacable dislike of him. + +She turned to Fred: “What I was telling you,” she said, “I am quite +willing to repeat in his presence. The thing has lost its importance +now that he has become more indifferent to me than any other man in the +world.” + +She stopped, hoping that Marien had understood what she was saying +and that he resented the humiliating avowal from her own lips that her +childish love was now only a memory. + +“If that is the only confession you have to make to me,” said Fred, who +had almost recovered his composure, “I can put up with my former rival, +and I pass a sponge over all that has happened in your long past of +seventeen years and a half, Jacqueline. Tell me only that at present you +like no one better than me.” + +She smiled a half-smile, but he did not see it. She made no answer. + +“Is he here, too--like the other!” he asked, sternly. + +And she saw his restless eyes turn for an instant to the conservatory, +where Madame de Villegry, leaning back in her armchair, and Gerard +de Cymier, on a low seat almost at her feet, were carrying on their +platonic flirtation. + +“Oh! you must not think of quarrelling with him,” cried Jacqueline, +frightened at the look Fred fastened on De Cymier. + +“No, it would be of no use. I shall go out to Tonquin, that’s all.” + +“Fred! You are not serious.” + +“You will see whether I am not serious. At this very moment I know a man +who will be glad to exchange with me.” + +“What! go and get yourself killed at Tonquin for a foolish little girl +like me, who is very, very fond of you, but hardly knows her own mind. +It would be absurd!” + +“People are not always killed at Tonquin, but I must have new interests, +something to divert my mind from--” + +“Fred! my dear Fred”--Jacqueline had suddenly become almost tender, +almost suppliant. “Your mother! Think of your mother! What would she +say? Oh, my God!” + +“My mother must be allowed to think that I love my profession better +than all else. But, Jacqueline,” continued the poor fellow, clinging in +despair to the very smallest hope, as a drowning man catches at a straw, +“if you do not, as you said, know exactly your own mind--if you would +like to question your own heart--I would wait--” + +Jacqueline was biting the end of her fan--a conflict was taking place +within her breast. But to certain temperaments there is pleasure in +breaking a chain or in leaping a barrier; she said: + +“Fred, I am too much your friend to deceive you.” + +At that moment M. de Cymier came toward them with his air of assurance: +“Mademoiselle, you forget that you promised me this waltz,” he said. + +“No, I never forget anything,” she answered, rising. + +Fred detained her an instant, saying, in a low voice: + +“Forgive me. This moment, Jacqueline, is decisive. I must have an +answer. I never shall speak to you again of my sorrow. But decide +now--on the spot. Is all ended between us?” + +“Not our old friendship, Fred,” said Jacqueline, tears rising in her +eyes. + +“So be it, then, if you so will it. But our friendship never will show +itself unless you are in need of friendship, and then only with the +discretion that your present attitude toward me has imposed.” + +“Are you ready, Mademoiselle,” said Gerard, who, to allow them to +end their conversation, had obligingly turned his attention to some +madrigals that Colette Odinska was laughing over. + +Jacqueline shook her head resolutely, though at that moment her heart +felt as if it were in a vise, and the moisture in her eyes looked like +anything but a refusal. Then, without giving herself time for further +thought, she whirled away into the dance with M. de Cymier. It was over, +she had flung to the winds her chance for happiness, and wounded a heart +more cruelly than Hubert Marien had ever wounded hers. The most horrible +thing in this unending warfare we call love is that we too often repay +to those who love us the harm that has been done us by those whom we +have loved. The seeds of mistrust and perversity sown by one man or by +one woman bear fruit to be gathered by some one else. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. A COMEDY AND A TRAGEDY + +The departure of Frederic d’Argy for Tonquin occasioned a break in the +intercourse between his mother and the family of De Nailles. The wails +of Hecuba were nothing to the lamentations of poor Madame d’Argy; the +unreasonableness of her wrath and the exaggeration in her reproaches +hindered even Jacqueline from feeling all the remorse she might +otherwise have felt for her share in Fred’s departure. She told her +father, who the first time in her life addressed her with some severity, +that she could not be expected to love all the young men who might +threaten to go to the wars, or to fling themselves from fourth-story +windows, for her sake. + +“It was very indelicate and inconsiderate of Fred to tell any one that +it was my fault that he was doing anything so foolish,” she said, with +true feminine deceit, “but he has taken the very worst possible means +to make me care for him. Everybody has too much to say about this matter +which concerns only him and me. Even Giselle thought proper to write me +a sermon!” + +And she gave vent to her feelings in an exclamation of three syllables +that she had learned from the Odinskas, which meant: “I don’t care!” (je +m’en moque). + +But this was not true. She cared very much for Giselle’s good opinion, +and for Madame d’Argy’s friendship. She suffered much in her secret +heart at the thought of having given so much pain to Fred. She guessed +how deep it was by the step to which it had driven him. But there was in +her secret soul something more than all the rest, it was a puerile, but +delicious satisfaction in feeling her own importance, in having been +able to exercise an influence over one heart which might possibly extend +to that of M. de Cymier. She thought he might be gratified by knowing +that she had driven a young man to despair, if he guessed for whose sake +she had been so cruel. He knew it, of course. Madame de Nailles took +care that he should not be ignorant of it, and the pleasure he took +in such a proof of his power over a young heart was not unlike that +pleasure Jacqueline experienced in her coquetry--which crushed her +better feelings. He felt proud of the sacrifice this beautiful girl had +made for his sake, though he did not consider himself thereby committed +to any decision, only he felt more attached to her than ever. Ever since +the day when Madame de Villegry had first introduced him at the house +of Madame de Nailles, he had had great pleasure in going there. The +daughter of the house was more and more to his taste, but his liking for +her was not such as to carry him beyond prudence. “If I chose,” he would +say to himself after every time he met her, “if I chose I could own that +jewel. I have only to stretch out my hand and have it given me.” And +the next morning, after going to sleep full of that pleasant thought, he +would awake glad to find that he was still as free as ever, and able +to carry on a flirtation with a woman of the world, which imposed no +obligations upon him, and yet at the same time make love to a young girl +whom he would gladly have married but for certain reports which were +beginning to circulate among men of business concerning the financial +position of M. de Nailles. + +They said that he was withdrawing money from secure investments to +repair (or to increase) considerable losses made by speculation, and +that he operated recklessly on the Bourse. These rumors had already +withdrawn Marcel d’Etaples from the list of his daughter’s suitors. The +young fellow was a captain of Hussars, who had no scruple in declaring +the reason of his giving up his interest in the young lady. Gerard de +Cymier, more prudent, waited and watched, thinking it would be quite +time enough to go to the bottom of things when he found himself called +upon to make a decision, and greatly interested meantime in the daily +increase of Jacqueline’s beauty. It was evident she cared for him. After +all, it was doing the little thing no harm to let her live on in the +intoxication of vanity and hope, and to give her something to dwell upon +in her innocent dreams. Never did Gerard allow himself to overstep the +line he had marked out for himself; a glance, a slight pressure of the +hand, which might have been intentional, or have meant nothing, a few +ambiguous words in which an active imagination might find something to +dream about, a certain way of passing his arm round her slight waist +which would have meant much had it not been done in public to the sound +of music, were all the proofs the young diplomatist had ever given of +an attraction that was real so far as consisted with his complete +selfishness, joined to his professional prudence, and that systematic +habit of taking up fancies at any time for anything, which prevents each +fancy as it occurs from ripening into passion. + +He alluded indirectly to Fred’s departure in a way that turned it +into ridicule. While playing a game of ‘boston’ he whispered into +Jacqueline’s ear something about the old-fashionedness and stupidity of +Paul and Virginia, and his opinion of “calf-love,” as the English call +an early attachment, and something about the right of every girl to know +a suitor long before she consents to marry him. He said he thought +that the days of courtship must be the most delightful in the life of a +woman, and that a man who wished to cut them short was a fellow without +delicacy or discretion! + +From this Jacqueline drew the conclusion that he was not willing to +resemble such a fellow, and was more and more persuaded that there was +tenderness in the way he pressed her waist, and that his voice had the +softness of a caress when he spoke to her. He made many inquiries as to +what she liked and what she wished for in the future, as if his great +object in all things was to anticipate her wishes. As for his +intimacy with Madame de Villegry, Jacqueline thought nothing of it, +notwithstanding her habitual mistrust of those she called old women. +In the first place, Madame de Villegry was her own mistress, nothing +hindered them from having been married long ago had they wished it; +besides, had not Madame de Villegry brought the young man to their house +and let every one see, even Jacqueline herself, what was her object in +doing so? In this matter she was their ally, a most zealous and kind +ally, for she was continually advising her young friend as to what was +most becoming to her and how she might make herself most attractive to +men in general, with little covert allusions to the particular tastes of +Gerard, which she said she knew as well as if he had been her brother. + +All this was lightly insinuated, but never insisted upon, with the tact +which stood Madame de Villegry in stead of talent, and which had enabled +her to perform some marvellous feats upon the tight-rope without losing +her balance completely. She, too, made fun of the tragic determination +of Fred, which all those who composed the society of the De Nailles had +been made aware of by the indiscreet lamentations of Madame d’Argy. + +“Is not Jacqueline fortunate?” cried. Colette Odinska, who, herself +always on a high horse, looked on love in its tragic aspect, and would +have liked to resemble Marie Stuart as much as she could, “is she +not fortunate? She has had a man who has gone abroad to get himself +killed--and all for her!” + +Colette imagined herself under the same circumstances, making the most +of a slain lover, with a crape veil covering her fair hair, her +mourning copied from that of her divorced sister, who wore her weeds so +charmingly, but who was getting rather tired of a single life. + +As for Miss Kate Sparks and Miss Nora, they could not understand why +the breaking of half-a-dozen hearts should not be the prelude to every +marriage. That, they said with much conviction, was always the case in +America, and a girl was thought all the more of who had done so. + +Jacqueline, however, thought more than was reasonable about the dangers +that the friend of her childhood was going to encounter through her +fault. Fred’s departure would have lent him a certain prestige, had +not a powerful new interest stepped in to divert her thoughts. Madame +d’Avrigny was getting up her annual private theatricals, and wanted +Jacqueline to take the principal part in the play, saying that she ought +to put her lessons in elocution to some use. The piece chosen was to +illustrate a proverb, and was entirely new. It was as unexceptionable +as it was amusing; the most severe critic could have found no fault with +its morality or with its moral, which turned on the eagerness displayed +by young girls nowadays to obtain diplomas. Scylla and Charybdis was +its name. Its story was that of a young bride, who, thinking to please +a husband, a stupid and ignorant man, was trying to obtain in secret a +high place in the examination at the Sorbonne--‘un brevet superieur’. +The husband, disquieted by the mystery, is at first suspicious, then +jealous, and then is overwhelmed with humiliation when he discovers that +his wife knows more of everything than himself. He ends by imploring her +to give up her higher education if she wishes to please him. The little +play had all the modern loveliness and grace which Octave Feuillet alone +can give, and it contained a lesson from which any one might profit; +which was by no means always the case with Madame d’Avrigny’s plays, +which too often were full of risky allusions, of critical situations, +and the like; likely, in short, to “sail too close to the wind,” as Fred +had once described them. But Madame d’Avrigny’s prime object was the +amusement of society, and society finds pleasure in things which, +if innocence understood them, would put her to the blush. This play, +however, was an exception. There had been very little to cut out this +time. Madame de Nailles had been asked to take the mother’s part, but +she declined, not caring to act such a character in a house where years +before in all her glory she had made a sensation as a young coquette. So +Madame d’Avrigny had to take the part herself, not sorry to be able +to superintend everything on the stage, and to prompt Dolly, if +necessary--Dolly, who had but four words to say, which she always +forgot, but who looked lovely in a little cap as a femme de chambre. + +People had been surprised that M. de Cymier should have asked for the +part of the husband, a local magistrate, stiff and self-important, whom +everybody laughed at. Jacqueline alone knew why he had chosen it: it +would give him the opportunity of giving her two kisses. Of course +those kisses were to be reserved for the representation, but whether +intentionally or otherwise, the young husband ventured upon them at +every rehearsal, in spite of the general outcry--not, however, very +much in earnest, for it is well understood that in private theatricals +certain liberties may be allowed, and M. de Cymier had never been +remarkable for reserve when he acted at the clubs, where the female +parts were taken by ladies from the smaller theatres. In this school +he had acquired some reputation as an amateur actor. “Besides,” as he +remarked on making his apology, “we shall do it very awkwardly upon the +stage if we are not allowed to practise it beforehand.” Jacqueline burst +out laughing, and did not make much show of opposition. To play the part +of his wife, to hear him say to her, to respond with the affectionate +and familiar ‘toi’, was so amusing! It was droll to see her cut out her +husband in chemistry, history, and grammar, and make him confound La +Fontaine with Corneille. She had such a little air while doing it! And +at the close, when he said to her: “If I give you a pony to-morrow, and +a good hearty kiss this very minute, shall you be willing to give up +getting that degree?” she responded, with such gusto: “Indeed, I shall!” + and her manner was so eager, so boyish, so full of fun, that she was +wildly applauded, while Gerard embraced her as heartily as he liked, to +make up to himself for her having had, as his wife, the upper hand. + +All this kissing threw him rather off his balance, and he might soon +have sealed his fate, had not a very sad event occurred, which restored +his self-possession. + +The dress rehearsal was to take place one bright spring day at about +four o’clock in the afternoon. A large number of guests was assembled +at the house of Madame d’Avrigny. The performance had been much talked +about beforehand in society. The beauty, the singing, and the histrionic +powers of the principal actress had been everywhere extolled. Fully +conscious of what was expected of her, and eager to do herself credit in +every way, Jacqueline took advantage of Madame Strahlberg’s presence to +run over a little song, which she was to--sing between the acts and in +which she could see no meaning whatever. This little song, which, to +most of the ladies present, seemed simply idiotic, made the men in the +audience cry “Oh!” as if half-shocked, and then “Encore! Encore!” in a +sort of frenzy. It was a so-called pastoral effusion, in which Colinette +rhymed with herbette, and in which the false innocence of the eighteenth +century was a cloak for much indelicate allusion. + +“I never,” said Jacqueline in self-defense, before she began the song, +“sang anything so stupid. And that is saying much when one thinks of all +the nonsensical words that people set to music! It’s a marvel how any +one can like this stuff. Do tell me what there is in it?” she added, +turning to Gerard, who was charmed by her ignorance. + +Standing beside the grand piano, with her arms waving as she sang, +repeating, by the expression of her eyes, the question she had asked +and to which she had received no answer, she was singing the verses she +considered nonsense with as much point as if she had understood them, +thanks to the hints given her by Madame Strahlberg, who was playing her +accompaniment, when the entrance of a servant, who pronounced her name +aloud, made a sudden interruption. “Mademoiselle de Nailles is wanted at +home at once. Modeste has come for her.” + +Madame d’Avrigny went out to say to the old servant: “She can not +possibly go home with you! It is only half an hour since she came. The +rehearsal is just beginning.” + +But something Modeste said in answer made her give a little cry, full of +consternation. She came quickly back, and going up to Jacqueline: + +“My dear,” she said, “you must go home at once--there is bad news, your +father is ill.” + +“Ill?” + +The solemnity of Madame d’Avrigny’s voice, the pity in her expression, +the affection with which she spoke and above all her total indifference +to the fate of her rehearsal, frightened Jacqueline. She rushed away, +not waiting to say good-by, leaving behind her a general murmur of “Poor +thing!” while Madame d’Avrigny, recovering from her first shock, was +already beginning to wonder--her instincts as an impresario coming +once more to the front--whether the leading part might not be taken by +Isabelle Ray. She would have to send out two hundred cards, at least, +and put off her play for another fortnight. What a pity! It seemed as if +misfortunes always happened just so as to interfere with pleasures. + +The fiacre which had brought Modeste was at the door. The old nurse +helped her young lady into it. + +“What has happened to papa?” cried Jacqueline, impetuously. + +There was something horrible in this sudden transition from gay +excitement to the sharpest anxiety. + +“Nothing--that is to say--he is very sick. Don’t tremble like that, +my darling-courage!” stammered Modeste, who was frightened by her +agitation. + +“He was taken sick, you say. Where? How happened it?” + +“In his study. Pierre had just brought him his letters. We thought we +heard a noise as if a chair had been thrown down, and a sort of cry. I +ran in to see. He was lying at full length on the floor.” + +“And now? How is he now?” + +“We did what we could for him. Madame came back. He is lying on his +bed.” + +Modeste covered her face with her hands. + +“You have not told me all. What else?” + +“Mon Dieu! you knew your poor father had heart disease. The last time +the doctor saw him he thought his legs had swelled--” + +“Had!” Jacqueline heard only that one word. It meant that the life of +her father was a thing of the past. Hardly waiting till the fiacre could +be stopped, she sprang out, rushed into the house, opened the door of +her father’s chamber, pushing aside a servant who tried to stop her, +and fell upon her knees beside the bed where lay the body of her father, +white and rigid. + +“Papa! My poor dear--dear papa!” + +The hand she pressed to her lips was as cold as ice. She raised her +frightened eyes to the face over which the great change from life to +death had passed. “What does it mean?” Jacqueline had never looked on +death before, but she knew this was not sleep. + +“Oh, speak to me, papa! It is I--it is Jacqueline!” + +Her stepmother tried to raise her--tried to fold her in her arms. + +“Let me alone!” she cried with horror. + +It seemed to her as if her father, where he was now, so far from her, so +far from everything, might have the power to look into human hearts, and +know the perfidy he had known nothing of when he was living. He might +see in her own heart, too, her great despair. All else seemed small and +of no consequence when death was present. + +Oh! why had she not been a better daughter, more loving, more devoted? +why had she ever cared for anything but to make him happy? + +She sobbed aloud, while Madame de Nailles, pressing her handkerchief to +her eyes, stood at the foot of the bed, and the doctor, too, was near, +whispering to some one whom Jacqueline at first had not perceived--the +friend of the family, Hubert Marien. + +Marien there? Was it not natural that, so intimate as he had always been +with the dead man, he should have hastened to offer his services to the +widow? + +Jacqueline flung herself upon her father’s corpse, as if to protect it +from profanation. She had an impulse to bear it away with her to some +desert spot where she alone could have wept over it. + +She lay thus a long time, beside herself with grief. + +The flowers which covered the bed and lay scattered on the floor, gave +a festal appearance to the death-chamber. They had been purchased for +a fete, but circumstances had changed their destination. That evening +there was to have been a reception in the house of M. de Nailles, but +the unexpected guest that comes without an invitation had arrived before +the music and the dancers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. THE STORM BREAKS + +Monsieur de Nailles was dead, struck down suddenly by what is called +indefinitely heart-failure. The trouble in that organ from which he had +long suffered had brought on what might have been long foreseen, and +yet every one seemed, stupefied by the event. It came upon them like a +thunderbolt. It often happens so when people who are really ill persist +in doing all that may be done with safety by other persons. They +persuaded themselves, and those about them are easily persuaded, that +small remedies will prolong indefinitely a state of things which is +precarious to the last degree. Friends are ready to believe, when the +sufferer complains that his work is too hard for him, that he thinks too +much of his ailments and that he exaggerates trifles to which they +are well accustomed, but which are best known to him alone. When M. de +Nailles, several weeks before his death, had asked to be excused and to +stay at home instead of attending some large gathering, his wife, and +even Jacqueline, would try to convince him that a little amusement +would be good for him; they were unwilling to leave him to the repose he +needed, prescribed for him by the doctors, who had been unanimous that +he must “put down the brakes,” give less attention to business, avoid +late hours and over-exertion of all kinds. “And, above all,” said one +of the lights of science whom he had consulted recently about certain +feelings of faintness which were a bad symptom, “above all, you must +keep yourself from mental anxiety.” + +How could he, when his fortune, already much impaired, hung on chances +as uncertain as those in a game of roulette? What nonsense! The failure +of a great financial company had brought about a crisis on the Bourse. +The news of the inability of Wermant, the ‘agent de change’, to meet +his engagements, had completed the downfall of M. de Nailles. Not only +death, but ruin, had entered that house, where, a few hours before, +luxury and opulence had seemed to reign. + +“We don’t know whether there will be anything left for us to live upon,” + cried Madame de Nailles, with anguish, even while her husband’s body +lay in the chamber of death, and Jacqueline, kneeling beside it, wept, +unwilling to receive comfort or consolation. + +She turned angrily upon her stepmother and cried: + +“What matter? I have no father--there is nothing else I care for.” + +But from that moment a dreadful thought, a thought she was ashamed of, +which made her feel a monster of selfishness, rose in her mind, do +what she would to hinder it. Jacqueline was sensible that she cared +for something else; great as was her sense of loss, a sort of reckless +curiosity seemed haunting her, while all the time she felt that her +great grief ought not to give place to anything besides. “How would +Gerard de Cymier behave in these circumstances?” She thought about it +all one dreadful night as she and Modeste, who was telling her beads +softly, sat in the faint light of the death-chamber. She thought of it +at dawn, when, after one of those brief sleeps which come to the young +under all conditions, she resumed with a sigh a sense of surrounding +realities. Almost in the same instant she thought: “My dear father will +never wake again,” and “Does he love me?--does he now wish me to be his +wife?--will he take me away?” The devil, which put this thought into +her heart, made her eager to know the answer to these questions. He +suggested how dreadful life with her stepmother would be if no means of +escape were offered her. He made her foresee that her stepmother would +marry again--would marry Marien. “But I shall not be there!” she cried, +“I will not countenance such an infamy!” Oh, how she hoped Gerard de +Cymier loved her! The hypocritical tears of Madame de Nailles disgusted +her. She could not bear to have such false grief associated with her +own. + +Men in black, with solemn faces, came and bore away the body, no longer +like the form of the father she had loved. He had gone from her forever. +Pompous funeral rites, little in accordance with the crash that soon +succeeded them, were superintended by Marien, who, in the absence +of near relatives, took charge of everything. He seemed to be deeply +affected, and behaved with all possible kindness and consideration to +Jacqueline, who could not, however, bring herself to thank him, or even +to look at him. She hated him with an increase of resentment, as if the +soul of her dead father, who now knew the truth, had passed into her +own. + +Meantime, M. de Cymier took care to inform himself of the state of +things. It was easy enough to do so. All Paris was talking of the +shipwreck in which life and fortune had been lost by a man whose +kindliness as a host at his wife’s parties every one had appreciated. +That was what came, people said, of striving after big dividends! The +house was to be sold, with the horses, the pictures, and the furniture. +What a change for his poor wife and daughter! There were others who +suffered by the Wermant crash, but those were less interesting than +the De Nailles. M. de Belvan found himself left by his father-in-law’s +failure with a wife on his hands who not only had not a sou, but who was +the daughter of an ‘agent de change’ who had behaved dishonorably. + +This was a text for dissertations on the disgrace of marrying for money; +those who had done the same thing, minus the same consequences, being +loudest in reprobating alliances of that kind. M. de Cymier listened +attentively to such talk, looking and saying the right things, and as +he heard more and more about the deplorable condition of M. de Nailles’s +affairs, he congratulated himself that a prudent presentiment had kept +him from asking the hand of Jacqueline. He had had vague doubts as to +the firm foundation of the opulence which made so charming a frame for +her young beauty; it seemed to him as if she were now less beautiful +than he had imagined her; the enchantment she had exercised upon him +was thrown off by simple considerations of good sense. And yet he gave +a long sigh of regret when he thought she was unattainable except by +marriage. He, however, thanked heaven that he had not gone far enough +to have compromised himself with her. The most his conscience +could reproach him with was an occasional imprudence in moments of +forgetfulness; no court of honor could hold him bound to declare himself +her suitor. The evening that he made up his mind to this he wrote two +letters, very nearly alike; one was to Madame d’Avrigny, the other to +Madame de Nailles, announcing that, having received orders to join the +Embassy to which he was attached at Vienna, he was about to depart at +once, with great regret that he should not be able to take leave of any +one. To Madame d’Avrigny he made apologies for having to give up his +part in her theatricals; he entreated Madame de Nailles to accept both +for herself and for Mademoiselle Jacqueline his deepest condolences and +the assurance of his sympathy. The manner in which this was said was all +it ought to have been, except that it might have been rather more brief. +M. de Cymier said more than was necessary about his participation in +their grief, because he was conscious of a total lack of sympathy. He +begged the ladies would forgive him if, from feelings of delicacy and a +sense of the respect due to a great sorrow, he did not, before leaving +Paris, which he was about do to probably for a long time, personally +present to them ‘ses hommages attristes’. Then followed a few lines in +which he spoke of the pleasant recollections he should always retain of +the hospitality he had enjoyed under M. de Nailles’s roof, in a way +that gave them clearly to understand that he had no expectation of ever +entering their family on a more intimate footing. + +Madame de Nailles received this letter just as she had had a +conversation with a man of business, who had shown her how complete was +the ruin for which in a great measure she herself was responsible. She +had no longer any illusions as to her position. When the estate had been +settled there would be nothing left but poverty, not only for herself, +who, having brought her husband no dot, had no right to consider herself +wronged by the bankruptcy, but for Jacqueline, whose fortune, derived +from her mother, had suffered under her father’s management (there +are such men--unfaithful guardians of a child’s property, but yet good +fathers) in every way in which it was possible to evade the provisions +of the Code intended to protect the rights of minor children. In the +little salon so charmingly furnished, where never before had sorrow or +sadness been discussed, Madame de Nailles poured out her complaints to +her stepdaughter and insisted upon plans of strict economy, when M. de +Cymier’s letter was brought in. + +“Read!” said the Baroness, handing the strange document to Jacqueline, +after she had read it through. + +Then she leaned back in her chair with a gesture which signified: “This +is the last straw!” and remained motionless, apparently overwhelmed, +with her face covered by one hand, but furtively watching the face of +the girl so cruelly forsaken. + +That face told nothing, for pride supplies some sufferers with necessary +courage. Jacqueline sat for some time with her eyes fixed on the +decisive adieu which swept away what might have been her secret hope. +The paper did not tremble in her hand, a half-smile of contempt passed +over her mouth. The answer to the restless question that had intruded +itself upon her in the first moments of her grief was now before her. +Its promptness, its polished brutality, had given her a shock, but not +the pain she had expected. Perhaps her great grief--the real, the true, +the grief death brings--recovered its place in her heart, and prevented +her from feeling keenly any secondary emotion. Perhaps this man, who +could pay court to her in her days of happiness and disappear when the +first trouble came, seemed to her not worth caring for. + +She silently handed back the letter to her stepmother. + +“No more than I expected,” said the Baroness. + +“Indeed?” replied Jacqueline with complete indifference. She wished to +give no opening to any expressions of sympathy on the part of Madame de +Nailles. + +“Poor Madame d’Avrigny,” she added, “has bad luck; all her actors seem +to be leaving her.” + +This speech was the vain bravado of a young soldier going into action. +The poor child betrayed herself to the experienced woman, trained either +to detect or to practise artifice, and who found bitter amusement in +watching the girl’s assumed ‘sang-froid’. But the mask fell off at the +first touch of genuine sympathy. When Giselle, forgetful of a certain +coolness between them ever since Fred’s departure, came to clasp her +in her arms, she showed only her true self, a girl suffering all the +bitterness of a cruel, humiliating desertion. Long talks ensued between +the friends, in which Jacqueline poured into Giselle’s ear her sad +discoveries in the past, her sorrows and anxieties in the present, and +her vague plans for the future. “I must go away,” she said; “I must +escape somewhere; I can not go on living with Madame de Nailles--I +should go mad, I should be tempted every day to upbraid her with her +conduct.” + +Giselle made no attempt to curb an excitement which she knew would +resist all she could say to calm it. She feigned agreement, hoping +thereby to increase her future influence, and advised her friend to seek +in a convent the refuge that she needed. But she must do nothing rashly; +she should only consider it a temporary retreat whose motive was a wish +to remain for a while within reach of religious consolation. In that way +she would give people nothing to talk about, and her step mother could +not be offended. It was never of any use to get out of a difficulty by +breaking all the glass windows with a great noise, and good resolutions +are made firmer by being matured in quietness. Such were the lessons +Giselle herself had been taught by the Benedictine nuns, who, however +deficient they might be in the higher education of women, knew at least +how to bring up young girls with a view to making them good wives. +Giselle illustrated this day by day in her relations to a husband as +disagreeable as a husband well could be, a man of small intelligence, +who was not even faithful to her. But she did not cite herself as an +example. She never talked about herself, or her own difficulties. + +“You are an angel of sense and goodness,” sobbed Jacqueline. “I will do +whatever you wish me to do.” + +“Count upon me--count upon all your friends,” said Madame de Talbrun, +tenderly. + +And then, enumerating the oldest and the truest of these friends, she +unluckily named Madame d’Argy. Jacqueline drew herself back at once: + +“Oh, for pity’s sake!” she cried, “don’t mention them to me!” + +Already a comparison between Fred’s faithful affection and Gerard +de Cymier’s desertion had come into her mind, but she had refused to +entertain it, declaring resolutely to herself that she never should +repent her refusal. She was sore, she was angry with all men, she wished +all were like Cymier or like Marien, that she might hate every one of +them; she came to the conclusion in her heart of hearts that all of +them, even the best, if put to the proof, would turn out selfish. She +liked to think so--to believe in none of them. Thus it happened that an +unexpected visit from Fred’s mother, among those that she received in +her first days of orphanhood, was particularly agreeable to her. + +Madame d’Argy, on hearing of the death and of the ruin of M. de Nailles, +was divided by two contradictory feelings. She clearly saw the hand of +Providence in what had happened: her son was in the squadron on its +way to attack Formosa; he was in peril from the climate, in peril from +Chinese bullets, and assuredly those who had brought him into peril +could not be punished too severely; on the other hand, the last mail +from Tonquin had brought her one of those great joys which always +incline us to be merciful. Fred had so greatly distinguished himself +in a series of fights upon the river Min that he had been offered his +choice between the Cross of the Legion of Honor or promotion. He told +his mother now that he had quite recovered from a wound he had received +which had brought him some glory, but which he assured her had done him +no bodily harm, and he repeated to her what he would not tell her at +first, some words of praise from Admiral Courbet of more value in his +eyes than any reward. + +Triumphant herself, and much moved by pity for Jacqueline, Madame d’Argy +felt as if she must put an end to a rupture which could not be kept up +when a great sorrow had fallen on her old friends, besides which she +longed to tell every one, those who had been blind and ungrateful in +particular, that Fred had proved himself a hero. So Jacqueline and her +stepmother saw her arrive as if nothing had ever come between them. +There were kisses and tears, and a torrent of kindly meant questions, +affectionate explanations, and offers of service. But Fred’s mother +could not help showing her own pride and happiness to those in sorrow. +They congratulated her with sadness. Madame d’Argy would have liked +to think that the value of what she had lost was now made plain to +Jacqueline. And if it caused her one more pang--what did it matter? +He and his mother had suffered too. It was the turn of others. God +was just. Resentment, and kindness, and a strange mixed feeling of +forgiveness and revenge contended together in the really generous +heart of Madame d’Argy, but that heart was still sore within her. +Pity, however, carried the day, and had it not been for the irritating +coldness of “that little hard-hearted thing,” as she called Jacqueline, +she would have entirely forgiven her. She never suspected that +the exaggerated reserve of manner that offended her was owing to +Jacqueline’s dread (commendable in itself) of appearing to wish in her +days of misfortune for the return of one she had rejected in the time of +prosperity. + +In spite of the received opinion that society abandons those who are +overtaken by misfortune, all the friends of the De Nailles flocked +to offer their condolences to the widow and the orphan with warm +demonstrations of interest. Curiosity, a liking to witness, or to +experience, emotion, the pleasure of being able to tell what has been +seen and heard, to find out new facts and repeat them again to others, +joined to a sort of vague, commonplace, almost intrusive pity, are +sentiments, which sometimes in hours of great disaster, produce what +appears to wear the look of sympathy. A fortnight after M. de Nailles’s +death, between the acts of Scylla and Charybdis, the principal parts in +which were taken by young d’Etaples and Isabelle Ray, the company, as +it ate ices, was glibly discussing the real drama which had produced +in their own elegant circle much of the effect a blow has upon an +ant-hill--fear, agitation, and a tumultuous rush to the scene of the +disaster. + +Great indignation was expressed against the man who had risked the +fortune of his family in speculation. Oh! the thing had been going +on for a long while. His fortune had been gradually melting away; +Grandchaux was loaded down with mortgages and would bring almost nothing +at a forced sale. + +Everybody forgot that had M. de Nailles’s speculations been successful +they would have been called matters of business, conducted with great +ability on a large scale. When a performer falls from the tightrope, +who remembers all the times he has not failed? It is simply said that he +fell from his own carelessness. + +“The poor Baroness is touchingly resigned,” said Madame de Villegry, +with a deep sigh; “and heaven knows how many other cares she has besides +the loss of money! I don’t mean only the death of her husband--and you +know how much they were attached to each other--I am speaking of that +unaccountable resolution of Jacqueline’s.” + +Madame d’Avrigny here came forward with her usual equanimity which +nothing disturbed, unless it were something which interfered with the +success of her salon. + +She was of course very sorry for her friends in trouble, but the +vicissitudes that had happened to her theatricals she had more at heart. + +“After all,” she said, “the first act did not go off badly, did it? The +musical part made up for the rest. That divine Strahlberg is ready for +any emergency. How well she sang that air of ‘La Petite Mariee!’ It +was exquisite, but I regretted Jacqueline. She was so charming in that +lively little part. What a catastrophe! + +“What a terrible catastrophe! Were you speaking of the retreat she +wishes to make in a convent? Well, I quite understand how she feels +about it! I should feel the same myself. In the bewilderment of a first +grief one does not care to see anything of the world. ‘Mon Dieu’! youth +always has these exaggerated notions. She will come back to us. Poor +little thing! Of course it was no fault of hers, and I should not think +of blaming Monsieur de Cymier. The exigencies of his career--but you all +must own that unexpected things happen so suddenly in this life that it +is enough to discourage any one who likes to open her house and provide +amusement for her friends.” + +Every one present pitied her for the contretemps over which she had +triumphed so successfully. Then she resumed, serenely: + +“Don’t you think that Isabelle played the part almost as well as +Jacqueline? Up to the last moment I was afraid that something would +go wrong. When one gets into a streak of ill-luck--but all went off to +perfection, thank heaven!” + +Meantime Madame Odinska was whispering to one of those who sat near her +her belief that Jacqueline would never get over her father’s loss. “It +would not astonish me,” she said, “to hear that the child, who has a +noble nature, would remain in the convent and take the veil.” + +Any kind of heroic deed seemed natural to this foolish enthusiast, who, +as a matter of fact, in her own life, had never shown any tendency +to heroic virtues; her mission in life had seemed to be to spoil her +daughters in every possible way, and to fling away more money than +belonged to her. + +“Really? Was she so very fond of her father!” asked Madame Ray, +incredulously. “When he was alive, they did not seem to make much of +him in his own house. Maybe this retreat is a good way of getting over a +little wound to her ‘amour-propre’.” + +“The proper thing, I think,” said Madame d’Etaples, “would be for the +mother and daughter to keep together, to bear the troubles before them +hand in hand. Jacqueline does not seem to think much of the last wishes +of the father she pretends to be so fond of. The Baroness showed me, +with many tears, a letter he left joined to his will, which was written +some years ago, and which now, of course, is of no value. He told mother +and daughter to take care of each other and hoped they would always +remain friends, loving each other for love of him. Jacqueline’s conduct +amazes me; it looks like ingratitude.” + +“Oh! she is a hard-hearted little thing! I always thought so!” said +Madame de Villegry, carelessly. + +Here the rising of the curtain stopped short these discussions, which +displayed so much good-nature and perspicacity. But some laid the blame +on the influence of that little bigot of a Talbrun, who had secretly +blown up the fire of religious enthusiasm in Jacqueline, when Madame +d’Avrigny’s energetic “Hush!” put an end to the discussion. It was time +to come back to more immediate interests, to the play which went on in +spite of wind and tide. + + + + +BOOK 3. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. BITTER DISILLUSION + +Some people in this world who turn round and round in a daily circle of +small things, like squirrels in a cage, have no idea of the pleasure a +young creature, conscious of courage, has in trying its strength; this +struggle with fortune loses its charm as it grows longer and longer and +more and more difficult, but at the beginning it is an almost certain +remedy for sorrow. + +To her resolve to make head against misfortune Jacqueline owed the +fact that she did not fall into those morbid reveries which might have +converted her passing fancy for a man who was simply a male flirt into +the importance of a lost love. Is there any human being conscious of +energy, and with faith in his or her own powers, who has not wished +to know something of adversity in order to rise to the occasion and +confront it? To say nothing of the pleasure there is in eating brown +bread, when one has been fed only on cake, or of the satisfaction that a +child feels when, after strict discipline, he is left to do as he likes, +to say nothing of the pleasure ladies boarding in nunneries are sure to +feel on reentering the world, at recovering their liberty, Jacqueline by +nature loved independence, and she was attracted by the novelty of her +situation as larks are attracted by a mirror. She was curious to know +what life held for her in reserve, and she was extremely anxious to +repair the error she had committed in giving way to a feeling of which +she was now ashamed. What could do this better than hard work? To owe +everything to herself, to her talents, to her efforts, to her industry, +such was Jacqueline’s ideal of her future life. + +She had, before this, crowned her brilliant reputation in the ‘cours’ of +M. Regis by passing her preliminary examination at the Sorbonne; she was +confident of attaining the highest degree--the ‘brevet superieur’, and +while pursuing her own studies she hoped to give lessons in music and in +foreign languages, etc. Thus assured of making her own living, she could +afford to despise the discreditable happiness of Madame de Nailles, who, +she had no doubt, would shortly become Madame Marien; also the crooked +ways in which M. de Cymier might pursue his fortune-hunting. She said +to herself that she should never marry; that she had other objects of +interest; that marriage was for those who had nothing better before +them; and the world appeared to her under a new aspect, a sphere +of useful activity full of possibilities, of infinite variety, and +abounding in interests. Marriage might be all very well for rich +girls, who unhappily were objects of value to be bought and sold; her +semi-poverty gave her the right to break the chains that hampered the +career of other well-born women--she would make her own way in the world +like a man. + +Thus, at eighteen, youth is ready to set sail in a light skiff on a +rough sea, having laid in a good store of imagination and of courage, of +childlike ignorance and self-esteem. + +No doubt she would meet with some difficulties; that thought did but +excite her ardor. No doubt Madame de Nailles would try to keep her +with her, and Jacqueline had provided herself beforehand with some +double-edged remarks by way of weapons, which she intended to use +according to circumstances. But all these preparations for defense or +attack proved unnecessary. When she told the Baroness of her plans she +met with no opposition. She had expected that her project of separation +would highly displease her stepmother; on the contrary, Madame de +Nailles discussed her projects quietly, affecting to consider them +merely temporary, but with no indication of dissatisfaction or +resistance. In truth she was not sorry that Jacqueline, whose +companionship became more and more embarrassing every day, had cut the +knot of a difficult position by a piece of wilfulness and perversity +which seemed to put her in the wrong. The necessity she would have been +under of crushing such a girl, who was now eighteen, would have been +distasteful and unprofitable; she was very glad to get rid of her +stepdaughter, always provided it could be done decently and without +scandal. Those two, who had once so loved each other and who were now +sharers in the same sorrows, became enemies--two hostile parties, which +only skilful strategy could ever again bring together. They tacitly +agreed to certain conditions: they would save appearances; they would +remain on outwardly good terms with each other whatever happened, +and above all they would avoid any explanation. This programme was +faithfully carried out, thanks to the great tact of Madame de Nailles. + +No one could have been more watchful to appear ignorant of everything +which, if once brought to light, would have led to difficulties; +for instance, she feigned not to know that her stepdaughter was in +possession of a secret which, if the world knew, would forever make them +strangers to each other; nor would she seem aware that Hubert Marien, +weary to death of the tie that bound him to her, was restrained +from breaking it only by a scruple of honor. Thanks to this seeming +ignorance, she parted from Jacqueline without any open breach, as she +had long hoped to do, and she retained as a friend who supplied her +wants a man who was only too happy to be allowed at this price to escape +the act of reparation which Jacqueline, in her simplicity, had dreaded. + +All those who, having for years dined and danced under the roof of the +Nailles, were accounted their friends by society, formed themselves +into two parties, one of which lauded to the skies the dignity and +resignation of the Baroness, while the other admired the force of +character in Jacqueline. + +Visitors flocked to the convent which the young girl, by the advice of +Giselle, had chosen for her retreat because it was situated in a quiet +quarter. She who looked so beautiful in her crape garments, who showed +herself so satisfied in her little cell with hardly any furniture, who +was grateful for the services rendered her by the lay sisters, +content with having no salon but the convent parlor, who was passing +examinations to become a teacher, and who seemed to consider it a favor +to be sometimes allowed to hear the children in the convent school +say their lessons--was surely like a heroine in a novel. And indeed +Jacqueline had the agreeable sensation of considering herself one. +Public admiration was a great help to her, after she had passed through +that crisis in her grief during which she could feel nothing but the +horror of knowing she should never see her father again, when she had +ceased to weep for him incessantly, to pray for him, and to turn, like +a wounded lioness, on those who blamed his reckless conduct, though she +herself had been its chief victim. + +For three months she hardly left the convent, walking only in the +grounds and gardens, which were of considerable extent. From time to +time Giselle came for her and took her to drive in the Bois at that hour +of the day when few people were there. + +Enguerrand, who, thanks to his mother’s care, was beginning to be an +intelligent and interesting child, though he was still painfully like +M. de Talbrun, was always with them in the coupe, kindhearted Giselle +thinking that nothing could be so likely to assuage grief as the prattle +of a child. She was astonished--she was touched to the heart, by what +she called naively the conversion of Jacqueline. It was true that the +young girl had no longer any whims or caprices. All the nuns seemed to +her amiable, her lodging was all she needed, her food was excellent; her +lessons gave her amusement. Possibly the excitement of the entire change +had much to do at first with this philosophy, and in fact at the end of +six months Jacqueline owned that she was growing tired of dining at the +table d’hote. + +There was a little knot of crooked old ladies who were righteous +overmuch, and several sour old maids whose only occupation seemed to +be to make remarks on any person who had anything different in dress, +manners, or appearance from what they considered the type of the +becoming. If it is not good that man should live alone, it is equally +true that women should not live together. Jacqueline found this out as +soon as her powers of observation came back to her. And about the +same time she discovered that she was not so free as she had flattered +herself she should be. The appearance of a lady, fair and with light +hair, very pretty and about her own age, gave her for the first time an +inclination to talk at table. She and this young woman met twice a day +at their meals, in the morning and in the evening; their rooms were +next each other, and at night Jacqueline could hear her through the thin +partition giving utterance to sighs, which showed that she was unhappy. +Several times, too, she came upon her in the garden looking earnestly +at a place where the wall had been broken, a spot whence it was said a +Spanish countess had been carried off by a bold adventurer. Jacqueline +thought there must be something romantic in the history of this +newcomer, and would have liked exceedingly to know what it might be. +As a prelude to acquaintance, she offered the young stranger some holy +water when they met in the chapel, a bow and a smile were interchanged, +their fingers touched. They seemed almost friends. After this, +Jacqueline contrived to change her seat at table to one next to this +unknown person, so prettily dressed, with her hair so nicely arranged, +and, though her expression was very sad, with a smile so very winning. +She alone represented the world, the world of Paris, among all those +ladies, some of whom were looking for places as companions, some having +come up from the provinces, and some being old ladies who had seen +better days. Her change of place was observed by the nun who presided +at the table, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face. It was +slight, but it portended trouble. And, indeed, when grace had been said, +Mademoiselle de Nailles was sent for by the Mother Superior, who gave +her to understand that, being so young, it was especially incumbent +on her to be circumspect in her choice of associates. Her place +thenceforward was to be between Madame de X-----, an old, deaf lady, and +Mademoiselle J-----, a former governess, as cold as ice and exceedingly +respectable. As to Madame Saville, she had been received in the convent +for especial reasons, arising out of circumstances which did not make +her a fit companion for inexperienced girls. The Superior hesitated a +moment and then said: “Her husband requested us to take charge of her,” + in a tone by which Jacqueline quite understood that “take charge” was a +synonym for “keep a strict watch upon her.” She was spied upon, she was +persecuted--unjustly, no doubt. + +All this increased the interest that Jacqueline already felt in the lady +with the light hair. But she made a low curtsey to the Mother +Superior and returned no answer. Her intercourse with her neighbor +was thenceforward; however, sly and secret, which only made it more +interesting and exciting. They would exchange a few words when they met +upon the stairs, in the garden, or in the cloisters, when there was +no curious eye to spy them out; and the first time Jacqueline went out +alone Madame Saville was on the watch, and, without speaking, slipped a +letter into her hand. + +This first time Jacqueline went out was an epoch in her life, as small +events are sometimes in the annals of nations; it was the date of her +emancipation, it coincided with what she called her choice of a career. +Thinking herself sure of possessing a talent for teaching, she had +spoken of it to several friends who had come to see her, and who each +and all exclaimed that they would like some lessons, a delicate way of +helping her quite understood by Jacqueline. Pupils like Belle Ray and +Yvonne d’Etaples, who wanted her to come twice a week to play duets with +them or to read over new music, were not nearly so interesting as those +in her little class who had hardly more than learned their scales! +Besides this, Madame d’Avrigny begged her to come and dine with her, +when there would be only themselves, on Mondays, and then practise with +Dolly, who had not another moment in which she could take a lesson. She +should be sent home scrupulously before ten o’clock, that being the hour +at the convent when every one must be in. Jacqueline accepted all these +kindnesses gratefully. By Giselle’s advice she hid her slight figure +under a loose cloak and put on her head a bonnet fit for a grandmother, +a closed hat with long strings, which, when she first put it on her +head, made her burst out laughing. She imagined herself to be going +forth in disguise. To walk the streets thus masked she thought would be +amusing, so amusing that the moment she set foot on the street pavement +she felt that the joy of living was yet strong in her. With a roll of +music in her hand, she walked on rather hesitatingly, a little afraid, +like a bird just escaped from the cage where it was born; her heart +beat, but it was with pleasure; she fancied every one was looking at +her, and in fact one old gentleman, not deceived by the cloak, did +follow her till she got into an omnibus for the first time in her +life--a new experience and a new pleasure. Once seated, and a little out +of breath, she remembered Madame Saville’s letter, which she had slipped +into her pocket. It was sealed and had a stamp on it; it was too highly +scented to be in good taste, and it was addressed to a lieutenant of +chasseurs with an aristocratic name, in a garrison at Fontainebleau. + +Then Jacqueline began vaguely to comprehend that Madame Saville’s +husband might have had serious reasons for commending his wife to the +surveillance of the nuns, and that there might have been some excuse for +their endeavoring to hinder all intimacy between herself and the little +blonde. + +This office of messenger, thrust upon her without asking permission, +was not agreeable to Jacqueline, and she resolved as she dropped the +missive, which, even on the outside, looked compromising, into the +nearest post-box, to be more reserved in future. For which reason she +responded coldly to a sign Madame Saville made her when, in the evening, +she returned from giving her lessons. + +Those lessons--those excursions which took her abroad in all weathers, +though with praiseworthy and serious motives, into the fashionable +parts of Paris, from which she had exiled herself by her own will--were +greatly enjoyed by Jacqueline. Everything amused her, being seen from a +point of view in which she had never before contemplated it. She seemed +to be at a play, all personal interests forgotten for the moment, +looking at the world of which she was no longer a part with a lively, +critical curiosity, without regrets but without cynicism. The world did +not seem to her bad--only man’s higher instincts had little part in it. +Such, at least, was what she thought, so long as people praised her +for her courage, so long as the houses in which another Jacqueline +de Nailles had been once so brilliant, received her with affection as +before, though she had to leave in an anteroom her modest waterproof +or wet umbrella. They were even more kind and cordial to her than ever, +unless an exaggerated cordiality be one form of impertinence. But the +enthusiasm bestowed on splendid instances of energy in certain circles, +to which after all such energy is a reproach, is superficial, and +not being genuine is sure not to last long. Some people said that +Jacqueline’s staid manners were put on for effect, and that she was only +attempting to play a difficult part to which she was not suited; others +blamed her for not being up to concert-pitch in matters of social +interest. The first time she felt the pang of exclusion was at +Madame d’Avrigny’s, who was at the same moment overwhelming her with +expressions of regard. In the first place, she could see that the little +family dinner to which she had been so kindly invited was attended by so +many guests that her deep mourning seemed out of place among them. Then +Madame d’Avrigny would make whispered explanations, which Jacqueline was +conscious of, and which were very painful to her. Such words as: “Old +friend of the family;” “Is giving music lessons to my daughter;” fell +more than once upon her ear, followed by exclamations of “Poor thing!” + “So courageous!” “Chivalric sentiments!” Of course, everyone added that +they excused her toilette. Then when she tried to escape such remarks +by wearing a new gown, Dolly, who was always a little fool (there is +no cure for that infirmity) cried out in a tone such as she never would +have dared to use in the days when Jacqueline was a model of elegance: +“Oh, how fine you are!” Then again, Madame d’Avrigny, notwithstanding +the good manners on which she prided herself, could not conceal that the +obligation of sending home the recluse to the ends of the earth, at a +certain hour, made trouble with her servants, who were put out of their +way. Jacqueline seized on this pretext to propose to give up the Monday +music-lesson, and after some polite hesitation her offer was accepted, +evidently to Madame d’Avrigny’s relief. + +In this case she had the satisfaction of being the one to propose the +discontinuance of the lessons. At Madame Ray’s she was simply dismissed. +About the close of winter she was told that as Isabelle was soon to be +married she would have no time for music till her wedding was over, and +about the same time the d’Etaples told her much the same thing. This was +not to be wondered at, for Mademoiselle Ray was engaged to an officer of +dragoons, the same Marcel d’Etaples who had acted with her in Scylla +and Charybdis, and Madame Ray, being a watchful mother, was not long in +perceiving that Marcel came to pay court to Isabelle too frequently at +the hour for her music-lesson. Madame d’Etaples on her part had made a +similar discovery, and both judged that the presence of so beautiful +a girl, in Jacqueline’s position, might not be desirable in these +interviews between lovers. + +When Giselle, as she was about to leave town for the country in July, +begged Jacqueline, who seemed run down and out of spirits, to come and +stay with her, the poor child was very glad to accept the invitation. +Her pupils were leaving her one after another, she could not understand +why, and she was bored to death in the convent, whose strict rules were +drawn tighter on her than before, for the nuns had begun to understand +her better, and to discover the real worldliness of her character. At +the same time, that retreat within these pious walls no longer seemed +like paradise to Jacqueline; her transition from the deepest crape to +the softer tints of half mourning, seemed to make her less of an angel +in their eyes. They said to each other that Mademoiselle de Nailles was +fanciful, and fancies are the very last things wanted in a convent, +for fancies can brave bolts, and make their escape beyond stone walls, +whatever means may be taken to clip their wings. + +“She does not seem like the same person,” cried the good sisters, who +had been greatly edified at first by her behavior, and who were almost +ready now to be shocked at her. + +The course of things was coming back rapidly into its natural channel; +in obedience to the law which makes a tree, apparently dead, put forth +shoots in springtime. And that inevitable re-budding and reblossoming +was beautiful to see in this young human plant. M. de Talbrun, +Jacqueline’s host, could not fail to perceive it. At first he had +been annoyed with Giselle for giving the invitation, having a habit of +finding fault with everything he had not ordered or suggested, by virtue +of his marital authority, and also because he hated above all things, as +he said, to have people in his house who were “wobegones.” But in a week +he was quite reconciled to the idea of keeping Mademoiselle de Nailles +all the summer at the Chateau de Fresne. Never had Giselle known him to +take so much trouble to be amiable, and indeed Jacqueline saw him much +more to advantage at home than in Paris, where, as she had often said, +he diffused too strong an odor of the stables. At Fresne, it was more +easy to forgive him for talking always of his stud and of his kennel, +and then he was so obliging! Every day he proposed some new jaunt, an +excursion to see some view, to visit all the ruined chateaux or abbeys +in the neighborhood. And, with surprising delicacy, M. de Talbrun +refrained from inviting too many of his country neighbors, who might +perhaps have scared Jacqueline and arrested her gradual return to +gayety. They might also have interrupted his tete-a-tete with his wife’s +guest, for they had many such conversations. Giselle was absorbed in the +duty of teaching her son his a, b, c. Besides, being very timid, she had +never ridden on horseback, and, naturally, riding was delightful to +her cousin. Jacqueline was never tired of it; while she paid as little +attention to the absurd remarks Oscar made to her between their gallops +as a girl does at a ball to the idle words of her partner. She supposed +it was his custom to talk in that manner--a sort of rough gallantry--but +with the best intentions. Jacqueline was disposed to look upon her life +at Fresne as a feast after a long famine. Everything was to her taste, +the whole appearance of this lordly chateau of the time of Louis +XIII, the splendid trees in the home park, the gardens laid out ‘a la +Francais’, decorated with art and kept up carefully. Everything, +indeed, that pertained to that high life which to Giselle had so little +importance, was to her delightful. Giselle’s taste was so simple that it +was a constant subject of reproach from her husband. To be sure, it was +with him a general rule to find fault with her about everything. He did +not spare her his reproaches on a multitude of subjects; all day long +he was worrying her about small trifles with which he should have had +nothing to do. It is a mistake to suppose that a man can not be brutal +and fussy at the same time. M. de Talbrun was proof to the contrary. + +“You are too patient,” said Jacqueline often to Giselle. “You ought to +answer him back--to defend yourself. I am sure if you did so you would +have him, by-and-bye, at your beck and call.” + +“Perhaps so. I dare say you could have managed better than I do,” + replied Giselle, with a sad smile, but without a spark of jealousy. “Oh, +you are in high favor. He gave up this week the races at Deauville, the +great race week from which he has never before been absent, since our +marriage. But you see my ambition has become limited; I am satisfied if +he lets me alone.” Giselle spoke these words with emphasis, and then she +added: “and lets me bring up his son my own way. That is all I ask.” + +Jacqueline thought in her heart that it was wrong to ask so little, +that poor Giselle did not know how to make the best of her husband, and, +curious to find out what line of conduct would serve best to +subjugate M. de Talbrun, she became herself--that is to say, a born +coquette--venturing from one thing to another, like a child playing +fearlessly with a bulldog, who is gentle only with him, or a fly buzzing +round a spider’s web, while the spider lies quietly within. + +She would tease him, contradict him, and make him listen to long pieces +of scientific music as she played them on the piano, when she knew he +always said that music to him was nothing but a disagreeable noise; she +would laugh at his thanks when a final chord, struck with her utmost +force, roused him from a brief slumber; in short, it amused her to prove +that this coarse, rough man was to her alone no object of fear. She +would have done better had she been afraid. + +Thus it came to pass that, as they rode together through some of the +prettiest roads in the most beautiful part of Normandy, M. de Talbrun +began to talk, with an ever-increasing vivacity, of the days when +they first met, at Treport, relating a thousand little incidents which +Jacqueline had forgotten, and from which it was easy to see that he had +watched her narrowly, though he was on the eve of his own marriage. With +unnecessary persistence, and stammering as he was apt to do when moved +by any emotion, he repeated over and over again, that from the first +moment he had seen her he had been struck by her--devilishly struck by +her--he had been, indeed! And one day when she answered, in order not to +appear to attach any importance to this declaration, that she was very +glad of it, he took an opportunity, as their horses stopped side by side +before a beautiful sunset, to put his arm suddenly round her waist, and +give her a kiss, so abrupt, so violent, so outrageous, that she screamed +aloud. He did not remove his arm from her, his coarse, red face drew +near her own again with an expression that filled her with horror. She +struggled to free herself, her horse began to rear, she screamed for +help with all her might, but nothing answered her save an echo. The +situation seemed critical for Jacqueline. As to M. de Talbrun, he was +quite at his ease, as if he were accustomed to make love like a centaur; +while the girl felt herself in peril of being thrown at any moment, and +trampled under his horse’s feet. At last she succeeded in striking her +aggressor a sharp blow across the face with her riding-whip. Blinded for +a moment, he let her go, and she took advantage of her release to put +her horse to its full speed. He galloped after her, beside himself with +wrath and agitation; it was a mad but silent race, until they reached +the gate of the Chateau de Fresne, which they entered at the same +moment, their horses covered with foam. + +“How foolish!” cried Giselle, coming to meet them. “Just see in what a +state you have brought home your poor horses.” + +Jacqueline, pale and trembling, made no answer. M. de Talbrun, as he +helped her to dismount, whispered, savagely: “Not a word of this!” + +At dinner, his wife remarked that some branch must have struck him on +the cheek, there was a red mark right across his face like a blow. + +“We were riding through the woods,” he answered, shortly. + +Then Giselle began to suspect something, and remarked that nobody was +talking that evening, asking, with a half-smile, whether they had been +quarrelling. + +“We did have a little difference,” Oscar replied, quietly. + +“Oh, it did not amount to anything,” he said, lighting his cigar; “let +us make friends again, won’t you?” he added, holding out his hand to +Jacqueline. She was obliged to give him the tips of her fingers, as she +said in her turn, with audacity equal to his own: + +“Oh, it was less than nothing. Only, Giselle, I told your husband that I +had had some bad news, and shall have to go back to Paris, and he tried +to persuade me not to go.” + +“I beg you not to go,” said Oscar, vehemently. + +“Bad news?” repeated Giselle, “you did not say a word to me about it!” + +“I did not have a chance. My old Modeste is very ill and asks me to come +to her. I should never forgive myself if I did not go.” + +“What, Modeste? So very ill? Is it really so serious? What a pity! But +you will come back again?” + +“If I can. But I must leave Fresne to-morrow morning.” + +“Oh, I defy you to leave Fresne!” said M. de Talbrun. + +Jacqueline leaned toward him, and said firmly, but in a low voice: “If +you attempt to hinder me, I swear I will tell everything.” + +All that evening she did not leave Giselle’s side for a moment, and at +night she locked herself into her chamber and barricaded the door, as if +a mad dog or a murderer were at large in the chateau. + +Giselle came into her room at an early hour. + +“Is what you said yesterday the truth, Jacqueline? Is Modeste really +ill? Are you sure you have had no reason to complain of anybody in this +place?--of any one?” + +Then, after a pause, she added: + +“Oh, my darling, how hard it is to do good even to those whom we most +dearly love.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said Jacqueline, with an effort. “Everybody +has been kind to me.” + +They kissed each other with effusion, but M. de Talbrun’s leave-taking +was icy in the extreme. Jacqueline had made a mortal enemy. + +The grand outline of the chateau, built of brick and stone with its +wings flanked by towers, the green turf of the great park in which it +stood, passed from her sight as she drove away, like some vision in a +dream. + +“I shall never come back--never come back!” thought Jacqueline. She felt +as if she had been thrust out everywhere. For one moment she thought +of seeking refuge at Lizerolles, which was not very many miles from +the railroad station, and when there of telling Madame d’Argy of her +difficulties, and asking her advice; but false pride kept her from doing +so--the same false pride which had made her write coldly, in answer +to the letters full of feeling and sympathy Fred had written to her on +receiving news of her father’s death. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. TREACHEROUS KINDNESS + +The experience through which Jacqueline had just passed was not +calculated to fortify her or to elevate her soul. She felt for the +first time that her unprotected situation and her poverty exposed her to +insult, for what other name could she give to the outrageous behavior of +M. de Talbrun, which had degraded her in her own eyes? + +What right had that man to treat her as his plaything? Her pride and +all her womanly instincts rose up in rebellion. Her nerves had been so +shaken that she sobbed behind her veil all the way to her destination. +Paris, when she reached it, offered her almost nothing that could +comfort or amuse her. That city is always empty and dull in August, more +so than at any other season. Even the poor occupation of teaching her +little class of music pupils had been taken away by the holidays. Her +sole resource was in Modeste’s society. Modeste--who, by the way, had +never been ill, and who suffered from nothing but old age--was delighted +to receive her dear young lady in her little room far up under the +roof, where, though quite infirm, she lived comfortably, on her savings. +Jacqueline, sitting beside her as she sewed, was soothed by her old +nursery tales, or by anecdotes of former days. Her own relatives were +often the old woman’s theme. She knew the history of Jacqueline’s family +from beginning to end; but, wherever her story began, it invariably +wound up with: + +“If only your poor papa had not made away with all your money!” + +And Jacqueline always answered: + +“He was quite at liberty to do what he pleased with what belonged to +him.” + +“Belonged to him! Yes, but what belonged to you? And how does it happen +that your stepmother seems so well off? Why doesn’t some family council +interfere? My little pet, to think of your having to work for your +living. It’s enough to kill me!” + +“Bah! Modeste, there are worse things than being poor.” + +“Maybe so,” answered the old nurse, doubtfully, “but when one has money +troubles along with the rest, the money troubles make other things +harder to bear; whereas, if you have money enough you can bear anything, +and you would have had enough, after all, if you had married Monsieur +Fred.” + +At which point Jacqueline insisted that Modeste should be silent, and +answered, resolutely: “I mean never to marry at all.” + +To this Modeste made answer: “That’s another of your notions. The worst +husband is always better than none; and I know, for I never married.” + +“That’s why you talk such nonsense, my poor dear Modeste! You know +nothing about it.” + +One day, after one of these visits to the only friend, as she believed, +who remained to her in the world--for her intimacy with Giselle was +spoiled forever--she saw, as she walked with a heavy heart toward her +convent in a distant quarter, an open fiacre pull up, in obedience to +a sudden cry from a passenger who was sitting inside. The person sprang +out, and rushed toward Jacqueline with loud exclamations of joy. + +“Madame Strahlberg!” + +“Dear Jacqueline! What a pleasure to meet you!” And, the street being +nearly empty, Madame Strahlberg heartily embraced her friend. + +“I have thought of you so often, darling, for months past--they seem +like years, like centuries! Where have you been all that long time?” + +In point of fact, Jacqueline had no proof that the three Odinska ladies +had ever remembered her existence, but that might have been partly her +own fault, or rather the fault of Giselle, who had made her promise to +have as little as possible to do with such compromising personages. +She was seized with a kind of remorse when she found such warmth of +recognition from the amiable Wanda. Had she not shown herself ungrateful +and cowardly? People about whom the world talks, are they not sometimes +quite as good as those who have not lost their standing in society, like +M. de Talbrun? It seemed to her that, go where she would, she ran risks. + +The cynicism that is the result of sad experience was beginning to show +itself in Jacqueline. + +“Oh, forgive me!” she said, feeling, contrite. + +“Forgive you for what, you beautiful creature?” asked Madame Strahlberg, +with sincere astonishment. + +She had the excellent custom of never observing when people neglected +her, or at least, of never showing that she did so, partly because her +life was so full of varied interests that she cared little for such +trifles, and secondly because, having endured several affronts of that +nature, she had ceased to be very sensitive. + +“I knew, through the d’Avrignys,” she said, “that you were still at the +convent. You are not going to take the veil there, are you? It would be +a great pity. No? You wish to lead the life of an intelligent woman who +is free and independent? That is well; but it was rather an odd idea to +begin by going into a cloister. Oh!--I see, public opinion?” And Madame +Strahlberg made a little face, expressive of her contempt for public +opinion. + +“It does not pay to consult other people’s opinions--it is useless, +believe me. The more we sacrifice to public opinion, the more it asks of +us. I cut that matter short long ago. But how glad I am to hear that +you don’t intend to hide that lovely face in a convent. You are looking +better than ever--a little too pale, still, perhaps--a little too +interesting. Colette will be so glad to see you, for you must let me +take you home with me. I shall carry you off, whether you will or not, +now I have caught you. We will have a little music just among ourselves, +as we had in the good old times--you know, our dear music; you will feel +like yourself again. Ah, art--there is nothing to compare with art in +this world, my darling!” + +Jacqueline yielded without hesitation, only too glad of the unhoped-for +good fortune which relieved her from her ennui and her depression. And +soon the hired victoria was on its way to that quarter of the city which +is made up of streets with geographical names, and seems as if it were +intended to lodge all the nations under heaven. It stopped in the Rue +de Naples, before a house that was somewhat showy, but which showed from +its outside, that it was not inhabited by high-bred people. There were +pink linings to lace curtains at the windows, and quantities of green +vines drooped from the balconies, as if to attract attention from the +passers-by. Madame Strahlberg, with her ostentatious and undulating +walk, which caused men to turn and notice her as she went by, went +swiftly up the stairs to the second story. She put one finger on the +electric bell, which caused two or three little dogs inside to begin +barking, and pushed Jacqueline in before her, crying: “Colette! Mamma! +See whom I have brought back to you!” Meantime doors were hurriedly +opened, quick steps resounded in the antechamber, and the newcomer +found herself received with a torrent of affectionate and delighted +exclamations, pressed to the ample bosom of Madame Odinska, covered with +kisses by Colette, and fawned upon by the three toy terriers, the most +sociable of their kind in all Paris, their mistresses declared. + +Jacqueline was passing through one of those moments when one is at the +mercy of chance, when the heart which has been closed by sorrow suddenly +revives, expands, and softens under the influence of a ray of sunshine. +Tears came into her eyes, and she murmured: + +“My friends--my kind friends!” + +“Yes, your friends, whatever happens, now and always,” said Colette, +eagerly, though she had probably barely given a thought to Jacqueline +for eighteen months. Nevertheless, on seeing her, Colette really +thought she had not for a moment ceased to be fond of her. “How you have +suffered, you poor pussy! We must set to work and make you feel a little +gay, at any price. You see, it is our duty. How lucky you came to-day--” + +A sign from her sister stopped her. + +They carried Jacqueline into a large and handsome salon, full of dust +and without curtains, with all the furniture covered up as if the +family were on the eve of going to the country. Madame Strahlberg, +nevertheless, was not about to leave Paris, her habit being to remain +there in the summer, sometimes for months, picnicking as it were, in her +own apartment. What was curious, too, was that the chandelier and all +the side-lights had fresh wax candles, and seats were arranged as if in +preparation for a play, while near the grand piano was a sort of stage, +shut off from the rest of the room by screens. + +Colette sat down on one of the front row of chairs and cried: “I am the +audience--I am all ears.” Her sister hurriedly explained all this to +Jacqueline, with out waiting to be questioned: “We have been giving some +little summer entertainments of late, of which you see the remains.” She +went at once to the piano, and incited Jacqueline to sing by beginning +one of their favorite duets, and Jacqueline, once more in her native +element, followed her lead. They went on from one song to another, from +the light to the severe, from scientific music to mere tunes and airs, +turning over the old music-books together. + +“Yes, you are a little out of practice, but all you have to do is to +rub off the rust. Your voice is finer than ever--just like velvet.” + And Madame Strahlberg pretended that she envied the fine mezzo-soprano, +speaking disparagingly of her own little thread of a voice, which, +however, she managed so skilfully. “What a shame to take up your time +teaching, with such a voice as that!” she cried; “you are out of your +senses, my dear, you are raving mad. It would be sinful to keep your +gifts to yourself! I am very sorry to discourage you, but you have none +of the requisites for a teacher. The stage would be best for you--‘Mon +Dieu! why not? You will see La Rochette this evening; she is a person +who would give you good advice. I wish she could hear you!” + +“But my dear friend, I can not stay,” murmured Jacqueline, for those +unexpected words “the stage, why not?” rang in her head, made her heart +beat fast, and made lights dance before her eyes. “They are expecting me +to dine at home.” + +“At your convent? I beg your pardon, I’ll take care of that. Don’t you +know me? My claws seldom let go of a prize, especially when that prize +is worth the keeping. A little telegram has already been sent, with your +excuses. The telegraph is good for that, if not for anything else: it +facilitates ‘impromptus’.” + +“Long live impromptus,” cried out Colette, “there is nothing like them +for fun!” And while Jacqueline was trying to get away, not knowing +exactly what she was saying, but frightened, pleased, and much excited, +Colette went on: “Oh! I am so glad, so glad you came to-day; now you can +see the pantomime! I dreamed, wasn’t it odd, only last night, that you +were acting it with us. How can one help believing in presentiments? +Mine are always delightful--and yours?” + +“The pantomime?” repeated Jacqueline in bewilderment, “but I thought +your sister told me you were all alone.” + +“How could we have anything like company in August?” said Madame +Strahlberg, interrupting her; “why, it would be impossible, there are +not four cats in Paris. No, no, we sha’n’t have anybody. A few +friends possibly may drop in--people passing through Paris--in their +travelling-dresses. Nothing that need alarm you. The pantomime Colette +talks about is only a pretext that they may hear Monsieur Szmera.” + +And who was M. Szmera? + +Jacqueline soon learned that he was a Hungarian, second half-cousin of +a friend of Kossuth, the most wonderful violinist of the day, who +had apparently superseded the famous Polish pianist in these ladies’ +interest and esteem. As for the latter, they had almost forgotten his +name, he had behaved so badly. + +“But,” said Jacqueline, anxiously, “you know I am obliged to be home by +ten o’clock.” + +“Ah! that’s like Cinderella,” laughed Wanda. “Will the stroke of the +clock change all the carriages in Paris into pumpkins? One can get +‘fiacres’ at any hour.” + +“But it is a fixed rule: I must be in,” repeated Jacqueline, growing +very uneasy. + +“Must you really? Madame Saville says it is very easy to manage those +nuns--” + +“What? Do you know Madame Saville, who was boarding at the convent last +winter?” + +“Yes, indeed; she is a countrywoman of ours, a friend, the most charming +of women. You will see her here this evening. She has gained her divorce +suit--” + +“You are mistaken,” said Colette, “she has lost it. But that makes +no difference. She has got tired of her husband. Come, say ‘Yes,’ +Jacqueline--a nice, dear ‘Yes’--you will stay, will you not? Oh, you +darling!” + +They dined without much ceremony, on the pretext that the cook had been +turned off that morning for impertinence, but immediately after dinner +there was a procession of boys from a restaurant, bringing whipped +creams, iced drinks, fruits, sweetmeats, and champagne--more than would +have been wanted at the buffet of a ball. The Prince, they said, had +sent these things. What Prince? + +As Jacqueline was asking this question, a gentleman came in whose age +it would have been impossible to guess, so disguised was he by his black +wig, his dyed whiskers, and the soft bloom on his cheeks, all of which +were entirely out of keeping with those parts of his face that he could +not change. In one of his eyes was stuck a monocle. He was bedizened +with several orders, he bowed with military stiffness, and kissed with +much devotion the ladies’ hands, calling them by titles, whether they +had them or not. His foreign accent made it as hard to detect his +nationality as it was to know his age. Two or three other gentlemen, not +less decorated and not less foreign, afterward came in. Colette named +them in a whisper to Jacqueline, but their names were too hard for her +to pronounce, much less to remember. One of them, a man of handsome +presence, came accompanied by a sort of female ruin, an old lady leaning +on a cane, whose head, every time she moved, glittered with jewels, +placed in a very lofty erection of curled hair. + +“That gentleman’s mother is awfully ugly,” Jacqueline could not help +saying. + +“His mother? What, the Countess? She is neither his mother nor his wife. +He is her gentleman-in-waiting-that’s all. Don’t you understand? Well, +imagine a man who is a sort of ‘gentleman-companion’; he keeps her +accounts, he escorts her to the theatre, he gives her his arm. It is a +very satisfactory arrangement.” + +“The gentleman receives a salary, in such a case?” inquired Jacqueline, +much amused. + +“Why, what do you find in it so extraordinary?” said Colette. “She +adores cards, and there he is, always ready to be her partner. Oh, here +comes dear Madame Saville!” + +There were fresh cries of welcome, fresh exchanges of affectionate +diminutives and kisses, which seemed to make the Prince’s mouth water. +Jacqueline discovered, to her great surprise, that she, too, was a dear +friend of Madame Saville’s, who called her her good angel, in reference, +no doubt, to the letter she had secretly put into the post. At last she +said, trying to make her escape from the party: “But it must be nine +o’clock.” + +“Oh! but--you must hear Szmera.” + +A handsome young fellow, stoutly built, with heavy eyebrows, a hooked +nose, a quantity of hair growing low upon his forehead, and lips that +were too red, the perfect type of a Hungarian gypsy, began a piece of +his own composition, which had all the ardor of a mild ‘galopade’ and +a Satanic hunt, with intervals of dying sweetness, during which the +painted skeleton they called the Countess declared that she certainly +heard a nightingale warbling in the moonlight. + +This charming speech was forthwith repeated by her “umbra” in all parts +of the room, which was now nearly filled with people, a mixed multitude, +some of whom were frantic about music, others frantic about Wanda +Strahlberg. There were artists and amateurs present, and even +respectable women, for Madame d’Avrigny, attracted by the odor of a +species of Bohemianism, had come to breathe it with delight, under cover +of a wish to glean ideas for her next winter’s receptions. + +Then again there were women who had been dropped out of society, like +Madame de Versanne, who, with her sunken eyes and faded face, was not +likely again to pick up in the street a bracelet worth ten thousand +francs. There was a literary woman who signed herself Fraisiline, and +wrote papers on fashion--she was so painted and bedizened that some one +remarked that the principal establishments she praised in print probably +paid her in their merchandise. There was a dowager whose aristocratic +name appeared daily on the fourth page of the newspapers, attesting the +merits of some kind of quack medicine; and a retired opera-singer, who, +having been called Zenaide Rochet till she grew up in Montmartre, where +she was born, had had a brilliant career as a star in Italy under the +name of Zina Rochette. La Rochette’s name, alas! is unknown to the +present generation. + +In all, there were about twenty persons, who made more noise with their +applause than a hundred ordinary guests, for enthusiasm was exacted by +Madame Strahlberg. Profiting by the ovation to the Hungarian musician, +Jacqueline made a movement toward the door, but just as she reached it +she had the misfortune of falling in with her old acquaintance, Nora +Sparks, who was at that moment entering with her father. She was forced +to sit down again and hear all about Kate’s marriage. Kate had gone back +to New York, her husband being an American, but Nora said she had made +up her mind not to leave Europe till she had found a satisfactory match. + +“You had better make haste about it, if you expect to keep me here,” + said Mr. Sparks, with a peculiar expression in his eye. He was eager to +get home, having important business to attend to in the West. + +“Oh, papa, be quiet! I shall find somebody at Bellagio. Why, darling, +are you still in mourning?” + +She had forgotten that Jacqueline had lost her father. Probably she +would not have thought it necessary to wear black so long for Mr. +Sparks. Meantime, Madame Strahlberg and her sister had left the room. + +“When are they coming back?” said Jacqueline, growing very nervous. “It +seems to me this clock must be wrong. It says half-past nine. I am sure +it must be later than that.” + +“Half-past nine!--why, it is past eleven,” replied Miss Nora, with a +giggle. “Do you suppose they pay any attention to clocks in this house? +Everything here is topsy-turvy.” + +“Oh! what shall I do?” sighed poor Jacqueline, on the verge of tears. + +“Why, do they keep you such a prisoner as that? Can’t you come in a +little late--” + +“They wouldn’t open the doors--they never open the doors on any pretext +after ten o’clock,” cried Jacqueline, beside herself. + +“Then your nuns must be savages? You should teach them better.” + +“Don’t be worried, dear little one, you can sleep on this sofa,” said +Madame Odinska, kindly. + +To whom had she not offered that useful sofa? Wanda and Colette were +just as ready to propose that others should spend the night with them +as, on the smallest pretext, to accept the same hospitality from others. +Wanda, indeed, always slept curled up like a cat on a divan, in a fur +wrapper, which she put on early in the evening when she wanted to smoke +cigarettes. She went to sleep at no regular hour. A bear’s skin was +placed always within her reach, so that if she were cold she could draw +it over her. Jacqueline, not being accustomed to these Polish fashions, +did not seem to be much attracted by the offer of the sofa. She blamed +herself bitterly for her own folly in having got herself into a scrape +which might lead to serious consequences. + +But this was neither time nor place for expressions of anxiety; it would +be absurd to trouble every one present with her regrets. Besides, the +harm was done--it was irreparable--and while she was turning over in her +mind in what manner she could explain to the Mother Superior that +the mistake about the hour had been no fault of hers--and the Mother +Superior, alas! would be sure to make inquiries as to the friends whom +she had visited--the magic violin of M. Szmera played its first notes, +accompanied by Madame Odinska on the piano, and by a delicious little +flute. They played an overture, the dreamy sweetness of which extorted +cries of admiration from all the women. + +Suddenly, the screens parted, and upon the little platform that +represented a stage bounded a sort of anomalous being, supple and +charming, in the traditional dress of Pierrot, whom the English +vulgarize and call Harlequin. He had white camellias instead of buttons +on his loose white jacket, and the bright eyes of Wanda shone out +from his red-and-white face. He held a mandolin, and imitated the most +charming of serenades, before a make-believe window, which, being opened +by a white, round arm, revealed Colette, dressed as Colombine. + +The little pantomime piece was called ‘Pierrot in Love’. It consisted +of a series of dainty coquetries, sudden quarrels, fits of jealousy, +and tender reconciliations, played by the two sisters. Colette with +her beauty, Wanda with her talent, her impishness, her graceful and +voluptuous attitudes, electrified the spectators, especially in a long +monologue, in which Pierrot contemplated suicide, made more effective by +the passionate and heart-piercing strains of the Hungarian’s violin, so +that old Rochette cried out: “What a pity such a wonder should not be +upon the stage!” La Rochette, now retired into private life, wearing +an old dress, with her gray hair and her black eyes, like those of a +watchful crocodile, took the pleasure in the pantomime that all actors +do to the very last in everything connected with the theatre. She cried +‘brava’ in tones that might reach Italy; she blew kisses to the actors +in default of flowers. + +Madame d’Avrigny was also transported to the sixth heaven, but +Jacqueline’s presence somewhat marred her pleasure. When she first +perceived her she had shown great surprise. “You here, my dear?” she +cried, “I thought you safe with our own excellent Giselle.” + +“Safe, Madame? It seems to me one can be safe anywhere,” Jacqueline +answered, though she was tempted to say “safe nowhere;” but instead she +inquired for Dolly. + +Dolly’s mother bit her lips and then replied: “You see I have not +brought her. Oh, yes, this house is very amusing--but rather too much +so. The play was very pretty, and I am sorry it would not do at my +house. It is too--too ‘risque’, you know;” and she rehearsed her usual +speech about the great difficulties encountered by a lady who wished to +give entertainments and provide amusement for her friends. + +Meantime Pierrot, or rather Madame Strahlberg, had leaped over an +imaginary barrier and came dancing toward the company, shaking her large +sleeves and settling her little snake-like head in her large quilled +collar, dragging after her the Hungarian, who seemed not very willing. +She presented him to Madame d’Avrigny, hoping that so fashionable a +woman might want him to play at her receptions during the winter, and +to a journalist who promised to give him a notice in his paper, +provided--and here he whispered something to Pierrot, who, smiling, +answered neither yes nor no. The sisters kept on their costumes; +Colette was enchanting with her bare neck, her long-waisted black velvet +corsage, her very short skirt, and a sort of three-cornered hat upon +her head. All the men paid court to her, and she accepted their homage, +becoming gayer and gayer at every compliment, laughing loudly, possibly +that her laugh might exhibit her beautiful teeth. + +Wanda, as Pierrot, sang, with her hands in her pockets, a Russian +village song: “Ah! Dounai-li moy Dounai” (“Oh! thou, my Danube”). Then +she imperiously called Jacqueline to the piano:--“It is your turn now,” + she said, “most humble violet.” + +Up to that moment, Jacqueline’s deep mourning had kept the gentlemen +present from addressing her, though she had been much stared at. +Although she did not wish to sing, for her heart was heavy as she +thought of the troubles that awaited her the next day at the convent, +she sang what was asked of her without resistance or pretension. Then, +for the first time, she experienced the pride of triumph. Szmera, though +he was furious at not being the sole lion of the evening, complimented +her, bowing almost to the ground, with one hand on his heart; Madame +Rochette assured her that she had a fortune in her throat whenever she +chose to seek it; persons she had never seen and who did not know her +name, pressed her hands fervently, saying that her singing was adorable. +All cried “Encore,” “Encore!” and, yielding to the pleasure of applause, +she thought no more of the flight of time. Dawn was peeping through the +windows when the party broke up. + +“What kind people!” thought the debutante, whom they had encouraged and +applauded; “some perhaps are a little odd, but how much cordiality +and warmth there is among them! It is catching. This is the sort of +atmosphere in which talent should live.” + +Being very much fatigued, she fell asleep upon the offered sofa, +half-pleased, half-frightened, but with two prominent convictions: one, +that she was beginning to return to life; the other, that she stood on +the edge of a precipice. In her dreams old Rochette appeared to her, her +face like that of an affable frog, her dress the dress of Pierrot, and +she croaked out, in a variety of tones: “The stage! Why not? Applauded +every night--it would be glorious!” Then she seemed in her dream to be +falling, falling down from a great height, as one falls from fairyland +into stern reality. She opened her eyes: it was noon. Madame Odinska was +waiting for her: she intended herself to take her to the convent, and +for that purpose had assumed the imposing air of a noble matron. + +Alas! it was in vain! Jacqueline, was made to understand that such +an infraction of the rules could not be overlooked. To pass the night +without leave out of the convent, and not with her own family, was cause +for expulsion. Neither the prayers nor the anger of Madame Odinska +had any power to change the sentence. While the Mother Superior +calmly pronounced her decree, she was taking the measure of this stout +foreigner who appeared in behalf of Jacqueline, a woman overdressed, yet +at the same time shabby, who had a far from well-bred or aristocratic +air. “Out of consideration for Madame de Talbrun,” she said, “the +convent consents to keep Mademoiselle de Nailles a few days longer--a +few weeks perhaps, until she can find some other place to go. That is +all we can do for her.” + +Jacqueline listened to this sentence as she might have watched a game of +dice when her fate hung on the result, but she showed no emotion. “Now,” + she thought, “my fate has been decided; respectable people will have +nothing more to do with me. I will go with the others, who, perhaps, +after all are not worse, and who most certainly are more amusing.” + +A fortnight after this, Madame de Nailles, having come back to Paris, +from some watering-place, was telling Marien that Jacqueline had started +for Bellagio with Mr. and Miss Sparks, the latter having taken a notion +that she wanted that kind of chaperon who is called a companion in +England and America. + +“But they are of the same age,” said Marien. + +“That is just what Miss Sparks wants. She does not wish to be hampered +by an elderly chaperon, but to be accompanied, as she would have been by +her sister.” + +“Jacqueline will be exposed to see strange things; how could you have +consented--” + +“Consented? As if she cared for my consent! And then she manages to say +such irritating things as soon as one attempts to blame her or advise +her. For example, this is one of them: ‘Don’t you suppose,’ she said to +me, ‘that every one will take the most agreeable chance that offers for +a visit to Italy?’ What do you think of that allusion? It closed my lips +absolutely.” + +“Perhaps she did not mean what you think she meant.” + +“Do you think so? And when I warned her against Madame Strahlberg, +saying that she might set her a very bad example, she answered: ‘I may +have had worse.’ I suppose that was not meant for impertinence either!” + +“I don’t know,” said Hubert Marien, biting his lips doubtfully, “but--” + +He was silent a few moments, his head drooped on his breast, he was in +some painful reverie. + +“Go on. What are you thinking about?” asked Madame de Nailles, +impatiently. + +“I beg your pardon. I was only thinking that a certain responsibility +might rest on those who have made that young girl what she is.” + +“I don’t understand you,” said the stepmother, with an impatient +gesture. “Who can do anything to counteract a bad disposition? You don’t +deny that hers is bad? She is a very devil for pride and obstinacy--she +has no affection--she has proved it. I have no inclination to get myself +wounded by trying to control her.” + +“Then you prefer to let her ruin herself?” + +“I should prefer not to give the world a chance to talk, by coming to an +open rupture with her, which would certainly be the case if I tried to +contradict her. After all, the Sparks and Madame Odinska are not yet put +out of the pale of good society, and she knew them long ago. An early +intimacy may be a good explanation if people blame her for going too +far--” + +“So be it, then; if you are satisfied it is not for me to say anything,” + replied Marien, coldly. + +“Satisfied? I am not satisfied with anything or anybody,” said Madame de +Nailles, indignantly. “How could I be satisfied; I never have met with +anything but ingratitude.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. THE SAILOR’S RETURN + +Madame D’Argy did not leave her son in ignorance of all the freaks and +follies of Jacqueline. He knew every particular of the wrong-doings and +the imprudences of his early friend, and even the additions made to +them by calumny, ever since the fit of in dependence which, after her +father’s death, had led her to throw off all control. She told of her +sudden departure from Fresne, where she might have found so safe a +refuge with her friend and cousin. Then had not her own imprudence and +coquetry led to a rupture with the families of d’Etaples and Ray? She +told of the scandalous intimacy with Madame Strahlberg; of her expulsion +from the convent, where they had discovered, even before she left, that +she had been in the habit of visiting undesirable persons; and finally +she informed him that Jacqueline had gone to Italy with an old Yankee +and his daughter--he being a man, it was said, who had laid the +foundation of his colossal fortune by keeping a bar-room in a mining +camp in California. This last was no fiction, the cut of Mr. Sparks’s +beard and his unpolished manners left no doubt on the subject; and she +wound up by saying that Madame d’Avrigny, whom no one could accuse +of ill-nature, had been grieved at meeting this unhappy girl in very +improper company, among which she seemed quite in her element, like a +fish in water. It was said also that she was thinking of studying for +the stage with La Rochette--M. de Talbrun had heard it talked about in +the foyer of the Opera by an old Prince from some foreign country--she +could not remember his name, but he was praising Madame Strahlberg +without any reserve as the most delightful of Parisiennes. Thereupon +Talbrun had naturally forbidden his wife to have anything to do with +Jacqueline, or even to write to her. Fat Oscar, though he was not all +that he ought to be himself, had some very strict notions of propriety. +No one was more particular about family relations, and really in this +case no one could blame him; but Giselle had been very unhappy, and to +the very last had tried to stand up for her unhappy friend. Having told +him all this, she added, she would say no more on the subject. + +Giselle was a model woman in everything, in tact, in goodness, in good +sense, and she was very attentive to the poor old mother of Fred, who +but for her must have died long ago of loneliness and sorrow. Thereupon +ensued the poor lady’s usual lamentations over the long, long absence +of her beloved son; as usual, she told him she did not think she should +live to see him back again; she gave him a full account of her maladies, +caused, or at least aggravated, by her mortal, constant, incurable +sorrow; and she told how Giselle had been nursing her with all the +patience and devotion of a Sister of Charity. Through all Madame +d’Argy’s letters at this period the angelic figure of Giselle was +contrasted with the very different one of that young and incorrigible +little devil of a Jacqueline. + +Fred at first believed his mother’s stories were all exaggeration, +but the facts were there, corroborated by the continued silence of the +person concerned. He knew his mother to be too good wilfully to +blacken the character of one whom for years she had hoped would be her +daughter-in-law, the only child of her best friend, the early love of +her son. But by degrees he fancied that the love so long living at the +bottom of his heart was slowly dying, that it had been extinguished, +that nothing remained of it but remembrance, such remembrance as we +retain for dead things, a remembrance without hope, whose weight added +to the homesickness which with him was increasing every day. + +There was no active service to enable him to endure exile. The heroic +period of the war had passed. Since a treaty of peace had been signed +with China, the fleet, which had distinguished itself in so many small +engagements and bombardments, had had nothing to do but to mount guard, +as it were, along a conquered coast. All round it in the bay, where it +lay at anchor, rose mountains of strange shapes, which seemed to shut +it into a kind of prison. This feeling of nothing to be done--of nothing +likely to be done, worked in Fred’s head like a nightmare. The only +thing he thought of was how he could escape, when could he once more +kiss the faded cheeks of his mother, who often, when he slept or lay +wakeful during the long hours of the siesta, he saw beside him in tears. +Hers was the only face that he recalled distinctly; to her and to her +only were devoted his long reveries when on watch; that time when he +formerly composed his love verses, tender or angry, or full of despair. +That was all over! A sort of mournful resignation had succeeded his +bursts of excited feeling, his revolt against his fate. + +This was Fred’s state of mind when he received orders to return +home--orders as unexpected as everything seems to be in the life of a +naval man. “I am going back to her!” he cried. Her was his mother, her +was France. All the rest had disappeared as if into a fog. Jacqueline +was a phantom of the past; so many things had happened since the old +times when he had loved her. He had crossed the Indian Ocean and the +China Sea; he had seen long stretches of interminable coast-line; he +had beheld misery, and glory, and all the painful scenes that wait on +warfare; he had seen pestilence, and death in every shape, and all this +had wrought in him a sort of stoicism, the result of long acquaintance +with solitude and danger. He remembered his old love as a flower he had +once admired as he passed it, a treacherous flower, with thorns that had +wounded him. There are flowers that are beneficent, and flowers that are +poisonous, and the last are sometimes the most beautiful. They should +not be blamed, he thought; it was their nature to be hurtful; but it was +well to pass them by and not to gather them. + +By the time he had debarked Fred had made up his mind to let his mother +choose a wife for him, a daughter-in-law suited to herself, who would +give her the delight of grandchildren, who would bring them up well, +and who would not weary of Lizerolles. But a week later the idea of this +kind of marriage had gone out of his head, and this change of feeling +was partly owing to Giselle. Giselle gave him a smile of welcome that +went to his heart, for that poor heart, after all, was only waiting for +a chance again to give itself away. She was with Madame d’Argy, who had +not been well enough to go to the sea-coast to meet her son, and he +saw at the same moment the pale and aged face which had visited him at +Tonquin in his dreams, and a fair face that he had never before thought +so beautiful, more oval than he remembered it, with blue eyes soft and +tender, and a mouth with a sweet infantine expression of sincerity and +goodness. His mother stretched out her trembling arms, gave a great cry, +and fainted away. + +“Don’t be alarmed; it is only joy,” said Giselle, in her soft voice. + +And when Madame d’Argy proved her to be right by recovering very +quickly, overwhelming her son with rapid questions and covering him with +kisses, Giselle held out her hand to him and said: + +“I, too, am very glad you have come home.” + +“Oh!” cried the sick woman in her excitement, “you must kiss your old +playfellow!” + +Giselle blushed a little, and Fred, more embarrassed than she, lightly +touched with his lips her pretty smooth hair which shone upon her head +like a helmet of gold. Perhaps it was this new style of hairdressing +which made her seem so much more beautiful than he remembered her, but +it seemed to him he saw her for the first time; while, with the greatest +eagerness, notwithstanding Giselle’s attempts to interrupt her, Madame +d’Argy repeated to her son all she owed to that dear friend “her own +daughter, the best of daughters, the most patient, the most devoted of +daughters, could not have done more! Ah! if there only could be found +another one like her!” + +Whereupon the object of all these praises made her escape, disclaiming +everything. + +Why, after this, should she have hesitated to come back to Lizerolles +every day, as of late had been her custom? Men know so little about +taking care of sick people. So she came, and was present at all the +rejoicings and all the talks that followed Fred’s return. She took her +part in the discussions about Fred’s future. “Help me, my pet,” said +Madame d’Argy, “help me to find a wife for him: all we ask is that she +should be like you.” + +In answer to which Fred declared, half-laughing and half-seriously, that +that was his ideal. + +She did not believe much of this, but, following her natural instinct, +she assumed the dangerous task of consolation, until, as Madame d’Argy +grew better, she discontinued her daily visits, and Fred, in his turn, +took a habit of going over to Fresne without being invited, and spending +there a good deal of his time. + +“Don’t send me away. You who are always charitable,” he said. “If you +only knew what a pleasure a Parisian conversation is after coming from +Tonquin!” + +“But I am so little of a Parisienne, or at least what you mean by that +term, and my conversation is not worth coming for,” objected Giselle. + +In her extreme modesty she did not realize how much she had gained in +intellectual culture. Women left to themselves have time to read, and +Giselle had done this all the more because she had considered it a duty. +Must she not know enough to instruct and superintend the education of +her son? With much strong feeling, yet with much simplicity, she spoke +to Fred of this great task, which sometimes frightened her; he gave her +his advice, and both discussed together the things that make up a good +man. Giselle brought up frequently the subject of heredity: she named +no one, but Fred could see that she had a secret terror lest Enguerrand, +who in person was very like his father, might also inherit his +character. Fears on this subject, however, appeared unfounded. There was +nothing about the child that was not good; his tastes were those of his +mother. He was passionately fond of Fred, climbing on his lap as soon as +the latter arrived and always maintaining that he, too, wanted a pretty +red ribbon to wear in his buttonhole, a ribbon only to be got by sailing +far away over the seas, like sailors. + +“A sailor! Heaven forbid!” cried Madame de Talbrun. + +“Oh! sailors come back again. He has come back. Couldn’t he take me away +with him soon? I have some stories about cabin-boys who were not much +older than I.” + +“Let us hope that your friend Fred won’t go away,” said Giselle. “But +why do you wish to be a cabinboy?” + +“Because I want to go away with him, if he does not stay here--because I +like him,” answered Enguerrand in a tone of decision. + +Hereupon Giselle kissed her boy with more than usual tenderness. He +would not take to the hunting-field, she thought, the boulevard, and the +corps de ballet. She would not lose him. “But, oh, Fred!” she cried, “it +is not to be wondered at that he is so fond of you! You spoil him! +You will be a devoted father some day; your vocation is evidently for +marriage.” + +She thought, in thus speaking, that she was saying what Madame d’Argy +would like her to say. + +“In the matter of children, I think your son is enough for me,” he said, +one day; “and as for marriage, you would not believe how all women--I +mean all the young girls among whom I should have to make a choice--are +indifferent to me. My feeling almost amounts to antipathy.” + +For the first time she ventured to say: “Do you still care for +Jacqueline?” + +“About as much as she cares for me,” he answered, dryly. “No, I made a +mistake once, and that has made me cautious for the future.” + +Another day he said: + +“I know now who was the woman I ought to have loved.” + +Giselle did not look up; she was devoting all her attention to +Enguerrand. + +Fred held certain theories which he used to talk about. He believed in +a high, spiritual, disinterested affection which would raise a man above +himself, making him more noble, inspiring a disgust for all ignoble +pleasures. The woman willing to accept such homage might do anything she +pleased with a heart that would be hers alone. She would be the lady +who presided over his life, for whose sake all good deeds and generous +actions would be done, the idol, higher than a wife or any object of +earthly passion, the White Angel whom poets have sung. + +Giselle pretended that she did not understand him, but she was divinely +happy. This, then, was the reward of her spotless life! She was the +object of a worship no less tender than respectful. Fred spoke of the +woman he ought to have loved as if he meant to say, “I love you;” he +pressed his lips on the auburn curls of little Enguerrand where his +mother had just kissed him. Day after day he seemed more attracted +to that salon where, dressed with more care than she had ever dressed +before, she expected him. Then awoke in her the wish to please, and she +was beautiful with that beauty which is not the insipid beauty of St. +Agnes, but that which, superior to all other, is seen when the face +reflects the soul. All that winter there was a new Giselle--a Giselle +who passed away again among the shadows, a Giselle of whom everybody +said, even her husband, “Ma foi! but she is beautiful!” Oscar de +Talbrun, as he made this remark, never thought of wondering why she was +more beautiful. He was ready to take offense and was jealous by nature, +but he was perfectly sure of his wife, as he had often said. As to Fred, +the idea of being jealous of him would never have entered his mind. Fred +was a relative and was admitted to all the privileges of a cousin or a +brother; besides, he was a fellow of no consequence in any way. + +While this platonic attachment grew stronger and stronger between Fred +and Giselle, assisted by the innocent complicity of little Enguerrand, +Jacqueline was discovering how hard it is for a girl of good birth, if +she is poor, to carry out her plans of honest independence. Possibly she +had allowed herself to be too easily misled by the title of “companion,” + which, apparently more cordial than that of ‘demoiselle de compagnie’, +means in reality the same thing--a sort of half-servile position. + +Money is a touchstone which influences all social relations, especially +when on one side there is a somewhat morbid susceptibility, and on the +other a lack of good breeding and education. The Sparks, father and +daughter, Americans of the lower class, though willing to spend any +number of dollars for their own pleasure, expected that every penny +they disbursed should receive its full equivalent in service; the place +therefore offered so gracefully and spontaneously to Mademoiselle de +Nailles was far from being a sinecure. Jacqueline received her salary on +the same footing as Justine, the Parisian maid, received her wages, for, +although her position was apparently one of much greater importance and +consideration than Justine’s, she was really at the beck and call of a +girl who, while she called her “darling,” gave her orders and paid her +for her services. Very often Miss Nora asked her to sew, on the plea +that she was as skilful with her fingers as a fairy, but in reality that +her employer might feel the superiority of her own position. + +Hitherto Miss Nora had been delighted to meet at watering-places a +friend of whom she could say proudly, “She is a representative of the +old nobility of France” (which was not true, by the way, for the title +of Baron borne by M. de Nailles went no farther back than the days of +Louis XVIII); and she was still more proud to think that she was now +waited on by this same daughter of a nobleman, when her own father had +kept a drinking-saloon. She did not acknowledge this feeling to herself, +and would certainly have maintained that she never had had such an idea, +but it existed all the same, and she was under its influence, being very +vain and rather foolish. And, indeed, Jacqueline, would have been very +willing to plan trimmings and alter finery from morning to night in +her own chamber in a hotel, exactly as Mademoiselle Justine did, if she +could by this means have escaped the special duties of her difficult +position, which duties were to follow Miss Nora everywhere, like her own +shadow, to be her confidant and to act sometimes as her screen, or even +as her accomplice, in matters that occasionally involved risks, and were +never to her liking. + +The young American girl had already said to her father, when he asked +her to give up her search for an entirely satisfactory European suitor, +which search he feared might drag on forever without any results: “Oh! +I shall be sure to find him at Bellagio!” And she made up her mind that +there he was to be sought and found at any price. Hotel life offered her +opportunities to exercise her instincts for flirtation, for there she +met many specimens of men she called chic, with a funny little foreign +accent, which seemed to put new life into the wornout word. Twenty times +a day she baited her hook, and twenty times a day some fish would +bite, or at least nibble, according as he was a fortune-hunter or a +dilettante. Miss Nora, being incapable of knowing the difference, was +ready to capture good or bad, and went about dragging her slaves at +her chariot-wheels. Sometimes she took them rowing, with the Stars and +Stripes floating over her boat, by moonlight; sometimes she drove +them recklessly in a drag through roads bordered by olive-groves and +vineyards; all these expeditions being undertaken under-pretence of +admiring the romantic scenery. Her father was not disposed to interfere +with what he called “a little harmless dissipation.” He was confident +his daughter’s “companion” must know what was proper, she being, as he +said, accustomed to good society. Were not all Italian ladies attended +by gentlemen? Who could blame a young girl for amusing herself? Meantime +Mr. Sparks amused himself after his own fashion, which was to sit +comfortably, with his feet up on the piazza rail of the hotel, imbibing +strong iced drinks through straws. But in reality Jacqueline had no +power whatever to preserve propriety, and only compromised herself by +her associations, though her own conduct was irreproachable. Indeed she +was considered quite prudish, and the rest of the mad crowd laughed +at her for having the manners of a governess. In vain she tried to say +words of warning to Nora; what she said was laughed at or resented in a +tone that told her that a paid companion had not the right to speak as +frankly as a friend. + +Her business, she was plainly told one day, was to be on the spot in +case any impertinent suitor should venture too far in a tete-a-tete, +but short of that she was not to “spoilsport.” “I am not doing anything +wrong; it is allowable in America,” was Miss Nora’s regular speech on +such occasions, and Jacqueline could not dispute the double argument. +Nora’s conduct was not wicked, and in America such things might be +allowed. Yet Jacqueline tried to demonstrate that a young girl can not +pass unscathed through certain adventures, even if they are innocent in +the strict sense of the word; which made Nora cry out that all she said +was subterfuge and that she had no patience with prejudices. + +In vain her young companion pointed out to her charge that other +Americans at Bellagio seemed far from approving her conduct. American +ladies of a very different class, who were staying at the hotel, held +aloof from her, and treated her with marked coldness whenever they met; +declaring that her manners would be as objectionable in her own country, +in good society, as they were in Italy. + +But Miss Sparks was not to be put down by any argument. “Bah! they are +stuck-up Bostonians. And do you know, Jacqueline, you are getting very +tiresome? You were faster yourself than I when we were the Blue Band at +Treport.” + +Nora’s admirers, sometimes encouraged, sometimes snubbed, when treated +cavalierly by this young lady, would occasionally pay court to the +‘demoiselle de compagnie’, who indeed was well worth their pains; but, +to their surprise, the subordinate received their attentions with great +coldness. Having entered her protest against what was going on, and +having resisted the contagion of example, it was natural she should +somewhat exaggerate her prudery, for it is hard to hit just the right +point in such reaction. The result was, she made herself so disagreeable +to Miss Sparks that the latter determined on getting rid of her as +tactfully as possible. + +Their parting took place on the day after an excursion to the Villa +Sommariva, where Miss Sparks and her little court had behaved with their +usual noise and rudeness. They had gone there ostensibly to see the +pictures, about which none of them cared anything, for Nora, wherever +she was, never liked any one to pay attention to anybody or to look at +anything but her own noisy, all-pervading self. + +It so happened that at the most riotous moment of the picnic an old +gentleman passed near the lively crowd. He was quite inoffensive, +pleasant-mannered, and walked leaning on his cane, yet, had the statue +of the Commander in Don Juan suddenly appeared it could not have +produced such consternation as his presence did on Jacqueline, when, +after a moment’s hesitation, he bowed to her. She recognized in him a +friend of Madame d’Argy, M. Martel, whom she had often met at her house +in Paris and at Lizerolles. When he recognized her, she fancied she had +seen pass over his face a look of painful surprise. He would surely tell +how he had met her; what would her old friends think of her? What would +Fred? For some time past she had thought more than ever before of what +Fred would think of her. The more she grew disgusted with the men she +met, the more she appreciated his good qualities, and the more she +thought of the honest, faithful love he had offered her--love that she +had so madly thrown away. She never should meet such love again, she +thought. It was the idea of how Fred would blame her when he heard +what she pictured to herself the old gentleman would say of her, that +suddenly decided her to leave Bellagio. + +She told Mr. Sparks that evening that she was not strong enough for such +duties as were required of a companion. + +He looked at her with pity and annoyance. + +“I should have thought you had more energy. How do you expect to live by +work if you are not strong enough for pleasure?” + +“Pleasure needs strength as well as labor,” she said, smiling; “I would +rather work in the fields than go on amusing myself as I have been +doing.” + +“My dear, you must not be so difficult to please. When people have to +earn their bread, it is a bad plan. I am afraid you will find out +before long that there are harder ways of making a living than lunching, +dancing, walking, and driving from morning to night in a pretty +country--” + +Here Mr. Sparks began to laugh as he thought of all he had had to do, +without making objections, in the Far West, in the heroic days of his +youthful vigor. He was rather fond of recalling how he had carried his +pick on his shoulder and his knife in his belt, with two Yankee sayings +in his head, and little besides for baggage: “Muscle and pluck!--Muscle +and pluck!” and “Go ahead for ever!” That was the sort of thing to be +done when a man or a woman had not a cent. + +And now, what was Jacqueline to do next? She reflected that in a very +short time she had attempted many things. It seemed to her that all she +could do now was to follow the advice which, when first given her +by Madame Strahlberg, had frightened her, though she had found it so +attractive. She would study with Madame Rochette; she would go to the +Milan Conservatory, and as soon as she came of age she would go upon the +stage, under a feigned name, of course, and in a foreign country. She +would prove to the world, she said to herself, that the career of an +actress is compatible with self-respect. This resolve that she would +never be found wanting in self-respect held a prominent place in all her +plans, as she began to understand better those dangers in life which are +for the most part unknown to young girls born in her social position. +Jacqueline’s character, far from being injured by her trials and +experiences, had gained in strength. She grew firmer as she gained in +knowledge. Never had she been so worthy of regard and interest as at +the very time when her friends were saying sadly to themselves, “She is +going to the bad,” and when, from all appearances, they were right in +this conclusion. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. TWIN DEVILS + +Jacqueline came to the conclusion that she had better seriously consult +Madame Strahlberg. She therefore stopped at Monaco, where this friend, +whom she intended to honor with the strange office of Mentor, was +passing the winter in a little villa in the Condamine quarter--a cottage +surrounded by roses and laurel-bushes, painted in soft colors and +looking like a plaything. + +Madame Strahlberg had already urged Jacqueline to come and make +acquaintance with her “paradise,” without giving her any hint of the +delights of that paradise, from which that of gambling was not excluded, +for Madame Strahlberg was eager for any kind of excitement. Roulette now +occupied with her a large part of every night--indeed, her nights had +been rarely given to slumber, for her creed was that morning is the time +for sleep, for which reason they never took breakfast in the pink villa, +but tea, cakes, and confectionery were eaten instead at all hours until +the evening. Thus it happened very often that they had no dinner, and +guests had to accommodate themselves to the strange ways of the family. +Jacqueline, however, did not stay long enough to know much of those +ways. + +She arrived, poor thing, with weary wing, like some bird, who, escaping +from the fowler’s net, where it has left its feathers, flies straight to +the spot where a sportsman lies ready to shoot it. She was received +with the same cries of joy, the same kisses, the same demonstrations of +affection, as those which, the summer before, had welcomed her to the +Rue de Naples. They told her she could sleep on a sofa, exactly like the +one on which she had passed that terrible night which had resulted in +her expulsion from the convent; and it was decided that she must stay +several days, at least, before she went on to Paris, to begin the +life of hard study and courageous work which would make of her a great +singer. + +Tired?--No, she was hardly tired at all. The journey over the enchanting +road of the Corniche had awakened in her a fervor of admiration which +prevented her from feeling any bodily needs, and now she seemed to have +reached fairyland, where the verdure of the tropics was like the hanging +gardens of Babylon, only those had never had a mirror to reflect back +their ancient, far-famed splendor, like that before her eyes, as she +looked down upon the Mediterranean, with the sun setting in the west in +a sky all crimson and gold. + +Notwithstanding the disorder of her travelling-dress, Jacqueline allowed +her friend to take her straight from the railway station to the Terrace +of Monte Carlo. She fell into ecstasies at sight of the African cacti, +the century plants, and the fig-trees of Barbary, covering the low +walls whence they looked down into the water; at the fragrance of the +evergreens that surrounded the beautiful palace with its balustrades, +dedicated to all the worst passions of the human race; with the sharp +rocky outline of Turbia; with an almost invisible speck on the horizon +which they said was Corsica; with everything, which, whether mirage or +reality, lifted her out of herself, and plunged her into that state +of excited happiness and indescribable sense of bodily comfort, which +exterior impressions so easily produce upon the young. + +After exhausting her vocabulary in exclamations and in questions, she +stood silent, watching the sun as it sank beneath the waters, thinking +that life is well worth living if it can give us such glorious +spectacles, notwithstanding all the difficulties that may have to be +passed through. Several minutes elapsed before she turned her radiant +face and dazzled eyes toward Wanda, or rather toward the spot where +Wanda had been standing beside her. “Oh! my dear--how beautiful!” she +murmured with a long sigh. + +The sigh was echoed by a man, who for a few moments had looked at her +with as much admiration as she had looked at the landscape. He answered +her by saying, in a low voice, the tones of which made her tremble from +head to foot: + +“Jacqueline!” + +“Monsieur de Cymier!” + +The words slipped through her lips as they suddenly turned pale. She had +an instinctive, sudden persuasion that she had been led into a snare. If +not, why was Madame Strahlberg now absorbed in conversation with three +other persons at some little distance. + +“Forgive me--you did not expect to see me--you seem quite startled,” + said the young man, drawing near her. With an effort she commanded +herself and looked full in his face. Her anger rose. She had seen the +same look in the ugly, brutal face of Oscar de Talbrun. From the Terrace +of Monte Carlo her memory flew back to a country road in Normandy, +and she clenched her hand round an imaginary riding-whip. She needed +coolness and she needed courage. They came as if by miracle. + +“It is certain, Monsieur,” she answered, slowly, “that I did not expect +to meet you here.” + +“Chance has had pity on me,” he replied, bowing low, as she had set him +the example of ceremony. + +But he had no idea of losing time in commonplace remarks--he wished to +take up their intimacy on the terms it had been formerly, to resume the +romance he himself had interrupted. + +“I knew,” he said in the same low voice, full of persuasion, which gave +especial meaning to his words, “I knew that, after all, we should meet +again.” + +“I did not expect it,” said Jacqueline, haughtily. + +“Because you do not believe in the magnetism of a fixed desire.” + +“No, I do not believe any such thing, when, opposed to such a desire, +there is a strong, firm will,” said Jacqueline, her eyes burning. + +“Ah!” he murmured, and he might have been supposed to be really moved, +so much his look changed, “do not abuse your power over me--do not make +me wretched; if you could only understand--” + +She made a swift movement to rejoin Madame Strahlberg, but that lady was +already coming toward them with the same careless ease with which she +had left them together. + +“Well! you have each found an old acquaintance,” she said, gayly. “I beg +your pardon, my loveliest, but I had to speak to some old friends, and +ask them to join us to-morrow evening. We shall sup at the restaurant +of the Grand Hotel, after the opera--for, I did not tell you before, +you will have the good luck to hear Patti. Monsieur de Cymier, we shall +expect you. Au revoir.” + +He had been on the point of asking leave to walk home with them. But +there was something in Jacqueline’s look, and in her stubborn silence, +that deterred him. He thought it best to leave a skilful advocate to +plead his cause before he continued a conversation which had not +begun satisfactorily. Not that Gerard de Cymier was discouraged by +the behavior of Jacqueline. He had expected her to be angry at his +defection, and that she would make him pay for it; but a little skill on +his part, and a little credulity on hers, backed by the intervention of +a third party, might set things right. + +One moment he lingered to look at her, admiring her as she stood in +the light of the dying sun, as beautiful in her plain dress and her +indignant paleness, while she looked far out to sea, that she might +not be obliged to look at him, as she had been when he had known her in +prosperity. + +At that moment he knew she hated him, but it would be an additional +delight to overcome that feeling. + +The two women, when he left them, continued walking on the terrace side +by side, without a word. Wanda watched her companion out of the corners +of her eyes, and hummed an air to herself to break the silence. She saw +a storm gathering under Jacqueline’s black eyebrows, and knew that sharp +arrows were likely to shoot forth from those lips which several times +had opened, though not a word had been uttered, probably through fear of +saying too little or too much. + +At last she made some trifling comment on the view, explaining something +about pigeon-shooting. + +“Wanda,” interrupted Jacqueline, “did you not know what happened once?” + +“Happened, how? About what?” asked Madame Strahlberg, with an air of +innocence. + +“I am speaking of the way Monsieur de Cymier treated me.” + +“Bah! He was in love with you. Who didn’t know it? Every one could see +that. It was all the more reason why you should have been glad to meet +him.” + +“He did not act as if he were much in love,” said Jacqueline. + +“Because he went away when your family thought he was about to make his +formal proposal? Not all men are marrying men, my dear, nor have all +women that vocation. Men fall in love all the same.” + +“Do you think, then, that when a man knows he has no intention of +marrying he should pay court to a young girl? I think I told you at the +time that he had paid court to me, and that he afterward--how shall I +say it?--basely deserted me.” + +The sharp and thrilling tone in which Jacqueline said this amused Madame +Strahlberg. + +“What big words, my dear! No, I don’t remember that you ever said +anything of the sort to me before. But you are wrong. As we grow older +we lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words. They do no good. In your +place I should be touched by the thought that a man so charming had been +faithful to me.” + +“Faithful!” cried Jacqueline, her dark eyes flashing into the cat-like +eyes of Madame Strahlberg. + +Wanda looked down, and fastened a ribbon at her waist. + +“Ever since we have been here,” she said, “he has been talking of you.” + +“Really--for how long?” + +“Oh, if you must know, for the last two weeks.” + +“It is just a fortnight since you wrote and asked me to stay with you,” + said Jacqueline, coldly and reproachfully. + +“Oh, well--what’s the harm? Suppose I did think your presence would +increase the attractions of Monaco?” + +“Why did you not tell me?” + +“Because I never write a word more than is necessary; you know how lazy +I am. And also because, I may as well confess, it might have scared you +off, you are so sensitive.” + +“Then you meant to take me by surprise?” said Jacqueline, in the same +tone. + +“Oh! my dear, why do you try to quarrel with me?” replied Madame +Strahlberg, stopping suddenly and looking at her through her eyeglass. +“We may as well understand what you mean by a free and independent +life.” + +And thereupon ensued an address to which Jacqueline listened, leaning +one hand on a balustrade of that enchanted garden, while the voice of +the serpent, as she thought, was ringing in her ears. Her limbs shook +under her--her brain reeled. All her hopes of success as a singer on the +stage Madame Strahlberg swept away, as not worth a thought. She told her +that, in her position, had she meant to be too scrupulous, she should +have stayed in the convent. Everything to Jacqueline seemed to dance +before her eyes. The evening closed around them, the light died out, the +landscape, like her life, had lost its glow. She uttered a brief prayer +for help, such a prayer as she had prayed in infancy. She whispered +it in terror, like a cry in extreme danger. She was more frightened +by Wanda’s wicked words than she had been by M. de Talbrun or by M. de +Cymier. She ceased to know what she was saying till the last words, “You +have good sense and you will think about it,” met her ear. + +Jacqueline said not a word. + +Wanda took her arm. “You may be sure,” she said, “that I am thinking +only of your good. Come! Would you like to go into the Casino and look +at the pictures? No, you are tired? You can see them some evening. The +ballroom holds a thousand persons. Yes, if you prefer, we will go home. +You can take a nap till dinner-time. We shall dine at eight o’clock.” + +Conversation languished till they reached the Villa Rosa. +Notwithstanding Jacqueline’s efforts to appear natural, her own voice +rang in her ears in tones quite new to her, a laugh that she uttered +without any occasion, and which came near resulting in hysterics. Yet +she had power enough over her nerves to notice the surroundings as she +entered the house. At the door of the room in which she was to sleep, +and which was on the first story, Madame Strahlberg kissed her with one +of those equivocal smiles which so long had imposed on her simplicity. + +“Till eight o’clock, then.” + +“Till eight o’clock,” repeated Jacqueline, passively. + +But when eight o’clock came she sent word that she had a severe +headache, and would try to sleep it off. + +Suppose, she thought, M. de Cymier should have been asked to dinner; +suppose she should be placed next to him at table? Anything in that +house seemed possible now. + +They brought her a cup of tea. Up to a late hour she heard a confused +noise of music and laughter. She did not try to sleep. All her faculties +were on the alert, like those of a prisoner who is thinking of escape. +She knew what time the night trains left the station, and, abandoning +her trunk and everything else that she had with her, she furtively--but +ready, if need were, to fight for her liberty with the strength of +desperation--slipped down the broad stairs over their thick carpet and +pushed open a little glass door. Thank heaven! people came in and went +out of that house as if it had been a mill. No one discovered her +flight till the next morning, when she was far on her way to Paris in +an express train. Modeste, quite unprepared for her young mistress’s +arrival, was amazed to see her drop down upon her, feverish and excited, +like some poor hunted animal, with strength exhausted. Jacqueline flung +herself into her nurse’s arms as she used to do when, as a little girl, +she was in what she fancied some great trouble, and she cried: “Oh, +take me in--pray take me in! Keep me safe! Hide me!” And then she told +Modeste everything, speaking rapidly and disconnectedly, thankful to +have some one to whom she could open her heart. In default of Modeste +she would have spoken to stone walls. + +“And what will you do now, my poor darling?” asked the old nurse, as +soon as she understood that her young lady had come back to her, “with +weary foot and broken wing,” from what she had assured her on her +departure would be a brilliant excursion. + +“Oh! I don’t know,” answered Jacqueline, in utter discouragement; “I am +too worn out to think or to do anything. Let me rest; that is all.” + +“Why don’t you go to see your stepmother?” + +“My stepmother? Oh, no! She is at the bottom of all that has happened to +me.” + +“Or Madame d’Argy? Or Madame de Talbrun? Madame de Talbrun is the one +who would give you good advice.” + +Jacqueline shook her head with a sad smile. + +“Let me stay here. Don’t you remember--years ago--but it seems like +yesterday--all the rest is like a nightmare--how I used to hide myself +under your petticoats, and you would say, going on with your knitting: +‘You see she is not here; I can’t think where she can be.’ Hide me now +just like that, dear old Modeste. Only hide me.” + +And Modeste, full of heartfelt pity, promised to hide her “dear child” + from every one, which promise, however, did not prevent her, for she +was very self-willed, from going, without Jacqueline’s knowledge, to see +Madame de Talbrun and tell her all that had taken place. She was hurt +and amazed at her reception by Giselle, and at her saying, without any +offer of help or words of sympathy, “She has only reaped what she has +sown.” Giselle would have been more than woman had not Fred, and a +remembrance of the wrongs that he had suffered through Jacqueline, now +stood between them. For months he had been the prime object in her life; +her mission of comforter had brought her the greatest happiness she had +ever known. She tried to make him turn his attention to some serious +work in life; she wanted to keep him at home, for his mother’s sake, she +thought; she fancied she had inspired him with a taste for home life. If +she had examined herself she might have discovered that the task she had +undertaken of doing good to this young man was not wholly for his sake +but partly for her own. She wanted to see him nearly every day and to +occupy a place in his life ever larger and larger. But for some +time past the conscientious Giselle had neglected the duty of strict +self-examination. She was thankful to be happy--and though Fred was a +man little given to self-flattery in his relations with women, he could +not but be pleased at the change produced in her by her intercourse with +him. + +But while Fred and Giselle considered themselves as two friends trying +to console each other, people had begun to talk about them. Even Madame +d’Argy asked herself whether her son might not have escaped from the +cruel claws of a young coquette of the new school to fall into a worse +scrape with a married woman. She imagined what might happen if the +jealousy of “that wild boar of an Oscar de Talbrun” were aroused; the +dangers, far more terrible than the perils of the sea, that might +in such a case await her only son, the child for whose safety her +mother-love caused her to suffer perpetual torments. “O mothers! +mothers!” she often said to herself, “how much they are to be pitied. +And they are very blind. If Fred must get into danger and difficulty for +any woman, it should not have been for Giselle de Talbrun.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. “AN AFFAIR OF HONOR” + + A meeting took place yesterday at Vesinet between the Vicomte de + Cymier, secretary of Embassy at Vienna, and M. Frederic d’Argy, + ensign in the navy. The parties fought with swords. The seconds of + M. de Cymier were the Prince de Moelk and M. d’Etaples, captain in + the--th Hussars; those of M. d’Argy Hubert Marien, the painter. + M. d’Argy was wounded in the right arm, and for the present the + affair is terminated, but it is said it will be resumed on M. + d’Argy’s recovery, although this seems hardly probable, considering + the very slight cause of the quarrel--an altercation at the Cercle + de la Rue Boissy d’Anglas, which took place over the card-table. + +Such was the announcement in a daily paper that met the eyes of +Jacqueline, as she lay hidden in Modeste’s lodging, like a fawn in its +covert, her eyes and ears on the alert, watching for the least sign of +alarm, in fear and trembling. She expected something, she knew not what; +she felt that her sad adventure at Monaco could not fail to have its +epilogue; but this was one of which she never had dreamed. + +“Modeste, give me my hat! Get me a carriage! Quick! Oh, my God, it is my +fault!--I have killed him!” + +These incoherent cries came from her lips while Modeste, in alarm, +picked up the newspaper and adjusted her silver spectacles upon her nose +to read the paragraph. “Monsieur Fred wounded! Holy Virgin! His poor +mother! That is a new trouble fallen on her, to be sure. But this +quarrel had nothing to do with you, my pet; you see they say it was +about cards.” + +And folding up the Figaro, while Jacqueline in all haste was wrapping +her head in a veil, Modeste, with the best intentions, went on to say: +“Nobody ever dies of a sword-thrust in the arm.” + +“But you see it says that they are going to fight all over again--don’t +you understand? You are so stupid! What could they have had to quarrel +about but me? O God! Thou art just! This is indeed punishment--too much +punishment for me!” + +So saying, she ran down the many stairs that led up to Modeste’s little +lodging in the roof, her feet hardly touching them as she ran, while +Modeste followed her more slowly, crying: “Wait for me! Wait for me, +Mademoiselle!” + +Calling a fiacre, Jacqueline, almost roughly, pushed the old woman into +it, and gave the coachman the address of Madame d’Argy, having, in her +excitement, first given him that of their old house in the Parc Monceau, +so much was she possessed by the idea that this was a repetition of +that dreadful day, when with Modeste, just as now, she went to meet +an irreparable loss. She seemed to see before her her dead father--he +looked like Fred, and now, as before, Marien had his part in the +tragedy. Could he not have prevented the duel? Could he not have done +something to prevent Fred from exposing himself? The wound might be no +worse than it was said to be in the newspaper--but then a second meeting +was to take place. No!--it should not, she would stop it at any price! + +And yet, as the coach drew nearer to the Rue de Varenne, where Madame +d’Argy had her winter residence, a little calm, a little sense returned +to Jacqueline. She did not see how she could dare to enter that house, +where probably they cursed her very name. She would wait in the street +with the carriage-blinds pulled down, and Modeste should go in and ask +for information. Five minutes passed--ten minutes passed--they seemed +ages. How slow Modeste was, slow as a tortoise! How could she leave her +there when she knew she was so anxious? What could she be doing? All she +had to do was to ask news of M. Fred in just two words! + +At last, Jacqueline could bear suspense no longer. She opened the +coach-door and jumped out on the pavement. Just at that moment Modeste +appeared, brandishing the umbrella that she carried instead of a stick, +in a manner that meant something. It might be bad news, she would know +in a moment; anything was better than suspense. She sprang forward. + +“What did they say, Modeste? Speak!--Why have you been such a time?” + +“Because the servants had something else to do than to attend to me. I +wasn’t the only person there--they were writing in a register. Get back +into the carriage, Mademoiselle, or somebody will see you--There are +lots of people there who know you--Monsieur and Madame d’Etaples--” + +“What do I care?--The truth! Tell me the truth--” + +“But didn’t you understand my signals? He is going on well. It was only +a scratch--Ah! Madame that’s only my way of talking. He will be laid up +for a fortnight. The doctor was there--he has some fever, but he is not +in any danger.” + +“Oh! what a blessing! Kiss me, Modeste. We have a fortnight in which we +may interfere--But how--Oh, how?--Ah! there is Giselle! We will go to +Giselle at once!” + +And the ‘fiacre’ was ordered to go as fast as possible to the Rue +Barbet-de-Jouy. This time Jacqueline herself spoke to the concierge. + +“Madame la Comtesse is out.” + +“But she never goes out at this hour. I wish to see her on important +business. I must see her.” + +And Jacqueline passed the concierge, only to encounter another refusal +from a footman, who insisted that Madame la Comtesse was at home to no +one. + +“But me, she will see me. Go and tell her it is Mademoiselle de +Nailles.” + +Moved by her persistence, the footman went in to inquire, and came back +immediately with the answer: + +“Madame la Comtesse can not see Mademoiselle.” + +“Ah!” thought Jacqueline, “she, too, throws me off, and it is natural. +I have no friends left. No one will tell me anything!--I think it will +drive me mad?” + +She was half-mad already. She stopped at a newsstand and bought all the +evening journals; then, up in her garret, in her poor little nest under +the roof-which, as she felt bitterly, was her only refuge, she began to +look over those printed papers in which she might possibly find out the +true cause of the duel. Nearly all related the event in almost the exact +terms used by the Figaro. Ah!--here was a different one! A reporter who +knew something more added, in Gil Blas: “We have stated the cause of +the dispute as it has been given to the public, but in affairs of this +nature more than in any others, it is safe to remember the old proverb: +‘Look for the woman.’ The woman could doubtless have been found enjoying +herself on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, while men were drawing +swords in her defense.” + +Jacqueline went on looking through the newspapers, crumpling up the +sheets as she laid them down. The last she opened had the reputation +of being a repository of scandals, never to be depended on, as she well +knew. Several times it had come to her hand and she had not opened it, +remembering what her father had always said of its reputation. But where +would she be more likely to find what she wanted than in the columns +of a journal whose reporters listened behind doors and peeped through +keyholes? Under the heading of ‘Les Dessous Parisiens’, she read on the +first page: + + “Two hens lived in peace; a cock came + And strife soon succeeded to joy; + E’en as love, they say, kindled the flame + That destroyed the proud city of Troy. + + “This quarrel was the outcome of a violent rupture between the two + hens in question, ending in the flight of one of them, a young and + tender pullet, whose voice we trust soon to hear warbling on the + boards at one of our theatres. This was the subject of conversation + in a low voice at the Cercle, at the hour when it is customary to + tell such little scandals. M. de C-----was enlarging on the + somewhat Bohemian character of the establishment of a lovely foreign + lady, who possesses the secret of being always surrounded by + delightful friends, young ladies who are self-emancipated, quasi- + widows who, by divorce suits, have regained their liberty, etc. + He was speaking of one of the beauties who are friends of his friend + Madame S----, as men speak of women who have proved themselves + careless of public opinion; when M. d’A----, in a loud voice, + interrupted him; the lie was given in terms that of course led to + the hostile meeting of which the press has spoken, attributing it to + a dispute about the Queen of Spades, when it really concerned the + Queen of Hearts.” + +Then she had made no mistake; it had been her flight from Madame +Strahlberg’s which had led to her being attacked by one man, and +defended by the other! Jacqueline found it hard to recognize herself in +this tissue of lies, insinuations, and half-truths. What did the paper +mean its readers to understand by its account? Was it a jealous rivalry +between herself and Madame Strahlberg?--Was M. de Cymier meant by the +cock? And Fred had heard all this--he had drawn his sword to refute +the calumny. Brave Fred! Alas! he had been prompted only by chivalric +generosity. Doubtless he, also, looked upon her as an adventuress. + +All night poor Jacqueline wept with such distress that she wished that +she might die. She was dropping off to sleep at last, overpowered by +fatigue, when a ring at the bell in the early morning roused her. Then +she heard whispering: + +“Do you think she is so unhappy?” + +It was the voice of Giselle. + +“Come in--come in quickly!” she cried, springing out of bed. Wrapped +in a dressing-gown, with bare feet, her face pale, her eyelids red, her +complexion clouded, she rushed to meet her friend, who was almost as +much disordered as herself. It seemed as if Madame de Talbrun might also +have passed a night of sleeplessness and tears. + +“You have come! Oh! you have come at last!” cried Jacqueline, throwing +her arms around her, but Giselle repelled her with a gesture so severe +that the poor child could not but understand its meaning. She murmured, +pointing to the pile of newspapers: “Is it possible?--Can you have +believed all those dreadful things?” + +“What things? I have read nothing,” said Giselle, harshly. “I only +know that a man who was neither your husband nor your brother, and who +consequently was under no obligation to defend you, has been foolish +enough to be nearly killed for your sake. Is not that a proof of your +downfall? Don’t you know it?” + +“Downfall?” repeated Jacqueline, as if she did not understand her. Then, +seizing her friend’s hand, she forcibly raised it to her lips: “Ah! what +can anything matter to me,” she cried, “if only you remain my friend; +and he has never doubted me!” + +“Women like you can always find defenders,” said Giselle, tearing her +hand from her cousin’s grasp. + +Giselle was not herself at that moment. “But, for your own sake, it +would have been better he should have abstained from such an act of +Quixotism.” + +“Giselle! can it be that you think me guilty?” + +“Guilty!” cried Madame de Talbrun, her pale face aflame. “A little more +and Monsieur de Cymier’s sword-point would have pierced his lungs.” + +“Good heavens!” cried Jacqueline, hiding her face in her hands. “But I +have done nothing to--” + +“Nothing except to set two men against each other; to make them suffer, +or to make fools of them, and to be loved by them all the same.” + +“I have not been a coquette,” said Jacqueline, with indignation. + +“You must have been, to authorize the boasts of Monsieur de Cymier. He +had seen Fred so seldom, and Tonquin had so changed him that he spoke in +his presence--without supposing any one would interfere. I dare not tell +you what he said--” + +“Whatever spite or revenge suggested to him, no doubt,” said Jacqueline. + +“Listen, Giselle--Oh, you must listen. I shall not be long.” + +She forced her to sit down; she crouched on a foot stool at her feet, +holding her hands in hers so tightly that Giselle could not draw them +away, and began her story, with all its details, of what had happened +to her since she left Fresne. She told of her meeting with Wanda; of the +fatal evening which had resulted in her expulsion from the convent; +her disgust at the Sparks family; the snare prepared for her by Madame +Strahlberg. “And I can not tell you all,” she added, “I can not tell +you what drove me away from my true friends, and threw me among these +people--” + +Giselle’s sad smile seemed to answer, “No need--I am aware of it--I know +my husband.” Encouraged by this, Jacqueline went on with her confession, +hiding nothing that was wrong, showing herself just as she had been, a +poor, proud child who had set out to battle for herself in a dangerous +world. At every step she had been more and more conscious of her own +imprudence, of her own weakness, and of an ever-increasing desire to +be done with independence; to submit to law, to be subject to any rules +which would deliver her from the necessity of obeying no will but her +own. + +“Ah!” she cried, “I am so disgusted with independence, with amusement, +and amusing people! Tell me what to do in future--I am weary of taking +charge of myself. I said so the other day to the Abbe Bardin. He is the +only person I have seen since my return. It seems to me I am coming back +to my old ideas--you remember how I once wished to end my days in the +cell of a Carmelite? You might love me again then, perhaps, and Fred and +poor Madame d’Argy, who must feel so bitterly against me since her son +was wounded, might forgive me. No one feels bitterly against the dead, +and it is the same as being dead to be a Carmelite nun. You would all +speak of me sometimes to each other as one who had been very unhappy, +who had been guilty of great foolishness, but who had repaired her +faults as best she could.” + +Poor Jacqueline! She was no longer a girl of the period; in her grief +and humiliation she belonged to the past. Old-fashioned forms of +penitence attracted her. + +“And what did the Abbe Bardin tell you?” asked Giselle, with a slight +movement of her shoulders. + +“He only told me that he could not say at present whether that were my +vocation.” + +“Nor can I,” said Giselle. + +Jacqueline lifted up her face, wet with tears, which she had been +leaning on the lap of Giselle. + +“I do not see what else I can do, unless you would get me a place as +governess somewhere at the ends of the earth,” she said. “I could teach +children their letters. I should not mind doing anything. I never +should complain. Ah! if you lived all by yourself, Giselle, how I should +implore you to take me to teach little Enguerrand!” + +“I think you might do better than that,” said Giselle, wiping her +friend’s eyes almost as a mother might have done, “if you would only +listen to Fred.” + +Jacqueline’s cheeks became crimson. + +“Don’t mock me--it is cruel--I am too unworthy--it would pain me to +see him. Shame--regret--you understand! But I can tell you one thing, +Giselle--only you. You may tell it to him when he is quite old, when he +has been long married, and when everything concerning me is a thing of +the past. I never had loved any one with all my heart up to the moment +when I read in that paper that he had fought for me, that his blood had +flowed for me, that after all that had passed he still thought me worthy +of being defended by him.” + +Her tears flowed fast, and she added: “I shall be proud of that all the +rest of my life! If only you, too, would forgive me.” + +The heart of Giselle was melted by these words. + +“Forgive you, my dear little girl? Ah! you have been better than I. I +forgot our old friendship for a moment--I was harsh to you; and I have +so little right to blame you! But come! Providence may have arranged all +for the best, though one of us may have to suffer. Pray for that some +one. Good-by--‘au revoir!” + +She kissed Jacqueline’s forehead and was gone, before her cousin had +seized the meaning of her last words. But joy and peace came back to +Jacqueline. She had recovered her best friend, and had convinced her of +her innocence. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. GENTLE CONSPIRATORS + +Before Giselle went home to her own house she called on the Abbe Bardin, +whom a rather surly servant was not disposed to disturb, as he was just +eating his breakfast. The Abbe Bardin was Jacqueline’s confessor, and he +held the same relation to a number of other young girls who were among +her particular friends. He was thoroughly acquainted with all that +concerned their delicate and generally childish little souls. He kept +them in the right way, had often a share in their marriages, and in +general kept an eye upon them all their lives. Even when they escaped +from him, as had happened in the case of Jacqueline, he did not give +them up. He commended them to God, and looked forward to the time of +their repentance with the patience of a father. The Abbe Bardin had +never been willing to exercise any function but that of catechist; he +had grown old in the humble rank of third assistant in a great parish, +when, with a little ambition, he might have been its rector. “Suffer +little children to come unto me,” had been his motto. These words of +his Divine Master seemed more often than any others on his lips-lips +so expressive of loving kindness, though sometimes a shrewd smile would +pass over them and seem to say: “I know, I can divine.” But when this +smile, the result of long experience, did not light up his features, the +good Abbe Bardin looked like an elderly child; he was short, his +walk was a trot, his face was round and ruddy, his eyes, which were +short-sighted, were large, wide-open, and blue, and his heavy crop of +white hair, which curled and crinkled above his forehead, made him look +like a sixty-year-old angel, crowned with a silvery aureole. + +Rubbing his hands affably, he came into the little parlor where Madame +de Talbrun was waiting for him. There was probably no ecclesiastic in +all Paris who had a salon so full of worked cushions, each of which was +a keepsake--a souvenir of some first communion. The Abbe did not know +his visitor, but the name Talbrun seemed to him connected with an +honorable and well-meaning family. The lady was probably a mother who +had come to put her child into his hands for religious instruction. He +received visits from dozens of such mothers, some of whom were a little +tiresome, from a wish to teach him what he knew better than they, and +at one time he had set apart Wednesday as his day for receiving such +visits, that he might not be too greatly disturbed, as seemed likely to +happen to him that day. Not that he cared very much whether he ate his +cutlet hot or cold, but his housekeeper cared a great deal. A man may +be a very experienced director, and yet be subject to direction in other +ways. + +The youth of Giselle took him by surprise. + +“Monsieur l’Abbe,” she said, without any preamble, while he begged her +to sit down, “I have come to speak to you of a person in whom you take +an interest, Jacqueline de Nailles.” + +He passed the back of his hand over his brow and said, with a sigh: +“Poor little thing!” + +“She is even more to be pitied than you think. You have not seen her, I +believe, since last week.” + +“Yes--she came. She has kept up, thank God, some of her religious +duties.” + +“For all that, she has played a leading part in a recent scandal.” + +The Abbe sprang up from his chair. + +“A duel has taken place because of her, and her name is in all men’s +mouths--whispered, of course--but the quarrel took place at the Club. +You know what it is to be talked of at the Club.” + +“The poison of asps,” growled the Abbe; “oh! those clubs--think of all +the evil reports concocted in them, of which women are the victims!” + +“In the present case the evil report was pure calumny. It was taken up +by some one whom you also know--Frederic d’Argy.” + +“I have had profound respect these many years for his excellent and +pious mother.” + +“I thought so. In that case, Monsieur l’Abbe, you would not object to +going to Madame d’Argy’s house and asking how her son is.” + +“No, of course not; but--it is my duty to disapprove--” + +“You will tell her that when a young man has compromised a young girl by +defending her reputation in a manner too public, there is but one thing +he can do afterward-marry her.” + +“Wait one moment,” said the Abbe, who was greatly surprised; “it is +certain that a good marriage would be the best thing for Jacqueline. +I have been thinking of it. But I do not think I could so suddenly--so +soon after--” + +“Today at four o’clock, Monsieur l’Abbe. Time presses. You can add +that such a marriage is the only way to stop a second duel, which will +otherwise take place.” + +“Is it possible?” + +“And it is also the only way to bring Frederic to decide on sending in +his resignation. Don’t forget that--it is important.” + +“But how do you know--” + +The poor Abbe stammered out his words, and counted on his fingers the +arguments he was desired to make use of. + +“And you will solemnly assure them that Jacqueline is innocent.” + +“Oh! as to that, there are wolves in sheeps’ clothing, as the Bible +tells us; but believe me, when such poor young things are in question, +it is more often the sheep which has put on the appearance of a wolf--to +seem in the fashion,” added the Abbe, “just to seem in the fashion. +Fashion will authorize any kind of counterfeiting.” + +“Well, you will say all that, will you not, to Madame d’Argy? It will be +very good of you if you will. She will make no difficulties about money. +All she wants is a quietly disposed daughter-in-law who will be willing +to pass nine months of the year at Lizerolles, and Jacqueline is quite +cured of her Paris fever.” + +“A fever too often mortal,” murmured the Abbe; “oh, for the simplicity +of nature! A priest whose lot is cast in the country is fortunate, +Madame, but we can not choose our vocation. We may do good anywhere, +especially in cities. Are you sure, however, that Jacqueline--” + +“She loves Monsieur d’Argy.” + +“Well, if that is so, we are all right. The great misfortune with many +of these poor girls is that they have never learned to love anything; +they know nothing but agitations, excitements, curiosities, and fancies. +All that sort of thing runs through their heads.” + +“You are speaking of a Jacqueline before the duel. I can assure you that +ever since yesterday, if not before, she has loved Monsieur d’Argy, who +on his part for a long time--a very long time--has been in love with +her.” + +Giselle spoke eagerly, as if she forced herself to say the words that +cost her pain. Her cheeks were flushed under her veil. The Abbe, who was +keen-sighted, observed these signs. + +“But,” continued Giselle, “if he is forced to forget her he may try +to expend elsewhere the affection he feels for her; he may trouble the +peace of others, while deceiving himself. He might make in the world +one of those attachments--Do not fail to represent all these dangers to +Madame d’Argy when you plead the cause of Jacqueline.” + +“Humph! You are evidently much attached, Madame, to Mademoiselle de +Nailles.” + +“Very much, indeed,” she answered, bravely, “very much attached to +her, and still more to him; therefore you understand that this marriage +must--absolutely must take place.” + +She had risen and was folding her cloak round her, looking straight into +the Abbe’s eyes. Small as she was, their height was almost the same; she +wanted him to understand thoroughly why this marriage must take place. + +He bowed. Up to that time he had not been quite sure that he had not +to do with one of those wolves dressed in fleece whose appearance is +as misleading as that of sheep disguised as wolves: now his opinion was +settled. + +“Mon Dieu! Madame,” he said, “your reasons seem to me excellent--a duel +to be prevented, a son to be kept by the side of his sick mother, two +young people who love each other to be married, the saving, possibly, of +two souls--” + +“Say three souls, Monsieur l’Abbe!” + +He did not ask whose was the third, nor even why she had insisted that +this delicate commission must be executed that same day. He only bowed +when she said again: “At four o’clock: Madame d’Argy will be prepared +to see you. Thank you, Monsieur l’Abbe.” And then, as she descended the +staircase, he bestowed upon her silently his most earnest benediction, +before returning to the cold cutlet that was on his breakfast table. + +Giselle did not breakfast much better than he. In truth, M. de Talbrun +being absent, she sat looking at her son, who was eating with a good +appetite, while she drank only a cup of tea; after which, she dressed +herself, with more than usual care, hiding by rice-powder the trace of +recent tears on her complexion, and arranging her fair hair in the way +that was most becoming to her, under a charming little bonnet covered +with gold net-work which corresponded with the embroidery on an entirely +new costume. + +When she went into the dining-room Enguerrand, who was there with his +nurse finishing his dessert, cried out: “Oh! mamma, how pretty you are!” + which went to her heart. She kissed him two or three times--one kiss +after another. + +“I try to be pretty for your sake, my darling.” + +“Will you take me with you?” + +“No, but I will come back for you, and take you out.” + +She walked a few steps, and then turned to give him such a kiss as +astonished him, for he said: + +“Is it really going to be long?” + +“What?” + +“Before you come back? You kiss me as if you were going for a long time, +far away.” + +“I kissed you to give myself courage.” + +Enguerrand, who, when he had a hard lesson to learn, always did the same +thing, appeared to understand her. + +“You are going to do some thing you don’t like.” + +“Yes, but I have to do it, because you see it is my duty.” + +“Do grown people have duties?” + +“Even more than children.” + +“But it isn’t your duty to write a copy--your writing is so pretty. Oh! +that’s what I hate most. And you always say it is my duty to write my +copy. I’ll go and do it while you do your duty. So that will seem as if +we were both together doing something we don’t like--won’t it, mamma?” + +She kissed him again, even more passionately. + +“We shall be always together, we two, my love!” + +This word love struck the little ear of Enguerrand as having a new +accent, a new meaning, and, boy-like, he tried to turn this excess of +tenderness to advantage. + +“Since you love me so much, will you take me to see the puppet-show?” + +“Anywhere you like--when I come back. Goodby.” + + + + +CHAPTER XX. A CHIVALROUS SOUL + +Madame D’Argy sat knitting by the window in Fred’s chamber, with that +resigned but saddened air that mothers wear when they are occupied in +repairing the consequences of some rash folly. Fred had seen her in his +boyhood knitting in the same way with the same, look on her face, when +he had been thrown from his pony, or had fallen from his velocipede. He +himself looked ill at ease and worried, as he lay on a sofa with his arm +in a sling. He was yawning and counting the hours. From time to time his +mother glanced at him. Her look was curious, and anxious, and loving, +all at the same time. He pretended to be asleep. He did not like to see +her watching him. His handsome masculine face, tanned that pale brown +which tropical climates give to fair complexions, looked odd as it rose +above a light-blue cape, a very feminine garment which, as it had no +sleeves, had been tied round his neck to keep him from being cold. He +felt himself, with some impatience, at the mercy of the most tender, +but the most sharp-eyed of nurses, a prisoner to her devotion, and made +conscious of her power every moment. Her attentions worried him; he knew +that they all meant “It is your own fault, my poor boy, that you are in +this state, and that your mother is so unhappy.” He felt it. He knew as +well as if she had spoken that she was asking him to return to reason, +to marry, without more delay, their little neighbor in Normandy, +Mademoiselle d’Argeville, a niece of M. Martel, whom he persisted in not +thinking of as a wife, always calling her a “cider apple,” in allusion +to her red cheeks. + +A servant came in, and said to Madame d’Argy that Madame de Talbrun was +in the salon. + +“I am coming,” she said, rolling up her knitting. + +But Fred suddenly woke up: + +“Why not ask her to come here?” + +“Very good,” said his mother, with hesitation. She was distracted +between her various anxieties; exasperated against the fatal influence +of Jacqueline, alarmed by the increasing intimacy with Giselle, desirous +that all such complications should be put an end to by his marriage, +but terribly afraid that her “cider apple” would not be sufficient to +accomplish it. + +“Beg Madame de Talbrun to come in here,” she said, repeating the order +after her son; but she settled herself in her chair with an air more +patient, more resigned than ever, and her lips were firmly closed. + +Giselle entered in her charming new gown, and Fred’s first words, like +those of Enguerrand, were: “How pretty you are! It is charity,” he +added, smiling, “to present such a spectacle to the eyes of a sick man; +it is enough to set him up again.” + +“Isn’t it?” said Giselle, kissing Madame d’Argy on the forehead. The +poor mother had resumed her knitting with a sigh, hardly glancing at the +pretty walking-costume, nor at the bonnet with its network of gold. + +“Isn’t it pretty?” repeated Giselle. “I am delighted with this costume. +It is made after one of Rejane’s. Oscar fell in love with it at a first +representation of a vaudeville, and he gave me over into the hands of +the same dressmaker, who indeed was named in the play. That kind of +advertising seems very effective.” + +She went on chattering thus to put off what she had really come to say. +Her heart was beating so fast that its throbs could be seen under +the embroidered front of the bodice which fitted her so smoothly. She +wondered how Madame d’Argy would receive the suggestion she was about to +make. + +She went on: “I dressed myself in my best to-day because I am so happy.” + +Madame d’Argy’s long tortoise-shell knitting-needles stopped. + +“I am glad to hear it, my dear,” she said, coldly, “I am glad anybody +can be happy. There are so many of us who are sad.” + +“But why are you pleased?” asked Fred, looking at her, as if by some +instinct he understood that he had something to do with it. + +“Our prodigal has returned,” answered Giselle, with a little air of +satisfaction, very artificial, however, for she could hardly breathe, +so great was her fear and her emotion. “My house is in the garb of +rejoicing.” + +“The prodigal? Do you mean your husband?” said Madame d’Argy, +maliciously. + +“Oh! I despair of him,” replied Giselle, lightly. “No, I speak of a +prodigal who did not go far, and who made haste to repent. I am speaking +of Jacqueline.” + +There was complete silence. The knitting-needles ticked rapidly, a +slight flush rose on the dark cheeks of Fred. + +“All I beg,” said Madame d’Argy, “is that you will not ask me to eat +the fatted calf in her honor. The comings and going of Mademoiselle de +Nailles have long ceased to have the slightest interest for me.” + +“They have for Fred at any rate; he has just proved it, I should say,” + replied Giselle. + +By this time the others were as much embarrassed as Giselle. She saw it, +and went on quickly: + +“Their names are together in everybody’s mouth; you can not hinder it.” + +“I regret it deeply-and allow me to make one remark: it seems to me +you show a want of tact such as I should never have imagined in telling +us--” + +Giselle read in Fred’s eyes, which were steadily fixed on her, that he +was, on that point, of his mother’s opinion. She went on, however, still +pretending to blunder. + +“Forgive me--but I have been so anxious about you ever since I heard +there was to be a second meeting--” + +“A second meeting!” screamed Madame d’Argy, who, as she read no paper +but the Gazette de France, or occasionally the Debats, knew nothing of +all the rumors that find their echo in the daily papers. + +“Oh, ‘mon Dieu’! I thought you knew--” + +“You need not frighten my mother,” said Fred, almost angrily; “Monsieur +de Cymier has written a letter which puts an end to our quarrel. It is +the letter of a man of honor apologizing for having spoken lightly, +for having repeated false rumors without verifying them--in short, +retracting all that he had said that reflected in any way on +Mademoiselle de Nailles, and authorizing me, if I think best, to make +public his retraction. After that we can have nothing more to say to +each other.” + +“He who makes himself the champion to defend a young girl’s character,” + said Madame d’Argy, sententiously, “injures her as much as those who +have spoken evil of her.” + +“That is exactly what I think,” said Giselle. “The self-constituted +champion has given the evil rumor circulation.” + +There was again a painful silence. Then the intrepid little woman +resumed: “This step on the part of Monsieur de Cymier seems to have +rendered my errand unnecessary. I had thought of a way to end this sad +affair; a very simple way, much better, most certainly, than men cutting +their own throats or those of other people. But since peace has been +made over the ruins of Jacqueline’s reputation, I had better say nothing +and go away.” + +“No--no! Let us hear what you had to propose,” said Fred, getting up +from his couch so quickly that he jarred his bandaged arm, and uttered a +cry of pain, which seemed very much like an oath, too. + +Giselle was silent. Standing before the hearth, she was warming her +small feet, watching, as she did so, Madame d’Argy’s profile, which was +reflected in the mirror. It was severe--impenetrable. It was Fred who +spoke first. + +“In the first place,” he said, hesitating, “are you sure that +Mademoiselle de Nailles has not just arrived from Monaco?” + +“I am certain that for a week she has been living quietly with +Modeste, and that, though she passed through Monaco, she did not stay +there--twenty-four hours, finding that the air of that place did not +agree with her.” + +“But what do you say to what Monsieur Martel saw with his own eyes, and +which is confirmed by public rumor?” cried Madame d’Argy, as if she were +giving a challenge. + +“Monsieur Martel saw Jacqueline in bad company. She was not there of +her own will. As to public rumor, we may feel sure that to make it as +flattering to her tomorrow as it is otherwise to-day only a marriage is +necessary. Yes, a marriage! That is the way I had thought of to settle +everything and make everybody happy.” + +“What man would marry a girl who had compromised herself?” said Madame +d’Argy, indignantly. + +“He who has done his part to compromise her.” + +“Then go and propose it to Monsieur de Cymier!” + +“No. It is not Monsieur de Cymier whom she loves.” + +“Ah!” Madame d’Argy was on her feet at once. “Indeed, Giselle, you are +losing your senses. If I were not afraid of agitating Fred--” + +He was, in truth, greatly agitated. The only hand that he could use was +pulling and tearing at the little blue cape crossed on his breast, in +which his mother had wrapped him; and this unsuitable garment formed +such a queer contrast to the expression of his face that Giselle, in her +nervous excitement, burst out laughing, an explosion of merriment which +completed the exasperation of Madame d’Argy. + +“Never!” she cried, beside herself. “You hear me--never will I consent, +whatever happens!” + +At that moment the door was partly opened, and a servant announced +“Monsieur l’Abbe Bardin.” + +Madame d’Argy made a gesture which was anything but reverential. + +“Well, to be sure--this is the right moment with a vengeance! What does +he want! Does he wish me to assist in some good work--or to undertake to +collect money, which I hate.” + +“Above all, mother,” cried Fred, “don’t expose me to the fatigue of +receiving his visit. Go and see him yourself. Giselle will take care of +your patient while you are gone. Won’t you, Giselle?” + +His voice was soft, and very affectionate. He evidently was not angry at +what she had dared to say, and she acknowledged this to herself with an +aching heart. + +“I don’t exactly trust your kind of care,” said Madame d’Argy, with a +smile that was not gay, and certainly not amiable. + +She went, however, because Fred repeated: + +“But go and see the Abbe Bardin.” + +Hardly had she left the room when Fred got up from his sofa and +approached Giselle with passionate eagerness. + +“Are you sure I am not dreaming,” said he. “Is it you--really you who +advise me to marry Jacqueline?” + +“Who else should it be?” she answered, very calm to all appearance. +“Who can know better than I? But first you must oblige me by lying down +again, or else I will not say one word more. That is right. Now keep +still. Your mother is furiously displeased with me--I am sorry--but +she will get over it. I know that in Jacqueline you would have a good +wife--a wife far better than the Jacqueline you would have married +formerly. She has paid dearly for her experience of life, and has +profited by its lessons, so that she is now worthy of you, and sincerely +repentant for her childish peccadilloes.” + +“Giselle,” said Fred, “look me full in the face--yes, look into my eyes +frankly and hide nothing. Your eyes never told anything but the truth. +Why do you turn them away? Do you really and truly wish this marriage?” + +She looked at him steadily as long as he would, and let him hold her +hand, which was burning inside her glove, and which with a great effort +she prevented from trembling. Then her nerves gave way under his long +and silent gaze, which seemed to question her, and she laughed, a laugh +that sounded to herself very unnatural. + +“My poor, dear friend,” she cried, “how easily you men are duped! You +are trying to find out, to discover whether, in case you decide upon +an honest act, a perfectly sensible act, to which you are strongly +inclined--don’t tell me you are not--whether, in short, you marry +Jacqueline, I shall be really as glad of it as I pretend. But have you +not found out what I have aimed at all along? Do you think I did not +know from the very first what it was that made you seek me? + +“I was not the rope, but I had lived near the rose; I reminded you of +her continually. We two loved her; each of us felt we did. Even when you +said harm of her, I knew it was merely because you longed to utter her +name, and repeat to yourself her perfections. I laughed, yes, I laughed +to myself, and I was careful how I contradicted you. I tried to keep you +safe for her, to prevent your going elsewhere and forming attachments +which might have resulted in your forgetting her. I did my best--do me +justice--I did my best; perhaps sometimes I pushed things a little far +in her interest, in that of your mother, but in yours more than all; in +yours, for God knows I am all for you,” said Giselle, with sudden and +involuntary fervor. + +“Yes, I am all yours as a friend, a faithful friend,” she resumed, +almost frightened by the tones of her own voice; “but as to the +slightest feeling of love between us, love the most spiritual, the +most platonic--yes, all men, I fancy, have a little of that kind of +self-conceit. Dear Fred, don’t imagine it--Enguerrand would never have +allowed it.” + +She was smiling, half laughing, and he looked at her with astonishment, +asking himself whether he could believe what she was saying, when he +could recollect what seemed to him so many proofs to the contrary. Yet +in what she said there was no hesitation, no incoherence, no false note. +Pride, noble pride, upheld her to the end. The first falsehood of her +life was a masterpiece. + +“Ah, Giselle!” he said at last, not knowing what to think, “I adore you! +I revere you!” + +“Yes,” she replied, with a smile, gracious, yet with a touch of sadness, +“I know you do. But her you love!” + +Might it not have been sweet to her had he answered “No, I loved her +once, and remembered that old love enough to risk my life for her, but +in reality I now love only you--all the more at this moment when I see +you love me more than yourself.” But, instead, he murmured only, like +a man and a lover: “And Jacqueline--do you think she loves me?” His +anxiety, a thrill that ran through all his frame, the light in his eyes, +his sudden pallor, told more than his words. + +If Giselle could have doubted his love for Jacqueline before, she would +have now been convinced of it. The conviction stabbed her to the heart. +Death is not that last sleep in which all our faculties, weakened +and exhausted, fail us; it is the blow which annihilates our supreme +illusion and leaves us disabused in a cold and empty world. People walk, +talk, and smile after this death--another ghost is added to the drama +played on the stage of the world; but the real self is dead. + +Giselle was too much of a woman, angelic as she was, to have any courage +left to say: “Yes, I know she loves you.” + +She said instead, in a low voice: “That is a question you must ask of +her.” + +Meantime, in the next room they could hear Madame d’Argy vehemently +repeating: “Never! No, I never will consent! Is it a plot between you?” + +They heard also a rumbling monotone preceding each of these vehement +interruptions. The Abbe Bardin was pointing out to her that, unmarried, +her son would return to Tonquin, that Lizerolles would be left deserted, +her house would be desolate without daughter-in-law or grandchildren; +and, as he drew these pictures, he came back, again and again, to his +main argument: + +“I will answer for their happiness: I will answer for the future.” + +His authority as a priest gave weight to this assurance, at least +Madame d’Argy felt it so. She went on saying never, but less and less +emphatically, and apparently she ceased to say it at last, for three +months later the d’Etaples, the Rays, the d’Avrignys and the rest, +received two wedding announcements in these words: + +“Madame d’Argy has the honor to inform you of the marriage of her son, +M. Frederic d’Argy, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, to Mademoiselle de +Nailles.” + +The accompanying card ran thus: + + “The Baroness de Nailles has the honor to inform you of the + marriage of Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Nailles, her + stepdaughter, to M. Frederic d’Argy.” + +Congratulations showered down on both mother and stepmother. A +love-match is nowadays so rare! It turned out that every one had always +wished all kinds of good fortune to young Madame d’Argy, and every +one seemed to take a sincere part in the joy that was expressed on the +occasion, even Dolly, who, it was said, had in secret set her heart +on Fred for herself; even Nora Sparks, who, not having carried out +her plans, had gone back to New York, whence she sent a superb wedding +present. Madame de Nailles apparently experienced at the wedding all the +emotions of a real mother. + +The roses at Lizerolles bloomed that year with unusual beauty, as if +to welcome the young pair. Modeste sang ‘Nunc Dimittis’. The least +demonstrative of all those interested in the event was Giselle. + + + ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + A familiarity which, had he known it, was not flattering + A mother’s geese are always swans + As we grow older we lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words + Bathers, who exhibited themselves in all degrees of ugliness + Blow which annihilates our supreme illusion + Death is not that last sleep + Fool (there is no cure for that infirmity) + Fred’s verses were not good, but they were full of dejection + Great interval between a dream and its execution + Hang out the bush, but keep no tavern + His sleeplessness was not the insomnia of genius + Importance in this world are as easily swept away as the sand + Music--so often dangerous to married happiness + Natural longing, that we all have, to know the worst + Notion of her husband’s having an opinion of his own + Old women--at least thirty years old! + Pride supplies some sufferers with necessary courage + Seemed to enjoy themselves, or made believe they did + Seldom troubled himself to please any one he did not care for + Small women ought not to grow stout + Sympathetic listening, never having herself anything to say + The bandage love ties over the eyes of men + The worst husband is always better than none + This unending warfare we call love + Unwilling to leave him to the repose he needed + Waste all that upon a thing that nobody will ever look at + Women who are thirty-five should never weep + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Jacqueline, Complete, by Th. Bentzon (Mme. Blanc) + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JACQUELINE, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3971-0.txt or 3971-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/7/3971/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |