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 shouldbe attracted to a woman who has devoted herself assiduously tounderstanding and to making known the aspirations of our country, especially in introducing the labors and achievements of our women totheir sisters in France, of whom we also have much to learn; for simple, homely virtues and the charm of womanliness may still be studied withadvantage on the cherished soil of France. Marie-Therese Blanc, nee Solms--for this is the name of the authorwho writes under the nom de plume of Madame Bentzon--is consideredthe greatest of living French female novelists. She was born in an oldFrench chateau at Seine-Porte (Seine et Oise), September 21, 1840. This chateau was owned by Madame Bentzon's grandmother, the Marquisede Vitry, who was a woman of great force and energy of character, "aministering angel" to her country neighborhood. Her grandmother's firstmarriage was to a Dane, Major-General Adrien-Benjamin de Bentzon, a Governor of the Danish Antilles. By this marriage there was onedaughter, the mother of Therese, who in turn married the Comte de Solms. "This mixture of races, " Madame Blanc once wrote, "surely explains akind of moral and intellectual cosmopolitanism which is found in mynature. My father of German descent, my mother of Danish--my nom deplume (which was her maiden-name) is Danish--with Protestant ancestorson her side, though she and I were Catholics--my grandmother a sound andwitty Parisian, gay, brilliant, lively, with superb physical healthand the consequent good spirits--surely these materials could not haveproduced other than a cosmopolitan being. " Somehow or other, the family became impoverished. Therese de Solms tookto writing stories. After many refusals, her debut took place in the'Revue des Deux Mondes', and her perseverance was largely due to theencouragement she received from George Sand, although that great womansaw everything through the magnifying glass of her genius. But theperson to whom Therese Bentzon was most indebted in the matter ofliterary advice--she says herself--was the late M. Caro, the famousSorbonne professor of philosophy, himself an admirable writer, "who putme through a course of literature, acting as my guide through a vastamount of solid reading, and criticizing my work with kindly severity. "Success was slow. Strange as it may seem, there is a prejudice againstfemale writers in France, a country that has produced so many admirablewomen-authors. However, the time was to come when M. Becloz found oneof her stories in the 'Journal des Debats'. It was the one entitled 'UnDivorce', and he lost no time in engaging the young writer to become oneof his staff. From that day to this she has found the pages of the Revuealways 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); UnDivorce (1872); La Grande Sauliere (1877); Un remords (1878); Yette andGeorgette (1880); Le Retour (1882); Tete folle (1883); Tony, (1884);Emancipee (1887); Constance (1891); Jacqueline (1893). We need not enterinto the merits of style and composition if we mention that 'Unremords, Tony, and Constance' were crowned by the French Academy, and'Jacqueline' in 1893. Madame Bentzon is likewise the translator ofAldrich, Bret Harte, Dickens, and Ouida. Some of her critical worksare 'Litterature et Moeurs etrangeres', 1882, and 'Nouveaux romanciersamericains', 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, anda loose sash around the waist of her blouse in other words, despite thechildish fashion of a dress which seemed to denote that she was notmore than thirteen or fourteen years of age, she seemed much older. Anobserver would have put her down as the oldest of the young girls who onTuesdays, at Madame de Nailles's afternoons, filled what was called "theyoung girls' corner" with whispered merriment and low laughter, while, under pretence of drinking tea, the noise went on which is alwaysaudible when there is anything to eat. No doubt the amber tint of this young girl's complexion, the ravenblackness of her hair, her marked yet delicate features, and the generalimpression produced by her dark coloring, were reasons why she seemedolder than the rest. It was Jacqueline's privilege to exhibit that styleof 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 areception-day in connection with that of her mamma, seemed like a greatbasket of roses when all her friends assembled there, seated onlow chairs in unstudied attitudes: the white rose of the group wasMademoiselle d'Etaples, a specimen of pale and pensive beauty, frailalmost to transparency; the Rose of Bengal was the charming ColetteOdinska, a girl of Polish race, but born in Paris; the dark-red rosewas Isabelle Ray-Belle she was called triumphantly--whose dimpled cheeksflushed scarlet for almost any cause, some said for very coquetry. Thenthere were three little girls called Wermant, daughters of an agent dechange--a spray of May roses, exactly alike in features, manners, anddress, sprightly and charming as little girls could be. A littlepompon rose was tiny Dorothee d'Avrigny, to whom the pet name Dolly wasappropriate, for never had any doll's waxen face been more lovely thanher little round one, with its mouth shaped like a little heart--a mouthsmaller than her eyes, and these were round eyes, too, but so bright, and blue, and soft, that it was easy to overlook their too frequentlystartled expression. Jacqueline had nothing in common with a rose of any kind, but she wasnot the less charming to look at. Such was the unspoken reflection of aman who was well able to be a judge in such matters. His name was HubertMarien. He was a great painter, and was now watching the clear-cut, somewhat Arab--like profile of this girl--a profile brought outdistinctly against the dark-red silk background of a screen, much aswe see a cameo stand out in sharp relief from the glittering stone fromwhich the artist has fashioned it. Marien looked at her from a distance, leaning against the fireplace of the farther salon, whence he could seeplainly the corner shaded by green foliage plants where Jacqueline hadmade her niche, as she called it. The two rooms formed practically butone, being separated only by a large recess without folding-doors, or'portires'. Hubert Marien, from his place behind Madame de Nailles'schair, had often before watched Jacqueline as he was watching her atthis moment. She had grown up, as it were, under his own eye. He hadseen her playing with her dolls, absorbed in her story-books, andcrunching sugar-plums, he had paid her visits--for how many years? Hedid not care to count them. And little girls bloom fast! How old they make us feel! Who would havesupposed the most unpromising of little buds would have transformeditself so soon into what he gazed upon? Marien, as an artist, hadgreat pleasure in studying the delicate outline of that graceful headsurmounted by thick tresses, with rebellious ringlets rippling over thebrow before they were gathered into the thick braid that hung behind;and Jacqueline, although she appeared to be wholly occupied with herguests, felt the gaze that was fixed upon her, and was conscious of itsmagnetic influence, from which nothing would have induced her to escapeeven had she been able. All the young girls were listening attentively(despite their more serious occupation of consuming dainties) towhat was going on in the next room among the grown-up people, whoseconversation reached them only in detached fragments. So long as the subject talked about was the last reception at the FrenchAcademy, these young girls (comrades in the class-room and at the weeklycatechising) had been satisfied to discuss together their own littleaffairs, but after Colonel de Valdonjon began to talk complete silencereigned among them. One might have heard the buzzing of a fly. Theirattention, however, was of little use. Exclamations of oh! and ah! andprotests more or less sincere drowned even the loud and somewhat hoarsevoice of the Colonel. The girls heard it only through a sort of generalmurmur, out of which a burst of astonishment or of dissent wouldoccasionally break forth. These outbreaks were all the curious groupcould hear distinctly. They sniffed, as it were, at the forbidden fruit, but they longed to inhale the full perfume of the scandal that they feltwas in the air. That stout officer of cuirassiers, of whom some peoplespoke as "The Chatterbox, " took advantage of his profession to tell manyan unsavory story which he had picked up or invented at his club. Hehad come to Madame de Nailles's reception with a brand-new concoction offalsehood and truth, a story likely to be hawked round Paris with greatsuccess for several weeks to come, though ladies on first hearing itwould think proper to cry out that they would not even listen to it, andwould pretend to look round them for their fans to hide their confusion. The principal object of interest in this scandalous gossip was avaluable diamond bracelet, one of those priceless bits of jewelry seldomseen except in show-windows on the Rue de la Paix, intended to be boughtonly for presentation to princesses--of some sort or kind. Well, byan extraordinary, chance the Marquise de Versannes--aye, the lovelyGeorgine de Versannes herself--had picked up this bracelet in thestreet--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 youplease, with her hand in her pocket. 'Oh, see what I have found!' shecried. 'I stepped upon it almost at your door. ' And the bracelet wasplaced under a lamp, where the diamonds shot out sparkles fit to blindthe old Marquise, and make that old fool of a Versannes see a thousandlights. He has long known better than to take all his wife says forgospel--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-morrowmorning, ' says the charming Georgine, 'but I wished to show you my goodluck. ' Of course nobody came forward to claim the bracelet, and amonth later Madame de Versannes appeared at the Cranfords' ball with abrilliant diamond bracelet, worn like the Queen of Sheba's, high up onher arm, near the shoulder, to hide the lack of sleeve. This piece offinery, which drew everybody's attention to the wearer, was the famousbracelet picked up in the street. Clever of her!--wasn't it, now?" "Horrid! Unlikely! Impossible. .. . What do you mean us to understandabout 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 morethings 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 theHomme-Volant at the Cirque?" "What, the man that wears stockinet all covered with gold scales? Dotell us, Colonel!" But here Madame de Nailles gave a dry little cough which was meant toimpose silence on the subject. She was not a prude, but she disapprovedof anything that was bad form at her receptions. The Colonel'srevelations had to be made in a lower tone, while his hostess endeavoredto bring back the conversation to the charming reply made by M. Renan tothe somewhat insipid address of a member of the Academie. "We sha'n't hear anything more now, " said Colette, with a sigh. "Did youunderstand 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, inbroad daylight, a bracelet meant only to be worn at night--a braceletworn 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 dayis the same as that of the Marquise. People say a good deal of harm ofher--in whispers. They say she is barely received now in society, thatpeople turn their backs on her, and so forth, and so on. However, thatdid not hinder her from being superb the other evening at 'Polyeucte'. " "So you only go to see 'Polyeucte'?" said Jacqueline, making a littleface 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 provokingthat one can't see everything, hear everything, understand everything?You see, we could not half understand that story which seemed toamuse the people so much in the other room. Why did they send back thebracelet 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 neighboringhippodrome had arrived, visitors came pouring into Madame de Nailles'sreception--tall, graceful women, dressed with taste and elegance, asbefitted ladies who were interested in horsemanship. The tone of theconversation changed. Nothing was talked about but superb horses, leapsover ribbons and other obstacles. The young girls interested themselvesin the spring toilettes, which they either praised or criticised as theypassed 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 andslender. Her waist measure is only twenty-one and two thirds inches. Thewoman who makes her corsets and my mamma's told us so. She brought usone of her corsets to look at, a love of a corset, in brocatelle, allover many-colored flowers. That material is much more 'distingue' thanthe old satin--" "But what a queer idea it is to waste all that upon a thing that nobodywill ever look at, " said Dolly, her round eyes opening wider thanbefore. "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 mostis her extraordinary hair. " "Which changes its color now and then, " observed the sharpest of thethree Wermant sisters. "Extraordinary is just the word for it. At present it is dark red. Henna did that, I suppose. Raoul--ourbrother--when he was in Africa saw Arab women who used henna. They tiedtheir heads up in a sort of poultice made of little leaves, somethinglike tea-leaves. In twenty-four hours the hair will be dyed red, andwill stay red for a year or more. You can try it if you like. I think itis disgusting. " "Oh! look, there is Madame de Sternay. I recognized her by her perfumebefore 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 iteverywhere about her--in the hem of her petticoat, in the lining of herdress. She lives, one might say, in the middle of a sachet. The thingthat will please me most when I am married will be to have no limitto my perfumes. Till then I have to satisfy myself with very little, "sighed Jacqueline, drawing a little bunch of violets from the loosefolds 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, thoughthey saw each other very seldom. Giselle was an orphan, having lostboth her father and her mother, and was being educated in a conventfrom which she was allowed to come out only on great occasions. Hergrandmother, whose ideas were those of the old school, had placed herthere. The Easter holidays accounted for Giselle's unexpected arrival. Wrapped in a large cloak which covered up her convent uniform, shelooked, as compared with the gay girls around her, like a poor sombrenight-moth, dazzled by the light, in company with other glitteringcreatures of the insect race, fluttering with graceful movements, transparent wings and shining corselets. "Come and have some sandwiches, " said Jacqueline, and she drew Giselleto the tea-table, with the kind intention apparently of making her feelmore at her ease. But she had another motive. She saw some one who wasvery interesting to her coming at that moment toward the table. Thatsome one was a man about forty, whose pointed black beard was becomingslightly gray--a man whom some people thought ugly, chiefly becausethey had never seen his somewhat irregular features illumined by a smilewhich, spreading from his lips to his eyes, lighted up his face andtransformed it. The smile of Hubert Marien was rare, however. Hewas exclusive in his friendships, often silent, always somewhatunapproachable. He seldom troubled himself to please any one he didnot care for. In society he was not seen to advantage, because hewas extremely bored, for which reason he was seldom to be seen atthe Tuesday receptions of Madame de Nailles; while, on other days, hefrequented the house as an intimate friend of the family. Jacqueline hadknown 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 thesort of adoration she had no hesitation in showing that she felt forhim. He used to call her Mademoiselle ma femme, and M. De Nailles wouldspeak of him as "my daughter's future husband. " This joke had been keptup till the little lady had reached her ninth year, when it ceased, probably by order of Madame de Nailles, who in matters of propriety wasvery punctilious. Jacqueline, too, became less familiar than she hadbeen with the man she called "my great painter. " Indeed, in her heart ofhearts, she cherished a grudge against him. She thought he presumed onthe right he had assumed of teasing her. The older she grew the more hetreated her as if she were a baby, and, in the little passages ofarms that continually took place between them, Jacqueline was bitterlyconscious that she no longer had the best of it as formerly. She was nolonger as droll and lively as she had been. She was easily disconcerted, and took everything 'au serieux', and her wits became paralyzed by anembarrassment that was new to her. And, pained by the sort of sarcasmwhich Marien kept up in all their intercourse, she was often ready toburst into tears after talking to him. Yet she was never quite satisfiedunless he was present. She counted the days from one Wednesday toanother, for on Wednesdays he always dined with them, and she greetedany opportunity of seeing him on other days as a great pleasure. Thisweek, for example, would be marked with a white stone. She would haveseen him twice. For half an hour Marien had been enduring the bore ofthe reception, standing silent and self-absorbed in the midst of the gaytalk, which did not interest him. He wished to escape, but was alwayskept from doing so by some word or sign from Madame de Nailles. Jacqueline had been thinking: "Oh! if he would only come and talk tous!" He was now drawing near them, and an instinct made her wish to rushup to him and tell him--what should she tell him? She did not know. Afew moments before so many things to tell him had been passing throughher brain. What she said was: "Monsieur Marien, I recommend to you these littlespiced cakes. " And, with some awkwardness, because her hand wastrembling, she held out the plate to him. "No, thank you, Mademoiselle, " he said, affecting a tone of greatceremony, "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 cookeriesmyself. By the way, it seems to me that Mademoiselle Giselle, in hercharacter 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 andastonishment. "Don't pay any attention to him, " said Jacqueline, as if taking herunder her protection. "He is nothing but a tease; what he says is onlychaff. But I might as well talk Greek to her, " she added, shrugging hershoulders. "In the convent they don't know what to make of a joke. Onlyspare her at least, if you please, Monsieur Marien. " "I know by report that Mademoiselle Giselle is worthy of the mostprofound respect, " continued the pitiless painter. "I lay myself at herfeet--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 shespoke 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 tofind fault with. What could it be? I fancied there was something wrongwith my hair, something absurd that you were laughing at. You always dolaugh, 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 theobservation. "True, they have only prickles, which remind me of the susceptibilityof your temper. I beg your pardon I was looking at you critically. Beingmyself indulgent and kindhearted, I was only looking at you froman 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 aslong as the light allows me. Well, in the light of this April sunshineI was saying to myself--excuse my boldness!--that you had reached theright 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 greatspace. 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, withconfusion 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, Icould see only your head, which is better. So! one has to be accountablefor looking at you? Mademoiselle feels herself affronted if any onestares at her! I will remember this in future. There, now! suppose, instead of quarrelling with me, you were to go and cast yourself intothe 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 hismother. " And at that moment Madame de Nailles, with her pure, clear voice--avoice frequently compared to that of Mademoiselle Reichemberg, called: "Jacqueline!" Jacqueline never crossed the imaginary line which divided the two salonsunless she was called upon to do so. She was still summoned like a childto speak to certain persons who took an especial interest in her, andwho 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 thatmother, who had been long replaced by a stepmother, could hardly besaid to be deeply regretted by Jacqueline. She remembered her veryindistinctly. The stories of her she had heard from Modeste, her oldnurse, probably served her instead of any actual memory. She knew heronly as a woman pale and in ill health, always lying on a sofa. Thelittle black frock that had been made for her had been hardly wornout when a new mamma, as gay and fresh as the other had been sick andsuffering, had come into the household like a ray of sunshine. After that time Madame d'Argy and Modeste were the only people whospoke to her of the mother who was gone. Madame d'Argy, indeed, came oncertain days to take her to visit the tomb, on which the child read, asshe 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 unknownbeing who had been her mother, was tinged by her association with thismelancholy pilgrimage which she was expected to perform at certainintervals. Without exactly knowing the reason why, Jacqueline wasconscious of a certain hostility that existed between Madame d'Argy andher stepmother. The intimate friend of the first Madame de Nailles was a woman withneither 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 theeyes of Jacqueline her sombre figure personified austere, exacting Duty, a kind of duty not attractive to her. That very day it seemed as if dutyinconveniently stepped in to break up a conversation that was deeplyinteresting to her. The impatient gesture that she made when her mothercalled her might have been interpreted into: Bother Madame d'Argy! "Jacqueline!" called again the silvery voice that had first summonedher; and a moment after the young girl found herself in the centre ofa circle of grown people, saying good-morning, making curtseys, andkissing the withered hand of old Madame de Monredon, as she had beentaught to do from infancy. Madame de Monredon was Giselle's grandmother. Jacqueline had been instructed to call her "aunt;" but in her heart shecalled 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 onleave. We came here the first place-naturally. " "It was very nice of you. How do you do, Fred?" said Jacqueline, holdingout 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 along time since we have seen each other. But it does not seem to me thatyou 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 sittingbeside Madame d'Argy on a 'causeuse' shaped like an S, "why does shepersist 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 makeherself seem young. She is only a stepmother. " "Of course. But people might make comparisons. Beauty in the budsometimes 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 inshort skirts. " "You are making her out older than she is. " "How is that?--how is that? She is two years younger than Giselle, whohas just entered her eighteenth year. " While the two ladies were exchanging these little remarks, the Baronnede Nailles was saying to the young naval cadet: "Monsieur Fred, we should be charmed to keep you with us, but possiblyyou might like to see some of your old friends. Jacqueline can take youto them. They will be glad to see you. " "Tiens!--that's true, " said Jacqueline. "Dolly and Belle are yonder. Youremember Isabelle Ray, who used to take dancing lessons with us. " "Of course I do, " said Fred, following his cousin with a feeling ofregret that his sword was not knocking against his legs, increasing hisimportance in the eyes of all the ladies who were present. He was not, however; sorry to leave their imposing circle. Above all, he was gladto escape from the clear-sighted, critical eyes of Madame de Nailles. On the other hand, to be sent off to the girls' corner, afterbeing insulted by being told he had not grown, hurt his sense ofself-importance. Meantime Jacqueline was taking him back to her own corner, where he wasgreeted by two or three little exclamations of surprise, shaking hands, however, as his former playmates drew their skirts around them, tryingto make room for him to sit down. "Young ladies, " said Jacqueline, "I present to you a 'bordachien'--alittle 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 ofhis sword, which was not there, "for I am going very soon on my firstvoyage as an ensign. " "Yes, " explained Jacqueline, "he is going to be transferred fromthe '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 atthis moment. " There was a vague murmur of applause. Poor Fred was indeed in need ofsome appreciation on the score of merit, for he was not much to lookupon, being at that trying age when a young fellow's moustache is onlya light down, an age at which youths always look their worst, and areawkward 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 yourlessons. That I can quite understand. " "Oh, he has passed many difficult exams, " cried Giselle, coming to therescue. "I thought I had had enough of school, " said Fred, without making anydefense, "and besides I had other reasons for going into the navy. " His "other reasons" had been a wish to emancipate himself fromthe excessive solicitude of his mother, who kept him tied to herapron-strings like a little girl. He was impatient to do something forhimself, to become a man as soon as possible. But he said nothing ofall this, and to escape further questions devoured three or four littlecakes that were offered him. Before taking them he removed his glovesand displayed a pair of chapped and horny hands. "Why--poor Fred!" cried Jacqueline, who remarked them in a moment, "whatkind of almond paste do you use?" Much annoyed, he replied, curtly: "We all have to row, we have alsoto attend to the machinery. But that is only while we are cadets. Ofcourse, such apprenticeship is very hard. After that we shall get ourstripes 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 hisprofession. She entered into his feelings far better than Jacqueline, who had been his first confidante--Jacqueline, to whom he had confidedhis purposes, his ambition, and his day-dreams. He thought Jacquelinewas selfish. She seemed to care only for herself. And yet, selfish ornot selfish, she pleased him better than all the other girls he knew--athousand times more than gentle, sweet Giselle. "Ah, glory, of course!" repeated Jacqueline. "I understand how much thatcounts, but there is glory of various kinds, and I know the kind that Iprefer, " she added in a tone which seemed to imply that it was not thatof arms, or of perilous navigation. "We all know, " she went on, "thatnot every man can have genius, but any sailor who has good luck can getto be an admiral. " "Let us hope you will be one soon, Monsieur Fred, " said Dolly. "Youwill have well deserved it, according to the way you have distinguishedyourself on board the 'Borda. '" This induced Fred to let them understand something of life on board thepractice-ship; he told how the masters who resided on shore ascended bya ladder to the gun-deck, which had been turned into a schoolroom; howsix cadets occupied the space intended for each gun-carriage, wherehammocks hung from hooks served them instead of beds; how the chapel wasin a closet opened only on Sundays. He described the gymnastic feats inthe rigging, the practice in gunnery, and many other things which, hadthey been well described, would have been interesting; but Fred wasonly a poor narrator. The conclusion the young ladies seemed to reachunanimously after hearing his descriptions, was discouraging. They criedalmost 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 thesethings. You are going to be a nun. " "Had I been in your place, Fred, " said Isabelle Ray, "I should ratherhave gone into the cavalry school at Saint Cyr. I should have wanted tobe a good huntsman, had I been a man, and they say naval officers arenever good horsemen. " Poor Fred! He was not making much progress among the young girls. Almosteverything people talked about outside his cadet life was unknown tohim; 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 ofsympathetic 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 weregetting too old for such familiarity, and it was he, and not she, whoremembered 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 beenaccustomed to 'tutoyer' each other. " "One ought to give it up after one's first communion, " said the eldestMademoiselle Wermant, sententiously. "We ceased to 'tutoyer' our boycousins after that. I am told nothing annoys a husband so much as tosee these little familiarities between his wife and her cousins or herplaymates. " Giselle looked very much astonished at this speech, and her air ofdisapproval amused Belle and Yvonne exceedingly. They began presently totalk of the classes in which they were considered brilliant pupils, and of their success in compositions. They said that sometimes verydifficult subjects were given out. A week or two before, each had hadto compose a letter purporting to be from Dante in exile to a friend inFlorence, describing Paris as it was in his time, especially the mannersand customs of its universities, ending by some allusion to the state ofmatters between the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. "Good heavens! And could you do it?" said Giselle, whose knowledge ofhistory was limited to what may be found in school abridgments. It was therefore a great satisfaction to her when Fred declared that henever should have known how to set about it. "Oh! papa helped me a little, " said Isabelle, whose father wrotearticles much appreciated by the public in the 'Revue des DeuxMondes. ' "But he said at the same time that it was horrid to give suchcrack-brained stuff to us poor girls. Happily, our subject this week ismuch 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 deWermant, with a touch of pity. Giselle answered with sincerity and humility, "I only knew that Le Lacwas by Lamartine. " "Well!--she knows that much, " whispered Belle to Yvonne--"just thatmuch, anyhow. " While they were whispering and laughing, Jacqueline recited, in a softvoice, 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 ofpropriety was outraged by this allusion to love. Fred, too, lookedaskance and was not comfortable, for he thought that Jacqueline had toomuch assurance for her age, but that, after all, she was becoming moreand more charming. At that moment Belle and Yvonne were summoned, and they departed, fullof an intention to spread everywhere the news that Giselle, the littlegoose, had actually known that Le Lac had been written by Lamartine. TheBenedictine Sisters positively had acquired that much knowledge. These girls were not the only persons that day at the reception whoindulged in a little ill-natured talk after going away. Mesdames d'Argyand de Monredon, on their way to the Faubourg St. Germain, criticisedMadame de Nailles pretty freely. As they crossed the Parc Monceauto reach their carriage, which was waiting for them on the BoulevardMalesherbes, they made the young people, Giselle and Fred, walk ahead, that they might have an opportunity of expressing themselves freely, theold dowager especially, whose toothless mouth never lost an opportunityof smirching the character and the reputation of her neighbors. "When I think of the pains my poor cousin de Nailles took to impressupon 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, herown customs, he had better marry a poor girl without fortune! This onewill simply ruin him. My dear, I am continually amazed at the way peopleare living whose incomes I know to the last sou. What an example forJacqueline! Extravagance, fast living, elegant self-indulgence. .. . Didyou observe the Baronne's gown?--of rough woolen stuff. She told someone 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 herartistic tastes, her bric-a brac! Her salon looks like a museum or abazaar. I grant you it makes a very pretty setting for her and allher coquetries. But in my time respectable women were contented withfurniture covered with red or yellow silk damask furnished by theirupholsterers. They didn't go about trying to hunt up the impossible. 'Onne cherche pas midi a quatorze heures'. You hold, as I do, to theold fashions, though you are not nearly so old, my dear Elise, andJacqueline's mother thought as we think. She would say that her daughteris being very badly brought up. To be sure, all young creatures nowadaysare the same. Parents, on a plea of tenderness, keep them at home, wherethey get spoiled among grown people, when they had much better have thesame kind of education that has succeeded so well with Giselle; bolts onthe garden-gates, wholesome seclusion, the company of girls of their ownage, a great regularity of life, nothing which stimulates eithervanity or imagination. That is the proper way to bring up girls withoutnotions, girls who will let themselves be married without opposition, and are satisfied with the state of life to which Providence may bepleased to call them. For my part, I am enchanted with the ladies in theRue de Monsieur, and, what is more, Giselle is very happy among them; tohear her talk you would suppose she was quite ready to take the veil. Ofcourse, that is a mere passing fancy. But fancies of that sort arenever dangerous, they have nothing in common with those that are passingnowadays through most girls' brains. Having 'a day!'--what a foolishnotion: And then to let little girls take part in it, even in a cornerof the room. I'll wager that, though her skirts are half way up herlegs, and her hair is dressed like a baby's, that that little de Naillesis less of a child than my granddaughter, who has been brought up bythe Benedictines. You say that she probably does not understand allthat goes on around her. Perhaps not, but she breathes it in. It'spoison-that's what it is!" There was a good deal of truth in this harsh picture, although itcontained considerable exaggeration. At this moment, when Madame de Monredon was sitting in judgment on theeducation given to the little girls brought up in the world, and on theruinous extravagance of their young stepmothers, Madame de Naillesand Jacqueline--their last visitors having departed--were restingthemselves, leaning tenderly against each other, on a sofa. Jacqueline'shead lay on her mother's lap. Her mother, without speaking, was strokingthe girl's dark hair. Jacqueline, too, was silent, but from time to timeshe kissed the slender fingers sparkling with rings, as they came withinreach 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 tofind a home scene more charming, as they sat under the light of a lampwith a pink shade. That the stepmother and stepdaughter adored each other was beyond adoubt. And yet, had any one been able to look into their hearts at thatmoment, he would have discovered with surprise that each was thinking ofsomething that she could not confide to the other. Both were thinking of the same person. Madame de Nailles was occupiedwith recollections, Jacqueline with hope. She was absorbed inMachiavellian strategy, how to realize a hope that had been formed thatvery afternoon. "What are you both thinking of, sitting there so quietly?" said theBaron, 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 foryou. " "Saint Clotilde's day-my fete-day is still far off, " said Madame deNailles, refastening, mother-like, the ribbon that was intended to keepin order the rough ripples of Jacqueline's unruly hair, "and usuallyyour 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-naturedClotilde, with a laugh. "And I assure you, for my part, that I am discretion itself, " said M. DeNailles. So saying, he drew his wife's arm within his own, and the three passedgayly together into the dining-room. CHAPTER II. A CLEVER STEPMOTHER No man took more pleasure than M. De Nailles in finding himself in hisown home--partly, perhaps, because circumstances compelled him tobe very little there. The post of deputy in the French Chamber isno sinecure. He was not often an orator from the tribune, but he wasabsorbed by work in the committees--"Harnessed to a lot of botheringreports, " as Jacqueline used to say to him. He had barely any time togive to those important duties of his position, by which, as is wellknown, members of the Corps Legislatif are shamelessly harassed byconstituents, who, on pretence that they have helped to place theinterests of their district in your hands, feel authorized to worry youwith personal matters, such as the choice of agricultural machines, or aplace to be found for a wet-nurse. Besides his public duties, M. De Nailles was occupied by financialspeculations--operations that were no doubt made necessary by the styleof living commented on by his cousin, Madame de Monredon, who was asstingy as she was bitter of tongue. The elegance that she found faultwith was, however, very far from being great when compared with theluxury of the present day. Of course, the Baronne had to have herhorses, her opera-box, her fashionable frocks. To supply these verymoderate needs, which, however, she never insisted upon, being, so faras words went, most simple in her tastes, M. De Nailles, who had not thetemperament which makes men find pleasure in hard work, became moreand more fatigued. His days were passed in the Chamber, but he neverneglected his interest on the Bourse; in the evening he accompanied hisyoung wife into society, which, she always declared, she did not carefor, but which had claims upon her nevertheless. It was therefore notsurprising that M. De Nailles's face showed traces of the habitualfatigue that was fast aging him; his tall, thin form had acquired aslight stoop; though only fifty he was evidently in his declining years. He had once been a man of pleasure, it was said, before he enteredpolitics. He had married his first wife late in life. She was a prudentwoman who feared to expose him to temptation, and had kept him as far aspossible away from Paris. In the country, having nothing to do, he became interested inagriculture, and in looking after his estate at Grandchaux. He had beenmade a member of the Conseil General, when unfortunately death tooearly deprived him of the wise and gentle counsellor for whom hefelt, possibly not a very lively love, but certainly a high esteem andaffection. After he be came a widower he met in the Pyrenees, where, ashe was whiling away the time of seclusion proper after his loss, a younglady who appeared to him exactly the person he needed to bring up hislittle daughter--because she was extremely attractive to himself. Ofcourse M. De Nailles found plenty of other reasons for his choice, whichhe gave to the world and to himself to justify his second marriage--butthis was the true reason and the only one. His friends, however, allof whom had urged on him the desirability of taking another wife, inconsideration of the age of Jacqueline, raised many objections as soonas he announced his intention of espousing Mademoiselle Clotilde Hecker, eldest daughter of a man who had been, at one time, a prefect underthe Empire, but who had been turned out of office by the RepublicanGovernment. He had a large family and many debts; but M. De Nailles hadsome answer always ready for the objections of his family and friends. He was convinced that Mademoiselle Hecker, having no fortune, would beless 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 beautiespainted by Greuze, plenty of audacious wit, and a delicate complexion, due to her Alsatian origin--had she not possessed a slender waist anda lovely figure, he might have asked himself why a young lady who, inwinter, studied painting with the commendable intention of making herown living by art, passed the summers at all the watering-places ofFrance and those of neighboring countries, without any perceptiblemotive. But, thanks to the bandage love ties over the eyes of men, he saw onlywhat Mademoiselle Clotilde was willing that he should see. In the firstplace he saw the great desirability of a talent for painting which, unlike music--so often dangerous to married happiness--gives women whocultivate it sedentary interests. And then he was attracted by the modeldaughter's filial piety as he beheld her taking care of her mother, whowas the victim of an incurable disorder, which required her by turns toreside at Cauterets, or sometimes at Ems, sometimes at Aix in Savoy, and sometimes even at Trouville. The poor girl had assured him thatshe asked no happier lot than to live eight months of the year in thecountry, where she would devote herself to teaching Jacqueline, for whomat first sight she had taken a violent fancy (the attraction indeed wasmutual). She assured him she would teach her all she knew herself, andher diplomas proved how well educated she had been. Indeed, it seemed as if only prejudice could find any objection to soprudent and reasonable a marriage, a marriage contracted principally forthe good of Jacqueline. It came to pass, however, that the air of Grandchaux, which is situatedin the most unhealthful part of Limouzin, proved particularly hurtful tothe new Madame de Nailles. She could not live a month on her husband'sproperty without falling into a state of health which she attributed tomalaria. M. De Nailles was at first much concerned about the conditionof things which seemed likely to upset all his plans for retirement inthe country, but, his wife having persuaded him that his position inthe Conseil General was only a stepping-stone to a seat in the CorpsLegislatif, where his place ought to be, he presented himself to theelectors as a candidate, and was almost unanimously elected deputy, theconservative 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 ofthe election, employing in her husband's service all those little artswhich enable her sex to succeed in politics, as well as in everythingelse they set their minds to. No lady ever more completely turned theheads of country electors. It was really Madame de Nailles who took herseat 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 herpopularity, though, with touching resignation, she frequently offered tospend the summer at Grandchaux, even if the consequences should beher 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 theirsettling down as residents of Paris. Madame de Nailles superintendedthe instruction of her stepdaughter with motherly solicitude, seconded, however, by a 'promeneuse', or walking-governess, which left her free tofulfil her own engagements in the afternoons. The walking-governess isa singular modern institution, intended to supply the place of thetoo often inconvenient daily governess of former times. The necessaryqualifications of such a person are that she should have sturdy legs, and such knowledge of some foreign language as will enable her duringtheir walks to converse in it with her pupil. Fraulein Schult, whocame from one of the German cantons of Switzerland, was an ideal'promeneuse'. She never was tired and she was well-informed. The numberof things that could be learned from her during a walk was absolutelyincredible. Madame de Nailles, therefore, after a time, gave up to her, not withoutapparent regret, the duty of accompanying Jacqueline, while she herselffulfilled those duties to society which the most devoted of mothers cannot wholly avoid; but the stepmother and stepdaughter were always to beseen together at mass at one o'clock; together they attended the Cours(that system of classes now so much in vogue) and also the weeklyinstruction given in the catechism; and if Madame de Nailles, when, atnight, she told her husband all she had been doing for Jacqueline duringthe 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 MademoiselleSchult was to call for her, " M. De Nailles showed no disposition to askquestions, for he well understood that his wife felt a certain delicacyin telling him that she had been to pay a brief visit to her ownrelatives, who, she knew, were distasteful to him. He had, indeed, verysoon discerned in them a love of intrigue, a desire to get the most theycould out of him, and a disagreeable propensity to parasitism. With theconsummate tact she showed in everything she did, Madame de Nailles kepther own family in the background, though she never neglected them. Shewas always doing them little services, but she knew well that therewere certain things about them that could not but be disagreeable toher husband. M. De Nailles knew all this, too, and respected his wife'saffection for her family. He seldom asked her where she had been duringthe day. If he had she would have answered, with a sigh: "I went to seemy mother while Jacqueline was taking her dancing-lesson, and before shewent to her singing-master. " That she was passionately attached to Jacqueline was proved by theaffection the little girl conceived for her. "We two are friends, " bothmother and daughter often said of each other. Even Modeste, old Modeste, who had been at first indignant at seeing a stranger take the place ofher dead mistress, could not but acknowledge that the usurper was noordinary step mother. It might have been truly said that Madame deNailles had never scolded Jacqueline, and that Jacqueline had never doneanything contrary to the wishes of Madame de Nailles. When anything wentwrong it was Fraulein Schult who was reproached first; if there wasany difficulty in the management of Jacqueline, she alone receivedcomplaints. In the eyes of the "two friends, " Fraulein Schult wassomehow to be blamed for everything that went wrong in the family, but between themselves an observer might have watched in vain for thesmallest cloud. Madame de Nailles, when she was first married, couldnot make enough of the very ugly yet attractive little girl, whose tightblack curls and gypsy face made an admirable contrast to her own moredelicate style of beauty, which was that of a blonde. She caressedJacqueline, she dressed her up, she took her about with her like alittle dog, and overwhelmed her with demonstrations of affection, which served not only to show off her own graceful attitudes, but gavespectators a high opinion of her kindness of heart. When from time to time some one, envious of her happiness, pitied herfor being childless, Madame de Nailles would say: "What do you mean? Ihave one daughter; she is enough for me. " It is a pity children grow so fast, and that little girls who were onceugly sometimes develop into beautiful young women. The time came whenthe model stepmother began to wish that Jacqueline would only developmorally, intellectually, and not physically. But she showed nothing ofthis in her behavior, and replied to any compliments addressed to herconcerning Jacqueline with as much maternal modesty as if the dawningloveliness of her stepdaughter had been due to herself. "Her nose is rather too long-don't you think so? And she will always betoo dark, I fear. " But she used always to add, "She is good enough andpretty enough to pass muster with any critic--poor little pussy-cat!"She became desirous to discover some tendency to ill-health in the plantthat was too ready to bloom into beauty and perfection. She would haveliked to be able to assert that Jacqueline's health would not permit herto sit up late at night, that fashionable hours would be injurious toher, that it would be undesirable to let her go into society as long asshe could be kept from doing so. But Jacqueline persisted in never beingill, and was calculating with impatience how many years it would bebefore she could go to her first ball--three or four possibly. WasMadame de Nailles in three or four years to be reduced to the positionof a chaperon? The young stepmother thought of such a possibility withhorror. Her anxiety on this subject, however, as well as severalother anxieties, was so well concealed that even her husband suspectednothing. The complete sympathy which existed between the two beings he most lovedmade M. De Nailles very happy. He had but one thing to complain of inhis wife, and that thing was very small. Since she had married she hadcompletely given up her painting. He had no knowledge of art himself, and had therefore given her credit for great artistic capacity. The factwas that in her days of poverty she had never been artist enough to makea living, and now that she was rich she felt inclined to laugh at herown limited ability. Her practice of art, she said, had only served togive her a knowledge of outline and of color; a knowledge she utilizedin her dress and in the smallest details of house decoration andfurniture. Everything she wore, everything that surrounded her, wasarranged to perfection. She had a genius for decoration, for furniture, for trifles, and brought her artistic knowledge to bear even on thetying of a ribbon, or the arrangement of a nosegay. "This is all I retain of your lessons, " she said sometimes to HubertMarien, when recalling to his memory the days in which she sought hisadvice 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, childlikehands? How absurd! She laughed at the idea now, and all those who heardher laughed with her; Marien laughed more than any one. He, who hadbefriended her in her days of adversity, seemed to retain for theBaroness in her prosperity the same respectful and discreet devotion hehad shown her as Mademoiselle Hecker. He had sent a wonderful portraitof her, as the wife of M. De Nailles, to the Salon--a portrait that thericher electors of Grandchaux, who had voted for her husband and whocould afford to travel, gazed at with satisfaction, congratulatingthemselves that they had a deputy who had married so pretty a woman. Iteven seemed as if the beauty of Madame de Nailles belonged in some sortto the arrondissement, so proud were those who lived there of havingtheir share in her charms. Another portrait--that of M. De Nailles himself--was sent down toLimouzin from Paris, and all the peasants in the country round wereinvited to come and look at it. That also produced a very favorableimpression on the rustic public, and added to the popularity of theirdeputy. Never had the proprietor of Grandchaux looked so grave, sodignified, so majestic, so absorbed in deep reflection, as he lookedstanding beside a table covered with papers--papers, no doubt, allhaving relation to local interests, important to the public and toindividuals. It was the very figure of a statesman destined to highdignities. No one who gazed on such a deputy could doubt that one day hewould be in the ministry. It was by such real services that Marien endeavored to repay thefriendship and the kindness always awaiting him in the small house inthe Parc Monceau, where we have just seen Jacqueline eagerly offeringhim some spiced cakes. To complete what seemed due to the householdthere only remained to paint the curiously expressive features of thegirl at whom he had been looking that very day with more than ordinaryattention. 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 thissketch Madame de Nailles took pains should always be seen, but it boreno resemblance to the slender young girl who was on the eve of becoming, whatever might be done to arrest her development, a beautiful youngwoman. Jacqueline disliked to look at that picture. It seemed to do heran injury by associating her with her nursery. Probably that wasthe reason why she had been so pleased to hear Hubert Marien sayunexpectedly that she was now ready for the portrait which had beenoften joked about, every one putting it off to the period, alwaysremote, when "the may-pole" should have developed a pretty face andfigure. And now she was disquieted lest the idea of taking her picture, whichshe felt was very flattering, should remain inoperative in thepainter's brain. She wanted it carried out at once, as soon as possible. Jacqueline detested waiting, and for some reason, which she never talkedabout, the years that seemed so short and swift to her stepmother seemedto her to be terribly long. Marien himself had said: "There is a greatinterval between a dream and its execution. " These words had thrown coldwater on her sudden joy. She wanted to force him to keep his promise--topaint her portrait immediately. How to do this was the problem herlittle head, reclining on Madame de Nailles's lap after the departure oftheir visitors, had been endeavoring to solve. Should she communicate her wish to her indulgent stepmother, who forthe most part willed whatever she wished her to do? A vague instinct--aninstinct of some mysterious danger--warned her that in this case herfather 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 smokingtogether in the conservatory, after the usual little family dinner onWednesday 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 hiscigar 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 someday, " he said, with embarrassment. "Well! she would like that 'some day' to be now, and she has a reasonfor 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 intoher head that she would like to give her mamma a magnificent present--apresent that, of course, we shall unite to give her. For some time pastI 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 theportrait than he had had to be a deputy, until it had been put into hishead. But the women of his household, little or big, could persuade himinto 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 soentirely? I know you have your pictures ready for the Salon. " "Yes--of course--of course--but are you sure that Madame de Nailleswould approve of it?" "She will approve whatever I sanction, " said M. De Nailles, with as muchassurance as if he had been master in his domestic circle; "besides, wedon't intend to ask her. It is to be a surprise. Jacqueline is lookingforward to the pleasure it will give her. There is something verytouching to me in the affection of that little thing for--for hermother. " M. De Nailles usually hesitated a moment before saying thatword, as if he were afraid of transferring something still belonging tohis dead wife to another--that dead wife he so seldom remembered in anyother 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 Madamede Nailles?" "How can you doubt it?" said the Baron, with much astonishment. "Aportrait of her daughter!--done by a great master? However, of course, if we are putting you to any inconvenience--if you would rather notundertake 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 thatall the mystery that must attend on what you propose may put me to someembarrassment. 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 oftaking her to the Champs Elysees--or to walk elsewhere. " "But every day there will be concealments, falsehoods, deceptions. Ithink 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 thewhole responsibility. " "Then there is nothing more to be said. But do you think that Jacquelinewill keep the secret till the picture is done?" "You don't know little girls; they are all too glad to have something ofwhich 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 longermight seem strange to M. De Nailles. Besides, the matter, though in somerespects it gave him cause for anxiety, really excited an interest inhim. For some time past, though he had long known women and knew verylittle of mere girls, he had had his suspicions that a drama was beingenacted in Jacqueline's heart, a drama of which he himself was the hero. He amused himself by watching it, though he did nothing to promoteit. He was an artist and a keen and penetrating observer; he employedpsychology in the service of his art, and probably to that might havebeen attributed the individual character of his portraits--a quality tobe found in an equal degree only in those of Ricard. What particularly interested him at this moment was the assumedindifference of Jacqueline while her father was conducting thenegotiation which was of her suggestion. When they returned to the salonafter smoking she pretended not to be the least anxious to know theresult of their conversation. She sat sewing near the lamp, giving allher attention to the piece of lace on which she was working. Her fathermade her a sign which meant "He consents, " and then Marien saw that theneedle in her fingers trembled, and a slight color rose in her face--butthat was all. She did not say a word. He could not know that for a weekpast she had gone to church every time she took a walk, and had offereda prayer and a candle that her wish might be granted. How very anxiousand excited she had been all that week! The famous composition of whichshe had spoken to Giselle, the subject of which had so astonished theyoung girl brought up by the Benedictine nuns, felt the inspiration ofher emotion and excitement. Jacqueline was in a frame of mind which madereading those three masterpieces by three great poets, and ponderingthe meaning of their words, very dangerous. The poems did not affect herwith the melancholy they inspire in those who have "lived and loved, "but she was attracted by their tenderness and their passion. Certainlines she applied to herself--certain others to another person. The veryword love so often repeated in the verses sent a thrill through all herframe. She aspired to taste those "intoxicating moments, " those "swiftdelights, " those "sublime ecstasies, " those "divine transports"--all thebeautiful things, in short, of which the poems spoke, and which wereas yet unknown to her. How could she know them? How could she, after anexperience of sorrow, which seemed to her to be itself enviable, retainsuch 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 shehad already enjoyed. She was sure that for a long time past she hadloved. When had that love begun? She hardly knew. But it would last aslong as she might live. One loves but once. These personal emotions, mingling with the literary enchantments of thepoets, caused Jacqueline's pen to fly over her paper without effort, andshe produced a composition so far superior to anything she usually wrotethat it left the lucubrations of her companions far behind. M. Regis, the professor, said so to the class. He was enthusiastic about it, andgreatly surprised. Belle, who had been always first in this kind ofcomposition, was far behind Jacqueline, and was so greatly annoyed ather defeat that she would not speak to her for a week. On the otherhand Colette and Dolly, who never had aspired to literary triumphs, weremoved to tears when the "Study on the comparative merits of ThreePoems, 'Le Lac, ' 'Souvenir, ' and 'La Tristesse d'Olympio, '" signed"Mademoiselle de Nailles, " received the honor of being read aloud. Thisreading was followed by a murmur of applause, mingled with some hisseswhich may have proceeded from the viper of jealousy. But the papermade a sensation like that of some new scandal. Mothers and governesseswhispered together. Many thought that that little de Nailles hadexpressed sentiments not proper at her age. Some came to the conclusionthat M. Regis chose subjects for composition not suited to young girls. A committee waited on the unlucky professor to beg him to be moreprudent for the future. He even lost, in consequence of Jacqueline'ssuccess, one of his pupils (the most stupid one, be it said, in theclass), whose mother took her away, saying, with indignation, "One mightas well risk the things they are teaching at the Sorbonne!" This literary incident greatly alarmed Madame de Nailles! Of all thingsshe 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-oldchild; without any apparent cause, she grew gayer and gayer as the timeapproached for the execution of her plot. The evening before the day fixed on for the first sitting, Modeste, theelderly 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 herown foster-child, arrived at the studio of Hubert Marien in the Rue deProny, bearing a box which she said contained all that would be wantedby Mademoiselle. Marien had the curiosity to look into it. It containeda robe of oriental muslin, light as air, diaphanous--and so dazzlinglywhite that he remarked: "She will look like a fly in milk in that thing. " "Oh!" replied Modeste, with a laugh of satisfaction, "it is verybecoming to her. I altered it to fit her, for it is one of Madame'sdresses. Mademoiselle has nothing but short skirts, and she wanted to bepainted as a young lady. " "With the approval of her papa?" "Yes, of course, Monsieur, Monsieur le Baron gave his consent. But forthat I certainly should not have minded what the child said to me. " "Then, " replied Marien, "I can say nothing, " and he made ready for hissitter the next day, by turning two or three studies of the nude, whichmight have shocked her, with their faces to the wall. A foreign language can not be properly acquired unless the learner hasgreat opportunities for conversation. It therefore became a fixed habitwith Fraulein Schult and Jacqueline to keep up a lively stream of talkduring their walks, and their discourse was not always about the rain, the fine weather, the things displayed in the shop-windows, nor thehistorical monuments of Paris, which they visited conscientiously. What is near the heart is sure to come eventually to the surfacein continual tete-a-tete intercourse. Fraulein Schult, who was ofa sentimental temperament, in spite of her outward resemblance to agrenadier, was very willing to allow her companion to draw from herconfessions relating to an intended husband, who was awaiting her atBerne, and whose letters, both in prose and verse, were her comfort inher exile. This future husband was an apothecary, and the idea that hepounded out verses as he pounded his drugs in a mortar, and rolled outrhymes with his pills, sometimes inclined Jacqueline to laugh, but shelistened patiently to the plaintive outpourings of her 'promeneuse', because she wished to acquire a right to reciprocate by a fewhalf-confidences of her own. In her turn, therefore, she confided toFraulein Schult--moved much as Midas had been, when for his own reliefhe 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 beenable to think or feel, had taken possession of her inmost being--theidea 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 asplayfellows or comrades. Of course she considered Fred--Fred, forexample!--Frederic d'Argy--as a brother, but how different he was fromher ideal. Even young men of fashion--she had seen some of them onTuesdays--Raoul Wermant, the one who so distinguished himself as aleader in the 'german', or Yvonne's brother, the officer of chasseurs, who had gained the prize for horsemanship, and others besidesthese--seemed to her very commonplace by comparison. No!--he whom sheloved was a man in the prime of life, well known to fame. She didn'tcare 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 superiorto 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 thepassion of Bettina for Goethe--Fraulein Schult having told her thatstory simply with a view of interesting her in German conversation onlythe great man whose name she would not tell was not nearly so old asGoethe, and she herself was much less childish than Bettina. But, aboveall, it was his genius that attracted her--though his face, too, wasvery pleasing. And she went on to describe his appearance--tillsuddenly she stopped, burning with indignation; for she perceived that, notwithstanding the minuteness of her description, what she said wasconveying an idea of ugliness and not one of the manly beauty sheintended to portray. "He is not like that at all, " she cried. "He has such a beautifulsmile-a smile like no other I ever saw. And his talk is soamusing--and--" here Jacqueline lowered her voice as if afraid to beoverheard, "and I do think--I think, after all, he does love me--just alittle. " On what could she have founded such a notion? Good heaven!--it was onsomething that had at first deeply grieved her, a sudden coldness andreserve that had come over his manner to her. Not long before she hadread 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 shewas told how the high-minded hero, not being able, for grave reasons, toaspire 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. Englishnovels 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 allthings a man of honor. He must have perceived that his presence troubledher. He had possibly seen her when she stole a half-burned cigarettewhich he had left upon the table, a prize she had laid up with otherrelics--an old glove that he had lost, a bunch of violets he hadgathered 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 thatcigarette; that cigarette had compromised her. Then it was he must havesaid to himself that it was due to her parents, who had always shown himkindness, to surmount an attachment that could come to nothing--nothingat 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 seekout some way to give him encouragement, to give him to understand thatshe was not, after all, so far--so very far from being a young lady--oldenough to be married. How difficult it all was! All the more difficultbecause she was exceedingly afraid of him. It is not surprising that Fraulein Schult, after listening day afterday to such recitals, with all the alternations of hope and ofdiscouragement which succeeded one another in the mind of her precociouspupil, guessed, the moment that Jacqueline came to her, in a transportof joy, to ask her to go with her to the Rue de Prony, that the hero ofthe mysterious love-story was no other than Hubert Marien. As soon as she understood this, she perceived that she should be placedin a very false position. But she thought to herself there was nopossible way of getting out of it, without giving a great deal too muchimportance to a very innocent piece of childish folly; she thereforedetermined to say nothing about it, but to keep a strict watch in themean time. After all, M. De Nailles himself had given her her orders. She was to accompany Jacqueline, and do her crochet-work in one cornerof 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, " saidJacqueline. And her father added, with a laugh, "Not a word. " Fraulein Schult feltthat she knew what was expected of her. She was naturally compliant, andabove all things she was anxious to get paid for as many hours of hertime as possible--much like the driver of a fiacre, because the moremoney she could make the sooner she would be in a position to espouseher apothecary. When Jacqueline, escorted by her Swiss duenna, penetrated almostfurtively into Marien's studio, her heart beat as if she had aconsciousness of doing something very wrong. In truth, she had picturedto herself so many impossible scenes beforehand, had rehearsed theprobable questions and answers in so many strange dialogues, had soothedher fancy with so many extravagant ideas, that she had at last created, bit by bit, a situation very different from the reality, and then threwherself into it, body and soul. The look of the atelier--the first she had ever been in in herlife--disappointed her. She had expected to behold a gorgeous collectionof bric-a-brac, according to accounts she had heard of the studios ofseveral celebrated masters. That of Marien was remarkable only for itsvast dimensions and its abundance of light. Studies and sketches hung onthe walls, were piled one over another in corners, were scatteredabout everywhere, attesting the incessant industry of the artist, whosedevotion to his calling was so great that his own work never satisfiedhim. Only some interesting casts from antique bronzes, brought out intostrong relief by a background of tapestry, adorned this lofty hall, which had none of that confusion of decorative objects, in the midst ofwhich 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 hisapartment, and that at that moment, with the tips of her fingers, shewas 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 hisgrudges against Jacqueline for insisting on having her portrait paintedthat it obliged him to lay aside this really great work, that he mightpaint a likeness. "In ten minutes I shall be ready, " said Jacqueline, obediently takingoff her hat. "Why can't you stay as you are? That jacket suits you. Let us beginimmediately. " "No, indeed! What a horrid suggestion!" she cried, running up to the boxwhich was half open. "You'll see how much better I can look in a momentor two. " "I put no faith in your fancies about your toilette. I certainly don'tpromise 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 ofirony. "Just done, " replied a low voice, which trembled. He went in, and to the great amusement of Fraulein Schult, who was nottoo 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 touchedby some fairy's wand? Or, to accomplish such a transformation, hadnothing been needed but the substitution of a woman's dress, fittedto her person, for the short skirts and loose waists cut in a boyishfashion, which had made the little girl seem hardly to belong to anysex, an indefinite being, condemned, as it were, to childishness? Howtall, and slender, and graceful she looked in that long gown, the foldsof which fell from her waist in flowing lines, a waist as round andflexible as the branch of a willow; what elegance there was in hermodest corsage, which displayed for the first time her lovely arms andneck, half afraid of their own exposure. She still was not robust, but the leanness that she herself had owned to was not brought intoprominence by any bone or angle, her dark skin was soft and polished, the color of ancient statues which have been slightly tinted yellow byexposure to the sun. This girl, a Parisienne, seemed formed on the modelof a figurine of Tanagra. Greek, too, was her small head, crowned onlyby her usual braid of hair, which she had simply gathered up so as toshow the nape of her neck, which was perhaps the most beautiful thing inall her beautiful person. "Well!--what do you think of me?" she said to Marien, with a searchingglance to see how she impressed him--a glance strangely like that of agrown woman. "Well!--I can't get over it!--Why have you bedizened yourself in thatfashion?" he asked, with an affectation of 'brusquerie', as he tried torecover his power of speech. "Then you don't like me?" she murmured, in a low voice. Tears came intoher 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 disconcertsme. Give me time to get used to her. But once again let me ask, whatpossessed you to disguise yourself?" "I am not disguised. I am disguised when I am forced to wear thosethings, which do not suit me, " said Jacqueline, pointing to her grayjacket and plaid skirt which were hung up on a hat-rack. "Oh, I know whymamma keeps me like that--she is afraid I should get too fond of dressbefore I have finished my education, and that my mind may be divertedfrom serious subjects. It is no doubt all intended for my good, but Ishould not lose much time if I turned up my hair like this, and whatharm could there be in lengthening my skirts an inch or two? My picturewill show her that I am improved by such little changes, and perhaps itwill induce hor to let me go to the Bal Blanc that Madame d'Etaples isgoing to give on Yvonne's birthday. Mamma declined for me, saying I wasnot 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 thecollar-bones that Dolly shows, for instance--but Dolly looks stouterthan I because her face is so round. Well! Dolly is going to Madamed'Etaples's ball. " "I grant, " said Marien, devoting all his attention to the preparationof his palette, that she might not see him laugh, "I grant that you havebones--yes, many bones--but they are not much seen because they are toowell 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 fromher first shock, and was now ready to talk; "it is the dress mamma hadmade 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 oneinstant he paused. Madame de Nailles, among other talents, possessedthat of amateur acting. On one occasion, several years before, she hadasked his advice concerning what dress she should wear in a little playof Scribe's, which was to be given at the house of Madame d'Avrigny--thehouse in all Paris most addicted to private theatricals. Thisreproduction of a forgotten play, with its characters attired in thecostume of the period in which the play was placed, had had greatsuccess, a success due largely to the excellence of the costumes. In thecomic parts the dressing had been purposely exaggerated, but Madame deNailles, who played the part of a great coquette, would not have beendressed in character had she not tried to make herself as bewitching aspossible. Marien had shown her pictures of the beauties of 1840, painted byDubufe, and she had decided on a white gauze embroidered with gold, inwhich, on that memorable evening, she had captured more than one heart, and which had had its influence on the life and destiny of Marien. Thismight have been seen in the vague glance of indignation with which henow regarded it. "Never, " he thought, "was it half so pretty when worn by Madame deNailles as by her stepdaughter. " Jacqueline meantime went on talking. "You must know--I was rather perplexed what to do--almost all mamma'sgowns made me look horribly too old. Modeste tried them on me one afteranother. We burst out laughing, they seemed so absurd. And then we wereafraid mamma might chance to want the one I took. This old thing it wasnot likely she would ask for. She had worn it only once, and then putit 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 lookless dark in it, and that the dress was of no particular date, which wasalways an advantage. These Grecian dresses are always in the fashion. Ah! four years ago mamma was much more slender than she is now. But wehave taken it in--oh! we took it in a great deal under the arms, but wehad to let it down. Would you believe it?--I am taller than mamma--butyou can hardly see the seam, it is concealed by the gold embroidery. " "No matter for that. We shall only take a three-quarters' length, " saidMarien. "Oh, what a pity! No one will see I have a long skirt on. But I shallbe 'decolletee', at any rate. I shall wear a comb. No one would know thepicture 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 agood idea!" "Amazed, I do not doubt, " said Marien, somewhat anxiously. "But supposewe take our pose--Stay!--keep just as you are. Your hands before you, hanging down--so. Your fingers loosely clasped--that's it. Turn yourhead 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 thestudio, busy with her crochet. "You see, " said the look, "that he hasfound out I am pretty--that I am worth something--all the rest will soonhappen. " And, while Marien was sketching in the graceful figure that posed beforehim, Jacqueline's imagination was investing it with the white robe of abride. She had a vision of the painter growing more and more resolvedto ask her hand in marriage as the portrait grew beneath his brush; ofcourse, her father would say at first: "You are mad--you must wait. I shall not let Jacqueline marry till she is seventeen. " But longengagements, she had heard, had great delights, though in France theyare not the fashion. At last, after being long entreated, she was surethat M. And Madame de Nailles would end by giving their consent--theywere so fond of Marien. Standing there, dreaming this dream, which gaveher face an expression of extreme happiness, Jacqueline made a mostadmirable model. She had not felt in the least fatigued when Marien atlast said to her, apologetically: "You must be ready to drop--I forgotyou were not made of wood; we will go on to-morrow. " Jacqueline, having put on her gray jacket with as much contempt forit as Cinderella may have felt for her rags after her successes at theball, departed with the delightful sensation of having made a bold firststep, and being eager to make another. Thus it was with all her sittings, though some left her anxious andunhappy, as for instance when Marien, absorbed in his work, had notpaused, except to say, "Turn your head a little--you are losing thepose. " 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 wearinga scowl, his chin on his breast, a deep frown upon his forehead, onwhich the hair grew low. It was evident that at such times he had nothought of pleasing her. Little did she suspect that he was saying tohimself: "Fool that I am!--A man of my age to take pleasure in seeingthat little head filled with follies and fancies of which I am theobject. But can one--let one be ever so old--always act--or thinkreasonably? You are mad, Marien! A child of fourteen! Bah!--they makeher out to be fourteen--but she is fifteen--and was not that the age ofJuliet? But, you old graybeard, you are not Romeo!--'Ma foi'! I am in apretty 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 ofHubert Marien. He had seen enough in his relations with women to haveno doubt about Jacqueline's feelings, of which indeed he had watchedthe rise and progress from the time she had first begun to conceivea passion for him, with a mixture of amusement and conceit. The mostcautious of men are not insensible to flattery, whatever form it maytake. To be fallen in love with by a child was no doubt absurd--a thingto be laughed at--but Jacqueline seemed no longer a child, since for himshe had uncovered her young shoulders and arranged her dark hair onher head with the effect of a queenly diadem. Not only had her dawningloveliness been revealed to him alone, but to him it seemed that he hadhelped to make her lovely. The innocent tenderness she felt for him hadaccomplished this miracle. Why should he refuse to inhale an incenseso 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 wheneverhe pleased? But till then might he not bask in it, as one does in a warmray of spring sunshine? He put aside, therefore, all scruples. And whenhe did this Jacqueline with rapture saw the painter's face, no longerwith its scowl, but softened by some secret influence, the linessmoothed from his brow, while the beautiful smile which had fascinatedso many women passed like a ray of light over his expressive mobilefeatures; then she would once more fancy that he was making love to her, and indeed he said many things, which, without rousing in himself anyscruples of conscience, or alarming the propriety of Fraulein Schult, were well calculated to delude a girl who had had no experience, and whowas charmed by the illusions of a love-affair, as she might have been bya 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 thischange of behavior produced on Jacqueline only the same effect thatthe caprices of a coquette produce upon a very young admirer. She grewanxious, she wanted to find out the reason, and finally found someexplanation or excuse for him that coincided with her fancies. The thing that reassured her in such cases was her picture. If she couldseem to him as beautiful as he had made her look on canvas she was surethat he must love her. "Is this really I? Are you sure?" she said to Marien with a laugh ofdelight. "It seems to me that you have made me too handsome. " "I have hardly done you justice, " he replied. "It is not my fault ifyou are more beautiful than seems natural, like the beauties in thekeepsakes. By the way, I hold those English things in horror. What doyou say of them?" Then Jacqueline undertook to defend the keepsake beauties withanimation, declaring that no one but a hopelessly realistic painterwould refuse to do justice to those charming monstrosities. "Good heavens!" thought Marien, "if she is adding a quick wit to herother charms--that will put the finishing stroke to me. " When the portrait was sufficiently advanced, M. De Nailles came to thestudio to judge of the likeness. He was delighted: "Only, my friend, Ithink, " he cried to Marien, endeavoring to soften his one objectionto the picture, "that you have given her a look--how can I put it?--anexpression very charming no doubt, but which is not that ofa child of her age. You know what I mean. It is somethingtender--intense--profound, too feminine. It may come to her some day, perhaps--but hitherto Jacqueline's expression has been generally that ofa merry, mischievous child. " "Oh, papa!" cried the young girl, stung by the insult. "You may possibly be right, " Marien hastened to reply, "it was probablythe 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 precociousair which her father attributed to her, when standing before him shegave herself up to thoughts the current of which he followed easily, watching on her candid face its changes of expression. How could hehave painted her other than she appeared to him? Was what he saw anapparition--or was it a work of magic? Several times during the sittings M. De Nailles made his appearancein the studio, and after greatly praising the work, persisted in hisobjection that it made Jacqueline too old. But since the painter sawher thus they must accept his judgment. It was no doubt an effect of thegrown-up costume that she had had a fancy to put on. "After all, " he said to Jacqueline, "it is of not much consequence; youwill grow up to it some of these days. And I pay you my compliments inadvance on your appearance in the future. " She felt like choking with rage. "Oh! is it right, " she thought, "forparents to persist in keeping a young girl forever in her cradle, so tospeak?" CHAPTER IV. A DANGEROUS MODEL Time passed too quickly to please Jacqueline. Her portrait was finishedat last, notwithstanding the willingness Marien had shown--or so itseemed to her--to retouch it unnecessarily that she might again andagain come back to his atelier. But it was done at last. She glided intothat dear atelier for the last time, her heart big with regret, withno hope that she would ever again put on the fairy robe which had, shethought, transfigured her till she was no longer little Jacqueline. "I want you only for one moment, and I need only your face, " saidMarien. "I want to change--a line--I hardly know what to call it, atthe 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, ormerely, if you like, of the satisfaction it will give you to be donewith these everlasting sittings--to be no longer obliged to bear theburden 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 thereever was a cat who, while playing with its mouse, had no intentionof crunching it. "You are not merry, you are sad. That is not at allbecoming to you. " "Why do you attribute to me your own thoughts? It is you who will beglad to get rid of all this trouble. " Fraulein Schult, who, while patiently adding stitch after stitch to thelong strip of her crochet-work, was often much amused by the dialoguesbetween sitter and painter, pricked up her ears to hear what a Frenchmanwould say to what was evidently intended to provoke a compliment. "On the contrary, I shall miss you very much, " said Marien, quitesimply; "I have grown accustomed to see you here. You have become one ofthe 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 hurttone, 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 feelingis different, " she went on impetuously, "I could pass my whole lifewatching 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--ahorror. " "I should like it, " she cried, with conviction. "But you would not like my bad temper. If you knew how ill I canbehave sometimes! I can scold, I can become unbearable, when this, forexample, " here he pointed with his mahlstick to the Savonarola, "doesnot please me. " "But it is beautiful--so beautiful!" "It is detestable. I shall have to go back some day and renew myimpressions of Florence--see once more the Piazze of the Signora andSan Marco--and then I shall begin my picture all over again. Let us gotogether--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 abore as to travel with people who are pervaded by one idea, and my'idee fixe' is my picture--my great Dominican. He has taken completepossession 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 fifteenthcentury, " replied Hubert Marien, half seriously. "Ouf!--There! it isdone at last. That dimple I never could manage I have got in for betteror for worse. Now you may fly off. I set you at liberty--you poor littlething!" She seemed in no hurry to profit by his permission. She stood perfectlystill in the middle of the studio. "Do you think I have posed well, faithfully, and with docility all theseweeks?" she asked at last. "I will give you a certificate to that effect, if you like. No one couldhave done better. " "And if the certificate is not all I want, will you give me some otherpresent?" "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 isthis 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 containsnothing 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 herdown the staircase leading to his dining-room. Fraulein Schult would have liked to go with them--it was, besides, herduty. 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 shoulderswhich meant: "She can't come to much harm. " Seated in the studio, she heard the sound of their voices on the floorbelow. Jacqueline was lingering in the fencing-room where Marien was inthe habit of counteracting by athletic exercises the effects of a toosedentary life. She was amusing herself by fingering the dumb-bells andthe foils; she lingered long before some precious suits of armor. Thenshe was taken up into a small room, communicating with the atelier, where there was a fine collection of drawings by the old masters. "Myonly luxury, " said Marien. Mademoiselle Schult, getting impatient, began to roll up yards andyards of crochet, and coughed, by way of a signal, but rememberinghow disagreeable it would have been to herself to be interrupted ina tete-a-tete with her apothecary, she thought it not worth while todisturb them in these last moments. M. De Nailles's orders had been thatshe was to sit in the atelier. So she continued to sit there, doing whatshe had been told to do without any qualms of conscience. When Marien had shown Jacqueline all his drawings he asked her: "Are yousatisfied?" But Jacqueline's hand was already on the portiere which separated thelittle 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 somelittle 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, slippinginto it as she spoke, with an exciting consciousness of doing somethingshe 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 byan impulse of modesty men sometimes feel, when innocence is led intoaudacity through ignorance. "What lovely flowers you have!" said Jacqueline, from within. "Don'tthey 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 wasanxious to get her away. "Would it not be nicer if you gave it me yourself?" she replied, withreproach in her tones. "Here is one, Mademoiselle. And now I must tell you that I want todress. I have to go out immediately. " She pinned the pink into her bodice so high that she could inhale itsperfume. "I beg your pardon. Thank you, and good-by, " she said, extending herhand 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 strangeexpression, to which, without exactly knowing why, he replied bypressing his lips fervently on the little hand he was still holding inhis own. Very often since her infancy he had kissed her before witnesses, butthis time she gave a little cry, and turned as white as the flower whosepetals were touching her cheek. Marien started back alarmed. "Good-by, " he said in a tone that he endeavored to make careless--but invain. Though she was much agitated herself she failed not to remark hisemotion, and on the threshold of the atelier, she blew a kiss back tohim from the tips of her gloved fingers, without speaking or smiling. Then she went back to Fraulein Schult, who was still sitting in theplace where she had left her, and said: "Let us go. " The next time Madame de Nailles saw her stepdaughter she was dazzled bya 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 Ihave won a victory. " "How so? Over yourself?" "No, indeed--victories over one's self give us the comfort of a goodconscience, 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, " saidJacqueline, throwing herself into her mother's arms. Madame de Nailles asked no more questions, but she looked at herstepdaughter with an air of great surprise. For some weeks past she hadhad no pleasure in looking at Jacqueline. She began to be aware thatnear her, at her side, an exquisite butterfly was about for the firsttime to spread its wings--wings of a radiant loveliness, which, when they fluttered in the air, would turn all eyes away from otherbutterflies, which had lost some of their freshness during the summer. A difficult task was before her. How could she keep this too precociousinsect in its chrysalis state? How could she shut it up in its darkcocoon and retard its transformation? "Jacqueline, " she said, and the tones of her voice were less soft thanthose in which she usually addressed her, "it seems to me that youare wasting your time a great deal. You hardly practise at all; you doalmost nothing at the 'cours'. I don't know what can be distracting yourattention from your lessons, but I have received complaints which shouldmake a great girl like you ashamed of herself. Do you know what I ambeginning to think?--That Madame de Monredon's system of education hasdone better than mine. " "Oh! mamma, you can't be thinking of sending me to a convent!" criedJacqueline, in tones of comic despair. "I did not say that--but I really think it might be good for you to makea retreat where your cousin Giselle is, instead of plunging into follieswhich 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 youngstepmother, dryly. CHAPTER V. SURPRISES In all other ways Madame de Nailles did her best to assist inthe success of the surprise. On the second of June, the eve ofSte. -Clotilde's day, she went out, leaving every opportunity for thegrand plot to mature. Had she not absented herself in like manner theyear before at the same date--thus enabling an upholsterer to drapeartistically her little salon with beautiful thick silk tapestries whichhad just been imported from the East? Her idea was that this year shemight find a certain lacquered screen which she coveted. The Baronessbelonged to her period; she liked Japanese things. But, alas! thecharming object that awaited her, with a curtain hung over it to prolongthe suspense, had nothing Japanese about it whatever. Madame de Naillesreceived the good wishes of her family, responded to them with allproper cordiality, and then was dragged up joyously to a picture hangingon the wall of her room, but still concealed under the cloth thatcovered 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 ofJacqueline!" And he uncovered the masterpiece of the great artist, expecting to bejoyous in the joy with which she would receive it. But something strangeoccurred. Madame de Nailles sprang back a step or two, stretching outher arms as if repelling an apparition, her face was distorted, her headwas turned away; then she dropped into the nearest seat and burst intotears. "Mamma!--dear little mamma!--what is it?" cried Jacqueline, springingforward 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, sherushed into her own chamber. Thither her husband followed her, anxiousand bewildered, and there he witnessed a nervous attack which ended in atorrent of reproaches: Was it possible that he had, not seen the impropriety of those sittingsto Marien? Oh, yes! No doubt he was an old friend of the family, butthat did not prevent all these deceptions, all these disguises, andall the other follies which he had sanctioned--he--Jacqueline'sfather!--from being very improper. Did he wish to take from her allauthority over his child?--a girl who was already too much disposed toemancipate herself. Her own efforts had all been directed to curb thisalarming propensity--yes, alarming--alarming for the future. And all invain! There was no use in saying more. 'Mon Dieu'! had he no trust inher devotion to his child, in her prudence and her foresight, that hemust thwart her thus? And she had always imagined that for ten years shehad faithfully fulfilled a mother's duties! What ingratitude from everyone! Mademoiselle Schult should be sent away at once. Jacqueline shouldgo to a convent. They would break off all intercourse with Marien. Theyhad conspired against her--every one. And then she wept more bitterly than ever--tears of rage, salt tearswhich rubbed the powder off her cheeks and disfigured the face that hadremained beautiful by her power of will and self-control. But now thedisorder of her nerves got the better of precautions. The blondeangel, whose beauty was on the wane, was transformed into a fury. Her six-and-thirty years were fully apparent, her complexion appearedslightly blotched, all her defects were obtrusive in contrast with theprecocious development of beauty in Jacqueline. She was firmly resolvedthat her stepdaughter's obtrusive womanhood should remain in obscurity avery 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! anaffront! an outrage! Meantime M. De Nailles, almost beside himself, fancied at first thathis wife was going mad, but in the midst of her sobs and reproaches hemanaged to discover that he had somehow done her wrong, and when, witha broken voice, she cried, "You no longer love me!" he did not knowwhat to do to prove how bitterly he repented having grieved her. Hestammered, he made excuses, he owned that he had been to blame, that hehad 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 apretext for foolish compliments to Jacqueline. Why not send it at onceto Grandchaux? In short, he would do anything she wished, provided shewould leave off crying. But Madame de Nailles continued to weep. Her husband was forced at lastto leave her and to return to Jacqueline, who stood petrified in thesalon. "Yes, " he said, "your mamma is right. We have made a deplorable mistakein what we have done. Besides, you must know that this unlucky pictureis not in the least like you. Marien has made some use of your featuresto paint a fancy portrait--so we will let nobody see it. They mightlaugh at you. " In this way he hoped to repair the evil he had done in flattering hisdaughter's vanity, and promoting that dangerous spirit of independence, denounced to him a few minutes before, but of which, up to that time, hehad never heard. Jacqueline, in her turn, began to sob. Mademoiselle Schult had cause, too, to wipe her eyes, pretending a moreor less sincere repentance for her share in the deception. Vigorouslycross-questioned by Madame de Nailles, who called upon her to tell allshe knew, under pain of being dismissed immediately, she saw but one wayof retaining her situation, which was to deliver up Jacqueline, boundhand and foot, to the anger of her stepmother, by telling all she knewof the childish romance of which she had been the confidante. As areward she was permitted (as she had foreseen) to retain her place inthe character of a spy. It was a sad Ste. -Clotilde's day that year. Marien, who came in theevening, heard with surprise that the Baroness was indisposed and couldsee no one. For twelve days after this he continued in disgrace, beingrefused admittance when he called. Those twelve days were days ofanguish for Jacqueline. To see Marien no longer, to be treated withcoldness by her father, to see in the blue eyes of her stepmother--eyesso soft and tender when they looked upon her hitherto--only a harsh, mistrustful glare, almost a look of hatred, was a punishment greaterthan she could bear. What had she done to deserve punishment? Of whatwas she accused? She spoke of her wretchedness to Fraulein Schult, who, perfidiously, day after day, drew from her something to report to Madamede Nailles. That lady was somewhat consoled, while suffering torturesof jealousy, to know that the girl to whom these sufferings were due waspaying dearly for her fault and was very unhappy. On the twelfth day something occurred which, though it made no noise inthe household, had very serious consequences. The effect it producedon Jacqueline was decisive and deplorable. The poor child, aftergoing through all the states of mind endured by those who sufferunder unmerited disgrace--revolt, indignation, sulkiness, silentobstinacy--felt unable to bear it longer. She resolved to humbleherself, hoping that by so doing the wall of ice that had arisen betweenher stepmother and herself might be cast down. By this time she caredless to know of what fault she was supposed to be guilty than to betaken back into favor as before. What must she do to obtain forgiveness?Explanations are usually worthless; besides, none might be grantedher. She remembered that when she was a small child she had obtainedimmediate oblivion of any fault by throwing herself impulsively into thearms of her little mamma, and asking her to forget whatever she had doneto displease her, for she had not done it on purpose. She would do thesame thing now. Putting aside all pride and obstinacy, she would goto this mamma, who, for some days, had seemed so different. She wouldsmother her in kisses. She might possibly be repelled at first. Shewould 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 intoexecution. It was the time of day when Madame de Nailles was usuallyalone. Jacqueline went to her bedchamber, but she was not there, and amoment after she stood on the threshold of the little salon. There shestopped short, not quite certain how she should proceed, asking herselfwhat 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 ontiptoe, so that she can't hear me. I will slip behind her chair, andI will hug her suddenly, so tight, so tenderly, and kiss her till shetells 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 asshe was about to lift it, the sound of a voice within made her standmotionless. She recognized the tones of Marien. He was pleading, imploring, interrupted now and then by the sharp and still angry voiceof her mamma. They were not speaking above their breath, but if shelistened she could hear them, and, without any scruples of conscience, she did listen intently, anxious to see her way through the dark fog inwhich, for twelve days, she had wandered. "I do not go quite so far as that, " said Madame de Nailles, dryly. "Itis 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 hasgrown up under my very eyes? But, so far as I am concerned, she existsno longer. She is not, she never will be in my eyes, a woman. I shallthink 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 hasinspired you. You may say what you like, but I know that in all thisthere was a set purpose to insult me. " "Clotilde!" "In the first place, on no pretext ought you to have been induced topaint her portrait. " "Do you think so? Consider, had I refused, the danger of awakeningsuspicion? I accepted the commission most unwillingly, much put outby it, as you may suppose. But you are making too much of an imaginaryfault. Consign the wretched picture to the barn, if you like. We willnever say another word about so foolish a matter. You promise me toforget it, won't you?. .. Dear! you will promise me?" he added, after apause. Madame de Nailles sighed and replied: "If not she it will be some oneelse. I am very unhappy. .. . I am weak and contemptible. .. . " "Clotilde!" replied Marien, in an accent that went to Jacqueline's heartlike a knife. She fancied that after this she heard the sound of a kiss, and, withher cheeks aflame and her head burning, she rushed away. She understoodlittle of what she had overheard. She only realized that he hadgiven 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 womanshe had so adored, so venerated, her best friend, her father's wife, her mother by adoption! Everything in this world seemed to be givingway under her feet. The world was full of falsehood and of treason, andlife, so bad, so cruel, was no longer what she had supposed it to be. Ithad broken its promise to herself, it had made her bad--bad forever. Sheloved no one, she believed in no one. She wished she were dead. How she reached her own room in this state Jacqueline never knew. Shewas aware at last of being on her knees beside her bed, with her facehidden in the bed-clothes. She was biting them to stifle her desire toscream. Her hands were clenched convulsively. "Mamma!" she cried, "mamma!" Was this a reproach addressed to her she had so long called by thatname? 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 realtruth from what she had overheard. But she had learned enough to be nolonger the pure-minded young girl of a few hours before. It seemed toher as if a fetid swamp now lay before her, barring her entrance intolife. Vague as her perceptions were, this swamp before her seemed moredeep, more dark, more dreadful from uncertainty, and Jacqueline feltthat thenceforward she could make no step in life without riskof falling into it. To whom now could she open her heart inconfidence--that heart bleeding and bruised as if it had been trampledone as if some one had crushed it? The thing that she now knew wasnot like her own little personal secrets, such as she had imprudentlyconfided to Fraulein Schult. The words that she had overheard she couldrepeat to no one. She must carry them in her heart, like the barb of anarrow in a secret wound, where they would fester and grow more painfulday by day. "But, above all, " she said at length, rising from her knees, "let meshow proper pride. " She bathed her fevered face in cold water, then she walked up to hermirror. As she gazed at herself with a strange interest, trying to seewhether the entire change so suddenly accomplished in herself had leftits visible traces on her features, she seemed to see something in hereyes that spoke of the clairvoyance of despair. She smiled at herself, to see whether the new Jacqueline could play the part, which--whethershe 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 sheremembered, as one remembers something in the far-off long ago, how thatvery morning, when she awoke, her first thought had been "Shall I seehim to-day?" Each day she passed without seeing him had seemed to her alost 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. Ofcourse, sometimes she had been unhappy, but what a difference it seemedbetween such vague unhappiness and what she now experienced? And then, when she was sad, she could always find a refuge in that dear mamma--inthat Clotilde whom she vowed she would never kiss again, except withsuch kisses as might be necessary to avoid suspicion. Kisses of thatkind were worth nothing. Quite the contrary! Could she kiss her fathernow without a pang? Her father! He had gone wholly over to the side ofthat other in this affair. She had seen him in one moment turn againstherself. No!--no one was left her!. .. If she could only lay her head inModeste's lap and be soothed while she crooned her old songs as in thenursery! But, whatever Marien or any one else might choose to say, shewas no longer a baby. The bitter sense of her isolation arose in her. She could hardly breathe. Suddenly she pressed her lips upon the glasswhich reflected her own image, so sad, so pale, so desolate. She put thepity 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, sheopened what seemed a safety-valve, preventing her from giving way to anyother emotion. She rushed for a little box which she had converted into a sort ofreliquary. She took out of it the half-burned cigarette, the old glove, the withered violets, and a visiting-card with his name, on which threeunimportant lines had been written. She insulted these keepsakes, shetore them with her nails, she trampled them underfoot, she reducedthem to fragments; she left nothing whatever of them, except a pile ofshreds, which at last she set fire to. She had a feeling as if she wereemployed in executing two great culprits, who deserved cruel torturesat her hands; and, with them, she slew now and forever the foolish fancyshe had called her love. By a strange association of ideas, the famouscomposition, so praised by M. Regis, came back to her memory, and shecried: "Je ne veux me souvenir. .. . Me souvenir de rien!" "If I remember, I shall be more unhappy. All has been a dream. Hislook 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 thatpink which is now in this pile of ashes. He was laughing when he told meI was more beautiful than was natural. Never have I been--never shall Ibe in his eyes--more than the baby he remembers playing with her doll. " And unconsciously, as Jacqueline said these words, she imitated thecareless accent with which she had heard them fall from the lips of theartist. And she would have again to meet him! If she had had thunder andlightning at her command, as she had had the match with which she hadset fire to the memorials of her juvenile folly, Marien would have beenannihilated 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 theadornments of her pretty bedchamber, so elegant, so original--all blueand pink, with a couch covered with silk embroidered with flowers. Sheseemed 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 avelvet stand, the picture of the Virgin that hung over her bed, with rosaries and palms entwined about it, the photographs of hergirl-friends standing on her writing table in pretty frames ofold-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 notsubmit to punishment. The best way to brave Madame de Nailles was, shethought, to affect great calmness and indifference, aye, even, if shecould, some gayety. But the task before her was more difficult than shehad expected. Apparently, as a proof of reconciliation, Marien had beenkept to dinner. To see him so soon again after his words of outrage wasmore than she could bear. For one moment the earth seemed to sink underher feet; she roused her pride by an heroic effort, and that sustainedher. 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 thatwomen who are thirty-five should never weep. She knew that her facehad not been made ugly by her tears, and this gave her a perversesatisfaction in the midst of her misery. Of Marien she thought: "Hesits there as if he had been put 'en penitence'. " No doubt he could notendure scenes, and the one he had just passed through must have givenhim 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 fettersof a connection which had long since ceased to charm had been fastenedon his wrists tighter than ever; and he thought: "I shall lose all myenergy, I shall lose even my talent! While I wear these chains I shallsee 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 seeit glide away, to let it vanish, disappear forever! And alas! that isnot all. If I have deceived an inexperienced heart by words spoken ordeeds done in a moment of weakness or temptation, can I flatter myselfthat I have acted like an honest man?" This is what Marien was really thinking, while Jacqueline looked athim with an expression she strove to make indifferent, but which heinterpreted, though she knew it not: "You have done me all the harm youcan. " M. De Nailles meantime went on talking, with little response from hiswife or his guest, about some vehement discussion of a new law goingon just then in the Chamber, and he became so interested in his owndiscourse 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 frompolitics. "That's good. But wait a little--let it be after the risingof the Chamber. We will follow your steps. It has been the desire of mywife's life--a little jaunt to Italy. Has it not, Clotilde? So we willall go in September or October. What say you?" "In September or October, whichever suits you, " said Marien, withdespair. 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 hadgiven 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 spokento 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! shehad believed serious: "Suppose we go together!" And her impulse to shed tears became so great, that when they left thedinner-table she escaped to her own room, under pretence of a headache. "Yes--you are looking wretchedly, " said her stepmother. And, turning toM. De Nailles, she added: "Don't you think, 'mon ami', she is as yellowas a quince!" Marien dared not press the hand which she, who had beenhis little friend for years, offered him as usual, but this time withrepugnance. "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 wasforced to stay in bed. The doctor who came to see her talked about "lowfever, " attributed it to too rapid growth, and prescribed sea-bathingfor her that summer. The fever, which was not very severe, was of greatservice to Jacqueline. It enabled her to recover in quiet from theeffects of a bitter deception. Madame de Nailles was not sufficiently uneasy about her to be alwaysat her bedside. Usually the sick girl stayed alone, with herwindow-curtains closed, lying there in the soft half-light that wassoothing to her nerves. The silence was broken at intervals by the voiceof Modeste, who would come and offer her her medicine. When Jacquelinehad taken it, she would shut her eyes, and resume, half asleep, her sadreflections. These were always the same. What could be the tie betweenher stepmother and Marien? She tried to recall all the proofs of friendship she had seen passbetween them, but all had taken place openly. Nothing that she couldremember seemed suspicious. So she thought at first, but as she thoughtmore, lying, feverish, upon her bed, several things, little noticed atthe time, were recalled to her remembrance. They might mean nothing, or they might mean much. In the latter case, Jacqueline could notunderstand them very well. But she knew he had called her "Clotilde, "that he had even dared to say "thou" to her in private--these werethings she knew of her own knowledge. Her pulse beat quicker as shethought of them; her head burned. In that studio, where she had passedso many happy hours, had Marien and her stepmother ever met as lovers? Her stepmother and Marien! She could not understand what it meant. Mustshe apply to them a dreadful word that she had picked up in the historybooks, where it had been associated with such women as Margaret ofBurgundy, Isabeau of Bavaria, Anne Boleyn, and other princesses of veryevil reputation? She had looked it out in the dictionary, where themeaning given was: "To be unfaithful to conjugal vows. " Even then shecould not understand precisely the meaning of adultery, and sheset herself to solve it during the long lonely days when she wasconvalescent. When she was able to walk from one room to another, shewandered in a loose dressing-gown, whose long, lank folds showed thatshe had grown taller and thinner during her illness, into the room thatheld the books, and went boldly up to the bookcase, the key of whichhad been left in the lock, for everybody had entire confidence inJacqueline's scrupulous honesty. Never before had she broken a promise;she knew that a well-brought-up young girl ought to read only suchbooks as were put into her hands. The idea of taking a volume from thoseshelves had no more occurred to her than the idea of taking money out ofsomebody's purse; that is, up to this moment it had not occurred to herto do so; but now that she had lost all respect for those in authorityover her, Jacqueline considered herself released from any obligationto obey them. She therefore made use of the first opportunity thatpresented itself to take down a novel of George Sand, which she hadheard spoken of as a very dangerous book, not doubting it would throwsome light on the subject that absorbed her. But she shut up the volumein a rage when she found that it had nothing but excuses to offer forthe fall of a married woman. After that, and guided only by chance, sheread a number of other novels, most of which were of antediluvian date, thus accounting, she supposed, for their sentiments, which she found oldfashioned. We should be wrong, however, if we supposed that Jacqueline'scrude judgment of these books had nothing in common with true criticism. Her only object, however, in reading all this sentimental prose was todiscover, as formerly she had found in poetry, something that applied toher own case; but she soon discovered that all the sentimental heroinesin the so-called bad books were persons who had had bad husbands;besides, they were either widows or old women--at least thirty yearsold! It was astounding! There was nothing--absolutely nothing--aboutyoung girls, except instances in which they renounced their hopes ofhappiness. What an injustice! Among these victims the two that mostattracted her sympathy were Madame de Camors and Renee Mauperin. Butwhat horrors surrounded them! What a varied assortment of deceptions, treacheries, and mysteries, lay hidden under the outward decency andrespectability of what men called "the world!" Her young head became astage on which strange plays were acted. What one reads is good or badfor us, according to the frame of mind in which we read it--accordingas we discover in a volume healing for the sickness of our souls--or thecontrary. In view of the circumstances in which she found herself, whatJacqueline 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 ofanxiety such as the first contact with a knowledge of evil might haveput into Eve's eyes after she had plucked the apple. Her investigationshad very imperfectly enlightened her. She was as much perplexed as ever, with some false ideas besides. When she was well again, however, shecontinued weak and languid; she felt somehow as if, she had come back toher old surroundings from some place far away. Everything about her nowseemed sad and unfamiliar, though outwardly nothing was altered. Herparents had apparently forgotten the unhappy episode of the picture. It had been sent away to Grandchaux, which was tantamount to its beingburied. Hubert Marien had resumed his habits of intimacy in the family. From that time forth he took less and less notice of Jacqueline--whetherit were that he owed her a grudge for all the annoyance she had been themeans of bringing upon him, or whether he feared to burn himself in theflame which had once scorched him more than he admitted to himself, whocan 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 hercousin Giselle at her convent. She did not seek this friend's societywhen she was happy and in a humor for amusement, for she thought her alittle straightlaced, or, as she said, too like a nun; but nobody couldcondole or sympathize with a friend in trouble like Giselle. It seemedas if nature herself had intended her for a Sister of Charity--a GraySister, as Jacqueline would sometimes call her, making fun ofher somewhat dull intellect, which had been benumbed, rather thanstimulated, by the education she had received. The Benedictine Convent is situated in a dull street on the left bankof the Seine, all gardens and hotels--that is, detached houses. Grass sprouted here and there among the cobblestones. There were nostreet-lamps and no policemen. Profound silence reigned there. Thepetals of an acacia, which peeped timidly over its high wall, dropped, like flakes of snow, on the few pedestrians who passed by it in thespringtime. The enormous porte-cochere gave entrance into a square courtyard, on oneside of which was the chapel, on the other, the door that led intothe convent. Here Jacqueline presented herself, accompanied by her oldnurse, Modeste. She had not yet resumed her German lessons, and wasstriving to put off as long as possible any intercourse with FrauleinSchult, who had known of her foolish fancy, and who might perhaps renewthe odious subject. Walking with Modeste, on the contrary, seemedlike going back to the days of her childhood, the remembrance of whichsoothed her like a recollection of happiness and peace, now very faraway; it was a reminiscence of the far-off limbo in which her youngsoul, pure and white, had floated, without rapture, but without anygreat grief or pain. The porteress showed them into the parlor. There they found severalpupils who were talking to members of their families, from whom theywere separated by a grille, whose black bars gave to those withinthe appearance of captives, and made rather a barrier to eagerdemonstrations of affection, though they did not hinder the reception ofgood 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 clothfrock than when she wore an ordinary walking-costume. Her fair hair wasdrawn back 'a la Chinoise' from a white forehead resembling that of aGerman Madonna; it was one of those foreheads, slightly and delicatelycurved, which phrenologists tell us indicate reflection and enthusiasm. But Giselle, without thanking Jacqueline for the chocolate, exclaimed atonce: "Mon Dieu! What has been the matter with you?" She spoke rather louder than usual, it being understood thatconversations were to be carried on in a low tone, so as not tointerfere with those of other persons. She added: "I find you soaltered. " "Yes--I have been ill, " said Jacqueline, carelessly, "sorrow has made meill, " she added, in a whisper, looking to see whether the nun, who wasdiscreetly keeping watch, walking to and fro behind the grille, mightchance to be listening. "Oh, ask me no questions! I must never tellyou--but for me, you must know--the happiness of my life is at anend--is at an end--" She felt herself to be very interesting while she was speaking thus; hersorrows were somewhat assuaged. There was undoubtedly a certain pleasurein letting some one look down into the unfathomable, mysterious depthsof a suffering soul. She had expected much curiosity on the part of Giselle, and had resolvedbeforehand 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 theconvent--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 tillshe had passed out of earshot, then she rapidly poured her secret intoJacqueline's ear. From a few words that had passed between her grandmother and Madamed'Argy, she had found out that Madame de Monredon intended to marry her. "But that need not make you unhappy, " said Jacqueline, "unless he isreally 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 ofour neighbors in the country. Grandmamma has several times spoken in mypresence of the advantage of uniting our two estates--they touch eachother--oh! I know her ideas! she wants a man well-born, one who has aposition in the world--some one, as she says, who knows something oflife--that is, I suppose, some one no longer young, and who has not muchhair 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 tastein such matters. "That's twice my age, " sighed Giselle. "Of course that would be dreadful if he were to stay always twice yourage--for instance, if you were now thirty-five, he would be seventy, anda hundred and twenty when you reached your sixtieth year--but reallyto be twice your age now will only make him seventeen years older thanyourself. " In the midst of this chatter, which was beginning to attract the noticeof the nun, they broke off with a laugh, but it was only one of thoselaughs 'au bout des levres', uttered by persons who have made up theirminds to be unhappy. Then Giselle went on: "I know nothing about him, you understand--but he frightens me. Itremble to think of taking his arm, of talking to him, of being hiswife. Just think even of saying thou to him!" "But married people don't say thou to each other nowadays, " saidJacqueline, "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 thedifficulty--you could say 'mon ami'. After all, your sorrows are lessthan mine. " "Poor Jacqueline!" said Giselle, her soft hazel eyes moist withsympathy. "I have lost at one blow all my illusions, and I have made ahorrible discovery, that it would be wicked to tell to any one--youunderstand--not even to my confessor. " "Heavens! but you could tell your mother!" "You forget, I have no mother, " replied Jacqueline in a tone whichfrightened her friend: "I had a dear mamma once, but she would enterless than any one into my sorrows; and as to my father--it would makethings worse to speak to him, " she added, clasping her hands. "Have youever 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 horridthat nun is, she stops always as she comes near us! Why can't she do asModeste does, and leave us to talk by ourselves?" It seemed indeed as if the Argus in a black veil had overheard part ofthis conversation, not perhaps the griefs of Jacqueline, which were notvery intelligible, but some of the words spoken by Giselle, for, drawingnear her, she said, gently: "We, too, shall all grieve to lose you, mydearest child; but remember one can serve God anywhere, and save one'ssoul--in the world as well as in a convent. " And she passed on, givinga kind smile to Jacqueline, whom she knew, having seen her several timesin the convent parlor, and whom she thought a nice girl, notwithstandingwhat she called her "fly-away airs"--"the airs they acquire from moderneducation, " 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 becomeserious. "Sometimes I think my place should have been among these ladieswho 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 mygrandmother. When grandmamma orders me I never shall dare to object, even if--But you must think me very selfish, my poor Jacqueline! I amtalking 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, thatI may be brought in safety through my troubles about which I have toldyou, and I will do the same for yours, about which you have not toldme. An exchange of prayers is the best foundation for a friendship, " sheadded; for Giselle had many little convent maxims at her fingers' ends, to which, when she uttered them, her sincerity of look and tone gave apersonal meaning. "You are right, " said Jacqueline, much moved. "It has done me good tosee you. Take this chocolate. " "And you must take this, " said Giselle, giving her a little illuminatedcard, 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. Ineed some exorcism. " And laughing at her use of this last word--the same little mirthlesslaugh that she had uttered before--Jacqueline went away, followed by theadmiring glances of the other girls, who from behind the bars of theircage noted the brilliant plumage of this bird who was at liberty. Shecrossed 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 toenlarge the little chancel, parted in two by a double grille, behindwhich the nuns could hear the service without being seen. The silence was so deep that the low murmur of a prayer could now andthen be heard. The worshipers might have fancied themselves a hundredleagues from all the noises of the world, which seemed to die out whenthey reached the convent walls. Jacqueline read, and re-read mechanically, the words printed in lettersof gold on the little card Giselle had given her. It was a symbolicalpicture, and very ugly; but the words were: "Oh! that I had wings like adove, for then would I flee away and be at rest. " "Wings!" she repeated, with vague aspiration. The aspiration seemed todisengage her from herself, and from this earth, which had nothing moreto offer her. Ah! how far away was now the time when she had enteredchurches, full of happiness and hope, to offer a candle that her prayermight be granted, which she felt sure it would be! All was vanity! Asshe gazed at the grille, behind which so many women, whose worldly liveshad been cut short, now lived, safe from the sorrows and temptationsof this world, Jacqueline seemed for the first time to understand whyGiselle regretted that she might not share forever the blessed peaceenjoyed in the convent. A torpor stole over her, caused by the dimness, the faint odor of the incense, and the solemn silence. She imaginedherself 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 acceptanything, provided the ungrateful pair, whom she would not name, couldfeel sorrow for her loss--maybe even remorse. Full of these ideas, whichcertainly had little in common with the feelings of those who seek toforgive those who trespass against them, Jacqueline continued to imagineherself a Benedictine sister, under the soothing influence of hersurroundings, just as she had mistaken the effects of physical weaknesswhen she was ill for a desire to die. Such feelings were the result of avoid which the whole universe, as she thought, never could fill, but itwas really a temporary vacuum, like that caused by the loss of a firsttooth. These teeth come out with the first jar, and nature intends themto be speedily replaced by others, much more permanent; but children crywhen they are pulled out, and fancy they are in very tight. Perhaps theysuffer, 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 youknow, Modeste, " she went on, when they got out of doors, "that I havealmost 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 seeonly appearances. Don't you think that a linen band over my foreheadwould be very becoming to me? I should look like Saint Theresa. " "And what would be the good of your looking like Saint Theresa, whenthere would be nobody to tell you so?" said Modeste, with the practicalgood-sense that never forsook her. "You would be beautiful for yourselfalone. You would not even be allowed a looking-glass just talk aboutthat fancy to Monsieur--we should soon see what he would say to such anotion. " M. De Nailles, having just left the Chamber, was crossing the Pont de laConcorde on foot at this moment. His daughter ran up to him, and caughthim by the arm. They walked homeward talking of very different thingsfrom bolts and bars. The Baron, who was a weak man, thought in his heartthat he had been too severe with his daughter for some time past. Ashe recalled what had taken place, the anger of Madame de Nailles inthe matter of the picture seemed to him to have been extreme andunnecessary. Jacqueline was just at an age when young girls are apt tobe nervous and impressionable; they had been wrong to be rough withone who was so sensitive. His wife was quite of his opinion, sheacknowledged (not wishing him to think too much on the subject) that shehad been too quick-tempered. "Yes, " she had said, frankly, "I am jealous; I want things to myself. Iown I was angry when I thought that Jacqueline was about to throw offmy authority, and hurt when I found she was capable of keeping up aconcealment--when I believed she was so open always with me. My behaviorwas foolish, I acknowledge. But what can we do? Neither of us can go andask her pardon?" "Of course not, " said the father, "all we can do is to treat her with alittle more consideration for the future; and, with your permission, Ishall use her illness as an excuse for spoiling her a little. " "You have carte blanche, my dear, I agree to everything. " So M. DeNailles, with his daughter's arm in his, began to spoil her, as he hadintended. "You are still rather pale, " he said, "but sea-bathing will change allthat. 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 wego? Your mamma seems to fancy Houlgate?" "Of course we must do what she wishes, " replied Jacqueline, ratherbitterly. "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 Madamed'Argy. " Jacqueline had felt much drawn to Madame d'Argy since her troubles, forshe had been the nearest friend of her own mother--her own dead mother, too long forgotten. The chateau of Madame d'Argy, called Lizerolles, wasonly 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 mightride 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 avictim. "The doctor thinks riding would be good for you, and you have timeenough yet to take some lessons. Mademoiselle Schult could take younine or ten times to the riding-school. And I will go with you the firsttime, " added M. De Nailles, in despair at not having been able toplease her. "To-day we will go to Blackfern's and order a habit--ariding-habit! Can I do more?" At this, as if by magic, whether she would or not, the lines of sadnessand 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 fittinghabit, secondly, to have the opportunity of showing how pretty she canbe 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 fashionableelegance--in Jacqueline's eyes. Her heart beat with pleasure when shethought how Belle and Dolly would envy her when she told them: "I havea myrtle-green riding-habit, just like Yvonne's. " She danced rather thanwalked as they went together to Blackfern's. A habit was much nicer thana long gown. A quarter of an hour later they were in the waiting-room, where the lastcreations of the great ladies' tailor, were displayed upon lay figures, among saleswomen and 'essayeuses', the very prettiest that could befound in England or the Batignolles, chosen because they showed off toperfection anything that could be put upon their shoulders, from theugliest to the most extravagant. Deceived by the unusual elegance ofthese beautiful figures, ladies who are neither young nor well-shapedallow themselves to be beguiled and cajoled into buying things notsuited to them. Very seldom does a hunchbacked dowager hesitate to putupon her shoulders the garment that draped so charmingly those of theliving statue hired to parade before her. Jacqueline could not helplaughing as she watched this way of hunting larks; and thought themirror might have warned them, like a scarecrow, rather than havetempted them into the snare. The head tailor of the establishment made them wait long enough toallow the pretty showgirls to accomplish their work of temptation. Theyfascinated Jacqueline's father by their graces and their glances, whileat the same time they warbled into his daughter's ear, with a slightlyforeign' accent: "That would be so becoming to Mademoiselle. " For ladies going to the seaside there were things of the most exquisitesimplicity: this white fur, trimmed with white velvet, for instance;that jacket like the uniform of a naval officer with a cap tomatch--"All to please Fred, " said Jacqueline, laughing. M. De Nailles, while they waited for the tailor, chose two costumes quite as originalas those of Mademoiselle d'Etaples, which delighted Jacqueline allthe more, because she thought it probable they would displease herstepmother. At last the magnificent personage, his face adorned withluxuriant whiskers, appeared with the bow of a great artist or adiplomatist; took Jacqueline's measure as if he were fulfilling someimportant function, said a few brief words to his secretary, andthen disappeared; the group of English beauties saying in chorus thatMademoiselle might come back that day week and try it on. Accordingly, a week later Jacqueline, seated on the wooden-horse usedfor this purpose, had the satisfaction of assuring herself that herhabit, fitting marvelously to her bust, showed not a wrinkle, any morethan a 'gant de Suede' shows on the hand; it was closely fitted toa figure not yet fully developed, but which the creator of thechef-d'oeuvre deigned to declare was faultless. Usually, he said, herecommended his customers to wear a certain corset of a special cut, with elastic material over the hips covered by satin that matched theriding-habit, but at Mademoiselle's age, and so supple as she was, the corset was not necessary. In short, the habit was fashioned toperfection, 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 herthroat. She had taken an attitude on her wooden horse such as might havebeen 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 giveher the same delight as this imaginary ride on an imaginary horse, shelooking at herself with entire satisfaction all the time in an enormouscheval-glass. BOOK 2. CHAPTER VII. THE BLUE BAND Love, like any other human malady, should be treated according to theage and temperament of the sufferer. Madame de Nailles, who was a verykeen observer, especially where her own interests were concerned, lentherself with the best possible grace to everything that might amuse anddistract Jacqueline, of whom she had by this time grown afraid. Not thatshe now dreaded her as a rival. The attitude of coldness and reservethat the young girl had adopted in her intercourse with Marien, herstepmother could see, was no evidence of coquetry. She showed, in herbehavior to the friend of the family, a freedom from embarrassmentwhich was new to her, and a frigidity which could not possibly havebeen assumed so persistently. No! what struck Madame de Nailles was thesuddenness of this transformation. Jacqueline evidently took no furtherinterest in Marien; she had apparently no longer any affection forherself--she, who had been once her dear little mamma, whom shehad loved so tenderly, now felt herself to be considered only as astepmother. Fraulein Schult, too, received no more confidences. What didit all mean? Had Jacqueline, through any means, discovered a secret, which, in herhands, might be turned into a most dangerous weapon? She had a way ofsaying before the guilty pair: "Poor papa!" with an air of pity, as shekissed him, which made Madame de Nailles's flesh creep, and sometimesshe would amuse herself by making ambiguous remarks which shot arrowsof suspicion into a heart already afraid. "I feel sure, " thoughtthe Baroness, "that she has found out everything. But, no! it seemsimpossible. How can I discover what she knows?" Jacqueline's revenge consisted in leaving her stepmother in doubt. Shemore than suspected, not without cause, that Fraulein Schult was falseto 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 cometo an end since I have found out that his devotion belongs to an elderlylady with a fair complexion and light hair. I am only sorry for him. " Jacqueline had great hopes that these cruel words would be reported--asthey were--to her stepmother, and, of course, they did not mitigatethe Baroness's uneasiness. Madame de Nailles revenged herself for thisinsult by dismissing the innocent echo of the impertinence--of course, under some plausible pretext. She felt it necessary also to be verycautious how she treated the enemy whom she was forced to shelterunder her own roof. Her policy--a policy imposed on her by force ofcircumstances--was one of great indulgence and consideration, so thatJacqueline, soon feeling that she was for the present under no control, took the bit between her teeth. No other impression can adequatelyconvey an idea of the sort of fury with which she plunged intopleasure and excitement, a state of mind which apparently, without anytransition, succeeded her late melancholy. She had done with sentiment, she thought, forever. She meant to be practical and positive, a littleParisienne, and "in the swim. " There were plenty of examples among thoseshe knew that she could follow. Berthe, Helene, and Claire Wermant wereexcellent leaders in that sort of thing. Those three daughters ofthe 'agent de change' were at this time at Treport, in charge of agoverness, who let them do whatever they pleased, subject only to bescolded by their father, who came down every Saturday to Treport, onthat train that was called the 'train des maris'. They had made friendswith two or three American girls, who were called "fast, " and Jacquelinewas soon enrolled in the ranks of that gay company. The cure that was begun on the wooden horse at Blackfern's was completedon the sea-shore. The girls with whom she now associated were nine or ten little imps ofSatan, who, with their hair flying in the wind and their caps over oneear, made the quiet beach ring with their boy-like gayety. They werecalled "the Blue Band, " because of a sort of uniform that they adopted. We speak of them intentionally as masculine, and not feminine, becausewhat is masculine best suited their appearance and behavior, for, thoughall could flirt like coquettes of experience, they were more like boysthan girls, if judged by their age and their costume. These Blues lived close to one another on that avenue that is edgedwith chalets, cottages, and villas, whose lower floors are abundantlyprovided with great glass windows, which seem to let the ocean intotheir very rooms, as well as to lay bare everything that passes in themto the public eye, as frankly as if their inmates bivouacked in the openstreet. Nothing was private; neither the meals, nor the coming and goingof visitors. It must be said, however, that the inhabitants of theseglass 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, towhich even children went till nine o'clock, would seem enough to fillup the days of these young people, but they had also to make boatingexcursions to Cayeux, Crotoy, and Hourdel, besides riding parties in thebeautiful country that surrounded the Chateau of Lizerolles, where theyusually dismounted on their return. At Lizerolles they were received by Madame d'Argy, who was delightedthat they provided safe amusement for her son, who appeared in the midstof this group of half-grown girls like a young cock among the hens ofhis harem. Frederic d'Argy, the young naval officer, who was enjoyinghis holiday, as M. De Nailles had said, was enjoying it exceedingly. How often, long after, on board the ship Floye, as he paced the silentquarter-deck, far from any opportunity of flirting, did he recallthe forms and faces of these young girls, some dark, some fair, somerosy-half-women and half-children, who made much of him, and scoldedhim, and teased him, and contended for his attentions, while no bettercould be had, on purpose to tease one another. Oh! what a delightfultime he had had! They did not leave him to himself one moment. He had tolift them into their saddles, to assist them as they clambered over therocks, to superintend their attempts at swimming, to dance with them allby 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 toooften timid and excited when one little firm foot was placed in hishand, when his arm was round one little waist, when he could render heras a cavalier a thousand little services, or accept with gladness therole of her consoler. He did everything he could think of to pleasethem, finding all of them charming, though Jacqueline never ceased to bethe one he preferred, a preference which she might easily have inferredfrom the poor lad's unusual timidity and awkwardness when he was broughtinto contact with her. But she paid no attention to his devotion, accepting himself and all he did for her as, in some sort, her personalproperty. He was of no consequence, he did not count; what was he but her comradeand former playfellow? Happily for Fred, he took pleasure in the familiarity with which shetreated him--a familiarity which, had he known it, was not flattering. He was in the seventh heaven for a whole fortnight, during which he wasthe recipient of more dried flowers and bows of ribbon than he ever gotin all the rest of his life--the American girls were very fond of givingkeepsakes--but then his star waned. He was no longer the only one. Thegrown-up brother of the Wermants came to Treport--Raoul, with his airof a young man about town--a boulevardier, with his jacket cut in thelatest fashion, with his cockle-shell of a boat, which he managed aswell on salt water as on fresh, sculling with his arms bare, a cigarettein his mouth, a monocle in his eye, and a pith-helmet, such as is wornin India. The young ladies used to gather on the sands to watch him ashe struck the water with the broad blade of his scull, near enough forthem to see and to admire his nautical ability. They thought all hisjokes amusing, and they delighted in his way of seizing his partner fora waltz and bearing her off as if she were a prize, hardly allowing herto touch the floor. Fred thought him, with his stock of old jokes, very ill-mannered. Helaughed at his sculling, and had a great mind to strike him after hesaw him waltzing with Jacqueline. But he had to acknowledge the generalappreciation felt for the fellow whom he called vulgar. Raoul Wermant did not stay long at Treport. He had only come to see hissisters on his way to Dieppe, where he expected to meet a certain LeahSkip, an actress from the 'Nouveautes'. If he kept her waiting, however, for some days, it was because he was loath to leave the handsomeMadame de Villegry, who was living near her friend Madame de Nailles, recruiting herself after the fatigues of the winter season. Such beingthe situation, the young girls of the Blue Band might have tried in vainto make any impression upon him. But the hatred with which he inspiredFred found some relief in the composition of fragments of melancholyverse, which the young midshipman hid under his mattresses. It is not anuncommon thing for naval men to combine a love of the sea with a loveof 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 togive 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 histears the ink he was putting to so sorry a use. She had been awarethat he sat up late at night--his sleeplessness was not the insomnia ofgenius--for she had seen the glare of light from his little lamp burninglater than the usual bedtime of the chateau, in one of the turretchambers at Lizerolles. In vain Fred denied that he was doing anything, in vain he tried to puthis papers out of sight; his mother was so persuasive that at last heowned everything to her, and in addition to the comfort he derived fromhis confession, he gained a certain satisfaction to his 'amour-propre', for Madame d'Argy thought the verses beautiful. A mother's geese arealways swans. But it was only when she said, "I don't see why you shouldnot 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 Fredfelt how dearly he loved his mother. Oh, a thousand times more than hehad ever supposed he loved her! However, he had not yet done with theagonies that lie in wait for lovers. Madame de Monredon arrived one day at the Hotel de la Plage, accompaniedby her granddaughter, whom she had taken away from the convent beforethe beginning of the holidays. Since she had fully arranged the marriagewith M. De Talbrun, it seemed important that Giselle should acquiresome liveliness, and recruit her health, before the fatal wedding-dayarrived. M. De Talbrun liked ladies to be always well and always lively, and it was her duty to see that Giselle accommodated herself to histaste; sea-bathing, life in the open air, and merry companions, were thethings she needed to make her a little less thin, to give her tone, andto take some of her convent stiffness out of her. Besides, she couldhave free intercourse with her intended husband, thanks to the greaterfreedom of manners permitted at the sea-side. Such were the ideas ofMadame de Monredon. Poor Giselle! In vain they dressed her in fine clothes, in vain theytalked to her and scolded her from morning till night, she continued tobe the little convent-bred schoolgirl she had always been; with downcasteyes, pale as a flower that has known no sunlight, and timid to a pointof suffering. M. De Talbrun frightened her as much as ever, and she hadlooked 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 whatwas her astonishment to find the young girl, who, a few weeks before, had made her such tragic confidences through the grille in the conventparlor, transformed into a creature bent on excitement and amusement. When she attempted to allude to the subject on which Jacqueline hadspoken to her at the convent, and to ask her what it was that had thenmade her so unhappy, Jacqueline cried: "Oh! my dear, I have forgottenall about it!" But there was exaggeration in this profession offorgetfulness, and she hurriedly drew Giselle back to the game ofcroquet, where they were joined by M. De Talbrun. The future husband of Giselle was a stout young fellow, short andthick-set, with broad shoulders, a large flat face, and strong jaws, ornamented with an enormous pair of whiskers, which partly compensatedhim for a loss of hair. He had never done anything but shoot and huntover his property nine months in the year, and spend the other threemonths in Paris, where the jockey Club and ballet-dancers sufficed forhis amusement. He did not pretend to be a man whose bachelor life hadbeen altogether blameless, but he considered himself to be a "correct"man, according to what he understood by that expression, which impliedneither talents, virtues, nor good manners; nevertheless, all the BlueBand agreed that he was a finished type of gentleman-hood. Even Raoul'ssisters had to confess, with a certain disgust, that, whatever peoplemay say, in our own day the aristocracy of wealth has to lower its flagbefore the authentic quarterings of the old noblesse. They secretlyenvied Giselle because she was going to be a grande dame, while all thewhile they asserted that old-fashioned distinctions had no longer anymeaning. Nevertheless, they looked forward to the day when they, too, might take their places in the Faubourg St. Germain. One may purchasethat luxury with a fortune of eight hundred thousand francs. The croquet-ground, which was underwater at high tide, was a longstretch of sand that fringed the shingle. Two parties were formed, inwhich care was taken to make both sides as nearly equal as possible, after which the game began, with screams, with laughter, a littlecheating and some disputes, as is the usual custom. All this appearedto amuse Oscar de Talbrun--exceedingly. For the first time during hiswooing he was not bored. The Misses Sparks--Kate and Nora--by their"high spirits" agreeably reminded him of one or two excursions he hadmade in past days into Bohemian society. He formed the highest opinion of Jacqueline when he saw how herstill short skirts showed pretty striped silk stockings, and howher well-shaped foot was planted firmly on a blue ball, when she waspreparing to roquer the red one. The way in which he fixed his eyes uponher 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 unmovedas the stump of a tree, spoiling the game sometimes by her ignoranceor her awkwardness, well satisfied that M. De Talbrun should leave heralone. Talking with him was very distasteful to her. "You have been more stupid than usual, " had been what her grandmotherhad never failed to say to her in Paris after one of his visits, whichhe alternated with bouquets. But at Treport no one seemed to mind herbeing 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 thatcame rolling in over the croquet-ground, when all the girls took flight, flushed, animated, and with lively gesticulation, while the gentlemenfollowed with the box into which had been hastily flung hoops, balls, and mallets. On their way Count Oscar condescendingly explained to Fred, as to anovice, that the only good thing about croquet was that it brought menand girls together. He was himself very good at games, he said, havingremarkably firm muscles and exceptionally sharp sight; but he went on toadd that he had not been able to show what he could do that day. The wetsand did not make so good a croquet-ground as the one he had had made inhis park! It is a good thing to know one's ground in all circumstances, but especially in playing croquet. Then, dexterously passing from thegame to the players, he went on to say, under cover of giving Fred awarning, that a man need not fear going too far with those girls fromAmerica--they had known how to flirt from the time they were born. Theycould look out for themselves, they had talons and beaks; but up to acertain point they were very easy to get on with. Those other playerswere queer little things; the three sisters Wermant were not wanting inchic, but, hang it!--the sweetest flower of them all, to his mind, wasthe tall one, the dark one--unripe fruit in perfection! "And a yearor two hence, " added M. De Talbrun, with all the self-confidence of anexpert, "every one will be talking about her in the world of society. " Poor Fred kept silent, trying to curb his wrath. But the blood mountedto his temples as he listened to these remarks, poured into his ear by aman of thirty-five, between puffs of his cigar, because there wasnobody else to whom he could make them. But they seemed to Fred veryill-mannered and ill-timed. If he had not dreaded making himself absurd, he would gladly have stood forth as the champion of the Sparks, theWermants, and all the other members of the Blue Band, so that he mightgive vent to the anger raging in his heart on hearing that odiouscompliment to Jacqueline. Why was he not old enough to marry her? Whatright had that detestable Talbrun to take notice of any girl but hisfiancee? If he himself could marry now, his choice would soon be made!No doubt, later--as his mother had said to him. But would Jacquelinewait? Everybody was beginning to admire her. Somebody would carry heroff--somebody would cut him out while he was away at sea. Oh, horriblethought for a young lover! That night, at the Casino, while dancing a quadrille with Giselle, hecould not refrain from saying to her, "Don't you object to Monsieur deTalbrun'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 takehim--and keep him!" But Madame de Monredon kept a sharp eye upon M. De Talbrun. "It seemsto me, " she said, looking fixedly into the face of her futuregrandson-in-law, "that you really take pleasure in making children skipabout with you. " "So I do, " he replied, frankly and good-humoredly. "It makes me feelyoung again. " And Madame de Monredon was satisfied. She was ready to admit that mostmen marry women who have not particularly enchanted them, and she hadbrought up Giselle with all those passive qualities, which, togetherwith a large fortune, usually suit best with a 'mariage de convenance'. Meantime Jacqueline piqued herself upon her worldly wisdom, which shelooked upon as equal to Madame de Monredon's, since the terrible eventwhich had filled her mind with doubts. She thought M. De Talbrun woulddo 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 largeexperience, "that men who are very fascinating always remain bachelors. That is probably why Monsieur de Cymier, Madame de Villegry's handsomecousin, does not think of marrying. " She was mistaken. The Comte de Cymier, a satellite who revolved aroundthat star of beauty, Madame de Villegry, had been by degrees broughtround by that lady herself to thoughts of matrimony. Madame de Villegry, notwithstanding her profuse use of henna and manycosmetics, which was always the first thing to strike those who saw her, prided herself on being uncompromised as to her moral character. Thereare some women who, because they stop short of actual vice, considerthemselves irreproachable. They are willing, so to speak, to hang outthe bush, but keep no tavern. In former times an appearance of evil wasavoided in order to cover evil deeds, but at present there are thosewho, 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 crowdof admirers around her. But when one of them became too troublesome, shegot rid of him by persuading him to marry. She had before this proposedseveral young girls to Gerard de Cymier, each one plainer and moreinsignificant than the others. It was to tell his dear friend that theone she had last suggested was positively too ugly for him, that theyoung 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 deVillegry's feet, both much amused by the grotesque spectacle presentedby the bathers, who exhibited themselves in all degrees of ugliness anddeformity. Of course Madame de Villegry did not bathe, being, as shesaid, too nervous. She was sitting under a large parasol and enjoyingher own superiority over those wretched, amphibious creatures whowaddled on the sands before her, comparing Madame X to a seal andMademoiselle Z to the skeleton of a cuttle-fish. "Well! it was that kind of thing you wished me to marry, " said M. DeCymier, in a tone of resentment. "But, my poor friend, what would you have? All young girls are likethat. They improve when they are married. " "If one could only be sure. " "One is never sure of anything, especially anything relating to younggirls. One can not say that they do more than exist till they aremarried. A husband has to make whatever he chooses out of them. You arequite 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 muchused 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 mayexpect in my wife before my marriage. " At that moment, a girl who had been bathing came out of the water a fewyards from them; the elegant outline of her slender figure, clad in abathing-suit of white flannel, which clung to her closely, was throwninto strong relief by the clear blue background of a summer sky. "Tiens!--but she is pretty!" cried Gerard, breaking off what he wassaying: "And she is the first pretty one I have seen!" Madame de Villegry took up her tortoiseshell opera-glasses, which werefastened to her waist, but already the young girl, over whose shouldersan attentive servant had flung a wrapper--a 'peignoir-eponge'--had runalong the boardwalk and stopped before her, with a gay "Good-morning!" "Jacqueline!" said Madame de Villegry. "Well, my dear child, did youfind the water pleasant?" "Delightful!" said the young girl, giving a rapid glance at M. DeCymier, who had risen. He was looking at her with evident admiration, an admiration at whichshe felt much flattered. She was closely wrapped in her soft, snow-whitepeignoir, 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 herbathing shoes, which had slipped from her. The foot which, when wellshod, M. De Talbrun, through his eyeglass, had so much admired, wasstill prettier without shoe or stocking. It was so perfectly formed, sowhite, with a little pink tinge here and there, and it was set upon sodelicate an ankle! M. De Cymier looked first at the foot, and then hisglance passed upward over all the rest of the young figure, which couldbe seen clearly under the clinging folds of the wet drapery. Her formcould be discerned from head to foot, though nothing was uncovered butthe pretty little arm which held together with a careless grace thefolds of her raiment. The eye of the experienced observer ran rapidlyover the outline of her figure, till it reached the dark head andthe brown hair, which rippled in little curls over her forehead. Hercomplexion, slightly golden, was not protected by one of those absurdhats which many bathers place on top of oiled silk caps which fit themclosely. Neither was the precaution of oiled silk wanted to protect thethick and curling hair, now sprinkled with great drops that shone likepearls and diamonds. The water, instead of plastering her hair upon hertemples, had made it more curly and more fleecy, as it hung over herdark eyebrows, which, very near together at the nose, gave to her eyes apeculiar, slightly oblique expression. Her teeth were dazzling, andwere displayed by the smile which parted her lips--lips which were, ifanything, too red for her pale complexion. She closed her eyelids nowand then to shade her eyes from the too blinding sunlight. Those eyeswere not black, but that hazel which has golden streaks. Though onlyhalf open, they had quickly taken in the fact that the young man sittingbeside Madame de Villegry was very handsome. As she went on with a swift step to her bathing-house, she drew out twolong pins from her back hair, shaking it and letting it fall downher 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 intothe 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 pleasantto see. " "Yes, " said Madame de Villegry, quietly, "she will be very good-lookingwhen she is eighteen. " "Is she nearly eighteen?" "She is and she is not, for time passes so quickly. A girl goes to sleepa child, and wakes up old enough to be married. Would you like to beinformed, without loss of time, as to her fortune?" "Oh! I should not care much about her dot. I look out first for otherthings. " "I know, of course; but Jacqueline de Nailles comes of a very goodfamily. " "Is she the daughter of the deputy?" "Yes, his only daughter. He has a pretty house in the Parc Monceau and achateau of some importance in the Haute-Vienne. " "Very good; but, I repeat, I am not mercenary. Of course, if I shouldmarry, I should like, for my wife's sake, to live as well as a marriedman as I have lived as a bachelor. " "Which means that you would be satisfied with a fortune equal to yourown. I should have thought you might have asked more. It is true thatif you have been suddenly thunderstruck that may alter yourcalculations--for it was very sudden, was it not? Venus rising from thesea!" "Please don't exaggerate! But you are not so cruel, seeing you arealways urging me to marry, as to wish me to take a wife who looks like afright or a horror. " "Heaven preserve me from any such wish! I should be very glad if mylittle friend Jacqueline were destined to work your reformation. " "I defy the most careful parent to find anything against me at thismoment, unless it be a platonic devotion. The youth of Mademoiselle deNailles is an advantage, for I might indulge myself in that till we weremarried, and then I should settle down and leave Paris, where nothingkeeps me but--" "But a foolish fancy, " laughed Madame de Villegry. "However, in returnfor your madrigal, accept the advice of a friend. The Nailles seem tome to be prosperous, but everybody in society appears so, and one neverknows what may happen any day. You would not do amiss if, before yougo on, you were to talk with Wermant, the 'agent de change', who has aconsiderable 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 knowexactly 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 friendsthe 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 anyother girl, seemed to M. De Cymier as pretty as she had been in herbathing-costume. Her hair was not dressed high, but it was gatheredloosely 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 beencalled by M. De Talbrun the "Fra Diavolo of the Seas, " and she neverbetter supported that part, by liveliness and audacity, than shedid that evening, when she made a conquest that was envied--wildlyenvied--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, forFred, the night before, had received orders to join his ship. He hadtaken leave of Jacqueline with a pang in his heart which he couldhardly 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 ofDe Cymier rising above the horizon. "If he could only see me, " thought Jacqueline, waltzing in triumph withM. 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 thelast flash of resentment and hatred that came to her in that moment oftriumph, 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 oldmaid. " The Baronne assented rather reluctantly. "Wermant was speaking to me the other day, " went on M. De Nailles. "Itseems 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 looksas if it had some meaning, as to what is our fortune, our position. Butreally, such a match seems too good to be true. " "Why so?" said the Baronne. "I know more about it than you do, fromBlanche de Villegry. She gave me to understand that her cousin was muchstruck by Jacqueline at first sight, and ever since she does nothingbut talk to me of M. De Cymier--of his birth, his fortune, hisabilities--the charming young fellow seems gifted with everything. He could be Secretary of Legation, if he liked to quit Paris: In themeantime attache to an Embassy looks very well on a card. Attache to theMinistry of the Foreign Affairs does not seem so good. Jacqueline wouldbe 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 ofbase. Not being able to devise a plan by which to suppress her youngrival, she had begun to think that her best way to get rid of her wouldbe by promoting her marriage. The little girl was fast developing into awoman--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. WhenJacqueline's slender and graceful figure and the freshness of her bloomwere no longer brought into close comparison with her own charms, shefelt she should appear much younger, and should recover some ofher prestige; people would be less likely to remark her increasingstoutness, or the red spots on her face, increased by the salt air whichwas so favorable to young girls' complexions. Yes, Jacqueline must bemarried; that was the resolution to which Madame de Nailles had comeafter several nights of sleeplessness. It was her fixed idea, replacingin her brain that other fixed idea which, willingly or unwillingly, shesaw she must give up--the idea of keeping her stepdaughter in the shade. "Countess! Ambassadress!" repeated M. De Nailles, with rather amelancholy smile. "You are going too fast, my dear Clotilde. I don'tdoubt that Wermant gave the best possible account of our situation; butwhen it comes to saying what I could give her as a dot, I am very muchafraid. We should have, in that case, to fall back on Fred, for Ihave not told you everything. This morning Madame d'Argy, who has donenothing but weep since her boy went away, and who, she says, never willget accustomed to the life of misery and anxiety she will lead as asailor's mother, exclaimed, as she was talking to me: 'Ah! there is butone way of keeping him at Lizerolles, of having him live there as theD'Argys have lived before him, quietly, like a good landlord, andthat would be to give him your daughter; with her he would be entirelysatisfied. '" "Ah! so that is the reason why she asked whether Jacqueline might notstay with her when we go to Italy! She wishes to court her by proxy. ButI 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 verysharp--sighted young person. Nothing escapes the observation ofMademoiselle 'votre fille'. " And Madame de Nailles, in her turn, smiled somewhat bitterly. "Well, " said Jacqueline's father, after a few moments' reflection, "itmay be as well that she should weigh for and against a match beforedeciding. She may spend several years that are difficult and dangeroustrying 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 sixteenor seventeen. " "Why! I fancied you thought so differently!" "Our ways of thinking are sometimes altered by events, especially whenthey are founded upon sincere and disinterested affection. " "Like that of good parents, such as we are, " added M. De Nailles, endingher 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 handsomeestate--" "Where Jacqueline would be bored to death. I should rather see herradiant 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 shehad great skill in reading the thoughts of others--was acting preciselyin accordance with the wishes or the will of Jacqueline, who, havingfound much enjoyment in the dances at the Casino, had made up hermind that she meant to come out into society before any of her youngcompanions. "I shall not have to beg and implore her, " she said to herself, anticipating the objections of her stepmother. "I shall only havepolitely to let her suspect that such a thing may have occurred ashaving had a listener at a door. I paid dearly enough for this hold overher. I have no scruple in using it. " Madame de Nailles was not mistaken in her stepdaughter; she was very faradvanced beyond her age, thanks to the cruel wrong that had been doneher by the loss of her trust in her elders and her respect for them. Herheart had had its past, though she was still hardly more than a child--asad past, though its pain was being rapidly effaced. She now thoughtabout it only at intervals. Time and circumstances were operating on heras they act upon us generally; only in her case more quickly than usual, which produced in her character and feelings phenomena that might haveseemed curious to an observer. She was something of a woman, somethingof a child, something of a philosopher. At night, when she was dancingwith Wermant, or Cymier, or even Talbrun, or on horseback, an exercisewhich all the Blues were wild about, she was an audacious flirt, a girlup to anything; and in the morning, at low tide, she might be seen, withher legs and feet bare, among the children, of whom there were many onthe sands, digging ditches, making ramparts, constructing towers andfortifications in wet sand, herself as much amused as if she had beenone of the babies themselves. There was screaming and jumping, andrushing out of reach of the waves which came up ready to overthrow themost complicated labors of the little architects, rough romping of allkinds, enough to amaze and disconcert a lover. But no one could have guessed at the thoughts which, in the midst of allthis fun and frolic, were passing through the too early ripened mind ofJacqueline. She was thinking that many things to which we attach greatvalue and importance in this world are as easily swept away as the sandbarriers raised against the sea by childish hands; that everywhere theremust be flux and reflux, that the beach the children had so dug up wouldsoon become smooth as a mirror, ready for other little ones to dig itover 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, distinctamong other shadows more confused. And Jacqueline said to herself with a smile, exactly what her father andMadame 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 usto Italy. She is just of an age to profit by it. " These words were spoken by M. De Nailles after a long silence at thebreakfast-table. They startled his hearers like a bomb. Jacqueline waited to hear what would come next, fixing a keen look uponher stepmother. Their eyes met like the flash of two swords. The eyes of the one said: "Now, let us hear what you will answer!" whilethe other strove to maintain that calmness which comes to some people ina moment of danger. The Baroness grew a little pale, and then said, inher softest tones: "You are quite right, 'mon ami', but Jacqueline, I think, prefers tostay. " "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 Monredonis so selfish. She was offended to think we should talk of going awayon the eve of an event she considers so important. Besides, she has solittle regard for me that I should think her more likely to hasten thewedding-day rather than retard it, if it were only for the pleasure ofgiving us a lesson. " "I am sorry. I should have been glad to be, as she wished, oneof Giselle's witnesses, but people don't take my position intoconsideration. If I do not take advantage of the recess--" "Besides, " interrupted Jacqueline, carelessly, "your journey mustcoincide with that of Monsieur Marien. " She had the pleasure of seeing her stepmother again slightly changecolor. Madame de Nailles was pouring out for herself a cup of tea withsingular 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 yousee that your teapot has no tea in it? Yes, " she went on, "it must bedelightful to travel in Italy in company with a great artist who wouldexplain everything; but then one would be expected to visit all thepicture-galleries, and I hate pictures, since--" She paused and again looked meaningly at her stepmother, whose soft blueeyes showed anguish of spirit, and seemed to say: "Oh, what a cruel holdshe has upon me!" Jacqueline continued, carelessly--"Picture-galleries Idon't care for--I like nature a hundred times better. Some day I shouldlike 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--itwould be lovely! But Italy and painters--" Here, with a boyish flourish of her hands, she seemed to send thatclassic 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 preferto a journey to Italy, Jacqueline, having nothing better to do, took itinto her head to write to her friend Fred. The young man received threeletters at three different ports in the Mediterranean and in the WestIndies, whose names were long associated in his mind with delightful andcruel recollections. When the first was handed to him with one from hismother, whose letters always awaited him at every stopping-place, theblood flew to his face, his heart beat violently, he could have criedaloud but for the necessity of self-command in the presence of hiscomrades, who had already remarked in whispers to each other, and withenvy, on the pink envelope, which exhaled 'l'odor di femina'. He hid histreasure 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, morethan once, the pink seal with a J on it, whose slender elegance remindedhim of its owner. Hardly did he dare to break the seal; then forgettingaltogether, as we might be sure, his mother's letter, which he knewbeforehand was full of good advice and expressions of affection, heeagerly 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 readit the more it puzzled him. Most certainly he felt that Jacqueline gavehim a great proof of confidence when she spoke to him of some mysteriousunhappiness, an unhappiness of which it was evident her stepmotherwas the cause. He could see that much; but he was infinitely far fromsuspecting the nature of the woes to which she alluded. Poor Jacqueline!He pitied her without knowing what for, with a great outburst ofsympathy, and an honest desire to do anything in the world to make herhappy. Was it really possible that she could have been enduring anygrief that summer when she had seemed so madly gay, so ready for alittle flirtation? Young girls must be very skilful in concealing theirinmost feelings! When he was unhappy he had it out by himself, he tookrefuge in solitude, he wanted to be done with existence. Everybody knewwhen anything went wrong with him. Why could not Jacqueline have let himknow more plainly what it was that troubled her, and why could she nothave shown a little tenderness toward him, instead of assuming, evenwhen she said the kindest things to him, her air of mockery? And then, though she might pretend not to find Lizerolles stupid, he could seethat she was bored there. Yet why had she chosen to stay at Lizerollesrather than go to Italy? Alas! how that little pink letter made him reflect and guess, and turnthings over in his mind, and wish himself at the devil--that little pinkletter which he carried day and night on his breast and made it crackleas it lay there, when he laid his hand on the satin folds so near hisheart! It had an odor of sweet violets which seemed to him to overpowerthe smell of pitch and of salt water, to fill the air, to perfumeeverything. "That young fellow has the instincts of a sailor, " said his superiorofficers when they saw him standing in attitudes which they thoughtdenoted observation, though with him it was only reverie. He would standwith his eyes fixed upon some distant point, whence he fancied he couldsee emerging from the waves a small, brown, shining head, with long hairstreaming 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 heis 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 packetof manuscript, the leaves of which were of all sizes, over which hehad poured forth torrents of poetry, amorous and descriptive, under thetitle: At Sea. Never would he have dared to show her this if the ocean had not lainbetween them. He was frightened when his packet had been sent. His onlycomfort was in the thought that he had hypocritically asked Jacquelinefor her literary opinion of his verses; but she could not fail, hethought, 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 ofGiselle'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 herfor giving him over even in thought to Giselle or to anybody? Oh, howwicked, how ungrateful, how unworthy! The six pages of foreign-post paper were crumpled up by his angryfingers. Fred tore them with his teeth, and finally made them into aball which he flung into the sea, hating himself for having been sofoolish as to let himself be caught by the first lines, as a foolishfish snaps at the bait, when, apropos to the church in which she wouldlike to be married, she had added "But we should have to be content withSaint-Augustin. " Those words had delighted him as if they had really been meant forhimself and Jacqueline. This promise for the future, that seemed toescape involuntarily from her pen, had made him find all the rest of herletter piquant and amusing. As he read, his mind had reverted to thatlittle phrase which he now found he had interpreted wrongly. What afall! How his hopes now crumbled under his feet! She must have done iton purpose--but no, he need not blacken her! She had written withoutthought, without purpose, in high spirits; she wanted to be witty, to bedroll, to write gossip without any reference to him to whom her letterwas addressed. That we who some day would make a triumphal entry intoSt. Augustin would be herself and some other man--some man with whomher acquaintance had been short, since she did not seem to feel in thatmatter like Giselle. Some one she did not yet know? Was that sure? Shemight know her future husband already, even now she might have made herchoice--Marcel d'Etaples, perhaps, who looked so well in uniform, orthat M. De Cymier, who led the cotillon so divinely. Yes! No doubt itwas he--the last-comer. And once more Fred suffered all the pangs ofjealousy. It seemed to him that in his loneliness, between sky and sea, those pangs were more acute than he had ever known them. His comradesteased him about his melancholy looks, and made him the butt of alltheir jokes in the cockpit. He resolved, however, to get over it, andat the next port they put into, Jacqueline's letter was the cause of hisentering for the first time some discreditable scenes of dissipation. At Bermuda he received another letter, dated from Paris, whereJacqueline had rejoined her parents, who had returned from Italy. Shesent him a commission. Would he buy her a riding-whip? Bermuda wasrenowned for its horsewhips, and her father had decided that she must goregularly to the riding-school. They seemed anxious now to give her, aspreliminary to her introduction into society, not only such pleasures ashorseback exercise, but intellectual enjoyment also. She had been takento the Institute to hear M. Legouve, and what was better still, inDecember her stepmother would give a little party every fortnight andwould let her sit up till eleven o'clock. She was also to be taken tomake some calls. In short, she felt herself rising in importance, butthe first thing that had made her feel so was Fred's choice of her to behis literary confidant. She was greatly obliged to him, and did not knowhow she could better prove to him that she was worthy of so great anhonor than by telling him quite frankly just what she thought of hisverses. They were very, very pretty. He had talent--great talent. Only, as in attending the classes of M. Regis she had acquired some littleknowledge of the laws of versification, she would like to warn himagainst impairing a thought for the benefit of a rhyme, and she pointedout several such places in his compositions, ending thus: "Bravo! for sunsets, for twilights, for moonshine, for deep silence, forstarry nights, and silvery seas--in such things you excel; one feels asif one were there, and one envies you the fairy scenes of ocean. But, Iimplore 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 askyou whose are those soft eyes, that silky hair, that radiant smile, andall that assortment of amber, jet, and coral occurring so often in yourvisions? Is she--or rather, are they--black, yellow, green, or tattooed, for, of course, you have met everywhere beauties of all colors? Severaltimes when it appeared as if the lady of your dreams were white, Ifancied you were drawing a portrait of Isabelle Ray. All the girls, yourold 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 onemyself. "JACQUELINE. " So! she had shown to others what was meant for her alone; whatprofanation! And what was more abominable, she had not recognized thathe was speaking of herself. Ah! there was nothing to be done now but toforget her. Fred tried to do so conscientiously during all his cruise inthe Atlantic, but the moment he got ashore and had seen Jacqueline, hefell again a victim to her charms. CHAPTER IX. BEAUTY AT THE FAIR She was more beautiful than ever, and her first exclamation on seeinghim was intended to be flattering: "Ah! Fred, how much you haveimproved! But what a change! What an extraordinary change! Why, look athim! He is still himself, but who would have thought it was Fred!" He was not disconcerted, for he had acquired aplomb in his journeysround the globe, but he gave her a glance of sad reproach, while Madamede Nailles said, quietly: "Yes, really--How are you, Fred? The tan on your face is verybecoming to you. You have broadened at the shoulders, and are now aman--something more than a man, an experienced sailor, almost an oldseadog. " And she laughed, but only softly, because a frank laugh would have shownlittle wrinkles under her eyes and above her cheeks, which were gettingtoo large. Her toilette, which was youthful, yet very carefully adapted to herperson, showed that she was by no means as yet "laid on the shelf, " asRaoul Wermant elegantly said of her. She stood up, leaning over a tablecovered with toys, which it was her duty to sell at the highest pricepossible, for the place of a meeting so full of emotions for Fred was acharity 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 himto attend this fair, in a fashionable quarter, and forthwith he hadforgotten 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 letone's self be supposed to be stingy. " So with these thoughts he went tothe bazaar, very glad in his secret heart to have an excuse for breakinghis resolution. The fair was for the benefit of sufferers from a fire--somewhere orother. In our day multitudes of people fall victims to all kinds ofdreadful disasters, explosions of boilers, explosions of fire-damp, ofeverything that can explode, for the agents of destruction seem to be ina state of unnatural excitement as well as human beings. Never before, perhaps, have inanimate things seemed so much in accordance with thespirit of the times. Fred found a superb placard, the work of Cheret, apathetic 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 ofthe mansion where the fair was held filled with more carriages than onesees at a fashionable wedding. In the vestibule many footmen were inattendance, the chasseurs of an Austrian ambassador, the great hulkingfellows of the English embassy, the gray-liveried servants of oldRozenkranz, with their powdered heads, the negro man belonging to MadameAzucazillo, etc. , etc. At each arrival there was a frou-frou of satinand lace, and inside the sales room was a hubbub like the noise in anaviary. Fred, finding himself at once in the full stream of Parisianlife, but for the moment not yet part of it, indulged in some of thosephilosophic reflections to which he had been addicted on shipboard. Each of the tables showed something of the tastes, the character, thepeculiarities of the lady who had it in charge. Madame Sterny, who hadthe most beautiful hands in the world, had undertaken to sell gloves, being sure that the gentlemen would be eager to buy if she would onlyconsent to try them on; Madame de Louisgrif, the 'chanoiness', whoseextreme emaciation was not perceived under a sort of ecclesiasticalcape, had an assortment of embroideries and objects of devotion, intended only for ladies--and indeed for only the most serious amongthem; for the table that held umbrellas, parasols and canes suited toall 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. MadameStrahlberg, the oldest of the Odinskas, obviously expected to sell onlyto gentlemen; her table held pyramids of cigars and cigarettes, butnothing else was in the corner where she presided, supple and frail, not handsome, but far more dangerous than if she had been, with herunfathomable way of looking at you with her light eyes set deep underher eyebrows, eyes that she kept half closed, but which were yet sokeen, and the cruel smile that showed her little sharp teeth. Her dresswas of black grenadine embroidered with silver. She wore half mourningas a sort of announcement that she was a widow, in hopes that thismight put a stop to any wicked gossip which should assert that CountStrahlberg was still living, having got a divorce and been very gladto get it. Yet people talked about her, but hardly knew what to bringagainst her, because, though anything might be suspected, nothing wasknown. She was received and even sought after in the best society, onaccount of her wonderful talents, which she employed in a manner asperverse as everything else about her, but which led some people to callher the 'Judic des salons'. Wanda Strahlberg was now holding between herlips, which were artificially red, in contrast to the greenish palenessof her face, which caused others to call her a vampire, one of thecigarettes she had for sale. With one hand, she was playing, graceful asa cat, with her last package of regalias, tied with green ribbon, which, when offered to the highest bidder, brought an enormous sum. Her sisterColette was selling flowers, like several other young girls, but whilefor the most part these waited on their customers in silence, she wasfull of lively talk, and as unblushing in her eagerness to sell as a'bouquetiere' by profession. She had grown dangerously pretty. Fred wasdazzled 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 thrownin for old acquaintance' sake. " "Charity seems to cover many things, " thought the young man as hewithdrew from her smiles and her glances, but yet he had seen nothing soattractive among the black, yellow, green or tattooed ladies about whomJacqueline had been pleased to tease him. "Fred!" It was Jacqueline's voice that arrested him. It was sharp and almostangry. She, too, was selling flowers, while at the same time she washelping Madame de Nailles with her toys; but she was selling with thatdecorum and graceful reserve which custom prescribes for young girls. "Fred, I do hope you will wear no roses but mine. Those you have arefrightful. They make you look like a village bridegroom. Take out thosethings; come! Here is a pretty boutonniere, and I will fasten it muchbetter in your buttonhole--let me. " In vain did he try to seem cold to her; his heart thawed in spite ofhimself. She held him so charmingly by the lapel of his coat, touchinghis cheek with the tip end of an aigrette which set so charmingly on thetop of the most becoming of fur caps which she wore. Her hair was turnedup now, showing her beautiful neck, and he could see little rebellioushairs curling at their own will over her pure, soft skin, while she, bending forward, was engaged in his service. He admired, too, herslender 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 oldfashion of the Valois, revived recently, came hurriedly up to the tableof Madame de Nailles. Fred felt that that inimitable moustache reducedhis not yet abundant beard to nothing. "Mademoiselle Jacqueline, " said the newcomer, "Madame de Villegry hassent me to beg you to help her at the buffet. She can not keep pace withher customers, and is asking for volunteers. " All this was uttered with a familiar assurance which greatly shocked theyoung naval man. "You permit me, Madame?" The Baroness bowed with a smile, which said, had he chosen to interpretit, "I give you permission to carry her off now--and forever, if youwish it. " At that moment she was placing in the half-unwilling arms of HubertMarien an enormous rubber balloon and a jumping-jack, in return forfive Louis which he had laid humbly on her table. But Jacqueline hadnot waited for her stepmother's permission; she let herself be borneoff radiant on the arm of the important personage who had come for her, while Colette, who perhaps had remarked the substitution for her tworoses, whispered in Fred's ear, in atone of great significance "Monsieurde Cymier. " The poor fellow started, like a man suddenly awakened from a happydream to face the most unwelcome of realities. Impelled by that naturallonging, 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. Ashe went along he mechanically gave money to each of the ladies whom heknew, moving off without waiting for their thanks or stopping to chooseanything from their tables. He seemed to feel the floor rock under hisfeet, as if he had been walking the deck of a vessel. At last he reacheda 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 allembroidered with gold and rubies, which glittered with every movementmade by the wearer--Madame de Villegry was pouring out Russian teaand Spanish chocolate and Turkish coffee, while all kinds of deceitfulpromises of favor shone in her eyes, which wore a certain tendernessexpressive of her interest in charity. A party of young nymphs formedthe 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 wasoffering, 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 tobelieve something, about which she was gayly laughing, while she shookher head. Poor Fred, that he might hear, and suffer, drank two mouthfulsof 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 Ishall not do it, " said Jacqueline, still laughing. "I have made up mymind 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 inextinguishablelaughter. Fred fled, that he might not be tempted to make a disturbance. When hefound himself again in the street, he asked himself where he shouldgo. His anger choked him; he felt he could not keep his resentment tohimself, and yet, however angry he might be with Jacqueline, he wouldhave been unwilling to hear his mother give utterance to the verysentiments that he was feeling, or to harsh judgments, of which hepreferred to keep the monopoly. It came into his mind that he would paya little visit to Giselle, who, of all the people he knew, was the leastlikely to provoke a quarrel. He had heard that Madame de Talbrun did notgo out, being confined to her sofa by much suffering, which, it might behoped, would soon come to an end; and the certainty that he should findher if he called at once decided him. Since he had been in Paris he haddone nothing but leave cards. This time, however, he was sure that thelady upon whom he called would be at home. He was taken at once into theyoung wife's boudoir, where he found her very feeble, lying back uponher cushions, alone, and working at some little bits of baby-clothes. Hewas not slow to perceive that she was very glad to see him. She flushedwith pleasure as he came into the room, and, dropping her sewing, held out to him two little, thin hands, white as wax. "Take thatfootstool--sit down there--what a great, great pleasure it is to see youback again!" She was more expansive than she had been formerly; she hadgained a certain ease which comes from intercourse with the world, buthow 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 bluecashmere, whose train drawn over her feet made her look tall as itstretched to the end of the gilded couch, round which Giselle hadcollected 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 occupyme, and I venture to be proud of my work and to think I am creatingmarvels. " As she spoke she turned round on her closed hand a cap that seemedmicroscopic 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 aboy, " replied Giselle, eagerly, her fair face brightened by these words. "I have some that are still smaller. Look!" and she lifted up a pile ofthings 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 willbe sweet enough to eat. Only his papa wants us to give him a name thatI think is too long for him, because it has always been in thefamily--Enguerrand. " "His name will be longer than himself, I should say, judging by thedimensions of this cap, " said Fred, trying to laugh. "Bah!" replied Giselle, gayly, "but we can get over it by calling himGue-gue or Ra-ra. What do you think? The difficulty is that names ofthat kind are apt to stick to a boy for fifty years, and then they seemridiculous. Now a pretty abbreviation like Fred is another matter. ButI forget they have brought up my chocolate. Please ring, and let thembring 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 buffetwhere I lost it all. " "Oh! I suppose you have been to the Bazaar--the famous Charity Fair! Youmust have made a sensation there on your return, for I am told that thegentlemen who are expected to spend the most are likely to send theirmoney, 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 gaveyou that make you despise my poor chocolate, " said Giselle, rising onher elbow, to receive the smoking cup that a servant brought her on alittle silver salver. "I didn't take much at her table, " said Fred, ready to enter on hisgrievances. "If you wish to know the reason why, I was too indignant toeat or drink. " "Indignant?" "Yes, the word is not at all too strong. When one has passed wholemonths away from what is unwholesome and artificial, such things asmake up life in Paris, one becomes a little like Alceste, Moliere'smisanthrope, when one gets back to them. It is ridiculous at my age, andyet if I were to tell you--" "What?--you puzzle me. What can there be that is unwholesome in sellingthings for the poor?" "The poor! A pretty pretext! Was it to benefit the poor that that odiousCountess Strahlberg made all those disreputable grimaces? I have seenkermesses got up by actresses, and, upon my word, they were good form incomparison. " "Oh! Countess Strahlberg! People have heard about her doings until theyare tired of them, " said Giselle, with that air of knowing everythingassumed by a young wife whose husband has told her all the currentscandals, 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 alreadyfeeling better because he could mention her name. "Allons, donc! You don't mean to say anything against Jacqueline?" criedGiselle, clasping her hands with an air of astonishment. "What can shehave done to scandalize you--poor little dear?" Fred paused for half a minute, then he drew the stool in the form ofan 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 veryeyes. As he went on, watching as he spoke the effect his words producedupon Giselle, who listened as if slightly amused by his indignation, thecase seemed not nearly so bad as he had supposed, and a delicious senseof relief crept over him when she to whom he told his wrongs afterhearing him quietly to the end, said, smiling: "And what then? There is no great harm in all that. Would you have hadher refuse to go with the gentleman Madame de Villegry had sent to fetchher? And why, may I ask, should she not have done her best to help bypouring out champagne? An air put on to please is indispensable to awoman, if she wishes to sell anything. Good Heavens! I don't approve anymore than you do of all these worldly forms of charity, but this kind ofthing is considered right; it has come into fashion. Jacqueline had thepermission of her parents, and I really can't see any good reason whyyou 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 wecare for? And I might possibly some day be of use to you. Say! don't youthink you are--a little bit jealous?" Less encouragement than this would have sufficed to make him open hisheart to Giselle. He was delighted that some woman was willing he shouldconfide in her. And what was more, he was glad to have it proved thathe had been all wrong. A quarter of an hour later Giselle had comfortedhim, happy herself that it had been in her power to undertake a task ofconsolation, a work in which, with sweet humility, she felt herself atease. On the great stage of life she knew now she should never play anyimportant part, any that would bring her greatly into view. But she feltthat she was made to be a confidant, one of those perfect confidantswho never attempt to interfere rashly with the course of events, butwho wait upon the ways of Providence, removing stones, and briersand thorns, and making everything turn out for the best in the end. Jacqueline, she said, was so young! A little wild, perhaps, but whata 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 somethingon the subject to her father. But it would have to be the Baroness thatFred must bring over to their views; the Baroness was acquiring more andmore influence over her husband, who seemed to be growing older everyday. M. De Nailles had evidently much, very much upon his mind. It wassaid in business circles that he had for some time past been given tospeculation. Oscar said so. If that were the case, many of Jacqueline'ssuitors 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. "Ihave enough for two, if she would only be satisfied to live quietly atLizerolles!" "Yes, " said the judicious little matron, nodding her head, "but whowould like to marry a midshipman? Make haste and be a lieutenant, or anensign. " She smiled at herself for having made the reward depend upon exertion, with a sort of maternal instinct. It was the same instinct that wouldlead her in the future to promise Enguerrand a sugar-plum if he said hislesson. "Nobody will steal your Jacqueline till you are ready to carryher off. Besides, if there were any danger I could give you timelywarning. " "Ah! Giselle, if she only had your kind heart--your good sense. " "Do you think I am better and more reasonable than other people? Inwhat way? I have done as so many other girls do; I have married withoutknowing well what I was doing. " She stopped short, fearing she might have said too much, and indeed Fredlooked at her anxiously. "You don't regret it, do you?" "You must ask Monsieur de Talbrun if he regrets it, " she said, with alaugh. "It must be hard on him to have a sick wife, who knows little ofwhat is passing outside of her own chamber, who is living on her reservefund of resources--a very poor little reserve fund it is, too!" Then, as if she thought that Fred had been with her long enough, shesaid: "I would ask you to stay and see Monsieur de Talbrun, but he won'tbe in, he dines at his club. He is going to see a new play tonight whichthey 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 isthat I have been pinned down here! Poor Oscar!" CHAPTER X. GISELLE'S CONSOLATION The arrival of the expected Enguerrand hindered Giselle from pleadingFred's cause as soon as she could have wished. Her life for twenty-fourhours was in great danger, and when the crisis was past, which M. DeTalbrun treated very indifferently, as a matter of course, her first crywas "My baby!" uttered in a tone of tender eagerness such as had neverbeen heard from her lips before. The nurse brought him. He lay asleep swathed in his swaddling clotheslike a mummy in its wrappings, a motionless, mysterious being, but heseemed to his mother beautiful--more beautiful than anything she hadseen in those vague visions of happiness she had indulged in at theconvent, which were never to be realized. She kissed his little purpleface, his closed eyelids, his puckered mouth, with a sort of respectfulawe. She was forbidden to fatigue herself. The wet-nurse, who had beenbrought from Picardy, drew near with her peasant cap trimmed withlong blue streamers; her big, experienced hands took the baby from hismother, she turned him over on her lap, she patted him, she laughed athim. And the mother-happiness that had lighted up Giselle's pale facedied away. "What right, " she thought, "has that woman to my child?" She enviedthe horrid creature, coarse and stout, with her tanned face, her bovinefeatures, her shapeless figure, who seemed as if Nature had predestinedher to give milk and nothing more. Giselle would so gladly have been inher 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 allit would entail on you--what slavery, what fatigue! And most probablyyou would not have had milk enough. " "Oh! who can tell? I am his mother! And when this woman goes he willhave to have English nurses, and when he is older he will have to go toschool. When shall I have him to myself?" And she began to cry. "Come, come!" said M. De Talbrun, much astonished, "all this fuss aboutthat 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 hadfor the first time come to her--the love that she could not feel for herhusband awoke in her for her son. She was ennobled--she was transfiguredby a sense of her maternity; it did for her what marriage does for somewomen--it seemed as if a sudden radiance surrounded her. When she raised her infant in her arms, to show him to those who cameto see her, she always seemed like a most chaste and touchingrepresentation of the Virgin Mother. She would say, as she exhibitedhim: "Is he not superb?" Every one said: "Yes, indeed!" out ofpoliteness, but, on leaving the mother's presence, would generallyremark: "He is Monsieur de Talbrun in baby-clothes: the likeness isperfectly 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, assoon as her friend was able to sit up and be prettily dressed, as becamethe mother of such a little gentleman as the heir of all the Talbruns. When Jacqueline saw the little creature half-smothered in the lacethat trimmed his pillows, she burst out laughing, though it was in thepresence of his mother. "Oh, mon Dieu!" she cried, "how ugly! I never should have supposed wecould have been as ugly as that! Why, his face is all the colors of therainbow; who would have imagined it? And he crumples up his little facelike those things in gutta-percha. My poor Giselle, how can you bear toshow 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 herhabitual indulgence came to her aid, and she thought: "She is but a child herself, she does not know what she is saying, " andprofiting by her first tete-a-tete with Jacqueline's stepmother, shespoke as she had promised to Madame de Nailles. "A matchmaker already!" said the Baroness, with a smile. "And so soonafter 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 Ithink he has much chance; Monsieur de Nailles has his own ideas. " She spoke as if she really thought that M. De Nailles could have anyideas but her own. When the adroit Clotilde was at a loss, she waslikely to evoke this chimerical notion of her husband's having anopinion 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 retainsas much influence over her husband as you have kept over Monsieur deTalbrun? You will learn to know better, my dear. " "But I have no influence, " murmured Giselle, who knew herself to be herhusband'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 overMonsieur 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 deVillegry was at pains to tell her about his serious intentions. On theother hand, she would have been far from willing to break with a man sobrilliant, who made himself so agreeable at her Tuesday receptions. "Meantime, it would be well if you, dear, were to try to find out whatJacqueline thinks. You may not find it very easy. " "Will you authorize me to tell her how well he loves her? Oh, then, I amquite satisfied!" cried Giselle. But she was under a mistake. Jacqueline, as soon as she began to speakto her of Fred's suit, stopped her: "Poor fellow! Why can't he amuse himself for some time longer and letme do the same? Men seem to me so strange! Now, Fred is one who, justbecause he is good and serious by nature, fancies that everybody elseshould be the same; he wishes me to be tethered in the flowery meads ofLizerolles, and browse where he would place me. Such a life would be anend of everything--an end to my life, and I should not like it at all. Ishould prefer to grow old in Paris, or some other capital, if my husbandhappened to be engaged in diplomacy. Even supposing I marry--which I donot think an absolute necessity, unless I can not get rid otherwise ofan inconvenient chaperon--and to do my stepmother justice, she knowswell 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 MadameStrahlberg is so kind as to give me some singing-lessons. If you onlyknew how much progress I am making, thanks to her. Music is a thousandtimes more interesting, I can tell you, than all that you can do asmistress of a household. You don't think so? Oh! I know Enguerrand'sfirst tooth, his first steps, his first gleams of intelligence, and allthat. Such things are not in my line, you know. Of course I think yourboy very funny, very cunning, very--anything you like to fancy him, butforgive me if I am glad he does not belong to me. There, don't you seenow that marriage is not my vocation, so please give up speaking to meabout matrimony. " "As you will, " said Giselle, sadly, "but you will give great pain to agood man whose heart is wholly yours. " "I did not ask for his heart. Such gifts are exasperating. One does notknow 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'swhat it will be. " "Really, one would suppose there was only one kind of existence in youreyes--this life of your own, Giselle. To leave one cage to be shut upin another--that is the fate of many birds, I know, but there areothers who like to use their wings to soar into the air. I like thatexpression. Come, little mother, tell me right out, plainly, that yourlot 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 greatthings seem to have been revealed to me. When I hold him to my breastI seem to understand, as I never did before, duty and marriage, familyties and sorrows, life itself, in short, its griefs and joys. You cannot understand that now, but you will some day. You, too, will gazeupon the horizon as I do. I am ready to suffer; I am ready forself-sacrifice. I know now whither my life leads me. I am led, as itwere, by this little being, who seemed to me at first only a doll, forwhom I was embroidering caps and dresses. You ask whether I am satisfiedwith my lot in life. Yes, I am, thanks to this guide, this guardianangel, thanks to my precious Enguerrand. " Jacqueline listened, stupefied, to this unexpected outburst, so unlikeher cousin's usual language; but the charm was broken by its ending withthe tremendously long name of Enguerrand, which always made her laugh, it was in such perfect harmony with the feudal pretensions of theMonredons 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 arenot so perfectly happy as you would have us believe, seeing that youfeel the need of consolations. Then, why do you wish me to follow yourexample?" "Fred is not Monsieur de Talbrun, " said the young wife, for the momentforgetting herself. "Do you mean to say--" "I meant nothing, except that if you married Fred you would have had theadvantage of first knowing him. " "Ah! that's your fixed idea. But I am getting to know Monsieur de Cymierpretty well. " "You have betrayed yourself, " cried Giselle, with indignation. "Monsieurde Cymier!" "Monsieur de Cymier is coming to our house on Saturday evening, andI must get up a Spanish song that Madame Strahlberg has taught me, tocharm 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 Enguerrandcan spare you? There is a young Polish pianist who is to play ouraccompaniment. Ah, there is nothing like a Polish pianist to playChopin! He is charming, poor young man! an exile, and in poverty; but heis cared for by those ladies, who take him everywhere. That is the sortof life I should like--the life of Madame Strahlberg--to be a youngwidow, 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 shallcharity take refuge in this world if not in your heart? I am going--yourseriousness 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 wasfalse; but by eluding the truth with that ability which kind-heartedwomen can always show when they try to avoid inflicting pain, shesucceeded in leaving the young man hope enough to stimulate hisambition. CHAPTER XI. FRED ASKS A QUESTION Time, whatever may be said of it by the calendars, is not to be measuredby days, weeks, and months in all cases; expectation, hope, happinessand grief have very different ways of counting hours, and we know fromour own experience that some are as short as a minute, and others aslong as a century. The love or the suffering of those who can tell justhow long they have suffered, or just how long they have been in love, isonly moderate and reasonable. Madame d'Argy found the two lonely years she passed awaiting the returnof her son, who was winning his promotion to the rank of ensign, solong, that it seemed to her as if they never would come to an end. Shehad given a reluctant consent to his notion of adopting the navy as aprofession, thinking that perhaps, after all, there might be no harmin allowing her dear boy to pass the most dangerous period of his youthunder strict discipline, but she could not be patient forever! Sheidolized her son too much to be resigned to living without him; she feltthat he was hers no longer. Either he was at sea or at Toulon, whereshe could very rarely join him, being detained at Lizerolles by thenecessity of looking after their property. With what eagerness sheawaited his promotion, which she did not doubt was all the Nailleswaited for to give their consent to the marriage; of their happyhalf-consent she hastened to remind them in a note which announced thenew grade to which he had been promoted. Her indignation was great onfinding that her formal request received no decided answer; but, as herfirst object was Fred's happiness, she placed the reply she had receivedin its most favorable light when she forwarded it to the person whomit most concerned. She did this in all honesty. She was not willingto admit that she was being put off with excuses; still less could shebelieve in a refusal. She accepted the excuse that M. De Nailles gave for returning no decidedanswer, viz. : that "Jacqueline was too young, " though she answered himwith some vehemence: "Fred was born when I was eighteen. " But she had toaccept it. Her ensign would have to pass a few more months on thecoast of Senegal, a few more months which were made shorter by theencouragement forwarded to him by his mother, who was careful tosend him everything she could find out that seemed to be, or thatshe imagined might be, in his favor; she underlined such things andcommented upon them, so as to make the faintest hypothesis seem acertainty. Sometimes she did not even wait for the post. Fred wouldfind, on putting in at some post, a cablegram: "Good news, " or "All goeswell, " and he would be beside himself with joy and excitement until, on receiving his poor, dear mother's next letter, he found out on howslight a foundation her assurance had been founded. Sometimes, she wrote him disagreeable things about Jacqueline, as if shewould like to disenchant him, and then he said to himself: "By this, Iam to understand that my affairs are not going on well; I still countfor little, notwithstanding my promotion. " Ah! if he could onlyhave had, so near the beginning of his career, any opportunity ofdistinguishing himself! No brilliant deed would have been too hard forhim. He would have scaled the very skies. Alas! he had had no chanceto win distinction, he had only had to follow in the beaten track ofordinary 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 oftyphoid fever. This fever, however, brought about a scene between M. DeNailles and his mother. "When, " she cried, with all the fury of a lioness, "do you expect tocome 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 tosatisfy the requirements of Mademoiselle your daughter--provided he doesnot die in a hospital? Do you think that I shall be willing to goon living--if you can call it living!--all alone and in continualapprehension? Why do you let him keep on in uncertainty? You know hisworth, and you know that with him Jacqueline would be happy. Instead ofthat--instead of saying once for all to this young man, who is more inlove with her than any other man will ever be: 'There, take her, I giveher to you, ' which would be the straightforward, sensible way, you go onencouraging the caprices of a child who will end by wasting, in thelife you are permitting her to lead, all the good qualities she has andkeeping 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 hiseyes? 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 moreanxious, more and more absorbed in the great struggle--not for life;that might exhaust a man, but at least it was energetic and noble--butfor superfluous wealth, for vanity, for luxury, which, for his ownpart, he cared nothing for, and which he purchased dearly, spurred on toexertion by those near to him, who insisted on extravagances. "Oh! yes, Jacqueline, I know, is devoted to music, " went on Madamed'Argy, with an air of extreme disapproval, "too much so! And when sheis 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 tobe reformed. How can she escape spoiling in that crowd of Slavs andYankees, people of no position probably in their own countries, withwhom you permit her to associate? People nowadays are so imprudent aboutacquaintances! To be a foreigner is a passport into society. Just thinkwhat her poor mother would have said to the bad manners she is adoptingfrom all parts of the globe? My poor, dear Adelaide! She was a genuineFrenchwoman of the old type; there are not many such left now. Ah!"continued Madame d'Argy, without any apparent connection with hersubject, "Monsieur de Talbrun's mother, if he had one, would be trulyhappy to see him married to Giselle!" "But, " faltered M. De Nailles, struck by the truth of some of theseremarks, "I make no opposition--quite the contrary--I have spokenseveral 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 andmarriage. " "Friendship on her side might be enough, " said Madame d'Argy, in thetone of a woman who had never known more than that in marriage. "My poorFred has enthusiasm and all that, enough for two. And in time she willbe madly in love with him--she must! It is impossible it should beotherwise. " "Very good, persuade her yourself if you can; but Jacqueline has apretty strong will of her own. " Jacqueline's will was a reality, though the ideas of M. De Nailles mayhave been illusion. "And my wife, too!" resumed the Baron, after a long sigh. "I don'tknow how it is, but Jacqueline, as she has grown up, has become like anunbroken 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 crossmine, as they often do? I have so many things on my mind. There aretimes when--" "Yes, one can see that. You don't seem to know where you are. And doyou think that the disposition she shows to act, as you say, like anunbroken colt, is nothing to me? Do you think I am quite satisfiedwith my son's choice? I could have wished that he had chosen for hiswife--but what is the use of saying what I wished? The important thingis that he should be happy in his own way. Besides, I dare say the youngthing will calm down of her own accord. Her mother's daughter must begood at heart. All will come right when she is removed from a circlewhich is doing her no good; it is injuring her in people's opinionalready, you must know. And how will it be by-and-bye? I hear peoplesaying everywhere: 'How can the Nailles let that young girl associate somuch with foreigners?' You say they are old school-fellows, they went tothe 'cours' together. But see if Madame d'Etaples and Madame Ray, underthe same pretext, let Isabelle and Yvonne associate with the Odinskas!As to that foolish woman, Madame d'Avrigny, she goes to their houseto look up recruits for her operettas, and Madame Strahlberg has oneadvantage over regular artists, there is no call to pay her. That is thereason why she invites her. Besides which, she won't find it so easy tomarry Dolly. " "Oh! there are several reasons for that, " said the Baron, who could seethe mote in his neighbor's eye, "Mademoiselle d'Avrigny has led a lifeso very worldly ever since she was a child, so madly fast and lively, that suitors are afraid of her. Jacqueline, thank heaven, has never yetbeen in what is called the world. She only visits those with whom she ison terms of intimacy. " "An intimacy which includes all Paris, " said Madame d'Argy, raising hereyes to heaven. "If she does not go to great balls, it is only becauseher stepmother is bored by them. But with that exception it seems to meshe is allowed to do anything. I don't see the difference. But, to besure, if Jacqueline is not for us, you have a right to say that I aminterfering in what does not concern me. " "Not at all, " said the unfortunate father, "I feel how much I ought tovalue your advice, and an alliance with your family would please me morethan anything. " He said the truth, for he was disturbed by seeing M. De Cymier so slowin making his proposals, and he was also aware that young girls in ourday are less sought for in marriage than they used to be. His friendWermant, rich as he was, had had some trouble in capturing for Berthe afellow of no account in the Faubourg St. Germain, and the prize was notmuch 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 wifehad not been received as she expected, and no one spoke of Madame deBelvan 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 Naillessometimes confided these perplexities to his wife, without, however, receiving much comfort from her. Nor did the Baroness confess to herhusband all her own fears. In secret she often asked herself, with thekeen insight of a woman of the world well trained in artifice and whopossessed a thorough knowledge of mankind, whether there might not bewomen capable of using a young girl so as to put the world on awrong scent; whether, in other words, Madame de Villegry did not talkeverywhere about M. De Cymier's attentions to Mademoiselle de Naillesin order to conceal his relations to herself? Madame de Villegry indeedcared little about standing well in public opinion, but rather thecontrary; she would not, however, for the world have been willing, by too openly favoring one man among her admirers, to run the risk ofputting the rest to flight. No doubt M. De Cymier was most assiduous inhis attendance on the receptions and dances at Madame de Nailles's, buthe was there always at the same time as Madame de Villegry herself. Theywould hold whispered conferences in corners, which might possibly havebeen about Jacqueline, but there was no proof that they were so, exceptwhat Madame de Villegry herself said. "At any rate, " thought Madame deNailles, "if Fred comes forward as a suitor it may stimulate Monsieur deCymier. There are men who put off taking a decisive step till the lastmoment, and are only to be spurred up by competition. " So every opportunity was given to Fred to talk freely with Jacquelinewhen he returned to Paris. By this time he wore two gold-lace stripesupon his sleeve. But Jacqueline avoided any tete-a-tete with him as ifshe understood the danger that awaited her. She gave him no chance ofspeaking alone with her. She was friendly--nay, sometimes affectionatewhen other people were near them, but more commonly she teased him, bewildered him, excited him. After an hour or two spent in her societyhe would go home sometimes savage, sometimes desponding, to ponder inhis own room, and in his own heart, what interpretation he ought to putupon the things that she had said to him. The more he thought, the less he understood. He would not have confidedin his mother for the world; she might have cast blame on Jacqueline. Besides her, he had no one who could receive his confidences, who wouldbear with his perplexities, who could assist in delivering him fromthe network of hopes and fears in which, after every interview withJacqueline, he seemed to himself to become more and more entangled. At last, however, at one of the soirees given every fortnight by Madamede 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 takenhis arm: "We will not dance, and I defy you to escape me. " "This is treason!" she cried, somewhat angrily. "We are not here totalk; 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 whichhad 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 yourcommission? It is so horribly disagreeable to do these things for one'sself. " "That depends upon what the things may be that have to be said. I shouldthink it ought to be very agreeable to pronounce the word on which thehappiness of a whole life is to depend. " "Oh! what a grand phrase! As if I could be essential to anybody'shappiness? 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 thatit was over, for he had been afraid to pronounce the decisive words. "Well, if I thought that were true, I should be very sorry, " saidJacqueline, no longer smiling, but looking down fixedly at the pointedtoe 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. Thereis nothing else I care for. " She raised her head coldly and haughtily, yet her voice trembled as shesaid: "You will force me to say it? Then, no! No!" she repeated, as if toreaffirm her refusal. Then, alarmed by Fred's silence, and above all by his looks, he who hadseemed so gay shortly before and whose face now showed an anguish suchas she had never yet seen on the face of man, she added: "Oh, forgive me!--Forgive me, " she repeated in a lower voice, holdingout 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 pinklandscape 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, touse my wings, in short--" And she moved her slender arms with an audacious gesture which hadnothing in common with the flight of that mystic dove upon which she hadmeditated when holding the card given her by Giselle. "Free to prefer some other man, " said Fred, who held fast to his ideawith the tenacity of jealousy. "Ah! that is different. Supposing there were anyone whom I liked--notmore, but differently from the way I like you--it is possible. But youspoke of loving!" "Your distinctions are too subtle, " said Fred. "Because, much as it seems to astonish you, I am quite capable of seeingthe difference, " said Jacqueline, with the look and the accent of aperson who has had large experience. "I have loved once--a long timeago, a very long time ago, a thousand years and more. Yes, I loved someone, as perhaps you love me, and I suffered more than you will eversuffer. 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 doplease me, as you said, but it is not the same thing. Would you liketo see the man I once loved?" asked Jacqueline, impelled by a juveniledesire to exhibit her experience, and also aware instinctively that tocast a scrap of past history to the curious sometimes turns off theirattention on another track. "He is near us now, " she added. And while Fred's angry eyes, under his frowning brows, were wanderingall round the salon, she pointed to Hubert Marien with a movement of herfan. Marien was looking on at the dancing, with his old smile, not sobrilliant 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 asan artist became less and less personal. He had grown stout, his hair and beard were getting gray; he wasinterested no longer in Savonarola, having obtained, thanks to hispicture, the medal of honor, and the Institute some months since hadopened 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 hiseyes 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 weresaying. With humility which had in it a certain touch of bitterness hesaid, still smiling: "You might find something better to do than to talk good or evil of apoor fellow who counts now for nothing. " "Counts for nothing! A fellow to be pitied!" cried Fred, "a man who hasjust been elected to the Institute--you are hard to satisfy!" Jacqueline sat looking at him like a young sorceress engaged in stickingpins into the heart of a waxen figure of her enemy. She never missed anopportunity of showing her implacable dislike of him. She turned to Fred: "What I was telling you, " she said, "I am quitewilling to repeat in his presence. The thing has lost its importancenow that he has become more indifferent to me than any other man in theworld. " She stopped, hoping that Marien had understood what she was sayingand that he resented the humiliating avowal from her own lips that herchildish love was now only a memory. "If that is the only confession you have to make to me, " said Fred, whohad 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 ofseventeen years and a half, Jacqueline. Tell me only that at present youlike 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 Gerardde Cymier, on a low seat almost at her feet, were carrying on theirplatonic 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 manwho will be glad to exchange with me. " "What! go and get yourself killed at Tonquin for a foolish little girllike 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 shesay? Oh, my God!" "My mother must be allowed to think that I love my profession betterthan all else. But, Jacqueline, " continued the poor fellow, clinging indespair 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 wouldlike to question your own heart--I would wait--" Jacqueline was biting the end of her fan--a conflict was taking placewithin her breast. But to certain temperaments there is pleasure inbreaking 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 ananswer. I never shall speak to you again of my sorrow. But decidenow--on the spot. Is all ended between us?" "Not our old friendship, Fred, " said Jacqueline, tears rising in hereyes. "So be it, then, if you so will it. But our friendship never will showitself unless you are in need of friendship, and then only with thediscretion that your present attitude toward me has imposed. " "Are you ready, Mademoiselle, " said Gerard, who, to allow them toend their conversation, had obligingly turned his attention to somemadrigals that Colette Odinska was laughing over. Jacqueline shook her head resolutely, though at that moment her heartfelt as if it were in a vise, and the moisture in her eyes looked likeanything but a refusal. Then, without giving herself time for furtherthought, 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 heartmore cruelly than Hubert Marien had ever wounded hers. The most horriblething in this unending warfare we call love is that we too often repayto those who love us the harm that has been done us by those whom wehave loved. The seeds of mistrust and perversity sown by one man or byone 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 theintercourse between his mother and the family of De Nailles. The wailsof Hecuba were nothing to the lamentations of poor Madame d'Argy; theunreasonableness of her wrath and the exaggeration in her reproacheshindered even Jacqueline from feeling all the remorse she mightotherwise have felt for her share in Fred's departure. She told herfather, 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 mightthreaten to go to the wars, or to fling themselves from fourth-storywindows, for her sake. "It was very indelicate and inconsiderate of Fred to tell any one thatit was my fault that he was doing anything so foolish, " she said, withtrue feminine deceit, "but he has taken the very worst possible meansto make me care for him. Everybody has too much to say about this matterwhich concerns only him and me. Even Giselle thought proper to write mea sermon!" And she gave vent to her feelings in an exclamation of three syllablesthat she had learned from the Odinskas, which meant: "I don't care!" (jem'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 secretheart at the thought of having given so much pain to Fred. She guessedhow deep it was by the step to which it had driven him. But there was inher secret soul something more than all the rest, it was a puerile, butdelicious satisfaction in feeling her own importance, in having beenable to exercise an influence over one heart which might possibly extendto that of M. De Cymier. She thought he might be gratified by knowingthat she had driven a young man to despair, if he guessed for whose sakeshe had been so cruel. He knew it, of course. Madame de Nailles tookcare that he should not be ignorant of it, and the pleasure he tookin such a proof of his power over a young heart was not unlike thatpleasure Jacqueline experienced in her coquetry--which crushed herbetter feelings. He felt proud of the sacrifice this beautiful girl hadmade for his sake, though he did not consider himself thereby committedto any decision, only he felt more attached to her than ever. Ever sincethe day when Madame de Villegry had first introduced him at the houseof Madame de Nailles, he had had great pleasure in going there. Thedaughter of the house was more and more to his taste, but his liking forher was not such as to carry him beyond prudence. "If I chose, " he wouldsay to himself after every time he met her, "if I chose I could own thatjewel. I have only to stretch out my hand and have it given me. " Andthe next morning, after going to sleep full of that pleasant thought, hewould awake glad to find that he was still as free as ever, and ableto carry on a flirtation with a woman of the world, which imposed noobligations upon him, and yet at the same time make love to a young girlwhom he would gladly have married but for certain reports which werebeginning to circulate among men of business concerning the financialposition of M. De Nailles. They said that he was withdrawing money from secure investments torepair (or to increase) considerable losses made by speculation, andthat he operated recklessly on the Bourse. These rumors had alreadywithdrawn Marcel d'Etaples from the list of his daughter's suitors. Theyoung fellow was a captain of Hussars, who had no scruple in declaringthe reason of his giving up his interest in the young lady. Gerard deCymier, more prudent, waited and watched, thinking it would be quitetime enough to go to the bottom of things when he found himself calledupon to make a decision, and greatly interested meantime in the dailyincrease of Jacqueline's beauty. It was evident she cared for him. Afterall, it was doing the little thing no harm to let her live on in theintoxication of vanity and hope, and to give her something to dwell uponin her innocent dreams. Never did Gerard allow himself to overstep theline he had marked out for himself; a glance, a slight pressure of thehand, which might have been intentional, or have meant nothing, a fewambiguous words in which an active imagination might find something todream about, a certain way of passing his arm round her slight waistwhich would have meant much had it not been done in public to the soundof music, were all the proofs the young diplomatist had ever given ofan attraction that was real so far as consisted with his completeselfishness, joined to his professional prudence, and that systematichabit of taking up fancies at any time for anything, which prevents eachfancy as it occurs from ripening into passion. He alluded indirectly to Fred's departure in a way that turned itinto ridicule. While playing a game of 'boston' he whispered intoJacqueline's ear something about the old-fashionedness and stupidity ofPaul and Virginia, and his opinion of "calf-love, " as the English callan early attachment, and something about the right of every girl to knowa suitor long before she consents to marry him. He said he thoughtthat the days of courtship must be the most delightful in the life of awoman, and that a man who wished to cut them short was a fellow withoutdelicacy or discretion! From this Jacqueline drew the conclusion that he was not willing toresemble such a fellow, and was more and more persuaded that there wastenderness in the way he pressed her waist, and that his voice had thesoftness of a caress when he spoke to her. He made many inquiries as towhat she liked and what she wished for in the future, as if his greatobject in all things was to anticipate her wishes. As for hisintimacy 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, nothinghindered them from having been married long ago had they wished it;besides, had not Madame de Villegry brought the young man to their houseand let every one see, even Jacqueline herself, what was her object indoing so? In this matter she was their ally, a most zealous and kindally, for she was continually advising her young friend as to what wasmost becoming to her and how she might make herself most attractive tomen in general, with little covert allusions to the particular tastes ofGerard, 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 tactwhich stood Madame de Villegry in stead of talent, and which had enabledher to perform some marvellous feats upon the tight-rope without losingher balance completely. She, too, made fun of the tragic determinationof Fred, which all those who composed the society of the De Nailles hadbeen made aware of by the indiscreet lamentations of Madame d'Argy. "Is not Jacqueline fortunate?" cried. Colette Odinska, who, herselfalways on a high horse, looked on love in its tragic aspect, and wouldhave liked to resemble Marie Stuart as much as she could, "is shenot fortunate? She has had a man who has gone abroad to get himselfkilled--and all for her!" Colette imagined herself under the same circumstances, making the mostof a slain lover, with a crape veil covering her fair hair, hermourning copied from that of her divorced sister, who wore her weeds socharmingly, but who was getting rather tired of a single life. As for Miss Kate Sparks and Miss Nora, they could not understand whythe breaking of half-a-dozen hearts should not be the prelude to everymarriage. That, they said with much conviction, was always the case inAmerica, and a girl was thought all the more of who had done so. Jacqueline, however, thought more than was reasonable about the dangersthat the friend of her childhood was going to encounter through herfault. Fred's departure would have lent him a certain prestige, hadnot a powerful new interest stepped in to divert her thoughts. Madamed'Avrigny was getting up her annual private theatricals, and wantedJacqueline to take the principal part in the play, saying that she oughtto put her lessons in elocution to some use. The piece chosen was toillustrate a proverb, and was entirely new. It was as unexceptionableas it was amusing; the most severe critic could have found no fault withits morality or with its moral, which turned on the eagerness displayedby young girls nowadays to obtain diplomas. Scylla and Charybdis wasits name. Its story was that of a young bride, who, thinking to pleasea husband, a stupid and ignorant man, was trying to obtain in secret ahigh place in the examination at the Sorbonne--'un brevet superieur'. The husband, disquieted by the mystery, is at first suspicious, thenjealous, and then is overwhelmed with humiliation when he discovers thathis wife knows more of everything than himself. He ends by imploring herto give up her higher education if she wishes to please him. The littleplay had all the modern loveliness and grace which Octave Feuillet alonecan 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 Fredhad once described them. But Madame d'Avrigny's prime object was theamusement 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 thistime. Madame de Nailles had been asked to take the mother's part, butshe declined, not caring to act such a character in a house where yearsbefore in all her glory she had made a sensation as a young coquette. SoMadame d'Avrigny had to take the part herself, not sorry to be ableto superintend everything on the stage, and to prompt Dolly, ifnecessary--Dolly, who had but four words to say, which she alwaysforgot, 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 thepart of the husband, a local magistrate, stiff and self-important, whomeverybody laughed at. Jacqueline alone knew why he had chosen it: itwould give him the opportunity of giving her two kisses. Of coursethose kisses were to be reserved for the representation, but whetherintentionally or otherwise, the young husband ventured upon them atevery rehearsal, in spite of the general outcry--not, however, verymuch in earnest, for it is well understood that in private theatricalscertain liberties may be allowed, and M. De Cymier had never beenremarkable for reserve when he acted at the clubs, where the femaleparts were taken by ladies from the smaller theatres. In this schoolhe had acquired some reputation as an amateur actor. "Besides, " as heremarked on making his apology, "we shall do it very awkwardly upon thestage if we are not allowed to practise it beforehand. " Jacqueline burstout laughing, and did not make much show of opposition. To play the partof his wife, to hear him say to her, to respond with the affectionateand familiar 'toi', was so amusing! It was droll to see her cut out herhusband in chemistry, history, and grammar, and make him confound LaFontaine with Corneille. She had such a little air while doing it! Andat the close, when he said to her: "If I give you a pony to-morrow, anda good hearty kiss this very minute, shall you be willing to give upgetting that degree?" she responded, with such gusto: "Indeed, I shall!"and her manner was so eager, so boyish, so full of fun, that she waswildly applauded, while Gerard embraced her as heartily as he liked, tomake 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 soonhave sealed his fate, had not a very sad event occurred, which restoredhis self-possession. The dress rehearsal was to take place one bright spring day at aboutfour o'clock in the afternoon. A large number of guests was assembledat the house of Madame d'Avrigny. The performance had been much talkedabout beforehand in society. The beauty, the singing, and the histrionicpowers of the principal actress had been everywhere extolled. Fullyconscious of what was expected of her, and eager to do herself credit inevery way, Jacqueline took advantage of Madame Strahlberg's presence torun over a little song, which she was to--sing between the acts and inwhich she could see no meaning whatever. This little song, which, tomost of the ladies present, seemed simply idiotic, made the men in theaudience cry "Oh!" as if half-shocked, and then "Encore! Encore!" in asort of frenzy. It was a so-called pastoral effusion, in which Colinetterhymed with herbette, and in which the false innocence of the eighteenthcentury 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 allthe nonsensical words that people set to music! It's a marvel how anyone 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 askedand to which she had received no answer, she was singing the verses sheconsidered nonsense with as much point as if she had understood them, thanks to the hints given her by Madame Strahlberg, who was playing heraccompaniment, when the entrance of a servant, who pronounced her namealoud, made a sudden interruption. "Mademoiselle de Nailles is wanted athome at once. Modeste has come for her. " Madame d'Avrigny went out to say to the old servant: "She can notpossibly go home with you! It is only half an hour since she came. Therehearsal is just beginning. " But something Modeste said in answer made her give a little cry, full ofconsternation. She came quickly back, and going up to Jacqueline: "My dear, " she said, "you must go home at once--there is bad news, yourfather 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 indifferenceto the fate of her rehearsal, frightened Jacqueline. She rushed away, not waiting to say good-by, leaving behind her a general murmur of "Poorthing!" while Madame d'Avrigny, recovering from her first shock, wasalready beginning to wonder--her instincts as an impresario comingonce more to the front--whether the leading part might not be taken byIsabelle 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 ifmisfortunes always happened just so as to interfere with pleasures. The fiacre which had brought Modeste was at the door. The old nursehelped her young lady into it. "What has happened to papa?" cried Jacqueline, impetuously. There was something horrible in this sudden transition from gayexcitement 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 heragitation. "He was taken sick, you say. Where? How happened it?" "In his study. Pierre had just brought him his letters. We thought weheard a noise as if a chair had been thrown down, and a sort of cry. Iran 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 hisbed. " 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 timethe doctor saw him he thought his legs had swelled--" "Had!" Jacqueline heard only that one word. It meant that the life ofher father was a thing of the past. Hardly waiting till the fiacre couldbe stopped, she sprang out, rushed into the house, opened the door ofher 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 herfrightened eyes to the face over which the great change from life todeath had passed. "What does it mean?" Jacqueline had never looked ondeath 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, sofar from everything, might have the power to look into human hearts, andknow the perfidy he had known nothing of when he was living. He mightsee in her own heart, too, her great despair. All else seemed small andof 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 toher 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--thefriend of the family, Hubert Marien. Marien there? Was it not natural that, so intimate as he had always beenwith the dead man, he should have hastened to offer his services to thewidow? Jacqueline flung herself upon her father's corpse, as if to protect itfrom profanation. She had an impulse to bear it away with her to somedesert 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, gavea festal appearance to the death-chamber. They had been purchased fora fete, but circumstances had changed their destination. That eveningthere was to have been a reception in the house of M. De Nailles, butthe unexpected guest that comes without an invitation had arrived beforethe music and the dancers. CHAPTER XIII. THE STORM BREAKS Monsieur de Nailles was dead, struck down suddenly by what is calledindefinitely heart-failure. The trouble in that organ from which he hadlong suffered had brought on what might have been long foreseen, andyet every one seemed, stupefied by the event. It came upon them like athunderbolt. It often happens so when people who are really ill persistin doing all that may be done with safety by other persons. Theypersuaded themselves, and those about them are easily persuaded, thatsmall remedies will prolong indefinitely a state of things which isprecarious to the last degree. Friends are ready to believe, when thesufferer complains that his work is too hard for him, that he thinks toomuch of his ailments and that he exaggerates trifles to which theyare well accustomed, but which are best known to him alone. When M. DeNailles, several weeks before his death, had asked to be excused and tostay at home instead of attending some large gathering, his wife, andeven Jacqueline, would try to convince him that a little amusementwould be good for him; they were unwilling to leave him to the repose heneeded, prescribed for him by the doctors, who had been unanimous thathe must "put down the brakes, " give less attention to business, avoidlate hours and over-exertion of all kinds. "And, above all, " said oneof the lights of science whom he had consulted recently about certainfeelings of faintness which were a bad symptom, "above all, you mustkeep yourself from mental anxiety. " How could he, when his fortune, already much impaired, hung on chancesas uncertain as those in a game of roulette? What nonsense! The failureof a great financial company had brought about a crisis on the Bourse. The news of the inability of Wermant, the 'agent de change', to meethis engagements, had completed the downfall of M. De Nailles. Not onlydeath, 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 bodylay 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, dowhat she would to hinder it. Jacqueline was sensible that she caredfor something else; great as was her sense of loss, a sort of recklesscuriosity seemed haunting her, while all the time she felt that hergreat grief ought not to give place to anything besides. "How wouldGerard de Cymier behave in these circumstances?" She thought about itall one dreadful night as she and Modeste, who was telling her beadssoftly, sat in the faint light of the death-chamber. She thought of itat dawn, when, after one of those brief sleeps which come to the youngunder all conditions, she resumed with a sigh a sense of surroundingrealities. Almost in the same instant she thought: "My dear father willnever wake again, " and "Does he love me?--does he now wish me to be hiswife?--will he take me away?" The devil, which put this thought intoher heart, made her eager to know the answer to these questions. Hesuggested how dreadful life with her stepmother would be if no means ofescape were offered her. He made her foresee that her stepmother wouldmarry again--would marry Marien. "But I shall not be there!" she cried, "I will not countenance such an infamy!" Oh, how she hoped Gerard deCymier loved her! The hypocritical tears of Madame de Nailles disgustedher. She could not bear to have such false grief associated with herown. Men in black, with solemn faces, came and bore away the body, no longerlike the form of the father she had loved. He had gone from her forever. Pompous funeral rites, little in accordance with the crash that soonsucceeded them, were superintended by Marien, who, in the absenceof near relatives, took charge of everything. He seemed to be deeplyaffected, and behaved with all possible kindness and consideration toJacqueline, who could not, however, bring herself to thank him, or evento look at him. She hated him with an increase of resentment, as if thesoul of her dead father, who now knew the truth, had passed into herown. Meantime, M. De Cymier took care to inform himself of the state ofthings. It was easy enough to do so. All Paris was talking of theshipwreck in which life and fortune had been lost by a man whosekindliness as a host at his wife's parties every one had appreciated. That was what came, people said, of striving after big dividends! Thehouse was to be sold, with the horses, the pictures, and the furniture. What a change for his poor wife and daughter! There were others whosuffered by the Wermant crash, but those were less interesting thanthe De Nailles. M. De Belvan found himself left by his father-in-law'sfailure with a wife on his hands who not only had not a sou, but who wasthe 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, beingloudest in reprobating alliances of that kind. M. De Cymier listenedattentively to such talk, looking and saying the right things, and ashe heard more and more about the deplorable condition of M. De Nailles'saffairs, he congratulated himself that a prudent presentiment had kepthim from asking the hand of Jacqueline. He had had vague doubts as tothe firm foundation of the opulence which made so charming a frame forher young beauty; it seemed to him as if she were now less beautifulthan he had imagined her; the enchantment she had exercised upon himwas thrown off by simple considerations of good sense. And yet he gavea long sigh of regret when he thought she was unattainable except bymarriage. He, however, thanked heaven that he had not gone far enoughto have compromised himself with her. The most his consciencecould reproach him with was an occasional imprudence in moments offorgetfulness; no court of honor could hold him bound to declare himselfher suitor. The evening that he made up his mind to this he wrote twoletters, very nearly alike; one was to Madame d'Avrigny, the other toMadame de Nailles, announcing that, having received orders to join theEmbassy to which he was attached at Vienna, he was about to depart atonce, with great regret that he should not be able to take leave of anyone. To Madame d'Avrigny he made apologies for having to give up hispart in her theatricals; he entreated Madame de Nailles to accept bothfor herself and for Mademoiselle Jacqueline his deepest condolences andthe assurance of his sympathy. The manner in which this was said was allit ought to have been, except that it might have been rather more brief. M. De Cymier said more than was necessary about his participation intheir grief, because he was conscious of a total lack of sympathy. Hebegged the ladies would forgive him if, from feelings of delicacy and asense of the respect due to a great sorrow, he did not, before leavingParis, which he was about do to probably for a long time, personallypresent to them 'ses hommages attristes'. Then followed a few lines inwhich he spoke of the pleasant recollections he should always retain ofthe hospitality he had enjoyed under M. De Nailles's roof, in a waythat gave them clearly to understand that he had no expectation of everentering their family on a more intimate footing. Madame de Nailles received this letter just as she had had aconversation with a man of business, who had shown her how complete wasthe ruin for which in a great measure she herself was responsible. Shehad no longer any illusions as to her position. When the estate had beensettled there would be nothing left but poverty, not only for herself, who, having brought her husband no dot, had no right to consider herselfwronged by the bankruptcy, but for Jacqueline, whose fortune, derivedfrom her mother, had suffered under her father's management (thereare such men--unfaithful guardians of a child's property, but yet goodfathers) in every way in which it was possible to evade the provisionsof the Code intended to protect the rights of minor children. In thelittle salon so charmingly furnished, where never before had sorrow orsadness been discussed, Madame de Nailles poured out her complaints toher stepdaughter and insisted upon plans of strict economy, when M. DeCymier'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: "Thisis the last straw!" and remained motionless, apparently overwhelmed, with her face covered by one hand, but furtively watching the face ofthe girl so cruelly forsaken. That face told nothing, for pride supplies some sufferers with necessarycourage. Jacqueline sat for some time with her eyes fixed on thedecisive adieu which swept away what might have been her secret hope. The paper did not tremble in her hand, a half-smile of contempt passedover her mouth. The answer to the restless question that had intrudeditself upon her in the first moments of her grief was now before her. Its promptness, its polished brutality, had given her a shock, but notthe pain she had expected. Perhaps her great grief--the real, the true, the grief death brings--recovered its place in her heart, and preventedher from feeling keenly any secondary emotion. Perhaps this man, whocould pay court to her in her days of happiness and disappear when thefirst 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 togive no opening to any expressions of sympathy on the part of Madame deNailles. "Poor Madame d'Avrigny, " she added, "has bad luck; all her actors seemto 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 eitherto detect or to practise artifice, and who found bitter amusement inwatching the girl's assumed 'sang-froid'. But the mask fell off at thefirst touch of genuine sympathy. When Giselle, forgetful of a certaincoolness between them ever since Fred's departure, came to clasp herin her arms, she showed only her true self, a girl suffering all thebitterness of a cruel, humiliating desertion. Long talks ensued betweenthe friends, in which Jacqueline poured into Giselle's ear her saddiscoveries in the past, her sorrows and anxieties in the present, andher vague plans for the future. "I must go away, " she said; "I mustescape somewhere; I can not go on living with Madame de Nailles--Ishould go mad, I should be tempted every day to upbraid her with herconduct. " Giselle made no attempt to curb an excitement which she knew wouldresist all she could say to calm it. She feigned agreement, hopingthereby to increase her future influence, and advised her friend to seekin 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 wishto remain for a while within reach of religious consolation. In that wayshe would give people nothing to talk about, and her step mother couldnot be offended. It was never of any use to get out of a difficulty bybreaking all the glass windows with a great noise, and good resolutionsare made firmer by being matured in quietness. Such were the lessonsGiselle herself had been taught by the Benedictine nuns, who, howeverdeficient they might be in the higher education of women, knew at leasthow 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 asdisagreeable 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 anexample. She never talked about herself, or her own difficulties. "You are an angel of sense and goodness, " sobbed Jacqueline. "I will dowhatever 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, sheunluckily 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 Gerardde Cymier's desertion had come into her mind, but she had refused toentertain it, declaring resolutely to herself that she never shouldrepent her refusal. She was sore, she was angry with all men, she wishedall were like Cymier or like Marien, that she might hate every one ofthem; she came to the conclusion in her heart of hearts that all ofthem, even the best, if put to the proof, would turn out selfish. Sheliked to think so--to believe in none of them. Thus it happened that anunexpected visit from Fred's mother, among those that she received inher 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 ofProvidence in what had happened: her son was in the squadron on itsway to attack Formosa; he was in peril from the climate, in peril fromChinese bullets, and assuredly those who had brought him into perilcould not be punished too severely; on the other hand, the last mailfrom Tonquin had brought her one of those great joys which alwaysincline us to be merciful. Fred had so greatly distinguished himselfin a series of fights upon the river Min that he had been offered hischoice between the Cross of the Legion of Honor or promotion. He toldhis mother now that he had quite recovered from a wound he had receivedwhich had brought him some glory, but which he assured her had done himno bodily harm, and he repeated to her what he would not tell her atfirst, some words of praise from Admiral Courbet of more value in hiseyes than any reward. Triumphant herself, and much moved by pity for Jacqueline, Madame d'Argyfelt as if she must put an end to a rupture which could not be kept upwhen a great sorrow had fallen on her old friends, besides which shelonged to tell every one, those who had been blind and ungrateful inparticular, that Fred had proved himself a hero. So Jacqueline and herstepmother 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 mothercould not help showing her own pride and happiness to those in sorrow. They congratulated her with sadness. Madame d'Argy would have likedto think that the value of what she had lost was now made plain toJacqueline. 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. Godwas just. Resentment, and kindness, and a strange mixed feeling offorgiveness and revenge contended together in the really generousheart of Madame d'Argy, but that heart was still sore within her. Pity, however, carried the day, and had it not been for the irritatingcoldness of "that little hard-hearted thing, " as she called Jacqueline, she would have entirely forgiven her. She never suspected thatthe exaggerated reserve of manner that offended her was owing toJacqueline's dread (commendable in itself) of appearing to wish in herdays of misfortune for the return of one she had rejected in the time ofprosperity. In spite of the received opinion that society abandons those who areovertaken by misfortune, all the friends of the De Nailles flockedto offer their condolences to the widow and the orphan with warmdemonstrations of interest. Curiosity, a liking to witness, or toexperience, emotion, the pleasure of being able to tell what has beenseen and heard, to find out new facts and repeat them again to others, joined to a sort of vague, commonplace, almost intrusive pity, aresentiments, which sometimes in hours of great disaster, produce whatappears to wear the look of sympathy. A fortnight after M. De Nailles'sdeath, between the acts of Scylla and Charybdis, the principal parts inwhich were taken by young d'Etaples and Isabelle Ray, the company, asit ate ices, was glibly discussing the real drama which had producedin their own elegant circle much of the effect a blow has upon anant-hill--fear, agitation, and a tumultuous rush to the scene of thedisaster. Great indignation was expressed against the man who had risked thefortune of his family in speculation. Oh! the thing had been goingon for a long while. His fortune had been gradually melting away;Grandchaux was loaded down with mortgages and would bring almost nothingat a forced sale. Everybody forgot that had M. De Nailles's speculations been successfulthey would have been called matters of business, conducted with greatability 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 hefell 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 besidesthe loss of money! I don't mean only the death of her husband--and youknow how much they were attached to each other--I am speaking of thatunaccountable resolution of Jacqueline's. " Madame d'Avrigny here came forward with her usual equanimity whichnothing disturbed, unless it were something which interfered with thesuccess of her salon. She was of course very sorry for her friends in trouble, but thevicissitudes 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? Themusical part made up for the rest. That divine Strahlberg is ready forany emergency. How well she sang that air of 'La Petite Mariee!' Itwas exquisite, but I regretted Jacqueline. She was so charming in thatlively little part. What a catastrophe! "What a terrible catastrophe! Were you speaking of the retreat shewishes to make in a convent? Well, I quite understand how she feelsabout it! I should feel the same myself. In the bewilderment of a firstgrief one does not care to see anything of the world. 'Mon Dieu'! youthalways has these exaggerated notions. She will come back to us. Poorlittle thing! Of course it was no fault of hers, and I should not thinkof blaming Monsieur de Cymier. The exigencies of his career--but you allmust own that unexpected things happen so suddenly in this life that itis enough to discourage any one who likes to open her house and provideamusement for her friends. " Every one present pitied her for the contretemps over which she hadtriumphed so successfully. Then she resumed, serenely: "Don't you think that Isabelle played the part almost as well asJacqueline? Up to the last moment I was afraid that something wouldgo wrong. When one gets into a streak of ill-luck--but all went off toperfection, thank heaven!" Meantime Madame Odinska was whispering to one of those who sat near herher belief that Jacqueline would never get over her father's loss. "Itwould not astonish me, " she said, "to hear that the child, who has anoble 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 tendencyto heroic virtues; her mission in life had seemed to be to spoil herdaughters in every possible way, and to fling away more money thanbelonged 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 ofhim in his own house. Maybe this retreat is a good way of getting over alittle wound to her 'amour-propre'. " "The proper thing, I think, " said Madame d'Etaples, "would be for themother and daughter to keep together, to bear the troubles before themhand in hand. Jacqueline does not seem to think much of the last wishesof 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 writtensome years ago, and which now, of course, is of no value. He told motherand daughter to take care of each other and hoped they would alwaysremain friends, loving each other for love of him. Jacqueline's conductamazes me; it looks like ingratitude. " "Oh! she is a hard-hearted little thing! I always thought so!" saidMadame de Villegry, carelessly. Here the rising of the curtain stopped short these discussions, whichdisplayed so much good-nature and perspicacity. But some laid the blameon the influence of that little bigot of a Talbrun, who had secretlyblown up the fire of religious enthusiasm in Jacqueline, when Madamed'Avrigny's energetic "Hush!" put an end to the discussion. It was timeto come back to more immediate interests, to the play which went on inspite of wind and tide. BOOK 3. CHAPTER XIV. BITTER DISILLUSION Some people in this world who turn round and round in a daily circle ofsmall things, like squirrels in a cage, have no idea of the pleasure ayoung creature, conscious of courage, has in trying its strength; thisstruggle with fortune loses its charm as it grows longer and longer andmore and more difficult, but at the beginning it is an almost certainremedy for sorrow. To her resolve to make head against misfortune Jacqueline owed thefact that she did not fall into those morbid reveries which might haveconverted her passing fancy for a man who was simply a male flirt intothe importance of a lost love. Is there any human being conscious ofenergy, and with faith in his or her own powers, who has not wishedto know something of adversity in order to rise to the occasion andconfront it? To say nothing of the pleasure there is in eating brownbread, when one has been fed only on cake, or of the satisfaction that achild 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 tofeel on reentering the world, at recovering their liberty, Jacqueline bynature loved independence, and she was attracted by the novelty of hersituation as larks are attracted by a mirror. She was curious to knowwhat life held for her in reserve, and she was extremely anxious torepair the error she had committed in giving way to a feeling of whichshe was now ashamed. What could do this better than hard work? To oweeverything 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' ofM. Regis by passing her preliminary examination at the Sorbonne; she wasconfident of attaining the highest degree--the 'brevet superieur', andwhile pursuing her own studies she hoped to give lessons in music and inforeign languages, etc. Thus assured of making her own living, she couldafford to despise the discreditable happiness of Madame de Nailles, who, she had no doubt, would shortly become Madame Marien; also the crookedways in which M. De Cymier might pursue his fortune-hunting. She saidto herself that she should never marry; that she had other objects ofinterest; that marriage was for those who had nothing better beforethem; and the world appeared to her under a new aspect, a sphereof useful activity full of possibilities, of infinite variety, andabounding in interests. Marriage might be all very well for richgirls, who unhappily were objects of value to be bought and sold; hersemi-poverty gave her the right to break the chains that hampered thecareer of other well-born women--she would make her own way in the worldlike a man. Thus, at eighteen, youth is ready to set sail in a light skiff on arough sea, having laid in a good store of imagination and of courage, ofchildlike ignorance and self-esteem. No doubt she would meet with some difficulties; that thought did butexcite her ardor. No doubt Madame de Nailles would try to keep herwith her, and Jacqueline had provided herself beforehand with somedouble-edged remarks by way of weapons, which she intended to useaccording to circumstances. But all these preparations for defense orattack proved unnecessary. When she told the Baroness of her plans shemet with no opposition. She had expected that her project of separationwould highly displease her stepmother; on the contrary, Madame deNailles discussed her projects quietly, affecting to consider themmerely temporary, but with no indication of dissatisfaction orresistance. In truth she was not sorry that Jacqueline, whosecompanionship became more and more embarrassing every day, had cut theknot of a difficult position by a piece of wilfulness and perversitywhich seemed to put her in the wrong. The necessity she would have beenunder of crushing such a girl, who was now eighteen, would have beendistasteful and unprofitable; she was very glad to get rid of herstepdaughter, always provided it could be done decently and withoutscandal. Those two, who had once so loved each other and who were nowsharers in the same sorrows, became enemies--two hostile parties, whichonly skilful strategy could ever again bring together. They tacitlyagreed to certain conditions: they would save appearances; they wouldremain on outwardly good terms with each other whatever happened, and above all they would avoid any explanation. This programme wasfaithfully carried out, thanks to the great tact of Madame de Nailles. No one could have been more watchful to appear ignorant of everythingwhich, if once brought to light, would have led to difficulties;for instance, she feigned not to know that her stepdaughter was inpossession of a secret which, if the world knew, would forever make themstrangers to each other; nor would she seem aware that Hubert Marien, weary to death of the tie that bound him to her, was restrainedfrom breaking it only by a scruple of honor. Thanks to this seemingignorance, she parted from Jacqueline without any open breach, as shehad long hoped to do, and she retained as a friend who supplied herwants a man who was only too happy to be allowed at this price to escapethe act of reparation which Jacqueline, in her simplicity, had dreaded. All those who, having for years dined and danced under the roof of theNailles, were accounted their friends by society, formed themselvesinto two parties, one of which lauded to the skies the dignity andresignation of the Baroness, while the other admired the force ofcharacter in Jacqueline. Visitors flocked to the convent which the young girl, by the advice ofGiselle, had chosen for her retreat because it was situated in a quietquarter. She who looked so beautiful in her crape garments, who showedherself so satisfied in her little cell with hardly any furniture, whowas grateful for the services rendered her by the lay sisters, content with having no salon but the convent parlor, who was passingexaminations to become a teacher, and who seemed to consider it a favorto be sometimes allowed to hear the children in the convent schoolsay their lessons--was surely like a heroine in a novel. And indeedJacqueline had the agreeable sensation of considering herself one. Public admiration was a great help to her, after she had passed throughthat crisis in her grief during which she could feel nothing but thehorror of knowing she should never see her father again, when she hadceased to weep for him incessantly, to pray for him, and to turn, likea wounded lioness, on those who blamed his reckless conduct, though sheherself had been its chief victim. For three months she hardly left the convent, walking only in thegrounds and gardens, which were of considerable extent. From time totime Giselle came for her and took her to drive in the Bois at that hourof the day when few people were there. Enguerrand, who, thanks to his mother's care, was beginning to be anintelligent and interesting child, though he was still painfully likeM. De Talbrun, was always with them in the coupe, kindhearted Gisellethinking that nothing could be so likely to assuage grief as the prattleof a child. She was astonished--she was touched to the heart, by whatshe called naively the conversion of Jacqueline. It was true that theyoung girl had no longer any whims or caprices. All the nuns seemed toher amiable, her lodging was all she needed, her food was excellent; herlessons gave her amusement. Possibly the excitement of the entire changehad much to do at first with this philosophy, and in fact at the end ofsix months Jacqueline owned that she was growing tired of dining at thetable d'hote. There was a little knot of crooked old ladies who were righteousovermuch, and several sour old maids whose only occupation seemed tobe to make remarks on any person who had anything different in dress, manners, or appearance from what they considered the type of thebecoming. If it is not good that man should live alone, it is equallytrue that women should not live together. Jacqueline found this out assoon as her powers of observation came back to her. And about thesame time she discovered that she was not so free as she had flatteredherself she should be. The appearance of a lady, fair and with lighthair, very pretty and about her own age, gave her for the first time aninclination to talk at table. She and this young woman met twice a dayat their meals, in the morning and in the evening; their rooms werenext each other, and at night Jacqueline could hear her through the thinpartition giving utterance to sighs, which showed that she was unhappy. Several times, too, she came upon her in the garden looking earnestlyat a place where the wall had been broken, a spot whence it was said aSpanish countess had been carried off by a bold adventurer. Jacquelinethought there must be something romantic in the history of thisnewcomer, and would have liked exceedingly to know what it might be. As a prelude to acquaintance, she offered the young stranger some holywater 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 thisunknown 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 thoseladies, some of whom were looking for places as companions, some havingcome up from the provinces, and some being old ladies who had seenbetter days. Her change of place was observed by the nun who presidedat the table, and a shade of displeasure passed over her face. It wasslight, but it portended trouble. And, indeed, when grace had been said, Mademoiselle de Nailles was sent for by the Mother Superior, who gaveher to understand that, being so young, it was especially incumbenton her to be circumspect in her choice of associates. Her placethenceforward was to be between Madame de X-----, an old, deaf lady, andMademoiselle J-----, a former governess, as cold as ice and exceedinglyrespectable. As to Madame Saville, she had been received in the conventfor especial reasons, arising out of circumstances which did not makeher a fit companion for inexperienced girls. The Superior hesitated amoment and then said: "Her husband requested us to take charge of her, "in a tone by which Jacqueline quite understood that "take charge" was asynonym for "keep a strict watch upon her. " She was spied upon, she waspersecuted--unjustly, no doubt. All this increased the interest that Jacqueline already felt in the ladywith the light hair. But she made a low curtsey to the MotherSuperior and returned no answer. Her intercourse with her neighborwas thenceforward; however, sly and secret, which only made it moreinteresting and exciting. They would exchange a few words when they metupon the stairs, in the garden, or in the cloisters, when there wasno curious eye to spy them out; and the first time Jacqueline went outalone Madame Saville was on the watch, and, without speaking, slipped aletter into her hand. This first time Jacqueline went out was an epoch in her life, as smallevents are sometimes in the annals of nations; it was the date of heremancipation, it coincided with what she called her choice of a career. Thinking herself sure of possessing a talent for teaching, she hadspoken of it to several friends who had come to see her, and who eachand all exclaimed that they would like some lessons, a delicate way ofhelping her quite understood by Jacqueline. Pupils like Belle Ray andYvonne d'Etaples, who wanted her to come twice a week to play duets withthem or to read over new music, were not nearly so interesting as thosein 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 withDolly, who had not another moment in which she could take a lesson. Sheshould be sent home scrupulously before ten o'clock, that being the hourat the convent when every one must be in. Jacqueline accepted all thesekindnesses gratefully. By Giselle's advice she hid her slight figureunder 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 herhead, made her burst out laughing. She imagined herself to be goingforth in disguise. To walk the streets thus masked she thought would beamusing, so amusing that the moment she set foot on the street pavementshe felt that the joy of living was yet strong in her. With a roll ofmusic in her hand, she walked on rather hesitatingly, a little afraid, like a bird just escaped from the cage where it was born; her heartbeat, but it was with pleasure; she fancied every one was looking ather, and in fact one old gentleman, not deceived by the cloak, didfollow her till she got into an omnibus for the first time in herlife--a new experience and a new pleasure. Once seated, and a little outof breath, she remembered Madame Saville's letter, which she had slippedinto her pocket. It was sealed and had a stamp on it; it was too highlyscented to be in good taste, and it was addressed to a lieutenant ofchasseurs with an aristocratic name, in a garrison at Fontainebleau. Then Jacqueline began vaguely to comprehend that Madame Saville'shusband might have had serious reasons for commending his wife to thesurveillance of the nuns, and that there might have been some excuse fortheir endeavoring to hinder all intimacy between herself and the littleblonde. This office of messenger, thrust upon her without asking permission, was not agreeable to Jacqueline, and she resolved as she dropped themissive, which, even on the outside, looked compromising, into thenearest post-box, to be more reserved in future. For which reason sheresponded 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 fashionableparts of Paris, from which she had exiled herself by her own will--weregreatly enjoyed by Jacqueline. Everything amused her, being seen from apoint of view in which she had never before contemplated it. She seemedto 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 didnot 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 herfor her courage, so long as the houses in which another Jacquelinede Nailles had been once so brilliant, received her with affection asbefore, though she had to leave in an anteroom her modest waterproofor wet umbrella. They were even more kind and cordial to her than ever, unless an exaggerated cordiality be one form of impertinence. But theenthusiasm bestowed on splendid instances of energy in certain circles, to which after all such energy is a reproach, is superficial, andnot being genuine is sure not to last long. Some people said thatJacqueline's staid manners were put on for effect, and that she was onlyattempting to play a difficult part to which she was not suited; othersblamed her for not being up to concert-pitch in matters of socialinterest. The first time she felt the pang of exclusion was atMadame d'Avrigny's, who was at the same moment overwhelming her withexpressions of regard. In the first place, she could see that the littlefamily dinner to which she had been so kindly invited was attended by somany guests that her deep mourning seemed out of place among them. ThenMadame d'Avrigny would make whispered explanations, which Jacqueline wasconscious of, and which were very painful to her. Such words as: "Oldfriend of the family;" "Is giving music lessons to my daughter;" fellmore than once upon her ear, followed by exclamations of "Poor thing!""So courageous!" "Chivalric sentiments!" Of course, everyone added thatthey excused her toilette. Then when she tried to escape such remarksby wearing a new gown, Dolly, who was always a little fool (there isno cure for that infirmity) cried out in a tone such as she never wouldhave dared to use in the days when Jacqueline was a model of elegance:"Oh, how fine you are!" Then again, Madame d'Avrigny, notwithstandingthe good manners on which she prided herself, could not conceal that theobligation of sending home the recluse to the ends of the earth, at acertain hour, made trouble with her servants, who were put out of theirway. Jacqueline seized on this pretext to propose to give up the Mondaymusic-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 thediscontinuance 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 bemarried she would have no time for music till her wedding was over, andabout the same time the d'Etaples told her much the same thing. This wasnot to be wondered at, for Mademoiselle Ray was engaged to an officer ofdragoons, the same Marcel d'Etaples who had acted with her in Scyllaand Charybdis, and Madame Ray, being a watchful mother, was not long inperceiving that Marcel came to pay court to Isabelle too frequently atthe hour for her music-lesson. Madame d'Etaples on her part had made asimilar discovery, and both judged that the presence of so beautifula girl, in Jacqueline's position, might not be desirable in theseinterviews 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 andstay with her, the poor child was very glad to accept the invitation. Her pupils were leaving her one after another, she could not understandwhy, and she was bored to death in the convent, whose strict rules weredrawn tighter on her than before, for the nuns had begun to understandher better, and to discover the real worldliness of her character. Atthe same time, that retreat within these pious walls no longer seemedlike paradise to Jacqueline; her transition from the deepest crape tothe softer tints of half mourning, seemed to make her less of an angelin their eyes. They said to each other that Mademoiselle de Nailles wasfanciful, 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, whohad been greatly edified at first by her behavior, and who were almostready 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 forthshoots in springtime. And that inevitable re-budding and reblossomingwas beautiful to see in this young human plant. M. De Talbrun, Jacqueline's host, could not fail to perceive it. At first he hadbeen annoyed with Giselle for giving the invitation, having a habit offinding fault with everything he had not ordered or suggested, by virtueof his marital authority, and also because he hated above all things, ashe said, to have people in his house who were "wobegones. " But in a weekhe was quite reconciled to the idea of keeping Mademoiselle de Naillesall the summer at the Chateau de Fresne. Never had Giselle known him totake so much trouble to be amiable, and indeed Jacqueline saw him muchmore 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 moreeasy 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, anexcursion to see some view, to visit all the ruined chateaux or abbeysin the neighborhood. And, with surprising delicacy, M. De Talbrunrefrained from inviting too many of his country neighbors, who mightperhaps have scared Jacqueline and arrested her gradual return togayety. They might also have interrupted his tete-a-tete with his wife'sguest, for they had many such conversations. Giselle was absorbed in theduty of teaching her son his a, b, c. Besides, being very timid, she hadnever ridden on horseback, and, naturally, riding was delightful toher cousin. Jacqueline was never tired of it; while she paid as littleattention to the absurd remarks Oscar made to her between their gallopsas a girl does at a ball to the idle words of her partner. She supposedit was his custom to talk in that manner--a sort of rough gallantry--butwith the best intentions. Jacqueline was disposed to look upon her lifeat Fresne as a feast after a long famine. Everything was to her taste, the whole appearance of this lordly chateau of the time of LouisXIII, the splendid trees in the home park, the gardens laid out 'a laFrancais', decorated with art and kept up carefully. Everything, indeed, that pertained to that high life which to Giselle had so littleimportance, was to her delightful. Giselle's taste was so simple that itwas a constant subject of reproach from her husband. To be sure, it waswith him a general rule to find fault with her about everything. He didnot spare her his reproaches on a multitude of subjects; all day longhe was worrying her about small trifles with which he should have hadnothing to do. It is a mistake to suppose that a man can not be brutaland fussy at the same time. M. De Talbrun was proof to the contrary. "You are too patient, " said Jacqueline often to Giselle. "You ought toanswer him back--to defend yourself. I am sure if you did so you wouldhave 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, thegreat race week from which he has never before been absent, since ourmarriage. But you see my ambition has become limited; I am satisfied ifhe lets me alone. " Giselle spoke these words with emphasis, and then sheadded: "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 tosubjugate M. De Talbrun, she became herself--that is to say, a borncoquette--venturing from one thing to another, like a child playingfearlessly with a bulldog, who is gentle only with him, or a fly buzzinground a spider's web, while the spider lies quietly within. She would tease him, contradict him, and make him listen to long piecesof scientific music as she played them on the piano, when she knew healways said that music to him was nothing but a disagreeable noise; shewould laugh at his thanks when a final chord, struck with her utmostforce, roused him from a brief slumber; in short, it amused her to provethat this coarse, rough man was to her alone no object of fear. Shewould have done better had she been afraid. Thus it came to pass that, as they rode together through some of theprettiest roads in the most beautiful part of Normandy, M. De Talbrunbegan to talk, with an ever-increasing vivacity, of the days whenthey first met, at Treport, relating a thousand little incidents whichJacqueline had forgotten, and from which it was easy to see that he hadwatched her narrowly, though he was on the eve of his own marriage. Withunnecessary persistence, and stammering as he was apt to do when movedby any emotion, he repeated over and over again, that from the firstmoment he had seen her he had been struck by her--devilishly struck byher--he had been, indeed! And one day when she answered, in order not toappear to attach any importance to this declaration, that she was veryglad of it, he took an opportunity, as their horses stopped side by sidebefore a beautiful sunset, to put his arm suddenly round her waist, andgive her a kiss, so abrupt, so violent, so outrageous, that she screamedaloud. He did not remove his arm from her, his coarse, red face drewnear her own again with an expression that filled her with horror. Shestruggled to free herself, her horse began to rear, she screamed forhelp with all her might, but nothing answered her save an echo. Thesituation seemed critical for Jacqueline. As to M. De Talbrun, he wasquite 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, andtrampled under his horse's feet. At last she succeeded in striking heraggressor a sharp blow across the face with her riding-whip. Blinded fora moment, he let her go, and she took advantage of her release to puther horse to its full speed. He galloped after her, beside himself withwrath and agitation; it was a mad but silent race, until they reachedthe gate of the Chateau de Fresne, which they entered at the samemoment, their horses covered with foam. "How foolish!" cried Giselle, coming to meet them. "Just see in what astate you have brought home your poor horses. " Jacqueline, pale and trembling, made no answer. M. De Talbrun, as hehelped her to dismount, whispered, savagely: "Not a word of this!" At dinner, his wife remarked that some branch must have struck him onthe 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 wastalking that evening, asking, with a half-smile, whether they had beenquarrelling. "We did have a little difference, " Oscar replied, quietly. "Oh, it did not amount to anything, " he said, lighting his cigar; "letus make friends again, won't you?" he added, holding out his hand toJacqueline. She was obliged to give him the tips of her fingers, as shesaid in her turn, with audacity equal to his own: "Oh, it was less than nothing. Only, Giselle, I told your husband that Ihad had some bad news, and shall have to go back to Paris, and he triedto 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 cometo her. I should never forgive myself if I did not go. " "What, Modeste? So very ill? Is it really so serious? What a pity! Butyou 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: "Ifyou attempt to hinder me, I swear I will tell everything. " All that evening she did not leave Giselle's side for a moment, and atnight she locked herself into her chamber and barricaded the door, as ifa 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 reallyill? Are you sure you have had no reason to complain of anybody in thisplace?--of any one?" Then, after a pause, she added: "Oh, my darling, how hard it is to do good even to those whom we mostdearly love. " "I don't understand you, " said Jacqueline, with an effort. "Everybodyhas been kind to me. " They kissed each other with effusion, but M. De Talbrun's leave-takingwas icy in the extreme. Jacqueline had made a mortal enemy. The grand outline of the chateau, built of brick and stone with itswings flanked by towers, the green turf of the great park in which itstood, passed from her sight as she drove away, like some vision in adream. "I shall never come back--never come back!" thought Jacqueline. She feltas if she had been thrust out everywhere. For one moment she thoughtof seeking refuge at Lizerolles, which was not very many miles fromthe railroad station, and when there of telling Madame d'Argy of herdifficulties, and asking her advice; but false pride kept her from doingso--the same false pride which had made her write coldly, in answerto the letters full of feeling and sympathy Fred had written to her onreceiving news of her father's death. CHAPTER XV. TREACHEROUS KINDNESS The experience through which Jacqueline had just passed was notcalculated to fortify her or to elevate her soul. She felt for thefirst time that her unprotected situation and her poverty exposed her toinsult, for what other name could she give to the outrageous behavior ofM. De Talbrun, which had degraded her in her own eyes? What right had that man to treat her as his plaything? Her pride andall her womanly instincts rose up in rebellion. Her nerves had been soshaken that she sobbed behind her veil all the way to her destination. Paris, when she reached it, offered her almost nothing that couldcomfort or amuse her. That city is always empty and dull in August, moreso than at any other season. Even the poor occupation of teaching herlittle class of music pupils had been taken away by the holidays. Hersole resource was in Modeste's society. Modeste--who, by the way, hadnever been ill, and who suffered from nothing but old age--was delightedto receive her dear young lady in her little room far up under theroof, where, though quite infirm, she lived comfortably, on her savings. Jacqueline, sitting beside her as she sewed, was soothed by her oldnursery tales, or by anecdotes of former days. Her own relatives wereoften the old woman's theme. She knew the history of Jacqueline's familyfrom beginning to end; but, wherever her story began, it invariablywound 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 tohim. " "Belonged to him! Yes, but what belonged to you? And how does it happenthat your stepmother seems so well off? Why doesn't some family councilinterfere? My little pet, to think of your having to work for yourliving. 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 moneytroubles along with the rest, the money troubles make other thingsharder to bear; whereas, if you have money enough you can bear anything, and you would have had enough, after all, if you had married MonsieurFred. " At which point Jacqueline insisted that Modeste should be silent, andanswered, resolutely: "I mean never to marry at all. " To this Modeste made answer: "That's another of your notions. The worsthusband is always better than none; and I know, for I never married. " "That's why you talk such nonsense, my poor dear Modeste! You knownothing 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 wasspoiled forever--she saw, as she walked with a heavy heart toward herconvent in a distant quarter, an open fiacre pull up, in obedience toa sudden cry from a passenger who was sitting inside. The person sprangout, and rushed toward Jacqueline with loud exclamations of joy. "Madame Strahlberg!" "Dear Jacqueline! What a pleasure to meet you!" And, the street beingnearly empty, Madame Strahlberg heartily embraced her friend. "I have thought of you so often, darling, for months past--they seemlike years, like centuries! Where have you been all that long time?" In point of fact, Jacqueline had no proof that the three Odinska ladieshad ever remembered her existence, but that might have been partly herown fault, or rather the fault of Giselle, who had made her promise tohave as little as possible to do with such compromising personages. She was seized with a kind of remorse when she found such warmth ofrecognition from the amiable Wanda. Had she not shown herself ungratefuland cowardly? People about whom the world talks, are they not sometimesquite as good as those who have not lost their standing in society, likeM. 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 showitself 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 neglectedher, or at least, of never showing that she did so, partly because herlife was so full of varied interests that she cared little for suchtrifles, and secondly because, having endured several affronts of thatnature, she had ceased to be very sensitive. "I knew, through the d'Avrignys, " she said, "that you were still at theconvent. You are not going to take the veil there, are you? It would bea great pity. No? You wish to lead the life of an intelligent woman whois free and independent? That is well; but it was rather an odd idea tobegin by going into a cloister. Oh!--I see, public opinion?" And MadameStrahlberg made a little face, expressive of her contempt for publicopinion. "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 ofus. I cut that matter short long ago. But how glad I am to hear thatyou don't intend to hide that lovely face in a convent. You are lookingbetter than ever--a little too pale, still, perhaps--a little toointeresting. Colette will be so glad to see you, for you must let metake 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 feellike yourself again. Ah, art--there is nothing to compare with art inthis world, my darling!" Jacqueline yielded without hesitation, only too glad of the unhoped-forgood fortune which relieved her from her ennui and her depression. Andsoon the hired victoria was on its way to that quarter of the city whichis made up of streets with geographical names, and seems as if it wereintended to lodge all the nations under heaven. It stopped in the Ruede Naples, before a house that was somewhat showy, but which showed fromits outside, that it was not inhabited by high-bred people. There werepink linings to lace curtains at the windows, and quantities of greenvines drooped from the balconies, as if to attract attention from thepassers-by. Madame Strahlberg, with her ostentatious and undulatingwalk, which caused men to turn and notice her as she went by, wentswiftly up the stairs to the second story. She put one finger on theelectric bell, which caused two or three little dogs inside to beginbarking, and pushed Jacqueline in before her, crying: "Colette! Mamma!See whom I have brought back to you!" Meantime doors were hurriedlyopened, quick steps resounded in the antechamber, and the newcomerfound herself received with a torrent of affectionate and delightedexclamations, pressed to the ample bosom of Madame Odinska, covered withkisses by Colette, and fawned upon by the three toy terriers, the mostsociable of their kind in all Paris, their mistresses declared. Jacqueline was passing through one of those moments when one is at themercy of chance, when the heart which has been closed by sorrow suddenlyrevives, 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 Jacquelinefor eighteen months. Nevertheless, on seeing her, Colette reallythought she had not for a moment ceased to be fond of her. "How you havesuffered, you poor pussy! We must set to work and make you feel a littlegay, 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 dustand without curtains, with all the furniture covered up as if thefamily were on the eve of going to the country. Madame Strahlberg, nevertheless, was not about to leave Paris, her habit being to remainthere in the summer, sometimes for months, picnicking as it were, in herown apartment. What was curious, too, was that the chandelier and allthe side-lights had fresh wax candles, and seats were arranged as if inpreparation 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 theaudience--I am all ears. " Her sister hurriedly explained all this toJacqueline, with out waiting to be questioned: "We have been giving somelittle summer entertainments of late, of which you see the remains. " Shewent at once to the piano, and incited Jacqueline to sing by beginningone of their favorite duets, and Jacqueline, once more in her nativeelement, followed her lead. They went on from one song to another, fromthe 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 torub 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 timeteaching, with such a voice as that!" she cried; "you are out of yoursenses, my dear, you are raving mad. It would be sinful to keep yourgifts to yourself! I am very sorry to discourage you, but you have noneof the requisites for a teacher. The stage would be best for you--'MonDieu! why not? You will see La Rochette this evening; she is a personwho would give you good advice. I wish she could hear you!" "But my dear friend, I can not stay, " murmured Jacqueline, for thoseunexpected words "the stage, why not?" rang in her head, made her heartbeat fast, and made lights dance before her eyes. "They are expecting meto dine at home. " "At your convent? I beg your pardon, I'll take care of that. Don't youknow me? My claws seldom let go of a prize, especially when that prizeis worth the keeping. A little telegram has already been sent, with yourexcuses. The telegraph is good for that, if not for anything else: itfacilitates 'impromptus'. " "Long live impromptus, " cried out Colette, "there is nothing like themfor fun!" And while Jacqueline was trying to get away, not knowingexactly 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 cansee the pantomime! I dreamed, wasn't it odd, only last night, that youwere 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 thoughtyour sister told me you were all alone. " "How could we have anything like company in August?" said MadameStrahlberg, interrupting her; "why, it would be impossible, there arenot four cats in Paris. No, no, we sha'n't have anybody. A fewfriends possibly may drop in--people passing through Paris--in theirtravelling-dresses. Nothing that need alarm you. The pantomime Colettetalks 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 ofa friend of Kossuth, the most wonderful violinist of the day, whohad apparently superseded the famous Polish pianist in these ladies'interest and esteem. As for the latter, they had almost forgotten hisname, he had behaved so badly. "But, " said Jacqueline, anxiously, "you know I am obliged to be home byten o'clock. " "Ah! that's like Cinderella, " laughed Wanda. "Will the stroke of theclock 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, growingvery uneasy. "Must you really? Madame Saville says it is very easy to manage thosenuns--" "What? Do you know Madame Saville, who was boarding at the convent lastwinter?" "Yes, indeed; she is a countrywoman of ours, a friend, the most charmingof women. You will see her here this evening. She has gained her divorcesuit--" "You are mistaken, " said Colette, "she has lost it. But that makesno difference. She has got tired of her husband. Come, say 'Yes, 'Jacqueline--a nice, dear 'Yes'--you will stay, will you not? Oh, youdarling!" They dined without much ceremony, on the pretext that the cook had beenturned off that morning for impertinence, but immediately after dinnerthere was a procession of boys from a restaurant, bringing whippedcreams, iced drinks, fruits, sweetmeats, and champagne--more than wouldhave been wanted at the buffet of a ball. The Prince, they said, hadsent these things. What Prince? As Jacqueline was asking this question, a gentleman came in whose ageit would have been impossible to guess, so disguised was he by his blackwig, his dyed whiskers, and the soft bloom on his cheeks, all of whichwere entirely out of keeping with those parts of his face that he couldnot change. In one of his eyes was stuck a monocle. He was bedizenedwith several orders, he bowed with military stiffness, and kissed withmuch devotion the ladies' hands, calling them by titles, whether theyhad them or not. His foreign accent made it as hard to detect hisnationality as it was to know his age. Two or three other gentlemen, notless decorated and not less foreign, afterward came in. Colette namedthem in a whisper to Jacqueline, but their names were too hard for herto pronounce, much less to remember. One of them, a man of handsomepresence, came accompanied by a sort of female ruin, an old lady leaningon 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 helpsaying. "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 heraccounts, he escorts her to the theatre, he gives her his arm. It is avery 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. "Sheadores cards, and there he is, always ready to be her partner. Oh, herecomes dear Madame Saville!" There were fresh cries of welcome, fresh exchanges of affectionatediminutives and kisses, which seemed to make the Prince's mouth water. Jacqueline discovered, to her great surprise, that she, too, was a dearfriend 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 shesaid, trying to make her escape from the party: "But it must be nineo'clock. " "Oh! but--you must hear Szmera. " A handsome young fellow, stoutly built, with heavy eyebrows, a hookednose, a quantity of hair growing low upon his forehead, and lips thatwere too red, the perfect type of a Hungarian gypsy, began a piece ofhis own composition, which had all the ardor of a mild 'galopade' anda Satanic hunt, with intervals of dying sweetness, during which thepainted skeleton they called the Countess declared that she certainlyheard a nightingale warbling in the moonlight. This charming speech was forthwith repeated by her "umbra" in all partsof the room, which was now nearly filled with people, a mixed multitude, some of whom were frantic about music, others frantic about WandaStrahlberg. There were artists and amateurs present, and evenrespectable women, for Madame d'Avrigny, attracted by the odor of aspecies of Bohemianism, had come to breathe it with delight, under coverof a wish to glean ideas for her next winter's receptions. Then again there were women who had been dropped out of society, likeMadame de Versanne, who, with her sunken eyes and faded face, was notlikely again to pick up in the street a bracelet worth ten thousandfrancs. There was a literary woman who signed herself Fraisiline, andwrote papers on fashion--she was so painted and bedizened that some oneremarked that the principal establishments she praised in print probablypaid her in their merchandise. There was a dowager whose aristocraticname appeared daily on the fourth page of the newspapers, attesting themerits of some kind of quack medicine; and a retired opera-singer, who, having been called Zenaide Rochet till she grew up in Montmartre, whereshe was born, had had a brilliant career as a star in Italy under thename of Zina Rochette. La Rochette's name, alas! is unknown to thepresent generation. In all, there were about twenty persons, who made more noise with theirapplause than a hundred ordinary guests, for enthusiasm was exacted byMadame Strahlberg. Profiting by the ovation to the Hungarian musician, Jacqueline made a movement toward the door, but just as she reached itshe had the misfortune of falling in with her old acquaintance, NoraSparks, who was at that moment entering with her father. She was forcedto sit down again and hear all about Kate's marriage. Kate had gone backto New York, her husband being an American, but Nora said she had madeup 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 toget 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 shewould 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. "Itseems to me this clock must be wrong. It says half-past nine. I am sureit must be later than that. " "Half-past nine!--why, it is past eleven, " replied Miss Nora, with agiggle. "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 alittle late--" "They wouldn't open the doors--they never open the doors on any pretextafter 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, " saidMadame Odinska, kindly. To whom had she not offered that useful sofa? Wanda and Colette werejust as ready to propose that others should spend the night with themas, 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 furwrapper, which she put on early in the evening when she wanted to smokecigarettes. She went to sleep at no regular hour. A bear's skin wasplaced always within her reach, so that if she were cold she could drawit over her. Jacqueline, not being accustomed to these Polish fashions, did not seem to be much attracted by the offer of the sofa. She blamedherself bitterly for her own folly in having got herself into a scrapewhich might lead to serious consequences. But this was neither time nor place for expressions of anxiety; it wouldbe absurd to trouble every one present with her regrets. Besides, theharm was done--it was irreparable--and while she was turning over in hermind in what manner she could explain to the Mother Superior thatthe mistake about the hour had been no fault of hers--and the MotherSuperior, alas! would be sure to make inquiries as to the friends whomshe had visited--the magic violin of M. Szmera played its first notes, accompanied by Madame Odinska on the piano, and by a delicious littleflute. They played an overture, the dreamy sweetness of which extortedcries of admiration from all the women. Suddenly, the screens parted, and upon the little platform thatrepresented a stage bounded a sort of anomalous being, supple andcharming, in the traditional dress of Pierrot, whom the Englishvulgarize and call Harlequin. He had white camellias instead of buttonson his loose white jacket, and the bright eyes of Wanda shone outfrom his red-and-white face. He held a mandolin, and imitated the mostcharming of serenades, before a make-believe window, which, being openedby a white, round arm, revealed Colette, dressed as Colombine. The little pantomime piece was called 'Pierrot in Love'. It consistedof a series of dainty coquetries, sudden quarrels, fits of jealousy, and tender reconciliations, played by the two sisters. Colette withher beauty, Wanda with her talent, her impishness, her graceful andvoluptuous attitudes, electrified the spectators, especially in a longmonologue, in which Pierrot contemplated suicide, made more effective bythe passionate and heart-piercing strains of the Hungarian's violin, sothat old Rochette cried out: "What a pity such a wonder should not beupon the stage!" La Rochette, now retired into private life, wearingan old dress, with her gray hair and her black eyes, like those of awatchful crocodile, took the pleasure in the pantomime that all actorsdo to the very last in everything connected with the theatre. She cried'brava' in tones that might reach Italy; she blew kisses to the actorsin default of flowers. Madame d'Avrigny was also transported to the sixth heaven, butJacqueline's presence somewhat marred her pleasure. When she firstperceived her she had shown great surprise. "You here, my dear?" shecried, "I thought you safe with our own excellent Giselle. " "Safe, Madame? It seems to me one can be safe anywhere, " Jacquelineanswered, though she was tempted to say "safe nowhere;" but instead sheinquired for Dolly. Dolly's mother bit her lips and then replied: "You see I have notbrought her. Oh, yes, this house is very amusing--but rather too muchso. The play was very pretty, and I am sorry it would not do at myhouse. It is too--too 'risque', you know;" and she rehearsed her usualspeech about the great difficulties encountered by a lady who wished togive entertainments and provide amusement for her friends. Meantime Pierrot, or rather Madame Strahlberg, had leaped over animaginary barrier and came dancing toward the company, shaking her largesleeves and settling her little snake-like head in her large quilledcollar, dragging after her the Hungarian, who seemed not very willing. She presented him to Madame d'Avrigny, hoping that so fashionable awoman might want him to play at her receptions during the winter, andto 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 velvetcorsage, her very short skirt, and a sort of three-cornered hat uponher head. All the men paid court to her, and she accepted their homage, becoming gayer and gayer at every compliment, laughing loudly, possiblythat her laugh might exhibit her beautiful teeth. Wanda, as Pierrot, sang, with her hands in her pockets, a Russianvillage song: "Ah! Dounai-li moy Dounai" ("Oh! thou, my Danube"). Thenshe 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 gentlemenpresent from addressing her, though she had been much stared at. Although she did not wish to sing, for her heart was heavy as shethought 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, thoughhe was furious at not being the sole lion of the evening, complimentedher, bowing almost to the ground, with one hand on his heart; MadameRochette assured her that she had a fortune in her throat whenever shechose to seek it; persons she had never seen and who did not know hername, 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 thewindows when the party broke up. "What kind people!" thought the debutante, whom they had encouraged andapplauded; "some perhaps are a little odd, but how much cordialityand warmth there is among them! It is catching. This is the sort ofatmosphere 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 onthe edge of a precipice. In her dreams old Rochette appeared to her, herface like that of an affable frog, her dress the dress of Pierrot, andshe croaked out, in a variety of tones: "The stage! Why not? Applaudedevery night--it would be glorious!" Then she seemed in her dream to befalling, falling down from a great height, as one falls from fairylandinto stern reality. She opened her eyes: it was noon. Madame Odinska waswaiting for her: she intended herself to take her to the convent, andfor that purpose had assumed the imposing air of a noble matron. Alas! it was in vain! Jacqueline, was made to understand that suchan infraction of the rules could not be overlooked. To pass the nightwithout leave out of the convent, and not with her own family, was causefor expulsion. Neither the prayers nor the anger of Madame Odinskahad any power to change the sentence. While the Mother Superiorcalmly pronounced her decree, she was taking the measure of this stoutforeigner who appeared in behalf of Jacqueline, a woman overdressed, yetat the same time shabby, who had a far from well-bred or aristocraticair. "Out of consideration for Madame de Talbrun, " she said, "theconvent consents to keep Mademoiselle de Nailles a few days longer--afew weeks perhaps, until she can find some other place to go. That isall we can do for her. " Jacqueline listened to this sentence as she might have watched a game ofdice when her fate hung on the result, but she showed no emotion. "Now, "she thought, "my fate has been decided; respectable people will havenothing 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 startedfor Bellagio with Mr. And Miss Sparks, the latter having taken a notionthat she wanted that kind of chaperon who is called a companion inEngland and America. "But they are of the same age, " said Marien. "That is just what Miss Sparks wants. She does not wish to be hamperedby an elderly chaperon, but to be accompanied, as she would have been byher sister. " "Jacqueline will be exposed to see strange things; how could you haveconsented--" "Consented? As if she cared for my consent! And then she manages to saysuch irritating things as soon as one attempts to blame her or adviseher. For example, this is one of them: 'Don't you suppose, ' she said tome, 'that every one will take the most agreeable chance that offers fora visit to Italy?' What do you think of that allusion? It closed my lipsabsolutely. " "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 mayhave 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 insome 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 responsibilitymight rest on those who have made that young girl what she is. " "I don't understand you, " said the stepmother, with an impatientgesture. "Who can do anything to counteract a bad disposition? You don'tdeny that hers is bad? She is a very devil for pride and obstinacy--shehas no affection--she has proved it. I have no inclination to get myselfwounded 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 anopen rupture with her, which would certainly be the case if I tried tocontradict her. After all, the Sparks and Madame Odinska are not yet putout of the pale of good society, and she knew them long ago. An earlyintimacy may be a good explanation if people blame her for going toofar--" "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 deNailles, indignantly. "How could I be satisfied; I never have met withanything but ingratitude. " CHAPTER XVI. THE SAILOR'S RETURN Madame D'Argy did not leave her son in ignorance of all the freaks andfollies of Jacqueline. He knew every particular of the wrong-doings andthe imprudences of his early friend, and even the additions made tothem by calumny, ever since the fit of in dependence which, after herfather's death, had led her to throw off all control. She told of hersudden departure from Fresne, where she might have found so safe arefuge with her friend and cousin. Then had not her own imprudence andcoquetry led to a rupture with the families of d'Etaples and Ray? Shetold of the scandalous intimacy with Madame Strahlberg; of her expulsionfrom the convent, where they had discovered, even before she left, thatshe had been in the habit of visiting undesirable persons; and finallyshe informed him that Jacqueline had gone to Italy with an old Yankeeand his daughter--he being a man, it was said, who had laid thefoundation of his colossal fortune by keeping a bar-room in a miningcamp in California. This last was no fiction, the cut of Mr. Sparks'sbeard and his unpolished manners left no doubt on the subject; and shewound up by saying that Madame d'Avrigny, whom no one could accuseof ill-nature, had been grieved at meeting this unhappy girl in veryimproper company, among which she seemed quite in her element, like afish in water. It was said also that she was thinking of studying forthe stage with La Rochette--M. De Talbrun had heard it talked about inthe foyer of the Opera by an old Prince from some foreign country--shecould not remember his name, but he was praising Madame Strahlbergwithout any reserve as the most delightful of Parisiennes. ThereuponTalbrun had naturally forbidden his wife to have anything to do withJacqueline, or even to write to her. Fat Oscar, though he was not allthat he ought to be himself, had some very strict notions of propriety. No one was more particular about family relations, and really in thiscase no one could blame him; but Giselle had been very unhappy, and tothe very last had tried to stand up for her unhappy friend. Having toldhim all this, she added, she would say no more on the subject. Giselle was a model woman in everything, in tact, in goodness, in goodsense, and she was very attentive to the poor old mother of Fred, whobut for her must have died long ago of loneliness and sorrow. Thereuponensued the poor lady's usual lamentations over the long, long absenceof her beloved son; as usual, she told him she did not think she shouldlive to see him back again; she gave him a full account of her maladies, caused, or at least aggravated, by her mortal, constant, incurablesorrow; and she told how Giselle had been nursing her with all thepatience and devotion of a Sister of Charity. Through all Madamed'Argy's letters at this period the angelic figure of Giselle wascontrasted with the very different one of that young and incorrigiblelittle 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 theperson concerned. He knew his mother to be too good wilfully toblacken the character of one whom for years she had hoped would be herdaughter-in-law, the only child of her best friend, the early love ofher son. But by degrees he fancied that the love so long living at thebottom of his heart was slowly dying, that it had been extinguished, that nothing remained of it but remembrance, such remembrance as weretain for dead things, a remembrance without hope, whose weight addedto the homesickness which with him was increasing every day. There was no active service to enable him to endure exile. The heroicperiod of the war had passed. Since a treaty of peace had been signedwith China, the fleet, which had distinguished itself in so many smallengagements 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 itlay at anchor, rose mountains of strange shapes, which seemed to shutit into a kind of prison. This feeling of nothing to be done--of nothinglikely to be done, worked in Fred's head like a nightmare. The onlything he thought of was how he could escape, when could he once morekiss the faded cheeks of his mother, who often, when he slept or laywakeful 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 heronly were devoted his long reveries when on watch; that time when heformerly composed his love verses, tender or angry, or full of despair. That was all over! A sort of mournful resignation had succeeded hisbursts of excited feeling, his revolt against his fate. This was Fred's state of mind when he received orders to returnhome--orders as unexpected as everything seems to be in the life of anaval man. "I am going back to her!" he cried. Her was his mother, herwas France. All the rest had disappeared as if into a fog. Jacquelinewas a phantom of the past; so many things had happened since the oldtimes when he had loved her. He had crossed the Indian Ocean and theChina Sea; he had seen long stretches of interminable coast-line; hehad beheld misery, and glory, and all the painful scenes that wait onwarfare; he had seen pestilence, and death in every shape, and all thishad wrought in him a sort of stoicism, the result of long acquaintancewith solitude and danger. He remembered his old love as a flower he hadonce admired as he passed it, a treacherous flower, with thorns that hadwounded him. There are flowers that are beneficent, and flowers that arepoisonous, and the last are sometimes the most beautiful. They shouldnot be blamed, he thought; it was their nature to be hurtful; but it waswell to pass them by and not to gather them. By the time he had debarked Fred had made up his mind to let his motherchoose a wife for him, a daughter-in-law suited to herself, who wouldgive 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 thiskind of marriage had gone out of his head, and this change of feelingwas partly owing to Giselle. Giselle gave him a smile of welcome thatwent to his heart, for that poor heart, after all, was only waiting fora chance again to give itself away. She was with Madame d'Argy, who hadnot been well enough to go to the sea-coast to meet her son, and hesaw at the same moment the pale and aged face which had visited him atTonquin in his dreams, and a fair face that he had never before thoughtso beautiful, more oval than he remembered it, with blue eyes soft andtender, and a mouth with a sweet infantine expression of sincerity andgoodness. 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 veryquickly, overwhelming her son with rapid questions and covering him withkisses, 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 oldplayfellow!" Giselle blushed a little, and Fred, more embarrassed than she, lightlytouched with his lips her pretty smooth hair which shone upon her headlike a helmet of gold. Perhaps it was this new style of hairdressingwhich made her seem so much more beautiful than he remembered her, butit seemed to him he saw her for the first time; while, with the greatesteagerness, notwithstanding Giselle's attempts to interrupt her, Madamed'Argy repeated to her son all she owed to that dear friend "her owndaughter, the best of daughters, the most patient, the most devoted ofdaughters, could not have done more! Ah! if there only could be foundanother one like her!" Whereupon the object of all these praises made her escape, disclaimingeverything. Why, after this, should she have hesitated to come back to Lizerollesevery day, as of late had been her custom? Men know so little abouttaking care of sick people. So she came, and was present at all therejoicings and all the talks that followed Fred's return. She took herpart in the discussions about Fred's future. "Help me, my pet, " saidMadame d'Argy, "help me to find a wife for him: all we ask is that sheshould be like you. " In answer to which Fred declared, half-laughing and half-seriously, thatthat 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'Argygrew better, she discontinued her daily visits, and Fred, in his turn, took a habit of going over to Fresne without being invited, and spendingthere a good deal of his time. "Don't send me away. You who are always charitable, " he said. "If youonly knew what a pleasure a Parisian conversation is after coming fromTonquin!" "But I am so little of a Parisienne, or at least what you mean by thatterm, and my conversation is not worth coming for, " objected Giselle. In her extreme modesty she did not realize how much she had gained inintellectual culture. Women left to themselves have time to read, andGiselle had done this all the more because she had considered it a duty. Must she not know enough to instruct and superintend the education ofher son? With much strong feeling, yet with much simplicity, she spoketo Fred of this great task, which sometimes frightened her; he gave herhis advice, and both discussed together the things that make up a goodman. Giselle brought up frequently the subject of heredity: she namedno one, but Fred could see that she had a secret terror lest Enguerrand, who in person was very like his father, might also inherit hischaracter. Fears on this subject, however, appeared unfounded. There wasnothing about the child that was not good; his tastes were those of hismother. He was passionately fond of Fred, climbing on his lap as soon asthe latter arrived and always maintaining that he, too, wanted a prettyred ribbon to wear in his buttonhole, a ribbon only to be got by sailingfar 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 awaywith him soon? I have some stories about cabin-boys who were not mucholder than I. " "Let us hope that your friend Fred won't go away, " said Giselle. "Butwhy do you wish to be a cabinboy?" "Because I want to go away with him, if he does not stay here--because Ilike him, " answered Enguerrand in a tone of decision. Hereupon Giselle kissed her boy with more than usual tenderness. Hewould not take to the hunting-field, she thought, the boulevard, and thecorps de ballet. She would not lose him. "But, oh, Fred!" she cried, "itis 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 formarriage. " She thought, in thus speaking, that she was saying what Madame d'Argywould 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--Imean all the young girls among whom I should have to make a choice--areindifferent to me. My feeling almost amounts to antipathy. " For the first time she ventured to say: "Do you still care forJacqueline?" "About as much as she cares for me, " he answered, dryly. "No, I made amistake 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 toEnguerrand. Fred held certain theories which he used to talk about. He believed ina high, spiritual, disinterested affection which would raise a man abovehimself, making him more noble, inspiring a disgust for all ignoblepleasures. The woman willing to accept such homage might do anything shepleased with a heart that would be hers alone. She would be the ladywho presided over his life, for whose sake all good deeds and generousactions would be done, the idol, higher than a wife or any object ofearthly passion, the White Angel whom poets have sung. Giselle pretended that she did not understand him, but she was divinelyhappy. This, then, was the reward of her spotless life! She was theobject of a worship no less tender than respectful. Fred spoke of thewoman he ought to have loved as if he meant to say, "I love you;" hepressed his lips on the auburn curls of little Enguerrand where hismother had just kissed him. Day after day he seemed more attractedto that salon where, dressed with more care than she had ever dressedbefore, she expected him. Then awoke in her the wish to please, and shewas beautiful with that beauty which is not the insipid beauty of St. Agnes, but that which, superior to all other, is seen when the facereflects the soul. All that winter there was a new Giselle--a Gisellewho passed away again among the shadows, a Giselle of whom everybodysaid, even her husband, "Ma foi! but she is beautiful!" Oscar deTalbrun, as he made this remark, never thought of wondering why she wasmore 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. Fredwas a relative and was admitted to all the privileges of a cousin or abrother; besides, he was a fellow of no consequence in any way. While this platonic attachment grew stronger and stronger between Fredand Giselle, assisted by the innocent complicity of little Enguerrand, Jacqueline was discovering how hard it is for a girl of good birth, ifshe is poor, to carry out her plans of honest independence. Possibly shehad 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, especiallywhen on one side there is a somewhat morbid susceptibility, and on theother a lack of good breeding and education. The Sparks, father anddaughter, Americans of the lower class, though willing to spend anynumber of dollars for their own pleasure, expected that every pennythey disbursed should receive its full equivalent in service; the placetherefore offered so gracefully and spontaneously to Mademoiselle deNailles was far from being a sinecure. Jacqueline received her salary onthe same footing as Justine, the Parisian maid, received her wages, for, although her position was apparently one of much greater importance andconsideration than Justine's, she was really at the beck and call of agirl who, while she called her "darling, " gave her orders and paid herfor her services. Very often Miss Nora asked her to sew, on the pleathat she was as skilful with her fingers as a fairy, but in reality thather employer might feel the superiority of her own position. Hitherto Miss Nora had been delighted to meet at watering-places afriend of whom she could say proudly, "She is a representative of theold nobility of France" (which was not true, by the way, for the titleof Baron borne by M. De Nailles went no farther back than the days ofLouis XVIII); and she was still more proud to think that she was nowwaited on by this same daughter of a nobleman, when her own father hadkept 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 veryvain and rather foolish. And, indeed, Jacqueline, would have been verywilling to plan trimmings and alter finery from morning to night inher own chamber in a hotel, exactly as Mademoiselle Justine did, if shecould by this means have escaped the special duties of her difficultposition, which duties were to follow Miss Nora everywhere, like her ownshadow, to be her confidant and to act sometimes as her screen, or evenas her accomplice, in matters that occasionally involved risks, and werenever to her liking. The young American girl had already said to her father, when he askedher 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 thatthere he was to be sought and found at any price. Hotel life offered heropportunities to exercise her instincts for flirtation, for there shemet many specimens of men she called chic, with a funny little foreignaccent, which seemed to put new life into the wornout word. Twenty timesa day she baited her hook, and twenty times a day some fish wouldbite, or at least nibble, according as he was a fortune-hunter or adilettante. Miss Nora, being incapable of knowing the difference, wasready to capture good or bad, and went about dragging her slaves ather chariot-wheels. Sometimes she took them rowing, with the Stars andStripes floating over her boat, by moonlight; sometimes she drovethem recklessly in a drag through roads bordered by olive-groves andvineyards; all these expeditions being undertaken under-pretence ofadmiring the romantic scenery. Her father was not disposed to interferewith what he called "a little harmless dissipation. " He was confidenthis daughter's "companion" must know what was proper, she being, as hesaid, accustomed to good society. Were not all Italian ladies attendedby gentlemen? Who could blame a young girl for amusing herself? MeantimeMr. Sparks amused himself after his own fashion, which was to sitcomfortably, with his feet up on the piazza rail of the hotel, imbibingstrong iced drinks through straws. But in reality Jacqueline had nopower whatever to preserve propriety, and only compromised herself byher associations, though her own conduct was irreproachable. Indeed shewas considered quite prudish, and the rest of the mad crowd laughedat her for having the manners of a governess. In vain she tried to saywords of warning to Nora; what she said was laughed at or resented in atone that told her that a paid companion had not the right to speak asfrankly as a friend. Her business, she was plainly told one day, was to be on the spot incase 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 anythingwrong; it is allowable in America, " was Miss Nora's regular speech onsuch occasions, and Jacqueline could not dispute the double argument. Nora's conduct was not wicked, and in America such things might beallowed. Yet Jacqueline tried to demonstrate that a young girl can notpass unscathed through certain adventures, even if they are innocent inthe strict sense of the word; which made Nora cry out that all she saidwas subterfuge and that she had no patience with prejudices. In vain her young companion pointed out to her charge that otherAmericans at Bellagio seemed far from approving her conduct. Americanladies of a very different class, who were staying at the hotel, heldaloof 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 arestuck-up Bostonians. And do you know, Jacqueline, you are getting verytiresome? You were faster yourself than I when we were the Blue Band atTreport. " Nora's admirers, sometimes encouraged, sometimes snubbed, when treatedcavalierly 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 greatcoldness. Having entered her protest against what was going on, andhaving resisted the contagion of example, it was natural she shouldsomewhat exaggerate her prudery, for it is hard to hit just the rightpoint in such reaction. The result was, she made herself so disagreeableto Miss Sparks that the latter determined on getting rid of her astactfully as possible. Their parting took place on the day after an excursion to the VillaSommariva, where Miss Sparks and her little court had behaved with theirusual noise and rudeness. They had gone there ostensibly to see thepictures, about which none of them cared anything, for Nora, wherevershe was, never liked any one to pay attention to anybody or to look atanything but her own noisy, all-pervading self. It so happened that at the most riotous moment of the picnic an oldgentleman passed near the lively crowd. He was quite inoffensive, pleasant-mannered, and walked leaning on his cane, yet, had the statueof the Commander in Don Juan suddenly appeared it could not haveproduced such consternation as his presence did on Jacqueline, when, after a moment's hesitation, he bowed to her. She recognized in him afriend of Madame d'Argy, M. Martel, whom she had often met at her housein Paris and at Lizerolles. When he recognized her, she fancied she hadseen pass over his face a look of painful surprise. He would surely tellhow he had met her; what would her old friends think of her? What wouldFred? For some time past she had thought more than ever before of whatFred would think of her. The more she grew disgusted with the men shemet, the more she appreciated his good qualities, and the more shethought of the honest, faithful love he had offered her--love that shehad so madly thrown away. She never should meet such love again, shethought. It was the idea of how Fred would blame her when he heardwhat she pictured to herself the old gentleman would say of her, thatsuddenly decided her to leave Bellagio. She told Mr. Sparks that evening that she was not strong enough for suchduties 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 bywork if you are not strong enough for pleasure?" "Pleasure needs strength as well as labor, " she said, smiling; "I wouldrather work in the fields than go on amusing myself as I have beendoing. " "My dear, you must not be so difficult to please. When people have toearn their bread, it is a bad plan. I am afraid you will find outbefore long that there are harder ways of making a living than lunching, dancing, walking, and driving from morning to night in a prettycountry--" 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 hisyouthful vigor. He was rather fond of recalling how he had carried hispick on his shoulder and his knife in his belt, with two Yankee sayingsin his head, and little besides for baggage: "Muscle and pluck!--Muscleand pluck!" and "Go ahead for ever!" That was the sort of thing to bedone when a man or a woman had not a cent. And now, what was Jacqueline to do next? She reflected that in a veryshort time she had attempted many things. It seemed to her that all shecould do now was to follow the advice which, when first given herby Madame Strahlberg, had frightened her, though she had found it soattractive. She would study with Madame Rochette; she would go to theMilan Conservatory, and as soon as she came of age she would go upon thestage, under a feigned name, of course, and in a foreign country. Shewould prove to the world, she said to herself, that the career of anactress is compatible with self-respect. This resolve that she wouldnever be found wanting in self-respect held a prominent place in all herplans, as she began to understand better those dangers in life which arefor the most part unknown to young girls born in her social position. Jacqueline's character, far from being injured by her trials andexperiences, had gained in strength. She grew firmer as she gained inknowledge. Never had she been so worthy of regard and interest as atthe very time when her friends were saying sadly to themselves, "She isgoing to the bad, " and when, from all appearances, they were right inthis conclusion. CHAPTER XVII. TWIN DEVILS Jacqueline came to the conclusion that she had better seriously consultMadame Strahlberg. She therefore stopped at Monaco, where this friend, whom she intended to honor with the strange office of Mentor, waspassing the winter in a little villa in the Condamine quarter--a cottagesurrounded by roses and laurel-bushes, painted in soft colors andlooking like a plaything. Madame Strahlberg had already urged Jacqueline to come and makeacquaintance with her "paradise, " without giving her any hint of thedelights of that paradise, from which that of gambling was not excluded, for Madame Strahlberg was eager for any kind of excitement. Roulette nowoccupied with her a large part of every night--indeed, her nights hadbeen rarely given to slumber, for her creed was that morning is the timefor sleep, for which reason they never took breakfast in the pink villa, but tea, cakes, and confectionery were eaten instead at all hours untilthe evening. Thus it happened very often that they had no dinner, andguests had to accommodate themselves to the strange ways of the family. Jacqueline, however, did not stay long enough to know much of thoseways. She arrived, poor thing, with weary wing, like some bird, who, escapingfrom the fowler's net, where it has left its feathers, flies straight tothe spot where a sportsman lies ready to shoot it. She was receivedwith the same cries of joy, the same kisses, the same demonstrations ofaffection, as those which, the summer before, had welcomed her to theRue de Naples. They told her she could sleep on a sofa, exactly like theone on which she had passed that terrible night which had resulted inher expulsion from the convent; and it was decided that she must stayseveral days, at least, before she went on to Paris, to begin thelife of hard study and courageous work which would make of her a greatsinger. Tired?--No, she was hardly tired at all. The journey over the enchantingroad of the Corniche had awakened in her a fervor of admiration whichprevented her from feeling any bodily needs, and now she seemed to havereached fairyland, where the verdure of the tropics was like the hanginggardens of Babylon, only those had never had a mirror to reflect backtheir ancient, far-famed splendor, like that before her eyes, as shelooked down upon the Mediterranean, with the sun setting in the west ina sky all crimson and gold. Notwithstanding the disorder of her travelling-dress, Jacqueline allowedher friend to take her straight from the railway station to the Terraceof Monte Carlo. She fell into ecstasies at sight of the African cacti, the century plants, and the fig-trees of Barbary, covering the lowwalls whence they looked down into the water; at the fragrance of theevergreens that surrounded the beautiful palace with its balustrades, dedicated to all the worst passions of the human race; with the sharprocky outline of Turbia; with an almost invisible speck on the horizonwhich they said was Corsica; with everything, which, whether mirage orreality, lifted her out of herself, and plunged her into that stateof excited happiness and indescribable sense of bodily comfort, whichexterior impressions so easily produce upon the young. After exhausting her vocabulary in exclamations and in questions, shestood silent, watching the sun as it sank beneath the waters, thinkingthat life is well worth living if it can give us such gloriousspectacles, notwithstanding all the difficulties that may have to bepassed through. Several minutes elapsed before she turned her radiantface and dazzled eyes toward Wanda, or rather toward the spot whereWanda had been standing beside her. "Oh! my dear--how beautiful!" shemurmured with a long sigh. The sigh was echoed by a man, who for a few moments had looked at herwith as much admiration as she had looked at the landscape. He answeredher by saying, in a low voice, the tones of which made her tremble fromhead to foot: "Jacqueline!" "Monsieur de Cymier!" The words slipped through her lips as they suddenly turned pale. She hadan instinctive, sudden persuasion that she had been led into a snare. Ifnot, why was Madame Strahlberg now absorbed in conversation with threeother 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 commandedherself and looked full in his face. Her anger rose. She had seen thesame look in the ugly, brutal face of Oscar de Talbrun. From the Terraceof Monte Carlo her memory flew back to a country road in Normandy, and she clenched her hand round an imaginary riding-whip. She neededcoolness and she needed courage. They came as if by miracle. "It is certain, Monsieur, " she answered, slowly, "that I did not expectto meet you here. " "Chance has had pity on me, " he replied, bowing low, as she had set himthe example of ceremony. But he had no idea of losing time in commonplace remarks--he wished totake up their intimacy on the terms it had been formerly, to resume theromance he himself had interrupted. "I knew, " he said in the same low voice, full of persuasion, which gaveespecial meaning to his words, "I knew that, after all, we should meetagain. " "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 makeme wretched; if you could only understand--" She made a swift movement to rejoin Madame Strahlberg, but that lady wasalready coming toward them with the same careless ease with which shehad left them together. "Well! you have each found an old acquaintance, " she said, gayly. "I begyour pardon, my loveliest, but I had to speak to some old friends, andask them to join us to-morrow evening. We shall sup at the restaurantof 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 shallexpect you. Au revoir. " He had been on the point of asking leave to walk home with them. Butthere was something in Jacqueline's look, and in her stubborn silence, that deterred him. He thought it best to leave a skilful advocate toplead his cause before he continued a conversation which had notbegun satisfactorily. Not that Gerard de Cymier was discouraged bythe behavior of Jacqueline. He had expected her to be angry at hisdefection, and that she would make him pay for it; but a little skill onhis part, and a little credulity on hers, backed by the intervention ofa third party, might set things right. One moment he lingered to look at her, admiring her as she stood inthe light of the dying sun, as beautiful in her plain dress and herindignant paleness, while she looked far out to sea, that she mightnot be obliged to look at him, as she had been when he had known her inprosperity. At that moment he knew she hated him, but it would be an additionaldelight to overcome that feeling. The two women, when he left them, continued walking on the terrace sideby side, without a word. Wanda watched her companion out of the cornersof her eyes, and hummed an air to herself to break the silence. She sawa storm gathering under Jacqueline's black eyebrows, and knew that sharparrows were likely to shoot forth from those lips which several timeshad opened, though not a word had been uttered, probably through fear ofsaying too little or too much. At last she made some trifling comment on the view, explaining somethingabout pigeon-shooting. "Wanda, " interrupted Jacqueline, "did you not know what happened once?" "Happened, how? About what?" asked Madame Strahlberg, with an air ofinnocence. "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 seethat. It was all the more reason why you should have been glad to meethim. " "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 hisformal proposal? Not all men are marrying men, my dear, nor have allwomen that vocation. Men fall in love all the same. " "Do you think, then, that when a man knows he has no intention ofmarrying he should pay court to a young girl? I think I told you at thetime that he had paid court to me, and that he afterward--how shall Isay it?--basely deserted me. " The sharp and thrilling tone in which Jacqueline said this amused MadameStrahlberg. "What big words, my dear! No, I don't remember that you ever saidanything of the sort to me before. But you are wrong. As we grow olderwe lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words. They do no good. In yourplace I should be touched by the thought that a man so charming had beenfaithful to me. " "Faithful!" cried Jacqueline, her dark eyes flashing into the cat-likeeyes 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 wouldincrease the attractions of Monaco?" "Why did you not tell me?" "Because I never write a word more than is necessary; you know how lazyI am. And also because, I may as well confess, it might have scared youoff, you are so sensitive. " "Then you meant to take me by surprise?" said Jacqueline, in the sametone. "Oh! my dear, why do you try to quarrel with me?" replied MadameStrahlberg, stopping suddenly and looking at her through her eyeglass. "We may as well understand what you mean by a free and independentlife. " And thereupon ensued an address to which Jacqueline listened, leaningone hand on a balustrade of that enchanted garden, while the voice ofthe serpent, as she thought, was ringing in her ears. Her limbs shookunder her--her brain reeled. All her hopes of success as a singer on thestage Madame Strahlberg swept away, as not worth a thought. She told herthat, in her position, had she meant to be too scrupulous, she shouldhave stayed in the convent. Everything to Jacqueline seemed to dancebefore her eyes. The evening closed around them, the light died out, thelandscape, like her life, had lost its glow. She uttered a brief prayerfor help, such a prayer as she had prayed in infancy. She whisperedit in terror, like a cry in extreme danger. She was more frightenedby Wanda's wicked words than she had been by M. De Talbrun or by M. DeCymier. She ceased to know what she was saying till the last words, "Youhave 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 thinkingonly of your good. Come! Would you like to go into the Casino and lookat the pictures? No, you are tired? You can see them some evening. Theballroom 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 voicerang in her ears in tones quite new to her, a laugh that she utteredwithout any occasion, and which came near resulting in hysterics. Yetshe had power enough over her nerves to notice the surroundings as sheentered 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 oneof 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 severeheadache, 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 thathouse seemed possible now. They brought her a cup of tea. Up to a late hour she heard a confusednoise of music and laughter. She did not try to sleep. All her facultieswere on the alert, like those of a prisoner who is thinking of escape. She knew what time the night trains left the station, and, abandoningher trunk and everything else that she had with her, she furtively--butready, if need were, to fight for her liberty with the strength ofdesperation--slipped down the broad stairs over their thick carpet andpushed open a little glass door. Thank heaven! people came in and wentout of that house as if it had been a mill. No one discovered herflight till the next morning, when she was far on her way to Paris inan express train. Modeste, quite unprepared for her young mistress'sarrival, was amazed to see her drop down upon her, feverish and excited, like some poor hunted animal, with strength exhausted. Jacqueline flungherself 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 toldModeste everything, speaking rapidly and disconnectedly, thankful tohave some one to whom she could open her heart. In default of Modesteshe would have spoken to stone walls. "And what will you do now, my poor darling?" asked the old nurse, assoon as she understood that her young lady had come back to her, "withweary foot and broken wing, " from what she had assured her on herdeparture would be a brilliant excursion. "Oh! I don't know, " answered Jacqueline, in utter discouragement; "I amtoo 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 tome. " "Or Madame d'Argy? Or Madame de Talbrun? Madame de Talbrun is the onewho 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 likeyesterday--all the rest is like a nightmare--how I used to hide myselfunder 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 nowjust 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 shewas very self-willed, from going, without Jacqueline's knowledge, to seeMadame de Talbrun and tell her all that had taken place. She was hurtand amazed at her reception by Giselle, and at her saying, without anyoffer of help or words of sympathy, "She has only reaped what she hassown. " Giselle would have been more than woman had not Fred, and aremembrance of the wrongs that he had suffered through Jacqueline, nowstood between them. For months he had been the prime object in her life;her mission of comforter had brought her the greatest happiness she hadever known. She tried to make him turn his attention to some seriouswork in life; she wanted to keep him at home, for his mother's sake, shethought; she fancied she had inspired him with a taste for home life. Ifshe had examined herself she might have discovered that the task she hadundertaken of doing good to this young man was not wholly for his sakebut partly for her own. She wanted to see him nearly every day and tooccupy a place in his life ever larger and larger. But for sometime past the conscientious Giselle had neglected the duty of strictself-examination. She was thankful to be happy--and though Fred was aman little given to self-flattery in his relations with women, he couldnot but be pleased at the change produced in her by her intercourse withhim. But while Fred and Giselle considered themselves as two friends tryingto console each other, people had begun to talk about them. Even Madamed'Argy asked herself whether her son might not have escaped from thecruel claws of a young coquette of the new school to fall into a worsescrape with a married woman. She imagined what might happen if thejealousy of "that wild boar of an Oscar de Talbrun" were aroused; thedangers, far more terrible than the perils of the sea, that mightin such a case await her only son, the child for whose safety hermother-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 forany 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 ofJacqueline, as she lay hidden in Modeste's lodging, like a fawn in itscovert, her eyes and ears on the alert, watching for the least sign ofalarm, in fear and trembling. She expected something, she knew not what;she felt that her sad adventure at Monaco could not fail to have itsepilogue; 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 myfault!--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 noseto read the paragraph. "Monsieur Fred wounded! Holy Virgin! His poormother! That is a new trouble fallen on her, to be sure. But thisquarrel had nothing to do with you, my pet; you see they say it wasabout cards. " And folding up the Figaro, while Jacqueline in all haste was wrappingher 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'tyou understand? You are so stupid! What could they have had to quarrelabout but me? O God! Thou art just! This is indeed punishment--too muchpunishment for me!" So saying, she ran down the many stairs that led up to Modeste's littlelodging in the roof, her feet hardly touching them as she ran, whileModeste followed her more slowly, crying: "Wait for me! Wait for me, Mademoiselle!" Calling a fiacre, Jacqueline, almost roughly, pushed the old woman intoit, and gave the coachman the address of Madame d'Argy, having, in herexcitement, 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 ofthat dreadful day, when with Modeste, just as now, she went to meetan irreparable loss. She seemed to see before her her dead father--helooked like Fred, and now, as before, Marien had his part in thetragedy. Could he not have prevented the duel? Could he not have donesomething to prevent Fred from exposing himself? The wound might be noworse than it was said to be in the newspaper--but then a second meetingwas 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 Madamed'Argy had her winter residence, a little calm, a little sense returnedto 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 streetwith the carriage-blinds pulled down, and Modeste should go in and askfor information. Five minutes passed--ten minutes passed--they seemedages. How slow Modeste was, slow as a tortoise! How could she leave herthere when she knew she was so anxious? What could she be doing? All shehad to do was to ask news of M. Fred in just two words! At last, Jacqueline could bear suspense no longer. She opened thecoach-door and jumped out on the pavement. Just at that moment Modesteappeared, brandishing the umbrella that she carried instead of a stick, in a manner that meant something. It might be bad news, she would knowin 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. Iwasn't the only person there--they were writing in a register. Get backinto the carriage, Mademoiselle, or somebody will see you--There arelots 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 onlya scratch--Ah! Madame that's only my way of talking. He will be laid upfor a fortnight. The doctor was there--he has some fever, but he is notin any danger. " "Oh! what a blessing! Kiss me, Modeste. We have a fortnight in which wemay interfere--But how--Oh, how?--Ah! there is Giselle! We will go toGiselle at once!" And the 'fiacre' was ordered to go as fast as possible to the RueBarbet-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 importantbusiness. I must see her. " And Jacqueline passed the concierge, only to encounter another refusalfrom a footman, who insisted that Madame la Comtesse was at home to noone. "But me, she will see me. Go and tell her it is Mademoiselle deNailles. " Moved by her persistence, the footman went in to inquire, and came backimmediately 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 willdrive me mad?" She was half-mad already. She stopped at a newsstand and bought all theevening journals; then, up in her garret, in her poor little nest underthe roof-which, as she felt bitterly, was her only refuge, she began tolook over those printed papers in which she might possibly find out thetrue cause of the duel. Nearly all related the event in almost the exactterms used by the Figaro. Ah!--here was a different one! A reporter whoknew something more added, in Gil Blas: "We have stated the cause ofthe dispute as it has been given to the public, but in affairs of thisnature more than in any others, it is safe to remember the old proverb:'Look for the woman. ' The woman could doubtless have been found enjoyingherself on the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, while men were drawingswords in her defense. " Jacqueline went on looking through the newspapers, crumpling up thesheets as she laid them down. The last she opened had the reputationof being a repository of scandals, never to be depended on, as she wellknew. 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 wherewould she be more likely to find what she wanted than in the columnsof a journal whose reporters listened behind doors and peeped throughkeyholes? Under the heading of 'Les Dessous Parisiens', she read on thefirst 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 MadameStrahlberg's which had led to her being attacked by one man, anddefended by the other! Jacqueline found it hard to recognize herself inthis tissue of lies, insinuations, and half-truths. What did the papermean its readers to understand by its account? Was it a jealous rivalrybetween herself and Madame Strahlberg?--Was M. De Cymier meant by thecock? And Fred had heard all this--he had drawn his sword to refutethe calumny. Brave Fred! Alas! he had been prompted only by chivalricgenerosity. Doubtless he, also, looked upon her as an adventuress. All night poor Jacqueline wept with such distress that she wished thatshe might die. She was dropping off to sleep at last, overpowered byfatigue, when a ring at the bell in the early morning roused her. Thenshe 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. Wrappedin a dressing-gown, with bare feet, her face pale, her eyelids red, hercomplexion clouded, she rushed to meet her friend, who was almost asmuch disordered as herself. It seemed as if Madame de Talbrun might alsohave passed a night of sleeplessness and tears. "You have come! Oh! you have come at last!" cried Jacqueline, throwingher arms around her, but Giselle repelled her with a gesture so severethat the poor child could not but understand its meaning. She murmured, pointing to the pile of newspapers: "Is it possible?--Can you havebelieved all those dreadful things?" "What things? I have read nothing, " said Giselle, harshly. "I onlyknow that a man who was neither your husband nor your brother, and whoconsequently was under no obligation to defend you, has been foolishenough to be nearly killed for your sake. Is not that a proof of yourdownfall? 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! whatcan 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 herhand from her cousin's grasp. Giselle was not herself at that moment. "But, for your own sake, itwould have been better he should have abstained from such an act ofQuixotism. " "Giselle! can it be that you think me guilty?" "Guilty!" cried Madame de Talbrun, her pale face aflame. "A little moreand Monsieur de Cymier's sword-point would have pierced his lungs. " "Good heavens!" cried Jacqueline, hiding her face in her hands. "But Ihave 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. Hehad seen Fred so seldom, and Tonquin had so changed him that he spoke inhis presence--without supposing any one would interfere. I dare not tellyou 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 themaway, and began her story, with all its details, of what had happenedto her since she left Fresne. She told of her meeting with Wanda; of thefatal evening which had resulted in her expulsion from the convent;her disgust at the Sparks family; the snare prepared for her by MadameStrahlberg. "And I can not tell you all, " she added, "I can not tellyou what drove me away from my true friends, and threw me among thesepeople--" Giselle's sad smile seemed to answer, "No need--I am aware of it--I knowmy husband. " Encouraged by this, Jacqueline went on with her confession, hiding nothing that was wrong, showing herself just as she had been, apoor, proud child who had set out to battle for herself in a dangerousworld. At every step she had been more and more conscious of her ownimprudence, of her own weakness, and of an ever-increasing desire tobe done with independence; to submit to law, to be subject to any ruleswhich would deliver her from the necessity of obeying no will but herown. "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 takingcharge of myself. I said so the other day to the Abbe Bardin. He is theonly person I have seen since my return. It seems to me I am coming backto my old ideas--you remember how I once wished to end my days in thecell of a Carmelite? You might love me again then, perhaps, and Fred andpoor Madame d'Argy, who must feel so bitterly against me since her sonwas 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 allspeak of me sometimes to each other as one who had been very unhappy, who had been guilty of great foolishness, but who had repaired herfaults as best she could. " Poor Jacqueline! She was no longer a girl of the period; in her griefand humiliation she belonged to the past. Old-fashioned forms ofpenitence attracted her. "And what did the Abbe Bardin tell you?" asked Giselle, with a slightmovement of her shoulders. "He only told me that he could not say at present whether that were myvocation. " "Nor can I, " said Giselle. Jacqueline lifted up her face, wet with tears, which she had beenleaning on the lap of Giselle. "I do not see what else I can do, unless you would get me a place asgoverness somewhere at the ends of the earth, " she said. "I could teachchildren their letters. I should not mind doing anything. I nevershould complain. Ah! if you lived all by yourself, Giselle, how I shouldimplore you to take me to teach little Enguerrand!" "I think you might do better than that, " said Giselle, wiping herfriend's eyes almost as a mother might have done, "if you would onlylisten to Fred. " Jacqueline's cheeks became crimson. "Don't mock me--it is cruel--I am too unworthy--it would pain me tosee 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 hehas been long married, and when everything concerning me is a thing ofthe past. I never had loved any one with all my heart up to the momentwhen I read in that paper that he had fought for me, that his blood hadflowed for me, that after all that had passed he still thought me worthyof being defended by him. " Her tears flowed fast, and she added: "I shall be proud of that all therest 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. Iforgot our old friendship for a moment--I was harsh to you; and I haveso little right to blame you! But come! Providence may have arranged allfor the best, though one of us may have to suffer. Pray for that someone. Good-by--'au revoir!" She kissed Jacqueline's forehead and was gone, before her cousin hadseized the meaning of her last words. But joy and peace came back toJacqueline. She had recovered her best friend, and had convinced her ofher 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 justeating his breakfast. The Abbe Bardin was Jacqueline's confessor, and heheld the same relation to a number of other young girls who were amongher particular friends. He was thoroughly acquainted with all thatconcerned their delicate and generally childish little souls. He keptthem in the right way, had often a share in their marriages, and ingeneral kept an eye upon them all their lives. Even when they escapedfrom him, as had happened in the case of Jacqueline, he did not givethem up. He commended them to God, and looked forward to the time oftheir repentance with the patience of a father. The Abbe Bardin hadnever been willing to exercise any function but that of catechist; hehad grown old in the humble rank of third assistant in a great parish, when, with a little ambition, he might have been its rector. "Sufferlittle children to come unto me, " had been his motto. These words ofhis Divine Master seemed more often than any others on his lips-lipsso expressive of loving kindness, though sometimes a shrewd smile wouldpass over them and seem to say: "I know, I can divine. " But when thissmile, the result of long experience, did not light up his features, thegood Abbe Bardin looked like an elderly child; he was short, hiswalk was a trot, his face was round and ruddy, his eyes, which wereshort-sighted, were large, wide-open, and blue, and his heavy crop ofwhite hair, which curled and crinkled above his forehead, made him looklike a sixty-year-old angel, crowned with a silvery aureole. Rubbing his hands affably, he came into the little parlor where Madamede Talbrun was waiting for him. There was probably no ecclesiastic inall Paris who had a salon so full of worked cushions, each of which wasa keepsake--a souvenir of some first communion. The Abbe did not knowhis visitor, but the name Talbrun seemed to him connected with anhonorable and well-meaning family. The lady was probably a mother whohad come to put her child into his hands for religious instruction. Hereceived visits from dozens of such mothers, some of whom were a littletiresome, from a wish to teach him what he knew better than they, andat one time he had set apart Wednesday as his day for receiving suchvisits, that he might not be too greatly disturbed, as seemed likely tohappen to him that day. Not that he cared very much whether he ate hiscutlet hot or cold, but his housekeeper cared a great deal. A man maybe a very experienced director, and yet be subject to direction in otherways. The youth of Giselle took him by surprise. "Monsieur l'Abbe, " she said, without any preamble, while he begged herto sit down, "I have come to speak to you of a person in whom you takean 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, Ibelieve, since last week. " "Yes--she came. She has kept up, thank God, some of her religiousduties. " "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'smouths--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 allthe evil reports concocted in them, of which women are the victims!" "In the present case the evil report was pure calumny. It was taken upby some one whom you also know--Frederic d'Argy. " "I have had profound respect these many years for his excellent andpious mother. " "I thought so. In that case, Monsieur l'Abbe, you would not object togoing 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 bydefending her reputation in a manner too public, there is but one thinghe can do afterward-marry her. " "Wait one moment, " said the Abbe, who was greatly surprised; "it iscertain 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--sosoon after--" "Today at four o'clock, Monsieur l'Abbe. Time presses. You can addthat such a marriage is the only way to stop a second duel, which willotherwise take place. " "Is it possible?" "And it is also the only way to bring Frederic to decide on sending inhis 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 thearguments 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 Bibletells 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--toseem 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 bevery 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 willingto pass nine months of the year at Lizerolles, and Jacqueline is quitecured of her Paris fever. " "A fever too often mortal, " murmured the Abbe; "oh, for the simplicityof 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 manyof 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 thatever since yesterday, if not before, she has loved Monsieur d'Argy, whoon his part for a long time--a very long time--has been in love withher. " Giselle spoke eagerly, as if she forced herself to say the words thatcost her pain. Her cheeks were flushed under her veil. The Abbe, who waskeen-sighted, observed these signs. "But, " continued Giselle, "if he is forced to forget her he may tryto expend elsewhere the affection he feels for her; he may trouble thepeace of others, while deceiving himself. He might make in the worldone of those attachments--Do not fail to represent all these dangers toMadame d'Argy when you plead the cause of Jacqueline. " "Humph! You are evidently much attached, Madame, to Mademoiselle deNailles. " "Very much, indeed, " she answered, bravely, "very much attached toher, and still more to him; therefore you understand that this marriagemust--absolutely must take place. " She had risen and was folding her cloak round her, looking straight intothe Abbe's eyes. Small as she was, their height was almost the same; shewanted 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 notto do with one of those wolves dressed in fleece whose appearance isas misleading as that of sheep disguised as wolves: now his opinion wassettled. "Mon Dieu! Madame, " he said, "your reasons seem to me excellent--a duelto be prevented, a son to be kept by the side of his sick mother, twoyoung people who love each other to be married, the saving, possibly, oftwo souls--" "Say three souls, Monsieur l'Abbe!" He did not ask whose was the third, nor even why she had insisted thatthis delicate commission must be executed that same day. He only bowedwhen she said again: "At four o'clock: Madame d'Argy will be preparedto see you. Thank you, Monsieur l'Abbe. " And then, as she descended thestaircase, 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 Talbrunbeing absent, she sat looking at her son, who was eating with a goodappetite, while she drank only a cup of tea; after which, she dressedherself, with more than usual care, hiding by rice-powder the trace ofrecent tears on her complexion, and arranging her fair hair in the waythat was most becoming to her, under a charming little bonnet coveredwith gold net-work which corresponded with the embroidery on an entirelynew costume. When she went into the dining-room Enguerrand, who was there with hisnurse finishing his dessert, cried out: "Oh! mamma, how pretty you are!"which went to her heart. She kissed him two or three times--one kissafter 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 asastonished 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 samething, 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 mycopy. I'll go and do it while you do your duty. So that will seem as ifwe 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 newaccent, a new meaning, and, boy-like, he tried to turn this excess oftenderness 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 thatresigned but saddened air that mothers wear when they are occupied inrepairing the consequences of some rash folly. Fred had seen her in hisboyhood knitting in the same way with the same, look on her face, whenhe had been thrown from his pony, or had fallen from his velocipede. Hehimself looked ill at ease and worried, as he lay on a sofa with his armin a sling. He was yawning and counting the hours. From time to time hismother 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 seeher watching him. His handsome masculine face, tanned that pale brownwhich tropical climates give to fair complexions, looked odd as it roseabove a light-blue cape, a very feminine garment which, as it had nosleeves, had been tied round his neck to keep him from being cold. Hefelt himself, with some impatience, at the mercy of the most tender, but the most sharp-eyed of nurses, a prisoner to her devotion, and madeconscious of her power every moment. Her attentions worried him; he knewthat they all meant "It is your own fault, my poor boy, that you are inthis state, and that your mother is so unhappy. " He felt it. He knew aswell 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 notthinking of as a wife, always calling her a "cider apple, " in allusionto her red cheeks. A servant came in, and said to Madame d'Argy that Madame de Talbrun wasin 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 distractedbetween her various anxieties; exasperated against the fatal influenceof Jacqueline, alarmed by the increasing intimacy with Giselle, desirousthat all such complications should be put an end to by his marriage, but terribly afraid that her "cider apple" would not be sufficient toaccomplish it. "Beg Madame de Talbrun to come in here, " she said, repeating the orderafter her son; but she settled herself in her chair with an air morepatient, more resigned than ever, and her lips were firmly closed. Giselle entered in her charming new gown, and Fred's first words, likethose of Enguerrand, were: "How pretty you are! It is charity, " headded, 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. Thepoor mother had resumed her knitting with a sigh, hardly glancing at thepretty 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 firstrepresentation of a vaudeville, and he gave me over into the hands ofthe same dressmaker, who indeed was named in the play. That kind ofadvertising 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 underthe embroidered front of the bodice which fitted her so smoothly. Shewondered how Madame d'Argy would receive the suggestion she was about tomake. 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 anybodycan be happy. There are so many of us who are sad. " "But why are you pleased?" asked Fred, looking at her, as if by someinstinct he understood that he had something to do with it. "Our prodigal has returned, " answered Giselle, with a little air ofsatisfaction, very artificial, however, for she could hardly breathe, so great was her fear and her emotion. "My house is in the garb ofrejoicing. " "The prodigal? Do you mean your husband?" said Madame d'Argy, maliciously. "Oh! I despair of him, " replied Giselle, lightly. "No, I speak of aprodigal who did not go far, and who made haste to repent. I am speakingof Jacqueline. " There was complete silence. The knitting-needles ticked rapidly, aslight flush rose on the dark cheeks of Fred. "All I beg, " said Madame d'Argy, "is that you will not ask me to eatthe fatted calf in her honor. The comings and going of Mademoiselle deNailles 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 meyou show a want of tact such as I should never have imagined in tellingus--" Giselle read in Fred's eyes, which were steadily fixed on her, that hewas, on that point, of his mother's opinion. She went on, however, stillpretending to blunder. "Forgive me--but I have been so anxious about you ever since I heardthere was to be a second meeting--" "A second meeting!" screamed Madame d'Argy, who, as she read no paperbut the Gazette de France, or occasionally the Debats, knew nothing ofall 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; "Monsieurde Cymier has written a letter which puts an end to our quarrel. It isthe 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 onMademoiselle de Nailles, and authorizing me, if I think best, to makepublic his retraction. After that we can have nothing more to say toeach 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 whohave spoken evil of her. " "That is exactly what I think, " said Giselle. "The self-constitutedchampion has given the evil rumor circulation. " There was again a painful silence. Then the intrepid little womanresumed: "This step on the part of Monsieur de Cymier seems to haverendered my errand unnecessary. I had thought of a way to end this sadaffair; a very simple way, much better, most certainly, than men cuttingtheir own throats or those of other people. But since peace has beenmade over the ruins of Jacqueline's reputation, I had better say nothingand go away. " "No--no! Let us hear what you had to propose, " said Fred, getting upfrom his couch so quickly that he jarred his bandaged arm, and uttered acry of pain, which seemed very much like an oath, too. Giselle was silent. Standing before the hearth, she was warming hersmall feet, watching, as she did so, Madame d'Argy's profile, which wasreflected in the mirror. It was severe--impenetrable. It was Fred whospoke first. "In the first place, " he said, hesitating, "are you sure thatMademoiselle de Nailles has not just arrived from Monaco?" "I am certain that for a week she has been living quietly withModeste, and that, though she passed through Monaco, she did not staythere--twenty-four hours, finding that the air of that place did notagree with her. " "But what do you say to what Monsieur Martel saw with his own eyes, andwhich is confirmed by public rumor?" cried Madame d'Argy, as if she weregiving a challenge. "Monsieur Martel saw Jacqueline in bad company. She was not there ofher own will. As to public rumor, we may feel sure that to make it asflattering to her tomorrow as it is otherwise to-day only a marriage isnecessary. Yes, a marriage! That is the way I had thought of to settleeverything and make everybody happy. " "What man would marry a girl who had compromised herself?" said Madamed'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 arelosing your senses. If I were not afraid of agitating Fred--" He was, in truth, greatly agitated. The only hand that he could use waspulling and tearing at the little blue cape crossed on his breast, inwhich his mother had wrapped him; and this unsuitable garment formedsuch a queer contrast to the expression of his face that Giselle, in hernervous excitement, burst out laughing, an explosion of merriment whichcompleted 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 doeshe want! Does he wish me to assist in some good work--or to undertake tocollect money, which I hate. " "Above all, mother, " cried Fred, "don't expose me to the fatigue ofreceiving his visit. Go and see him yourself. Giselle will take care ofyour patient while you are gone. Won't you, Giselle?" His voice was soft, and very affectionate. He evidently was not angry atwhat she had dared to say, and she acknowledged this to herself with anaching heart. "I don't exactly trust your kind of care, " said Madame d'Argy, with asmile 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 andapproached Giselle with passionate eagerness. "Are you sure I am not dreaming, " said he. "Is it you--really you whoadvise 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 downagain, or else I will not say one word more. That is right. Now keepstill. Your mother is furiously displeased with me--I am sorry--butshe will get over it. I know that in Jacqueline you would have a goodwife--a wife far better than the Jacqueline you would have marriedformerly. She has paid dearly for her experience of life, and hasprofited by its lessons, so that she is now worthy of you, and sincerelyrepentant for her childish peccadilloes. " "Giselle, " said Fred, "look me full in the face--yes, look into my eyesfrankly 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 herhand, which was burning inside her glove, and which with a great effortshe prevented from trembling. Then her nerves gave way under his longand silent gaze, which seemed to question her, and she laughed, a laughthat sounded to herself very unnatural. "My poor, dear friend, " she cried, "how easily you men are duped! Youare trying to find out, to discover whether, in case you decide uponan honest act, a perfectly sensible act, to which you are stronglyinclined--don't tell me you are not--whether, in short, you marryJacqueline, I shall be really as glad of it as I pretend. But have younot found out what I have aimed at all along? Do you think I did notknow 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 ofher continually. We two loved her; each of us felt we did. Even when yousaid harm of her, I knew it was merely because you longed to utter hername, and repeat to yourself her perfections. I laughed, yes, I laughedto myself, and I was careful how I contradicted you. I tried to keep yousafe for her, to prevent your going elsewhere and forming attachmentswhich might have resulted in your forgetting her. I did my best--do mejustice--I did my best; perhaps sometimes I pushed things a little farin her interest, in that of your mother, but in yours more than all; inyours, for God knows I am all for you, " said Giselle, with sudden andinvoluntary 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 theslightest feeling of love between us, love the most spiritual, themost platonic--yes, all men, I fancy, have a little of that kind ofself-conceit. Dear Fred, don't imagine it--Enguerrand would never haveallowed it. " She was smiling, half laughing, and he looked at her with astonishment, asking himself whether he could believe what she was saying, when hecould recollect what seemed to him so many proofs to the contrary. Yetin what she said there was no hesitation, no incoherence, no false note. Pride, noble pride, upheld her to the end. The first falsehood of herlife 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 heronce, and remembered that old love enough to risk my life for her, butin reality I now love only you--all the more at this moment when I seeyou love me more than yourself. " But, instead, he murmured only, likea man and a lover: "And Jacqueline--do you think she loves me?" Hisanxiety, 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 wouldhave now been convinced of it. The conviction stabbed her to the heart. Death is not that last sleep in which all our faculties, weakenedand exhausted, fail us; it is the blow which annihilates our supremeillusion and leaves us disabused in a cold and empty world. People walk, talk, and smile after this death--another ghost is added to the dramaplayed 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 courageleft to say: "Yes, I know she loves you. " She said instead, in a low voice: "That is a question you must ask ofher. " Meantime, in the next room they could hear Madame d'Argy vehementlyrepeating: "Never! No, I never will consent! Is it a plot between you?" They heard also a rumbling monotone preceding each of these vehementinterruptions. 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 hismain argument: "I will answer for their happiness: I will answer for the future. " His authority as a priest gave weight to this assurance, at leastMadame d'Argy felt it so. She went on saying never, but less and lessemphatically, and apparently she ceased to say it at last, for threemonths 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 deNailles. " 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. Alove-match is nowadays so rare! It turned out that every one had alwayswished all kinds of good fortune to young Madame d'Argy, and everyone seemed to take a sincere part in the joy that was expressed on theoccasion, even Dolly, who, it was said, had in secret set her hearton Fred for herself; even Nora Sparks, who, not having carried outher plans, had gone back to New York, whence she sent a superb weddingpresent. Madame de Nailles apparently experienced at the wedding all theemotions of a real mother. The roses at Lizerolles bloomed that year with unusual beauty, as ifto welcome the young pair. Modeste sang 'Nunc Dimittis'. The leastdemonstrative 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