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The Idol of Paris

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Everyone applauded, and Maurice was proclaimed director of the fête.

"I thank you, and accept", he said simply.

He thought, "That is his way of getting rid of me."

"I hope, my dear Director," continued the Duke, "that you will make us
rehearse hard to-morrow. If anything goes wrong we shall still have
the morning of the following day, for the fête does not begin until
half-past two."

Maurice rose, and in a comical tone announced, "Ladies, gentlemen, and
artists, I beg you to be prompt for a rehearsal of the tableaux
vivants to-morrow at ten o'clock. Any artist who is late, will pay a
fine of a hundred francs, to the poor of the Duchess." And as they
laughingly protested, "There is a quarter of an hour's grace accorded
as in the theatres, but not one instant more. My stage-manager is
empowered to collect the fines."

They followed the action of the Duchess and rose from their seats. The
Duke went over to Maurice.

"I would like to talk over some of the details with you. They must
interest us, but they mean nothing to the others. A cigarette?"

They strolled to the end of the terrace. A pretty Chinese umbrella
sheltered a delightful nook. The Duke and Maurice dropped into easy
chairs.

"Will you give me your word that what I am going to say to you will be
for you alone; that you will not repeat it?"

The young man refused, "How can I give my word without even knowing
the subject of your confidences?"

"It concerns your cousin."

"Then it concerns Count Styvens."

"Indirectly, yes."

Maurice got up.

"I would rather not listen to you, for my duty as a man of honour
would compel me to speak, should it be necessary."

The Duke sat still and reflected for a minute.

"Very well, you shall judge when you have heard me, what you think you
had better do. I leave you free. I love your cousin Esperance: she is
the fiancée of Count Albert, but she is not in love with him."

Maurice had thrown away his cigarette and leaning forward, his hands
clasped, his eyes on the ground, listened intently.

"I have paid her in a way attentions for a year; I admit it was wrong
for I had no definite intentions. A visit to Penhouet, however,
completely changed my opinion of this little maiden. The atmosphere of
beauty, of calm in which she lived, the liking and respect I felt for
M. and Madame Darbois, and the free play of intelligence and taste I
there discovered, made a deep impression on me and I could not forget.
The ordinary life of society, so artificial, so devoid of real
interest, this life that eats up hours and weeks and months in
futilities, in nothings that come to nothing, all this became suddenly
quite burdensome to me. I continuously thought of the adorable child I
had seen at Penhouet, brighter than all else in that radiant place. I
was travelling, and did not learn of the accident to your cousin and
Count Styvens until I returned to Paris. Then I wrote for news."

"I came back here to my old aunt's, my nearest relative. I wanted to
ask her to invite the whole of the Darbois family to spend a month
here at Montjoie. A letter from Count Albert, announcing his
engagement to Esperance, was a terrible blow to me. I conceived the
detestable idea of revenging myself on Albert, but every scheme went
against me. I have been beaten without ever having fought." Then he
paused.

"Since you have done me the honour to make me your confidant, permit
me to say that the little ambush you laid for Esperance this
morning...."

The Duke interrupted, "That ambush was a vulgar trick, theatrical and
cheap. I spare you the trouble of having to tell me so. I was about to
disclose myself to the young ladies when I heard your cousin speak my
name. Then I kept still, hoping to learn something. What man could
have resisted? I heard these words spoken to Mlle. Hardouin, 'Yes, the
presence of the Duke of Morlay disturbs me; I do not know if that is
love, but I do know that I do not love Albert.' They went on towards
the clearing; I was compelled to leave my hiding place. You know the
rest. The cry the child gave, and her look of reproach unmanned me. I
understood at that moment that I loved in deadly earnest; that my
intention of avenging myself on Albert was nothing but a vain
manifestation of pride, that the ambush was a cowardly concession to
my reputation as a--well, deceiver of women. You know what I mean."

He shrugged his shoulders scornfully.

"The man I was trying to be has left the man I am, and now, Renaud,
here is what I want you to know. Esperance Darbois loves me, I was
convinced of that at the rehearsal. I love her ardently in return. She
will not be happy with Albert, and I want to marry her. I will employ
no 'illicit means,' as the lawyers say. On other scores I shall feel
no remorse to have broken your cousin's engagement. My fortune is
twice Albert's; he is a Count, I a Duke, and what is more, a
Frenchman."

Maurice stood up nervously.

"You are a very gallant man, Duke, and my sympathy was yours from your
first visit to Penhouet, but I am greatly distressed that you should
have made me your confidant, for I must in honour bound support
Albert."

"I do not see why! It seems to me that the happiness of your cousin
might count before any friendship for Albert Styvens."

"But where is her real happiness, I might say her lasting happiness?"

The moon had risen radiantly pure. From their elevation on the
terrace, they could overlook all the garden and park sloping gently to
the lake. In a boat two young girls were rowing. They were alone.

"You leave me free to act?"

"Absolutely."

"Till to-morrow," said Maurice pressing his hands.

The Duke remained alone on the terrace. He saw the young man go
rapidly towards the lake. He heard him hail the girls and saw him
climb into the boat with them, then disappear after he had waved with
Genevieve's handkerchief a signal of adieu.




CHAPTER XXV


When Maurice and Esperance and Genevieve landed, the Duke was still
pacing up and down on the terrace. Maurice had jumped lightly on to
the shore, and had helped the young girls out, and having taken them
to the Château, rejoined the Duke who was waiting for him.

"You are right. Esperance loves you. My uncle comes to-morrow evening.
He is a man of such uprightness that he will find, no doubt, the best
solution of this most complicated situation. Only I beg you to spare
Albert."

The Duke replied instantly, "I will make every effort to be generous;
but this morning he thrust me away from your cousin in a deliberate
attempt to insult me. I pretended to blame it on his anxiety, but I
may not be able to control myself again, if he drives me so far."

"Alas! I am afraid that you are both of you at the mercy of the first
thing that happens. For the love of God, keep cool. And don't forget
to come to-morrow at ten for the rehearsal."

And they parted.

Maurice did not sleep a wink. Esperance and Genevieve went to bed very
late, after talking for a long time of the future.

"Poor Albert," murmured the little star still as she closed her eyes
in the very moment of gliding into the unreal life of dreams.

Mlle. Frahender had some difficulty next morning in waking the two
young girls. Another maid waited on them, for the Duke had sent his
goddaughter back to her family.

"Let us all three take our chocolate together on this little table.
The sun is so gentle this morning, to-day ought to have a beautiful
life ahead of it. My parents come at six and we must go to meet them."

She chattered on all through the breakfast, and kissed Genevieve in
overflowing happiness.

"I love to see you so, Esperance," said the old Mademoiselle. "You
have scarcely seemed yourself lately, even at Penhouet. Now you are
truly yourself, you are radiant with your seventeen years. It is a
pleasure to look at you and to listen to you."

When the two girls came into the hall the Director, Maurice Renaud,
the Marquis Assistant, and the stage-manager, Louis de Marset, were
the only others who had arrived. The manufacturer of the paper models
was arranging the rock, the dragon, and the headless horse in the
middle of the room. He held a brush red with dragon's blood, gave it a
touch, and recoiled to admire the effect; then taking the sea weed he
had gathered from real rocks, began placing it in little bunches on
his pasteboard rock.

"In regard to the half white horse, a magnificent cardboard mount,"
said Maurice, flatteringly, "we shall not use it. Another tableau has
been substituted for that one."

The Assistant came up to Maurice. "Can you tell me, sir, why they will
not give the 'Europa and the Bull'?"

"Because Mlle. Darbois has been far from well, and the Duchess has
requested that she shall not appear in more than two tableaux. She is
to play a very difficult duet, as well, you know, and afterwards she
will have to talk to all the people who crowd around her to buy
flowers."

Jean was charged with excluding all those who were not in the
tableaux. Albert was included in those not admitted, and he certainly
would have held it against the Duke, had he still been Director; but
Jean explained to him that Maurice had taken this means of making the
rehearsal go more quickly. Genevieve, who was also excluded, kept the
Count company, and tried to distract him; but he was in a very
despondent humour. When he saw the Duke arrive so late, he said,
somewhat crossly, "He is delaying the rehearsal."

"Oh! no," said Genevieve, "he does not come on until the second group,
and there is no need for him to appear in costume."

When Andromeda was extended upon her rock the Duke took his position.
They were alone in their wooden frame.

"Won't you trust yourself to me?" he breathed.

"I love you with all my soul."

"My life is yours," she replied.

The scene had turned very quickly, the curtain, had fallen. Maurice
came up and helped the Duke to unfasten the girl. She was radiant. He
was transformed. Maurice guessed that they had spoken together, but he
asked nothing.

The second tableau was given immediately. Paris was not in costume. He
held the apple to the glorious Aphrodite, the picture turned, the
rehearsal was over for Esperance. The Duke still had to take part in
two other scenes.

When Esperance was dressed she followed Maurice's advice to go join
Genevieve and Albert.

"What a relief," he exclaimed at sight of her, "I began to think it
would never be over."

"Yet we did not lose any time."

"Oh, no! but now it will go more slowly. The Countess de Morgueil will
have to make several repetitions of her tableau of the enchantress
Melusina."

It was the little de Marset who had spoken. Esperance started. For a
long time it had been rumoured that the very pretty Countess de
Morgueil, widowed two years ago, was violently infatuated with the
Duke de Morlay, who was said not to be indifferent to her affection.

Afraid apparently that his meaning had not been plain, Marset
insisted, "she is always circling about the Duke."

"But does he care for her?" asked a young woman with a hard face, who
was just going to give herself a dose of morphine, and who was never
seen without a cigarette between her lips.

"Who knows?" queried Marset, with a knowing air.

Esperance had grown very pale. Albert was controlling himself with
difficulty. He observed Genevieve's constraint, and the trouble of his
fiancée.

"Shall we walk a little?"

They walked towards the woods and Maurice, in some excitement, soon
joined them. He was greatly troubled, and longed to be able to tell
Albert how things were going. He was very fond of this fine fellow,
and at the same time felt great sympathy for the Duke. He understood
perfectly well why Esperance should prefer him to the Count, but at
the same time he blamed her a little for causing so many
complications. When he saw her so fresh and charming beside Albert, he
grew more disturbed. Genevieve quietly drew him aside.

"You are getting excited, Maurice, and I see clearly that you are
blaming Esperance, but let me tell you, dear love, that you are
unjust. At this moment Esperance is walking in a dream. Nothing real
exists for her. For three months she has suffered very much, struggled
very much, and felt so much. Events have come very quickly. She finds
herself all of a sudden at the fount of the realization of all her
fondest hopes; to be loved by the one she loves!... Be patient,
Maurice, she is so young and so sensitive...."

"Your heart, dearest Genevieve, is an admirable accountant. It adds
the reasons, multiplies the excuses, subtracts the errors, and divides
the responsibility. You are adorable and I love you with all my heart.
Come with me, it is time for the concert. You go on immediately after
Delaunay. The Duchess is unable to contain herself at the idea of
hearing you recite her poem."

The Duke passed by, accompanied by the pretty Countess de Morgueil, at
whose conversation he was smiling politely and replying vaguely. He
seemed not to have seen the others. Like Esperance, he was living in a
world of dreams, happy in a realm where there was neither impatience
nor jealousy. He knew that he was loved.

After lunch Esperance said that she was going to rest, so as to be
fresh for next day. Her father and mother were to come on the
Princess's little yacht. She and Mlle. Frahender were to go alone to
meet them. That gave her several hours of solitude to think of him,
only of him.

Maurice repeated his last orders for the engrossing fête, against
which he railed ceaselessly, in spite of Genevieve's constant efforts
to calm him.

"Oh! of course, it is perfectly evident that I am unreasonable, I know
it; but if I break my leg slipping on an orange peel, you would not
prevent me from swearing at the person who had peeled the fruit there,
would you?"

Genevieve laughed in spite of herself. "Be a good boy, tell your uncle
everything as soon as he comes; but say nothing against Esperance, for
that would not be right."

Her lovely face was very sad. Maurice looked at her with a world of
tenderness, "My darling, forgive me; the truth is that I am so
worried. Albert's face is hard and set. He knows nothing, cannot know
anything, but he is gifted with the intuition that simple souls often
possess. I am very uneasy, I can tell you. Say nothing to Esperance.
Come now, let us stroll into this thicket and talk just by ourselves
for awhile."

They entered the thicket, holding each other close, in silence. When
they came to the clearing they stopped short. The Duke was there,
stretched out upon the bench, smoking, dreaming.

He got up, surprised, and apologized.

"I had just come back here to live over an unforgettable moment."

"This corner must be the rendezvous for the slaves of the little god,"
said Maurice, bowing to the statuette of _Love Enchained_. "We
will leave you."

"No," said the Duke quickly, "Please stay. Your happiness shows me the
vision of which I dreamed. Art is the inspiration of the beautiful,
and I believe, that artists have a more delicate sense of love than
other people.

"I believe, in truth," said Maurice, "that artists, move in a much
larger world than that which is inhabited by either the bourgeoisie or
the aristocracy."

They talked for a long time, and returned to the Château together.

Albert was beneath the green oak, talking to the Dowager Duchess, who
was telling him how much she admired Genevieve. She had repeated her
poem so wonderfully to her alone that morning! They did not see the
trio emerge from the thicket, and Maurice was glad of it. He felt more
and more constrained. The complicity against the poor fellow's
happiness seemed to him a form of treason. He looked at his watch. It
was only five o'clock.

"That is impossible. This watch must have stopped."

The Duke went to his room. His man gave him an elegant little note,
and as his master threw it down on the table, "They await an answer."

"Very well, I will send one."

The servant withdrew. On the stair he met an English maid waiting the
answer.

"Monsieur will send an answer."

"The Countess will be displeased. These French gentlemen are more
gallant but less polite than our English lords. She is as much in love
as Love itself."

"He also is in love."

"Then it ought to be easy enough, for Madame is a widow."

"But it is not your mistress that he loves."

"Ah! who then?"

"Ah! nothing for nothing." And he held out his hands.

"Ah! shocking!"

"Very well," and he started, as if to return to his master.

She stopped him.

"Monsieur, Gustave you know very well that I am promised."

"Nothing for nothing."

Again he held out his hands. She hesitated a moment, looking up and
down, and then let him have her finger tips. With a brutal gesture he
caught her to him and kissed her furiously. The little English maid,
blushing and rumpled, drew back and announced coldly, "You French are
brutes. Now, the information I paid for in advance."

"Very well. He is in love with little Esperance Darbois."

"The actress? But she is engaged to Count Styvens."

"It is the truth I have told you," replied the valet, proud of his own
importance, "and if you will meet me in the grove, during dinner, I
will tell you some more."

"Thanks, I know enough now," said the maid dryly, leaving him.

She disappeared, but Gustave preened himself, certain of success. As
he went downstairs he saw Count Albert, helping the old Mademoiselle
and her charge into the carriage. Instinctively, he looked up to see
his master's silhouette at the window. Albert was asking to be allowed
to go with them, but Esperance had promised herself a quiet and
restful drive.

"No, Albert, we shall be four with my father and mother, and this is a
small carriage."

"But I will sit with the coachman."

"Look," said the young girl, laughing, "at the size of the seat, and
remember that there will be two large bags and a hat box, a very big
hat box, to hold a hat for mama, one for Genevieve, and one for me."

Albert sighed sadly and closed the carriage door, after he had kissed
his fiancée's hand. As the carriage drove away he went up to the room
his mother was to occupy when she arrived next day, and looked to see
if all was ready.

He took a book and tried to read, but after a couple of minutes he
threw it aside and went out of doors again. He stopped a moment on the
terrace, considering where to go. A young lady stopped him as he was
preparing to go down the steps.

"All alone, Count, and dreaming! Ah! you are thinking of her. Come,
let us stroll along together."

And the young Countess de Morgueil took his arm before he had time to
answer.

"You were not at the rehearsal this morning. You know that they have
given up the tableaux of 'Europa.' Did you insist upon it?"

"No, why should I have made myself so ridiculous?"

"But the Duke pretended...."

"Dear Madame, the Duke could not have pretended anything except that he
did not wish to appear without any clothes on, a decision that I heartily
approved of."

"They say that he tries to fascinate every woman he meets. What do you
think?"

"And what do you?" said the Count, looking her straight in the eye.

"Oh! he would never cause me great palpitation," she returned
meaningly.

"Are you making any allusion to Mlle. Darbois?" he asked, stopping
abruptly.

"I am engaged to Mlle. Darbois, I believe you know, Madame. You are
piqued because you love the Duke de Morlay and he seems to be
deserting you to hover near my fiancée. Do as I do; have a little
patience; to-morrow by this time the fête will be over and I shall
have left with Mlle. Darbois. Don't be either too nervous or too
malicious, it does not agree with your type of beauty. I kiss your
hands."

He went towards the Château, and took up his vigil in the little salon
adjoining Esperance's room.

The Countess of Morgueil was confused and mortified. "He is not so
stupid as he looks," she thought.

Albert was reading, but listening all the time. Finally a carriage
stopped before the Château. He went down quickly and caught Esperance
in his arms so tightly that the young girl gave a little scream.

"Oh! pardon, pardon. It is so long since I have seen you."

He kissed Mme. Darbois's hand and almost crushed the professor's
fingers in his nervous grasp. He asked anxiously concerning Penhouet,
and expressed his desire to return there immediately. Maurice and
Genevieve came running up.

"How happy every one looks here," said Mme. Darbois.

"Don't believe it, my dear aunt; we are standing on a volcano."

"Ah! the cares of the fête weigh upon you. It always seems as if
everything were going wrong at the last moment."

She laughed, proud of her penetrations. Genevieve tugged at Maurice's
vest as he was about to set the dear lady right.

"Ah! well, I leave you to dress. This evening, uncle, I want to have a
chat with you as I have something serious to say to you."

The philosopher and his wife looked at each other understandingly.

"Very well, my boy, I shall be entirely at your disposal for as long
as you like, for I can guess...."

And he looked at Genevieve. Maurice despaired of ever making him
understand.




CHAPTER XXVI


Everyone greeted the philosopher with delight when he appeared in the
ante-chamber where the guests were assembled before dinner. The Duke
came to present his greetings to Mme. Darbois and stayed talking to
her for some time. He saw that she liked him, but foresaw at the same
time that it would be very painful for the good woman to have to
accept another son-in-law. During dinner the Duchess steered the
conversation towards philosophy, wishing to please François, who was
placed on her right--art and science being to her the highest titles
of nobility.

"Ah! I am no philosopher," protested the Marquis de Montagnac. "I
accept old age only as a chastisement, and not having committed any
criminal act, I revolt against the injustice of it."

And Louis de Marset, bending towards his neighbour, who had had a
great reputation for beauty before age and illness had pulled her
down, remarked, "One cannot be and have been, is not that true,
Madame?"

"You are mistaken, my dear sir. There are some poor people who are
born fools and never change."

A smile of delight appeared on every face.

The Duke found himself in an argument with Lord Glerey, a phlegmatic
Englishman, whose marital misfortunes had made both London and Paris
laugh.

"You seem," said the Duke, "to confuse indifference with philosophy."

"I do not confuse them, my dear sir. My apparent indifference is
simply scorn for the sarcasms, the cruelty of the people of society
who are always ready to rejoice when anyone attacks the honour or love
of another."

The Duke murmured slowly, "Certainly what they call 'the world'
deserves scorn. And all the same, taken separately, every individual
of this collectivity is a man or woman like any other, a suffering
being, who laughs just the same, like an eternal Figaro, for fear of
being compelled to weep."

Count Albert was talking to an old sceptic.

"But," the Countess de Morgueil addressed him suddenly, "What would
you do, if on the eve of attaining the longed-for happiness, you found
yourself suddenly confronted by an insurmountable obstacle."

"Everything would depend on the quality of the happiness in prospect,
Madame. Some happiness easily abandoned, and some happiness is to be
struggled for until death itself."

Maurice had guessed the point of this sudden attack. He was none the
less surprised by Albert's answer.

"Decidedly, it is going to be even more difficult than I feared," he
thought.

Indeed, Count Albert had evidently assumed a change of attitude. Love
and jealousy had transformed this simple and generous heart into a
being of metal; he had not lost any of his goodness, but he had put
his soul in a state of defence and prepared himself for the struggle.
He did not know anything, but his presentiments filled him with
anguish. He was not unaware that his austerity provoked irony, but now
it seemed to him that the irony was taking a form of pity which
enraged him.

Dinner was over, the great hall filled with groups gathered together
as their tastes dictated. Bridge and poker tables were produced, and
some of the young people gathered about a table where liqueurs were
being served. Maurice took his uncle by the arm and led him away.

"Let us go to your room, for no one must hear what I have to say to
you."

"Not even your aunt?"

"No, uncle, not even aunt."

François was astonished, for he had supposed that it was of his own
future that Maurice wished to speak. They went towards the Tower of
Saint Genevieve.

"Uncle, what I have to say to you is very grave."

"What a lot of preamble! Well, I am listening."

"The Duke de Morlay-La-Branche loves Esperance passionately."

"Well, that is a pity for the Duke, but he will console himself easily
enough."

Maurice was silent before he continued, "Esperance is madly in love
with the Duke!"

François started violently.

"You are raving, Maurice; she is engaged to Count Styvens and has no
right to forget him."

"She has never been in love with the Count, and can hardly endure him
since she has foreseen another future."

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