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The Idol of Paris

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"I will thank you to drop that tone of irony which is offensive both
to my wife and to myself," said the professor rising. "If it pleases
you to follow your goddaughter to Brussels, do so. I must leave you; I
have some proofs to correct. _Au revoir_, Meydieux!"

The old blunderer began to realize that he had overstepped the limits
of decorum.

"But why did she go this morning, instead of by the train with all the
other artists this evening?"

"Esperance," explained Madame Darbois, "left early in order to have
time to see Brussels, which everyone says is a charming city. I think
it is quite natural, my dear Meydieux, that you want to join your
goddaughter! I will telegraph to her at once!"

"No, no," replied Meydieux, very hurriedly. "I would much rather
surprise her. I beg you not to warn her."

"As you will then. I shall not interfere."





PART II. BRUSSELS




CHAPTER VIII


Meantime seated in the Brussels express, Esperance had fixed her
attention on the constantly changing horizon, and was giving herself
up to myriad impressions as they went fleeting by. The great plains
rolling interminably out of sight pleased her; the light mist rising
from the earth seemed to her the breath of the shivering tall grasses,
offering the sun the drops of dew which glinted at the summit of their
slender stems. She too, on this beautiful autumn morning, felt herself
expanding towards the sky. Her fresh lips were offering themselves to
the kisses of life. She was at that moment a vision of the radiance of
youth. Maurice was so struck by her beauty that he drew a little
sketch, and resolved to do her portrait, just as she was at that
moment. No love entered into this admiration; he saw as a painter, he
dreamed as an artist! Jean Perliez looked at the sketch, then at the
model, and was left dazzled and dolorous. Finally magnetized by the
looks fixed upon her, Esperance turned her head away with a little cry
of surprise. Mlle. Frahender, who had been asleep, opened her eyes,
and straightened the angle of her bonnet. Esperance shook her pretty
head laughing, while Maurice exhibited his sketch and announced to his
cousin his desire to paint her portrait.

"How pleased my father will be," she cried. "I thank you in advance
for the joy that you will give him."

The conversation became general, animated, merry, just what was to be
expected at their happy age. Soon after the train stopped; they had
arrived at Brussels.

Jean Perliez jumped lightly on to the platform. Mlle. Frahender
adjusted her hat, after having carefully folded up her bonnet, and
Maurice helped Marguerite to count the pieces of luggage. Just as
Esperance was getting out to help her old companion, she had a feeling
of reaction, her face grew pale with fright at an impression she could
not define: two long arms were stretched towards her. And she recalled
the hallucination or vision she had seen in her own mirror at home, on
the day when she had tried to interrogate destiny.

Count Albert Styvens was standing on the platform before her, holding
out his arms, his hands open. Totally dazed without understanding
herself why it should be so, the young girl closed her eyes. She felt
herself lifted, and set down upon the ground. Although the movement
had been one of perfect respect, she felt angry with this man for
having imposed his will upon her. When she looked at him he was
already speaking to Mlle. Frahender, whom he recollected having seen
in Esperance's room at the Vaudeville.

"Will you not both take my mother's carriage?" he asked.

His voice, slow, correct, a little distant, fell on the ear of the
young actress.

"But," Jean objected quickly, "I have engaged the landau from the
Grand Hotel."

"Very well, we three can go in that," said the Count, as he guided the
old lady and the young one towards a perfectly appointed _coupé_,
drawn by two magnificent sorrels.

Esperance, who had been brimful of joy, not ten minutes before, at
finding herself in Brussels, now felt a cloud upon her spirits. The
manner, almost the authority, of this tall, young man of distinction,
but of no beauty, of no magnetism, depressed her. She did not wish to
have him take it upon himself to conduct her small affairs, and she
stepped into the Countess Styvens's beautiful carriage with the
feeling that she was leaving her liberty behind.

Albert Styvens got into the hotel landau with the two other young men.
They knew the Count very slightly, and regarded him with some
curiosity. Although but twenty-seven, he had a reputation for
austerity most unusual for one of his age.

As the carriage drew up at the hotel, all three young men jumped
lightly out to be ready to help the girl. Mlle. Frahender was received
on the Count's arm. At the same instant Esperance had bounded out of
the other door, pleased to have escaped the obligation of thanking the
Legation Secretary.

When she entered the suite that had been reserved, she stopped
a moment in silent astonishment before the flowering vases and
ribbon-bedecked baskets that filled the reception-room with their
rich colours and delicate perfumes. All that for her! She threw her
hat quickly on a chair and ran from vase to basket, from basket to
vase. The first card she drew out said Jean Perliez. She looked for
him to thank him, but he had slipped away to hide his confusion. For
he had taken such pains to order that bouquet through the hotel manager,
never foreseeing that others might have had the same idea! A pretty
basket of azaleas came from the Director of the Monnaie. In the middle
of the room, on a marble table with protruding golden feet, stood a
huge basket of orchids of every shade--this orgy of rare flowers was
an attention from the Count. The girl grew red as she raised her eyes
to thank him. He was looking at her so strangely that she stammered
and fled into the next room, where she had seen Mlle. Frahender
disappear.

"That man frightens me," she whispered, pressing close to her old
friend.

"Who frightens you, dear child?"

"Count Styvens."

"That gentlemanly young man, who is so considerate?"

Esperance did not dare to speak her thought. "That is not the way that
others look at me." She was ashamed to entertain such an idea!

The _maître d'hôtel_ knocked discreetly to announce lunch.

"Oh! let us begin at once, so that we shall not lose any time in
seeing Brussels!"

They set out in great spirits, following wherever the caprice of
Esperance led them. "Already a famous woman, and what a child she is,"
Maurice observed aside to Jean. They had a long ramble, zigzagging
extravagantly about the city. The adorable little artist appreciated
the beauty of the lovely capital, and the church of Saint Gudule
delighted her. They took a cab to go to the Bois de la Cambre.
Esperance was much affected by the horses, who led a hard life up and
down the little streets, which were so picturesque in their
unevenness.

The little expedition was not over until half-past seven. Visitors'
cards attracted Mlle. Frahender's attention. They were from the
Minister Prince de Bernecourt and the Count Albert Styvens, Secretary
of the Legation. Feeling that she would not see the Count gave the
young artist the sensation of relief comparable to that of a prisoner
walking straight out of his jail into freedom.

During dinner Esperance was quite exuberant and proposed a hand at
_trente-et-un_ as soon as dessert was finished. "After that, we
will go to bed very early, to have our best looks ready for to-morrow,
will we not, my little lady?" she said, placing her slender hand on
the wrinkled fingers of Mlle. Frahender. "My little lady" was the pet
name Esperance often gave her.

Maurice was only moderately receptive of the idea of a game of
_trente-et-un_, but after consulting the clock, he was reassured.
"By ten o'clock I shall be free."




CHAPTER IX


The next morning Marguerite had some difficulty in waking her young
mistress, who was sleeping soundly. Esperance enquired as soon as her
own eyes were well opened, what kind of night her chaperone had
passed. "Deliciously restful, and you, my dear child, how did you
sleep?"

"I never woke once. Oh! what a sun. Have you seen what a glorious day
it is?"

"It is the forerunner of good news," Jean cried out from the next
room.

"Who knows?" said Esperance.

The telephone at her bedside rung. Marguerite picked up the receiver,
and announced dejectedly, "M. Meydieux wishes to speak to
Mademoiselle."

"My godfather in Brussels!... You see, Jean, that I was right to
doubt your omen."

The young people burst out laughing.

"Really," continued Esperance, "I feel that he is going to spoil my
trip here. I don't like him, and his advice never coincides with that
of my father, whom I love so much."

Meantime M. Meydieux was getting impatient on the telephone.

"Tell him that I am not up yet, and ask him to lunch with us at
twelve-thirty. Then," she explained to Mlle. Frahender, who had just
come into her room, all powdered, all pinned and bonneted for the
morning, "he will not dare to bother me when everybody else is
present."

Marguerite was still answering M. Meydieux's excited questions: "What!
at half-past nine not up, that is shameful! I must talk to her ... I
will come to lunch, oh yes! but above all I must talk to her."

Esperance was motioning violently to Marguerite to hang up the
receiver, but Mlle. Frahender objected to this lack of courtesy, so
the young girl giving way to her remonstrance yielded gracefully. She
even re-requested Marguerite, who knew her godfather's culinary
preferences, to order a lunch that he would like. Then she dressed in
haste to allow herself plenty of time to write to her family. They had
already exchanged telegrams, but she knew that her father would like
to have a long letter, giving him the minutes, so to speak, of
herself. A tender gratitude swelled up in her, and her eyes were wet
as she evoked the image of these two beloved beings reading her
letter, commenting upon it, and entering completely for those moments
into the life of their child. As soon as the letter was finished, she
asked Mlle. Frahender to go with her to post it, so that she could
herself speed it on its way to them. She had a strong desire to get
out-doors, even if only for a half-hour.

As they turned into the square, Esperance stopped, clutching her aged
friend by the arm. "Look there," she said.

There were two men side by side in deep conversation. Esperance had
instantly recognized Count Albert and her godfather. How did Adhemar
Meydieux happen to know the Secretary of the Legation?

They had just passed the post-office, so Esperance posted her letter
without being seen by either of them, and returned to the hotel. Lunch
time brought together all the guests except the godfather, who would
not enter until the exact minute, if he had to wait in the corridor....
He thought it witty to behave so. His hateful, stupid mind flattered
itself on being original. Therefore as the half-hour began to strike
he was pompously ushered in, watch in hand.

"I am here, you see, to the tick," he said noisily, kissing the
forehead his goddaughter pressed forward to him. Then, turning to the
waiter, "You can serve without delay," he said. "I like my food hot."

Mlle. Frahender, although she was well acquainted with the abrupt ways
of the godfather, frowned at him with disapprobation. Nevertheless,
thanks to Maurice, who made a point of laughing at everything Adhemar
said, they had a gay luncheon, and Adhemar himself, appreciating the
consideration shown for his palate, cast aside his ill humour and
enjoyed with full indulgence the present hour, the savoury food and
the plentiful wine.

At the end of the meal he examined the room. "On my word, my girl,
they have given you the royal suite: that must come pretty expensive."

"M. Darbois," said Jean Perliez, "gave me a very liberal sum of money,
with instructions to spare nothing for our little queen."

"There you have it, if that is not the exaggeration of a lover! Little
Queen! You are pouring poison in continuous doses into this little
head, which is already full of nonsense. Esperance will end by taking
herself seriously; she is already far too dictatorial for a child of
seventeen." He added to himself, "She must be corrected, I will do it
myself!"

Esperance raised her eyelids, and her clear blue eyes seemed to pierce
the eyeballs of the foolish blunderer, until he fluttered his lashes
and closed his eyes to escape the powerful silent denial of his
authority.

"Very well," he said, succeeding in half opening his eyes, "look at me
as much as you like, that does not keep me from distrusting you, my
child. You are nice-looking, you have a pretty voice, you may some day
develop some talent; but you know, your inexperience is obvious, and I
am very anxious to know how you will pull through to-night."

"Do not disturb yourself, M. Meydieux, Esperance had a triumph at the
last rehearsal at the Française." (Mlle. Frahender nodded agreement.)
"I believe," Jean continued, "that she is going to receive a perfect
ovation this evening."

"I believe it too," added the old lady, "and permit me to state, my
dear sir, that you judge my young pupil very unfairly. She is just as
modest, just as gentle, as she was a year ago, and those who love her
may be well reassured of that fact. Since you are among them," she
went on boldly, "you should realize it and rejoice in it."

Adhemar shrugged his shoulders. "They are all mad, even the old
saint!"

They left the table. He stopped before a basket of flowers. "Who sent
you those, my child?"

"Count Albert Styvens," replied Jean.

"Ah! He does things well," commented Adhemar, but he did not breathe a
word concerning his conversation with the Count that morning.

Before there was time for a reply a waiter entered with a card. "M.
Mounet-Sully would like to come up."

"Oh! yes," cried out the young artist with delight.

A little startled at finding five people in the room, Mounet-Sully
regained his assurance as he recognized Jean and Maurice.

"My dear child, we rehearse at two-thirty," he said to Esperance, "so
be prompt, because we have heard that the Queen will be there, though
you may not see her. She is not well enough to come out in the
evening."

The young girl blushed with excitement. "It is fortunate that I shall
not see her, I think that I should be paralyzed!"

"Perhaps she will send for you after the rehearsal," returned the
tragedian. "She is a patroness of art, and very kind to artists."

"Will His Majesty, King Leopold, come this evening?" demanded
Meydieux, with great interest.

"Certainly," Mounet-Sully assured him.

Then, as he was about to go, he turned, "Have you received your
invitation for...?"

The door opened. Count Albert, being introduced by the _maître
d'hôtel_, had heard the last words.

"I am just delivering it myself," he said, handing Mlle. Frahender a
card which she read to Esperance--"His Excellence, the Count de
Bernecourt, Minister of Belgium to France, and the Princess, hope that
Mlle. Frahender and Mlle. Esperance Darbois will join them for supper
after the play, at midnight, at their house."

"But I cannot accept without the permission of my father," said
Esperance.

The raucous and heavy voice of the godfather pronounced, "I will
assume the responsibility. Your mother encouraged me to watch over
you. I consider that this is an honour which you should not decline."

"Especially as His Majesty the King will have you presented," replied
the Count.

"Nevertheless," said Esperance, "I want my father's approval. I will
go down and telephone to Paris."

"I will accompany you," said the diplomat quickly.

She stopped short, and her expression implied distress. Jean went
forward at once. "I will go and secure the connection for you," he
said; "I will wait for you downstairs."

The Count made a scarcely perceptible gesture, as if to stop him; but
he restrained himself and followed the girl in silence out of the
room. He rang, the lift stopped before them, empty. Albert Styvens
went forward, but Esperance drew back, and then she said, quickly, "I
will go down by the stairs."

And light as a breath, she was gone.

Alone in the lift, the young Count felt for a moment abashed, but he
speedily recovered himself, and when Esperance reached the bottom of
the stairs she found him waiting for her.

As she leaped down the last step, she again felt herself lifted and
deposited upon her feet.

"What are you doing?" she cried angrily, startled and offended.

The rapid half-embrace had been almost brutal. Esperance could still
feel on her delicate skin the pressure of the man's strong fingers.

He apologized, and was sincerely repentant. He had acted without
reflection; he had forgotten his great strength which had this time
served him ill. He was violently attracted by this charming little
creature, with whom he admitted to himself that he was deeply in love;
he, who up to this time had always avoided women as if he feared them.

The telephonic communication was lengthy. François Darbois gave his
consent to his daughter to attend the supper. Madame Darbois was
distracted, and must find out what dress Esperance would wear.

"I will keep on my costume from the last act of _Hernani_," she
answered, and after a gentle farewell, Esperance hastened to the
theatre for the rehearsal.

The Director of the Monnaie announced that Her Majesty had come and
that they could begin. Hugo's masterpiece was magnificently presented.
The greatest artists filled even minor rôles. Mounet-Sully surpassed
himself, and Esperance drew cries of admiration from that select but
critical audience.

Count Albert was seated in the orchestra stalls with his mother. The
Countess Styvens, widowed after five years, had bestowed upon her son
all the affection she had cherished for her husband. She had never
left him, but had had him educated under her own supervision, giving
him at the age of nine, as tutor, a Jesuit who was one of the most
austere, if also one of the most learned, of the Order. The young man
was a perfect pupil, studious, ever disdaining the pleasures of his
age. His childhood passed in the grey and pious atmosphere in which
his mother steeped herself. His youth developed under the rule of his
preceptor, a pale youth, without laughter, without aspirations. The
physicians had never been able to persuade the Countess to let her son
have the joy of travel of sea and mountain, so he had to be satisfied
with the physical exercises she permitted. So he gave himself up to
gymnastics with enthusiasm, expending his youthful vigour against his
drill professor, and the Japanese who taught him jiu-jitsu. The boy's
strength became quite remarkable. But his pale face, disproportionately
long arms, and reputation for austerity, had made him the mark, from
the very first days of his diplomatic career, for the gossips, ballad
makers, and authors of questionable cabaret skits.

The day he heard that he was serving as Turk's head in a Brussels
music-hall, he went instantly behind the scenes of the theatre and
demanded to see the Director, who was in conversation with the author
of the piece. He went right up to them. "I," he said, raising his hat
politely, "am Count Albert Styvens. I shall be very glad to have you
suppress the scene, which, I understand, is intended to caricature
me."

The Manager, a prosperous brewer, who had become proprietor of a
theatre for the pleasure of producing revues, which if not witty were
certainly vulgar, shrugged his heavy shoulders.

"You expect me to lose money! That act is one of the best we have
got."

"And you, sir?" Albert turned on the author, a man of doubtful
reputation, always on the alert for any occasion of scandal in others.

"Oh! of course I am sorry to offend you, but I can't take off the
piece."

The last word was not out of his mouth when the Count grabbed both of
them by the napes of their necks and knocked their heads together till
the blood spurted from their surprised faces. Their cries were heard
even by the audience. Reporters came running to witness this unbilled
spectacle. The stage hands tried to free the Manager, but desisted
when one received a terrible smash from the Count's fist, and another
a kick that sent him through space. When the two men were reduced to
rags, Albert held them upright and addressed them:

"I am going into the hall to see the show. I advise you to withdraw
the scene we spoke of and to which I object."

Then he quietly re-arranged his clothes and went into the auditorium
where the audience were very noisy and laughing at the news the
journalists had reported. Count Albert was one of the best known
figures about Brussels, where his father had played a very important
part in the foreign affairs of the country, and enjoyed, for more than
twenty years, the confidence of King Leopold. When he died his wife
was still a young and very beautiful woman, and his great fortune had
made the only heir of the family already famous. The Count was
astonished at the clamorous ovation that received him. He would have
liked to impose silence on the people, but he was a poor orator, and
very timid; he kept silence and wont to his seat. He was popular from
that day, and greatly respected.

At the Monnaie, as soon as the rehearsal was over, the Queen sent for
Esperance and Mounet-Sully. The Queen assured the tragedian of the
admiration that she had long felt for him, for Mounet-Sully played
almost every year in Brussels; but all her kindly enthusiasm was
directed towards Esperance.

"What a perfectly delicious voice!" she said. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, Madame."

The Queen undid a bracelet from her arm.

"Accept this modest souvenir of your first appearance in our city,
Mademoiselle."

The young girl trembled with emotion. After she had kissed the royal
hand, she tried to clasp upon her wrist the jewel she had just
received. The Countess Styvens, who had just approached, helped her
gently.

"My mother admired you very much," said the Count, joining them.

Esperance raised her eyes and looked at the mother of the young man.
She was dressed in mauve; her temples, prematurely grey, accentuated
the delicacy of her complexion. Her whole person breathed constant
goodness, sacrifice without regret. The young artist loved at sight
this woman she was beholding for the first time, and at the same time
she had a presentiment that this charming and elegant lady would not
remain a stranger to her during her life.

The Queen desired Count Styvens to accompany the young girl, who was
forced to take his arm to her dressing-room. She walked quickly, in a
hurry to rid herself of her strange cavalier, who pretended to be
oblivious of her nervous haste. Esperance requested him to convey to
the Countess, his mother, her gratitude for her kindness. Albert
Styvens bowed without speaking, and left her in a glow of delight.

At the hotel there was no topic except the rehearsal and the reception
the Queen had given Esperance. The godfather examined the bracelet set
with sapphires and diamonds. He put on his glasses, counted the
stones, shook his head and grunted, "It is a superb bracelet, do you
realize that, child?"

"I realize that it is superb because it is a testimony of good will
offered by this kind Sovereign. That is what makes it so valuable to
me."

"What a haughty child!"

And Adhemar began to laugh, the laugh with which realism strives to
destroy dreams. Mlle. Frahender gently removed the bracelet from the
hands of the objectionable old meddler.

"You must rest and avoid excitement, dear, dear child," she said,
leading Esperance to her room, after bowing to Adhemar. Maurice and
Jean, who had witnessed the godfather's want of tact, reasoned with
him.

"In my opinion, M. Meydieux, you annoy my cousin too much, and for no
reason. You forget that she has created for herself a position beyond
her years, and you treat her like a child not out of the school-room."

"Well, isn't it all for her good?" screamed out Adhemar in a fury.
"The rest of you burn incense before her; she will be destroyed by
pride and that will be your fault!"

"No such thing," returned Maurice with equal energy. "She is adorable
in her simplicity and has remained as really childlike, as trusting
and light-hearted as anyone in the world. You cast a gloom on her
spirits, you try to curb her spontaneity, you want her bourgeoisie
like yourself, but you will never succeed, I give you my word for it,
and that is a blessing."

"Oh!" retorted Adhemar, stung to the quick, "What do you mean by that,
you fine painter fellow? You are glad enough to have these bourgeoisie
that you scorn pay for your pictures!"

"If I make pictures and anybody buys them, that is proof enough that
they are idiots. But my hatred of the bourgeoisie only extends to the
category to which you belong; those who, ever since they were born,
have found their food ready under their noses; those who, never using
their ten fingers, never using their brains, live only to increase
inherited incomes; hearts locked by greed, narrow minds unwilling to
hear the just claims of the humble, of those who work and suffer for
them; enemies of progress, enemies of their country."

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