Part 15 (1/2)
As we drove away I asked Brooke if he had spoken yet, for I wished to know how to conduct myself in the affair.
”Not in words; my eyes and actions must have told her; but I delayed to speak till you had seen her, for willful as I seem, I value your advice, Ulster.”
”Have you spoken of me?”
”Yes; once or twice. Some one asked why you never came with me, and I said you had forsworn theatres.”
”How did she take that blunt reply?”
”Rather oddly, I thought, for, looking at me, she said, softly: ”It would be better for you if you followed the example of your mentor.'”
”Art, my child, all art; warn a man against anything, and he'll move heaven and earth to get it. How will you explain this visit of your mentor, who has forsworn theatres?” I said, nettled at having that sage and venerable name applied to me.
”It will be both gallant and truthful to say you came to see her. She bade me bring any friend I liked, and will be flattered at your coming, if you don't put on your haughty airs.”
”I'll be amiable on your account. Here we are. Upon my word mademoiselle lodges sumptuously.”
As we drove into a courtyard, lights shone in long windows of La Jeune's appartement, and the sound of music met us as we pa.s.sed up the stairs.
Two large, luxurious rooms, brilliantly, yet tastefully decorated and furnished, received us as we stepped in unannounced. Half a dozen persons were scattered about, chatting, laughing and listening to a song from a member of the opera troupe then delighting Paris. Supper was laid in the further room, and while waiting till it was served, every one exerted themselves to amuse their hostess in return for the delight she had given them.
Mademoiselle seemed to have just arrived, for she was still en costume, and appeared to have thrown herself into a seat as if wearied with her labors.
The rich hue of the garnet velvet chair relieved her figure admirably, as she leaned back, with a white cloak half concealing her brilliant dress. The powder had shaken from her hair, leaving its gold undimmed as it hung slightly disheveled about her shoulders. She had wiped the rouge from her face, leaving it paler, but none the less lovely, for in resuming her own character, that face had changed entirely. No longer gay, arch, or coquetish, it was thoughtful, keen, and cold. She smiled graciously, received compliments tranquilly, and conversed wittily; but her heart evidently was not there, and she was still playing a part.
I made these observations and received these impressions during the brief pause at the door; then Brooke presented me with much empress.e.m.e.nt, plainly showing that he wished each to produce a favorable effect upon the other.
As my name was spoken a slight smile touched her lips, but her dark eyes scanned my face so gravely, that in spite of myself I paid my compliments with an ill grace.
”It is evident that this is not monsieur's first visit to Paris.”
From another person, and in another mood, I should have accepted this speech as a compliment to my accent and manner, but from her I chose to see in it an ironical jest at my unwonted maladresse, a feminine return for my long negligence. Anxious to do myself justice, I gave a genuine French shrug and replied, with a satirical smile which belied my flattering words: ”I was about to say no, but I remember to whom I speak, and say yes, for by the magic of mademoiselle, modern Paris vanishes, and for the first time I visit Paris in the time of the Grand Monarque. The illusion was perfect, and like a hundred others, I am at a loss how to show my grat.i.tude.”
”That is easily done; madame is hungry; oblige her with a morceau of that pate and a gla.s.s of champagne.”
Her mocking tone, the sparkle of her eye, and the wicked smile on her lips, annoyed me more than the unromantic request that made my speech absurd.
I obeyed with feigned devotion, telling Brooke to keep out of the way still longer, as I pa.s.sed him on my way back. He had withdrawn a little, that I might see and judge for myself, and stood in an alcove near by, affecting to talk with a gentleman in the same sentimental plight as himself.
Mademoiselle ate and drank as if she was really hungry, inviting me to do the same with such hospitable grace that I drew up a little table and continued our tte--tte, while the others stood or sat about in groups in a pleasantly informal manner.
”My friend is much honored, I perceive. Mademoiselle shows both taste and judgment in her selection, for though young for his years, Brooke is a true gentleman,” I said, observing that of all the many bouquets thrown at her feet his was the only one she kept.
”Do you know why I selected this?” she asked, with a quick glance after a slight pause.
”I can easily guess,” I replied, with a significant smile.
She glanced over her shoulder, took up the great bouquet, and plunging her dimpled hand into the midst of the flowers, drew out a glittering bracelet, saying, as she offered it to me, with an air of pride that surprised me very much: ”I kept it that I might return this. It may annoy your friend less to take it from you, therefore restore it with my thanks, and tell him I can accept nothing but flowers.”
”Nothing, mademoiselle?”
”Nothing, monsieur.”
I put my question with emphasis, and as she answered she flashed a look at me that perplexed me, though I thought it a bit of clever acting.
Taking the bracelet, I said, in a tone of feigned regret: ”Must I afflict the poor boy by returning his gift with such a cruel message?”
”If you would be a true friend to him do what I ask, and take him away from Paris.”
Her urgent tone struck me even more than this unexpected frankness, and I involuntarily exclaimed: ”Does mademoiselle know what she banishes thus?”
”I know that Sir Richard Brooke would disinherit his only son if that son made a mesalliance; I know that I regard Arthur too much to mar his future, and-I banish him.”
She spoke rapidly, and laid her hand upon her heart as if to hide its agitation, but her eyes were fixed steadily on mine with an expression which affected me with a curious sense of guilt for my hard judgment of her.
There was a pause, and in that pause I chid myself for let ting a pair of lovely eyes ensnare my reason, or an enchanting smile bribe my judgment.
”Mademoiselle understands the perversity of mankind well. It will be impossible to get Arthur away after a command like yours,” I said, coldly.
She deliberately examined my face, and a change pa.s.sed over her own. The earnestness vanished, the soft trouble was replaced by an almost bitter smile, and her voice had a touch of scorn in it as she said, sharply: ”Then Telemachus had better find a truer Mentor.”
A gentleman approached; she welcomed him with a genial look, and I retired, feeling more ruffled than I would confess.
As soon as I joined Brooke in the alcove he demanded in English, and with loverlike eagerness: ”What is your opinion of her?”
”Hush; she will overhear you!”
”She speaks no English-she is absorbed-answer freely.”
”Well, then, I think her a charming, artful, dangerous woman, and the sooner you leave her the better,” I answered, abruptly.
”But, Ulster, don't joke. How artful? Why dangerous? I'll not leave her till I've tried my fate,” he cried, half angry, half hurt.
I told him our conversation, gave him the jewel, and advised him to disappoint her hopes by departing without another word.
”You think she means to win me by affecting to sacrifice her own heart to my welfare?” he said as I paused.
”Exactly; she did it capitally, but I am not to be duped; and I tell you she will never let so rich a prize escape her unless she has a richer in sight, which I doubt.”
”I'll not believe it! You wrong us both; you distrust all women, and insult her by such bare suspicions. You are deceived.”
”I never am deceived; I read men and women like books, and no character is too mysterious for me to decipher. I tell you, I am right, and I'll prove it if you will keep silent for a few weeks longer.”
”How?” demanded Brooke, hotly.
”I'll study this woman, and report my discoveries to you; thus, step by step, I'll convince you that she is all I say, and save you from the folly you are about to commit. Will you agree to this?”
”Yes; but you'll take no unfair advantage, you'll deal justly by us both, and if you fail”
”I never fail-but if such an unheard of thing occurs, I'll own I'm conquered, and pay any penalty you decree.”