Part 10 (1/2)
”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 s.p.a.ce. 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 a.s.sured 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 grat.i.tude 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 G.o.dfather examined the bracelet set with sapphires and diamonds. He put on his gla.s.ses, 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 G.o.dfather'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.”
”Oh! oh! oh!” screamed Meydieux.