Part 18 (1/2)

The philosopher drew his daughter on his knee.

”Very well. We will not mention music to your lover.”

The word had slipped out but it stung the young girl, however, she would not let her resentment appear.

”So,” she thought, ”they all accept the courting of Albert Styvens. My father himself is part of the conspiracy against me.”

She led Genevieve outside and confided to her her apprehensions. Her young friend did not deny that the coming of Count Styvens had the appearance to all of an approaching proposal of marriage.

”My G.o.d,” said Esperance, pressing her friend's arm, ”it seems to me that I shall never be able to say 'Yes.' I am so happy as I am.”

The two girls were sitting on a little mound. The moon was reflected in a sea as quiet as the sky.

”See,” said Esperance, ”that is the image of my life. At this moment I am calm, happy, and my art is like that bright star. It brightens everything for me without troubling me.... I do not love Count Styvens. Oh!” she went on in answer to a movement from Genevieve, ”I like him as a friend, but I do not love him. I know he is a gallant gentleman, a fine musician, and a splendid athlete; I recognize that he is very generous and that he is entirely unselfish--for these I greatly respect him, but these qualities alone have nothing to do with love.”

”He is a very good-looking man,” said Genevieve.

”His arms are too long and he has not any decided colour. His face, his hair, his eyes are all of a neutral tint which you cannot define.”

”But handsome men are very rare!”

Esperance did not answer.

”There is the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, too. Do you like him any better?”

The moon shone full on Esperance's face.

”Great Heavens, dearie,” exclaimed Genevieve quickly, ”you are not in love with that man, I hope.”

”Don't speak so loud,” said Esperance, frightened. ”No, I am not in love with the Duke, but he bothers me, I confess. He is continually in my mind, and the thought of him makes the blood rush to my heart. When he is present I can struggle against him, but I have no strength against the picture of him I so often conjure up. That dominates me more than he can do himself. That seems innocent enough, but I know very well all the same, that I find every excuse for dwelling on the thought of him. No, I do not love him ... but still....” she murmured very low.

Genevieve took her friend in her arms.

”Esperance, darling, save yourself! Think of the downfall of your mother's happiness, think of the fearful remorse of your father. Think of your G.o.dfather's iniquitous triumph. Ah! I beg of you, accept the Count's love, become his wife, you will be constrained by your loyalty to save your father's honour. But the Duke....”

”My father's honour is precious to me, and you see, I am defending it badly,” said Esperance. She wept quietly. Genevieve drew her head down on her shoulder. Esperance kissed her.

”Come, we must go back, it is getting late. I thank you, Genevieve, and I love you.”

A letter arrived the next morning which announced that the Count would pay them his visit on Thursday.

There were just three days before his coming. Esperance had made up her mind, after her talk with Genevieve, to accede to her parents'

wishes. She and Genevieve went to inspect the room that had been prepared for the Count. It was a little square apartment very nicely arranged. On the floor was a mat with red and white squares. The windows looked out on the rocky coast. The young people decided to hang some small variegated laurels from the ceiling to decorate it. On the mantel they put some flower vases on either side of a plaque representing the golden wedding of a Breton couple. Mme. Darbois opened for them what Esperance called her ”reliquary,” and they found there flowers and ribbons. They chose wisteria, and lavender and white ribbons, then went to work on their wreath. A large crown of pretty bunches was hung from satin ribbons. When it was ready the four young people went with ladder and tools to hang the wreaths, Maurice standing high up on the ladder drove in the peg intended to hold the crown.

”As reward for this service, you know,” he said, ”I must be allowed to put the wreath on your pretty head, the day that you are married.”

Esperance blushed and sighed sadly.

The room was charming in its decoration, though when it was finished it seemed more fit for a young girl than for a big, broad-shouldered man.

M. and Mme. Darbois went to meet Count Styvens at Palais. Francois had taken his gla.s.ses and pointed out the boat to his wife.