Part 3 (1/2)
Repressing a slight feeling of annoyance, Madame de Vibray changed the subject:
”You will have dinner served as soon as the guests arrive. They will not be later than half-past seven, I suppose.”
Antoine bowed solemnly, vanished into the anteroom, and from thence gained the servants' hall.
Madame de Vibray quitted the small drawing-room. Traversing the great gallery with its gla.s.s roof, encircling the staircase, she entered the dining-room. Covers were laid for three.
Inspecting the table arrangements with the eye of a mistress of the house, she straightened the line of some plates, gave a touch of distinction to the flowers scattered over the table in a conventional disorder; then she went to the sideboard, where the major-domo had left a china pot filled with flowers. With a slight shrug, the Baroness carried the pot to its usual place--a marble column at the further end of the room:
”It was fortunate I came to see how things were! Antoine is a good fellow, but a hare-brained one too!” thought she.
Madame de Vibray paused a moment: the light from an electric lamp shone on the vase and wonderfully enhanced its glittering beauty. It was a piece of faience decorated in the best taste. On its graceful form the artist had traced the lines of an old colour print, and had scrupulously preserved the picture born of an eighteenth-century artist's imagination, with its brilliancy of tone and soft background of tender grey. Madame de Vibray could not tear herself away from the contemplation of it. Not only did the design and the treatment please her, but she also felt a kind of maternal affection for the artist: ”This dear Jacques,” she murmured, ”has decidedly a great deal of talent, and I like to think that in a short time his reputation....”
Her reflections were interrupted by the servant. The good Antoine announced in a low voice, and with a touch of respectful reproach in his tone:
”Monsieur Thomery awaits the Baroness in the small drawing-room: he has been waiting ten minutes.”
”Very well. I am coming.”
Madame de Vibray, whose movements were all harmonious grace, returned by way of the gallery to greet her guest. She paused on the threshold of the small drawing-room, smiling graciously.
Framed in the dark drapery of the heavy door-curtains, the soft light from globes of ground gla.s.s falling on her, the Baroness de Vibray appeared a very attractive woman still. Her figure had retained its youthful slenderness, her neck, white as milk, was as round and fresh as a girl's; and had the hair about her forehead and temples not been turning grey--the Baroness wore it powdered, a piece of coquettish affection on her part--she would not have looked a day more than thirty.
Monsieur Thomery rose hastily, and advanced to meet her. He kissed her hand with a gallant air:
”My dear Mathilde,” he declared with an admiring glance, ”you are decidedly an exquisite woman!”
The Baroness replied by a glance, in which there was something ambiguous, something of ironical mockery:
”How are you, Norbert?” she asked in an affectionate tone.... ”And those pains?”
They seated themselves on a low couch, and began to discuss their respective aches and pains in friendly fas.h.i.+on. Whilst listening to his complaints, Madame de Vibray could not but admire his remarkable vigour, his air of superb health: his looks gave the lie to his words.
About fifty-five, Monsieur Norbert Thomery seemed to be in the plenitude of his powers; his premature baldness was redeemed by the vivacity of his dark brown eyes, also by his long, thick moustache, probably dyed.
He looked like an old soldier. He was the last of the great Thomery family who, for many generations, had been sugar refiners. His was a personality well known in Parisian Society; always first at his office or his factories, as soon as night fell he became the man of the world, frequenting fas.h.i.+onable drawing-rooms, theatrical first-nights, official receptions, and b.a.l.l.s in the aristocratic circles of the faubourg Saint-Germain.
Remarkably handsome, extremely rich, Thomery had had many love affairs.
Gossips had it that between him and Madame de Vibray there had existed a tender intimacy; and, for once, gossip was right. But they had been tactful, had respected the conventions whilst their irregular union had lasted. Though now a thing of the past, for Thomery had sought other loves, his pa.s.sion for the Baroness had changed to a calm, strong, semi-brotherly affection; whilst Madame de Vibray retained a more lively, a more tender feeling for the man whom she had known as the most gallant of lovers.
Thomery suddenly ceased talking of his rheumatism:
”But, my dear friend, I do not see that pretty smile which is your greatest charm! How is that?”
Madame de Vibray looked sad: her beautiful eyes gazed deep into those of Thomery:
”Ah,” she murmured, ”one cannot be eternally smiling; life sometimes holds painful surprises in store for us.”
”Is something worrying you?” Thomery's tone was one of anxious sympathy.