Part 44 (2/2)

Cherubin quivered with pleasure as he took the note, and while the maid discreetly stepped back, he eagerly read the pretty countess's missive, which contained these words:

”You are not agreeable; I have not seen you for several days. To make your peace with me, will you give me a moment this morning, and tell me your opinion of some verses which have been sent to me?

I shall expect you at one o'clock.”

Cherubin was beside himself with joy; he read that pleasant epistle once more, then said to the maid:

”I accept your mistress's invitation with great pleasure, mademoiselle; I will be with her at one o'clock; I shall not fail.”

”Then monsieur will not write his answer?” asked the maid.

Cherubin hesitated; he walked toward his desk, realizing that it would be better policy perhaps to seize the opportunity to write something agreeable to his charming friend; but he remembered that Darena had just told him that he did not know how to write a love letter. Fearing that he might make some blunder, he tossed his pen aside, crying:

”No, I think not; I haven't time to write. Besides, I have too many things to say to your mistress; I should not know where to begin; simply a.s.sure her that I will not keep her waiting.”

The maid smiled, made a pretty little curtsy, and seemed to be waiting for the young man to slip something into her pocket and take on her cheek an earnest of what he was to take from her mistress. But, finding that he did nothing of the sort, she shrugged her shoulders imperceptibly and left the room, taking pains, as she pa.s.sed through the reception room, not to approach the old servant, who seemed inclined to try again to pull her over.

”The servant is terribly old,” she said to herself, ”but the master is very young!”

Cherubin was in an ecstasy of delight. Madame de Valdieri's note had caused him to forget the Polish lady altogether. At nineteen years it is common enough to think of present happiness only; the new love expels the old; it is not always necessary to be nineteen years old in order to experience that phenomenon; but can all these sentiments which are constantly replacing one another properly be called love?

Cherubin glanced at his clock; it was half after eleven; he was not to be at Madame de Valdieri's until one, but he proposed to make an extremely careful toilet. He rang for Jasmin, he rang for his other servant, he ordered several suits to be brought, and could not determine which one to wear. He had his hair dressed, crimped and curled, rising constantly to look in a mirror. He told his old servant to perfume his handkerchief, upon which Jasmin emptied several phials, smiling cunningly, and murmuring: ”What did I say? Our _bonnes fortunes_ are about to begin. We are going to have some sport now! We are quite good-looking enough for that.”

As he dressed, Cherubin thought of the pretty woman with whom he was soon to be alone for the first time; he was not very composed in mind, for he was wondering what he should say to her. He was well pleased to have the a.s.signation, but he regretted that Monfreville was not there to tell him how one should behave with a lady of the most fas.h.i.+onable set, who invites one to read poetry to her.

It was too late for him to consult Monfreville; the appointed hour was drawing nigh. Cherubin completed his toilet, but did not notice that Jasmin had saturated him with perfumery: his coat was scented with essence of rose, his waistcoat with patchouli, his handkerchief with Portugal water; and, in addition, all his other garments smelt of musk.

He looked himself over, concluded that he was becomingly arrayed, stepped into his tilbury, and soon reached the countess's abode.

He was admitted by the same maid, and instead of taking him to the salon, she led him through several secret pa.s.sages to a delicious boudoir, where the light was so soft and mysterious that one could scarcely see. However, after a few seconds, Cherubin's eyes became accustomed to that doubtful light, and he spied the pretty countess half-reclining on a couch at the back of a little curtained recess, which seemed intended to perform the functions of an alcove.

Cherubin made a low bow and said:

”I beg pardon, madame, but I did not see you at first, it is so dark here.”

”Do you think so?” rejoined the fair Emma affectedly. ”I don't like broad daylight, it tires my eyes.--It is very kind of you, Monsieur Cherubin, to consent to sacrifice a few moments to me--you are in such great demand everywhere!”

”It is a great pleasure to me, madame, and I--I--really I cannot promise to read poetry very well. I am not much used to it.”

The countess smiled and motioned him to a seat beside her. Cherubin was exceedingly perturbed in spirit as he entered the delicious little recess and seated himself on the couch, which was not very broad, so that he was necessarily very close to the other person upon it.

There was a moment's silence. Emma, flattered by Cherubin's evident emotion and embarra.s.sment in her presence, decided to begin the conversation, which she was not accustomed to do.

”How do you like my boudoir?”

”Exceedingly pretty, madame; but it seems to me to be a little dark for reading poetry.”

The little lady arched her eyebrows slightly and rejoined:

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