Part 23 (1/2)

Colette sat down on one of the front row of chairs and cried: ”I am the audience--I am all ears.” Her sister hurriedly explained all this to Jacqueline, with out waiting to be questioned: ”We have been giving some little summer entertainments of late, of which you see the remains.” She went at once to the piano, and incited Jacqueline to sing by beginning one of their favorite duets, and Jacqueline, once more in her native element, followed her lead. They went on from one song to another, from the light to the severe, from scientific music to mere tunes and airs, turning over the old music-books together.

”Yes, you are a little out of practice, but all you have to do is to rub off the rust. Your voice is finer than ever--just like velvet.”

And Madame Strahlberg pretended that she envied the fine mezzo-soprano, speaking disparagingly of her own little thread of a voice, which, however, she managed so skilfully. ”What a shame to take up your time teaching, with such a voice as that!” she cried; ”you are out of your senses, my dear, you are raving mad. It would be sinful to keep your gifts to yourself! I am very sorry to discourage you, but you have none of the requisites for a teacher. The stage would be best for you--'Mon Dieu! why not? You will see La Rochette this evening; she is a person who would give you good advice. I wish she could hear you!”

”But my dear friend, I can not stay,” murmured Jacqueline, for those unexpected words ”the stage, why not?” rang in her head, made her heart beat fast, and made lights dance before her eyes. ”They are expecting me to dine at home.”

”At your convent? I beg your pardon, I'll take care of that. Don't you know me? My claws seldom let go of a prize, especially when that prize is worth the keeping. A little telegram has already been sent, with your excuses. The telegraph is good for that, if not for anything else: it facilitates 'impromptus'.”

”Long live impromptus,” cried out Colette, ”there is nothing like them for fun!” And while Jacqueline was trying to get away, not knowing exactly what she was saying, but frightened, pleased, and much excited, Colette went on: ”Oh! I am so glad, so glad you came to-day; now you can see the pantomime! I dreamed, wasn't it odd, only last night, that you were acting it with us. How can one help believing in presentiments?

Mine are always delightful--and yours?”

”The pantomime?” repeated Jacqueline in bewilderment, ”but I thought your sister told me you were all alone.”

”How could we have anything like company in August?” said Madame Strahlberg, interrupting her; ”why, it would be impossible, there are not four cats in Paris. No, no, we sha'n't have anybody. A few friends possibly may drop in--people pa.s.sing through Paris--in their travelling-dresses. Nothing that need alarm you. The pantomime Colette talks about is only a pretext that they may hear Monsieur Szmera.”

And who was M. Szmera?

Jacqueline soon learned that he was a Hungarian, second half-cousin of a friend of Kossuth, the most wonderful violinist of the day, who had apparently superseded the famous Polish pianist in these ladies'

interest and esteem. As for the latter, they had almost forgotten his name, he had behaved so badly.

”But,” said Jacqueline, anxiously, ”you know I am obliged to be home by ten o'clock.”

”Ah! that's like Cinderella,” laughed Wanda. ”Will the stroke of the clock change all the carriages in Paris into pumpkins? One can get 'fiacres' at any hour.”

”But it is a fixed rule: I must be in,” repeated Jacqueline, growing very uneasy.

”Must you really? Madame Saville says it is very easy to manage those nuns--”

”What? Do you know Madame Saville, who was boarding at the convent last winter?”

”Yes, indeed; she is a countrywoman of ours, a friend, the most charming of women. You will see her here this evening. She has gained her divorce suit--”

”You are mistaken,” said Colette, ”she has lost it. But that makes no difference. She has got tired of her husband. Come, say 'Yes,'

Jacqueline--a nice, dear 'Yes'--you will stay, will you not? Oh, you darling!”

They dined without much ceremony, on the pretext that the cook had been turned off that morning for impertinence, but immediately after dinner there was a procession of boys from a restaurant, bringing whipped creams, iced drinks, fruits, sweetmeats, and champagne--more than would have been wanted at the buffet of a ball. The Prince, they said, had sent these things. What Prince?

As Jacqueline was asking this question, a gentleman came in whose age it would have been impossible to guess, so disguised was he by his black wig, his dyed whiskers, and the soft bloom on his cheeks, all of which were entirely out of keeping with those parts of his face that he could not change. In one of his eyes was stuck a monocle. He was bedizened with several orders, he bowed with military stiffness, and kissed with much devotion the ladies' hands, calling them by t.i.tles, whether they had them or not. His foreign accent made it as hard to detect his nationality as it was to know his age. Two or three other gentlemen, not less decorated and not less foreign, afterward came in. Colette named them in a whisper to Jacqueline, but their names were too hard for her to p.r.o.nounce, much less to remember. One of them, a man of handsome presence, came accompanied by a sort of female ruin, an old lady leaning on a cane, whose head, every time she moved, glittered with jewels, placed in a very lofty erection of curled hair.

”That gentleman's mother is awfully ugly,” Jacqueline could not help saying.

”His mother? What, the Countess? She is neither his mother nor his wife.

He is her gentleman-in-waiting-that's all. Don't you understand? Well, imagine a man who is a sort of 'gentleman-companion'; he keeps her accounts, he escorts her to the theatre, he gives her his arm. It is a very satisfactory arrangement.”

”The gentleman receives a salary, in such a case?” inquired Jacqueline, much amused.

”Why, what do you find in it so extraordinary?” said Colette. ”She adores cards, and there he is, always ready to be her partner. Oh, here comes dear Madame Saville!”

There were fresh cries of welcome, fresh exchanges of affectionate diminutives and kisses, which seemed to make the Prince's mouth water.