"The Duke?"
"Yes, the Duke."
"I do not love him," she answered frightened. "At moments I even hate him, and...."
"And?" insisted the young man, pressing the hand he was still holding.
"... I am happy to be your fiancee!!!"
Her voice vibrated, her eyes were tender with grat.i.tude.
During the dinner Countess Styvens announced that she must go next day.
"I will take my mother to Brussels," said Albert, "and if you will permit me, I will return immediately."
The dinner was very gay, for they were all happy. Esperance herself, so restless, so disturbed only that morning, talked animatedly, keeping them all delighted with her grace and indefinable charm.
Genevieve was astonished, doubting for a little while whether she was simply purposely creating a false excitement. But no, she was really happy.
Baron van Berger rose for a little toast.
"Dear friend," he said, bowing to the Countess, "I am delighted to see that you are reinforcing the ranks and enlisting the younger cla.s.s.
This reinforcement will bring you light, the joy of its twenty years.
I drink to your sun of Austerlitz."
Then, turning towards Albert, "I drink to the line of little soldiers that you will give to Belgium, my boy."
The Count became scarlet. Esperance dropped her eyes. Maurice could hardly restrain his desire to laugh.
"Do not forget that life is a battle," continued the General. "Do not shut yourself up in your happiness, but be always on your guard...!"
"I drink to you, Lady Esperance, who bear a name of hope for the future, for you will certainly understand that the most beautiful role to play is that of wife and mother, which has nothing to do with your theatrical fictions...."
Esperance rose, but Albert restrained her, looking at his mother. The charming woman said tactfully, "My good friend, I think that you have spoken according to your own convictions. Esperance will conduct herself always as seems best to her."
"How kind you are, Madame!" And the young girl went and kissed her hand.
This little incident had interfered with the quiet of the evening. But Esperance resumed her serenity, as she understood that her future mother-in-law had quite recognized the possibility that she might remain faithful to her art.
As to Maurice, the Baron had put him in such spirits that he was sparkling with wit, and the dinner ended in the most delightful camaraderie and good feeling. Esperance, before they had time to ask her, went gaily to the piano; Albert sat down beside her and begged that she would sing.
She agreed sweetly, on condition that her fiancee should accompany her. Her voice was very pure and clear, and she sang a simple ballad with exquisite taste.
"You have no middle voice," objected the Baron.
"Quite true," agreed Esperance with a silvery laugh; "you are terribly frank."
When the girls were alone together finally, Genevieve complimented her friend upon all that had happened.
"You were adorably gracious, dear little Countess, and I believe in your happiness!"
"No, Genevieve," said Esperance, "I shall not be happy, I know it, except in so far as I can give happiness. I love Countess Styvens very deeply. I am touched by Albert"s love, I see that I shall be forced by loyalty to renounce the theatre; I shall be torn by regret, for I fear my life will be spoiled, and I am not yet twenty!"
She was sitting on her bed, looking so forlorn that Genevieve slipped down beside her and drew the little blonde head to her shoulder.
"You, dear," asked Esperance, "will you renounce the theatre if Maurice tells you that he wishes it?"
"I shall not even wait for him to tell me.... If Maurice wishes me to be his companion through life, I will sacrifice everything for him, with only one regret, that I have not enough to give up for him!"
"Oh!" said Esperance, miserably, "you are in love, but I am not."
And the unhappy child, stifling her sobs, hid her head in the pillow.
Two days later, the Countess, her son and the Baron left for Brussels.
Madame Styvens had questioned Esperance very adroitly, and she left Penhouet with a pretty good idea of her tastes and preferences.
It was then the end of August, and the banns were to be published for November. The Baron was to arrange for the marriage in Brussels, but it was agreed that the young couple should live in Paris, and the Countess proposed to pick out a pretty house to shelter the happiness of her son. She herself would live in Paris; but she refused to share their home.
"I shall look for a house or an apartment near by."
The adieux were tender on both sides. Esperance was so sensitive to the charm of her mother-in-law that it made her seem devoted to her fiancee....
CHAPTER XXI
The news of the engagement of Esperance and the Count Styvens was known all over Paris. Letters came to the farm of Penhouet, done up in packets. Many expressed to the philosopher and his wife their joy at hearing that their daughter had decided to leave a career so ... so very ... in which ... in fact that...! Every absurd prejudice, so puritanly ingrained in the minds of most middle cla.s.s divisions and sections and even amongst the more cultivated, was endlessly repeated upon with the usual ba.n.a.lities in the large correspondence of their friends and others. Poor actors, so misunderstood! so misrepresented!
The philosopher showed all the letters to Esperance, who shrugged her shoulders, astonished to find there was so much prejudice in the world against her beloved calling. One letter, however, she took quite seriously. It was written by the most eminent of all the Academicians.
One sentence in the epistle wounded the poor child very deeply. "Now I shall be able to go about your election with more confidence and security. Dare I admit to you, my dear Professor, that the only obstacle I encountered, and which seemed to me insurmountable, was the career chosen by that lovely child, your daughter, whose talent we all admire so much! Now I can start my campaign, and I am very sure, my dear Darbois, of achieving our ambition without much difficulty.
Therefore, perhaps, I shall not altogether deserve your thanks."
What Genevieve had said was patently true; her father had sacrificed his dearest hope for her, and he had done it so all unostentatiously....
Ah! how she loved her father, who was unlike other men! He was standing there before her, smiling, a little scornful of all these little souls.
And as he handed her another letter--"No, father dear, no, I beg you.
Pardon me the wrong that I have been doing you; I admire you and I love you, dear papa, but leave me with the n.o.ble feeling of your supreme kindness; I would rather not know any more of the little meannesses of the world."
She climbed on her father"s knees and covered his forehead with kisses.
"Look," said Mme. Darbois, holding up a letter "eight pages from your G.o.dfather."
Esperance jumped up laughing, "That I certainly shall not read."
"I am going to write to the Countess that I give up my art...." And swift as a shadow she was gone.
The philosopher sat hesitating, his expression troubled. Had he the right to compel this sacrifice, knowing, realizing, as he did, that his child had based all the happiness of her life on the career she was now voluntarily giving up for his sake? Germaine looked at him questioningly.