"I have traveled much," remarked the countess to her companion, "and I have never seen anything that could equal--not in magnificence, for any millionaire can purchase magnificence with his money--but the marvelous taste which has presided over the construction of this place. It is a veritable musee of splendors--allow me to pause and admire the superb paintings of this ceiling."

"After the admiration of the work comes the reward to the author; does it not, madame?" returned Florestan with a smile. "One word from your lips, countess, will make the artist, who painted this ceiling, the happiest and proudest man in the universe," he concluded, with a wave of the hand toward one of the most ill.u.s.trious masters of the modern school.

"A thousand thanks for procuring me such good fortune," replied the countess, advancing toward the artist.

"My dear friend," said Florestan, "the Countess Zomaloff wishes to express to you all her admiration for your work."

"Not my admiration only, but my grat.i.tude also," rejoined the young woman graciously. "The exquisite pleasure given by such a master-piece, is a debt contracted toward its creator."

"However precious and flattering such praises may be to me," returned the artist, with a modesty marked by good taste, "I can only accept a share of it. Pray allow me to place myself _hors de cause_, I can then express myself more freely. For instance, let us take the painting of the concert gallery, which you will admire by and by; they are due to our Raphael--M. Ingres. Well, this monumental work, which in the future will furnish art pilgrims as much cause of admiration as the most beautiful frescoes of Rome, Pisa, or Florence, would perhaps never have existed were it not for my excellent friend Saint-Herem. Was it not he who gave our French Raphael the subject of one of his immortal pages? Truly, madame, in these days of vulgar luxuries and brutal magnificences, is it not a phenomenon to meet a _Medicis_, as in the brightest epoch of Italian republics?"

"You are right," said the countess, enthusiastically, "and history is just in ill.u.s.trating--"

"Forgive the interruption, countess," laughed Florestan, "but I am as modest as my ill.u.s.trious friend; and for fear your admiration should be thrown away on an unworthy object, I shall point out the veritable _Medici_--This is he."

As he spoke, he designated the portrait above the chimney.

"What a pensive, austere face!" exclaimed the countess, gazing at the painting with a feeling of mingled surprise and curiosity. Then, as her eyes fell on the inscription below, she added with increased astonishment:

"Saint-Ramon?--Who is he?"

"A saint of my own, madame," laughed Florestan. "He was my uncle; and although I am not yet a pope, I have taken the liberty to canonize this admirable man in recognition of his long martyrdom during life and the miracles he accomplished after his death."

"His long martyrdom and his miracles!" echoed the countess. "You must be jesting, monsieur?"

"Not at all, madame. My uncle Ramon endured the most atrocious privations during his long life, for he was pitilessly and sublimely avaricious--this was his martyrdom. At his death, I inherited his enormous wealth and conceived this prodigious work of art--these are his miracles. I have sanctified his memory by grat.i.tude--this is his canonization. As you see, it is a veritable legend taken from the _Lives of the Saints_."

Struck by the originality of the young man, Madame Zomaloff remained silent for a moment, absorbed in deep meditation; while the duke, who until then had loitered some distance behind, approached them.

"My dear Florestan," he said, "I have been very eager to address you a really odd question since my arrival. Who are all these people? I recognize a few eminent artists, here and there, and a renowned architect, but none of the rest. The princess and myself have vainly searched the key to the enigma. They are all quiet and reserved, and the young girls appear very modest, while a few are really pretty; but I am anxious to learn to what cla.s.s of society they belong!"

"Since M. de Riancourt has the courage to ask you so indiscreet a question," broke in the countess, "I shall admit that I share his curiosity."

"You have no doubt remarked," said Florestan, with a smile, "that the persons a.s.sembled here this evening do not belong to what we call the aristocracy--"

"True, indeed."

"Yet, madame, a few moments ago you were happy to meet the great artist who designed the dome you so much admired, were you not?"

"Indeed, the meeting caused me great pleasure, I a.s.sure you."

"I believe you also approve me for inviting him, as well as many of his colleagues, to the inauguration of their united work?"

"The invitation certainly seemed almost a duty on your part, monsieur."

"Well, madame, this duty, inspired by grat.i.tude, I have fulfilled toward all who have contributed to the construction of this house, from the greatest artist to the most humble workman. All are here with their families, to enjoy the splendors they have created. Is it not just that the skillful and obscure man who chiseled the golden cup should moisten his lips in it, once, at least, in his life?"

"What!" cried the duke in stupefaction, "these are carpenters, gilders, blacksmiths, paper-hangers, ebonists, masons!--even masons! Why, it is absurd, impossible, incredible!"

"My dear duke, do you know the habits of the bees?" queried Florestan.

"Very little," replied the duke stiffly.

"Their habits are most savage and impertinent, my dear duke. Those insolent creatures--under the fabulous pretext that they have constructed their hives--have the impudence to inhabit them. And, what is more shocking still, they claim their right to the sweet honey on which they have so steadily and intelligently labored through the season--"

"Well, and what do you conclude from that?"

"I conclude from it that, through grat.i.tude at least, we should allow the poor, laboring human bees the innocent pleasure of inhabiting for a single day the gilded hive they have built for idle drones like us, who enjoy the honey gathered by others."

The countess, who had drawn a little apart, now again placed her hand on Florestan's arm and gently led him a little away from her aunt and M. de Riancourt.

"Monsieur de Saint-Herem," she said with emotion, as they walked slowly on, "your idea is not only charming, but of a touching delicacy. I am no longer astonished at the air of contentment which pervades around us, and which I have remarked on the features of your guests. The more I think of it, the more generous and just it seems to me. After all, as you say, this is the work of these laborers, and you have honored and dignified labor by this fete. From your point of view, this mansion must be far more than an object of art and luxury to you, for many precious souvenirs are attached to its creation."

"You are right, madame."

"Then--"

"Go on, madame,"

"I cannot understand why--"

"Why do you hesitate? Pray, explain your thought!"

There was a moment of silence, then she resumed, with some embarra.s.sment:

"Two days ago, in speaking of the difficulty of purchasing a mansion as large and sumptuous as I desired, M. de Riancourt recalled the fact that you wished to sell this property."

"Yes; the duke wrote to me, requesting permission to visit the house.

I begged him to wait till this evening, as he could then see the reception-rooms to more advantage--but I did not then antic.i.p.ate the honor of receiving you."

"Monsieur de Saint-Herem," she said, still hesitatingly, "you have been very indulgent to me--will you allow me one more question?"

"Indulgence in this instance has been so sweet and agreeable to me, that I shall thank you for the opportunity of exercising it once more.

What is it?"

"How can you have the courage, or, rather--I shall use a very harsh word, I fear--how can you have the ingrat.i.tude to leave this house, which you have created with so much love, and to which are attached so many kind, generous souvenirs?"

"Upon my word, madame!" he replied carelessly, as if he were saying the most natural thing in the world, "I must sell this mansion because I am ruined, completely ruined. This is my last day of good fortune and wealth, and you must admit, madame, that, thanks to your presence here, this day could not have a more brilliant or happier evening!"

CHAPTER XIX.

Florestan de Saint-Herem had uttered the words "I am ruined" with so much simplicity and carelessness that the countess gazed at him dumbfounded for a moment, unable to believe what she had heard.

"What!" she finally gasped, "you are--"

"Ruined! completely ruined!" he repeated. "My uncle left me five millions five years ago; I have spent it all, plus eighteen hundred thousand francs. The sale of this mansion, however, with its furniture, paintings, silver, etc., will pay my debts and leave me in possession of about a hundred thousand francs. With that I shall retire to some smiling country place and turn shepherd; a charming contrast, especially when I recall my past existence. What marvelous, impossible dreams--changed into realties for myself, my friends, my mistresses--my gilded whirlwind carried in my train! What renown is mine! how all that was beautiful, elegant, sumptuous, _recherche_, was swallowed up in my dazzling orbit! Would you believe, madame, that my reputation for liberality had spread over Europe? Nay, more; a Chandernagor lapidary sent me an Indian saber with its handle studded with gems, enclosing a pretty, laconic note in these words: 'This cimeter belonged to Tippo-Saeb; it should belong to M. Saint-Herem.