"Your G.o.dfather came to complain to us of Maurice, of Jean Perliez, and of yourself. You all displeased him; tell us just what happened?"

Esperance recounted the happenings with perfect impartiality, adding honestly that she had done nothing to try to persuade her G.o.dfather to remain. The philosopher smiled.

"Very well, let us forget all that. We will take up our happy life again, that has been interrupted by your triumphs," he added sadly.

And then, as the women were preparing to leave the library, "Tell me, Esperance, who is the Countess Styvens?"

"A great lady at court, and oh! so charming."

"Is Count Albert Styvens of the Legation any relation of hers?"

"Yes, father, he is her son. But why do you ask that?"

"Your G.o.dfather spoke to me of this young man, who, it seems, wants to complete his studies in philosophy."

The poor little star trembled. She was on the point of confessing all her presentiments, her terrors, to her father.... But he had just sat down to his desk and seemed already indifferent to what was going on around him. She went softly out of the library, following her mother, who was bearing away the newspaper excerpts and the royal jewel cases.

In the beautiful house which Countess Styvens occupied with her son, an animated discussion was taking place at the same moment between Baron von Berger and Count Albert.

"I advise you, my boy," the Baron was saying brusquely, "to ask for another post. You, so sensible, too sensible, for a man of your age, in fact it's a little ridiculous...."

"That has nothing to do with it," returned the younger man coolly.

"All very well, but my quasi-paternal duty is to stop you before certain danger. You admit that you adore this young star of seventeen, the daughter of a philosopher of high standing. You do not intend, I suppose, to make her your mistress?"

Albert Styvens felt the blood run into his temples, but he did not answer.

The Baron continued, more determinedly, "You do not intend to propose her as a daughter-in-law to your mother?"

For an instant a vertigo froze the young man's being. His heart stopped beating, his throat contracted with a terrific pressure of blood. He did not answer a word.

"In G.o.d's name," cried the Baron violently, "am I in the presence of a woman or a man?"

"A man," said Count Albert, getting to his feet. "A man whose anger is held in check by his respect, but who can endure no more," he added, throwing back his arms to allow his chest to dilate still farther. "I am going to answer you; please listen without interruption."

Then, after a moment more of silence, he declared, "Yes, I am desperately in love with this young girl, and I am going to try everything, not to make her love me, for that she probably never will--but that she will let herself be loved. What will come of it, I have not the least idea. I want her and no one else. I will commit no disloyal act, I give you my word for that. If she should become my wife, it would be with my mother's full permission. I beg you now, my dear Baron, to say nothing further about it; I am old enough to regulate my life, as much as the divine guiding force which you call 'Destiny' permits."

He came up to the Baron, clasped his hand in a firm grasp, and reaching for his hat, added, "I want to get out in the air. Shall we go together?"

The Baron recognized the opposition of an unchangeable will to his own, which no discussion could influence.

CHAPTER XII

Life had resumed its regular course in the apartment on the Boulevard Raspail, but an important relationship was developing in Esperance's life. Count Albert Styvens came three times a week to pursue his philosophic studies with Professor Darbois. This arrangement had been contrived by the hypocrite, Adhemar Meydieux. He did not mistake the Count's infatuation for his G.o.ddaughter. A marriage of such wealth and aristocratic connections flattered his foolish egoism, and he was sworn to attempt everything that would bring about such a magnificent consummation.

A friend of the family, Doctor Bertaud, noticed alarming symptoms in the girl, most prevalent between five and seven o'clock each evening.

He could not ascertain the cause, but persuaded the philosopher to take her to Doctor Potain, a celebrated heart specialist. Madame Darbois took Esperance for an examination.

Francois was perfectly amazed by the deep culture of the Count, who at first sight seemed of only average intelligence. When the family gathered together for dinner, he commented on his impressions to his wife and daughter.

"This young man is a very remarkable personality," he said, "very difficult to penetrate, yet nevertheless very sincere. I do not believe that the slightest untruth has ever crossed his lips. I enjoy working with him. Ah! that reminds me, I have invited him to dine with us on Thursday. He is very anxious to be presented to you, and Esperance already knows him, so I thought you would find it agreeable."

The young girl trembled. Her blood seemed to stop in her veins. Her hand pressed against her heart felt no movement there. Her father, noticing the change in her, exclaimed, "Bertaud is quite right, you are sometimes abnormally pale; do you feel ill?"

"No, father, it is nothing; I felt dizzy for a moment."

"All the same we must hurry Bertaud with his examination."

Back in her own room the young girl began to weep. "I shall never escape that man, never, never."

Her eyes invoked the Virgin of ivory. Her two arms extended, implored her, but it seemed to Esperance that they were opened also to whatever discouragement Destiny might have in store. She fell asleep in her chair, worn out by self-hypnosis on the holy image.

A horrible nightmare unfolded in her brain. She found herself on a great map of the world, with a voice calling to her, "Why are you frozen there, why don't you move? You are free as the air of this great globe." Then she began to walk, but at once she saw the earth open and long tentacles, like arms, emerge to clutch her. She recoiled quickly and started in another direction but the same phenomenon occurred again. After that she determined to climb on to a great plain that she saw ahead. She thought she was safe when all at once she saw arising on every side the frightful tentacles which crept along her hiding-place, viscous and black, nearer, near enough to touch her. An indescribable terror brought her to her feet with a cry for help!

Mile. Frahender and Marguerite came running in. They found her pale and bathed in perspiration. Her lips were trembling, stammering. It was five minutes before she recovered herself. She described her dream, and the old Mademoiselle prescribed a little walk in the air.

The child followed her chaperon with nervous docility.

It was the day after the next when Albert Styvens was to come to dinner. Esperance had thought of saying that she was ill, but her heart misgave her at the thought of the anxiety she would occasion her mother, and then ... and then ... the dinner would be postponed, and "This man will have what he will have, and I am the prey of his dream," she said with a sigh of resignation.

The dinner was arranged for seven-thirty. The young Count presented himself at seven-fifteen, having been preceded by two great bunches of flowers, for Madame Darbois and Esperance, who was at the piano when he came into the room. The Count entered with Madame Darbois, whom her husband had just presented to her, and they stopped silent to listen to Mendelssohn's beautiful nocturne, "Song of a Summer Night." When the last echoes of the last phrase had died away, discreet applause was wafted to her. She swung quickly on her stool and found herself before the young man who was bowing, and taking the hand she held out to him. She had not yet overcome that terror he inspired in her, and was surprised to find him so much at ease. After dinner they talked of music, and Esperance, praising a magnificent duet of Liszt, from the symphony of Orpheus, was overcome when the young man rose, took her hand and led her towards the piano.

"Come, let us try to play it together." He looked towards Francois Darbois and received his nod of acquiescence from the depths of the arm-chair where the professor sat clasping his long, fine hands.

The Count was intoxicated by the light perfume of Esperance's body there so near him that he seemed almost to touch her. His strong hands rose and fell beside her delicate fingers, making the young girl think of a great hawk fluttering over white pigeons, at the farm of Penhouet in Brittany, where for years she had spent her holidays. The fragment was executed brilliantly, for these two persons, united in their enthusiasm for art, although so different in personal reactions, gave the two auditors of this musical treat a magnificent interpretation of Liszt's genius. Francois Darbois and his wife, both distinguished in their appreciation of the beautiful, could not sufficiently thank the Count, dividing his praises with congratulations to their daughter.

"You surpa.s.sed yourself, my dear," said the philosopher, "but then I admit that you have never before had such a partner. It was really remarkable."

When the young man had left, Esperance excused herself, saying that she was tired. She kissed her parents tenderly, although for the first time she felt an unjust and unfounded resentment against them. She was aggrieved that they should see nothing of Count Styvens's manoeuvres.

The maid, helping her to undress, exclaimed, "How grand it was this evening, Mademoiselle, and what a fine young gentleman!"

Esperance shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. Marguerite, coming in to see that the young mistress whom she adored wanted nothing, could not help saying, "Ah! Mademoiselle, what talent he has, that young Count! How well you two did look, your backs, sitting side by side! I just said to myself...."

Esperance shivered, guessing what was coming, and interrupted the good woman quickly, "Don't talk to me Marguerite, to-night. I am tired and I must go to sleep."

But she did not sleep.

CHAPTER XIII

The last presentation of Sardou's play was a veritable ovation for Esperance. Flowers were presented to her on the stage. Two baskets attracted special attention, one overflowing with white orchids; the other, with gardenias, so powerful in their sweetness that even the first rows of the orchestra felt their strength. It was rumoured in the boxes that the white orchids were sent by the Countess Styvens and her son Albert, who were sitting in a stall in the auditorium. As to the gardenias, the card attached to the green ribbons of the basket revealed the name of the most elegant clubman of Paris, the Duke Charles de Morlay-La-Branche. He was a handsome man of thirty-two, very wealthy, adored by women, popular with men. A ripple ran through the audience.

"You know the Duke, they say that he is very much taken...."