"Ho, ho," jeered one of the youths, "she settled you finely that time, didn't she?"

An argument ensued instantly, but Esperance had gone her way, trembling with happiness. Everything in life seemed opening for her.

For the first time she was aware of her own individuality; for the first time she recognized in herself a force: would that force work for creation or destruction? The child pressed her hands against her fluttering heart.

M. Darbois was waiting at the window. At sight of him, Esperance jumped from the carriage before it stopped. "What a little creature of extremes!" mused the professor.

When she threw her arms about him to thank him, he loosed her hands quickly. "Come, come, we haven't time to talk of that. We must sit down at once. Marguerite is scolding because the dinner is going to be spoiled."

To Esperance the dinner was of less than no importance, but she threw aside her hat obediently, pulled forward her father's chair, and sat down between the two beings whom she adored, but whom she was forced to see suffer if she lived in her own joy--and that she could not, and would not, hide.

CHAPTER III

The weeks before the long-expected day of the examination went by all too slowly to suit Esperance. She had chosen, for the comedy test to study a scene from _Les Femmes Savantes_ (the role of "_Henriette_"), and in tragedy a scene from _Iphygenia_.

Adhemar Meydieux often came to inquire about his G.o.ddaughter's studies. He wished to hear her recite, to give her advice; but Esperance refused energetically, still remembering his former opposition against him. She would let no one hear her recitations, but her mother. Madame Darbois put all her heart into her efforts to help her daughter. Every morning she went through her work with Esperance.

To her the role of "_Henriette_" was inexplicable. She consulted her husband, who replied, "'_Henriette_' is a little philosopheress with plenty of sense. Esperance is right to have chosen this scene from _Les Femmes Savantes_. Moliere's genius has never exhibited finer raillery than in this play." And he enlarged upon the psychology of "_Henriette's_" character until Madame Darbois realized with surprise that her daughter was completely in accord with the ideas laid down by her father as to the interpretation of this role. Esperance was so young it seemed impossible that she could yet understand all the double subtleties....

Esperance had taken her first communion when she was eleven, and after her religious studies ended, she had thought of nothing but poetry, and had even tried to compose some verses. Her father had encouraged her, and procured her a professor of literature. From that time the child had given herself completely to the art of the drama, learning by heart and reciting aloud the most beautiful parts of French literature. Her parents, listening with pleasure to her recitations of Ronsard or Victor Hugo, little guessing that the child was already dreaming of the theatre. Often since then, Madame Darbois had reproached herself for having foreseen so little, but her husband, whose wisdom recognized the uselessness of vain regrets, would calm her, saying with a shake of his head, "You can prevent nothing, my dear wife, destiny is a force against which all is impotent! We can but remove the stumbling-blocks from the path which Esperance must follow. We must be patient!"

At last the day arrived! Never had the young girl been more charming.

Francois Darbois had been working arduously on the correction of a book he was about to publish, when he saw her coming into his library.

He turned towards her and, regarding her there in the doorway, seemed to see the archangel of victory--such radiance emanated from this frail little body.

"I wanted to kiss you, father, before going ... there. Pardon me for having disturbed you." He pressed her close against his heart without speaking, unwilling to p.r.o.nounce the words of regret that mounted to his lips.

Esperance was silent for an instant before her father's grief: then with an exaltation of her whole being she flung herself on her father's neck: "Oh, father, dear father, I am so happy that you must not suffer; you love me so much that you must be happy in this happiness I owe to you; to-morrow, perhaps, will bring me tears. Let us live for to-day."

The professor gently stroked his daughter's velvet cheek. "Go, my darling, go and return triumphant."

In the reception-room Esperance and Madame Darbois went to the same bench, where they had sat upon their former visit. Some fifty people were a.s.sembled.

The same official came to speak to them, and, consulting the list which he was holding ostentatiously, "There are still five pupils before you, Mademoiselle, two boys and three young ladies. Whom have you chosen to give you your cues?"

Esperance looked at him with amazement. "I don't understand," she said, Madame Darbois was perturbed.

"But," answered the man, "you must have an '_Armande_' for _Les Femmes Savantes_, an '_Agememnon_' and a '_Clytemnestra_' for _Iphygenia_."

"But we did not know that," stammered Madame Darbois.

The official smiled and a.s.sumed still more importance. "Wait just a moment, ladies." Soon he returned, leading a tall, young girl with a dignified bearing, and a young man of evident refinement. "Here is Mlle.

Hardouin, who is willing to give you the cues for '_Armande_' and '_Clytemnestra_,' and M. Jean Perliez, who will do the '_Agememnon_.'

Only, I believe," he added, "you will have to rehea.r.s.e with them. I will take all four of you into my little office where no one can disturb you."

Mlle. Hardouin was a beautiful, modest young girl of eighteen, with charming manners. She was an orphan and lived with a sister ten years older, who had been a mother to her. They adored each other. The older sister had established a good trade for herself as a dressmaker; both sisters were respected and loved.

Jean Perliez was the son of a chemist. His father had been unwilling that he should choose a theatrical career until he should have completed his studies at college. He had obeyed, graduated brilliantly, and was now presenting himself for the entrance examination as a tragedian.

The three young people went over the two scenes Esperance had chosen together.

"What a pretty voice you have, Mademoiselle," said Genevieve Hardouin timidly.

After the rehearsal of _Les Femmes Savantes_, when they finished the scene of _Iphygenia_, Jean Perliez turned to Madame Darbois and inquired the name of Esperance's instructor.

"Why, she had none. My daughter has worked alone; I have given her the cues." She smiled that benevolent smile, which always lighted her features with a charm of true goodness and distinction.

"That is indeed remarkable," murmured Jean Perliez, as he looked at the young girl. Then bending towards Madame Darbois, "May I be permitted, Madame, to ask your daughter to give me the cues of '_Junia_' in _Britannicus_? The young lady who was to have played it is ill."

Madame Darbois hesitated to reply and looked towards Esperance.

"Oh! yes, mama, of course you will let me," said that young lady, in great spirits. And without more ado, "We must rehea.r.s.e, must we not?

Let us begin at once."

The young man offered her the lines. "I don't need them," she said laughing, "I know '_Junia_' by heart." And, indeed, the rehearsal pa.s.sed off without a slip, and the little cast separated after exchanging the most enthusiastic expressions of pleasure.

A comrade asked Perliez, "Is she any good, that pretty little blonde?"

"Very good," Perliez replied curtly.

Everything went well for Esperance. Her appearance on the miniature stage where the examinations were held caused a little sensation among the professor-judges.

"What a heavenly child!" exclaimed Victorien Sardou.

"Here is truly the beauty of a n.o.ble race," murmured Delaunay, the well-known member of the Comedie-Francaise.

The musical purity of Esperance's voice roused the a.s.sembly immediately out of its torpor. The judges, no longer bored and indifferent, followed her words with breathless attention, and when she stopped a low murmur of admiration was wafted to her.

"Scene from _Iphygenia_," rasped the voice of the man whose duty it was to make announcements. There was a sound of chairs being dragged forward, and the members of the jury settling themselves to the best advantage for listening. Here in itself was a miniature triumph, repressed by the dignity a.s.sumed by all the judges, but which Esperance appreciated none the less. She bowed with the sensitive grace characteristic of her. Genevieve Hardouin and Jean Perliez congratulated her with hearty pressures of the hand.

As she was leaving Sardou stopped her in the vestibule. "Tell me, please, Mademoiselle, are you related to the professor of philosophy?"

"He is my father," the girl answered very proudly.

Delaunay had arisen. "You are the daughter of Francois Darbois! We are, indeed, proud to be able to present our compliments to you. You have an extraordinary father. Please tell him that his daughter has won every vote."

Esperance read so much respect and sincerity in his expression that she curtsied as she replied, "My father will be very happy that these words have been spoken by anyone whom he admires as sincerely as M.

Delaunay."

Then she went quickly on her way.

As soon as they were back on the Boulevard Raspail and home, Esperance and her mother moved towards the library. Marguerite, the maid, stopped them. "Monsieur has gone out. He was so restless. Is Mademoiselle satisfied?"

"I was; but I am not any more, Marguerite, since papa is not here. Was he feeling badly?"

"Well, he was not very cheerful, Mademoiselle, but I should not say that there was anything really the matter with him."

Mother and daughter started. Someone was coming upstairs. Esperance ran to the door and fell into the arms of that dearly-loved parent. He kissed her tenderly. His eyes were damp.