"Come, come, dear, that I may tell you...."

"Your lunch is ready," announced Marguerite.

"Thank you," replied Esperance; "papa, mama, and I, we are all dying of hunger."

Madame Darbois gently removed her daughter's hat.

"Please, dear papa, I want to tell you everything."

"Too late, dear child, I know everything!"

The two ladies seemed surprised. "But--? How?"

"Through my friend, Victor Perliez, the chemist; who is, like me, a father who feels deeply about his child's choice of a career."

Esperance made a little move.

"No, little girl," went on Francois Darbois, "I do not want to cause you the least regret. Every now and then my innermost thoughts may escape me; but that will pa.s.s.... I know that you showed unusual simplicity as '_Henriette_,' and emotion as '_Iphygenia_.' Perliez's son, whom I used to know when he was no higher than that," he said, stretching out his hand, "was enthusiastic? He is, furthermore, a clever boy, who might have made something uncommon out of himself as a lawyer, perhaps. But--"

"But, father dear, he will make a fine lawyer; he will have an influence in the theatre that will be more direct, more beneficial, more far-reaching, than at the Bar. Oh! but yes! You remember, don't you, mama, how disturbed you were by M. Dubare's plea on behalf of the a.s.sa.s.sin of Jeanne Verdier? Well, is it not n.o.ble to defend the poets, and introduce to the public all the new scientific and political ideas?"

"Often wrong ideas," remarked Darbois.

"That is perhaps true, but what of it? Have you not said a thousand times that discussion is the necessary soil for the development of new ideas?"

The professor of philosophy looked at his daughter, realizing that every word he had spoken in her hearing, all the seed that he had cast to the wind, had taken root in her young mind.

"But," inquired Madame Darbois, "where did you see M. Perliez?"

The professor began to smile. "Outside the Conservatoire. Perliez and I ran into each other, both impelled by the same extreme anxiety towards the scene of our sacrifice. It is not really necessary to consult all the philosophical authorities on this subject of inanition of will," he added, wearily.

"Oh! chocolate custard," cried out Esperance with rapture, "Marguerite is giving us a treat."

"Yes, Mademoiselle, I knew very well...."

A ring at the front door bell cut short her words. They listened silently, and heard the door open, and someone come in. Then the maid entered with a card.

Francois Darbois rose at once. "I will see him in the salon," he said.

He handed the card to his wife and went to meet his visitor. Esperance leaned towards her mother and read with her the celebrated name, "Victorien Sardou." Together they questioned the import of this visit, without being able to find any satisfactory explanation.

When Francois entered the salon, Sardou was standing, his hands clasped behind him, examining through half-closed eyes a delicate pastel, signed Chaplain--a portrait of Madame Darbois at twenty. At the professor's entry, he turned round and exclaimed with the engaging friendliness that was one of his special charms, "What a very pretty thing, and what superb colour!"

Then advancing, "It is to M. Francois Darbois that I have the pleasure of speaking, is it not?"

He had not missed the formality in the surprise evinced by the professor as, without speaking, the professor bowed him towards a chair.

"Let me say to begin with, my dear professor, that I am one of your most fervent followers. Your last book, _Philosophy is not Indifference_, is, in my opinion, a work of real beauty. Your doctrine does not discourage youth, and after reading your book, I decided to send my sons to your lectures."

Francois Darbois thanked the great author. The ice was broken. They discussed Plato, Aristotle, Montaigne, Schaupenhauer, etc. Victorien Sardou heard the clock strike; he had lunched hastily and had to be back at the Conservatoire by two o'clock, as the jury still had to hear eleven pupils. He began laughing and talking very fast, in his habitual manner: "I must tell you, however, why I have come; your daughter, who pa.s.sed her examination this morning, is very excellent.

She has the making of a real artist; the voice, the smile, the grace, the distinction, the manner, the rhythm. This child of fifteen has every gift! I am now arranging a play for the Vaudeville. The princ.i.p.al role is that of a very young girl. Just at present there are only well-worn professionals in the theatre."

He rose. "Will you trust your daughter to me? I promise her a good part, an engagement only for my play, and I a.s.sure you of her success."

M. Darbois, in his amazement and in spite of the impatience of the academician, withheld his answer. "Pray permit me," he said, touching the bell, "to send for my daughter. It is with great anxiety, I admit to you, that I have given her permission to follow a theatrical career, so now I must consult her, while still trying to advise."

Then to the maid, "Ask Madame and Mademoiselle to come here."

Sardou came up to the professor and pressed his hand gratefully. "You are consistent with your principles. I congratulate you; that is very rare," he said.

The two ladies came in.

"Ah," he continued, glancing toward the pastel, after he had greeted Madame Darbois, "Here is the model of this beautiful portrait."

The gracious lady flushed, a little embarra.s.sed, but flattered. After the introduction, Sardou repeated his proposal to Esperance, who, with visible excitement, looked questioningly at her father.

"It seems to me," said Madame Darbois, timidly, "that this is rather premature. Do you feel able to play so soon in a real theatre, before so many people?"

"I feel ready for anything," said the radiant girl quickly, in a clear voice.

Sardou raised his head and looked at her.

"If you think, M. Sardou, that I can play the character, I shall be only too happy to try; the chance you give me seems to come from destiny. I must endeavour as soon as possible to appease my dear father for his regret for having given me my own way."

Francois would have spoken, but she prevented him, drawing closer to him. "Oh, dear papa, in spite of yourself, I see this depression comes back to you. I want to succeed, and so drive away your heavy thoughts."

"Then," said Sardou quickly, to relieve them all of the emotion they were feeling, "it is quite agreed." Turning to Madame Darbois, who was trembling, "Do not be alarmed, dear Madame; we still have six or eight months before the plan will be ready for realization, which I feel sure will be satisfactory to all of us. I see that you are ready to go out; are you returning to the Conservatoire?"

"Yes," said Esperance, "I promised to give '_Junia's_' cues to M.

Jean Perliez."

"The son of another learned man! The Conservatoire is favoured to-day,"

said Sardou. "I shall be pleased to escort you, Madame," he added, bowing politely to Madame Darbois, "and this child shall unfold to me on the way her ideas on the drama: they must be well worth hearing."

It was already late. The two gentlemen shook hands, antic.i.p.ating that, henceforth, they would meet as friends.

When they had left him, Francois looked at the pastel, which he had not examined for a long time. The young girl smiled at him with that smile that had first charmed him. He saw himself asking M. de Gossec, a rich merchant, for the hand of his daughter Germaine. He brushed his hand across his forehead as if to remove the memory of the refusal he had received on that occasion: then he smiled at the new vision which rose before his imagination. He saw himself in the church of St.

Germain des Pres, kneeling beside Germaine de Gossec, trembling with emotion and happiness. A cloud of sadness pa.s.sed over his face: now he was following the hea.r.s.e of his father-in-law, who had committed suicide, leaving behind him a load of debt. The philosopher's expression grew proud and fierce. The first thirteen years of his marriage had been devoted to paying off this debt: then came the death of the sister of M. de Gossec, leaving her niece eight hundred thousand francs, five hundred thousand of which had served to pay the debt. For the last four years the family had been living in this comfortable apartment on the Boulevard Raspail, very happy and without material worries: but how cruel those first thirteen years had been for this young woman! He gazed at the pastel for a long time, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh, my dear, dear wife!"

In the carriage on the way to the Conservatoire the conversation was very animated. The dramatic author was listening with great interest while the young girl explained her theories on art and life. "What a strange little being," he thought, and his penetrating glance tried in vain to discover what weakness was most likely to attack this little creature who seemed so perfect.

The carriage stopped at the Conservatoire. Jean Perliez was waiting at the foot of the stairs. At sight of them his face lighted up. "I was afraid that you had forgotten me in the joy of your success."

The girl looked at him in amazement. "How could I forget when I had given my word?"

"You know Victorien Sardou?"

"Only to-day," said Esperance laughing; "yesterday we did not know him."