Erlach Court Part 37

"She has given him the sack."

"So it seems."

"A pretty affair! How pleased Therese will be!"

The speakers are Capito and Edgar as they leave the Rue de la Bruyere, where the small hotel which the Lipinskis have rented is situated, and walk along under the blue-black heavens glittering with millions of stars, to the more animated part of Paris.

"Yes, Therese will be pleased," Edgar murmurs, repeating Zino's words.

"It serves her right," Zino says, laughing. "I must confess, Stella ought not to have let matters go so far; but I cannot help liking it in her that she refused the fellow. Natalie and I were looking at her; it was immensely funny,--and yet so sad. Ah, that poor, distressed, pale face! After it was all over, Natascha--she has lately grown very intimate with Stella--called the girl into a little private boudoir, where the poor child began to sob bitterly. Natascha kissed her and comforted her, I brought her a cup of tea, and we gradually soothed her."

"Disgusting creature, that Cabouat!" growls Rohritz.

"In my opinion he is an awkward, common sn.o.b," says Zino, "and if I am not mistaken he will shortly prove himself to be so in the eyes of every one. The affair cannot fail to be unpleasant, since he has been boasting everywhere that he intended to marry a most beautiful Austrian, a friend of Madame de Rohritz, a charming young girl, very highly connected, and with no dowry."

"He is at perfect liberty to say that at the last moment he changed his mind," Rohritz remarks, casually.

"I rather think he'll not content himself with that. _ca_, you are coming with me to the masked ball at the opera?"

"Not exactly. I am going to bed."

"Indolent, degenerate race!" Zino jeers. "What is to become of Paris, if this indifference to all gaiety gets the upper hand? I dreamed last night of a white domino: I am going to look for it." So saying, he leaves Edgar, and has walked on a few steps, when he hears himself recalled.

"Capito! Capito!"

"What is it?"

"Pray get me an invitation to the Fanes' ball; it is short notice, but----"

"All right: that's of no consequence at an American's ball," Zino replies, and hurries on to his goal. The two men turn their steps in opposite directions. Capito hastens back into the heart of Paris, where the garish light from gas-jets and lamps illuminates a night life as busy as that of the day, and Rohritz pa.s.ses along the Boulevard Malesherbes, towards the Rue Villiers. Around him all is quiet; the few shops are closed; an occasional pedestrian pa.s.ses, his coat-collar drawn up over his ears, and humming some _cafe-chantant_ air, or a carriage with coach-lamps sparkles along the middle of the street like a huge firefly. The street-cars are no longer running: the street is but dimly lighted. The Dumas monument looms, clumsy and awkward, on its huge pedestal in the little square on the Place Malesherbes.

A thousand delightful thoughts course through Rohritz's brain. What a pleasant hour he has had talking with Stella at the Lipinskis'! At first she was stiff towards him, but gradually, slowly, she thawed into the loveliest, most child-like confidence. He will wait no longer. At the Fanes' ball, the next evening but one, he will confess all to her.

What will she reply? Blind as are all mortals to the future, he looks back, and seeks her answer in the past. Slowly, slowly, he pa.s.ses in review all the lovely summer days which he has spent with her, to that evening when he carried her in his arms through the drenching rain across the slippery, muddy road. Again he sees the windows of the little inn gleam yellow through the gloom; he hears Stella's soft word of thanks as he puts her down on the threshold. The picture changes. He sees a large, watery moon gleaming through prismatic clouds, sees a little skiff by the sh.o.r.e of a dark, swollen stream, and in the skiff, at his--Edgar's--feet, kneels a slender girl in a light dress, trembling with distress, her eyes imploringly raised to his, her delicate hands clasping his arm.

He bends over her. "Stella, my poor, dear, unreasonable child!" He has lifted her, clasps her in his arms, presses his lips upon her golden hair, her eyes, her mouth---- With a sudden start he rouses from his dream to find that he has run against a pa.s.ser-by, who is saying, crossly, "_Mais comment donc?_ Is not the pavement wide enough for two?" And, looking up, Edgar perceives that he has already pa.s.sed ten numbers beyond his brother's hotel.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A SPRAINED ANKLE.

"My dear Rohritz,--

"Accidents will occur in the best-regulated families! As I was escorting my cousin in a ride yesterday, my horse slipped and fell on the ice, and I sprained my ankle. Was there ever anything so stupid! If it could be called a misfortune for which one could be pitied; but no, 'tis a mere tiresome annoyance. Ridiculous! And I am engaged to dance the cotillon at the Fanes' with Stella Meineck. Old fellow as I am, I had really looked forward to this pleasure. _Eh bien!_ all the ma.s.sage in the world will not enable me to put my foot on the ground before the end of a week. Have the kindness, as they say in your native Vienna, to dance the cotillon in my stead with our fair star. Send me a line to say that you agree, or come and tell me so yourself.

"Is Therese going to the ball? Tell her from me to be nice to Stella, and not to reckon it against her that, in spite of a moment of indecision induced by the distinguished eloquence of my very clever little sister, she has behaved n.o.bly and honestly throughout,--in short, just as was to be expected of her. Adieu! Yours forever,

"Capito."

Such is the letter Edgar receives the second morning after the Lipinskis' soiree, while he is breakfasting with his brother in the latter's smoking-room.

"Zino?" asks Edmund, looking up from his 'Figaro,' the reading of which is as much a part of his breakfast as are the fragrant black coffee and the yellowish Viennese bread with Norman b.u.t.ter.

"Read it," Edgar replies, as he scribbles with a lead-pencil on a visiting-card, "I am quite at your disposal," and hands it to the waiting servant.

"He's a fool!" the elder Rohritz remarks, handing back the note to his brother. "He knows perfectly well that you do not dance."

"But one can talk through a cotillon," Edgar says, with as much indifference as he can a.s.sume.

"You have consented?"

"I could not do otherwise. Stella is a stranger in Paris: it might be a source of annoyance to her to have no partner for the cotillon. If at the last moment she should find a more desirable partner than myself, I am of course ready to retire. _a propos_, is Therese going to the ball?

Her cold is better?"

"Yes."

"What kind of ball is it?"

"A kind of public ball in a wealthy private house, given by immensely wealthy Americans, who know n.o.body, whom n.o.body knows, and who arrange an entertainment from the Arabian Nights, that they may be talked of, mentioned in 'Figaro,' and laughed at in society. Only three weeks ago there was no end of ridicule heaped upon Mrs. and Mr. Fane, unknown grandees from California, when it was reported that they wished to give a ball. n.o.body dreamed of accepting their invitation; but Mrs. Fane was clever enough to induce a couple of women of undeniable fashion to be her 'lady patronesses,' and when the rumour spread that the d.u.c.h.ess of ---- had accepted there was a perfect rage for invitations. Every one declared, '_Cela sera drole!_' Every one is going. With the best Parisian society there will of course be found people whom one sees nowhere else. I wonder how many of the guests will take sufficient notice of the host and hostess to recognize them in the street the next day? But it will certainly be a beautiful ball, and an amusing one.

Stella is going with the Lipinskis, I believe. I am curious to see how she will look in a ball-dress,--charming, of course, but rather too thin."

In the course of the morning Edgar drops in upon Capito, and finds him, in half-merry, half-irritated mood, stretched upon a lounge which is covered by a bearskin, the head of the animal gnashing its teeth at the Prince's feet. Of course Capito's rooms form a tasteful chaos of Oriental rugs, Turkish embroideries, interesting bibelots, and charming pictures. Throughout their arrangement, from the antique silken hangings veined with silver that cover the walls, to the low divans and chairs, there runs a suggestion of effeminate, Oriental luxury, in whimsical contrast with the proverbially vigorous personality of the Prince, hardened as it has been by every species of manly sport and exercise. The atmosphere is heavy with the fragrance of a gardenia shrub in full bloom, the odour of cigarettes, and the aroma of some subtle Indian perfume. A tall palm lifts its leaves to the ceiling.

Half a dozen French novels, two guitars, and a mandolin lie within Zino's reach. He wears a queer smoking-jacket of blue silk faced with red, and his foot is swathed in towels.

"I'm delighted to see you! Sit down. 'Tis most annoying, this sprain of mine. But what do you say to the pleasure to which you have fallen heir?"

"In fact, I never dance," Rohritz makes reply, "but, to oblige you----" Edgar's eyes are wandering here and there through the room, and suddenly rest upon a certain object.

"Ah, 'tis my Watteau that attracts you!" Capito observes. "A pretty little picture. I bought it at the Hotel Drouot a while ago for a mere song,--five thousand francs."

"Five thousand francs! Ridiculous," says Rohritz. "The picture is really lovely. But it was not the Watteau alone that attracted my attention, but----" He points to two or three pictures which are turned with their faces to the wall.

"Ah! ah!" the Prince laughs. "You wish to know what led to that prudential measure? Well, I have had a visit from ladies."

"From whom?" Rohritz asks, absently.

"Unasked I should probably have told you, but in view of such ill-bred curiosity I am mute," Zino replies, still laughing.

"Hm!--evidently a woman of character," Rohritz observes, indifferently.

"Of course: 'tis the only kind with whom I can endure of late to a.s.sociate. If you but knew how bored I was at the opera ball the other night! I was made ill by the bad air. The feminine element must always play a large part in my life; but, you see, of late I can tolerate none but the most refined, the most distinguished of the species. We are strange creatures, we men of the world: in the matter of cigars, wine, horses, we always require the best, while with regard to women we are sometimes satisfied with what----"

The arrival of a fresh caller, one of Capito's sporting friends, interrupts these interesting reflections. Rohritz takes his leave.

The same day he is driving by chance through the Rue d'Anjou, when his attention is attracted by a slender, graceful, girlish figure hurrying along, evidently anxious to reach her destination.