Monsieur Cherami Part 46

"When I return, I shall probably find you married, too."

"No, no! I shall not be married, I--I am sure of it."

"What do you know about it? There are certain to be plenty of aspirants to your hand."

"I refused two, not long ago. They were both rich, but I am not like my sister; I want to love my husband!"

"Do you think, pray, that f.a.n.n.y doesn't love hers?"

"Mon Dieu! I know nothing about it. I don't know what I am saying; I am so disappointed!"

At that moment, the door opened. Monsieur Gerbault appeared, with Monsieur Batonnin, who entered first.

"Pray excuse me, mademoiselle," he began; "I come to engage you for the first contra-dance that----"

The soft-spoken gentleman stopped abruptly, seeing a young man seated beside Adolphine; he rolled his eyes in the direction of the father, adding:

"Ah! mademoiselle has a visitor; we disturb her."

Monsieur Gerbault was no less surprised than he at finding a man in his daughter's room, and her with her eyes full of tears. But he soon recognized Gustave, who bowed respectfully to him and said:

"Forgive me, monsieur, for presuming to call upon your daughter; but I came to bid her good-bye, and I hoped to have the honor of paying my respects to you as well before leaving the house."

"Ah! is it you, Monsieur Gustave? I thought that you were in Spain?"

"I returned a week ago, monsieur; and to-night I start for Germany."

"Why, what's the matter, Adolphine? you look as if you had been crying.

But I cannot conceive what reason you can have to be unhappy."

Monsieur Batonnin thought it advisable to intervene.

"It always saddens one to say good-bye to one's friends," he murmured.

"Life is so short! When we part, we are never sure of meeting again."

"What do you say, monsieur?" cried Adolphine, with a pathetic glance at Gustave.

"I had no purpose to grieve you, mademoiselle, believe me," Batonnin made haste to reply; "on the contrary, I came to solicit the honor of dancing the first contra-dance with you; for you surely have not forgotten that madame your sister gives a ball this evening?"

"No, monsieur."

"I realize," said Gustave, "that I came at a very inopportune moment, and interrupted mademoiselle in her preparations for that festivity, diverting her thoughts to a poor traveller who desired to carry away with him a friendly word or two. Pray forgive my intrusion, mademoiselle. I am an unlucky mortal, for my sadness constantly casts a shadow on the happiness of other people. But I am sure that you will forgive me, in memory of our former friendship.--Monsieur Gerbault, will you allow me to shake hands with you?"

The melancholy and at the same time dignified manner in which Gustave spoke banished the last trace of sternness from Monsieur Gerbault's face; he took the young man's hand and pressed it warmly, saying to him:

"Come, come, my friend, drive away the gloomy thoughts that a.s.sail you.

At your age, the future is boundless. Don't submit to be crushed by fruitless regrets; you may still be happy, and you will be some day, I am sure. A pleasant journey to you! Study the manners and customs of the countries you visit, and I am convinced that you will return in an infinitely more cheerful frame of mind."

"Thanks for your kind wishes, monsieur; allow me to bid you adieu."

Gustave pressed Adolphine's hand, bowed to the visitor, whom he did not know, and left the room. While the young woman escorted him to the door, Monsieur Batonnin observed to Monsieur Gerbault:

"That young man is in love with Mademoiselle Adolphine, I see, and you have refused him her hand. Doubtless he isn't a suitable match for her; but still it is very good-natured of you to give him encouragement for the future."

"My dear Monsieur Batonnin, you are all off the track. It was not Adolphine, but her sister f.a.n.n.y, with whom Gustave was in love, and he flattered himself that he was going to marry her, when Auguste Monleard came forward. Faith! he had better luck. He offered her a position which any young woman would have liked, and she accepted him. It was a very hard blow to this young Gustave."

"I understand. Then it was he who fought a duel with your son-in-law, and gave him the wound which made him carry his arm in a sling so long?"

"You are wrong again. It was not Gustave who fought with Monsieur Monleard, for Gustave was a long way from Paris when the duel took place."

"Whom did your son-in-law fight with, then?"

"Faith! you ask me too much!"

Adolphine's return put an end to Monsieur Batonnin's questions.

"Mademoiselle," he said, in his most silvery tones, "I beg your pardon if I repeat the same thing again and again, like a parrot, but I should be glad to know if I may obtain from you the favor of the first contra-dance. I present my request thus early, because I am sure that you will be beset, overwhelmed with invitations this evening, and it will be very difficult to obtain a word with you."

Adolphine seemed to make an effort to throw off her preoccupation, and replied:

"But I am not sure yet, monsieur, whether I shall dance at my sister's this evening, for I have a very severe headache, and, unless it gets better, I shall cut a very sad figure in a dance."

"Don't pay any attention to her," said Monsieur Gerbault. "These girls are forever having headaches, which take them all of a sudden when they have the least thought of such a thing; but, have no fear, there never was a headache that didn't surrender at the signal given by the orchestra at a ball. So, as you've delivered your invitation, you are certain of being her first partner. And now, let us leave mademoiselle to her preparations. Come, my dear Monsieur Batonnin."

The soft-spoken gentleman bestowed a superb smile upon Adolphine, accompanied by a respectful bow.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I rest my hopes upon what your father says, too fortunate if you crown my desires; and if my invitation, albeit a little premature perhaps, and rather unseasonable----"

"Come, Monsieur Batonnin, come."

The maker of compliments, being led away by Monsieur Gerbault, was compelled to complete his sentence in the reception-room; and Adolphine, left alone at last, cursed Monsieur Batonnin for coming, with his invitation, to interrupt her interview with Gustave.

"A ball, indeed!" she murmured, angrily tossing her furbelows about; "I must needs dance this evening, when my heart is full, when I would like to weep undisturbed! Ah! if these are the pleasures which society has to offer, they who are debarred from them are the most fortunate!"

x.x.xIII

A GRAND AFFAIR

At ten o'clock, Monsieur Monleard's magnificent salons were resplendent with light, flowers, and new draperies, arranged with an artistic skill which did honor to the taste of the organizer of the festivity. At eleven, the guests arrived in swarms. The ladies were superbly dressed, and the flashing of their diamonds dazzled the eye; some--but by no means the larger number--were more simply attired, and were content to attract by the charms of their persons alone. The men admired the beautiful dresses, but preferred to linger by those whose attractions depended less upon their costumes. A fine orchestra played quadrilles, polkas, mazurkas. Its strains seemed to enliven the faces of the guests, which fairly beamed with pleasure--the pleasure which they already enjoyed, and that to which they looked forward: the latter is always the more agreeable.

At midnight, the number of guests was already so great that it was becoming very difficult to pa.s.s from one room into another. To do so required an amount of persevering effort which many of the ladies did not choose to put forth, and which, indeed, the enormous dimensions of their skirts made almost impossible.

The ball was at its height. The queen of the fete did the honors with much grace, and everybody agreed in voting her charming. f.a.n.n.y was, in very truth, most bewitchingly and becomingly dressed; her white moire gown, albeit not overladen with tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, was studded with bunches of real flowers, and in her hair there were no jewels save a cl.u.s.ter of diamonds; but the satisfaction which her vanity experienced in the giving of such a fete imparted to her eyes an unusual brilliancy, to her smile more expression, to her voice more feeling. She was surrounded by men who contended for the honor of dancing a polka or a quadrille with her, and everyone envied the lucky mortal who was her partner for the time being, especially as she was a beautiful dancer; she was as light as a feather, and her feet seemed hardly to touch the floor.

Auguste Monleard was very far from displaying the same glee and satisfaction which were so apparent on his wife's features; he did the honors of his salons with the exquisite courtesy and refinement of a man in the best society, who is accustomed to party-giving; but there was in his smile a something forced and constrained, which was better adapted to freeze than to provoke gayety; at times, too, a dark cloud pa.s.sed over his forehead, his eyebrows contracted, his lips tightened, and he seemed utterly oblivious to what was being said to him. But these periods of distraction lasted but a moment. Auguste would suddenly come to himself and struggle to a.s.sume a cheerful aspect.