Monsieur, Madame, and Bebe Part 7

My penitent's voice, which was very irritated, though restrained by respect for the locality, softened as if by magic at the creaking of my wicket. She knelt down, piously folded her two ungloved hands, plump, perfumed, rosy, laden with rings--but let that pa.s.s. I seemed to recognize the hands of the Countess de B., a chosen soul, whom I had the honor to visit frequently, especially on Sat.u.r.day, when there is always a place laid for me at her table.

She raised her little lace veil and I saw that I was not mistaken. It was the Countess. She smiled at me as at a person with whom she was acquainted, but with perfect propriety; she seemed to be saying, "Good-day, my dear Abbe, I do not ask how your rheumatism is, because at this moment you are invested with a sacred character, but I am interested in it all the same."

This little smile was irreproachable. I replied by a similar smile, and I murmured in a very low tone, giving her, too, to understand by the expression of my face that I was making a unique concession in her favor, "Are you quite well, dear Madame?"

"Thanks, father, I am quite well." Her voice had resumed an angelic tone. "But I have just been in a pa.s.sion."

"And why? Perhaps you have taken for a pa.s.sion what was really only a pa.s.sing moment of temper?"

It does not do to alarm penitents.

"Ah! not at all, it was really a pa.s.sion, father. My dress had just been torn from top to bottom; and really it is strange that one should be exposed to such mishaps on approaching the tribunal of----"

"Collect yourself, my dear Madame, collect yourself," and a.s.suming a serious look I bestowed my benediction upon her.

The Countess sought to collect herself, but I saw very well that her troubled spirit vainly strove to recover itself. By a singular phenomenon I could see into her brain, and her thoughts appeared to me one after the other. She was saying to herself, "Let me collect myself; our Father, give me grace to collect myself," but the more effort she made to restrain her imagination the more it became difficult to restrain and slipped through her fingers. "I had made a serious examination of my conscience, however," she added. "Not ten minutes ago as I was getting out of my carriage I counted up three sins; there was one above all I wished to mention. How these little things escape me! I must have left them in the carriage." And she could not help smiling to herself at the idea of these three little sins lost among the cushions.

"And the poor Abbe waiting for me in his box. How hot it must be in there! he is quite red. Good Heavens! how shall I begin? I can not invent faults? It is that torn dress which has upset me. And there is Louise, who is to meet me at five o'clock at the dressmaker's. It is impossible for me to collect myself. O G.o.d, do not turn away your face from me, and you, Lord, who can read in my soul--Louise will wait till a quarter past five; besides, the bodice fits--there is only the skirt to try on. And to think that I had three sins only a minute ago."

All these different thoughts, pious and profane, were struggling together at once in the Countess's brain, so that I thought the moment had come to interfere and help her a little.

"Come," I said, in a paternal voice, leaning forward benevolently and twisting my snuff-box in my fingers. "Come, my dear Madame, and speak fearlessly; have you nothing to reproach yourself with? Have you had no impulses of--worldly coquetry, no wish to dazzle at the expense of your neighbor?"

I had a vague idea that I should not be contradicted.

"Yes, father," she said, smoothing down her bonnet strings, "sometimes; but I have always made an effort to drive away such thoughts."

"That good intention in some degree excuses you, but reflect and see how empty are these little triumphs of vanity, how unworthy of a truly poor soul and how they draw it aside from salvation. I know that there are certain social exigencies--society. Yes, yes, but after all one can even in those pleasures which the Church tolerates--I say tolerates--bring to bear that perfume of good-will toward one's neighbor of which the Scriptures speak, and which is the appanage--in some degree... the glorious appanage. Yes, yes, go on."

"Father, I have not been able to resist certain temptations to gluttony."

"Again, again! Begin with yourself. You are here at the tribunal of penitence; well, promise G.o.d to struggle energetically against these little carnal temptations, which are not in themselves serious sins--oh!

no, I know it--but, after all, these constant solicitations prove a persistent attachment--displeasing to Him--to the fugitive and deceitful delights of this world. Hum, hum! and has this gluttony shown itself by more blameworthy actions than usual--is it simply the same as last month?"

"The same as last month, father."

"Yes, yes, pastry between meals," I sighed gravely.

"Yes, father, and almost always a gla.s.s of Capri or of Syracuse after it."

"Or of Syracuse after it. Well, let that pa.s.s, let that pa.s.s."

I fancied that the mention of this pastry and those choice wines was becoming a source of straying thoughts on my part, for which I mentally asked forgiveness of heaven.

"What else do you recall?" I asked, pa.s.sing my hand over my face.

"Nothing else, father; I do not recollect anything else."

"Well let a sincere repentance spring up in your heart for the sins you have just admitted, and for those which you may have forgotten; commune with yourself, humble yourself in the presence of the great act you have just accomplished. I will give you absolution. Go in peace."

The Countess rose, smiled at me with discreet courtesy, and, resuming her ordinary voice, said in a low tone, "Till Sat.u.r.day evening, then?"

I bowed as a sign of a.s.sent, but felt rather embarra.s.sed on account of my sacred character.

CHAPTER VII. AN EMBa.s.sY BALL

"Don't say that it is not pretty," added my aunt, brushing the firedog with the tip of her tiny boot. "It lends an especial charm to the look, I must acknowledge. A cloud of powder is most becoming, a touch of rouge has a charming effect, and even that blue shadow that they spread, I don't know how, under the eye. What coquettes some women are! Did you notice Anna's eyes at Madame de Sieurac's last Thursday? Is it allowable? Frankly, can you understand how any one can dare?"

"Well, aunt, I did not object to those eyes, and between ourselves they had a softness."

"I do not deny that, they had a softness."

"And at the same time such a strange brilliancy beneath that half shadow, an expression of such delicious languor."

"Yes, certainly, but, after all, it is making an exhibition of one's self. But for that--it is very pretty sometimes--I have seen in the Bois charming creatures under their red, their black, and their blue, for they put on blue too, G.o.d forgive me!"

"Yes, aunt, Polish blue; it is put on with a stump; it is for the veins."

With interest: "They imitate veins! It is shocking, upon my word. But you seem to know all about it?"

"Oh, I have played so often in private theatricals; I have even quite a collection of little pots of color, hare's-feet stumps, pencils, et cetera."

"Ah! you have, you rascal! Are you going to the fancy ball at the Emba.s.sy to-morrow?"

"Yes, aunt; and you, are you going in character?"

"One must, since every one else will. They say the effect will be splendid." After a silence: "I shall wear powder; do you think it will suit me?"

"Better than any one, my dear aunt; you will look adorable, I feel certain."

"We shall see, you little courtier."

She rose, gave me her hand to kiss with an air of exquisite grace, and seemed about to withdraw, then, seemingly changing her mind:

"Since you are going to the Emba.s.sy to-morrow, Ernest, call for me; I will give you a seat in the carriage. You can give me your opinion on my costume, and then," she broke into a laugh, and taking me by the hand, added in my ear: "Bring your little pots and come early. This is between ourselves." She put her finger to her lip as a signal for discretion.

"Till tomorrow, then."

The following evening my aunt's bedroom presented a spectacle of most wild disorder.

Her maid and the dressmaker, with haggard eyes, for they had been up all night, were both on their knees, rummaging amidst the bows of satin, and feverishly sticking in pins.

"How late you are," said my aunt to me. "Do you know that it is eleven o'clock? and we have," she continued, showing her white teeth, "a great many things to do yet. The horses have been put to this last hour. I am sure they will take cold in that icy courtyard." As she spoke she stretched out her foot, shod with a red-heeled slipper, glittering with gold embroidery. Her plump foot seemed to overflow the side of the shoe a trifle, and through the openwork of her bright silk stocking the rosy skin of her ankle showed at intervals.

"What do you think of me, Monsieur Artist?"

"But, Countess, my dear aunt, I mean, I--I am dazzled by this July sun, the brightest of all the year, you know. You are adorable, adorable--and your hair!"