As soon as Andre had released her hand, Sabine took off her hat, and, handing it to Modeste, remarked,--
“How am I looking to-day, Andre?”
The young painter hastened to reassure her on this point, and she continued in joyous tones,--
“No, I do not want compliments; I want to know if I look the right thing for sitting for my portrait.”
Sabine was very beautiful, but hers was a different style of beauty from that of Rose, whose ripe, sensuous charms were fitted to captivate the admiration of the voluptuary, while Sabine was of the most refined and ethereal character. Rose fettered the body with earthly trammels, while Sabine drew the soul heavenward. Her beauty was not of the kind that dazzles, for the air of proud reserve which she threw over it, in some slight measure obscured its brilliancy.
She might have passed unnoticed, like the work of a great master’s brush hanging neglected over the altar of a village church; but when the eye had once fathomed that hidden beauty, it never ceased to gaze on it with admiration. She had a broad forehead, covered with a wealth of chestnut hair, soft, lustrous eyes, and an exquisitely chiselled mouth.
“Alas!” said Andre, “when I gaze upon you, I have to confess how impossible it is to do you justice. Before you came I had fancied that the portrait was completed, but now I see that I have only made a failure.”
As he spoke, he drew aside the curtain, and the young girl’s portrait was revealed. It was by no means a work of extraordinary merit. The artist was only twenty-four years of age, and had been compelled to interrupt his studies to toil for his daily bread, but it was full of originality and genius. Sabine gazed at it for a few moments in silence, and then murmured the words,--
“It is lovely!”
But Andre was too discouraged to notice her praise.
“It is like,” remarked he, “but a photograph also has that merit. I have only got your features, but not your expression; it is an utter failure. Shall I try again?”
Sabine stopped him with a gesture of denial.
“You shall not try again,” said she decidedly.
“And why not?” asked he in astonishment.
“Because this visit will be my last, Andre.”
“The last?” stammered the painter. “In what way have I so offended you, that you should inflict so terrible a punishment on me?”
“I do not wish to punish you. You asked for my portrait, and I yielded to your request; but let us talk reasonably. Do you not know that I am risking my reputation by coming here day after day?”
Andre made no reply, for this unexpected blow had almost stunned him.
“Besides,” continued Mademoiselle de Mussidan, “what is to be done with the portrait? It must be hidden away, as if it were something we were ashamed of. Remember, on your success hangs our marriage.”
“I do not forget that.”
“Hasten then to gain all honor and distinction, for the world must agree with me in saying that my choice has been a wise one.”
“I will do so.”
“I fully believe you, dear Andre, and remember what I said to you a year ago. Achieve a name, then go to my father and ask for my hand. If he refuses, if my supplications do not move him, I will quit his roof forever.”
“You are right,” answered Andre. “I should indeed by a fool if I sacrificed a future happy life for a few hours of present enjoyment, and I will implicitly--”
“And now,” said Sabine, “that we have agreed on this point, let us discuss our mutual interests, of which it seems that we have been a little negligent up till now.”
Andre at once began to tell her of all that had befallen him since they had last met, his defeats and successes.
“I am in an awkward plight,” said he. “Yesterday, that well known collector, Prince Crescenzi, came to my studio. One of my pictures took his fancy, and he ordered another from me, for which he would pay six thousand francs.”
“That was quite a stroke of luck.”
“Just so, but unfortunately he wants it directly. Then Jean Lamou, who has more in his hand than he can manage, has offered me the decoration of a palatial edifice that he is building for a great speculator, M. Gandelu. I am to engage all the workmen, and shall receive some seven or eight hundred francs a month.”
“But how does this trouble you?”
“I will tell you. I have twice seen M. Gandelu, and he wants me to begin work at once; but I cannot accept both, and must choose between them.”
Sabine reflected.
“I should execute the Prince’s commission,” said she.
“So should I, only----”
The girl easily found the cause of his hesitation.
“Will you never forget that I am wealthy?” replied she.
“The one would bring in the most money,” he returned, “and the other most credit.”
“Then accept the offer of M. Gandelu.”
The old cuckoo-clock in the corner struck five.
“Before we part, dear Andre,” resumed she, “I must tell you of a fresh trouble which threatens us; there is a project for marrying me to M. de Breulh-Faverlay.”
“What, that very wealthy gentleman?”
“Just so.”
“Well, if I oppose my father’s wishes, an explanation must ensue, and this just now I do not desire. I therefore intend to speak openly to M. de Breulh-Faverlay, who is an honorable, straightforward man; and when I tell him the real state of the case, he will withdraw his pretensions.”
“But,” replied Andre, “should he do so, another will come forward.”
“That is very possible, and in his turn the successor will be dismissed.”
“Ah!” murmured the unhappy man, “how terrible will be your life,--a scene of daily strife with your father and mother.”
After a tender farewell, Sabine and Modeste left. Andre had wished to be permitted to go out and procure a vehicle, but this the young girl negatived, and took her leave, saying.--
“I shall see M. de Breulh-Faverlay to-morrow.”
For a moment after he was left alone Andre felt very sad, but a happy thought flashed across his brain.
“Sabine,” said he, “went away on foot, and I may follow her without injury to her reputation.”
In another moment he was in the street, and caught a glimpse of Sabine and her maid under a lamp at the next corner. He crossed to the other side of the way and followed them cautiously.
“Perhaps,” murmured he, “the time is not far distant when I shall have the right to be with her in her walks, and feel her arm pressed against mine.”
By this time Sabine and her companion had reached the Rue Blanche, and hailing a cab, were rapidly driven away. Andre gazed after it, and as soon as it was out of sight, decided to return to his work. As he passed a brilliantly lighted shop, a fresh young voice saluted him.
“M. Andre, M. Andre.”
He looked up in extreme surprise, and saw a young woman, dressed in the most extravagant style, standing by the door of a brougham, which glittered with fresh paint and varnish. In vain he tried to think who she could be, but at length his memory served him.
“Mademoiselle Rose,” said he, “or I am much mistaken.”
A shrill, squeaky voice replied, “Madame Zora Chantemille, if you please.”
Andre turned sharply round and found himself face to face with a young man who had completed an order he was giving to the coachman.
“Ah, is that you?” said he.
“Yes, Chantemille is the name of the estate that I intend to settle on madame.”
The painter examined the personage who had just addressed him with much curiosity. He was dressed in the height or rather the burlesque of fashion, wore an eyeglass, and an enormous locket on his chain. The face which surmounted all this grandeur was almost that of a monkey, and Toto Chupin had not exaggerated its ugliness when he likened it to that animal.
“Pooh,” cried Rose, “what matters a name? All you have to do is to ask this gentleman, who is an old friend of mine, to dinner.” And without waiting for a reply, she took Andre by the hand and led him into a brilliantly lighted hall. “You must dine with us,” she exclaimed; “I will take no denial. Come, let me introduce you, M. Andre, M. Gaston de Gandelu. There, that is all settled.”
The man bowed.
“Andre, Andre,” repeated Gandelu; “why, the name is familiar to me,--and so is the face. Have I not met you at my father’s house? Come in; we intend to have a jovial evening.”
“I really cannot,” pleaded Andre. “I have an engagement.”
“Throw it over then; we intend to keep you, now that we have got you.”
Andre hesitated for a moment, but he felt dispirited, and that he required rousing. “After all,” thought he, “why should I refuse? If this young man’s friends are like himself, the evening will be an amusing one.”
“Come up,” cried Rose, placing her foot upon the stairs. Andre was about to follow her, but was held back by Gandelu, whose face was radiant with delight.
“Was there ever such a girl?” whispered he; “but there, don’t jump at conclusions. I have only had her in hand for a short time, but I am a real dab at starting a woman grandly, and it would be hard to find my equal in Paris, you may bet.”
“That can be seen at a glance,” answered Andre, concealing a smile.
“Well, look here, I began at once. Zora is a quaint name, is it not? It was my invention. She isn’t a right down swell to-day, but I have ordered six dresses for her from Van Klopen; such swell gets up! You know Van Klopen, don’t you, the best man-milliner in Paris. Such taste! such ideas! you never saw the like.”
Rose had by this time reached her drawing-room. “Andre,” said she, impatiently, “are you never coming up?”
“Quick, quick,” said Gandelu, “let us go at once; if she gets into a temper she is sure to have a nervous attack, so let us hurry up.”
Rose did all she could to dazzle Andre, and as a commencement exhibited to him her domestics, a cook and a maid; then he was shown every article of furniture, and not one was spared him. He was forced to admire the drawing-room suite covered with old gold silk, trimmed blue, and to test the thickness of the curtains. Bearing aloft a large candelabra, and covering himself with wax, Gandelu led the way, telling them the price of everything like an energetic tradesman.
“That clock,” said he, “cost me a hundred louis, and dirt cheap at the price. How funny that you should have known my father! Has he not a wonderful intellect? That flower stand was three hundred francs, absolutely given away. Take care of the governor, he is as sharp as a needle. He wanted me to have a profession, but no, thank you. Yes, that occasional table was a bargain at twenty louis. Six months ago I thought that the old man would have dropped off, but now the doctors say--” He stopped suddenly, for a loud noise was heard in the vestibule. “Here come the fellows I invited,” cried he, and placing the candelabra on the table, he hurried from the room.
Andre was delighted at so grand an opportunity of studying the genus masher. Rose felt flattered by the admiration her fine rooms evidently caused.
“You see,” cried she, “I have left Paul; he bothered me awfully, and ended by half starving me.”
“Why, you are joking; he came here to-day, and said he was earning twelve thousand francs a year.”
“Twelve thousand humbugs. A fellow that will take five hundred francs from an old scarecrow he never met before is--”
Rose broke off abruptly, for at that moment young Gandelu brought in his friends, and introduced them; they were all of the same type as their host, and Andre was about to study them more intently, when a white-waistcoated waiter threw open the door, exclaiming pompously, “Madame, the dinner is on the table.”
