DRESS CIRCLE.--BOX NO. 7
Bertha de Brévannes occupied one of the places in this box; her husband
was behind her. The two other seats were vacant.
Bertha had her hair plainly, but most becomingly arranged, and wore a
gown of black crape. Her beautiful chestnut locks, her delicate and
transparent skin, her ivory neck and shoulders, were all admirable, and
even brilliant. Her features were impressed with melancholy, for, three
days before, her husband had had that distressing interview with Pierre
Raimond which we have narrated. She wished to have remained at home,
but, fearing to irritate M. de Brévannes, had consented to accompany
him.
He, by one of those contrasts very natural to men, was deeply galled at
the coldness of his wife, and had resolved to overcome it, less by any
repentance for the past, than in order to follow out the inherent
obstinacy of his own disposition. In vain did he try, however, to make
her forget the wrongs which ought to have made him blush. She had been
too cruelly wounded to be so easily appeased.
M. de Brévannes had taken a box for this representation so much talked
about, with the intention of being agreeable to his wife.
[Illustration 08: The Dress Circle Box No. 7]
The curtain had not yet been drawn up, and the house was filling
rapidly. Bertha went very seldom into society, but in spite of her
sadness she looked awhile with childish curiosity at the persons as they
entered their boxes, and then relapsed into her painful reverie.
M. de Brévannes, annoyed at the silence of his wife, said to her,
whilst with difficulty he repressed his temper,--
"Bertha, what is the matter?"
"Nothing, Charles."
"Nothing,--nothing! and yet you are as dull and melancholy as death.
Supposing I have been wrong, you are making me sensible of it in the
most cruel manner."
"I am trying to forget it; and, perhaps, one day----"
"The perspective is agreeable."
"That is no fault of mine; but do not let us talk about it. You know
that I have plenty of cause for sorrow."
"Are you referring now to your father? You must at least confess that he
was excessively violent with me."
"He loves me so tenderly, that he even exaggerated what you had done. He
has but me in the whole world; and so, Charles, I cannot believe that
you really mean in future to refuse me permission to go and see him as
usual."
"My dear little Bertha, you are so pretty, that I must lay some
conditions on my promise."
"Ah, Charles, be generous without stipulations."
"What you say is very flattering," said M. de Brévannes abruptly; then,
he continued, in a milder tone, "Well, well, we will see. You do with me
just as you like, and I consent."
"Really, really, I may go to my father," said Bertha, turning towards
him with her eyes sparkling, and her countenance almost restored to
happiness.
M. de Brévannes glanced at the back of the box, placed his hands on his
eyes, and said laughingly,--
"If I am to keep my promise, I must not look at you."
"Ah, thanks, a thousand thanks, Charles, and now I shall be so happy all
the evening."
"That is to say, so handsome. So much the better, for my self-esteem as
a husband will have nothing now to apprehend from the vicinity of Madame
Girard."
"I do not pretend to rival with her; but how late she is. Are you sure
she received the coupon you sent her two days ago?"
"Yes, for I gave it to Girard himself; but to keep up her character as
the 'observed of all observers,' Madame Girard will not come until after
every one else, in order to produce an effect."
"Charles, you are slanderous."
"Because Madame Girard is so ridiculous, and spoils a really pretty face
by the most absurd pretensions. She has but one thought, that of
imitating, or rather parodying with silly minuteness, the costume of
Madame de Luceval, because she is the most fashionable woman in Paris."
"Yes, you have before spoken to me of this peculiarity of Madame Girard.
I should very much like to see Madame de Luceval--the Marquise de
Luceval, I think. They say she is a very charming woman."
"Very charming, very original; dressing as no other woman but herself
could venture to dress; and yet that little fool Madame Girard copies
her to her very shoe-tie, under the pretext of being very much like
her."
"And is she?"
"Yes," replied De Brévannes, "as a goose resembles a swan."
At this moment the door of the box was opened, and Madame Girard came
in, followed by M. Girard, a rich manufacturer, carrying her fan and
smelling-bottle; he had, besides, as a cuirass between his coat and
greatcoat, a small _chancelière_ of morocco, lined with ermine, for
Madame Girard always had cold feet, she said, which was not true; but
she had seen one of the Patagonian and powdered footmen of the Marquise
de Luceval follow her with such a foot-warmer in his hands; and in the
absence of a Patagonian and powdered lacquey, poor Girard carried the
affair for his wife.
Madame Girard was a little woman, brunette, high-coloured, very well
made, and would have been pretty but for her intolerable affectation.
Poor Bertha could not conceal her surprise at Madame Girard's singular
head-dress.
Our readers may, perhaps, be equally astonished when we describe the
_thing_.
Imagine a sort of Polish cap, of black velvet, with a small peak,
ornamented with a bunch of white feathers fastened to the side by a
large boss of poppy-coloured satin, and the whole jauntily placed a
little on one side of Madame Girard's head; her hair, which was brown,
being _crepéd_ in great bunches.
With this _thing_ Madame Girard wore a high velvet gown of bright orange
colour, with tight body, like a riding-habit, and decorated with silken
brandebourgs to match.
This attire had nothing absolutely ridiculous in itself, but completed
by the cap and feathers, it looked so extremely odd, that it actually
created quite a sensation in the theatre, and all the _lorgnettes_ were
directed towards Madame Girard, who did not feel herself entirely at
ease, whilst Bertha blushed with confusion.
M. de Brévannes was so much annoyed, that he bit his lips, when he saw
himself and his wife as it were stared at in consequence of Madame
Girard's inconceivable head-gear, and he could not help saying to
Girard, in a low voice, "What a devilish strange head-dress your wife
has selected, Girard; she who is usually such a remarkably good
dresser."
The poor spouse gave M. de Brévannes a nudge with his elbow, and said,
in a whisper, and with a look of alarm, "Hush!"
During this time Madame Girard, leaning out of her box, looked all round
the house with an expression of impatience.
"Alphonsine," cried M. Girard to her with an affectionate look, "are you
looking for any one?"
"Of course, I am," replied the dear Alphonsine, with a simpering,
self-sufficient air, in which a triumphant feeling joined. "I am looking
for the Marquise de Luceval. Oh! how furious she will be!"
"Why, madame?" said Bertha, hardly knowing what to say or do.
"Oh! such a capital joke!" answered Madame Girard; "I have played the
marquise such a trick. You know how anxious she always is to take the
lead in the fashions, and how every body follows her. I went, two days
since, to Barenne, who is dress-maker to the marquise and myself, and
asked her, as I always do, if the marquise had given her any orders for
this evening, when all the world was to be here at the Théâtre
Français. After innumerable difficulties, I extracted the secret from
her. The marquise had ordered a most original, delicious head-dress;
such an one as suited her alone.--Her alone!" said Madame Girard,
tossing her head proudly beneath her head-dress. "Well, at last, by dint
of promises and coaxing, I obtained from dear Barenne a sight of this
exquisite _coiffure_, and a promise to make me one like that of the
marquise; and this is it. Look, it is called a _sobieska_. You may judge
of Madame de Luceval's annoyance, when, expecting to have the first of
this head-dress, she will see me wearing it."
"Allow me, madame, to differ from you," said Bertha, with a gentle
smile; "I should rather think that she will be very glad not to be the
only person whose head is thus attired."
"Oh! I assure you, my dear, that she will be furious," replied Madame
Girard.
"I think with you, my love," said M. Girard.
"Monsieur Girard, I entreat you will not _tutoyer_ (_thee_-and-_thou_)
me," said Alphonsine, with a dignified gesture; "you are just like a
porter."
"I meant to say, Alphonsine, that you will, perhaps, have to reproach
yourself with having caused the milliner to lose the custom of the
Marquise de Luceval; for, I must observe, my dearest love, that this is
a breach of trust. Is it not, Brévannes,--is it not a breach of trust?"
"Timoléon," said Madame Girard to her husband, without any other reply,
"there are but three empty boxes in this circle; go and ask if one of
them is not let to the Marquise de Luceval?"
Timoléon arose as if he had been moved by a spring, and went out of the
box in great haste.
"Do you know M. de Gercourt, the author of the new piece? I hear he is a
most delightful person."
"I have often met him, and always found him very agreeable."
"But why does he trouble himself with writing?"
"If it were only," replied De Brévannes, "to have the pleasure of
seeing you at the first representation of his piece, with so delicious a
_sobi_--_sobe_----"
"Sobieska," added Madame Girard, quickly.
At this moment the box-door opened, and M. Girard entered.
"Well?" said his wife.
"Alphonsine, you are not mistaken. One of these boxes is let to the
Marquise de Luceval."
"Bravo!" said Alphonsine.
"That is not all. You, who are always curious for news, I have a famous
bit for you."
"What?"
"Whilst I was interrogating the box-keeper, there came up a servant, all
over gold-lace, who asked for the box let to the Princess de Hansfeld.
It turned out to be that next to Madame de Luceval's--there--just in
front of us."
"How lucky! I have never met the princess, and they say she's such a
splendid woman," said Madame Girard.
"_Ma foi!_ I am as pleased as you are," said M. de Brévannes, "to see
at last this mysterious beauty. The other day, at the Opera-ball, they
were talking of nothing else but this princess, and the strange conduct
of her invisible husband."
"At least he will not be invisible this evening," said M. Girard.
"What do you mean?" inquired his wife.
"Why, simply, my dearest love, that the servant asked if he could not
have an arm-chair for his eminence, who is, they say, terribly out of
health, and comes out to-night for the first time after a very tedious
illness."
"What an idea to come to a theatre!" said Madame Girard.
"An invalid's whim, doubtless," replied Brévannes.
"The box-keeper replied to the servant that he must ask the controller,"
replied M. Girard; "whereupon the man went downstairs, and I came as
quickly as I could, to tell you, my dear love, my little budget of
news."
"Well, it is fortunate," said De Brévannes; "we shall now see this
singular, strange, and fantastic couple."
"Who is this princess, then, Charles?" asked Bertha of De Brévannes.
"Why, they say, a very lovely and striking woman, quite the fashion this
winter, and in whose presence all our dandies have displayed their
gallantries in vain. As to the prince, one is lost in the most
extraordinary and contradictory suppositions with respect to him;
but----"
"Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Madame Girard, interrupting M. de Brévannes,
"there, I declare, is the Marquise de Luceval in her box, and she has
not got on her _sobieska_!"
We will conduct the reader to the Marquise de Luceval's box, where they
will, perchance, learn why she did not wear her _sobieska_.