"No, I'm not hurrying you. You are at liberty to decline."
"Very well, then--yes."
"Dinner on Thursday?"
"Thursday will do very well."
Between the third and fourth waltzes, mama said hurriedly to papa:
"Invite him to dinner."
"What day?"
"Thursday."
"All right."
Papa has behaved with admirable docility and resignation. I never saw
him in such a serious _rôle_ before. It is true that the music seemed
to bewilder him so that he scarcely knew what he was doing. I felt
restless, and thought: "There, now, he'll go and invite the wrong one."
Nothing of the sort. He gave the invitation quite correctly, and it was
accepted with enthusiasm.
We left at midnight, and before we had fairly got away from Mercerey's
I said to mama:
"I see clearly that you are as anxious as possible that I should accept
this man."
"Certainly."
"Then tell me--"
"Just let me get my breath first. I am quite exhausted. I'll tell you
everything when we get home."
An hour later I knew all. It was the most extraordinary thing in the
world. Yesterday morning at eight o'clock a maid awoke mama, and gave
her a note marked "Important." It was from Madame de Mercerey, and was
as follows:
"I have a _migraine_ and can not leave my room. Come--come at
once to see me. A splendid stroke of luck for Irene."
Mama at once got up and went to Madame Mercerey.
But I must leave the rest till to-morrow. We dine at eight o'clock.
_November 27th._
Well, mama went off post-haste, and this is what she heard from
Madame Mercerey: "The two Martelle-Simieuses, the elder, Adrien (he's
mine), and the younger, Paul, lost their grandmother ten years ago.
She was an excellent old lady--very rich and very crotchety. She had
one fixed idea--that of ensuring the perpetuity of her family. She
seemed to imagine that if the Martelle-Simieuses became extinct the
world would of necessity come to an end. She was not by any means
stupid, and she caused a very ingenious and peculiar clause to be
inserted in her will, by which she set aside 1,000,000 francs, which
sum, together with the accumulated interest, was to go to her grandson
Adrien if he married before reaching the age of twenty-five. If he
failed to marry within the time stipulated, it passed to his brother
Paul, on the same conditions. If both brothers insisted on remaining
bachelors the money went to the poor. The trifle thus set aside now
amounts to the respectable sum of one and a half millions. Adrien
showed no inclination to marry, but was addicted to sport, and wished
above all to maintain his independence. 'I will not marry,' he used to
say. 'I have an income of 180,000 francs, and that's enough for me.
With a little care and economy I can make both ends meet.' In short,
he regarded the approach of the fatal 10th of January with perfect
complacency, although he knew that on that day he would be twenty-five."
Toward the end of last year there was a great speculating craze in our
set--a sort of commercial crusade against the infidel Jews. Adrien
plunged into speculation, not so much for the sake of gain as for
excitement, and to do good. He assisted in an attempt to maintain the
credit of a certain bank which was hard pressed.
In the crash that ensued the poor fellow lost heavily--1,400,000
francs. So his income was reduced to 80,000, and naturally he was very
much pinched. But he wasn't by any means depressed. He showed a brave
face to misfortune, and at once set to work to reduce his expenditure
by dismissing some of his servants and selling some of his horses.
His resolution not to marry remained unaltered. But about a month ago
some of his friends undertook to show him the error of his ways. They
pointed out how absurd it was to stupidly let such a fortune slip from
his grasp, simply through want of decision to close his hand, and that
he might easily marry and get a heap of money into the bargain, so
that the unpleasantness of marrying might be greatly alleviated. This
argument shook his resolution somewhat. He asked his cousin, Madame de
Riémens, to look out for a wife for him. She sought, and found that
great gawk Catherine de Puymarin, who is very, _very_ rich, but no more
figure than a lath. His first words when he saw her were: "She is too
slim, and won't look well on horseback." From the moment that he began
to entertain the thought of marrying, he settled it as a _sine qua non_
that his wife must be a good horsewoman.
Time was flying, and Adrien's friends worried and pressed him. He had
begun by saying "No" to them. Then he declined to say either "Yes" or
"No." He was in all probability going to say "Yes" when the fateful and
dramatic day arrived--November 24th.
On that eventful day, instead of going to ride in the afternoon as I
usually do, I had to go in the morning with Monsieur Coates, who kindly
considers me one of his most brilliant pupils, and who occasionally
does the Bois with me.
At ten o'clock I drove out in a dog-cart with Miss Morton. We stopped
near the Champignon, on the right, at the entrance of the Bois, where
Monsieur Coates was waiting for me. The groom had brought Triboulet,
who doesn't always behave very well, and on the day in question, as
he hadn't been out of his box for forty-eight hours, he was full of
mischief, and capered and pranced in fine style. I had had to dress
very hurriedly, as it happened, and Virginie had skewered my hair into
two balls, and to keep the puffs in place she had stuck in about a
dozen hairpins.
Monsieur Coates helped me to mount, but not without some difficulty,
for Triboulet was remarkably frisky and disinclined to be mounted. As
soon as he felt me on his back he began to plunge, and tore off at full
tilt. But I am pretty much at home on horseback--besides, I know how to
manage Triboulet, and I punished him soundly. Just, however, as we were
in the middle of our explanations I felt something rolling--rolling
over my shoulders. It was my hair, which had come down, and was
spreading itself in an avalanche, which carried my hat away. So there
I was, bareheaded--Triboulet racing as hard as he could, and my hair
flying out behind.
At that precise moment, Adrien, Comte de Martelle-Simieuse, rode down
the Allée des Poteaux, and got a view of the performance. He reined
up at a respectful distance, quite surprised at the unusual sight,
and in something less than no time he had given vent to three little
exclamations of admiration and wonder:
The first was for the horsewoman: "'Pon my word, she does ride well."
The second was for my hair: "What a magnificent head of hair."
The third was for my face: "Gad--how pretty."
Triboulet, in the mean time, had got a little calmer. The groom managed
to find five of the scattered hairpins, and I got my hair into a little
better condition, and fastened my veil around my head.
Finally, Monsieur Coates and I started, the groom riding behind, and
behind him rode the Comte de Martelle-Simieuse, who made a second tour
of the Bois in my honor.
I, in my innocence, never dreamt of the conquest I had made. The
weather was rather cold and raw, and we went at a good pace. Triboulet,
stung by the keen air, made several attempts at insurrection, but he
soon found out whom he had to deal with. Monsieur Coates was very much
pleased with me.
"This morning," said he, "you ride superbly--like an angel"--which was
also the opinion of my second, self-appointed groom, who kept saying to
himself:
"How well she rides! How well she rides!"
That was the idea which filled his head during the ride, and he
compared me with Catherine de Puymarin.
The ride finished, I went and found Miss Morton, got into the dog-cart,
and set off for the Rue de Varennes. Young Martelle-Simieuse trotted
behind and acted as my escort home.
He waited until the door was opened and we had entered, then he
satisfied himself that I lived in a good house, in a good street, and
that from all appearances I was no adventuress.
What he then wanted was the name of the intrepid Amazon. A very simple
idea occurred to him. What does the name matter for the moment? He
returned home, got the directory--Rue de Varennes, 49 _bis_, Baron and
Baronne de Léoty. That is how he discovered the name of her who will
perhaps become the faithful partner of his joys and sorrows. Baron de
Léoty. He knew papa from the club. But had papa a daughter? The mystery
had to be solved.
It was very soon solved, for that evening Adrien dined at the
Mercerey's, and during a lull in the conversation he said carelessly to
Madame Mercerey: "Do you happen to know a Monsieur de Léoty?"
"Quite well."
"Has he a daughter?"
"Yes."
"How old is she?"
"About twenty."
"Very pretty, isn't she?"
At which, it appears, there was a general and enthusiastic outburst in
my honor. He was the only one present who didn't know me, poor fellow.
Madame de Mercerey wanted to know the reason for all his inquiries. So
he recounted the story of the morning's ride, my horse's obstinacy, my
firmness, my hair flying in the wind--in fact, it was quite a lyrical
description, which caused general stupefaction, for he had never been
heard to sing in that strain before.
Whereupon Madame de Mercerey showed presence of mind which was as rare
as it was admirable. _En passant_ it must be observed that she loves
mama and hates the Puymarins heartily, although, until about six weeks
ago, they were the best of friends. She really has good cause to be
offended with them, though.
The Puymarins have given three _soirées_ this year--the Orléans princes
were at one, and the Grand Duke Vladimir at another, while the third
was made up of nobodies. Well, the Duchess invited the Mercereys with
the nobodies. Now, considering their birth and fortune, they might
reasonably have expected more consideration than that. For that reason
they are very angry--and justifiably so.
Now comes Madame de Mercerey's stroke of genius. Taking the ball, as
it were, on the rise, without a moment's hesitation, she said, in the
presence of her husband, who was stupefied at the assertion, that on
the following evening they were going to have a few friends, among
whom Madame and Mademoiselle Léoty were invited, and that Monsieur de
Martelle-Simieuse would be welcome if he cared to come. There would be
some music, and he would have an opportunity of seeing his fair heroine
of the Bois. Monsieur de Mercerey was thunderstruck:
"Aren't you mistaken in the date, my dear?" he said. "We were surely
going to the Gymnase to-morrow night to see the new piece of Octave
Feuillet."
"No, my dear; that is for the day after to-morrow."
"I thought that--I ordered the box myself."
"It is for the day after to-morrow, I tell you."
Upon which Monsieur subsided and got no further explanation of the
riddle until dinner was over. Madame de Mercerey's exertions did not
stop at that. She took possession of Monsieur de Martelle-Simieuse,
and treated him to a eulogy of me.
"Irene de Léoty is just the girl to suit you--just the wife you want.
The meeting this morning was clearly the work of Providence."
He repeated as refrain:
"How well she rides."
Yesterday, after having seen mama, Madame de Mercerey, in spite of her
_migraine_, courageously set to work and took the field to get people
together--engaged musicians and got programs printed. What admirable
activity!
On what insignificant trifles our destiny hangs. If Virginie had
fastened my hair up properly, if Triboulet had been quiet, if the
Puymarins had not put the Mercereys among the nobodies--Monsieur de
Martelle-Simieuse would not have been invited to dine at our house
to-morrow, and I should not be asking myself the question:
"Shall I, or shall I not be Comtesse de Martelle-Simieuse?"
Poor Puymarins! They have come to Paris for the sole purpose of
exhibiting their phenomenon. Poor Catherine de Puymarin! Shall I let
her keep her count, or shall I take him myself?
I don't yet know. But I do know that the sixth has not made a bad
start, and if I _had_ to bet on the result, I would not give odds.
_November 20th. Ten o'clock in the morning._
What deliberations there were about the dinner. Should it be a big
affair or a small one? Where should _he_ be placed? Opposite me or at
my side? Mama at first held out for opposite. She maintained that I
produce a much better effect _en face_ than _en profil_, especially
when I am _décolletée_, and of course I _was décolletée_. I stuck out
for being at his side. I didn't feel at all nervous at the idea of
having him near me. It was necessary to make him talk, so as to be
able to take his measure. I still held to my resolution of not getting
married without knowing what I was doing. So, of course, he was put at
my side--on my right. So as not to be too hungry, and to have plenty of
time for cross-questioning, I had a pretty substantial lunch at five
o'clock. That left me free to turn the conversation as I wished--which
I did.
We were at table over an hour and a half, and at the end of that time
I was convinced that we were made for each other. We first talked
about carriages and hunting. It was a splendid start. I discovered
immediately that his ideal of a horse is just the same as mine--not too
thin, and not too high--light certainly, but not too slim; elegant, but
well formed. I think he was somewhat surprised to find that I was _au
fait_ in such matters. About carriages and gear our ideas are exactly
the same.
He was both surprised and charmed. When dinner began he was evidently
excited and ill at ease, but as we chatted, and I put him at his ease,
the conversation began to go swimmingly. We spoke the same language. We
were made to understand each other.
He hunts boars with a pack of eighty hounds--magnificent animals of
the best breed. He described his hunting suit minutely--coat _à la
française_, color of dead leaves, facings and pockets of blue velvet.
It would be charming to have a costume to harmonize with the dead
leaves. I have already an idea for a little hat--a dainty little thing.
One reason which induces me to favor him is that, as a rule, we have to
choose our husbands from among men who have nothing to do, and who live
lives of the most appalling idleness. That is the reason why _ennui_
and fatigue ruins so many happy households.
His time is, however, quite occupied. He hasn't a single minute of free
time which he can really call his own. His energy and intellect are
employed in pursuits which are at the same time useful and elegant.
He is one of the leaders of a very _chic clique_, which has just been
organized; member of the committee of a pigeon-shooting society, and of
a skaters' league; he is interested in a society for steeplechasing,
and is part owner of a stud of race-horses. With so many irons in the
fire it is evident that he is fully occupied.
All which I had learned in half an hour. Then I passed on to politics,
and catechized him thereon. This is a very, very important question,
and I have fully made up my mind to have no misunderstandings on that
head. Poor mama has suffered cruelly, and I am resolved not to expose
myself to like annoyances.
Mama has been very happy with papa--except from a political standpoint.
She was very young when she was married. Her family was an ancient
one, and of strict monarchical principles. So was papa. So far, so
good. But toward the end of 1865 papa went over to the Empire. It was
not because his opinions had changed--he took the step out of goodness
of heart. Poor papa is _so_ good--too good in fact. His change in
politics was due to his devotion to my Uncle Armand, his brother, who
is now general of division. He was only a captain then, and had had no
promotion for ages. He was not in favor because papa refused to set
foot in the Tuileries in spite of the many advances made to him. So at
last papa, who adored Uncle Armand, accepted an invitation and promised
to present mama. That was a veritable triumph for the Empire, for there
is no bluer blood in France than that of mama's family.
Mama passed the day of the presentation in tears. She was, however,
forced to obey, but _en route_ there was a frightful scene in the
landau. Mama became obstinate, and declared that she would not be
presented. She wanted to get out of the carriage into the street,
although she was wearing white satin shoes and a crown of roses, and
it was snowing heavily at the time. At length she became quieter, and
resigned herself to her fate.
A fortnight afterward Uncle Armand received a decoration, and at the
end of six months was chief of a squadron. But the affair caused many
doors to be shut against papa and mama. That caused him no trouble--not
a bit; in fact, he was rather pleased than otherwise. He detests
society, and always has his club. But society is mama's life-breath,
and she is not a member of the "Jockey," so she suffered cruelly.
Nearly all the doors which were shut have since been opened--that is
to say, since the establishment of the Republic, because since then
many things have been forgotten. The remainder would be thrown open
to me were I once Comtesse de Martelle-Simieuse. I should be received
everywhere with open arms. Since the beginning of the century the
political attitude of the Martelle-Simieuses has been irreproachable.
It did not even trip during the Empire.
The Martelle-Simieuses can trace their pedigree, fairly and without any
trickery, back to the fourteenth century. Adrien's mother--there, I am
already calling him Adrien--Adrien's mother was a Précigny-Laroche,
and as for his father--Adrien has published a little book about his
genealogy. Only a hundred copies were printed and distributed among his
friends. Madame de Mercerey has a copy of it, which she lent to mama.
I have read it, and reread it, until I know it by heart. It proves
incontestably that Adrien is the third in rank among the counts of
France--not fourth, but third.
Of course, one must naturally consider nobility of heart and elevation
of character in the first place, but one must not forget to attach
their real importance to these other things. They are of enormous
interest in life, and especially at this particular moment, in the
midst of this flood of _soi disant_ nobility, in the presence of
Spanish dukes and Italian princes, who are easily able, if we can not
prove that we are really of noble family, to steal a march on us, and
usurp our position in society. I couldn't bear the thought of being
put at table at dinner with money-makers and literary persons.
Another point demands attention, for nothing is too trifling to notice
when it is a question of making certain definite arrangements for
the comfort and pleasure of after-life. One ought firmly to secure
what one wants. Mama has a box at the opera every Monday. It has been
understood, for some time past, that when I marry I am to go halves on
that box. Mama will have it one Monday, and I the next. That's a very
good arrangement, and I am quite satisfied with it.
Now, if I marry Adrien, I shall have a box in the first row, in front,
at the Théâtre Français, every Tuesday from December to June. This is
how it will be arranged. He has an aunt, a dear old aunt, very rich,
without children (so he is her heir), very old, asthmatic, and she has
the said box at the Théâtre Français. She is quite willing to hand it
over to him, for she never uses it. She has not been in the theatre for
over three years. What a dear old aunt she is!
All that information I got out of him between the soup and the cheese.
So, when, after dinner, mama rushed to me and said, "Well?" I replied:
"I don't think I could find a better."
"Then it's settled?"
"Two are necessary for a marriage."
"Oh, you may set your mind at rest on that score. You are two. I have
been watching you the whole time during dinner. His head is quite
turned."
That was my opinion, too. When mama rushed to me, he rushed off to
Madame Mercerey, who, of course, was of the party. He loved me to
distraction; adored me, would marry only me--me and nobody else. And he
besought Madame Mercerey to go and demand me from mama at once.
She had to try to pacify him, and to show him that one must not act too
rashly. Mama, for her part, would have been quite contented to settle
the affair at once. She had a dread of the machinations of the Puymarin
clique.
I didn't share her fear in the least. I recognized clearly what an
effect I had produced, and I felt that I was mistress of the situation.
So I reminded mama of her promises, and of my resolution only to come
to a decision when I had carefully weighed the pros and cons, and
said that I had only seen him twice--each time in evening dress. I
was determined to see him twice in the daytime, and in frock coat. I
knew how Cousin Mathilde had managed. She saw her husband twice in the
daytime--once in the Louvre and once at the Hippodrome. As there was no
Hippodrome where I could see Adrien, I would substitute the museum at
Cluny. I was determined, however, to have my two interviews in broad
daylight.
So Madame Mercerey arranged an accidental meeting at the Louvre for
to-day at three o'clock punctually, in front of Murillo's "Virgin."
_The same day. Five o'clock._
We have just returned from an hour's stroll in the galleries, where
we did not pay much attention to the pictures. I imagine that he is
surprisingly ignorant of pictures. But then I have no thought of
marrying an art critic. He has _such_ a fine figure, and dresses _so_
well. He speaks very little, is very reserved, but very correct; and
above all, never makes stupid remarks. Taking him altogether, I am
quite contented.
As soon as we were alone in the carriage in the Rue Rivoli, I had to
repulse another attack from mama:
"He's simply charming. I should think that you would never insist on
Cluny now."
"No. I waive that. Never mind Cluny."
"That's right. Then you've decided?"
"Not yet, mama; not yet. One oughtn't to rush madly into marriage after
having got a little information about a man's fortune and situation."
"But what more do you want?"
"To see him on horseback. He's seen me riding, but I haven't seen him."
In short, Madame de Mercerey, whose devotion is indefatigable, is going
to advise him to-night to go and ride about at the entrance of the
Avenue des Acacias about ten o'clock to-morrow morning. As inducement
she will hint delicately that he may possibly meet papa and me. For
papa--I must say that papa astonishes me--he is acting the _rôle_ of a
father who has a marriageable daughter to perfection. He hasn't mounted
a horse for four years, but to-morrow he is going to risk a broken neck.
_November 20th._
We had a ride round the Bois--all three of us--papa, he, and I. _He_
looks very well on horseback. He rode a splendid bay mare. I will take
her for myself, and will pass Triboulet on to him, for I know Triboulet
too well, and am tired of him.
On my return I flung my arms round mama's neck--
"Yes, a thousand times," I said.
And with tears in my eyes, I thanked her for having been so indulgent,
so good, so patient.
_December 4th._
To-day at three o'clock the old aunt who has the box at the theatre
on Tuesdays is to come to demand my hand officially, and so before
the 10th of January (that will be absolutely necessary because of the
grandmother's will) I shall be Comtesse de Martelle-Simieuse. Adrien
will get the one and a half millions and me into the bargain, as extra
consolation prize. I think it will be money easily gained. I don't
think that he is much to be pitied.
_December 11th._
The wedding is fixed for January 6th. It is absurd to get married at
such a time, but it couldn't be arranged otherwise. The will! The will!
Besides, after all, the date doesn't displease me so very much. We
shall have a short--a _very_ short--honeymoon--a few days at Nice--ten
days at the outside.
After that Paris in full swing, with all the theatres open. The
unfortunate Louise de Montbrian got married last spring--at the end of
May, and returned to Paris after a six-weeks' honeymoon only to find
the city torrid and sinister.
We shall be supremely happy--of that I haven't the slightest doubt. He
adores me. And I! Do I love him? Well, I must be candid with myself,
and it would not be true if I declared, in the phrases so common in
English novels, that I love him madly; that I only really live when he
is present; that I tremble at the sound of his footsteps, and start
when I hear his voice.