“The Comtesse Samoris.”
“That lady in black over there?”
“The very one. She's wearing mourning for her daughter, whom she
killed.”
“You don't mean that seriously? How did she die?”
“Oh! it is a very simple story, without any crime in it, any violence.”
“Then what really happened?”
“Almost nothing. Many courtesans are born to be virtuous women, they
say; and many women called virtuous are born to be courtesans--is that
not so? Now, Madame Samoris, who was born a courtesan, had a daughter
born a virtuous woman, that's all.”
“I don't quite understand you.”
“I'll--explain what I mean. The comtesse is nothing but a common,
ordinary parvenue originating no one knows where. A Hungarian or
Wallachian countess or I know not what. She appeared one winter in
apartments she had taken in the Champs Elysees, that quarter for
adventurers and adventuresses, and opened her drawing-room to the first
comer or to any one that turned up.
“I went there. Why? you will say. I really can't tell you. I went there,
as every one goes to such places because the women are facile and the
men are dishonest. You know that set composed of filibusters with varied
decorations, all noble, all titled, all unknown at the embassies, with
the exception of those who are spies. All talk of their honor without
the slightest occasion for doing so, boast of their ancestors, tell you
about their lives, braggarts, liars, sharpers, as dangerous as the false
cards they have up their sleeves, as delusive as their names--in short,
the aristocracy of the bagnio.
“I adore these people. They are interesting to study, interesting to
know, amusing to understand, often clever, never commonplace like public
functionaries. Their wives are always pretty, with a slight flavor of
foreign roguery, with the mystery of their existence, half of it perhaps
spent in a house of correction. They have, as a rule, magnificent eyes
and incredible hair. I adore them also.
“Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses, elegant, mature
and still beautiful. Charming feline creatures, you feel that they are
vicious to the marrow of their bones. You find them very amusing when
you visit them; they give card parties; they have dances and suppers; in
short, they offer you all the pleasures of social life.
“And she had a daughter--a tall, fine-looking girl, always ready
for amusement, always full of laughter and reckless gaiety--a
true adventuress' daughter--but, at the same time, an innocent,
unsophisticated, artless girl, who saw nothing, knew nothing, understood
nothing of all the things that happened in her father's house.
“The girl was simply a puzzle to me. She was a mystery. She lived amid
those infamous surroundings with a quiet, tranquil ease that was either
terribly criminal or else the result of innocence. She sprang from the
filth of that class like a beautiful flower fed on corruption.”
“How do you know about them?”
“How do I know? That's the funniest part of the business! One morning
there was a ring at my door, and my valet came up to tell me that M.
Joseph Bonenthal wanted to speak to me. I said directly:
“'And who is this gentleman?' My valet replied: 'I don't know, monsieur;
perhaps 'tis some one that wants employment.' And so it was. The man
wanted me to take him as a servant. I asked him where he had been last.
He answered: 'With the Comtesse Samoris.' 'Ah!' said I, 'but my house is
not a bit like hers.' 'I know that well, monsieur,' he said, 'and that's
the very reason I want to take service with monsieur. I've had enough
of these people: a man may stay a little while with them, but he won't
remain long with them.' I required an additional man servant at the time
and so I took him.
“A month later Mademoiselle Yvette Samoris died mysteriously, and here
are all the details of her death I could gather from Joseph, who got
them from his sweetheart, the comtesse's chambermaid.
“It was a ball night, and two newly arrived guests were chatting behind
a door. Mademoiselle Yvette, who had just been dancing, leaned against
this door to get a little air.
“They did not see her approaching, but she heard what they were saying.
And this was what they said:
“'But who is the father of the girl?'
“'A Russian, it appears; Count Rouvaloff. He never comes near the mother
now.'
“'And who is the reigning prince to-day?'
“'That English prince standing near the window; Madame Samoris adores
him. But her adoration of any one never lasts longer than a month or six
weeks. Nevertheless, as you see, she has a large circle of admirers. All
are called--and nearly all are chosen. That kind of thing costs a good
deal, but--hang it, what can you expect?'
“'And where did she get this name of Samoris?'
“'From the only man perhaps that she ever loved--a Jewish banker from
Berlin who goes by the name of Samuel Morris.'
“'Good. Thanks. Now that I know what kind of woman she is and have seen
her, I'm off!'
“What a shock this was to the mind of a young girl endowed with all
the instincts of a virtuous woman! What despair overwhelmed that simple
soul! What mental tortures quenched her unbounded gaiety, her delightful
laughter, her exultant satisfaction with life! What a conflict took
place in that youthful heart up to the moment when the last guest had
left! Those were things that Joseph could not tell me. But, the same
night, Yvette abruptly entered her mother's room just as the comtesse
was getting into bed, sent out the lady's maid, who was close to the
door, and, standing erect and pale and with great staring eyes, she
said:
“'Mamma, listen to what I heard a little while ago during the ball.'
“And she repeated word for word the conversation just as I told it to
you.
“The comtesse was so stunned that she did not know what to say in reply
at first. When she recovered her self-possession she denied everything
and called God to witness that there was no truth in the story.
“The young girl went away, distracted but not convinced. And she began
to watch her mother.
“I remember distinctly the strange alteration that then took place in
her. She became grave and melancholy. She would fix on us her great
earnest eyes as if she wanted to read what was at the bottom of our
hearts. We did not know what to think of her and used to imagine that
she was looking out for a husband.
“One evening she overheard her mother talking to her admirer and later
saw them together, and her doubts were confirmed. She was heartbroken,
and after telling her mother what she had seen, she said coldly, like a
man of business laying down the terms of an agreement:
“'Here is what I have determined to do, mamma: We will both go away to
some little town, or rather into the country. We will live there quietly
as well as we can. Your jewelry alone may be called a fortune. If you
wish to marry some honest man, so much the better; still better will
it be if I can find one. If you don't consent to do this, I will kill
myself.'
“This time the comtesse ordered her daughter to go to bed and never to
speak again in this manner, so unbecoming in the mouth of a child toward
her mother.
“Yvette's answer to this was: 'I give you a month to reflect. If, at the
end of that month, we have not changed our way of living, I will kill
myself, since there is no other honorable issue left to my life.'
“And she left the room.
“At the end of a month the Comtesse Samoris had resumed her usual
entertainments, as though nothing had occurred. One day, under the
pretext that she had a bad toothache, Yvette purchased a few drops of
chloroform from a neighboring chemist. The next day she purchased more,
and every time she went out she managed to procure small doses of the
narcotic. She filled a bottle with it.
“One morning she was found in bed, lifeless and already quite cold, with
a cotton mask soaked in chloroform over her face.
“Her coffin was covered with flowers, the church was hung in white.
There was a large crowd at the funeral ceremony.
“Ah! well, if I had known--but you never can know--I would have married
that girl, for she was infernally pretty.”
“And what became of the mother?”
“Oh! she shed a lot of tears over it. She has only begun to receive
visits again for the past week.”
“And what explanation is given of the girl's death?”
“Oh! they pretended that it was an accident caused by a new stove, the
mechanism of which got out of order. As a good many such accidents have
occurred, the thing seemed probable enough.”