THE REVENGE OF AN HONORABLE MAN.
Next morning at eleven o'clock, with military punctuality, Pierre
Olsdorf was at his wife's home.
She awaited him in the little room where on the previous night she had
tried to put some courage into Paul Meyrin.
Lise Olsdorf was calm in appearance, so that her husband could not read
in her face the terror which the unlooked-for arrival of her legal judge
had caused her. Her paleness could scarcely be seen under the rice
powder; her large eyes were only faintly ringed with blue through
sleeplessness.
At the entrance of the prince, Lise rose from the couch she was seated
on, and bowed without speaking.
The nobleman whose name she had stained looked at her fixedly for some
moments, then, signing to her to be seated again, he sunk into a chair
opposite to her and said in firm, grave tones:
"Madame, although to do so does not seem quite indispensable, for I find
you far calmer than you ought to be, I wish to confirm what I wrote to
you last night. I do not come to reproach you, though you have spoiled
my life; I do not come to make a scene, though the Russian law, like the
French, gives me every right over you--even to kill you if I found you
in the act of adultery--which it would not have been difficult for me to
do, as you must know. That act of justice, according to the law, would
be merely a pardonable crime. But have no fear. If for a moment, when
the news of your misconduct came upon me yonder like a thunder-bolt, I
thought of punishing you, it was because the memory of the past aroused
my anger. Now, my heart and mind have grown calm again, I come to
insist upon the only means of putting an end to the scandal of the life
you are living."
At these words, and not before, the princess raised her eyes. Up to then
she had hidden her face in her hands, so as not to show the humiliation
that her husband's tone made her feel.
Pierre Olsdorf went on:
"I am so sure of your submission that I will not attempt to point out
the dangers you would run if you opposed my will in the least degree.
After having Monsieur Paul Meyrin for your lover in Russia, you came to
him here in Paris because you were _enceinte_ by him."
At these words, so plain and precise, Lise Olsdorf could not master a
movement of real affright. She perhaps would have attempted a denial,
but the prince stopped her with a severe look and said:
"Don't try to deceive me. It would be an infamy added to a fault already
so great. I speak as I do because I have not the shadow of a doubt; if I
had it would be a frightful torture. I have compared one thing with
another, I have grouped together facts which at the time seemed to me to
have no importance, last summer at Pampeln, in my chateau so hospitably
open. Besides, the little esteem that I yet feel for you would not let
me suppose for a moment that, while bearing in your womb a legitimate
child, you would leave the father of this child, in a state when the
vilest creature has some shame, to give yourself to a lover."
Deeply affected, the adulterous wife again lowered her head.
The prince continued:
"The daughter you were delivered of recently, and for whom you have
claimed my legitimate son, Alexander, as a brother, bears my name
legally. I can not deprive her of it except at the cost of a scandalous
inquiry, the result of which, moreover, would be an obstacle to the end
I have in view, as it would be a judicial confirmation of your
adultery. I shall not set that inquiry on foot, and the child will keep
the name it has unconsciously stolen. I make the sacrifice for the honor
of my house. But you shall not continue to call yourself the Princess
Olsdorf. You will petition the Holy Synod for a divorce from me."
The princess was so amazed that she could scarcely murmur:
"From you?"
"Yes, from me," repeated the Russian nobleman. "Ah, that surprises you;
you don't understand me, because you are not sufficiently versed in our
laws of divorce. If I petitioned for a divorce from you it would be
granted at the first inquiry; but then you would be dishonored, and some
of the shame would fall upon my son. When he is older he would blush for
you. I would not have that. Besides, no doubt you are ignorant of the
fact that the person against whom the decree of divorce is gained may
not marry again. You would therefore be condemned to live as Monsieur
Paul Meyrin's concubine, should this man remain faithful to you, and
your last born child would have no name, as one of the consequences of
the decree against you would be a disavowal of my paternity. If I am the
accused before the Holy Synod, however, I shall be condemned to
celibacy, while you will continue in the eyes of the world as an honest
woman under the name of Madame Meyrin."
At these two words "Madame Meyrin," the daughter of the Countess
Barineff was seized with a vague fear. Amid her astonishment she made a
rapid comparison of her past and the future that her husband forced upon
her. Paul Meyrin was no longer the lover whose mastery over her was
sensual, the man whom she as a woman loved carnally; he was already the
husband and lord, such as one sees always, save at the hour when passion
makes one blind.
Without analyzing the feeling which had awakened in her so suddenly,
Lise was afraid. Not to betray herself she had need of all her pride and
strength of will; but the prince had no doubt guessed what was passing
in her mind, for he continued, in a cutting and ironical voice:
"There is nothing to hinder your marriage with Monsieur Paul Meyrin, as
he belongs to a country whose laws authorize divorce. You will be good
enough, then, to inform him of my will, and when the principal point is
agreed on, I will point out the course you are to follow to put me in
the wrong and introduce your petition to the Holy Synod. As for your
personal fortune, the day after the decree of divorce is pronounced my
lawyer will send you all the title-deeds; you will become absolute
mistress of it. I will abstain from giving you any advice with regard to
the steps you should take to secure your future. When I married you I
gave you my town house in St. Petersburg. It will remain your property,
but as I forbid you to ever set foot in Russia you will do well to sell
it. I believe I have said all that is needful at present. I only have to
await your answer to my ultimatum. But remember this oath that I make
before leaving you: if for any reason whatever Monsieur Paul Meyrin does
not marry you, I will kill him. Adieu, madame. May God pardon you."
Speaking these words, the prince rose, bowed to his wife, and went out
without looking at her again.
The princess rose mechanically, and then fell back into her seat.
She had expected anything on the part of the outraged husband, but not
this strange solution that he had insisted on with the calmness of an
operator searching a wound with his scalpel.
Nearly out of her mind, she rang and ordered her footman to go and ask
M. Paul Meyrin to come to her at once.
Awaiting her lover, Lise Olsdorf took a rapid glance at the past,
recalling with terror the road she had covered so rapidly within the
last year. She saw again her youth, her court of adorers at St.
Petersburg, her princely marriage, and the entertainments of which she
had been the queen at Pampeln. She thought of her mother, whose
ambitious edifices were going to come down crashing about her, and who
would not be sparing of reproaches; and suddenly, too, thinking of her
son whom she would never see again, she was about, perhaps, to exclaim,
"No, never!" when Paul Meyrin came into the room hurriedly, without
being announced.
The painter was pale, uneasy, and much agitated. His manly beauty only
showed the more brilliantly. The princess was struck by it, and,
suddenly reconquered by the sensual charm which mastered her, she sprung
toward him.
Paul received her in his arms, bore her in them as if she had been a
child, laid her on the couch, and, kneeling beside her, questioned her
with his eyes.
"It is over," she said, after enjoying for a moment the intoxication of
the contact with him, which took from her all energy. "Everything is
over between the prince and me. He himself wishes it. I shall be your
wife."
"My wife!" exclaimed Paul, with a movement of surprise.
"Yes, your wife. The prince and I are to be divorced, and I shall marry
you. On this condition alone we shall not be separated. My husband has
acted, too, like an honorable man. He gives me back my fortune, and
leaves me the house at St. Petersburg, his wedding present. How happy we
shall be! To live with you, never to leave you again! To love you
freely, openly, in the face of the whole world--and always, always!"
The unhappy and bewitched woman would not look back on the past. In the
artist's arms she forgot all--the memories that she had summoned a few
minutes earlier, the high social rank she was about to quit, her
mother, even her son.
Paul was calmer. This future, which he had by no means foreseen, the
responsibility he was about to take upon himself, the new part he was
called upon to play, all frightened him a little. Not that he did not
love the woman who had given herself to him; but to marry, to become the
head of a household, from a lover to change to a husband, the father of
a family, it was a serious matter, deserving to be reflected on.
"Why don't you speak to me?" said the princess, vaguely uneasy and
looking into the painter's eyes. "Are not you happy?"
"Can you think otherwise?" said Paul; "but you must understand my
surprise. You will confess I had little reason to expect what has
happened. I feared your husband might use violence to you, and I was so
sure of a challenge from him that I have spoken to a couple of friends."
"As your seconds! In a duel!" cried Lise Olsdorf, throwing her arms
around the young man's neck. "Oh, if I had dreamed the prince had such
an idea he should not have left this room alive."
"Dear, foolish child!" said Paul Meyrin, returning the passionate
embrace. "But, while awaiting the divorce, what will you do? How shall
we live? Will not the prince make you leave Paris?"
"No, I believe not."
"Did he speak to you of Tekla?"
"He knows the child is not his, and I did not try to deceive him."
"Perhaps he will want to take it from us."
The Princess Olsdorf sat up suddenly. She grew very pale.
The fact is the adulterous wife was an excellent mother. Two years
before, when her son was attacked by a contagious sickness, she had
nursed him with a devotion which had been the admiration of everybody,
and she adored doubly Paul Meyrin's child.
"Take away my daughter--separate me from her!" she cried. "Oh, no, it is
impossible; the prince has not the thought. He can not disown her, for
the consequence of a disavowal would be a petition for divorce from me.
He will leave me Tekla. What could he do with her? He can not love her.
We are both mad to think of it."
The painter tried his best to calm Lise. They agreed to await the course
of events and act accordingly, keeping secret from everybody what was
going on.
Paul Meyrin, indeed, was not at all anxious to acquaint his relatives
with the new turn that his amour with the princess had taken, for he
foresaw the opposition that his mother and sister, and especially his
sister, would offer to the marriage. Although he had never said anything
outright to the two women upon the subject, he had every reason to
believe that they knew the true state of his relations with Lise
Olsdorf, and that they were well aware of his being the father of little
Tekla. If the Meyrins received at their house Paul's acknowledged
mistress, it was because their vanity was flattered and their interest
lay in making her welcome. Under the pretense that she adored artists,
and had the right to act in Paris as she would have done in Russia, she
heaped presents on all the Meyrins, big and little. Her love, then, cost
them nothing; on the contrary. As formerly, the painter lived with the
family and shared its expenses, giving, too, himself generously, for he
reflected that he had no calls upon him and was making plenty of money.
With the Meyrins, and certainly as regarded Frantz, there was indeed no
cynical and shameless speculation; but the feeling was there, though
they were unconscious of it. The marriage of the artist to anybody would
necessarily occasion so radical a change in their style of living that
the idea of it had always been thrust into the background by those
whose thorough interest it was to have him under their guidance.
Paul, without saying all these things to himself, was conscious of them.
He was much concerned about what was to happen in the near future as he
made his way back to the Rue de Douai.
After the painter had left her the princess wrote to her husband to say
she was ready to obey him in all particulars.