EVA DIRKMAL
Felix Kaulmann felt that he had made good use of his opportunity. All
would now go well. The prince would no longer avail himself of the
Bondavara catastrophe to ruin him; on the contrary, his influence
would stem the panic which the news had, no doubt, already caused in
the Vienna money-market, and when the papal loan was concluded all
would be smooth. There was Eveline, of course; but a man such as
Kaulmann, whose conscience had long since been as withered as was his
heart, soon found excuses for any ill-doing. No one could blame him
for the prince's infatuation; it would be only a fool who wouldn't
take advantage of it, especially one in his situation. A drowning man
catches at any plank; and as for Eveline, she owed him a debt of
gratitude. Had he not raised her from the very dust of the coal-pit to
her present situation, saved her from a brutal husband like the savage
Saffran, educated her, made her a fit companion for a prince? Better
women than she would be glad of the elevation that was awaiting her;
and this reminded him that the Abbé Samuel's interview must have
opened the matter, so he went in search of him. The priest, however,
was not to be found at any of his usual haunts. Felix, therefore,
repaired to Eveline's hotel; neither was she at home. She had gone to
the theatre; it was one of her acting nights.
Felix drove to the Opera-house. He went first to his wife's box, where
there was no one but her companion. He took a view of the house. In
the pit there were numerous _claqueurs_. In one of the front boxes he
saw Prince Waldemar. Then he went behind the scenes, for he was known
as the husband of the prima donna and was allowed access to her
dressing-room.
Eveline was dressed for her part and waiting to go on. When she saw
Kaulmann she turned away angrily. Why did he disturb her when she was
busy with her calling?
"I have only come to wish you good-evening," he said.
"You might have waited until to-morrow."
"To wish you good-evening? Ha! ha!"
"No; but you know I am always so nervous before I go on--"
"I only wished to tell you that the cream of Parisian society are
fighting to get tickets for your concert. Have you reserved one for
me?" Felix was full of amiability and admiration.
"I have reserved none."
"Ah! And why not?" He said this in a soft, complaining voice.
"Because I have given up the concert. It shall not take place."
The face of her husband suddenly lengthened. "Will you kindly tell me
the reason of this change?"
"After I have come off. My scene has come. I must go." So saying, she
left the room and went to the wings.
Felix followed to a point from which he could see his wife on the
stage and have a general view of the house.
Eveline played badly and sang worse. Her voice trembled, she was out
of tune, and her runs and _roulades_ were imperfect. She was evidently
nervous. Nevertheless, she was applauded to the echo, the _claque_
worked hard; and Prince Waldemar, from his box, clapped as if he had
been paid for it. When she had finished her last song a shower of
bouquets and wreaths came from the prince's box and fell at her feet.
Eveline left them on the stage and hurried away to her dressing-room.
Kaulmann followed her.
"Why didn't you pick up those lovely bouquets?" he asked, carelessly.
"I felt I didn't deserve any. I know I did badly to-night."
"But surely for the sake of the giver you should have taken one of the
bouquets."
"Ah, you would like that."
"I?"
"Yes. All those flowers came from you--at least, so I have always
understood."
"Pardon me, _ma chère_. Didn't you notice that they all came from the
side box? Didn't you recognize who was in that box?"
"I never looked."
"It was Prince Waldemar."
"The man who is your enemy--who wants to ruin you?"
"Oh, that is not so! He has quite changed. He is now _our_ best
friend."
"_Our_ friend? Whom do you include in 'our'?"
"You, as well as myself."
"Thanks; but I decline my share."
"I am afraid you will find it difficult to stand aloof, for I consider
Prince Waldemar as my best friend, and henceforth my house is open to
him as to a brother."
"As you please. My house shall be shut in his face."
"I am sorry, but your words oblige me to break a disagreeable piece of
news to you. But I see you are busy; you don't take any interest--"
"Go on talking," returned Eveline, who was standing before the
looking-glass washing the paint off her face. "I am listening."
"For the future, I regret to say, you will not have a house of your
own. The affairs of your friend, Prince Theobald, have been
sequestrated; his property is now in the hands of trustees. I need not
tell you, for I am sure you have known all along, that the hotel you
occupy, together with all your expenses, has been paid for by him.
This, naturally, is at an end. In my circumstances I could not afford
to give you a separate establishment; we will, therefore, be obliged
to live together, and it follows naturally that I shall expect my wife
to receive as her guests _my friends_, and to make them welcome."
Eveline had laid aside her queenly robes; she now took off her diadem,
and as she slowly unfastened her bracelets she turned and faced Felix.
"And do you think," she said, "that when I leave my hotel I cannot get
for myself a garret somewhere, where there will be a door with a
strong bolt, with which I can bar the entrance of any unpleasant
visitors?"
Felix looked at her in amazement; he constrained himself to take a
more friendly tone.
"I must call your attention to one fact. We are in Paris, and the
French marital law is strict. A wife must dwell under her husband's
roof. She must go where he goes. She must obey him."
Eveline was now busy undoing the gold sandals which bound her feet.
She looked steadily at Kaulmann, with her eyes glowing like lamps.
"I must call your attention," she said, "to one fact. We are in Paris,
and according to the French law those persons who have been married
before the altar, and not before the civil authorities, are not
considered legally married, and that, therefore, our marriage is null
and void."
Kaulmann sprang to his feet as if he had been bitten by a tarantula.
"What are you saying?" he cried, in a voice that was almost a shriek.
Eveline had loosened the golden sandals. She stood before Felix in her
bare feet, and threw him the sandals.
"These belong to you. I am once more Eva Dirkmal. I belong to myself."
"Who has told you this?" stammered the banker, pale with rage.
"The Abbé Samuel, who advised you to treat me in the same manner."
Kaulmann felt the room going round.
"And now," continued Eveline, with a dignified motion of her hand, "I
must remind you that this is the dressing-room of a young girl."
Felix did not wait to have his dismissal repeated; he took his hat and
went without another word. He ran away, and he ran so fast that he
took no heed where he was going till he stumbled and fell.
All was over; he had played his last card and lost. Everything was
gone; there was no more help. He had two courses open to him: he might
put a pistol to his head, and so end the drama, or he might take all
the money in his counting-house and fly. He chose the last.