Othmar was in his own house that day at two o'clock looking at a
portrait, by Cabanel, of his wife, which had been sent home in the
forenoon, and which had been left standing in the salon, where she
passed most of her hours. The portrait was one of the triumphs of
that elegant master. He had painted her in a gown of white velvet,
with her favourite peacocks near, and some high shrubs of red azaleas
to lend her the contrast of rich colour. The whole composition was a
masterpiece of softness, brilliancy, and sunshine. Othmar stood looking
at it and speaking of it to the Baron and to Yseulte when Alain de
Vannes was ushered into the room, and, scarcely pausing for the usual
ceremonies of salutation, said abruptly to him: 'You have heard the
news of the morning? Napraxine is dead.'
The Duc had calculated the effect of his abrupt speech. Othmar, on
whose features the full light was falling from a window of which the
curtains had been drawn back for the examination of Cabanel's portrait,
changed colour violently, and his whole face expressed the force of
conflicting emotions with which he was moved. Yseulte watched him,
fascinated with a vague terror; she had never seen him violently moved
under the influence of any strong feeling.
Friederich Othmar, alone retaining his calmness, answered in amazement:
'Napraxine! Napraxine dead! Are you certain? I saw him last night at
midnight; he was in full health and spirits.'
'Nevertheless he is dead,' said De Vannes, keeping his gaze on Othmar;
and he related the circumstances of the duel.
Othmar listened in profound silence; he had recovered his self-control,
but the colour had not returned to his face.
'What was the cause?' asked Friederich Othmar, when he had heard all
that there was to hear.
Alain de Vannes shrugged his shoulders.
'De Prangins had spoken jestingly of the Princess--and someone else.
Napraxine heard of it through some lamentable indiscretion; he
insulted the old Duke; and the result is what I have said. He was run
through the lungs and died in a few moments. De Prangins relieved
Madame Napraxine of a troublesome lad in young d'Ivrea; he has now
done her a still greater service by ridding her of the only ennui in
her life which she was sometimes compelled to endure. I do not know
who told her what had happened, but the body of Napraxine has already
been taken to his house. The duel was fought in a private garden at
Versailles.'
Then he paused, having no more to say, and, like a good orator, being
unwilling to destroy by detail and diffuseness the effect of his
unexpected statement.
Othmar muttered a few sentences of conventional regret and turned away
to where the picture stood. Yseulte followed him with wistful eyes. She
felt that the news had shocked and startled him strangely, but she was
afraid to seem to have remarked his agitation. After a few moments he
made some trivial excuse, and left the room.
Friederich Othmar resumed his occupation of examining Cabanel's work
through a lorgnon: people whom he knew died every day; it was not such
a simple event as that which could cause him any excitement, and Platon
Napraxine, though a very great person in his own way, had no place in
the public life of Europe.
The Duc de Vannes approached Yseulte.
'My cousin,' he said with gentle mockery, 'was poor Napraxine such a
favourite of yours that you look so stricken with sorrow? If I had
known that my intelligence would have caused such regret, I would have
been less precipitate in relating it.'
Yseulte coloured; she was conscious that it was her husband's emotion,
not hers, at which he jested.
'Death is always terrible,' she murmured, not knowing what to say.
'And Prince Napraxine always seemed so well, so strong, so full of
health----'
De Vannes laughed a little grimly.
'Poor Napraxine had only one vulnerable point--his heart; some gossiper
pecked at that as jays peck at fruit; and this is the end. You know
he adored his wife, most unfortunately for himself; she is called
the Marie Stuart of our day, and to complete the parallel, it was
necessary for her to be the cause of her husband's death.'
'But--she must suffer now?' said Yseulte, her golden eyes dim and dark
with feeling.
'Suffer?' echoed Alain de Vannes. 'I see you do not know Madame
Napraxine, though you meet so often. The long strict Russian mourning
and all the religious rites will weary her terribly. Beyond that, she
will not be much distressed, and she will have many--consolations.'
'She has children,' said Yseulte.
The Duc smiled.
'It was not of her children that I was thinking,' he said with meaning.
Friederich Othmar turned round from his examination of the portrait.
'My child,' he said to Yseulte, 'will you pardon me if I remind you
that your horses have been waiting a long time, and that the _matinée_
at Princess Hohenlohe's will be more than half over. M. le Duc will be
kind enough to excuse the hint; he is always so amiable.'
Yseulte, who was still obedient with the unquestioning submission of
her childish days, rose and bade adieu to her cousin, then went to her
own apartments.
Friederich Othmar turned to the Duke:
'Shall we walk down the boulevard together?' he suggested, whilst he
thought to himself, 'That fox shall not get at her ear if I can help
it.'
While Alain de Vannes assented and they sauntered down the staircase of
Othmar's house, the Duc said with a pleasant little laugh:
'Ah, my dear Baron, if this duel had taken place with the same results
fifteen months ago my little cousin would not have been mistress here!'
'Who knows?' said Friederich Othmar, vaguely, with that bland
indifference which was his favourite mask and weapon.