ROSE’S PROMOTION.
As soon as Andre had released her hand, Sabine took off her hat, and,
handing it to Modeste, remarked,--
“How am I looking to-day, Andre?”
The young painter hastened to reassure her on this point, and she
continued in joyous tones,--
“No, I do not want compliments; I want to know if I look the right thing
for sitting for my portrait.”
Sabine was very beautiful, but hers was a different style of beauty from
that of Rose, whose ripe, sensuous charms were fitted to captivate the
admiration of the voluptuary, while Sabine was of the most refined and
ethereal character. Rose fettered the body with earthly trammels, while
Sabine drew the soul heavenward. Her beauty was not of the kind that
dazzles, for the air of proud reserve which she threw over it, in some
slight measure obscured its brilliancy.
She might have passed unnoticed, like the work of a great master’s brush
hanging neglected over the altar of a village church; but when the eye
had once fathomed that hidden beauty, it never ceased to gaze on it with
admiration. She had a broad forehead, covered with a wealth of chestnut
hair, soft, lustrous eyes, and an exquisitely chiselled mouth.
“Alas!” said Andre, “when I gaze upon you, I have to confess how
impossible it is to do you justice. Before you came I had fancied
that the portrait was completed, but now I see that I have only made a
failure.”
As he spoke, he drew aside the curtain, and the young girl’s portrait
was revealed. It was by no means a work of extraordinary merit. The
artist was only twenty-four years of age, and had been compelled to
interrupt his studies to toil for his daily bread, but it was full of
originality and genius. Sabine gazed at it for a few moments in silence,
and then murmured the words,--
“It is lovely!”
But Andre was too discouraged to notice her praise.
“It is like,” remarked he, “but a photograph also has that merit. I have
only got your features, but not your expression; it is an utter failure.
Shall I try again?”
Sabine stopped him with a gesture of denial.
“You shall not try again,” said she decidedly.
“And why not?” asked he in astonishment.
“Because this visit will be my last, Andre.”
“The last?” stammered the painter. “In what way have I so offended you,
that you should inflict so terrible a punishment on me?”
“I do not wish to punish you. You asked for my portrait, and I yielded
to your request; but let us talk reasonably. Do you not know that I am
risking my reputation by coming here day after day?”
Andre made no reply, for this unexpected blow had almost stunned him.
“Besides,” continued Mademoiselle de Mussidan, “what is to be done with
the portrait? It must be hidden away, as if it were something we were
ashamed of. Remember, on your success hangs our marriage.”
“I do not forget that.”
“Hasten then to gain all honor and distinction, for the world must agree
with me in saying that my choice has been a wise one.”
“I will do so.”
“I fully believe you, dear Andre, and remember what I said to you a year
ago. Achieve a name, then go to my father and ask for my hand. If he
refuses, if my supplications do not move him, I will quit his roof
forever.”
“You are right,” answered Andre. “I should indeed by a fool if I
sacrificed a future happy life for a few hours of present enjoyment, and
I will implicitly--”
“And now,” said Sabine, “that we have agreed on this point, let us
discuss our mutual interests, of which it seems that we have been a
little negligent up till now.”
Andre at once began to tell her of all that had befallen him since they
had last met, his defeats and successes.
“I am in an awkward plight,” said he. “Yesterday, that well known
collector, Prince Crescenzi, came to my studio. One of my pictures took
his fancy, and he ordered another from me, for which he would pay six
thousand francs.”
“That was quite a stroke of luck.”
“Just so, but unfortunately he wants it directly. Then Jean Lamou, who
has more in his hand than he can manage, has offered me the decoration
of a palatial edifice that he is building for a great speculator, M.
Gandelu. I am to engage all the workmen, and shall receive some seven or
eight hundred francs a month.”
“But how does this trouble you?”
“I will tell you. I have twice seen M. Gandelu, and he wants me to begin
work at once; but I cannot accept both, and must choose between them.”
Sabine reflected.
“I should execute the Prince’s commission,” said she.
“So should I, only----”
The girl easily found the cause of his hesitation.
“Will you never forget that I am wealthy?” replied she.
“The one would bring in the most money,” he returned, “and the other
most credit.”
“Then accept the offer of M. Gandelu.”
The old cuckoo-clock in the corner struck five.
“Before we part, dear Andre,” resumed she, “I must tell you of a fresh
trouble which threatens us; there is a project for marrying me to M. de
Breulh-Faverlay.”
“What, that very wealthy gentleman?”
“Just so.”
“Well, if I oppose my father’s wishes, an explanation must ensue, and
this just now I do not desire. I therefore intend to speak openly to M.
de Breulh-Faverlay, who is an honorable, straightforward man; and when I
tell him the real state of the case, he will withdraw his pretensions.”
“But,” replied Andre, “should he do so, another will come forward.”
“That is very possible, and in his turn the successor will be
dismissed.”
“Ah!” murmured the unhappy man, “how terrible will be your life,--a
scene of daily strife with your father and mother.”
After a tender farewell, Sabine and Modeste left. Andre had wished to
be permitted to go out and procure a vehicle, but this the young girl
negatived, and took her leave, saying.--
“I shall see M. de Breulh-Faverlay to-morrow.”
For a moment after he was left alone Andre felt very sad, but a happy
thought flashed across his brain.
“Sabine,” said he, “went away on foot, and I may follow her without
injury to her reputation.”
In another moment he was in the street, and caught a glimpse of Sabine
and her maid under a lamp at the next corner. He crossed to the other
side of the way and followed them cautiously.
“Perhaps,” murmured he, “the time is not far distant when I shall have
the right to be with her in her walks, and feel her arm pressed against
mine.”
By this time Sabine and her companion had reached the Rue Blanche, and
hailing a cab, were rapidly driven away. Andre gazed after it, and as
soon as it was out of sight, decided to return to his work. As he passed
a brilliantly lighted shop, a fresh young voice saluted him.
“M. Andre, M. Andre.”
He looked up in extreme surprise, and saw a young woman, dressed in
the most extravagant style, standing by the door of a brougham, which
glittered with fresh paint and varnish. In vain he tried to think who
she could be, but at length his memory served him.
“Mademoiselle Rose,” said he, “or I am much mistaken.”
A shrill, squeaky voice replied, “Madame Zora Chantemille, if you
please.”
Andre turned sharply round and found himself face to face with a young
man who had completed an order he was giving to the coachman.
“Ah, is that you?” said he.
“Yes, Chantemille is the name of the estate that I intend to settle on
madame.”
The painter examined the personage who had just addressed him with
much curiosity. He was dressed in the height or rather the burlesque of
fashion, wore an eyeglass, and an enormous locket on his chain. The face
which surmounted all this grandeur was almost that of a monkey, and
Toto Chupin had not exaggerated its ugliness when he likened it to that
animal.
“Pooh,” cried Rose, “what matters a name? All you have to do is to ask
this gentleman, who is an old friend of mine, to dinner.” And without
waiting for a reply, she took Andre by the hand and led him into a
brilliantly lighted hall. “You must dine with us,” she exclaimed; “I
will take no denial. Come, let me introduce you, M. Andre, M. Gaston de
Gandelu. There, that is all settled.”
The man bowed.
“Andre, Andre,” repeated Gandelu; “why, the name is familiar to me,--and
so is the face. Have I not met you at my father’s house? Come in; we
intend to have a jovial evening.”
“I really cannot,” pleaded Andre. “I have an engagement.”
“Throw it over then; we intend to keep you, now that we have got you.”
Andre hesitated for a moment, but he felt dispirited, and that he
required rousing. “After all,” thought he, “why should I refuse? If this
young man’s friends are like himself, the evening will be an amusing
one.”
“Come up,” cried Rose, placing her foot upon the stairs. Andre was about
to follow her, but was held back by Gandelu, whose face was radiant with
delight.
“Was there ever such a girl?” whispered he; “but there, don’t jump at
conclusions. I have only had her in hand for a short time, but I am a
real dab at starting a woman grandly, and it would be hard to find my
equal in Paris, you may bet.”
“That can be seen at a glance,” answered Andre, concealing a smile.
“Well, look here, I began at once. Zora is a quaint name, is it not?
It was my invention. She isn’t a right down swell to-day, but I have
ordered six dresses for her from Van Klopen; such swell gets up! You
know Van Klopen, don’t you, the best man-milliner in Paris. Such taste!
such ideas! you never saw the like.”
Rose had by this time reached her drawing-room. “Andre,” said she,
impatiently, “are you never coming up?”
“Quick, quick,” said Gandelu, “let us go at once; if she gets into a
temper she is sure to have a nervous attack, so let us hurry up.”
Rose did all she could to dazzle Andre, and as a commencement exhibited
to him her domestics, a cook and a maid; then he was shown every article
of furniture, and not one was spared him. He was forced to admire the
drawing-room suite covered with old gold silk, trimmed blue, and to test
the thickness of the curtains. Bearing aloft a large candelabra, and
covering himself with wax, Gandelu led the way, telling them the price
of everything like an energetic tradesman.
“That clock,” said he, “cost me a hundred louis, and dirt cheap at the
price. How funny that you should have known my father! Has he not
a wonderful intellect? That flower stand was three hundred francs,
absolutely given away. Take care of the governor, he is as sharp as a
needle. He wanted me to have a profession, but no, thank you. Yes, that
occasional table was a bargain at twenty louis. Six months ago I thought
that the old man would have dropped off, but now the doctors say--” He
stopped suddenly, for a loud noise was heard in the vestibule. “Here
come the fellows I invited,” cried he, and placing the candelabra on the
table, he hurried from the room.
Andre was delighted at so grand an opportunity of studying the _genus_
masher. Rose felt flattered by the admiration her fine rooms evidently
caused.
“You see,” cried she, “I have left Paul; he bothered me awfully, and
ended by half starving me.”
“Why, you are joking; he came here to-day, and said he was earning
twelve thousand francs a year.”
“Twelve thousand humbugs. A fellow that will take five hundred francs
from an old scarecrow he never met before is--”
Rose broke off abruptly, for at that moment young Gandelu brought in his
friends, and introduced them; they were all of the same type as
their host, and Andre was about to study them more intently, when a
white-waistcoated waiter threw open the door, exclaiming pompously,
“Madame, the dinner is on the table.”