[Illustration: “A TALL OLD MAN.”]
procession, she saw on the other side of them, going in the same
direction with her, a smart turnout in which a gentleman was driving,
with a groom behind. The horses shone like satin, and their harness
jingled and glittered in the morning sunshine. The gentleman and his
servant were dressed with a brilliant effect of care and detail. The
former was smoking a cigarette, and had a scarlet flower in his coat.
As the little funeral procession passed this carriage, the young swell
who was driving bared his head, with its smoothly parted blond hair,
remaining uncovered until the procession had passed, his servant
imitating his act. This little tribute of homage to death which the
French take the pains to perform always touched and pleased Martha. She
thought of the absurdity of this man’s uncovering his head to that
pauper baby alive; but the mystery of death imparted to it a majesty
which the equal mystery of life could not. This child was a partaker of
the knowledge of the unknown, into which Napoleon, lying near by, had
also entered, and was, with him, divided from the merely mortal.
Martha thought of this as she watched the showy carriage, which had
relaxed its speed for a moment, whirling rapidly away toward the
outskirts of the city. She wondered where that handsome,
prosperous-looking, well-bred man was going at this early hour. Probably
to fight a duel, she thought, in her romantic way! Perhaps in a few
hours’ time he might be as dead as the poor little baby; and perhaps
there was some one who loved and adored him as she did Harold!
These were the ideas which filled her mind as she reached the atelier,
there to learn that there was a disappointment about the model, who had
failed to come.
She was about to take off her wraps, and go to work on some drawings
from casts, when an exquisite voice behind her said suddenly, “Pardon,
mademoiselle,” and she turned to meet the gaze of the princess fixed
upon her with a smile of lovely friendliness.
“What are you going to do?” she said in that faultless French which
Martha had already admired.
For a moment the girl was quite overcome at such unexpected
graciousness. Then she managed to say in her own faulty though perfectly
fluent French, that she had thought she would go on and do what she
could without a model.
“It is so dull, after having that glorious Antonio to pose for one,”
said the princess. “I am not in the humor, and my carriage is gone.
Yours, perhaps, is gone also. Do you feel like drawing to-day? Or do
you, perhaps, feel more like calling a cab, and taking a drive with me?
I should like it. Will you go?”
Martha crimsoned with pleasure as she accepted the invitation. There was
no mistaking her delight at the suggestion.
“You are very good to go,” said the other, “especially as you know
nothing of me, I suppose.”
“I know only that you are the princess--the Russian princess,” said
Martha.
Her companion frowned slightly, and, Martha thought, looked a little
annoyed. She reflected that she ought not, perhaps, to have told her
that her secret had been discovered.
The little frown soon passed, however, and the princess smiled genially
as she said:
“I am living incognito in Paris to study painting, and I do not go into
the world. When I am not working I am often bored, and I frequently long
for companionship. You make me very grateful by giving me yours this
morning.”
The princess was very tall--so tall that when Martha walked at her side
she had to turn her face upward to speak to her. They walked along in
the most natural companionship until they reached a cab-stand nearby,
and Martha thought her divinity more worshipful than ever as she stood
wrapped in her long cloak, with a large, black-plumed hat crowning her
beautiful head, and said some words of gentle pity about the poor old,
weak-kneed cab-horses drawn up in a line.
When they had entered a cab, and were seated side by side, the princess
said abruptly:
“If you had not heard something of me, I should have told you nothing.
Why should we ask questions about each other? We meet to-day, art
students in a Paris atelier, and we shall part to-morrow. What have we
to do with formalities? Of you I know that you are a young American
studying painting here, and I think, in a way, sympathetic to me. I am
content to know that, and no more, of you. Do you feel the same about
me?”
Martha replied eagerly in the affirmative, and in five minutes the two
had come to a perfect understanding. The girl felt her awe at being in
“the presence” gradually fading away,
[Illustration: “THE PRINCESS WAS VERY TALL.”]
as this winning young woman sat and talked with her on a footing of
friendly equality. It was after a short silence between them that the
princess said:
“There are one or two things that it will be necessary for you to
know--that is, if you like me well enough to come to see me, as I hope
you do. I am living in the Rue Presbourg, and when you come to see me,
you are to ask for the apartment of the Princess Mannernorff. You will
come, will you not?”
“Oh, if you will only let me, it will be my greatest happiness!” said
Martha. “I can’t understand what has made you so good to me!”
“Simply, I like you. It isn’t hard to understand. I’ve noticed you a
long time, and I’ve liked you more and more. I like your manner; I like
your face; I like your devotion to your work; and I like your work.”
“My work! My scratching and smudging, you mean! Oh, how _can_ you notice
it or care for it when you look at yours? Every one must see that
Etienne knows that you are his best pupil. He does not speak to any one
as he does to you, and you must know as well as I that it is not because
you are a princess.”
“Yes, of course; I know that perfectly well. But I fancy that Etienne,
in his little critical heart, feels that he hasn’t got out of me what he
looked for at first. At least, I have that idea; and you see I have
studied enough, compared with you, to be a great deal further ahead of
you than I am. I have digged and delved for that treasure more than you
realize. I hope to do something tolerable some day; but I’m not as
confident about it as I used to be, and I fear Etienne is not, either.
Oh, I _wish_ I could!”
She said this with such fervor, and followed it by such a wistful sigh,
that Martha, who had not yet taken in the idea that the princess might
not be the all-fortunate creature she imagined, felt a sudden protest
against the thought of her wishing for anything vainly.
“Surely you will!” she said. “I can’t imagine your wanting anything very
much without getting it.”
The princess laughed, throwing up her chin, and looking at Martha with
an indulgent smile.
“You can’t?” she exclaimed. “Well, if you take the trouble to continue
my acquaintance, you will find that I’ve missed pretty much everything
in life that I very greatly wanted. It is sad, but true.”
Martha did not answer, but she looked as if she would like to speak out
something that was on her mind, and her companion saw this, and said:
“What is it? Speak! I give you full permission.”
“It was nothing,” said Martha, rather confusedly. “I was wondering about
you--as, of course, I can’t help doing. I don’t want to be told things,
however. I would far rather imagine how they are.”
“Very, very sensible. I see that I shall like you more and more. There
are a few things, however, which it will be well for you to know. For
instance,”--she paused, with a slight look of reluctance, and then went
on rapidly,--“no doubt you wonder whether I am married.”
Martha’s eyes confirmed her.
A cloud seemed to have settled with surprising suddenness upon the face
of the princess. She looked fixedly at the passing prospect outside the
window as, after a moment of difficult silence, she said almost
brusquely:
“I am a widow.” Then she turned and looked at Martha. “You will
understand, for the future,” she went on more naturally, “my wish for
silence on this subject. I am living temporarily in Paris with my aunt.
I used to know French society well, but I am out of it now, and I don’t
regret it. Painting is the only thing I really care for--that, and
music, and some books; some, but not many. Books give such false ideas
of life. I think it was what I read in books that led me to expect so
much. I was not to be convinced but that all the happiness I imagined
was quite possible; and when it would not come to me, I thought there
was a force in me which could compel it. As a rule, I’ve given that idea
up; but there are times even yet when it rises and conquers me. I know
it is very foolish, and that experience cures one of such feelings, but
I’m not altogether cured yet, in spite of hard and repeated blows.”
Martha had listened with intense interest, and now, as her companion
paused, she felt that she ought to volunteer, on her part, some sort of
sketch of herself and her surroundings.
“I don’t care to tell you anything about myself,” she said, “because
it’s so uninteresting. My father has been dead a great many years; mama
is delicate; and we live in Paris so that I may study painting and the
younger girls may have lessons. We go to America for the summers. My
brother is the eldest of us, and he lives there. The younger girls are
pretty, and mama wishes them to go into society and to be admired. She
used also to wish this for me, but she saw how I hated it, and how
little chance I had in it, so she lets me alone now, particularly since
I got Harold to speak to her.”
“Are you sure that she would not disapprove of your friendship with me,
knowing of me only the little that you are able to tell her?”
“Yes; I’m certain of it. She wouldn’t mind. She knows I never get into
mischief. I feel perfectly free to do as I choose about this, and I
don’t mean to mention you to any one--not because there would be any
objection, but because you are too sacred to me, and if you let me be
your friend, I can’t share that knowledge and possession with any one.”
Martha was determined to say this, but she did not accomplish it without
a good deal of hesitation and embarrassment. Her companion looked at her
with a sort of wondering scrutiny.
“Where do you get that earnest, concentrated nature, I wonder--so
different from mine!” she said. “Does it go with the American character?
Your words are very foolish, child; but it is so long since any one has
held me sacred that I am ridiculously touched by it.”
There was something that looked like rising tears in the beautiful eyes
of the princess; but a gay little laugh soon banished the shadow from
both her face and her voice. Suddenly she sat upright and said:
“Suppose you come home with me now! I want you to learn the ways of the
place, so that you may come and go as you please. Will you come with me
there to-day?”
Martha agreed at once, and with evident satisfaction the princess leaned
out of the window, and gave the address to the cabman.