THERESE, THE WISE.
In Therese's boudoir are assembled four people, Therese, her husband,
her brother Zino, and Edgar,--Edgar, who on the previous day, to the
great surprise of his relatives in Paris, was persuaded to transfer
himself from the Hotel Bouillemont, whither he had gone upon his
arrival, to the Avenue Villiers and the shelter of his brother's
hospitable roof.
Therese, exhausted, more breathless than usual, is lying on a lounge,
wrapped in a thick white coverlet, shivering, coughing, feverish, with
every symptom of a violent cold, and disputing vehemently with her
husband as to whether, as he maintains, she caught the said cold on
Monday at the Bon-Marche, or, as she maintains, on Tuesday in his
smoking-room.
"No one could take cold in my smoking-room; it is the only room in the
house where the temperature is a healthy one," Edmund declares. "Judge
for yourself, Edgar; there's no getting a sensible word out of Zino.
How could any one catch cold in my smoking-room? I know perfectly well
how she caught it. Day before yesterday--Monday--there were bargains in
Oriental rugs advertised at the Bon-Marche. My wife rushes there in
such a storm----"
"That means, I drove there in an hermetically-closed coupe," Therese
defends herself.
"Pshaw! the damp air always penetrates into every carriage," her
husband cuts her words short. "The fact is, she rushed to the Rue du
Bac, where she did not buy a single rug, but instead a dozen umbrellas,
and then came home in a state of exhaustion,--such exhaustion that I
had positively to carry her up-stairs, because she was unable to stir;
and now she blames my smoking-room for her cold! It is absurd!" And, by
way of further expression of his anger, for which words do not suffice,
Edmund rattles the tongs about among the embers on the hearth.
"Have some regard for my nerves, Edmund," Therese entreats, stopping
her ears with her fingers. "You make more noise than one of Wagner's
operas. Twelve umbrellas!" Then turning to Edgar, "To place the
slightest dependence upon what my husband says----"
But before she can finish her sentence Edmund breaks in again:
"It makes no difference; it might have been three umbrellas and six
straw bonnets: it is all the same. Every Parisian woman suffers from
the bargain-mania, but I have never seen the disease developed to such
a degree as in my wife. She buys everything she comes across, if it is
only a bargain,--old iron rubbish, new plans of Paris, embroideries,
antique clocks, and bottles of rock-crystal as----christening-presents
for children who are not yet born!"
"_A propos_ of presents," Therese observes, reflectively, "do you not
think, Zino, that the chandelier of Venetian glass I bought last year
would be a good wedding-present for Stella Meineck?"
"Is she betrothed, then?" Zino inquires, naturally.
"As good as," Therese assents.
"To whom?" Capito asks, sitting down, both hands in his
trousers-pockets, and crossing his legs.
"To Arthur de Hauterive,--a brilliant match," says Therese.
"Cabouat de Hauterive," murmurs Zino, ironically stroking his
moustache, and stretching his legs out a little farther. "A brilliant
match if you choose, but rather a scaly fellow,--eh?"
"I should like to know what objection you can make to him," Therese
asks, crossly.
Zino shrugs his shoulders up to his ears, and then straightens them
again, without taking any further pains to clothe in words his opinion
of Monsieur Cabouat.
"He is not a thorough gentleman," says the elder Rohritz.
"He is a thorough snob," says Zino.
"One question, if you please." Edgar suddenly and unexpectedly takes
part in the conversation: he has hitherto seemed quite absorbed in
contemplation of a photograph on the mantel-piece of his little niece.
"Has Fraeulein Meineck agreed to the match?"
"Yes, to my great surprise," his brother replies. "I did not expect it
of her."
"It was no easy task to bring her round," Therese declares; "but I went
to work in the most sensible manner. 'Have you any other preference?' I
asked Stella yesterday, after telling her that Monsieur de Hauterive
was ready to lay his person and his millions at her feet and had begged
me to ascertain for him beforehand that his suit would not be
rejected."
"And what was Stella's reply?" Edmund asks.
"She started and changed colour. 'Dear child,' I said, 'it is perfectly
natural that you should have some little fancy: we have all had our
enthusiasms for the man in the moon; _cela va sans dire_; such trifles
never count. The question is, Have you a passion for some one who
returns it and who you have reason to hope will marry you?'
"'No!' she answered, very decidedly.
"'Then do not hesitate an instant, dear child,' I exclaimed; and when
she did not reply I laid the case before her, making clear to her how
unjustifiable her refusal of this offer would be. 'You have no money!'
I exclaimed. 'You propose to go upon the stage. That is simply
nonsense; for, setting aside the fact that you have scarcely voice
enough to succeed, a theatrical career for a girl with your principles
and prejudices is impossible. Look your future in the face, dear heart.
Your little property must soon, as you cannot but admit, be consumed;
that meanwhile the fairy prince of your girlish dreams should appear as
your suitor is not within the bounds of probability. You must choose
between two courses, either to earn your living as a governess or to
give lessons; since you do not wish to leave your mother, you must
adopt the latter. Fancy it!--running about in galoshes and a
water-proof in all kinds of weathers, looked at askance by servants in
the halls, tormented by your clients and pupils, no gleam of light
anywhere, except in an occasional ticket for the theatre, either given
to you or purchased out of your small savings, and finally in your old
age a miserable invalid existence supported chiefly by the alms of a
few charitable pupils. This is the future that awaits you if you refuse
Monsieur de Hauterive. On the other hand, if you accept him, how
delightful a life you will lead! You can assist your mother and sister
largely, and will have nothing to do except to treat with a reasonable
degree of consideration a good husband who exacts no passionate
devotion from you, and to be the mistress, with all the grace and charm
natural to you, of one of the finest houses in Paris. Why, you cannot
possibly hesitate, my darling.'"
All three gentlemen have listened with exemplary patience to this
lengthy exordium,--Edmund with a gloomy frown, and Zino with the
half-contemptuous smile which he has taught himself to bestow upon the
most tragic occurrences, while Edgar's face tells no tale, as during
his sister-in-law's long speech it has been steadily turned away,
gazing into the fire.
"And what did the little Baroness have to say to your brilliant
argument in favour of a sensible marriage?" Zino asks, after a short
pause.
"For a moment she sat perfectly quiet: she had grown very pale, and her
breath came quick. Then she looked up at me out of those large, dark
eyes of hers, which you all know, and said,--
"'Yes, you are right. I will be sensible.'
"I took her in my arms, and exulted in my victory. I confess I had a
hard battle; but you must all admit that I was right."
"I admit that you went resolutely to work," says her husband, gloomily.
"What do you think, Edgar?"
"Since I have no personal knowledge of Monsieur Cabouat de Hauterive,
my opinion is of no value," Edgar replies, dryly.
"Well, you at least think I was right, Zino?" Therese exclaims, rather
piqued.
"Certainly," he replies, "since I have lately become quite too poor to
indulge in expensive pleasures, and consequently cannot marry for love.
I shall be glad at least to know Stella well taken care of."
"_Mauvais sujet!_" Therese laughs. "I see it is high time to marry you
off, or you'll be committing some stupidity. I must marry you all
off,--you too, Edgar--ah, _pardon_, I believe I did promise to leave
you unmolested; but I have such a superb match for you."
"Who is it?" asks Zino. "I am really curious."
"Natalie Lipinski."
"_Pardon_, there you are reckoning without your host," the Prince says,
almost crossly. "Natalie does not wish to marry."
"So say all girls, before the right man appears."
"You're wrong," Zino interposes. "I know of three people--hm! people of
some importance--to whom Natalie has given the mitten. Two of them I
cannot name: the third well, I myself am the third. She refused me
point-blank."
"_Tiens!_ now I guess the reason of your lasting friendship for
Natalie: you are ever grateful to her for that refusal!" Therese
laughs. "You and Natalie!--it is inconceivable."
"She pleased me," the Prince confesses. "'Tis strange: you're sure to
over-eat yourself on delicacies; you never do on good strong bouillon.
Natalie always reminds me of bouillon. She is the only girl for whom
ever since I first knew her--that is, ever since I was a boy--I have
felt the same degree of friendship. _Ca!_" he takes his watch out of
his pocket; "she begged me not to fail to come to the Rue de la Bruyere
to-day. Will not you come too, Edgar? She would be delighted to see
you."
Edgar lifts his brows with a bored expression. Before he finds time in
his slow way to answer, Therese interposes:
"Do go, Edgar, please! You must know that Monsieur de Hauterive is to
make his declaration to Stella to-day. I advised him to speak to her
before he preferred his suit to her mother: it is the fashion in
Austria. Stella would be sure to value such a concession to Austrian
custom. Yes, Edgar, go to the Lipinskis' and watch little Stella and
her adorer. If I were not so utterly done up I would go too, I am so
very curious."