ROHRITZ DREAMS.
"She has given him the sack."
"So it seems."
"A pretty affair! How pleased Therese will be!"
The speakers are Capito and Edgar as they leave the Rue de la Bruyere,
where the small hotel which the Lipinskis have rented is situated, and
walk along under the blue-black heavens glittering with millions of
stars, to the more animated part of Paris.
"Yes, Therese will be pleased," Edgar murmurs, repeating Zino's words.
"It serves her right," Zino says, laughing. "I must confess, Stella
ought not to have let matters go so far; but I cannot help liking it in
her that she refused the fellow. Natalie and I were looking at her; it
was immensely funny,--and yet so sad. Ah, that poor, distressed, pale
face! After it was all over, Natascha--she has lately grown very
intimate with Stella--called the girl into a little private boudoir,
where the poor child began to sob bitterly. Natascha kissed her and
comforted her, I brought her a cup of tea, and we gradually soothed
her."
"Disgusting creature, that Cabouat!" growls Rohritz.
"In my opinion he is an awkward, common snob," says Zino, "and if I am
not mistaken he will shortly prove himself to be so in the eyes of
every one. The affair cannot fail to be unpleasant, since he has been
boasting everywhere that he intended to marry a most beautiful
Austrian, a friend of Madame de Rohritz, a charming young girl, very
highly connected, and with no dowry."
"He is at perfect liberty to say that at the last moment he changed his
mind," Rohritz remarks, casually.
"I rather think he'll not content himself with that. _Ca_, you are
coming with me to the masked ball at the opera?"
"Not exactly. I am going to bed."
"Indolent, degenerate race!" Zino jeers. "What is to become of Paris,
if this indifference to all gaiety gets the upper hand? I dreamed last
night of a white domino: I am going to look for it." So saying, he
leaves Edgar, and has walked on a few steps, when he hears himself
recalled.
"Capito! Capito!"
"What is it?"
"Pray get me an invitation to the Fanes' ball; it is short notice,
but----"
"All right: that's of no consequence at an American's ball," Zino
replies, and hurries on to his goal. The two men turn their steps in
opposite directions. Capito hastens back into the heart of Paris, where
the garish light from gas-jets and lamps illuminates a night life as
busy as that of the day, and Rohritz passes along the Boulevard
Malesherbes, towards the Rue Villiers. Around him all is quiet; the few
shops are closed; an occasional pedestrian passes, his coat-collar
drawn up over his ears, and humming some _cafe-chantant_ air, or a
carriage with coach-lamps sparkles along the middle of the street like
a huge firefly. The street-cars are no longer running: the street is
but dimly lighted. The Dumas monument looms, clumsy and awkward, on its
huge pedestal in the little square on the Place Malesherbes.
A thousand delightful thoughts course through Rohritz's brain. What a
pleasant hour he has had talking with Stella at the Lipinskis'! At
first she was stiff towards him, but gradually, slowly, she thawed into
the loveliest, most child-like confidence. He will wait no longer. At
the Fanes' ball, the next evening but one, he will confess all to her.
What will she reply? Blind as are all mortals to the future, he looks
back, and seeks her answer in the past. Slowly, slowly, he passes in
review all the lovely summer days which he has spent with her, to that
evening when he carried her in his arms through the drenching rain
across the slippery, muddy road. Again he sees the windows of the
little inn gleam yellow through the gloom; he hears Stella's soft word
of thanks as he puts her down on the threshold. The picture changes. He
sees a large, watery moon gleaming through prismatic clouds, sees a
little skiff by the shore of a dark, swollen stream, and in the skiff,
at his--Edgar's--feet, kneels a slender girl in a light dress,
trembling with distress, her eyes imploringly raised to his, her
delicate hands clasping his arm.
He bends over her. "Stella, my poor, dear, unreasonable child!" He has
lifted her, clasps her in his arms, presses his lips upon her golden
hair, her eyes, her mouth---- With a sudden start he rouses from his
dream to find that he has run against a passer-by, who is saying,
crossly, "_Mais comment donc?_ Is not the pavement wide enough for
two?" And, looking up, Edgar perceives that he has already passed ten
numbers beyond his brother's hotel.