ANXIETY.
By a singular coincidence of ideas, Adrienne, like Djalma, had wished to
be dressed exactly in the same costume as at their interview in the house
in the Rue Blanche. For the site of this solemn meeting, so important to
her future happiness, Adrienne had chosen, with habitual tact, the grand
drawing-room of Cardoville House, in which hung many family portraits.
The most apparent were those of her father and mother. The room was large
and lofty, and furnished, like those which preceded it, with all the
imposing splendor of the age of Louis XIV. The ceiling, painted by
Lebrun, to represent the Triumph of Apollo, displayed his bold designing
and vigorous coloring, in the centre of a wide cornice, magnificently
carved and gilt, and supported at its angles by four large gilt figures,
representing the Seasons. Huge panels, covered with crimson damask, and
set in frames, served as the background to the family portraits which
adorned this apartment. It is easier to conceive than describe the
thousand conflicting emotions which agitated the bosom of Mdlle. de
Cardoville as the moment approached for her interview with Djalma. Their
meeting had been hitherto prevented by so many painful obstacles, and
Adrienne was so well aware of the vigilant and active perfidy of her
enemies, that even now she doubted of her happiness. Every instant, in
spite of herself, her eyes wandered to the clock. A few minutes more, and
the hour of the appointment would strike. It struck at last. Every
reverberation was echoed from the depth of Adrienne's heart. She
considered that Djalma's modest reserve had, doubtless, prevented his
coming before the moment fixed by herself. Far from blaming this
discretion, she fully appreciated it. But, from that moment, at the least
noise in the adjoining apartments, she held her breath and listened with
the anxiety of expectation.
For the first few minutes which followed the hour at which she expected
Djalma, Mdlle. de Cardoville felt no serious apprehension, and calmed her
impatience by the notion (which appears childish enough to those who have
never known the feverish agitation of waiting for a happy meeting), that
perhaps the clocks in the Rue Blanche might vary a little from those in
the Rue d'Anjou. But when this supposed variation, conceivable enough in
itself, could no longer explain a delay of a quarter of an hour, of
twenty minutes, of more, Adrienne felt her anxiety gradually increase.
Two or three times the young girl rose, with palpitating heart, and went
on tip-toe to listen at the door of the saloon. She heard nothing. The
clock struck half-past three.
Unable to suppress her growing terror, and clinging to a last hope,
Adrienne returned towards the fireplace and rang the bell. After which
she endeavored to compose her features, so as to betray no outward sign
of emotion. In a few seconds, a gray-haired footman, dressed in black,
opened the door, and waited in respectful silence for the orders of his
mistress. The latter said to him, in a calm voice, "Andrew, request Hebe
to give you the smelling bottle that I left on the chimney-piece in my
room, and bring it me here." Andrew bowed; but just as he was about to
withdraw to execute Adrienne's orders, which was only a pretext to enable
her to ask a question without appearing to attach much importance to it
in her servant's eyes, already informed of the expected visit of the
prince, Mdlle. de Cardoville added, with an air of indifference. "Pray,
is that clock right?"
Andrew drew out his watch, and replied as he cast his eyes upon it, "Yes,
mademoiselle. I set my watch by the Tuileries. It is more than half past
three."
"Very well--thank you!" said Adrienne kindly.
Andrew again bowed; but, before going out, he said to Adrienne, "I forgot
to tell you, lady, that Marshal Simon called about an hour ago; but, as
you were only to be at home to Prince Djalma, we told him that you
received no company."
"Very well," said Adrienne. With another low bow, Andrew quitted the
room, and all returned to silence.
For the precise reason that, up to the last minute of the hour previous
to the time fixed for her interview with Djalma, the hopes of Adrienne
had not been disturbed by the slightest shadow of doubt, the
disappointment she now felt was the more dreadful. Casting a desponding
look at one of the portraits placed above her, she murmured, with a
plaintive and despairing accent, "Oh, mother!"
Hardly had Mdlle. de Cardoville uttered the words than the windows were
slightly shaken by a carriage rolling into the courtyard. The young lady
started, and was unable to repress a low cry of joy. Her heart bounded at
the thought of meeting Djalma, for this time she felt that he was really
come. She was quite as certain of it as if she had seen him. She resumed
her seat and brushed away a tear suspended from her long eyelashes. Her
hand trembled like a leaf. The sound of several doors opening and
shutting proved that the young lady was right in her conjecture. The
gilded panels of the drawing-room door soon turned upon their hinges, and
the prince appeared.
While a second footman ushered in Djalma, Andrew placed on a gilded
table, within reach of his mistress, a little silver salver, on which
stood the crystal smelling-bottle. Then he withdrew, and the door of the
room was closed. The prince and Mdlle. de Cardoville were left alone
together.