buried, spirited away by a parliamentary commission. All who had been
compromised in it, the Duthils, the Chaigneux, the Fonsegues and others,
could now laugh merrily. They had been delivered from their nightmare by
Monferrand's strong fist, and raised by Duvillard's triumph. Even
Sagnier's ignoble article and miry revelations in the "Voix du Peuple"
were of no real account, and could be treated with a shrug of the
shoulders, for the public had been so saturated with denunciation and
slander that it was now utterly weary of all noisy scandal. The only
thing which aroused interest was the rumour that Duvillard's big affair
of the Trans-Saharan Railway was soon to be launched, that millions of
money would be handled, and that some of them would rain down upon
faithful friends.
Whilst Duvillard was conversing in a friendly way with Monferrand and
Dauvergne, the Minister of Public Instruction, who had joined them,
Massot encountered Fonsegue, his editor, and said to him in an undertone:
"Duthil has just assured me that the Trans-Saharan business is ready, and
that they mean to chance it with the Chamber. They declare that they are
certain of success."
Fonsegue, however, was sceptical on the point. "It's impossible," said
he; "they won't dare to begin again so soon."
Although he spoke in this fashion, the news had made him grave. He had
lately had such a terrible fright through his imprudence in the African
Railways affair, that he had vowed he would take every precaution in
future. Still, this did not mean that he would refuse to participate in
matters of business. The best course was to wait and study them, and then
secure a share in all that seemed profitable. In the present instance he
felt somewhat worried. However, whilst he stood there watching the group
around Duvillard and the two ministers, he suddenly perceived Chaigneux,
who, flitting hither and thither, was still beating up applauders for
that evening's performance. He sang Silviane's praises in every key,
predicted a most tremendous success, and did his very best to stimulate
curiosity. At last he approached Dauvergne, and with his long figure bent
double exclaimed: "My dear Minister, I have a particular request to make
to you on the part of a very charming person, whose victory will not be
complete this evening if you do not condescend to favour her with your
vote."
Dauvergne, a tall, fair, good-looking man, whose blue eyes smiled behind
his glasses, listened to Chaigneux with an affable air. He was proving a
great success at the Ministry of Public Instruction, although he knew
nothing of University matters. However, like a real Parisian of Dijon, as
people called him, he was possessed of some tact and skill, gave
entertainments at which his young and charming wife outshone all others,
and passed as being quite an enlightened friend of writers and artists.
Silviane's engagement at the Comedie, which so far was his most notable
achievement, and which would have shaken the position of any other
minister, had by a curious chance rendered him popular. It was regarded
as something original and amusing.
On understanding that Chaigneux simply wished to make sure of his
presence at the Comedie that evening, he became yet more affable. "Why,
certainly, I shall be there, my dear deputy," he replied. "When one has
such a charming god-daughter one mustn't forsake her in a moment of
danger."
At this Monferrand, who had been lending ear, turned round. "And tell
her," said he, "that I shall be there, too. She may therefore rely on
having two more friends in the house."
Thereupon Duvillard, quite enraptured, his eyes glistening with emotion
and gratitude, bowed to the two ministers as if they had granted him some
never-to-be-forgotten favour.
When Chaigneux, on his side also, had returned thanks with a low bow, he
happened to perceive Fonsegue, and forthwith he darted towards him and
led him aside. "Ah! my dear colleague," he declared, "it is absolutely
necessary that this matter should be settled. I regard it as of supreme
importance."
"What are you speaking of?" inquired Fonsegue, much surprised.
"Why, of Massot's article, which you won't insert."
Thereupon, the director of the "Globe" plumply declared that he could not
insert the article. He talked of his paper's dignity and gravity; and
declared that the lavishing of such fulsome praise upon a hussy--yes, a
mere hussy, in a journal whose exemplary morality and austerity had cost
him so much labour, would seem monstrous and degrading. Personally, he
did not care a fig about it if Silviane chose to make an exhibition of
herself, well, he would be there to see; but the "Globe" was sacred.
Disconcerted and almost tearful, Chaigneux nevertheless renewed his
attempt. "Come, my dear colleague," said he, "pray make a little effort
for my sake. If the article isn't inserted, Duvillard will think that it
is my fault. And you know that I really need his help. My eldest
daughter's marriage has again been postponed, and I hardly know where to
turn." Then perceiving that his own misfortunes in no wise touched
Fonsegue, he added: "And do it for your own sake, my dear colleague, your
own sake. For when all is said Duvillard knows what is in the article,
and it is precisely because it is so favourable a one that he wishes to
see it in the 'Globe.' Think it over; if the article isn't published, he
will certainly turn his back on you."
For a moment Fonsegue remained silent. Was he thinking of the colossal
Trans-Saharan enterprise? Was he reflecting that it would be hard to
quarrel at such a moment and miss his own share in the coming
distribution of millions among faithful friends? Perhaps so; however, the
idea that it would be more prudent to await developments gained the day
with him. "No, no," he said, "I can't, it's a matter of conscience."
In the mean time congratulations were still being tendered to the newly
wedded couple. It seemed as if all Paris were passing through the
sacristy; there were ever the same smiles and the same hand shakes.
Gerard, Camille and their relatives, however weary they might feel, were
forced to retain an air of delight while they stood there against the
wall, pent up by the crowd. The heat was now becoming unbearable, and a
cloud of dust arose as when some big flock goes by.
All at once little Princess de Harn, who had hitherto lingered nobody
knew where, sprang out of the throng, flung her arms around Camille,
kissed even Eve, and then kept Gerard's hand in her own while paying him
extraordinary compliments. Then, on perceiving Hyacinthe, she took
possession of him and carried him off into a corner. "I say," she
exclaimed, "I have a favour to ask you."
The young man was wonderfully silent that day. His sister's wedding
seemed to him a contemptible ceremony, the most vulgar that one could
imagine. So here, thought he, was another pair accepting the horrid
sexual law by which the absurdity of the world was perpetuated! For his
part, he had decided that he would witness the proceedings in rigid
silence, with a haughty air of disapproval. When Rosemonde spoke to him,
he looked at her rather nervously, for he was glad that she had forsaken
him for Duthil, and feared some fresh caprice on her part. At last,
opening his mouth for the first time that day, he replied: "Oh, as a
friend, you know, I will grant you whatever favour you like."
Forthwith the Princess explained that she would surely die if she did not
witness the _debut_ of her dear friend Silviane, of whom she had become
such a passionate admirer. So she begged the young man to prevail on his
father to give her a seat in his box, as she knew that one was left
there.
Hyacinthe smiled. "Oh, willingly, my dear," said he; "I'll warn papa,
there will be a seat for you."
Then, as the procession of guests at last drew to an end and the vestry
began to empty, the bridal pair and their relatives were able to go off
through the chattering throng, which still lingered about to bow to them
and scrutinise them once more.
Gerard and Camille were to leave for an estate which Duvillard possessed
in Normandy, directly after lunch. This repast, served at the princely
mansion of the Rue Godot-de-Mauroy, provided an opportunity for fresh
display. The dining-room on the first floor had been transformed into a
buffet, where reigned the greatest abundance and the most wonderful
sumptuousness. Quite a reception too was held in the drawing-rooms, the
large red _salon_, the little blue and silver _salon_ and all the others,
whose doors stood wide open. Although it had been arranged that only
family friends should be invited, there were quite three hundred people
present. The ministers had excused themselves, alleging that the weighty
cares of public business required their presence elsewhere. But the
magistrates, the deputies and the leading journalists who had attended
the wedding were again assembled together. And in that throng of hungry
folks, longing for some of the spoils of Duvillard's new venture, the
people who felt most out of their element were Madame de Quinsac's few
guests, whom General de Bozonnet and the Marquis de Morigny had seated on
a sofa in the large red _salon_, which they did not quit.
Eve, who for her part felt quite overcome, both her moral and physical
strength being exhausted, had seated herself in the little blue and
silver drawing-room, which, with her passion for flowers, she had
transformed into an arbour of roses. She would have fallen had she
remained standing, the very floor had seemed to sink beneath her feet.
Nevertheless, whenever a guest approached her she managed to force a
smile, and appear beautiful and charming. Unlooked-for help at last came
to her in the person of Monseigneur Martha, who had graciously honoured
the lunch with his presence. He took an armchair near her, and began to
talk to her in his amiable, caressing way. He was doubtless well aware of
the frightful anguish which wrung the poor woman's heart, for he showed
himself quite fatherly, eager to comfort her. She, however, talked on
like some inconsolable widow bent on renouncing the world for God, who
alone could bring her peace. Then, as the conversation turned on the
Asylum for the Invalids of Labour, she declared that she was resolved to
take her presidency very seriously, and, in fact, would exclusively
devote herself to it, in the future.
"And as we are speaking of this, Monseigneur," said she, "I would even
ask you to give me some advice. . . . I shall need somebody to help me,
and I thought of securing the services of a priest whom I much admire,
Monsieur l'Abbe Pierre Froment."
At this the Bishop became grave and embarrassed; but Princess Rosemonde,
who was passing by with Duthil, had overheard the Baroness, and drawing
near with her wonted impetuosity, she exclaimed: "Abbe Pierre Froment!
Oh! I forgot to tell you, my dear, that I met him going about in jacket
and trousers! And I've been told too that he cycles in the Bois with some
creature or other. Isn't it true, Duthil, that we met him?"
The deputy bowed and smiled, whilst Eve clasped her hands in amazement.
"Is it possible! A priest who was all charitable fervour, who had the
faith and passion of an apostle!"
Thereupon Monseigneur intervened: "Yes, yes, great sorrows occasionally
fall upon the Church. I heard of the madness of the unhappy man you speak
of. I even thought it my duty to write to him, but he left my letter
unanswered. I should so much have liked to stifle such a scandal! But
there are abominable forces which we cannot always overcome; and so a day
or two ago the archbishop was obliged to put him under interdict. . . .
You must choose somebody else, madame."
It was quite a disaster. Eve gazed at Rosemonde and Duthil, without
daring to ask them for particulars, but wondering what creature could
have been so audacious as to turn a priest from the path of duty. She
must assuredly be some shameless demented woman! And it seemed to Eve as
if this crime gave a finishing touch to her own misfortune. With a wave
of the arm, which took in all the luxury around her, the roses steeping
her in perfume, and the crush of guests around the buffet, she murmured:
"Ah! decidedly there's nothing but corruption left; one can no longer
rely on anybody!"
Whilst this was going on, Camille happened to be alone in her own room
getting ready to leave the house with Gerard. And all at once her brother
Hyacinthe joined her there. "Ah! it's you, youngster!" she exclaimed.
"Well, make haste if you want to kiss me, for I'm off now, thank
goodness!"
He kissed her as she suggested, and then in a doctoral way replied: "I
thought you had more self-command. The delight you have been showing all
this morning quite disgusts me."
A quiet glance of contempt was her only answer. However, he continued:
"You know very well that she'll take your Gerard from you again, directly
you come back to Paris."
At this Camille's cheeks turned white and her eyes flared. She stepped
towards her brother with clenched fists: "She! you say that she will take
him from me!"
The "she" they referred to was their own mother.
"Listen, my boy! I'll kill her first!" continued Camille. "Ah, no! she
needn't hope for that. I shall know how to keep the man that belongs to
me. . . . And as for you, keep your spite to yourself, for I know you,
remember; you are a mere child and a fool!"
He recoiled as if a viper were rearing its sharp, slender black head
before him; and having always feared her, he thought it best to beat a
retreat.
While the last guests were rushing upon the buffet and finishing the
pillage there, the bridal pair took their leave, before driving off to
the railway station. General de Bozonnet had joined a group in order to
vent his usual complaints about compulsory military service, and the
Marquis de Morigny was obliged to fetch him at the moment when the
Countess de Quinsac was kissing her son and daughter-in-law. The old lady
trembled with so much emotion that the Marquis respectfully ventured to
sustain her. Meantime, Hyacinthe had started in search of his father, and
at last found him near a window with the tottering Chaigneux, whom he was
violently upbraiding, for Fonsegue's conscientious scruples had put him
in a fury. Indeed, if Massot's article should not be inserted in the
"Globe," Silviane might lay all the blame upon him, the Baron, and wreak
further punishment upon him. However, upon being summoned by his son he
had to don his triumphal air once more, kiss his daughter on the
forehead, shake hands with his son-in-law, jest and wish them both a
pleasant journey. Then Eve, near whom Monseigneur Martha had remained,
smiling, in her turn had to say farewell. In this she evinced touching
bravery; her determination to remain beautiful and charming until the
very end lent her sufficient strength to show herself both gay and
motherly.
She took hold of the slightly quivering hand which Gerard proffered with
some embarrassment, and ventured to retain it for a moment in her own, in
a good-hearted, affectionate way, instinct with all the heroism of
renunciation. "Good by, Gerard," she said, "keep in good health, be
happy." Then turning to Camille she kissed her on both cheeks, while
Monseigneur Martha sat looking at them with an air of indulgent sympathy.
They wished each other "Au revoir," but their voices trembled, and their
eyes in meeting gleamed like swords; in the same way as beneath the
kisses they had exchanged they had felt each other's teeth. Ah! how it
enraged Camille to see her mother still so beautiful and fascinating in
spite of age and grief! And for Eve how great the torture of beholding
her daughter's youth, that youth which had overcome her, and was for ever
wresting love from within her reach! No forgiveness was possible between
them; they would still hate one another even in the family tomb, where
some day they would sleep side by side.
All the same, that evening Baroness Duvillard excused herself from
attending the performance of "Polyeucte" at the Comedie Francaise. She
felt very tired and wished to go to bed early, said she. As a matter of
fact she wept on her pillow all night long. Thus the Baron's stage-box on
the first balcony tier contained only himself, Hyacinthe, Duthil, and
little Princess de Harn.
At nine o'clock there was a full house, one of the brilliant chattering
houses peculiar to great dramatic solemnities. All the society people who
had marched through the sacristy of the Madeleine that morning were now
assembled at the theatre, again feverish with curiosity, and on the
lookout for the unexpected. One recognised the same faces and the sane
smiles; the women acknowledged one another's presence with little signs
of intelligence, the men understood each other at a word, a gesture. One
and all had kept the appointment, the ladies with bared shoulders, the
gentlemen with flowers in their button-holes. Fonsegue occupied the
"Globe's" box, with two friendly families. Little Massot had his
customary seat in the stalls. Amadieu, who was a faithful patron of the
Comedie, was also to be seen there, as well as General de Bozonnet and
Public Prosecutor Lehmann. The man who was most looked at, however, on
account of his scandalous article that morning, was Sagnier, the terrible
Sagnier, looking bloated and apoplectical. Then there was Chaigneux, who
had kept merely a modest bracket-seat for himself, and who scoured the
passages, and climbed to every tier, for the last time preaching
enthusiasm. Finally, the two ministers Monferrand and Dauvergne appeared
in the box facing Duvillard's; whereupon many knowing smiles were
exchanged, for everybody was aware that these personages had come to help
on the success of the _debutante_.
On the latter point there had still been unfavourable rumours only the
previous day. Sagnier had declared that the _debut_ of such a notorious
harlot as Silviane at the Comedie Francaise, in such a part too as that
of "Pauline," which was one of so much moral loftiness, could only be
regarded as an impudent insult to public decency. The whole press,
moreover, had long been up in arms against the young woman's
extraordinary caprice. But then the affair had been talked of for six
months past, so that Paris had grown used to the idea of seeing Silviane
at the Comedie. And now it flocked thither with the one idea of being
entertained. Before the curtain rose one could tell by the very
atmosphere of the house that the audience was a jovial, good-humoured
one, bent on enjoying itself, and ready to applaud should it find itself
at all pleased.
The performance really proved extraordinary. When Silviane, chastely
robed, made her appearance in the first act, the house was quite
astonished by her virginal face, her innocent-looking mouth, and her eyes
beaming with immaculate candour. Then, although the manner in which she
had understood her part at first amazed people, it ended by charming
them. From the moment of confiding in "Stratonice," from the moment of
relating her dream, she turned "Pauline" into a soaring mystical
creature, some saint, as it were, such as one sees in stained-glass
windows, carried along by a Wagnerian Brunhilda riding the clouds. It was
a thoroughly ridiculous conception of the part, contrary to reason and
truth alike. Still, it only seemed to interest people the more, partly on
account of mysticism being the fashion, and partly on account of the
contrast between Silviane's assumed candour and real depravity. Her
success increased from act to act, and some slight hissing which was
attributed to Sagnier only helped to make the victory more complete.
Monferrand and Dauvergne, as the newspapers afterwards related, gave the
signal for applause; and the whole house joined in it, partly from
amusement and partly perhaps in a spirit of irony.
During the interval between the fourth and fifth acts there was quite a
procession of visitors to Duvillard's box, where the greatest excitement
prevailed. Duthil, however, after absenting himself for a moment, came
back to say: "You remember our influential critic, the one whom I brought
to dinner at the Cafe Anglais? Well, he's repeating to everybody that
'Pauline' is merely a little _bourgeoise_, and is not transformed by the
heavenly grace until the very finish of the piece. To turn her into a
holy virgin from the outset simply kills the part, says he."
"Pooh!" repeated Duvillard, "let him argue if he likes, it will be all
the more advertisement. . . . The important point is to get Massot's
article inserted in the 'Globe' to-morrow morning."
On this point, unfortunately, the news was by no means good. Chaigneux,
who had gone in search of Fonsegue, declared that the latter still
hesitated in the matter in spite of Silviane's success, which he declared
to be ridiculous. Thereupon, the Baron became quite angry. "Go and tell
Fonsegue," he exclaimed, "that I insist on it, and that I shall remember
what he does."
Meantime Princess Rosemonde was becoming quite delirious with enthusiasm.
"My dear Hyacinthe," she pleaded, "please take me to Silviane's
dressing-room; I can't wait, I really must go and kiss her."
"But we'll all go!" cried Duvillard, who heard her entreaty.
The passages were crowded, and there were people even on the stage.
Moreover, when the party reached the door of Silviane's dressing-room,
they found it shut. When the Baron knocked at it, a dresser replied that
madame begged the gentlemen to wait a moment.
"Oh! a woman may surely go in," replied Rosemonde, hastily slipping
through the doorway. "And you may come, Hyacinthe," she added; "there can
be no objection to you."
Silviane was very hot, and a dresser was wiping her perspiring shoulders
when Rosemonde darted forward and kissed her. Then they chatted together
amidst the heat and glare from the gas and the intoxicating perfumes of
all the flowers which were heaped up in the little room. Finally,
Hyacinthe heard them promise to see one another after the performance,
Silviane even inviting Rosemonde to drink a cup of tea with her at her
house. At this the young man smiled complacently, and said to the
actress: "Your carriage is waiting for you at the corner of the Rue
Montpensier, is it not? Well, I'll take the Princess to it. That will be
the simpler plan, you can both go off together!"
"Oh! how good of you," cried Rosemonde; "it's agreed."
Just then the door was opened, and the men, being admitted, began to pour
forth their congratulations. However, they had to regain their seats in
all haste so as to witness the fifth act. This proved quite a triumph,
the whole house bursting into applause when Silviane spoke the famous
line, "I see, I know, I believe, I am undeceived," with the rapturous
enthusiasm of a holy martyr ascending to heaven. Nothing could have been
more soul-like, it was said. And so when the performers were called
before the curtain, Paris bestowed an ovation on that virgin of the
stage, who, as Sagnier put it, knew so well how to act depravity at home.
Accompanied by Duthil, Duvillard at once went behind the scenes in order
to fetch Silviane, while Hyacinthe escorted Rosemonde to the brougham
waiting at the corner of the Rue Montpensier. Having helped her into it,
the young man stood by, waiting. And he seemed to grow quite merry when
his father came up with Silviane, and was stopped by her, just as, in his
turn, he wished to get into the carriage.
"There's no room for you, my dear fellow," said she. "I've a friend with
me."
Rosemonde's little smiling face then peered forth from the depths of the
brougham. And the Baron remained there open-mouthed while the vehicle
swiftly carried the two women away!
"Well, what would you have, my dear fellow?" said Hyacinthe, by way of
explanation to Duthil, who also seemed somewhat amazed by what had
happened. "Rosemonde was worrying my life out, and so I got rid of her by
packing her off with Silviane."
Duvillard was still standing on the pavement and still looking dazed when
Chaigneux, who was going home quite tired out, recognised him, and came
up to say that Fonsegue had thought the matter over, and that Massot's
article would be duly inserted. In the passages, too, there had been a
deal of talk about the famous Trans-Saharan project.