"But surely, M. le Comte, it would please me to receive these two
ladies. M. de Straz has just been speaking of Mademoiselle de
Bayard."
And he dismissed Straz, who for once had been stricken speechless;
giving his hand to him and saying: "I am very much obliged by your
visit, Monsieur!"
The equerry retired, shepherding the unstrung Roumanian. The Prince
waited, looking at the door.
He heard footsteps descending the stairs, a slight bustle in the
hall, or so it seemed to him. Once a raised voice cried out
something, drowned in the buzzing of the crowd that now gorged the
Place of the Prefecture.
It still rained. The brass helmets of the Fire-Brigade and the black
shakos of the local police strung out along the edge of the pavement,
showed as fringing a solid mass of dripping umbrellas; there were
clumps of more privileged umbrellas in the middle of the Place, where
a hackney-carriage now stood, doubtless the vehicle that a moment
previously had stopped before the door. The Cent Gardes had their
undress cocked-hats on; their blue-caped mantles, pulled out in
cavalry fashion over the hindquarters of their tall brown horses,
shed off the merciless downpour like penthouse roofs....
Brr! It was chilly. Why did not Mademoiselle come? Such delay was
rather a breach of etiquette.
Meanwhile, there upon the blotter lay a sheet of paper, with an
unfinished caricature upon it--masterly, considering that a mere boy
had drawn it--representing M. Thiers, bald, spectacled, oracularly
smiling, in the guise of a gobbling turkey-cock.
M. Thiers would keep. The Prince chose another sheet, and began his
portrait of the Roumanian, humming a song, popular with the African
infantry-regiments, in capital tune and time. "_Gentle Turco_" had
been half sung through when the door opened. The crisp grizzled
curls, tanned soldierly face, waxed mustache, and green-and-silver
uniform of the equerry reappeared upon the threshold, ushering in a
small young lady.... D'Aure said, as the boy laid down his pen, rose
and came toward them:
"Monseigneur, I bring the young lady of whom I spoke to you, daughter
of Colonel de Bayard, 777th Chasseurs of the Emperor's Guard. She
has convinced me of her identity by showing me a portrait, and a
letter from her father.... She begs me to assure you that she will
not detain you longer than ten minutes. For that space of time I
will return to the lady downstairs." He added at the Prince's glance
of inquiry: "The lady is the wife of a French officer, and
accompanied Mademoiselle de Bayard. As I went downstairs just now
with M. de Straz, we encountered both ladies in the vestibule. A
giddiness seized the elder, she cried out, and swooned away."
The Prince said:
"Pray give orders that the sick lady is to have every attention!"
D'Aure answered that the wife of the Prefect was with Madame even
then. He saluted, and repeated with an accent of finality:
"For the space of ten minutes, Monseigneur...."
Then he bowed to Mademoiselle de Bayard, and went quickly out of the
room.
The Prince began, with a touch of boyish pompousness:
"We have met before, Mademoiselle. My thanks for the violets!"
For he knew this face with cheeks so fairly rose-tinted, with eyes
that shone brilliant as blue jewels from their covert of black
lashes, with the softly-smiling mouth. The dull moth shone out a
butterfly in the radiance of the joy that overbrimmed her. She was
near her Prince Imperial, Juliette de Bayard, who was not so much
loyal as Loyalty incarnate, to whom the tawdry figure of the Emperor
was invested with godlike splendor, in whose esteem the Empire was
France--her France....
She was attired as she had been when she left Brussels with Adelaide.
Only a fichu of black and white Malines lace that she had brought in
the handbag containing linen and toilet requisites, had been pinned
about her narrow, sloping shoulders, and a tiny bonnet matching this
was perched upon her magnificent coils of cloudy-black hair. Her
deft fingers had fashioned it in a few minutes out of the long ends
of the over-ample fichu. A bunch of fragrant red roses had been
pinned upon her bosom by Madame. She had purchased out of her own
slender resources a fringed gray silk parasol and a pair of little
gray kid gloves. And in this hastily arranged toilette she looked
elegant, refined, exclusive as any slender aristocrat of the Faubourg
St. Germain. You would never have suspected the tumult beneath her
sedate composure. Yet she thrilled in every fiber as she swept her
stateliest curtsey before the slender boy in the unassuming uniform
of a subaltern of infantry.
"Monseigneur is too good to remember so infinitely trifling an
occurrence ... more than gracious to consent to receive me now! But
that my dear father is a prisoner in the hands of the Prussians, I
would not dare to intrude upon the privacy of my Prince. Oh,
Monseigneur! of your pity prevail upon the Emperor to obtain the
exchange of my father for some German officer of equal rank in his
Army! Think, oh, pray!--think how I..."
She stopped to control herself ... felt for her handkerchief to dry
the tears that were blinding her ... dropped the scrap of cambric
upon the Aubusson carpet gracing the drawing-room of the Prefecture.
The Prince picked the handkerchief up as Mademoiselle hastily stooped
to recover it ... their heads encountered in the act. The bump was a
hard one--Juliette could have sunk into the earth with confusion....
But the Prince rubbed his forehead, grinned, and called out like any
other schoolboy:
"My word! that was a stunner! I do hope you're not hurt? Are you,
as it happens, Mademoiselle?"
"No, no, Monseigneur! But you?..."
"I am all right! Saw lots of stars, though!"
He burst out laughing. And so infectious was the peal of merriment
that for one blissful moment of forgetfulness Juliette joined in.
"To laugh does the heart good," the boy assured her. He went on: "Do
not be unhappy, for I will telegraph to the Emperor. He never denies
me anything I ask him.... Depend upon it, he will do everything in
his power for your father, Mademoiselle!"
She looked all thanks, saying in her voice of silver:
"I shall pray with redoubled fervor for His Imperial Majesty. And
for you, Monseigneur--be well assured of it! Now, with all my
gratitude, I will retire if your Highness permits?"
She swept her curtsey, and would have withdrawn then had not
Monseigneur called out eagerly:
"No, no! We have still eight of our ten minutes! Don't go!... I do
so like the way you talk.... Mon Dieu! What would the Empress say
to me if she knew that I had left a lady standing! Pray sit down
here, Mademoiselle!"
He turned round the writing-chair in which he had been sitting, made
her take it--perched himself upon the corner of the writing-table, a
schoolboy of fifteen in spite of his uniform, pouring out his heart
to a girl older than he.
"It was horrible here until you came!... I was so lonely! Everybody
looks so strange, and no news comes through. It would have been
better to have stayed at Metz, where there is fighting. But no! We
were compelled to return to Châlons.... On our way we were nearly
caught by the German cavalry. They are terribly daring ... they even
ventured into our lines at Longeville.... But we got to Verdun and
traveled to Châlons in a third-class carriage. Frightfully dirty,
and full of things that bit.... And I washed my face in a thick
glass tumbler, out of which I had drunk some wine they brought me....
Fact, I assure you!... But we soldiers don't mind hardships.... We
get used to them, Mademoiselle!"
She looked up at the brightened face with the tenderness of an elder
sister. He went on with increasing animation and growing confidence:
"Do you see that little black box standing there in the corner?
That's my officer's kit--all the baggage we're allowed to have on
Active Service. There are other boxes with other things..." He
blushed. "The valets look after them.... But this I keep under my
own eye. And here!... This I hold as a great treasure. Do you
think I would show it to everyone?... _Non, merci!_ ... Behold,
Mademoiselle!"
He took from a pocket beneath his tunic and showed her a splinter of
rusty iron wrapped in an envelope.
"Guess what this is! A bit of a real German bombshell.... It burst
quite close to the Emperor and me.... I thought a lot of old iron
was being shot out of a cart, there was such a racket.... This
should be a keepsake for the friend one loves above all, should it
not? Otherwise I would give it you, Mademoiselle!"
She said:
"Monseigneur is too generous.... I need no token by which to
remember him!... Have I not the remembrance of the sympathy and
condescension with which my Prince has listened to a daughter's
prayer?... Now, indeed, I must take leave of Monseigneur!..."
He persisted with boyish eagerness:
"No, no! M. d'Aure will certainly return at the end of our ten
minutes. And I do like you so much, Mademoiselle!... Will you write
and tell me when the Emperor obtains the release of M. le Colonel?
... Will you let me hear how you liked the little sketch I gave M. de
Straz for you?"
She was puzzled, and looked it:
"Monseigneur will pardon me, but the name of M. de Straz is that of a
stranger.... Yet he has received from Monseigneur a message for
me?..."
Louis Napoleon explained. She listened with a gravity that chilled
his amusement over the message he had sent to the supposedly elderly
sender of the violets.
She said, looking at him steadily with her sincere eyes:
"I sent Monseigneur no violets, with messages written or otherwise.
To have done so would have been presumptuous, and lacking in
delicacy.... If this M. de Straz were but here.... If Monseigneur
could but describe him!..."
Monseigneur caught up the unfinished caricature:
"Look, Mademoiselle! This is he!"
It was he.... The Assyrian head, great torso, and short legs had
been grotesquely exaggerated. But the ferocity, sentimentality, and
sensuality mingling in the exotic temperament of the Roumanian, had
been conveyed with a mastery of technique and a grasp of character
astonishing, considering the artist's youth. And seeing, Juliette
recognized the man they had encountered in the vestibule. Just as he
had passed them, Adelaide had cried out, and sunk down helplessly in
a genuine swoon.
"Ah, yes, Monseigneur, I have seen this gentleman, but a few moments
ago. We encountered him at the instant of entering the house. But I
do not know him--I have never before met him! Why, then, should M.
de Straz speak familiarly of me?"
The boy said, with a tactfulness that was ingratiating:
"Never mind!... He was playing some stupid trick!... He shall be
punished if he offends you. See! I am tearing up the ugly picture!"
"Oh, Monseigneur!"
She was too late to save the drawing. He went on, tossing away the
bits:
"Meanwhile--since the sketch I meant for you has been given to this
person, you shall have my shell-splinter, though at first I meant it
for--Cavaignac."
He had never uttered this name, about which so many lonely day-dreams
clung, in the hearing of any second person. He could hardly believe
that he had done so now as he went on:
"Take my souvenir, and shut your hand over it, and promise me you
will never part with it. If you will, I can tell you about
Cavaignac--my friend, Mademoiselle!"
She complied with his wish, smiling at the tone of authority. She
thought, looking in the beautiful frank blue eyes, that Cavaignac
must be proud of his high place in this princely young heart.
"He is brave, Mademoiselle, and handsome and wonderfully clever.
Once he gained the second prize for Greek translation at the Concours
General. And Greek is horribly difficult. M. Edeline could never
teach it me. I find the grammar so dreadfully dull! And yet
Alexander the Great was a Greek general, and would have told me all
about his campaigns in the Greek language.... I think I must find it
hard to study because the figures of people mean more to me than
letters and words!... I like better to draw caricatures of my
masters than to listen to them!"
Juliette said, with something maternal in her accent:
"That is unwise, Monseigneur.... For the better we learn, the sooner
we part with the teacher, do not we?"
He said, in a tone of wounded pride rather than vanity:
"I have always attended carefully to my Military Governor when he
gave us lessons in scientific warfare. For a Napoleon must always be
a soldier and a strategist.... Riding came easily--anybody can learn
to ride well!... When I have pleased my tutors most, my reward has
been--unless it was in July or August--a day with the stag-hounds at
Fontainebleau, or St. Germain or Compiègne.... The Emperor has given
me two magnificent Irish hunters...." He added with naïve boyish
vanity: "And the uniform of our Imperial Hunt is splendid, you
know.... Gold-laced cocked hat with white plumes, green coat with
crimson velvet facings, white leathers and jack-boots. Last night I
dreamed I was hunting with Cavaignac ... the brown forest flying by
as we galloped through the frosty fern.... The sky was pale red, and
a diamond star hung just under the tip of the new moon of November.
We were foremost of all when the stag turned to bay at the Pools of
Saint Pierre.... Then the horns sounded the _hallali_, the Chief
Huntsman offered me the knife, and I said to him: '_M. Leemans, you
will give it to my friend, M. Cavaignac!_' ..."
"And then, Monseigneur?..."
He had told the dream with unexpected spirit and fire. That gallop
through the wintry forest-rides had been stimulatingly real to
Juliette. She had thrilled as the hard-pressed buck had leaped into
the pool, and turned with antlers lowered against the ravening jaws
of the pack. Now, though she shrank from the thought of the spilled
blood--she wanted to hear the rest of it. She wished always to
remember this story, told solely for her, by the son of her
Emperor....
"Shall I tell you? The end is not as nice as the beginning or the
middle...." He hesitated, frowning a little, then took up the broken
thread: "I thought I took the knife and held it out to him, and he
suddenly snatched it and I felt the blade pierce my heart right
through.... He said, with his dark, bright eyes on mine: '_Son of my
father's enemy, I slay despots, not animals!_' ... And I felt the hot
blood bubbling in my throat as I answered: '_You have killed a great
faith and a great love!_'"
It was rhetoric of a bombastic, youthful kind, but not without
pathos. His lips quivered. He nipped them together, and blinked
away the stinging salt moisture that had risen in his bright eyes.
Juliette said, aching to console him:
"Dreams go by contraries, according to my schoolmates of the Convent.
Your friendship with M. Cavaignac will not be severed by the blade of
a hunting-knife."
He shook his head.
"Or rather it is by my hand that the stab will be given.... Yet how
could that be, when I like him so very, very much? ... Is it not
strange, I have never spoken to Cavaignac, and yet I would have
chosen him for my companion above all others, before even Espinasse
or Chino Murat!..."
"I think I understand..." Juliette said, feeling the tug of his
craving for affection and sympathy, realizing the loneliness that had
found relief in hero-worship, and heartily pitying her Emperor's son.
"When the heart speaks, one cannot shut one's ears; one must listen
always.... Among hundreds of faces there is one that paints itself
upon the memory ... there is one voice that makes good music when
others only tire the ear.... There is one nature that seems more
open, fresh, and candid than others.... Without knowing that you do
so, you continually compare it with them.... And when you are sad or
lonely, you would wish that person to be near you.... You remember
his gray eyes with specks of brown and golden in them, and the curly
hair, and the pleasant lips. You regret that when you met him you
were not more charming, more amiable.... You feel chagrin to
remember that you were neither of these things.... You would like to
hold out the hand as they do in England, and say, 'Pardon, pardon,
that I misunderstood you, my friend!'"
The boy's blue eyes rounded. His fair brows puckered in perplexity.
Too well-bred to interrupt, he listened with increasing surprise.
"Pardon that I regarded you as a brusque, untidy boy, when you had
been robbed, and were homeless, and suffering from hunger. For
Monica's sake, you hid it. And I applaud that noble silence! I
admire you with all my heart!..."
The Prince broke in:
"But Cavaignac has not been robbed, and who ever said he was hungry?
He lives with Madame, his mother ... they are not rich, certainly!
As Madame is a widow and he an only son, he is exempt from military
service. He is to embrace the profession of Literature--he will
write great books or great plays, or edit a newspaper.... And I
would like to help him to climb to the very top of the ladder....
Secretly--because he would never accept anything that came from
me!... Am I stupid, Mademoiselle?"
She said with warmth that covered a slight confusion, caused by that
slip of the tongue an instant before:
"Ah, no, indeed! but very kind and generous. Perhaps, if it were
possible, M. Cavaignac would be proud and glad to know you were his
friend. It may be that the affection he inspires in you, he returns,
though he does not own it. There can be no harm in thinking this, at
least!"
The Prince said, with animation: