A SIGNIFICANT MEETING
The mansion in the Rue Saint-Dominique is certainly one of the finest to
be seen. Sovereigns alone have more sumptuous palaces. The wide
staircase, of carved oak, is bordered by a bronze balustrade, made by
Ghirlandajo, and brought from Florence by Sommervieux, the great dealer
in curiosities. Baron Rothschild would consent to give only a hundred
thousand francs for it. Madame Desvarennes bought it. The large panels
of the staircase are hung with splendid tapestry, from designs by
Boucher, representing the different metamorphoses of Jupiter. At each
landing-place stands a massive Japanese vase of 'claisonne' enamel,
supported by a tripod of Chinese bronze, representing chimeras. On the
first floor, tall columns of red granite, crowned by gilt capitals,
divide the staircase from a gallery, serving as a conservatory. Plaited
blinds of crimson silk hang before the Gothic windows, filled with
marvellous stained glass.
In the vestibule-the hangings of which are of Cordova-leather, with gold
ground-seemingly awaiting the good pleasure of some grand lady, is a
sedan-chair, decorated with paintings by Fragonard. Farther on, there is
one of those superb carved mother-of-pearl coffers, in which Oriental
women lay by their finery and jewellery. A splendid Venetian mirror,
its frame embellished with tiny figure subjects, and measuring two metres
in width and three in height, fills a whole panel of the vestibule.
Portieres of Chinese satin, ornamented with striking embroidery, such as
figures on a priest's chasuble, fall in sumptuous folds at the drawing-
room and dining-room doors.
The drawing-room contains a splendid set of Louis Quatorze furniture,
of gilt wood, upholstered in fine tapestry, in an extraordinary state of
preservation. Three crystal lustres, hanging at intervals along the
room, sparkle like diamonds. The hangings, of woven silk and gold, are
those which were sent as a present by Louis Quatorze to Monsieur de
Pimentel, the Spanish Ambassador, to reward him for the part he had taken
in the conclusion of the Treaty of the Pyrenees. These hangings are
unique, and were brought back from Spain in 1814, in the baggage-train of
Soult's army, and sold to an inhabitant of Toulouse for ten thousand
francs. It was there that Madame Desvarennes discovered them in a garret
in 1864, neglected by the grandchildren of the buyer, who were ignorant
of the immense value of such unrivalled work. Cleverly mended, they are
to-day the pride of the great trader's drawing-room. On the mantelpiece
there is a large clock in Chinese lacquer, ornamented with gilt bronze,
made on a model sent out from Paris in the reign of Louis Quatorze, and
representing the Flight of the Hours pursued by Time.
Adjoining the great drawing-room is a boudoir upholstered in light gray
silk damask, with bouquets of flowers. This is Madame Desvarennes's
favorite room. A splendid Erard piano occupies one side of the
apartment. Facing it is a sideboard in sculptured ebony, enriched with
bronze, by Gouthieres. There are only two pictures on the walls: "The
Departure of the Newly Married Couple," exquisitely painted by Lancret;
and "The Prediction," an adorable work by Watteau, bought at an
incredible price at the Pourtales sale. Over the chimney-piece is a
miniature by Pommayrac, representing Micheline as a little child--a
treasure which Madame Desvarennes cannot behold without tears coming to
her eyes. A door, hidden by curtains, opens on to a staircase leading
directly to the courtyard.
The dining-room is in the purest Renaissance style austere woodwork;
immense chests of caned pearwood, on which stand precious ewers in Urbino
ware, and dishes by Bernard Palissy. The high stone fireplace is
surmounted by a portrait of Diana of Poitiers, with a crescent on her
brow, and is furnished with firedogs of elaborately worked iron. The
centre panel bears the arms of Admiral Bonnivet. Stained-glass windows
admit a softly-tinted light. From the magnificently painted ceiling, a
chandelier of brass repousse work hangs from the claws of a hovering
eagle.
The billiard-room is in the Indian style. Magnificent panoplies unite
Rajpoot shields, Mahratta scimitars, helmets with curtains of steel,
rings belonging to Afghan chiefs, and long lances ornamented with white
mares' tails, wielded by the horsemen of Cabul. The walls are painted
from designs brought from Lahore. The panels of the doors were decorated
by Gerome. The great artist has painted Nautch girls twisting their
floating scarves, and jugglers throwing poignards into the air. Around
the room are low divans, covered with soft and brilliant Oriental cloth.
The chandelier is quite original in form, being the exact representation
of the god Vishnu. From the centre of the body hangs a lotus leaf of
emeralds, and from each of the four arms is suspended a lamp shaped like
a Hindu pagoda, which throws out a mellow light.
Madame Desvarennes was entertaining her visitors in these celebrated
apartments that evening. Marechal and Pierre had just come in, and were
talking together near the fireplace. A few steps from them was a group,
consisting of Cayrol, Madame Desvarennes, and a third person, who had
never until then put his foot in the house, in spite of intercessions in
his favor made by the banker to Madame Desvarennes. He was a tall, pale,
thin man, whose skin seemed stretched on his bones, with a strongly
developed under-jaw, like that of a ravenous animal, and eyes of
indefinable color, always changing, and veiled behind golden-rimmed
spectacles. His hands were soft and smooth, with moist palms and closely
cut nails--vicious hands, made to take cunningly what they coveted. He
had scanty hair, of a pale yellow, parted just above the ear, so as to
enable him to brush it over the top of his head. This personage, clad in
a double-breasted surtout, over a white waistcoat, and wearing a many-
colored rosette, was called Hermann Herzog.
A daring financier, he had come from Luxembourg, preceded by a great
reputation; and, in a few months, he had launched in Paris such a series
of important affairs that the big-wigs on the Exchange felt bound to
treat with him. There were many rumors current about him. Some said he
was the most intelligent, most active, and most scrupulous of men that it
was possible to meet. Others said that no greater scoundrel had ever
dared the vengeance of the law, after plundering honest people. Of
German nationality, those who cried him down said he was born at Mayence.
Those who treated the rumors as legends said he was born at Frankfort,
the most Gallic town beyond the river Rhine.
He had just completed an important line of railway from Morocco to the
centre of our colony in Algeria, and now he was promoting a company for
exporting grain and flour from America. Several times Cayrol had tried
to bring Herzog and Madame Desvarennes together. The banker had an
interest in the grain and flour speculation, but he asserted that it
would not succeed unless the mistress had a hand in it. Cayrol had a
blind faith in the mistress's luck.
Madame Desvarennes, suspicious of everything foreign, and perfectly
acquainted with the rumors circulated respecting Herzog, had always
refused to receive him. But Cayrol had been so importunate that, being
quite tired of refusing, and, besides, being willing to favor Cayrol for
having so discreetly managed the negotiations of Micheline's marriage,
she had consented.
Herzog had just arrived. He was expressing to Madame Desvarennes his
delight at being admitted to her house. He had so often heard her highly
spoken of that he had formed a high idea of her, but one which was,
however, far below the reality; he understood now that it was an honor to
be acquainted with her. He wheedled her with German grace, and with a
German-Jewish accent, which reminds one of the itinerant merchants, who
offer you with persistence "a goot pargain."
The mistress had been rather cold at first, but Herzog's amiability had
thawed her. This man, with his slow speech and queer eyes, produced a
fascinating effect on one like a serpent. He was repugnant, and yet, in
spite of one's self one was led on. He, had at once introduced the grain
question, but in this he found himself face to face with the real Madame
Desvarennes; and no politeness held good on her part when it was a
question of business. From his first words, she had found a weak point
in the plan, and had attacked him with such plainness that the financier,
seeing his enterprise collapse at the sound of the mistress's voice-like
the walls of Jericho at the sound of the Jewish trumpets--had beaten a
retreat, and had changed the subject.
He was about to float a credit and discount company superior to any in
the world. He would come back and talk with Madame Desvarennes about it,
because she ought to participate in the large profits which the matter
promised. There was no risk. The novelty of the undertaking consisted
in the concurrence of the largest banking-houses of France and abroad,
which would hinder all competition, and prevent hostility on the part of
the great money-handlers. It was very curious, and Madame Desvarennes
would feel great satisfaction in knowing the mechanism of this company,
destined to become, from the first, the most important in the world, and
yet most easy to understand.
Madame Desvarennes neither said "Yes" nor "No." Moved by the soft and
insinuating talkativeness of Herzog, she felt herself treading on
dangerous ground. It seemed to her that her foot was sinking, as in
those dangerous peat-mosses of which the surface is covered with green
grass, tempting one to run on it. Cayrol was under the charm. He drank
in the German's words. This clever man, who had never till then been
duped, had found his master in Herzog.
Pierre and Marechal had come nearer, and Madame Desvarennes, profiting by
this mingling of groups, introduced the men to each other. On hearing
the name of Pierre Delarue, Herzog looked thoughtful, and asked if the
young man was the renowned engineer whose works on the coast of Africa
had caused so much talk in Europe? On Madame Desvarennes replying in the
affirmative, he showered well-chosen compliments on Pierre. He had had
the pleasure of meeting Delarue in Algeria, when he had gone over to
finish the railroad in Morocco.
But Pierre had stepped back on learning that the constructor of that
important line was before him.
"Ah! is it you, sir, who carried out that job?" said he. "Faith! you
treated those poor Moors rather hardly!"
He remembered the misery of the poor natives employed by Europeans who
superintended the work. Old men, women, and children were placed at the
disposal of the contractors by the native authorities, to dig up and
remove the soil; and these poor wretches, crushed with hard work, and
driven with the lash by drunken overseers--who commanded them with a
pistol in hand--under a burning sun, inhaled the noxious vapors arising
from the upturned soil, and died like flies. It was a terrible sight,
and one that Pierre could not forget.
But Herzog, with his cajoling sweetness, protested against this
exaggerated picture. Delarue had arrived during the dog-days--a bad
time. And then, it was necessary for the work to be carried on without
delay. Besides, a few Moors, more or less--what did it matter? Negroes,
all but monkeys!
Marechal, who had listened silently until then, interrupted the
conversation, to defend the monkeys in the name of Littre. He had framed
a theory, founded on Darwin, and tending to prove that men who despised
monkeys despised themselves. Herzog, a little taken aback by this
unexpected reply, had looked at Marechal slyly, asking himself if it was
a joke. But, seeing Madame Desvarennes laugh, he recovered his self-
possession. Business could not be carried on in the East as in Europe.
And then, had it not always been thus? Had not all the great discoverers
worked the countries which they discovered? Christopher Columbus,
Cortez--had they not taken riches from the Indians, in exchange for the
civilization which they brought them? He (Herzog) had, in making a
railway in Morocco, given the natives the means of civilizing themselves.
It was only fair that it should cost them something.
Herzog uttered his tirade with all the charm of which he was capable;
he looked to the right and to the left to notice the effect. He saw
nothing but constrained faces. It seemed as if they were expecting some
one or something. Time was passing; ten o'clock had just struck.
From the little boudoir sounds of music were occasionally heard, when
Micheline's nervous hand struck a louder chord on her piano. She was
there, anxiously awaiting some one or something. Jeanne de Cernay,
stretched in an easy-chair, her head leaning on her hand, was dreaming.
During the past three weeks the young girl had changed. Her bright wit
no longer enlivened Micheline's indolent calmness; her brilliant eyes
were surrounded by blue rings, which denoted nights passed without sleep.
The change coincided strangely with Prince Panine's departure for
England, and the sending of the letter which recalled Pierre to Paris.
Had the inhabitants of the mansion been less occupied with their own
troubles, they would no doubt have noticed this sudden change, and have
sought to know the reason. But the attention of all was concentrated on
the events which had already troubled them, and which would no doubt be
yet more serious to the house, until lately so quiet.
The visitors' bell sounded, and caused Micheline to rise. The blood
rushed to her cheeks. She whispered, "It is he!" and, hesitating, she
remained a moment leaning on the piano, listening vaguely to the sounds
in the drawing-room. The footman's voice announcing the visitor reached
the young girls:
"Prince Panine."
Jeanne also rose then, and if Micheline had turned round she would have
been frightened at the pallor of her companion. But Mademoiselle
Desvarennes was not thinking of Mademoiselle de Cernay; she had just
raised the heavy door curtain, and calling to Jeanne, "Are you coming?"
passed into the drawing-room:
It was indeed Prince Serge, who was expected by Cayrol with impatience,
by Madame Desvarennes with silent irritation, by Pierre with deep
anguish. The handsome prince, calm and smiling, with white cravat and
elegantly fitting dress-coat which showed off his fine figure, advanced
toward Madame Desvarennes before whom he bowed. He seemed only to have
seen Micheline's mother. Not a look for the two young girls or the men
who were around him. The rest of the universe did not seem to count.
He bent as if before a queen, with a dash of respectful adoration.
He seemed to be saying:
"Here I am at your feet; my life depends on you; make a sign and I shall
be the happiest of men or the most miserable."
Micheline followed him with eyes full of pride; she admired his haughty
grace and his caressing humility. It was by these contrasts that Serge
had attracted the young girl's notice. She felt herself face to face
with a strange nature, different from men around her, and had become
interested in him. Then he had spoken to her, and his sweet penetrating
voice had touched her heart.
What he had achieved with Micheline he longed to achieve with her mother.
After placing himself at the feet of the mother of her whom he loved,
he sought the road to her heart. He took his place beside the mistress
and spoke. He hoped that Madame Desvarennes would excuse the haste of
his visit. The obedience which he had shown in going away must be a
proof to her of his submission to her wishes. He was her most devoted
and respectful servant. He resigned himself to anything she might exact
of him.
Madame Desvarennes listened to that sweet voice; she had never heard it
so full of charm. She understood what influence this sweetness had
exercised over Micheline; she repented not having watched over her more
carefully, and cursed the hour that had brought all this evil upon them.
She was obliged, however, to answer him. The mistress went straight to
the point. She was not one to beat about the bush when once her mind was
made up.
"You come, no doubt, sir, to receive an answer to the request you
addressed to me before your departure for England!"
The Prince turned slightly pale. The words which Madame Desvarennes was
about to pronounce were of such importance to him that he could not help
feeling moved. He answered, in a suppressed tone:
"I would not have dared to speak to you on the subject, Madame,
especially in public; but since you anticipate my desire, I admit I am
waiting with deep anxiety for one word from you which will decide my
fate."
He continued bent before Madame Desvarennes like a culprit before his
judge. The mistress was silent for a moment, as if hesitating before
answering, and then said, gravely:
"That word I hesitated to pronounce, but some one in whom I have great
confidence has advised me to receive you favorably."
"He, Madame, whoever he may be, has gained my everlasting gratitude."
"Show it to him," said Madame Desvarennes; "he is the companion of
Micheline's young days, almost a son to me."
And turning toward Pierre, she pointed him out to Panine.
Serge took three rapid strides toward Pierre, but quick as he had been
Micheline was before him. Each of the lovers seized a hand of Pierre,
and pressed it with tender effusion. Panine, with his Polish
impetuosity, was making the most ardent protestations to Pierre--he would
be indebted to him for life.
Micheline's late betrothed, with despair in his heart, allowed his hands
to be pressed and wrung in silence. The voice of her whom he loved
brought tears to his eyes.
"How generous and good you are!" said the young girl, "how nobly you
have sacrificed yourself!"
"Don't thank me," replied Pierre; "I have no merit in accomplishing what
you admire. I am weak, you see, and I could not bear to see you suffer."
There was a great commotion in the drawing-room. Cayrol was explaining
to Herzog, who was listening with great attention, what was taking place.
Serge Panine was to be Madame Desvarennes's son-in-law. It was a great
event.
"Certainly," said the German; "Madame Desvarennes's son-in-law will
become a financial power. And a Prince, too. What a fine name for a
board of directors!"
The two financiers looked at each other for a moment; the same thought
had struck them.
"Yes, but," replied Cayrol, "Madame Desvarennes will never allow Panine
to take part in business."
"Who knows?" said Herzog. "We shall see how the marriage settlements
are drawn up."
"But," cried Cayrol, "I would not have it said that I was leading Madame
Desvarennes's son-in-law into speculations."
"Who is speaking of that?" replied Herzog, coldly. "Am I seeking
shareholders? I have more money than I want; I refuse millions every
day."
"Oh, I know capitalists run after you," said Cayrol, laughingly; "and to
welcome them you affect the scruples of a pretty woman. But let us go
and congratulate the Prince."
While Cayrol and Herzog were exchanging those few words which had such a
considerable influence on the future of Serge Panine--a scene, terrible
in its simplicity, was going on without being noticed. Micheline had
thrown herself with a burst of tenderness into her mother's arms.
Serge was deeply affected by the young girl's affection for him, when a
trembling hand touched his arm. He turned round. Jeanne de Cernay was
before him, pale and wan; her eyes sunken into her head like two black
nails, and her lips tightened by a violent contraction. The Prince stood
thunderstruck at the sight of her. He looked around him. Nobody was
observing him. Pierre was beside Marechal, who was whispering those
words which only true friends can find in the sad hours of life. Madame
Desvarennes was holding Micheline in her arms. Serge approached
Mademoiselle de Cernay. Jeanne still fixed on him the same menacing
look. He was afraid.
"Take care!" he said.
"Of what?" asked the young girl, with a troubled voice. "What have I to
fear now?"
"What do you wish?" resumed Panine, with old firmness, and with a
gesture of impatience.
"I wish to speak with you immediately."
"You see that is impossible."
"I must."
Cayrol and Herzog approached. Serge smiled at Jeanne with a sign of the
head which meant "Yes." The young girl turned away in silence, awaiting
the fulfilment of the promise made.
Cayrol took her by the hand with tender familiarity.
"What were you saying to the happy man who has gained the object of his
dreams, Mademoiselle? It is not to him you must speak, but to me, to
give me hope. The moment is propitious; it is the day for betrothals.
You know how much I love you; do me the favor of no longer repulsing me
as you have done hitherto! If you would be kind, how charming it would
be to celebrate the two weddings on the same day. One church, one
ceremony, one splendid feast would unite two happy couples. Is there
nothing in this picture to entice you?"
"I am not easily enticed, as you know," said Jeanne, in a firm voice,
trying to smile.
Micheline and Madame Desvarennes had drawn near.
"Come, Cayrol," said Serge, in a tone of command; "I am happy to-day;
perhaps I may succeed in your behalf as I have done in my own. Let me
plead your cause with Mademoiselle de Cernay?"
"With all my heart. I need an eloquent pleader," sighed the banker,
shaking his head sadly.
"And you, Mademoiselle, will you submit to the trial?" asked the Prince,
turning toward Jeanne. "We have always been good friends, and I shall be
almost a brother to you. This gives me some right over your mind and
heart, it seems to me. Do you authorize me to exercise it?"
"As you like, sir," answered Jeanne, coldly. "The attempt is novel. Who
knows? Perhaps it will succeed!"
"May Heaven grant it," said Cayrol. Then, approaching Panine:
"Ah! dear Prince, what gratitude I shall owe you! You know," added he
in a whisper, "if you need a few thousand louis for wedding presents--"
"Go, go, corrupter!" replied Serge, with the same forced gayety; "you
are flashing your money in front of us. You see it is not invincible,
as you are obliged to have recourse to my feeble talents. But know that
I am working for glory."
And turning toward Madame Desvarennes he added: "I only ask a quarter of
an hour."
"Don't defend yourself too much," said Micheline in her companion's ear,
and giving her a tender kiss which the latter did not return.
"Come with me," said Micheline to Pierre, offering him her arm; "I want
to belong to you alone while Serge is pleading with Jeanne. I will be
your sister as formerly. If you only knew how I love you!"
The large French window which led to the garden had just been opened by
Marechal, and the mild odors of a lovely spring night perfumed the
drawing-room. They all went out on the lawn. Thousands of stars were
twinkling in the sky, and the eyes of Micheline and Pierre were lifted
toward the dark blue heavens seeking vaguely for the star which presided
over their destiny. She, to know whether her life would be the long poem
of love of which she dreamed; he, to ask whether glory, that exacting
mistress for whom he had made so many sacrifices, would at least comfort
him for his lost love.
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