Three days after Jules' talk with Marshall, the forthcoming engagement
at the Hippodrome of Miss Lottie King was announced in the London
newspapers. Blanche signed a new contract, by which she agreed to
perform for several weeks longer on the trapeze and on the rope at half
the salary she had been receiving. Marshall said that no mention of the
plunge would be made in the papers; her name would continue to "draw,"
and the public would be satisfied with Miss King's great dive into the
tank. This remark made Jules very angry, and it also depressed Blanche,
who felt as if she had already been deposed from her supremacy as the
chief attraction at the Hippodrome. Indeed, as the time drew near when
she was to cease making the plunge, instead of feeling happier, she grew
more despondent; she had already elaborated her performance on the
trapeze by introducing several new feats that she and Jules had planned
together, but with these she was not satisfied; she felt like an actor
obliged to play small parts after winning success in leading characters.
As for Jules, he did not try to hide his discontent at the change in his
wife's work. In the first place, it made his brief but dramatic public
appearance unnecessary; in future he would be obliged to conduct Blanche
to the circus, and live again like any mere hanger-on to the skirts of a
public performer. The _role_ was ignoble, unworthy of him. Then, too, he
chafed at the thought of his wife's decline in importance at the
Hippodrome; he fancied that when her inability to go on with the plunge
had become known to the other performers they would lose respect for her
and for himself.
He secretly doubted if the public would accept Blanche merely for her
performance on the trapeze and on the rope. Almost any one could do
that; but in the plunge she was without a rival. He hoped that, as a
compensation for his vexation, the performance of Miss King would be a
failure. Forty feet! What did that amount to in comparison with the
magnificent plunge of more than ninety feet that Blanche had made at
Vienna?
Already Jules had begun to think of his wife in the past tense chiefly,
as if she lived in the triumphs she had made by her nightly flight
through the air. Indeed, she seemed to him almost another person now.
Instead of looking on her almost with reverence, as he had done, he felt
sorry for her, as if she were his inferior; and though he continued to
treat her with kindness, there was a suggestion of pity, almost of
contempt, in his manner toward her. She sought consolation in her child,
who, she thought, grew stronger and more beautiful every day. For
Jeanne's sake she tried to be glad the time was so near when she should
give up risking her life; but the nearer it grew, the more depressed she
became, and the more she thought about that woman who was to take her
place.
Mrs. Tate, who had definitely taken Blanche under her protection, and
called at the little hotel several times each week, had been delighted
at what she considered the fortunate solution of a shocking difficulty.
Now that Blanche was to stop making that horrible dive, there was no
reason why she shouldn't be the happiest woman in the world. With her
keen instinct, however, she observed that Blanche was not happy; she
wondered, too, at the frequent absence of the husband from this
_menage_. Jules couldn't be very devoted, she thought, for a man who had
been married little more than a year. Perhaps, however, he avoided her;
for, in spite of his French politeness, he had not been able to conceal
his dislike for her. For this reason she did not ask him to dinner
again. She often took Blanche and Jeanne to drive in the afternoon, and
pointed out the celebrities that they passed in the Park.
"My husband says I take you to drive just to show you off," she said
jokingly one day. "He thinks I have a mania for celebrities."
"Ah, but I'm not a celebrity!" Blanche replied, with a smile that was
almost sad.
"Not a celebrity? Of course you are. I haven't a doubt that half the
people we meet recognize you. You know, it's been quite the fashion to
go to the Hippodrome this year."
"But I sha'n't be a celebrity much longer," said Blanche, glancing at
the bare boughs of the trees, and wondering if any other place could be
as desolate as London in winter.
"Why not? You don't think of retiring into private life altogether, do
you?" Mrs. Tate laughed.
"No, but I shall only be an ordinary performer after this week."
"But I'd rather be an ordinary performer and keep my neck whole than be
an _ex_traordinary one and risk my life every night," Mrs. Tate retorted
sharply. She was vexed with Blanche for not appreciating her
emancipation.