A red touring-car, latest model, stopped before Madame Ash's house. A
tall woman alighted and rang the bell. Eloise answered and could only
gasp: "Miss Easter! Madame will be so surprised." Easter grasped the
faithful girl's hand and shook it in man-like fashion. Her democratic
ways were not the least of her endearing qualities. A pupil was
singing, but Easter strode in and heartily kissing her teacher she
exclaimed: "You darling, how glad I'm to see you!" Madame Ash, who
couldn't be startled by an earthquake, was nevertheless, surprised.
"You, Easter! And what are you going to do in New York?"
"I'm going to raise hell!" she crisply announced. Madame nodded
approvingly. "You will, no doubt about that, and no doubt as to your
nationality--you're Yankee all right." She dismissed her pupil and
ordered tea in the drawing-room. Such visitors did not come every day.
She found Easter handsomer, more self-possessed, also more imperious
in her manner. The girl had become woman. Her beauty positively
dazzled. It was her health that contributed to this initial impression.
Madame Ash interrogated her as to her lessons. With the accustomed
forgetfulness of youthful prima-donnas Easter waved away the subject:
nor would she sing. "Wait! You will soon have a chance to judge in
public." Then she exploded her bombshell. "I open the season at the
Metropolitan. Think of it dear Madame Frida, I'll sing Isolde to Jean's
Tristan." That was another surprise. And not a line in the newspapers.
Why hadn't Alfred told her? "Because he doesn't know," answered Easter.
"Not a soul knows. I dodged the reporters this morning. Paul--Mr.
Godard--you remember him!--What a friend he has been to me--that scrape
at Munich, I mean--He took me down to Italy and I'm glad it was Paul
and not that little fiddling Prince Ludwig--well, Frida, I've seen
some life--I must be going. Tell Alfred to come to the Waldorf. I'm
there for a day or two. And tell him the contract was made by cable.
It's the fault of the management if he wasn't informed. It will be
in the papers tomorrow morning. Go to the window and look at my new
car--nice present, isn't it! It came to the dock to meet us." She
stopped for breath.
"So Mister Paul came across with you, did he?"
"The regulation trio," laughed Easter. "A maid, a poodle, a lover. The
inevitable...." Madame saw her get into the car, and fancied she also
saw a man. Waving her hand Easter disappeared. "Ça y est!" said Madame.
The lesson was resumed. Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, si, do!
When Easter rushed into his music-room, followed by Madame Felicé, the
legs of Ulick trembled. It was more than a surprise, it was a shock
in the nature of hallucination. He took her in his arms and tenderly
kissed her, ejaculating: "Easter, Easter, it can't be you! It's a
dream!" She, too, was affected; she returned his kisses, and with more
fervour. "Good old Jewel. I've come back to you, haven't I Madame?" But
Madame had vanished, no doubt wondering over the versatility of young
Americans. She had not forgotten Mona. But she was fond of Easter, and
admired her, particularly after her newspaper notoriety.
The chums had a thousand things to say. Ulick did not disguise his
affection. He hugged her till she broke away, advising prudence.
"The same crazy Jewel," she said, as she tidied her hair. He was
disappointed. Were they never to begin again? he asked. "Surely," she
answered, and mischievously added: "If we ever really began." Another
scene ensued. He pursued her from the bedroom to the bathroom, and back
again into the music-room. There she stopped and seizing him by the
wrists with the grip of a giantess--he carried black and blue marks
for a week--she bade him stop his nonsense. Some other day! Besides,
she hadn't come to see him for such things. "Why," she blurted out with
her accustomed brutal frankness, "why I believe you are overtrained,
Jewel. Have you been saving up for me during these years?" Ulick was
confused. "A little bird wrote me that there were two girls while I was
away, quoi donc, mon cher!" (Damn Alfred! thought Ulick.) "But I must
be going. Doesn't Alfred dine here any more? I want to see him badly.
He must look after me the night of my début."
"The night of your début?" "Yes, didn't I tell you? I sing Isolde the
first night next month at the Metropolitan." Ulick's eyes opened wide.
"Does Alfred know the news?" "No,'and I fancy he will be wrathy. I
can't help it. The offer came. It was so big that I chucked Berlin,
Paris, London and took the first steamer leaving Genoa. Paul said--"
"Paul?"...
"Why not? Paul--he came over with us. He has been a true friend. He's
waiting outside now in my car." "He's waiting outside now," echoed the
dazed young man. "Don't be stupid, Jewel. He and Allie are together,
otherwise I shouldn't have stayed so long with you." "Oh! Allie, too,"
he sarcastically observed. "Yes, Allie Wentworth, too. That girl helped
me over some rough places in Europe. I shall never give her up, never,"
Easter reiterated with passion. "Was she the cause of the duel?"
"Honestly, Jewel, living in this provincial town has made you lose your
Parisian wits. There was no duel. That story was pure blague. I had a
fencing match with Mary Garden and a reporter from the 'Figaro' was
there. I filled him full of prunes--that's all." She laughed with the
robust ventral laughter of a country girl. She was the same old Easter,
and Ulick adored her for her natural manner.
But he pretended that he did not understand. "What did you and Mary
row about?" "Oh! Debussy. She thinks him so extraordinary. I don't.
No climax, all pretty nuance, not a virile bar in him. A composer
who fell asleep and dreamed of Tristan. But after Wagner he is like
absinthe after brandy. I like the big, passionate style. I like Rodin.
I adore D'Annunzio. Debussy is for artistic capons, and other fearful
fowl. But Mary is wonderful. I envy her all the same. I love sumptuous
characters. That's why I like to read Mlle de Maupin and also about
that perverse puss, Satin, in Nana. She reminds me of Allie, and her
pranks--simply adorable, I tell you. Toujours fidèle. But great God,
look at the hour! Good-bye, for the present, Jewel. No, don't come to
the door: I'll have a hard enough time explaining to those people--
they hate each other as do cats and dogs. Don't forget your old
sweetheart, Jewel," and she patted his cheek as if he were a schoolboy.
He could have killed her. She fled the apartment. But she hadn't said a
word about the Munich elopement or the royal lover.