"I dare not believe," I panted. "I refuse to let myself believe, for I
have never seen blue moons. But--but--I wonder!"
We dined at Voisin's. It had been arranged that he should make some
allusion to the courtship; and I said to Georges, "I hope you don't
mind your father having mentioned the subject to me--we are old
friends, you know?" The topic was led up to very easily. It was
apparent that Georges thought the world of her. I admired the way he
spoke. It was quiet and earnest. As I feigned partial sympathy with his
matrimonial hopes, I own that I felt a Judas.
"I, too, am an artist," I said. "To me social distinctions naturally
seem somewhat less important than they do to your father."
"Indeed, monsieur," he answered gravely, "mademoiselle Laurent is
worthy of homage. If she were willing to accept me, every man who knew
her character would think me fortunate. Her education has not qualified
her to debate with professors, and she has no knowledge of society
small-talk, but she is intelligent, and refined, and good."
It was child's play. A sudden notion, over the liqueurs: "Take us to
see her! Come along, mon ami!" Astonishment (amateurish); persuasion
(masterly); Georges's diffidence to intrude, but his obvious delight at
the thought of the favourable impression she would create. He had
"never called there yet--it would be very unconventional at such an
hour?" "Zut, among artists! My card will be a passport, I assure you."
Poor fellow, the trap made short work of him! At half-past eight we
were all rattling to the left bank in a cab.
The cab stopped before a dilapidated house in an unsavoury street. I
knew that the aspect of her home went to his heart. "Mademoiselle
Laurent has won no prize in her profession," he observed, "and she is
an honest girl." Well said!
In the dim passage a neglected child directed us to the fourth floor.
On the fourth floor a slattern, who replied at last to our persistent
tapping, told us shortly that mademoiselle was out. I realised that we
had committed the error of being before our time; and the woman,
evidently unprepared for our visit, did not suggest our going in. It
seemed bad stage-management.
"Will it be long before mademoiselle is back?" I inquired, annoyed.
"Mais non."
"We will wait," I said, and we were admitted sulkily to a room, of
which the conspicuous features were a malodorous lamp, and a brandy-
bottle. I had taken the old drab for a landlady rather the worse for
liquor, but, more amiably, she remarked now: "It's a pity Jeanne didn't
know you were coming."
At the familiar "Jeanne" I saw Georges start.
"Mademoiselle is a friend of yours?" I asked, dismayed.
"A friend? She is my daughter." She sat down.
By design the girl was out! The thought flashed on me. It flashed on me
that she had plotted for her lover to learn what a mother-in-law he
would have. The revelation must appal him. I stole a look--his face was
blanched. The General drew a deep breath, and nodded to himself. The
nod said plainly, "He is saved. Thank God!"
"Will you take a little drop while you are waiting, gentlemen?"
"Nothing for us, thank you."
She drank alone, and seemed to forget that we were present. None of us
spoke. I began to wonder if we need remain. Then, drinking, she grew
garrulous. It was of Jeanne she talked. She gave us her maternal views,
and incidentally betrayed infamies of her own career. I am a man of the
world, but I shuddered at that woman. The suitor who could have risked
making her child his wife would have been demented, or sublime. And
while she maundered on, gulping from her glass, and chuckling at her
jests, the ghastliness of it was that, in the gutter face before us, I
could trace a likeness to Jeanne; I think Georges must have traced it,
too. The menace of heredity was horrible. We were listening to Jeanne
wrecked, Jeanne thirty years older--Jeanne as she might become!
Ciel! To choose a bride with this blood in her--a bride from the dregs!
"Let us go, Georges," I murmured. "Courage! You will forget her. We'll
be off."
He was livid. I saw that he could bear no more.
But the creature overheard, and in those bleary eyes intelligence
awoke.
"What? Hold on!" she stammered. "Is one of you the toff that wants to
marry her? Ah!... I've been letting on finely, haven't I? It was a
plant, was it? You've come here ferreting and spying?" She turned
towards me in a fury: "You!"
Certainly I had made a comment from time to time, but I could not see
why she should single me out for her attack. She lurched towards me
savagely. Her face was thrust into mine. And then, so low that only I
could hear, and like another woman, she breathed a question:
"Can I act?"
Jeanne herself! Every nerve in me jumped. The next instant she was back
in her part, railing at Georges.