Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (21 page)

 
          
We
WERE LATE; and on arriving found all the other guests assembled. Three
strangers appeared; and my attention was instantly fixed upon them, for the
mysterious “he” was to be there. All three seemed gay, gallant, handsome men;
all three turned admiring eyes upon Clotilde, all three were gloved. Therefore,
as I had seen no face, my one clue, the ring, was lost. From Clotilde’s face
and manner I could learn nothing, for a smile seemed carved upon her lips, her
drooping lashes half concealed her eyes, and her voice was too well trained to
betray her by a traitorous tone. She received the greetings, compliments, and
admiration of all alike, and I vainly looked and listened till supper was
announced.

           
As I took my place beside her, I saw
her shrink and shiver slightly, as if a chilly wind had blown over her, but
before I could ask if she were cold a bland voice said,

 
          
“Will
Mademoiselle Varian permit me to drink her health?”

 
          
It
was one of the strangers; mechanically I offered her glass; but the next
instant my hold tightened till the slender stem snapped, and the rosy bowl fell
broken to the table, for on the handsome hand extended to fill it shone the
ring.

 
          
“A bad omen, Mr. Lamar.
I hope my attempt will succeed
better,” said
St. John
, as he filled another glass and handed it to Clo-tilde, who merely
lifted it to her lips, and turned to enter into an animated conversation with
the gentleman who sat on the other side. Some one addressed
St. John
, and I was glad of it; for now all my
interest and attention was centered in him. Keenly, but covertly, I examined
him, and soon felt that in spite of that foppish ornament he
was
a man
to daunt a woman like Clotilde. Pride and passion, courage and indomitable will
met and mingled in his face, though the obedient features wore whatever
expression he imposed upon them. He was the handsomest, most elegant, but least
attractive of the three, yet it was hard to say why. The others gave themselves
freely to the enjoyment of a scene which evidently possessed the charm of
novelty to them; but
St. John
unconsciously wore the half sad, half weary look that comes to those
who have led lives of pleasure and found their emptiness.
Although
the wittiest, and most brilliant talker at the table, his gaiety seemed fitful,
his manner absent at times.
More than once I saw him knit his black
brows as he met my eye, and more than once I caught a long look fixed on
Clotilde, — a look full of the lordly admiration and pride which a master
bestows upon a handsome slave. It made my blood boil, but I controlled myself,
and was apparently absorbed in Miss Damareau, my neighbor.

 
          
We
seemed as gay and care-free a company as ever made midnight merry; songs were
sung, stories told, theatrical phrases added sparkle to the conversation, and
the varied costumes gave an air of romance to the revel. The Grand Inquisitor
still in his ghostly
garb,
and the stern old Duke were
now the jolliest of the group; the page flirted violently with the princess;
the rivals of the play were bosom-friends again, and the fair Donna Olivia had
apparently forgotten her knightly lover, to listen to a modern gentleman.

 
          
Clotilde
sat leaning back in a deep chair, eating nothing, but using her fan with the
indescribable grace of a Spanish woman. She was very lovely, for the dress
became her, and the black lace mantilla falling from her head to her shoulders,
heightened her charms by half concealing them; and nothing could have been more
genial and gracious than the air with which she listened and replied to the
compliments of the youngest stranger, who sat beside her and was all devotion.

 
          
I
forgot myself in observing her till something said by our opposite neighbors
arrested both of us. Some one seemed to have been joking
St. John
about his ring, which was too brilliant an
ornament to pass unobserved.

 
          
“Bad
taste, I grant you,” he said, laughing, “
but
it is a
gage
d'amour,
and I wear it for a purpose.”

 
          
“I
fancied it was the latest
Paris
fashion,” returned Keen. “And apropos to
Paris
, what is the latest gossip from the gay
city?”

 
          
A
slow smile rose to
St. Johns
lips as he answered, after a moment’s thought and a quick glance across
the room.

 
          
“A
little romance; shall I tell it to you? It is a love story, ladies, and not
long.”

 
          
A
unanimous assent was given; and he began with a curious glitter in his eyes, a
stealthy smile coming and going on his face as the words dropped slowly from
his lips.

 
          
“It
begins in the old way. A foolish voung man fell in love with a Spanish girl
much his inferior in rank, but beautiful enough to excuse his folly, for he
married her. Then came a few months of bliss; but Madame grew jealous. Monsieur
wearied of domestic tempests, and, after vain efforts to appease his fiery
angel, he proposed a separation. Madame was obdurate, Monsieur rebelled; and in
order to try the soothing effects of absence upon both, after settling her in a
charming chateau, he slipped away, leaving no trace by which his route might be
discovered.”

 
          
“Well,
how did the experiment succeed?” asked Keen.
St. John
shrugged his shoulders, emptied his glass,
and answered tranquilly.

 
          
“Like
most experiments that have women for their subjects, for the amiable creatures
always devise some wav of turning the tables, and defeating the best laid
plans. Madame waited for her truant spouse till rumors of his death reached
Paris
, for he had met with mishaps, and sickness
detained him long in an obscure place, so the rumors seemed
confirmed
by his silence, and Madame believed him dead. But instead of dutifully mourning
him, this inexplicable woman shook the dust of the chateau off her feet and
disappeared, leaving everything, even to her wedding ring, behind her.”

 
          
“Bless
me, how odd!
what
became of her?” exclaimed Miss
Damareau, forgetting the dignity of the Princess in the curiosity of the woman.

 
          
“The
very question her repentant husband asked when, returning from his long
holiday, he found her gone. I
Ie
searched the
continent for her, but in vain; and for two vears she left him to suffer the
torments of suspense.”

 
          
“As he had left her to suffer them while he went pleasuring.
It was a light punishment for his offence.”

 
          
Clotilde
spoke; and the sarcastic tone for all its softness, made
St. John
wince, though no eve but mine observed the
faint flush of shame or anger that passed across his face.

 
          
“Mademoiselle
espouses the lady’s cause, of course, and as a gallant man I should do
likewise, but unfortunately my sympathies are strongly enlisted on the other
side.”

 
          
“Then
you know the parties?” I said, impulsively, for my inward excitement was
increasing rapidly, and I began to feel rather than to see the end of this
mystery.

 
          
“I
have seen them, and cannot blame the man tor claiming his beautiful wife, when
he found her,” he answered, briefly.

 
          
“Then
he did find her at last? Pray tell us how and when,” cried Miss Damareau.

 
          
“She
betrayed herself. It seems that Madame had returned to her old profession, and
fallen in love with an actor; but being as virtuous as she was fair, she would
not marry till she was assured beyond a doubt of her
husbands
death. Her engagements would not allow her to enquire in person, so she sent
letters to various places asking for proofs of his demise; and as ill, or good
fortune would have it, one of these letters fell into Monsieur’s hands, giving
him an excellent clue to her whereabouts, which he followed in- defatigably
till he found her.”

 
          
“Poor
little woman, I pity her! How did she receive Monsieur De Trop?” asked Keen.

 
          
“You
shall know in good time. He found her in
London
playing at one of the great theatres, for
she had talent, and had become a star. He saw her act for a night or two, made
secret inquiries concerning her, and fell more in love with her than ever.
Having tried almost every novelty under the sun he had a fancy to attempt
something of the dramatic sort, so presented himself to Madame at a party.”

 
          
“Heavens!
what
a scene there must
have been,” ejaculated Miss Damareau.

 
          
“On
the contrary, there was no scene at all, for the man was not a Frenchman, and
Madame was a fine actress. Much as he had admired her on the stage he was
doubly charmed with her performance in private, for it was superb. They were
among strangers, and she received him like one, playing her part with the
utmost grace and self-control, for with a woman’s quickness of perception, she
divined his purpose, and knowing that her fate was in his hands, endeavored to
propitiate him by complying with his caprice. Mademoiselle, allow me to send
you some of these grapes, they are delicious.”

 
          
As
he leaned forward to present them he shot a glance at her that caused me to
start up with a violence that nearly betrayed me. Fortunately the room was
close, and saying something about the heat, I threw open a window, and let in a
balmy gust of spring air that refreshed us all.

 
          
“How
did they settle it, by duels and despair, or by repentance and reconciliation
all round, in the regular French fashion?”

 
          
“I
regret that I’m unable to tell you, for I left before the affair was arranged.
I only know that Monsieur was more captivated than before, and quite ready to
forgive and forget, and I suspect that Madame, seeing the folly of resistance,
will submit with a good grace, and leave the stage to play ‘The Honey Moon’ for
a second time in private with a husband who adores her. What is the
Mademoiselle’s opinion?”

           
She had listened, without
either question
or comment, her fan at rest, her hands
motionless, her eyes downcast; so still it seemed as if she had hushed the
breath upon her lips, so pale despite her rouge, that I wondered no one
observed it, so intent and resolute that every feature seemed under control, —
every look and gesture guarded. When
St. John
addressed her, she looked up with a smile
as bland as his own, but fixed her eyes on him with an expression of undismayed
defiance and supreme contempt that caused him to bite his lips with
ill-concealed annoyance.

 
          
“My
opinion?” she said, in her clear, cold voice, “I think that Madame, being a
woman of spirit, would
not
endeavor to propitiate that man in any way
except for her lovers sake, and having been once deserted would not subject
herself to a second indignity of that sort while there was a law to protect
her.”

 
          
“Unfortunately
there is no law for her, having once refused a separation. Even if there were,
Monsieur is rich and powerful, she is poor and friendless; he loves her, and is
a man who never permits himself to be thwarted by any obstacle; therefore, I am
convinced it would be best for this adorable woman to submit without defiance
or delay — and I do think she will,” he added, sig- nificantlv.

 
          
“They
seem to forget the poor lover; w hat is to become of him?” asked Keen.