Madame de Saint-Dizier had expressed herself in a firm and precise manner; she appeared convinced of the possibility of putting her threats into execution. M. Tripeaud and D'Aigrigny had just now given their full consent to the words of the princess. Adrienne began to perceive that something very serious was in contemplation, and her gayety was at once replaced by an air of bitter irony and offended independence.
She rose abruptly, and colored a little; her rosy nostrils dilated, her eyes flashed fire, and, as she raised her head, she gently shook the fine, wavy golden hair, with a movement of pride that was natural to her. After a moment's silence, she said to her aunt in a cutting tone: 'You have spoken of the past, madame; I also will speak a few words concerning it, since you force me to do so, though I may regret the necessity. I quitted your dwelling, because it was impossible for me to live longer in this atmosphere of dark hypocrisy and black treachery.'
'Madame,' said D'Aigrigny, 'such words are as violent as they are unreasonable.'
'Since you interrupt me, sir,' said Adrienne, hastily, as she fixed her eyes on the abbe, 'tell me what examples did I meet with in my aunt's house?'
'Excellent, examples, madame.'
'Excellent, sir? Was it because I saw there, every day, her conversion keep pace with your own?'
'Madame, you forget yourself!' cried the princess, becoming pale with rage.
'Madame, I do not forget—I remember, like other people; that is all. I had no relation of whom I could ask an asylum. I wished to live alone. I wished to enjoy my revenues—because I chose rather to spend them myself, than to see them wasted by M. Tripeaud.'
'Madame,' cried the baron, 'I cannot imagine how you can presume—'
'Sir!' said Adrienne, reducing him to silence by a gesture of overwhelming lordliness, 'I speak of you—not to you. I wished to spend my income,' she continued, 'according to my own tastes. I embellished the retreat that I had chosen. Instead of ugly, ill-taught servants, I selected girls, pretty and well brought up, though poor. Their education forbade their being subjected to any humiliating servitude, though I have endeavored to make their situation easy and agreeable. They do not serve me, but render me service—I pay them, but I am obliged to them —nice distinctions that your highness will not understand, I know. Instead of seeing them badly or ungracefully dressed, I have given them clothes that suit their charming faces well, because I like whatever is young and fair. Whether I dress myself one way or the other, concerns only my looking-glass. I go out alone, because I like to follow my fancy. I do not go to mass—but, if I had still a mother, I would explain to her my devotions, and she would kiss me none the less tenderly. It is true, that I have raised a pagan altar to youth and beauty, because I adore God in all that He has made fair and good, noble and grand—because, morn and evening, my heart repeats the fervent and sincere prayer: 'Thanks, my Creator! thanks!'—Your highness says that M. Baleinier has often found me in my solitude, a prey to a strange excitement: yes, it is true; for it is then that, escaping in thought from all that renders the present odious and painful to me, I find refuge in the future—it is then that magical horizons spread far before me—it is then that such splendid visions appear to me, as make me feel myself rapt in a sublime and heavenly ecstasy, as if I no longer appertained to earth!'
As Adrienne pronounced these last words with enthusiasm, her countenance appeared transfigured, so resplendent did it become. In that moment, she had lost sight of all that surrounded her.
'It is then,' she resumed, with spirit soaring higher and higher, 'that I breathe a pure air, reviving and free— yes, free—above all, free—and so salubrious, so grateful to the soul!—Yes, instead of seeing my sisters painfully submit to a selfish, humiliating, brutal dominion, which entails upon them the seductive vices of slavery, the graceful fraud, the enchanting perfidy, the caressing falsehood, the contemptuous resignation, the hateful obedience—I behold them, my noble sisters! worthy and sincere because they are free, faithful and devoted because they have liberty to choose—neither imperious not base, because they have no master to govern or to flatter—cherished and respected, because they can withdraw from a disloyal hand their hand, loyally bestowed. Oh, my sisters! my sisters! I feel it. These are not merely consoling visions—they are sacred hopes.'
Carried away, in spite of herself, by the excitement of her feelings, Adrienne paused for a moment, in order to return to earth; she did not perceive that the other actors in this scene were looking at each other with an air of delight.
'What she says there is excellent,' murmured the doctor in the princess's ear, next to whom he was seated; 'were she in league with us, she would not speak differently.'
'It is only by excessive harshness,' added D'Aigrigny, 'that we shall bring her to the desired point.'
But it seemed as if the vexed emotion of Adrienne had been dissipated by the contact of the generous sentiments she had just uttered. Addressing Baleinier with a smile, she said: 'I must own, doctor, that there is nothing more ridiculous, than to yield to the current of certain thoughts, in the presence of persons incapable of understanding them. This would give you a fine opportunity to make game of that exaltation of mind for which you sometimes reproach me. To let myself be carried away by transports at so serious a moment!—for, verily, the matter in hand seems to be serious. But you see, good M. Baleinier, when an idea comes into my head, I can no more help following it out, than I could refrain from running after butterflies when I was a little girl.'
'And heaven only knows whither these brilliant butterflies of all colors,' said M. Baleinier, smiling with an air of paternal indulgence, 'that are passing through your brain, are likely to lead you. Oh, madcap, when will she be as reasonable as she is charming?'
'This very instant, my good doctor,' replied Adrienne. 'I am about to cast off my reveries for realities, and speak plain and positive language, as you shall hear.'
Upon which, addressing her aunt, she continued: 'You have imparted to me your resolution, madame; I will now tell you mine. Within a week, I shall quit the pavilion that I inhabit, for a house which I have arranged to my taste, where I shall live after my own fashion. I have neither father nor mother, and I owe no account of my actions to any but myself.'
'Upon my word, mademoiselle,' said the princess, shrugging her shoulders, 'you talk nonsense. You forget that society has inalienable moral rights, which we are bound to enforce. And we shall not neglect them, depend upon it.'
'So madame, it is you, and M. d'Aigrigny, and M. Tripeaud, that represent the morality of society! This appears to me very fine. Is it because M. Tripeaud has considered (I must acknowledge it) my fortune as his own? Is it because—'
'Now, really, madame,' began Tripeaud.
'In good time, madame,' said Adrienne to her aunt, without noticing the baron, 'as the occasion offers, I shall have to ask you for explanations with regard to certain interests, which have hitherto, I think, been concealed from me.'
These words of Adrienne made D'Aigrigny and the princess start, and then rapidly exchange a glance of uneasiness and anxiety. Adrienne did not seem to perceive it, but thus continued: 'To have done with your demands, madame, here is my final resolve. I shall live where and how I please. I think that, if I were a man, no one would impose on me, at my age, the harsh and humiliating guardianship you have in view, for living as I have lived till now—honestly, freely, and generously, in the sight of all.'
'This idea is absurd! is madness!' cried the princess. 'To wish to live thus alone, is to carry immorality and immodesty to their utmost limits.'
'If so, madame,' said Adrienne, 'what opinion must you entertain of so many poor girls, orphans like myself, who live alone and free, as I wish to live? They have not received, as I have, a refined education, calculated to raise the soul, and purify the heart. They have not wealth, as I have, to protect them from the evil temptations of misery; and yet they live honestly and proudly in their distress.'
'Vice and virtue do not exist for such tag-rag vermin!' cried Baron Tripeaud, with an expression of anger and hideous disdain.
'Madame, you would turn away a lackey, that would venture to speak thus before you,' said Adrienne to her aunt, unable to conceal her disgust, 'and yet you oblige me to listen to such speeches!'
The Marquis d'Aigrigny touched M. Tripeaud with his knee under the table, to remind him that he must not express himself in the princess's parlors in the same manner as he would in the lobbies of the Exchange. To repair the baron's coarseness, the abbe thus continued: 'There is no comparison, mademoiselle, between people of the class you name, and a young lady of your rank.'
'For a Catholic priest, M. l'Abbe, that distinction is not very Christian,' replied Adrienne.
'I know the purport of my words, madame,' answered the abbe, dryly; 'besides the independent life that you wish to lead, in opposition to all reason, may tend to very serious consequences for you. Your family may one day
