'It
To my friend's astonishment I started to my feet, and left him without a word of apology. In another minute I was at the stage-door, and had sent in my card to 'Mademoiselle Fontenay.' While I was waiting, I had time to think. Was it possible that Jeanne had gone on the stage? Or were there two singing-masters in existence named Bonnefoy? My doubts were soon decided. The French woman-servant whom I remembered when I was Monsieur Bonnefoy's pupil, made her appearance, and conducted me to her young mistress's dressing-room. Dear good Jeanne, how glad she was to see me!
I found her standing before the glass, having just completed her preparations for appearing on the stage. Dressed in her picturesque costume, she was so charming that I expressed my admiration heartily, as became her old friend. 'Do you really like me?' she said, with the innocent familiarity which I recollected so well. 'See how I look in the glass—that is the great test.' It was not easy to apply the test. Instead of looking at her image in the glass, it was far more agreeable to look at herself. We were interrupted—too soon interrupted—by the call-boy. He knocked at the door, and announced that the overture had begun.
'I have a thousand things to ask you,' I told her. 'What has made this wonderful change in your life? How is it that I don't see your father—'
Her face instantly saddened; her hand trembled as she laid it on my arm to silence me.
'Don't speak of him now,' she said, 'or you will unnerve me. Come to me to-morrow when the stage will not be waiting; Annette will give you my address.' She opened the door to go out, and returned. 'Will you think me very unreasonable if I ask you not to make one of my audience to-night? You have reminded me of the dear old days that can never come again. If I feel that I am singing to
I was prepared to hear sad news when we met the next morning.
My good old friend and master had died suddenly. To add to the bitterness of that affliction, he had died in debt to a dear and intimate friend. For his daughter's sake he had endeavored to add to his little savings by speculating with borrowed money on the Stock Exchange. He had failed, and the loan advanced had not been repaid, when a fit of apoplexy struck him down. Offered the opportunity of trying her fortune on the operatic stage, Jeanne made the attempt, and was now nobly employed in earning the money to pay her father's debt.
'It was the only way in which I could do justice to his memory,' she said, simply. 'I hope you don't object to my going on the stage?'
I took her hand, poor child—and let that simple action answer for me. I was too deeply affected to be able to speak.
'It is not in me to be a great actress,' she resumed; 'but you know what an admirable musician my father was. He has taught me to sing, so that I can satisfy the critics, as well as please the public. There was what they call a great success last night. It has earned me an engagement for another year to come, and an increase of salary. I have already sent some money to our good old friend at home, and I shall soon send more. It is my one consolation—I feel almost happy again when I am paying my poor father's debt. No more now of my sad story! I want to hear all that you can tell me of yourself.' She moved to the window, and looked out. 'Oh, the beautiful blue sky! We used sometimes to take a walk, when we were in London, on fine days like this. Is there a park here?'
I took her to the palace gardens, famous for their beauty in that part of Germany.
Arm in arm we loitered along the pleasant walks. The lovely flowers, the bright sun, the fresh fragrant breeze, all helped her to recover her spirits. She began to be like the happy Jeanne of my past experience, as easily pleased as a child. When we sat down to rest, the lap of her dress was full of daisies. 'Do you remember,' she said, 'when you first taught me to make a daisy-chain? Are you too great a man to help me again now?'
We were still engaged with our chain, seated close together, when the smell of tobacco-smoke was wafted to us on the air.
I looked up and saw the Doctor passing us, enjoying his cigar. He bowed; eyed my pretty companion with a malicious smile; and passed on.
'Who is that man?' she asked.
'The Prince's physician,' I replied.
'I don't like him,' she said; 'why did he smile when he looked at me?'
'Perhaps,' I suggested, 'he thought we were lovers.'
She blushed. 'Don't let him think that! tell him we are only old friends.'
We were not destined to finish our flower chain on that day.
Another person interrupted us, whom I recognized as the elder brother of Monsieur Bonnefoy—already mentioned in these pages, under the name of Uncle David. Having left France for political reasons, the old republican had taken care of his niece after her father's death, and had accepted the position of Jeanne's business manager in her relations with the stage. Uncle David's object, when he joined us in the garden, was to remind her that she was wanted at rehearsal, and must at once return with him to the theater. We parted, having arranged that I was to see the performance on that night.
Later in the day, the Baroness sent for me again.
'Let me apologize for having misunderstood you yesterday,' she said: 'and let me offer you my best congratulations. You have done wonders already in the way of misleading the Doctor. There is only one objection to that girl at the theater—I hear she is so pretty that she may possibly displease the Princess. In other respects, she is just in the public position which will make your attentions to her look like the beginning of a serious intrigue. Bravo, Mr. Ernest—bravo!'
I was too indignant to place any restraint on the language in which I answered her.
'Understand, if you please,' I said, 'that I am renewing an old friendship with Mademoiselle Jeanne—begun under the sanction of her father. Respect that young lady, madam, as I respect her.'
The detestable Baroness clapped her hands, as if she had been at the theater.
