allowed her time to accustom herself to playing the part of a coquette. So, on the first outburst, which took place one night when they stood side by side gazing at the sea like a pair of lovers in a comic opera, she had repelled him, in her astonishment and vexation that he should spoil the romance which served as an amusement to her.
On his return to Paris Malignon had vowed that he would be more skilful in his attack. He had just reacquired influence over her, during a fit of boredom which had come on with the close of a wearying winter, when the usual dissipations, dinners, balls, and first-night performances were beginning to pall on her with their dreary monotony. And at last, her curiosity aroused, allured by the seeming mystery and piquancy of an intrigue, she had responded to his entreaties by consenting to meet him. However, so wholly unruffled were her feelings, that she was as little disturbed, seated here by the side of Malignon, as when she paid visits to artists' studios to solicit pictures for her charity bazaars.
'Juliette! Juliette!' murmured the young man, striving to speak in caressing tones.
'Come, be sensible,' she merely replied; and taking a Chinese fan from the chimney-piece, she resumed-as much at her ease as though she had been sitting in her own drawing-room: 'You know we had a rehearsal this morning. I'm afraid I have not made a very happy choice in Madame Berthier. Her 'Mathilda' is a snivelling, insufferable affair. You remember that delightful soliloquy when she addresses the purse-'Poor little thing, I kissed you a moment ago'? Well! she declaims it like a school-girl who has learnt a complimentary greeting. It's so vexatious!'
'And what about Madame de Guiraud?' he asked, as he drew his chair closer and took her hand.
'Oh! she is perfection. I've discovered in her a 'Madame de Lery,' with some sarcasm and animation.'
While speaking she surrendered her hand to the young man, and he kissed it between her sentences without her seeming to notice it.
'But the worst of it all, you know,' she resumed, 'is your absence. In the first place, you might say something to Madame Berthier; and besides, we shall not be able to get a good
He had now succeeded in passing his arm round her waist.
'But as I know my part,' he murmured.
'Yes, that's all very well; but there's the arrangement of the scenes to look after. It is anything but obliging on your part to refuse to give us three or four mornings.'
She was unable to continue, for he was raining a shower of kisses on her neck. At this she could feign ignorance no longer, but pushed him away, tapping him the while with the Chinese fan which she still retained in her hand. Doubtless, she had registered a vow that she would not allow any further familiarity. Her face was now flushed by the heat reflected from the fire, and her lips pouted with the very expression of an inquisitive person whom her feelings astonish. Moreover, she was really getting frightened.
'Leave me alone,' she stammered, with a constrained smile. 'I shall get angry.'
But he imagined that he had moved her, and once more took hold of her hands. To her, however, a voice seemed to be crying out, 'No!' It was she herself protesting before she had even answered her own heart.
'No, no!' she said again. 'Let me go; you are hurting me!' And thereupon, as he refused to release her, she twisted herself violently from his grasp. She was acting in obedience to some strange emotion; she felt angry with herself and with him. In her agitation some disjointed phrases escaped her lips. Yes, indeed, he rewarded her badly for her trust. What a brute he was! She even called him a coward. Never in her life would she see him again. But he allowed her to talk on, and ran after her with a wicked and brutal laugh. And at last she could do no more than gasp in the momentary refuge which she had sought behind a chair. They were there, gazing at one another, her face transformed by shame and his by passion, when a noise broke through the stillness. At first they did not grasp its significance. A door had opened, some steps crossed the room, and a voice called to them:
'Fly! fly! You will be caught!'
It was Helene. Astounded, they both gazed at her. So great was their stupefaction that they lost consciousness of their embarrassing situation. Juliette indeed displayed no sign of confusion.
'Fly! fly!' said Helene again. 'Your husband will be here in two minutes.'
'My husband!' stammered the young woman; 'my husband!-why-for what reason?'
She was losing her wits. Her brain was in a turmoil. It seemed to her prodigious that Helene should be standing there speaking to her of her husband.
But Helene made an angry gesture.
'Oh! if you think I've time to explain,' said she,-'he is on the way here. I give you warning. Disappear at once, both of you.'
Then Juliette's agitation became extraordinary. She ran about the rooms like a maniac, screaming out disconnected sentences.
'My God! my God!-I thank you.-Where is my cloak?-How horrid it is, this room being so dark!-Give me my cloak.-Bring me a candle, to help me to find my cloak.-My dear, you mustn't mind if I don't stop to thank you.-I can't get my arms into the sleeves-no, I can't get them in-no, I can't!'
She was paralyzed with fear, and Helene was obliged to assist her with her cloak. She put her bonnet on awry, and did not even tie the ribbons. The worst of it, however, was that they lost quite a minute in hunting for her veil, which had fallen on the floor. Her words came with a gasp; her trembling hands moved about in bewilderment, fumbling over her person to ascertain whether she might be leaving anything behind which might compromise her.
'Oh, what a lesson! what a lesson! Thank goodness, it is well over!'
Malignon was very pale, and made a sorry appearance. His feet beat a tattoo on the ground, as he realized that he was both scorned and ridiculous. His lips could only give utterance to the wretched question:
'Then you think I ought to go away as well?'
Then, as no answer was vouchsafed him, he took up his cane, and went on talking by way of affecting perfect composure. They had plenty of time, said he. It happened that there was another staircase, a small servants' staircase, now never used, but which would yet allow of their descent. Madame Deberle's cab had remained at the door; it would convey both of them away along the quays. And again he repeated: 'Now calm yourself. It will be all right. See, this way.'
He threw open a door, and the three dingy, dilapidated, little rooms, which had not been repaired and were full of dirt, appeared to view. A puff of damp air entered the boudoir. Juliette, ere she stepped through all that squalor, gave final expression to her disgust.
'How could I have come here?' she exclaimed in a loud voice. 'What a hole! I shall never forgive myself.'
'Be quick, be quick!' urged Helene, whose anxiety was as great as her own.
She pushed Juliette forward, but the young woman threw herself sobbing on her neck. She was in the throes of a nervous reaction. She was overwhelmed with shame, and would fain have defended herself, fain have given a reason for being found in that man's company. Then instinctively she gathered up her skirts, as though she were about to cross a gutter. With the tip of his boot Malignon, who had gone on first, was clearing away the plaster which littered the back staircase. The doors were shut once more.
Meantime, Helene had remained standing in the middle of the sitting-room. Silence reigned there, a warm, close silence, only disturbed by the crackling of the burnt logs. There was a singing in her ears, and she heard nothing. But after an interval, which seemed to her interminable, the rattle of a cab suddenly resounded. It was Juliette's cab rolling away.
Then Helene sighed, and she made a gesture of mute gratitude. The thought that she would not be tortured by everlasting remorse for having acted despicably filled her with pleasant and thankful feelings. She felt relieved, deeply moved, and yet so weak, now that this awful crisis was over, that she lacked the strength to depart in her turn. In her heart she thought that Henri was coming, and that he must meet some one in this place. There was a knock at the door, and she opened it at once.
The first sensation on either side was one of bewilderment. Henri entered, his mind busy with thoughts of the letter which he had received, and his face pale and uneasy. But when he caught sight of her a cry escaped his lips.
'You! My God! It was you!'
The cry betokened more astonishment than pleasure. But soon there came a furious awakening of his love.
