CHAPTER XVI.
A CAPRICIOUS BEAUTY
Five years have elapsed since the events we have just related, and on the evening of the 12th of May, 18 — the anniversary of the terrible catastrophe on the Versailles railroad, the following scene was taking place.
It was half-past nine in the evening, and a young woman about twenty-five years of age, a decided brunette, with a perfect figure, and a remarkably spirituelle and high-bred face, was just completing a superb evening toilet with the assistance of two maids, one of whom had just clasped a necklace of diamonds as big as hazelnuts around the neck of her beautiful mistress, while another adjusted a magnificent diadem of the same costly gems upon the lady's beautiful black hair. The low corsage, too, of pale green satin, trimmed with superb lace and bows of pale pink satin ribbon, also glittered with precious stones.
The selection of diamonds as ornaments seemed to have been the result of careful reflection, for on a table close by were several cases containing complete and no less costly garnitures. Two of them, one composed of enormous rubies, the other of magnificent pearls of extraordinary size and lustre, would have excited the admiration of any jeweller.
One of the attendants, who was much older than her companion, seemed — thanks, probably, to her long service — to be on quite familiar terms with her mistress, who, like herself was a Russian, and the other maid, a young Frenchwoman, not understanding the Russian language, consequently heard without understanding the following conversation between the Comtesse Zomaloff and her trusted maid, Mlle. Katinka:
"Does madame like the way in which I have adjusted her diadem?"
"Very well," replied the countess.
And with a final glance in the glass, she added, as she rose:
"Where is my bouquet?"
"Here, madame."
"What, that horrid withered thing!" cried Madame Zomaloff.
"It is the one M. le duc sent for madame la comtesse."
"I recognise his taste," said Madame Zomaloff, shrugging her shoulders. Then she added, with a mocking air, "It is one he picked up at a bargain, I'll be bound. Some lover who quarrelled with his sweetheart yesterday morning failed to send last evening for the bouquet he had ordered. It takes M. de Riancourt to discover such bargains."
"Ah, madame cannot suppose M. le duc is as stingy as all that. He is so rich."
"All the more reason that he should be."
Some one rapped at the door of the chamber adjoining the dressing-room, and the French maid who went to answer the summons returned in a moment to say:
"M. le Duc de Riancourt has come, and is awaiting madame's pleasure."
"Let him wait," replied Madame Zomaloff. "The princess is in the drawing-room, I suppose."
"Yes, madame la comtesse."
"Very well. Here, Katinka, fasten this bracelet," continued the young woman, holding out her beautiful arm. "What time is it?"
But as Katinka was about to reply, Madame Zomaloff added, with a mocking smile:
"After all, what is the use of asking that question? The duke has just arrived, consequently it must be exactly half after nine."
The clock on the mantel interrupted the countess by striking the half-hour designated, and the lady laughed heartily as she exclaimed:
"What did I tell you, Katinka? M. de Riancourt is as punctual as the clock itself."
"That only proves his ardour and his love."
"I should prefer a less well-regulated emotion, I think. Persons who adore you at a stated time always seem to me to have a watch in place of a heart. Hand me a smelling-bottle, — no, not that one. Yes, this one will do. I am almost sorry that I am dressed, so I cannot keep the poor duke waiting longer to punish him for his tiresome punctuality."
"Why, madame, how unjust you are to him! Why do you marry him if you feel this way toward him?"
"Why do I marry M. de Riancourt?" the countess replied, as she took one more look in the mirror. "You have more curiosity than I have, Katinka. Does any woman ever know why she marries a second time?"
"The reason seems apparent to every one. The duke, though he has no gold mines in the Crimea, and no silver mines in the Ural Mountains — "
"Spare me this tiresome enumeration of my worldly possessions, Katinka."
"Well, madame, though M. le duc cannot boast of such immense possessions as you have, he is one of the wealthiest and most powerful noblemen in France. He is young and good-looking; he has not led a life of dissipation like so many other young men; on the contrary, he is very devout, and — "
"Oh, yes, he is a paragon of virtue, of course. Bring me a heavy wrap; the nights are still cool."
"Has madame any orders to give for the twentieth?"
"Orders?"
"Is it possible that madame forgets her marriage is to take place one week from to-morrow?"
"What! as soon as that?"
"Certainly, madame. You decided on the twentieth of May, and this is the twelfth."
"If I said the twentieth, it will have to be the twentieth. But how strange it is. One is leading a delightful life; one is young and free, and one hates restraint, and yet one cannot give oneself another master too soon."
"A master? A man as kind and gentle as M. le duc? Why, you can make whatever you please of him, madame!"
"I shall never make a charming man of him, and yet I shall marry him. Ah, aunt, aunt, you are responsible for all this. There is one good thing about it, though. One will at least escape the bother of having to ask oneself what one had better do."
The countess proceeded in a leisurely fashion to the drawing-room, where she found her aunt and the Duc de Riancourt awaiting her.
The Princesse Wileska, Madame Zomaloff's aunt, was a tall, distinguished-looking woman, with gray hair which she wore slightly powdered. The Duc de Riancourt was a small man, about thirty years of age, with a thin, rather crooked neck, long, straight hair parted in the middle, a somewhat sanctimonious air, and eyes set rather obliquely, while his slow, precise movements indicated a remarkable amount of self-control.
When Madame Zomaloff entered the room, he advanced to meet her, bowed profoundly, and raised nearly to his lips the pretty hand the countess carelessly offered him, then, straightening himself up, he gazed at her a moment as if dazzled, exclaiming:
"Ah, madame la comtesse, I never saw you arrayed in all your diamonds before! I do not believe there are any other diamonds like them in the world. How beautiful they are! Good Heavens! how beautiful they are!"
"Really, my dear duke, you quite overpower me by your admiration — for my diamonds; and as my necklace and diadem arouse such tender emotion in your breast and inspire you with such graceful compliments, I will tell you, in strict confidence, the name of my jeweller. It is Ezekiel Rabotautencraff, of Frankfort."
While M. de Riancourt was trying to find some suitable response to Madame Zomaloff's raillery, the aunt of that young lady gave the duke a reproachful look, remarking, with a forced smile:
"See how this mischievous Fedora delights in teasing you. It is a very common way of concealing the affection one feels for people, I believe."
"I humbly admit, my dear princess, that, dazzled by these magnificent jewels, I failed to render due homage to their wearer," said M. de Riancourt, in the hope of repairing his blunder. "But — but may not a person be so dazzled by the sun as to be unable to see even the most beautiful of flowers?"
"I am so impressed by this comparison of yours that I am almost tempted to believe that the same glaring sunshine you speak of must have withered these poor blossoms," retorted the mischievous young woman with a gay laugh, holding up for the duke's inspection the rather faded bouquet he had sent her.
That gentleman blushed up to his very ears; the princess frowned with an impatient air, while the countess, perfectly indifferent to these signs of disapproval, coolly remarked, as she walked toward the door:
"Give your arm to my aunt, M. de Riancourt. I promised my friend, the wife of the Russian ambassador, that I would be at her house very early, as she wishes to present me to one of her relatives, and you know we have first to inspect that wonderful mansion — that enchanted palace everybody is talking about."
After waiting a few seconds in the vestibule, the countess and her aunt saw a clumsy landau, drawn by two emaciated horses, lumber up to the door, and the young widow, turning to the duke in evident surprise, said:
"Why, this is not your carriage! What has become of that dark blue berlin drawn by two handsome gray horses that you placed at our disposal yesterday morning?"
"Under the circumstances I feel no hesitation about confessing a little detail of domestic economy to you, my dear countess," replied the duke, with touching naïveté. "To save my grays, for which I was obliged to pay a good round sum, I assure you, I always hire a carriage in the evening. It is very much more economical than to risk one's own turnout at night."
"And you are perfectly right, my dear duke," the princess hastened to say, fearing another shaft of ridicule from her niece. M. de Riancourt's footman was in attendance. He opened the door of the antiquated vehicle. The princess, assisted by the duke, quickly entered it, but as that gentleman offered his hand to the young widow for the same purpose, the petulant beauty paused with the tip of her white satin slipper lightly poised on the carriage step, and said, with an air of the deepest apprehension:
"Do examine every nook and corner of the carriage carefully, aunt, I beseech you, before I get in."
"But why, my dear?" inquired the princess, naïvely. "What is the necessity of this precaution?"
"I am afraid some red-headed girl or some stout shopkeeper may have been left in a corner, as it is in vehicles of this description that worthy shopkeepers drive about all day with their families when they treat themselves to an outing."
Laughing heartily, the young widow sprang into the carriage. As she seated herself, the princess said to her, in a low tone, but with a deeply pained air:
"Really, Fedora, I do not understand you. You are strangely sarcastic toward M. de Riancourt. What can be your object?"
"I want to cure him of his shameful stinginess. How could I better manifest my interest in him?"
Just then the duke took the seat opposite them. He seemed to endure with Christian meekness the ridicule of this young woman who possessed such magnificent diamonds, as well as all sorts of gold and silver mines; but the furtive glance he bestowed on her now and then, and a certain contraction of his thin lips, indicated that a sullen rage was rankling in his heart.
The footman having asked for orders, M. de Riancourt replied:
"To the Hôtel Saint-Ramon."
"Pardon me, M. le duc," answered the footman, "but I don't know where the Hôtel Saint-Ramon is."
"At the end of the Cours la Reine," responded M. de Riancourt.
"Does M. le duc mean that large house on which they have been working several years?"
"Yes."
The footman closed the door, and repeated the instructions to the coachman who applied the whip vigorously to his bony steeds, and the landau started in the direction of the Cours la Reine.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE HOTEL SAINT-RAMON
M. de Riancourt's clumsy equipage moved so slowly that when it reached the entrance to the Cours la Reine a pedestrian, who was proceeding in the same direction, kept pace with it without the slightest difficulty.
This pedestrian, who was very poorly dressed, did not seem to be very active, for he leaned heavily on his cane. His long beard, his hair, and his bushy eyebrows were as white as snow, while the swarthy hue of his wrinkled face gave him the appearance of an aged mulatto. When M. de Riancourt's carriage had advanced about half way up the Cours la Reine, its progress was still further impeded by a long line of vehicles, which were evidently also on the way to the Hôtel Saint-Ramon; so the old man passed the landau, and walked on until he came to an avenue glittering with gaily coloured lamps, and filled from end to end with a long procession of carriages.
Though the old man seemed deeply absorbed in thought, his attention was naturally attracted to the large crowd that had assembled near the handsome gateway that served as an entrance to this brilliantly lighted avenue, so he paused, and, addressing one of the bystanders, inquired:
"Can you tell me what all these people are looking at?"
"They are looking at the guests who are going to the opening of the famous Saint-Ramon mansion."
"Saint-Ramon?" murmured the old man, with evident surprise. "How strange!"
Then he added aloud:
"What is this Hôtel Saint-Ramon, monsieur?"
"The eighth wonder of the world, people say. It has taken five years to build it, and the owner gives a house-warming to-night."
"To whom does this house belong, monsieur?"
"To a young man worth several millions."
"And what is his name?"
"Saint-Harem, or Saint-Herem, I believe."
"I thought as much," the old man said to himself. "But, in that case, why do they call it the Saint-Ramon mansion?" Then, turning to the same bystander again, he asked aloud: "Will you be kind enough to tell me what time it is?"
"Half-past ten, exactly."
"Thank you, monsieur," responded the old man, getting a little nearer to the gate. "Half-past ten," he said to himself. "I need not be at Chaillot until midnight, so I have plenty of time to solve this mystery."
After a moment's hesitation, the old man passed through the gateway, and proceeded up a walk shaded with magnificent elms, to a brilliantly lighted half-circle in front of the house itself, which was a veritable palace, — a superb example of the palmiest days of Renaissance architecture.
Crossing the half-circle, the old man found himself at the foot of the imposing perron leading to the peristyle. Through the glass doors that enclosed the entire front of this peristyle, he saw a long row of tall, powdered footmen clad in gorgeous liveries, but all the while the carriages that drew up at the foot of the perron were depositing men, women, and young girls, whose plain attire contrasted strangely with the splendour of this fairy palace.
The old man, to whom allusion has already been made, urged on, apparently, by an almost irresistible curiosity, followed several of these newcomers up under the peristyle, where two tall Swiss, halberds in hand, opened the broad portals of the large glass double door to all, making their halberds ring noisily on the marble floor as each guest entered. Still mingling with a party of invited guests, the old man passed through a double row of footmen in bright blue livery, profusely trimmed with silver, into a large reception-room, where numerous valets, clad in bright blue jackets, black satin knee breeches, and white silk stockings, were in attendance, all manifesting the utmost deference to these guests whose unpretending appearance seemed so out of harmony with the princely luxury of the abode. The guests passed from this room into a large music-room, fitted up for concerts, and from that into an immense circular hall surmounted by a dome. This hall served as a nucleus for three other large apartments, — or rather four in all, including the music-room, — one intended for a ballroom, another for a banquet-hall and the other for a cardroom.
It is impossible to describe the splendour, elegance, and sumptuous furnishings of these large, brilliantly lighted apartments, whose lavish adornments in the shape of paintings, statuary, and flowers were multiplied again and again in the enormous mirrors that lined the walls. The most illustrious artists of the time had assisted in this work of ornamentation. Masterpieces by Ingres and Delacroix hung side by side with those of Scheffer and Paul Delaroche; while the future fame of Couture and Gérôme had evidently been divined by the wealthy and discerning builder of this palace. Among the most magnificent works of art, we must not forget to mention an immense sideboard in the banquet-hall, loaded with superb silver, worthy of the master hand of Benvenuto Cellini, and consisting of candelabra, pitchers, epergnes, and fruit-dishes, each and every one entitled to an honoured place in a museum, by reason of its rare beauty of form and exquisite ornamentation.
One word more in relation to a peculiar feature of the spacious rotunda. Directly over a gigantic white marble mantel, a monument to the genius of David of Angers, the French Michael Angelo, with allegorical figures in alto-relievo, representing the Arts and Sciences at the base, was a portrait that might with reason have been attributed to Velasquez. It represented a pale, austere-looking man with strongly marked features, hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. A brown robe similar to those worn by monks imparted to this person the impressive character of those portraits of saints or martyrs so frequently encountered in the Spanish school of art, — a resemblance that was heightened by a sort of halo which shone out brightly against the dark background of the picture, and seemed to cast a reflected radiance upon the austere and thoughtful countenance. On the frame below, in German text, were the words:
SAINT-RAMON
The aged stranger, who had continued to advance with the crowd, at last found himself opposite this fireplace, but, on seeing the portrait, he paused as if overwhelmed with astonishment. His emotion was so great that tears rose to his eyes, and he murmured, almost unconsciously:
"My poor friend, it is indeed he! But why has the word 'saint' been added to his name? Why has this aureole been placed around his head? And this strange entertainment, how is it that a person as poorly clad as I am, and a stranger to the master of the house, besides, should be allowed to enter here unhindered?"
Just then a servant, carrying a large waiter loaded with ices, cake, and similar dainties, paused in front of the old man, and offered him refreshments. This offer was declined, however, by the stranger, who was striving, though in vain, to determine the social status of those around him. The men, who were for the most part plainly but neatly dressed, some in coats and others in new blouses, while they seemed delighted to participate in the fête, appeared perfectly at ease, or, in other words, perfectly at home, and not in the least astonished at the wonders of this palatial abode; while the women and the young girls, many of whom, by the way, were extremely pretty, were evidently much more deeply impressed by the splendour around them. The young girls, particularly, who were nearly all attired in inexpensive, though perfectly fresh, white dresses, exchanged many admiring comments in low tones.
The venerable stranger, more and more anxious to solve this mystery, at last approached a group composed of several men and women who had paused in front of the fireplace to gaze at the portrait of Saint-Ramon.
"You see that picture, Juliette," he heard a sturdy, pleasant-faced young man say to his wife. "It is only right to call that worthy man Saint-Ramon. There is many a saint in paradise who is not to be compared with him, judging from the good he has done."
"How is that, Michel?"
"Why, thanks to this worthy saint, I, like most of my fellow workmen here, have had lucrative employment for the last five years, and we all owe this good fortune to the original of this portrait, M. Saint-Ramon. Thanks to him, I have not been out of work for a single day, and my wages have not only been liberal enough to support us comfortably, but also to enable us to lay aside a snug little sum for a rainy day."
"But it was not this worthy man whose portrait we see here that ordered and paid for all this work. It was M. de Saint-Herem, who is always so pleasant and kind, and who said so many nice things to us just now when we came in."
"Of course, my dear Juliette, it was M. de Saint-Herem who employed us, but, as he always said to us when he came to see how we were getting on: 'Ah, boys, if it were not for the wealth I inherited from another person, I could not give you employment or pay you as such industrious and capable workmen ought to be paid, so always hold in grateful remembrance the memory of the person who left me all this money. He accumulated it, penny by penny, by depriving himself of every comfort, while I have the pleasure of spending his wealth. In fact, it is my bounden duty to spend it. What is the good of money, if it is not to be spent? So hold in grateful remembrance, I say, the memory of yonder good old miser. Bless his avarice, for it gives me the pleasure of accomplishing wonderful things, and you, liberal wages, richly earned.'"
"Still, while we are, of course, under great obligations to this worthy miser, we ought to be equally grateful to M. de Saint-Herem, it seems to me. So many wealthy people spend little or nothing; or, if they do employ us, haggle about the price of our work, or keep us waiting a long time for our money."
The venerable stranger listened to this conversation with quite as much interest as astonishment. He also lent an attentive ear to other conversations that were going on around him, and everywhere he heard a chorus of praises and benedictions lavished upon Saint-Ramon, while M. de Saint-Herem's nobility of soul and liberality were lauded to the skies.
"Is all this a dream?" the old man said to himself. "Who would ever believe that these eulogiums and protestations of respect were addressed to the memory of a miser, — of a person belonging to a class of people that is almost universally despised and vilified? And it is the spendthrift heir of this miser who thus eulogises him! But what strange whim led him to invite all his workmen to his entertainment?"
The astonishment of the old man increased as he began to note a strange contrast that was becoming apparent between the guests, for quite a number of correctly dressed and extremely distinguished-looking men — many with decorations in their buttonholes — were now moving about the spacious rooms with exquisitely dressed ladies on their arms.
Florestan de Saint-Herem, handsomer, gayer, and more brilliant than ever, seemed to be entirely in his element in this atmosphere of luxury and splendour. He did the honours of his palace delightfully, receiving every guest with wonderful grace and perfect courtesy. He had stationed himself near the door of the large circular hall into which the reception-room opened, and no woman or young girl entered to whom he did not address a few of those cordial and affable words which, when they are sincere, never fail to charm even the most timid, and make them perfectly at ease.
Florestan was thus engaged when he saw the Comtesse Zomaloff, accompanied by the Princesse Wileska and the Duc de Riancourt, enter the hall.