Beck Center English Dept. University Libraries Emory University
Emory Women Writers Resource Project Collections:
Women's Genre Fiction Project

Adrienne, an electronic edition

by Rita

date: 1898
source publisher: Hutchinson & Co.
collection: Genre Fiction

Table of Contents

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| | 137

CHAPTER XII.

DOWN at Valtours life was very simple, very peaceful, yet pleasant withal. Adrienne and her sister-in-law agreed wonderfully, and as the young English girl became daily more accustomed to the new ways and new fashions of the people among whom she lived, she grew to like them and understand them better.

She missed her husband terribly at first, but he wrote her such charming letters, and so constantly deplored the tiresome business that kept him away from her side, that she really began to look upon him as a martyr, and begged quite earnestly that he would not trouble himself about her, or leave Paris for her sake before his affairs were settled, as that would only worry him.

Armand de Valtour smiled at the simplicity of these letters, and congratulated himself again on his excellent choice of a wife. Perhaps a pang of self-reproach did smite him occasionally as he contrasted his own deception with her faith; but he silenced such uncomfortable feelings by assuring himself that women were, after all, so different to men. It did not matter much what you made them believe so long as it kept them quiet and contented.

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One morning Adrienne sat in her own pretty morning-room, whose windows overlooked the rose gardens of the château, when a visitor was announced in the form of the Marquise de Savigny.

With a cry of wonder and delight Adrienne sprang up to meet her friend.

"Odylle! What a charming surprise! Why, how came you here?" she exclaimed.

"I am staying in your neighbourhood," answered Odylle, kissing her on both cheeks, and looking critically at the girl. "My dear one, how pale you are! And you like Valtours, of course? I always said you would make a delightful châtelaine. When are you going to begin? You ought to have your house full now. Ah, ce cher Armand, he is not here? No. I saw him in Paris. Business detains him."

"He will be home next week," said Adrienne, smiling for very happiness. "But how glad I am to see you again, Odylle. And you are quite near here, you say?"

"At the Château Maurigny. They have called on you? Such charming people. But now, my dear," added the little Marquise, "I have come here for a good long talk. Tell me all about yourself. How are you? How do you get on, and what do you think of a French husband? Is Armand as adorable as he used to be? and do you love him just as much?"

"What a string of questions," laughed Adrienne. | | 139 "I will answer the last first. Yes, just as much."

"Bon! you suit each other; I thought you would. He is a naughty man to run away to Paris so soon; but then it was necessary, I suppose. He was looking well, your dear husband, and he bade me give you all sorts of tender messages. He will soon be here now himself, you say. Ah, what happiness--these reunions when you are still but wedded lovers! I envy you, ma chère, I am so lonely myself."

"But your husband, is he not with you here?" asked Adrienne, surprised.

Odylle raised her pretty eyebrows.

"But no, my dear, did I not tell you I was alone? He is still in Brittany."

"I wonder you do not go to him then," said the girl bluntly.

The Marquise laughed.

"Ma chère, you will learn that there are times in all married lives when husband and wife are better apart. We had a little quarrel, mon mari and I. He went to Brittany--so he said--I to Trouville. When we meet again we shall have forgotten the little disagreeables. We shall be the best of friends once more."

"What is your husband like? I have never seen him," said Adrienne.

"He is not handsome, like Armand," said the little Marquise. "He is old and bald, and stout--stout in the wrong places, you understand. He is not | | 140 amiable either; but he lets me do pretty much as I like, and he gives me plenty of money. Is not that adorable?"

"And this contents you?" asked the young Countess, surveying her volatile friend with undisguised amazement.

"Contents me! Ma foi, yes. Why should it not?" exclaimed Odylle, impatient at the rebuke in Adrienne's voice. "Any woman when she is once married has to be content with that. So you will, too, one day. Love never lasts--money does. True, you had a large dot, and so would not be dependent on your husband; but I had a very small fortune, and Auguste, though he was old and--and stout in the wrong places, yet was madly in love with me and waived the question of dowry nobly. And after all it is much more comfortable not to have feelings. They are very much in one's way. One is not jealous, or exacting, or uncomfortable, or always expecting one's husband to be perfect, when commonsense tells us that no man ever is that, nor perhaps any woman either. You can dress charmingly, and eat heartily, and enjoy life ever so much better when you are not worried by fears and troubled by heartaches. Besides, you wear so much better. There is no such cosmetique as placidity, no such beauty destroyer as worry."

"Odylle, these are not the sentiments you expressed when urging me to marry Armand de Valtour."

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"Possibly not, ma chère," said the Marquise airily. "You see you were not married--then."

"I hope a day may never arrive when I shall think as you do, if these are your real feelings on the subject!" exclaimed Adrienne indignantly. "You degrade the very name of marriage when you allude to it in such a manner!"

Madame de Savigny shrugged her shoulders, and laughed aloud. "I forgot that you still hold enthusiasms," she said. "For my part, I am much happier since I lived without them. Love is a troublesome affair, at best. It is one of the diseases of youth, like dreams and heroes. Once throw them off, look upon them as mistakes, visionary--dissatisfying, and you begin to find some comfort in life, and believe me, my dear child, it holds no greater comfort, no more substantial blessing, than--money."

"I would rather be a beggar and know my husband loved me, that our interests, our hopes, our lives were identical, than the richest woman who ever lived on such terms as you have described!"

"Oh, no, you wouldn't!" laughed the Marquise merrily. "You are quite wrong there, my dear. Beggary is not at all pleasant, and you are far more likely to quarrel with your husband when he can't give you a smart gown or a proper dinner, than when you can step into your carriage with a row of bowing footmen around you, and order two hundred guinea confections from Worth. Love and happiness are two quite dissimilar things--the first really does away | | 142 with the last. I will take our two cases if you like. You are in love with your husband. He is away. You sigh and fret and mope here, and look quite pale and melancholy. I am--well, not in love, let us say. I have no pangs, no heartaches; I never trouble about what he is doing. I eat as well, sleep as well, enjoy myself as well as if he were by my side. Now, which of us is the happiest?"

"That is a selfish way of arguing."

"Maybe it is. But it is a very true one. I have always seen that love brings misfortunes. I, therefore, made up my mind long ago to do without it, and I have done so. You will, perhaps, buy your experience--I don't envy you the purchase money--and then come round to my way of thinking after all!"

"I could not do that," said Adrienne calmly. "If I once doubted my husband--if I lost his love--I think it would kill me!"

"Now, chère enfant, that is talking like a heroine of romance. It would do nothing of the kind. All women are disappointed in the man they love, just as all men are disappointed in the woman. It is human nature. We expect too much, and then cry out in disgust because our expectations are not realised."

"Do you think I shall be disappointed in my husband? That he is not noble, honourable, true! Shame on you, Odylle, to plant such doubts in my mind. You could not say enough in his praise once, when I appealed to you for counsel. Now--"

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She stopped. Tears of indignation were in her eyes; a lump rose in her throat and choked the words.

"You take everything au grand sérieux," said her friend penitently. "I did not mean to disturb you; but really, ma chère, with your ideas you are not fit to face the world as modern society exemplifies it. I had no idea you were so romantic."

"It is not romance," said Adrienne, more steadily. "It is something more real, more deep than the flimsy passion you designate by the name of love. No one who knew what love was could speak of it as you have spoken!"

"Does Armand hold ideas as exalted as yours?" asked the little Marquise ironically. "If so, I withdraw my erroneous expressions. You and he shall convert me. Love, as typified by such a perfect matrimonial alliance, will preach a crusade to all Paris, and modify entirely our national sentiments. What a great career lies before you, ma chère!"

"You are mocking me, Odylle," said Adrienne, with dignity. "Let us change the subject. We are not likely to agree upon it."

"With all my heart," laughed Odylle good-humouredly. "As you say, we are not likely to agree upon it at present. Two years hence discuss it with me again, and if I mistake not your views and mine will be allied a little more closely."

"I--I don't understand you," stammered Adrienne. "Do you mean to say you suspect--"

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"I suspect nothing, dear one," interrupted her friend lightly. "I only anticipate perfectly natural results from your views as pitted against--your experiences!"

"My experiences of my husband will never be such as to alter my views," said Adrienne proudly.

"What sublime confidence," laughed the little Marquise. To herself she thought, "I wonder what she would say if she knew of the duet in the music salon, and the promise to assist that little intriguante with the golden hair."

"What do you do with yourself, Adrienne?" she asked at last. "Is it not triste, this place? How can you amuse yourself day for day?"

"I am never dull," said Adrienne, with her quiet smile. "I work, and read, and sing, and drive, and walk, and there are my people to see, and visits to pay. The time is never long to me. There is always something to do."

"You are an extraordinary girl," said the Marquise, looking at her in wonder. "What with your enthusiasms, your faiths, your ideals, your goodness! How can you live in such a rarified atmosphere? It would kill me!"

Adrienne smiled--her rare, sweet smile.

"Nay, you wrong yourself, Odylle," she said. "You cannot have changed so utterly. Do you not remember our talks and confidences in the old days? Our views of life were not so dissimilar then. Surely the world has not altered my little frank-hearted | | 145 friend so much as she tries to make me believe."

Odylle's face for once grew grave, and her eyes drooped before that clear and earnest gaze.

"You do not understand," she said hesitatingly. "When you, too, have lived in the world and learned its lessons, you will change, too. One cannot help it. It is a place for flattery, intrigue, shams, insincerity, dissimulation, envy, vileness. Can one have such things about one and yet escape pollution? Where men tempt, and women sneer, and virtue is old-fashioned, and love a fable, and money a god, and fashion an idol, what can one do or say? Believe me, my dear, to withstand the sneers and smiles of our own sex, to hold such faiths and principles as yours, to live your life as you think it ought to be lived, not as the world decrees it shall be, to do such things as these is a harder task than ninety-nine out of every hundred women have courage for! Even you, if I mistake not, will say the same."

Adrienne sighed. "The world!--it is always the world," she said. "Can one not avoid it?"

"Avoid it!" laughed the little Marquise. "My dear, how could one live? What would be the use of rank, wealth, position, if we did not exhibit them to dazzle the eyes, benefit the fortunes, and excite the envy of our fellow men?"

"You will not be serious, Odylle?"

"Chérie, I have been so for the last hour. It says a great deal for my adaptability. At Maurigny life | | 146 is a jest from morning till night. Here everything is au grand sérieux. Yet, see how I have listened to, and argued with you, and lectured you. I seem to be quite a different being. But I am going to tear myself away now for all that. You will come and see me, will you not? And if they ask you over to our amateur theatricals, you will come? I am going to act. I have the loveliest costume. It will be some amusement for you. Say 'Yes.'"

"It depends upon my husband," was the quiet answer. "I do not care to go anywhere without him."

"Really, Adrienne, you are too absurd," exclaimed her friend impatiently. "Your husband! Ciel! Do you, then, intend to make a hermit of yourself always when he rushes off to the distractions of Paris? But that is a lively prospect, certainly."

"I should not go anywhere without him while he was away from home," said Adrienne. "I daresay you would not understand my reasons, but they satisfy me."

"Oh, very well," answered Odylle pettishly, as she rose to take her farewell. "I know how obstinate you are of old. Of course, if you want to be a nun you must be one. Well, adieu! Will you come over to breakfast to-morrow?"

"Luncheon, as I call it," smiled Adrienne. "Yes, perhaps I will. I want you to come and drive with me one day. Will to-morrow suit you? I should like you to see some of my people. There is one family I take a special interest in."

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"And does Monsieur de Valtour do the same?"

"Yes; the young fellow, the son, has gone to Paris. He is quite a genius, and I believe part of Armand's business was to find him out and help him. He is so generous and kind."

"Yes, especially where music is in question," remarked the little Marquise drily. "I found that out myself."

Adrienne did not understand her meaning--nor ask it.

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