| | 110

CHAPTER X.

SPEEDING on to Paris by express train, Armand de Valtour began to think over the events of the last two months.

"Am I tired of her already?" he said, and sighed discontentedly as he looked out on the changing landscape. "I loved her madly before I married her; why is it that a good woman becomes so wearisome? She does not understand me; she thinks me so different to what I am. I wonder how long love will blind her eyes?"

Not being able to answer that question, he lit another cigar, and took out the last number of Figaro to read.

"I suppose Paris will be empty," he muttered discontentedly. "I wonder if Lamboi will be there. How he laughed at me for marrying; he said I should repent it in six months. Is he right? No; I do not regret marrying Adrienne, but I cannot keep up that exalted devotion she expects. Besides, it makes one look ridiculous! Ah! well, Paris will soon cure her of that."

Such thoughts showed he was far enough from comprehending the lofty loyal nature of the girl he had | | 111 married; perhaps, though he had not acknowledged it, that very loftiness and purity shamed his own unstable and fickle heart, and was a continual reproach.

Arrived in Paris, he went straight to his own hotel. He was not expected, but his servants were too well trained and too much accustomed to his caprices to be much put out by his arrival. His own rooms were in readiness always, and he bade them not trouble about refreshments, as he would dine out.

"Is Monsieur Lamboi in Paris?" he asked his confidential servant, who was waiting upon him noiselessly and expeditiously, during his toilet.

"Yes, monsieur; I saw him yesterday."

"Bon," said Armand de Valtour, with content; "send him round this note at once; if he is out, leave word he is to call here to-morrow morning early."

The man bowed and gave the note to an inferior messenger, and then proceeded with his master's toilet, retailing meanwhile such scraps of Parisian gossip as might interest or amuse him. Something he said startled and discomposed the Count suddenly, for a frown gathered on his brow.

"Madame Lissac called here? But that is strange! You are sure of it, Michel?"

"Quite sure, Monsieur le Comte. Madame was most anxious to know whether you were still in Provence, or if the date of your return was known."

"A muttered curse left Armand de Valtour's lips. | | 112 The observant Michel noted the effects of his news, and observed a discreet silence. When his master's toilet was finished and he had handed him his hat and gloves, he said hesitatingly:

"The servants would be glad to know if Madame la Comtesse arrives also--are her rooms to be prepared?"

"No; she is not coming," said Armand de Valtour quickly. "My stay is only for a few days. Then I return to Valtours again."

The man turned and held the door open while his master passed out, and soon after left the hotel.

"Have they quarrelled already?" thought the discreet valet; "Ah! well, I always thought the Count was not meant for a good husband. I suppose he has tired of her, as he has of others; only the pity is this time he cannot cut asunder his chains."

After the long railway journey Armand de Valtour was glad enough to stretch his legs, and now walked briskly along the lighted streets in the direction of the famous café. The evening was chill, and a slight rain was falling, but to Armand de Valtour, as he trod once more the streets of the city he loved best in the world, neither chill nor gloom mattered very much. Even the slight annoyance he had felt when he heard of Aurélie Lissac's visit left him now. He would soon quiet her, he thought. Other women had been troublesome, too, in their time, but he had always managed to disembarrass himself of their | | 113 importunities gracefully and effectually. Why should this case be an exception?

"She thinks I behaved shabbily to her at Trouville, I suppose," he said. "Perhaps I did. I could think of no one but Adrienne then."

Involuntarily his thoughts went back to that evening when he had seen his wife standing in the drawing-room of Mme. de Savigny's little chalet--a slender girlish figure in a soft white dress, and with the fan of feathers in her hand. "She is very beautiful--of that there is no doubt," he said to himself. "But she is too perfect. One would rather have flesh and blood than a statue. I like a woman who charms, and torments, and provokes one all at once--of whom one is never quite sure. Adrienne will always love me, and in her I shall never find a fault; but, all the same, she wearies me with her very perfection. I had better see Aurélie to-night, and discover what she wants. It is just as well to keep friends with her. Bon Dieu! How long I have known that woman now!"

Once in the café, and with all the chef d'œuvres of culinary art before him, Armand de Valtour's good humour increased more and more. After all, there was no place like Paris, go where one would. He was about half through his dinner when Victor Lamboi came bustling in, noisy, stout, and talkative as ever. The two friends greeted each other warmly, and Lamboi readily accepted Armand de Valtour's invitation to join him in his repast.

"Ma foi! But you look well, cher Armand," | | 114 exclaimed his friend. "Of a truth, marriage agrees with you, and country life too. And how is madame? She is with you, of course?

"No," said Armand de Valtour, a little confusedly; "I have merely run up to Paris on business. I return in a week. I do not wish my wife to come till the new year. Her dèbut must not be spoilt by a premature appearance."

"Oh! Then you are alone?" cried Lamboi, an odd little smile curling his lips. "A week in Paris en garçon. Good. We shall enjoy ourselves--it will be like old times. Madame la Comtesse is well, I hope?"

"Quite well."

"And you are happy, of course? No need to ask that. These are early days to be anything but le mari amoureux."

"Yes, yes; I am happy enough," said the Count, with a little impatience. "And now, give me all the news of Paris, Lamboi. Who is here? Anyone we know?"

"Of the beau monde--no," said Victor Lamboi, smiling. "Of the other, it can be nothing to you now, or else I might tell you of the wonders of little Zoé Laurent, who blossomed out as a café chanteuse, and has taken half Paris by storm, and whose beauty has the singular attraction of being virtuous and uncorruptible. By the way, it is whispered that Madame Lissac knows something of her."

| | 115

"Aurélie, and a café chanteuse! Impossible! How could there be any connection between the two?"

Lamboi shrugged his broad shoulders.

"That I cannot say. But why not? Madame Aurélie has not an immaculate reputation, despite the fact that she is received in many circles, and has not been known ostensibly to cross the line of demarcation which separates the two mondes. However, it matters not who or what Zoé is. She is charming. You can judge for yourself. She sings at a café chantant in the Champs Elysées every evening. Come and hear her by and by."

"I am quite willing," said Armand de Valtour. "But, in truth, I wanted to call on Aurélie. She has been making inquiries at my hotel. I should like to know what she wants."

"Oh, to-morrow will do for her!" said Lamboi. "Don't spoil your first evening by seeking out vexations. A woman always intends worrying one when she takes to calling at one's private residence. Leave her alone until to-morrow."

"I am quite willing to do so," said Armand, who invariably shirked anything disagreeable. "I have no doubt our interview will not be pleasant. She has never forgiven my marriage."

"No--nor your running over to England for the ceremony. She would like to have been present. Ah, cher Armand, why are you not like me? I never have troubled my head about women, nor do I | | 116 intend to. One's life is much easier and pleasanter without them."

Armand de Valtour shook his head.

"I don't agree with you. Women are to life what salt is to food. Without it no dish is palatable; flavour is wanting. Without them life may be wholesome certainly, but not piquant."

"The wholesome food, however, leaves no unpleasant results behind. You can't say so much of the dishes that hold the sauce piquante of a woman's flavouring."

"Chut," said Armand, laughing. "We never agree on that subject, I know. A life that held no woman would be barren of all delights."

"You should say, a life that held not one woman now, cher Armand," smiled Lamboi. "You thought, but two months ago, all the world of women were but as shadows in comparison to one. Has matrimony so disenchanted you already?"

"A truce to jesting, if you please, Victor," said the Count coldly. "Come, if you have finished, we will sally forth to see this new wonder; not that I suppose she will be much. These chanteuses are all alike, save that some excel others in point of vulgarity and extravagance."

In his heart he was thinking, "How would such life suit Maï, I wonder; what would Paris say to her beauty?"

But he did not confide the thought to his friend; indeed, he soon dismissed it from his own heart, for | | 117 he knew that Maï had nothing in her of the chic and effrontery which would have made her a success in such a sphere of life.

As they turned once more into the brilliantly-lighted streets which led to the boulevards, a hurrying figure passed close to them--the figure of a young man in a quaint peasant dress that looked strange and out of place among the crowds of well-dressed people moving to and fro. He stopped, uttered an exclamation, then followed Armand de Valtour and his friend impulsively.

"Monsieur le Comte! is it possible? Oh, pardon me--I thought, perhaps--"

"André!" exclaimed Armand de Valtour, "so--it is you!"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Well, so you took the law into your own hands and ran away. And how has Paris received you? With open arms, I doubt not. Geniuses are rare, and when found are immediately recognised and placed on a pedestal for the world to worship."

The young man coloured.

"Monsieur is pleased to jest," he said, drawing back a step.

All the eagerness had faded from his face. He looked worn and haggard under the glare of the lamps.

"Jest! not I," exclaimed Armand de Valtour. "I merely wish to know if you found what you expected. Let me see, it is a week, is it not, since you left Valtours?"

| | 118

"Ten days, monsieur."

"Humph--not very long. And what are you doing?"

"Nothing at present. I went to a director of out-of-door concerts, and he said my voice was good, but he could not offer me an engagement just now. I know no one, you see, monsieur, and it is all strange here--so different."

"You find it so?" said Armand, in the same ironical tone. "And the world has not given you audience yet. Well, you are not the first, nor will you be the last, who has found it deaf and obdurate; it is an old grievance, you know. The public won't have what we offer them--won't take our goods at our own valuation, or assist us to get them taken on that of others. And so you are discontented already?"

"I hardly know, monsieur; I have had no experience--no opportunity yet, I--"

"Well, well," interrupted Armand impatiently, "I have no time to hear your explanations now; but I am going to see a musical gentleman to-morrow who has some influence. I will speak to him of you, and see if he has any opening for rising talent. Meanwhile, what is your address? I will write and tell you what he says."

"A thousand thanks, monsieur," cried the young man eagerly. "I am at the Rue Croix des Petits Champs, No. 13, at present. This is my address."

"Very well," said Armand de Valtour, taking the | | 119 slip of paper from his hand and putting it in his own pocket. "I will do what I can. Bon soir."

"Monsieur, a thousand pardons, but--Madame la Comtesse--is she well? Is she also in Paris?" cried the young man eagerly.

"That can be no concern of yours," said Armand de Valtour coldly, as he took Lamboi's arm, and moved on, leaving André Brizeaux standing motionless and stupefied on the pavement.

"A Provençal protegé?" asked Lamboi, as they went on again. "Ma foi! but he has an interest, indeed, in madame. A pastoral idyl, I suppose?"

"Don't be foolish," exclaimed Armand de Valtour sharply. "He is the son of one of my tenants; he has a craze for music, and ran away from home with some wild idea of winning fame and honour and the Lord knows what ere a year had passed over his head. I hope he may realise his dream--that is all."

"It is so likely--here in Paris, unknown and friendless, too," answered Lamboi.

"He is a young fool; dreams stand in place of food to him," said Armand de Valtour. "His life was simple, safe, peaceful, but obscure; now--"

He stopped abruptly. A pang of remorse shot through his heart. He remembered who had disturbed that simplicity, destroyed that peace, tempted that obscurity. Armand de Valtour had a way of sowing seed lightly and carelessly, and then marvelling whence came the harvest of pain, or ill deeds that followed.

| | 120

"Well, now I must do what I can for him," he said grumblingly. "I suppose he will get on in time. He has a craze for music, and his voice is beautiful. If all else fails, he will do for a chorus-singer in the opera."

It was well André Brizeaux did not hear those words. His dreams of fame would have fled further had he done so.

There is a wayward fate which often shows itself in human life, giving all to those who already posses much--bestowing naught upon those who have nothing. The genius that filled the young Provençal's soul would hardly bring him food to keep life within his frame, the little chanteuse who had nothing but audacity and prettiness, and a certain reckless, saucy way of singing risky little chansons, was already winning popularity, and tempting offers from managers and directors, who saw in her that most subtle and magical of attractions, a draw. But then she was chic.

It was just her turn to sing when the friends reached the café.

Throngs of people were about. The lights shone amidst the trees, and overhead the sky stretched dark and starless. A girl stood on the little stage with hair that gleamed like gold tossed in a loose shower from her face, and eyes that looked dark as night under the shade of their long lashes. She had a saucy, bewildering face of exquisite colour and charming irregularities; a face that defied all laws of beauty, | | 121 and provoked and allured by its very contradictions. The song she sung was not of any particular merit--such songs are written by hundreds, and have their short run of popularity and then are forgotten; but she sang with an esprit and vivacity that made its allusions doubly piquant, and brought down thunders of applause from the delighted audience.

"What do you think of her?" asked Lamboi, turning to his friend, when the little figure had at last retired, after a succession of encores.

Armand de Valtour had split his gloves with the energy of applauding, his face was flushed and excited, his lips were parted with smiles.

"Ravissante! magnifique!" he murmured. "Your description did not half do her justice, Victor."

"Ah!" said Lamboi dryly. "What a pity Armand, that you are married!"