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CHAPTER XI.

A VEILED woman stole out from among the crowd and laid her hand on Armand de Valtour's arm.

"I must speak to you," she said in his ear.

He started. She was already moving away, but he knew her voice, and knew, too, that it would be better for him to obey her behests. He uttered a hurried excuse to Lamboi and left the group, and went away through the motley, noisy, changeful crowd, in pursuit of that shadowy form which still flitted before him.

Apart from the crowd, in a little alley dimly lit, and shut in by great boughs heavy with autumn foliage, she stopped at last. There Armand de Valtour came up to her side, and muttered impatiently:

"What in Heaven's name brings you to such a place as this?"

She threw back her long veil and looked up at him with mocking eyes.

"You are shocked, I suppose. No matter. So you are in Paris, too. Your people told me you were still at Valtours."

"The surprise is mutual. I was at Valtours. I only arrived this evening. I heard you had been | | 123 inquiring for me. I was about to call on you to-morrow."

"Quel honneur!" she said mockingly. "And madame--she is with you, of course?"

"No."

"Est-ce-possible? Parted so soon! Have you, then, left her in Provence?"

"Yes; I only stay in Paris a week myself."

"A short visit. But of course there are no attractions here now?"

"Aurélie!" cried Armand de Valtour impatiently, "I suppose you have hardly summoned me in this mysterious fashion to discuss my movements or how they may be affected by circumstances. What is it you wish to say to me?"

"How do you like Zoé Laurent?" was the abrupt reply.

Armand started visibly.

"I--I do not comprehend," he stammered, in confusion. "What has that to do with us?"

"A great deal," answered his companion. "I take an interest in the girl. She is good, despite appearances--talented, quick, witty. She deserves a better fate than that of a café chanteuse. I want your help, your influence. You can assist her. Will you?"

"I--why should I? I know nothing of the girl. I only saw her a few moments ago."

"That has nothing to do with the point at issue. For the sake of the past, Armand, I claim your cooperation now. You have not treated me well--let | | 124 that go by. Faithfulness in an man is a virtue unknown. But I have no wish reproach. I only need your help--your promise. Will you serve Zoé for my sake?"

"For your sake, Aurélie, certainly. But what can I do?"

"You must introduce her to the directors of concerts or theatres. You must make them engage her. Do you hear?"

"But that is not possible."

"Oh, yes, it is. You have money, rank, influence. Your word is of weight in Paris. If you choose, you can do more difficult things than this. Do not raise objections, Armand. If you value your wife's peace and your own, you had best make a friend of me, not an enemy."

"My charming Aurélie, I could not refuse you anything, you know. Of course I will do what I can."

"Very well--and at once, mind! No delay, no procrastination. Let something be arranged for the winter season before you go back to Valtours."

"I will do my best. I wish I knew the secret of your interest in this little adventuress, though. It seems odd."

"I will tell you one day. Meanwhile, I shall bring her round to you to-morrow; you had better hear her sing. You cannot judge of her voice in this performance here. As your wife is not at your hotel our visit will not scandalise anybody. Now, adieu. I will not detain you longer."

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"Nay, stay a moment."

"My friend, when one has said enough, why spoil it by endless repetition? Till to-morrow, farewell."

She dropped her veil and glided away without another word, leaving Armand de Valtour to retrace his steps and rejoin his friend in a frame of mind the reverse of comfortable.

"Well, who was it?" asked Victor Lamboi, as with clouded brow and disturbed look his friend came up to him.

"Who the devil should it be but Aurélie?"

"Mon Dieu! she here, in such a place, at such a time? Her actions get more strange every day. What did she want? No mischief, I hope."

"I cannot understand the woman," muttered Armand de Valtour. "She wants me to do something for this girl, this Zoé Laurent; use my interest, get her an appointment at a theatre, or somewhere. Why should she patronise a café singer in the name of wonder?"

"I cannot tell," said Lamboi thoughtfully. "Was she amiable? Did she allude to your marriage?"

"Yes; she seems to accept it rationally enough, only she used some threat about my wife if I refused to exert myself on behalf of Zoé."

"Well, you had better do so. A word from you will go a long way. And it will be something to win the gratitude of this jolie capricieuse. How the men will envy you!"

"Nonsense," exclaimed Armand de Valtour im- | | 126 patiently. "Such things are over and done with for me; Come, let us go, Lamboi. I am sick of this place."

"Will you not hear the little Laurent sing again?"

"D--n the little Laurent, and Aurélie, and all the women with whom I have ever had anything to do!"

"Ah," murmured Lamboi, shaking his head sorrowfully. "You would marry, mon pauvre Armand!"

One of the most splendid rooms in the Hôtel de Valtours was the salon de musique. Armand de Valtour loved art for its own sake, and in previous years, before he was quite so indolent or quite so stout, had devoted much of his time to it. His voice had been well trained and cultivated, and occasionally even now he would astonish and delight the guests at some of his receptions by singing some operatic air or melody of the day with a power, expression, and finish that amateurs rarely possess. In this salon, with its polished floor, magnificent mirrors and decorations, its stands for music, and instruments of all kinds, he was awaiting the visit of Mme. Lissac and Zoé Laurent.

He was by no means comfortable or at ease. He could not understand madame's motive in thus claiming his interest for a girl of whom he knew nothing, and whose antecedents could be by no means creditable. The more he thought of it, the more annoyed he felt, and yet he dared not refuse | | 127 Aurélie what she demanded. He had no love for her--nay, rather he disliked her; but she had a hold on his past and a knowledge of it that made his vices a whip of scorpions in her hands, and this whip he knew would be unsparingly applied should he offend her now.

"It would never do for Adrienne to know--never," he muttered to himself, knowing well how highly his young wife had exalted him--how far she was from realising the real nature of the man she had married.

In the midst of his troubled thoughts his servant announced Mme. Lissac and Mdlle. Laurent. Armand de Valtour received them courteously, and when Mme. Lissac suggested that the girl should sing to him, he at once agreed. Seen by the morning light and in her pretty, simple costume, Zoé looked far lovelier than she had done on the previous evening. Her transparent skin showed every flush and change of colour: the tiny features, the exquisite little figure, the tangled red-gold hair above her brow--all were in their way perfect and ensnaring. Only too soon Armand de Valtour felt this. Beside this lovely fairy Maï would have seemed coarse, and brown, and almost ugly, and when the shy, soft eyes looked appealingly at him at the conclusion of the "Jewel Song" from Faust, he was in an ecstasy of enthusiasm.

"You are right, madame; she does, indeed deserve a better career," he cried eagerly. "Rest assured | | 128 that all I can do to assist mademoiselle shall be done without loss of time."

"I thought you would assist us," said Madame Lissac dryly; "and I know your influence is great enough to make a promise of yours valuable. I take an interest in Mdlle. Laurent. Her mother did me a service once. We have not seen each other for years, and it was quite an accident that I discovered Zoé. The poor child is an orphan now, and her voice is all her fortune. It behoves her to make the best use of it, does it not, monsieur?"

"Mademoiselle need but be heard to assure herself of success," said Armand heartily. "Such a voice is rare indeed."

"And she may soon bid farewell to cafés chantants. Eh, monsieur?"

"If you do not overrate my influence, madame. Perhaps an engagement in opéra bouffe would please Mdlle. Laurent better?"

"It is what I long for," cried Zoé delightedly. "Comic opera! Ah, c'est mon metier, monsieur. I long to be on the stage. I am too petite, too volage for tragedy; but I love Offenbach and Lecocq, and I am sure I could act in their operas. Ah, monsieur," and she clasped her hands and looked imploringly in his face, "if indeed you can procure me such an engagement, my gratitude will be eternal."

Armand de Valtour could scarcely repress a smile. He knew what women's gratitude was--women, that | | 129 is to say, of the stamp of Zoé Laurent, and he valued her extravagant protestations at their worth.

"Do you know this?" he asked, showing her the score of a new opera of Offenbach's that all Paris had raved of that season.

"Mais, oui, monsieur," cried the little chanteuse, taking it from his hand, and she began to sing one of the airs.

So well did she enter into the spirit of the composition that Armand de Valtour grew quite enthusiastic. Following it was a duet for soprano and baritone. He suddenly took up the opening notes as Madame Lissac played the accompaniment. Zoé, with a smile, followed by giving out the soprano part, and handed him the music at the same moment.

He stood by her side, and, utterly forgetful of time and place, threw himself into his part as enthusiastically as herself.

Madame Lissac played on. The little chanteuse leaned coquettishly against him. The faint perfume of her dress stole to him ever and anon as she swayed to and fro with the exertion of singing. The golden tresses, the sweet eyes, the balmy breath, the passionate music--all these acted like a spell on his susceptible nature. Heart and soul he threw himself into his part, and the two rich, well-trained voices rose and fell it perfect accord.

As the last notes died away, a footman made his appearance in the doorway.

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"Pardon, Monsieur le Comte, but a lady is in the salon, and desired me to say she would be glad if you could spare her a few moments."

"A lady! what lady?" demanded Armand de Valtour impatiently.

The man handed him a card. He glanced at the name.

"Diable!" he muttered. "Whatever brings her here now?"

"Do not let us detain you, Count," said Madame Lissac suavely. "We owe you many thanks, as it is, for giving us so much of your valuable time."

"Oh, pray don't go!" entreated Armand; but his heart was not in the entreaty, and Madame Lissac saw that very quickly.

"I fear we must," she said, rising from her seat at the piano. "When may Mdlle. Laurent expect to hear from you?"

"In a week's time at furthest," he answered eagerly. "Depend upon it, I shall use my best endeavours."

"And you are sure you will not forget?" said mademoiselle herself, throwing him one of her most coquettish glances.

"Can you believe that possible?" he asked. "Once to see mademoiselle is to remember her only too well."

"My plan works admirably," thought Aurélie Lissac, as she went homeward that morning, having left Zoé Laurent at a shop in the Palais Royal. | | 131 "That man is as inconstant as a weathercock. Well, I swore I would have my revenge, and I do not think I shall have to wait very long for it."

Aurélie Lissac was a woman of some thirty-eight years, who had once been handsome and who still believed herself so. She had married very young, and had been three years a widow. In a certain circle of Parisian society she was very popular. Young men liked her; old ones were flattered by her tact and unfailing good-humour. Women put up with her because she was so good-natured a friend, so malicious an enemy. Her house was perfectly appointed. She was always exquisitely dressed; was generous, though not lavish; witty, though not clever. She had never been guilty of a weakness in her life until she fell in love with Armand de Valtour. That passion still lived in her breast, though in his it had been nothing but a name. When her husband died, and she found herself free, rich, and still fairly young, she had made up her mind that Armand would marry her. As soon as her first year of widowhood had expired, she had made her re-entrance into society; but Armand had been proof against all her tricks and wiles.

Still, as long as he did not marry anyone else or seem to care for anyone else, she had been content. But when, after all her careful plotting and planning, her prey had escaped her, her rage and fury knew no bounds.

It has been well said that "Hell has no hatred like | | 132 a woman scorned." From the hour that Armand de Valtour married, Aurélie Lissac had but one motive left to which to devote her fire, and that was--revenge.

She knew his character well--its weakness as well as its strength, its instability as well as its obstinacy. Patience and time would be her best handmaids, and she felt that her purpose was almost sure to be accomplished ere long. Fate played into her hands more readily even than Fate always does; and from the moment she saw Zoé Laurent she recognised in her a fitting instrument for her purpose. To humiliate the proud English girl whom she chose to consider her rival, to ruin Armand de Valtour's domestic happiness, to warp his virtuous resolves, and master him by means of the worst and lowest passion of his nature, to triumph over his humiliation and destroy his wife's peace--this would be revenge indeed!

In her own little boudoir, satin-hung and newly decorated, as befitted her new rôle of a gay widow, she sat alone now, weaving the threads of her scheme, laying the foundations of her plan. His marriage had been an insult, a wrong to her. Well, dearly should both be recompensed, and heavy would be the price she would demand and extort, even to the uttermost farthing!

Meanwhile, unconscious of the evils in store for him, Armand de Valtour had betaken himself to the presence of the Marquise de Savigny, for she it was | | 133 whose early and unexpected visit had disturbed his amateur performance at stage love-making.

"Ah! Monsieur de Valtour, so you really are in Paris? It was true, then, what I heard," cried the gay little Parisian eagerly; "and our dear Adrienne--how I long to embrace her!--she is not, then, with you? Your people told me. Ah! but I shall see her soon; I am also going to Provence. I leave this very night. I go to some near neighbours of yours at the Château Maurigny. I hope to see much of Adrienne and you, monsieur. When do you return?"

"In a week or two," answered Armand, a little confusedly. "I have some important business here--law business. It is hard--it is intolerable, to be kept away from Adrienne like this; but what can one do?"

"True," said the Marquise gravely. "What can one do? You see you have been married two months. And so that was law business you were transacting in the music salon? How well your lawyer sings!"

Armand de Valtour coloured in momentary confusion. "Vous plaisantez, madame," he said sternly. "I never said I transacted law business in the house. I was engaged in listening to a young lady who came to entreat my services--my influence. She wishes to appear on the operatic stage, and she was giving me a specimen of her talents."

"Ah! then it was doubtless the lawyer who assisted in the duet," said Odylle demurely. "I felt quite | | 134 sorry I had called at so inopportune a moment; but as I am going to Provence to-night, I thought I might take some message from you to Adrienne. Doubtless, she will be delighted to hear that only your benevolent offices to a young singer detain you in Paris."

"This woman's tongue is the very devil," thought Armand de Valtour to himself. "If she tells Adrienne these things, what will she think of me?"

Aloud he said:

"You are pleased to jest, madame. No, I have no message for my wife, as I have written to her to-day, and very soon I shall have the happiness to embrace her myself."

"Monsieur de Valtour!" said the Marquise suddenly, laying aside her jesting tone, and approaching him more nearly, "I have an appeal to make to you. Adrienne is my dearest friend. Before her marriage to you, she came to me for my advice respecting French marriages. I told her they were the very happiest of any. Oh! monsieur, do not let me feel that I have deceived her. She is not like me--volatile, light, easily contented. Remember that the honour of our nation rests in your hands: that by you she will judge French men and French marriages. Men are so different as husbands to what they are as lovers; but your wife is a pearl among women, and deserves to be enshrined as such."

"And so she shall be," said Armand de Valtour | | 135 earnestly. "I love her and admire her above all women I have ever known."

But involuntarily his thoughts went back to the day of his marriage fêtes--to his resolutions then. How many of them had he kept?

"And it is really business that keeps you from her side now?" asked the Marquise.

"It really is."

"Bon," said the little Frenchwoman gayly. "Then I will try and console her. It must be dull for her at the château."

"Céline is with her."

"And do you actually suppose Céline could make up for your absence?" laughed Odylle, with one of her wicked glances.

"Madame," said Armand de Valtour, smiling, " you are too good to flatter me. Rest assured that not for very long will Céline have the opportunity of trying to do so."

"That is well," said the Marquise, rising. "But I know that with husbands business is a word of wide and varied meaning. However, I will not interpret any of them to Adrienne. I will tell her I found you desolate, inconsolable! Adieu, monsieur. A week hence I trust I shall have the pleasure of seeing you at Valtours."

"Be quite certain of that, madame." And with a sigh of relief he bowed his tormentor out.

"If she tell Adrienne--but, surely she will not," he thought to himself, as the door closed on the pretty, | | 136 fairy-like figure. "Who on earth would have thought of her being in Paris at this season!"

But with all her lightness and merriment, Odylle de Savigny was thoroughly uneasy respecting Armand's behaviour. "It is so soon--so very soon to begin," she said to herself. "Mon Dieu, if this marriage turns out badly, shall I ever forgive myself? Adrienne is not like me. She would break her heart over her husband's faithlessness. I wonder how many pieces mine would have been in by this time had I done the same! Positively these men are monsters of fickleness and though we know it we marry them, and some of us actually believe in them! Well, I don't think I ever went so far as that. Probably that accounts for my marriage being universally considered a happy one."

And with a laugh that ended in a sigh, she threw herself back on the cushions of her carriage, and was whirled rapidly through the sunny autumn streets of Paris.