At the same hour that the elegant carriage of Zibeline was conducting her to the Hotel de Montgeron, M. Desvanneaux descended from a modest fiacre at the gate of the hotel occupied by Eugenie Gontier.
The first impulse of the actress—who was engaged in studying a new role in her library—was not to receive her importunate visitor; but a sudden idea changed her determination, and she gave the order to admit him.
“This is the first time that I have had the high favor of being admitted to this sanctuary,” said the churchwarden, kissing with ardor the hand that the actress extended to him.
“Don’t let us have so great a display of pious manifestations,” she said, withdrawing her hand from this act of humility, which was rather too prolonged. “Sit down and be sensible,” she added.
“Can one be sensible when he finds himself at your feet, dear Mademoiselle? At the feet of the idol who is so appropriately enthroned among so many artistic objects!” replied the honey-tongued Prudhomme, adjusting his eyeglasses. “The bust of General de Prerolles, no doubt?” he added, inquiringly, scrutinizing a marble statuette placed on the high mantelpiece.
“You are wrong, Monsieur Desvanneaux; it is that of Moliere!”
“I beg your pardon!—I am standing so far below it! I, too, have on my bureau a bust of our great Poquelin, but Madame Desvanneaux thinks that this author’s style is somewhat too pornographic, and has ordered me to replace his profane image by the more edifying one of our charitable patron, Saint Vincent de Paul.”
“Is it to tell me of your family jars that you honor me with this visit?” said Eugenie.
“No, indeed! It was rather to escape from them, dear Mademoiselle! But alas! my visit has also another object: to release you from the promise you were so kind as to make me regarding the matter of our kermess; a project now unfortunately rendered futile by that Zibeline!”
“Otherwise called ‘Mademoiselle de Vermont.’”
“I prefer to call her Zibeline—that name is better suited to a courtesan.”
“You are very severe toward her!”
“I can not endure hypocrites!” naively replied the worthy man.
“She appeared to me to be very beautiful, however,” continued Eugenie Gontier, in order to keep up the conversation on the woman who she felt instinctively was her rival.
“Beautiful! Not so beautiful as you,” rejoined M. Desvanneaux, gallantly. “She is a very ambitious person, who throws her money at our heads, the better to humiliate us.”
“But, since it is all in the interest of the Orphan Asylum—”
“Say, rather, in her own interest, to put herself on a pedestal because of her generosity! Oh, she has succeeded at the first stroke! Already, at the Hotel de Montgeron they swear by her; and if this sort of thing goes on, I shall very soon be regarded only as a pariah!”
“Poor Monsieur Desvanneaux!”
“You pity me, dear Mademoiselle? I thank you! The role of consoler is truly worthy of your large heart, and if you do not forbid me to hope—” said this modern Tartufe, approaching Eugenie little by little.
“Take care!” said she; “suppose the General should be hidden under that table, like Orgon!”
“The General!” exclaimed Desvanneaux; “he is too much occupied elsewhere!”
“Occupied with whom?”
“With Zibeline, probably. He never left her side all the evening, last night at the Opera.”
“Pardon me! He was here until after ten o’clock.”
“Yes, but afterward—when the opera was over?”
“Well, what happened when the opera was over?” Eugenie inquired, forcing herself to hide her emotion.
“They went away together! I saw them—I was watching them from behind a column. What a scandal!”
“And your conclusion on all this, Monsieur Desvanneaux?”
“It is that the General is deceiving you, dear Mademoiselle.”
“With that young girl?”
“A bold hussy, I tell you! A Messalina! Ah, I pity you sincerely in my turn! And should a devoted consoler, a discreet avenger, be able to make you forget this outrage to your charms, behold me at your feet, devoting to you my prayers, awaiting only a word from you to become the most fortunate among the elect—”
A loud knock at the outer door spared Mademoiselle Gontier the trouble of repelling her ridiculous adorer, who promptly scrambled to his feet at the sound.
“A visitor!” he murmured, turning pale. “Decidedly, I have no luck—”
“Monsieur le Marquis de Prerolles is in the drawing-room,” a domestic announced.
“Beg him to wait,” said Eugenie, reassured by this visit, which was earlier than the usual hour. “You see that you are badly informed, Monsieur Desvanneaux,” she added.
“For heaven’s sake, spare me this embarrassing meeting!” said the informer, whose complexion had become livid.
“I understand. You fear a challenge?”
“Oh, no, not that! My religious principles would forbid me to fight a duel. But the General would not fail to rally me before my wife regarding my presence here, and Madame Desvanneaux would be pitiless.”
“Own, however, that you richly deserve a lesson, Lovelace that you are! But I will take pity on you,” said Eugenie, opening a door at the end of the room. “The servants’ stairway is at the end of that corridor. You know the way!” she added, laughing.
“I am beginning to know it, dear Mademoiselle!” said the pitiful beguiler, slipping through the doorway on tiptoe.
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