The next morning Marguerite had some difficulty in waking her young mistress, who was sleeping soundly. Esperance enquired as soon as her own eyes were well opened, what kind of night her chaperone had passed. "Deliciously restful, and you, my dear child, how did you sleep?"

"I never woke once. Oh! what a sun. Have you seen what a glorious day it is?"

"It is the forerunner of good news," Jean cried out from the next room.

"Who knows?" said Esperance.

The telephone at her bedside rung. Marguerite picked up the receiver, and announced dejectedly, "M. Meydieux wishes to speak to Mademoiselle."

"My godfather in Brussels!… You see, Jean, that I was right to doubt your omen."

The young people burst out laughing.

"Really," continued Esperance, "I feel that he is going to spoil my trip here. I don't like him, and his advice never coincides with that of my father, whom I love so much."

Meantime M. Meydieux was getting impatient on the telephone.

"Tell him that I am not up yet, and ask him to lunch with us at twelve-thirty. Then," she explained to Mlle. Frahender, who had just come into her room, all powdered, all pinned and bonneted for the morning, "he will not dare to bother me when everybody else is present."

Marguerite was still answering M. Meydieux's excited questions: "What! at half-past nine not up, that is shameful! I must talk to her … I will come to lunch, oh yes! but above all I must talk to her."

Esperance was motioning violently to Marguerite to hang up the receiver, but Mlle. Frahender objected to this lack of courtesy, so the young girl giving way to her remonstrance yielded gracefully. She even re-requested Marguerite, who knew her godfather's culinary preferences, to order a lunch that he would like. Then she dressed in haste to allow herself plenty of time to write to her family. They had already exchanged telegrams, but she knew that her father would like to have a long letter, giving him the minutes, so to speak, of herself. A tender gratitude swelled up in her, and her eyes were wet as she evoked the image of these two beloved beings reading her letter, commenting upon it, and entering completely for those moments into the life of their child. As soon as the letter was finished, she asked Mlle. Frahender to go with her to post it, so that she could herself speed it on its way to them. She had a strong desire to get out-doors, even if only for a half-hour.

As they turned into the square, Esperance stopped, clutching her aged friend by the arm. "Look there," she said.

There were two men side by side in deep conversation. Esperance had instantly recognized Count Albert and her godfather. How did Adhemar Meydieux happen to know the Secretary of the Legation?

They had just passed the post-office, so Esperance posted her letter without being seen by either of them, and returned to the hotel. Lunch time brought together all the guests except the godfather, who would not enter until the exact minute, if he had to wait in the corridor…. He thought it witty to behave so. His hateful, stupid mind flattered itself on being original. Therefore as the half-hour began to strike he was pompously ushered in, watch in hand.

"I am here, you see, to the tick," he said noisily, kissing the forehead his goddaughter pressed forward to him. Then, turning to the waiter, "You can serve without delay," he said. "I like my food hot."

Mlle. Frahender, although she was well acquainted with the abrupt ways of the godfather, frowned at him with disapprobation. Nevertheless, thanks to Maurice, who made a point of laughing at everything Adhemar said, they had a gay luncheon, and Adhemar himself, appreciating the consideration shown for his palate, cast aside his ill humour and enjoyed with full indulgence the present hour, the savoury food and the plentiful wine.

At the end of the meal he examined the room. "On my word, my girl, they have given you the royal suite: that must come pretty expensive."

"M. Darbois," said Jean Perliez, "gave me a very liberal sum of money, with instructions to spare nothing for our little queen."

"There you have it, if that is not the exaggeration of a lover! Little Queen! You are pouring poison in continuous doses into this little head, which is already full of nonsense. Esperance will end by taking herself seriously; she is already far too dictatorial for a child of seventeen." He added to himself, "She must be corrected, I will do it myself!"

Esperance raised her eyelids, and her clear blue eyes seemed to pierce the eyeballs of the foolish blunderer, until he fluttered his lashes and closed his eyes to escape the powerful silent denial of his authority.

"Very well," he said, succeeding in half opening his eyes, "look at me as much as you like, that does not keep me from distrusting you, my child. You are nice-looking, you have a pretty voice, you may some day develop some talent; but you know, your inexperience is obvious, and I am very anxious to know how you will pull through to-night."

"Do not disturb yourself, M. Meydieux, Esperance had a triumph at the last rehearsal at the FranÇaise." (Mlle. Frahender nodded agreement.) "I believe," Jean continued, "that she is going to receive a perfect ovation this evening."

"I believe it too," added the old lady, "and permit me to state, my dear sir, that you judge my young pupil very unfairly. She is just as modest, just as gentle, as she was a year ago, and those who love her may be well reassured of that fact. Since you are among them," she went on boldly, "you should realize it and rejoice in it."

Adhemar shrugged his shoulders. "They are all mad, even the old saint!"

They left the table. He stopped before a basket of flowers. "Who sent you those, my child?"

"Count Albert Styvens," replied Jean.

"Ah! He does things well," commented Adhemar, but he did not breathe a word concerning his conversation with the Count that morning.

Before there was time for a reply a waiter entered with a card. "M.
Mounet-Sully would like to come up."

"Oh! yes," cried out the young artist with delight.

A little startled at finding five people in the room, Mounet-Sully regained his assurance as he recognized Jean and Maurice.

"My dear child, we rehearse at two-thirty," he said to Esperance, "so be prompt, because we have heard that the Queen will be there, though you may not see her. She is not well enough to come out in the evening."

The young girl blushed with excitement. "It is fortunate that I shall not see her, I think that I should be paralyzed!"

"Perhaps she will send for you after the rehearsal," returned the tragedian. "She is a patroness of art, and very kind to artists."

"Will His Majesty, King Leopold, come this evening?" demanded
Meydieux, with great interest.

"Certainly," Mounet-Sully assured him.

Then, as he was about to go, he turned, "Have you received your invitation for…?"

The door opened. Count Albert, being introduced by the maÎtre d'hÔtel, had heard the last words.

"I am just delivering it myself," he said, handing Mlle. Frahender a card which she read to Esperance—"His Excellence, the Count de Bernecourt, Minister of Belgium to France, and the Princess, hope that Mlle. Frahender and Mlle. Esperance Darbois will join them for supper after the play, at midnight, at their house."

"But I cannot accept without the permission of my father," said
Esperance.

The raucous and heavy voice of the godfather pronounced, "I will assume the responsibility. Your mother encouraged me to watch over you. I consider that this is an honour which you should not decline."

"Especially as His Majesty the King will have you presented," replied the Count.

"Nevertheless," said Esperance, "I want my father's approval. I will go down and telephone to Paris."

"I will accompany you," said the diplomat quickly.

She stopped short, and her expression implied distress. Jean went forward at once. "I will go and secure the connection for you," he said; "I will wait for you downstairs."

The Count made a scarcely perceptible gesture, as if to stop him; but he restrained himself and followed the girl in silence out of the room. He rang, the lift stopped before them, empty. Albert Styvens went forward, but Esperance drew back, and then she said, quickly, "I will go down by the stairs."

And light as a breath, she was gone.

Alone in the lift, the young Count felt for a moment abashed, but he speedily recovered himself, and when Esperance reached the bottom of the stairs she found him waiting for her.

As she leaped down the last step, she again felt herself lifted and deposited upon her feet.

"What are you doing?" she cried angrily, startled and offended.

The rapid half-embrace had been almost brutal. Esperance could still feel on her delicate skin the pressure of the man's strong fingers.

He apologized, and was sincerely repentant. He had acted without reflection; he had forgotten his great strength which had this time served him ill. He was violently attracted by this charming little creature, with whom he admitted to himself that he was deeply in love; he, who up to this time had always avoided women as if he feared them.

The telephonic communication was lengthy. FranÇois Darbois gave his consent to his daughter to attend the supper. Madame Darbois was distracted, and must find out what dress Esperance would wear.

"I will keep on my costume from the last act of Hernani," she answered, and after a gentle farewell, Esperance hastened to the theatre for the rehearsal.

The Director of the Monnaie announced that Her Majesty had come and that they could begin. Hugo's masterpiece was magnificently presented. The greatest artists filled even minor rÔles. Mounet-Sully surpassed himself, and Esperance drew cries of admiration from that select but critical audience.

Count Albert was seated in the orchestra stalls with his mother. The Countess Styvens, widowed after five years, had bestowed upon her son all the affection she had cherished for her husband. She had never left him, but had had him educated under her own supervision, giving him at the age of nine, as tutor, a Jesuit who was one of the most austere, if also one of the most learned, of the Order. The young man was a perfect pupil, studious, ever disdaining the pleasures of his age. His childhood passed in the grey and pious atmosphere in which his mother steeped herself. His youth developed under the rule of his preceptor, a pale youth, without laughter, without aspirations. The physicians had never been able to persuade the Countess to let her son have the joy of travel of sea and mountain, so he had to be satisfied with the physical exercises she permitted. So he gave himself up to gymnastics with enthusiasm, expending his youthful vigour against his drill professor, and the Japanese who taught him jiu-jitsu. The boy's strength became quite remarkable. But his pale face, disproportionately long arms, and reputation for austerity, had made him the mark, from the very first days of his diplomatic career, for the gossips, ballad makers, and authors of questionable cabaret skits.

The day he heard that he was serving as Turk's head in a Brussels music-hall, he went instantly behind the scenes of the theatre and demanded to see the Director, who was in conversation with the author of the piece. He went right up to them. "I," he said, raising his hat politely, "am Count Albert Styvens. I shall be very glad to have you suppress the scene, which, I understand, is intended to caricature me."

The Manager, a prosperous brewer, who had become proprietor of a theatre for the pleasure of producing revues, which if not witty were certainly vulgar, shrugged his heavy shoulders.

"You expect me to lose money! That act is one of the best we have got."

"And you, sir?" Albert turned on the author, a man of doubtful reputation, always on the alert for any occasion of scandal in others.

"Oh! of course I am sorry to offend you, but I can't take off the piece."

The last word was not out of his mouth when the Count grabbed both of them by the napes of their necks and knocked their heads together till the blood spurted from their surprised faces. Their cries were heard even by the audience. Reporters came running to witness this unbilled spectacle. The stage hands tried to free the Manager, but desisted when one received a terrible smash from the Count's fist, and another a kick that sent him through space. When the two men were reduced to rags, Albert held them upright and addressed them:

"I am going into the hall to see the show. I advise you to withdraw the scene we spoke of and to which I object."

Then he quietly re-arranged his clothes and went into the auditorium where the audience were very noisy and laughing at the news the journalists had reported. Count Albert was one of the best known figures about Brussels, where his father had played a very important part in the foreign affairs of the country, and enjoyed, for more than twenty years, the confidence of King Leopold. When he died his wife was still a young and very beautiful woman, and his great fortune had made the only heir of the family already famous. The Count was astonished at the clamorous ovation that received him. He would have liked to impose silence on the people, but he was a poor orator, and very timid; he kept silence and wont to his seat. He was popular from that day, and greatly respected.

At the Monnaie, as soon as the rehearsal was over, the Queen sent for Esperance and Mounet-Sully. The Queen assured the tragedian of the admiration that she had long felt for him, for Mounet-Sully played almost every year in Brussels; but all her kindly enthusiasm was directed towards Esperance.

"What a perfectly delicious voice!" she said. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen, Madame."

The Queen undid a bracelet from her arm.

"Accept this modest souvenir of your first appearance in our city,
Mademoiselle."

The young girl trembled with emotion. After she had kissed the royal hand, she tried to clasp upon her wrist the jewel she had just received. The Countess Styvens, who had just approached, helped her gently.

"My mother admired you very much," said the Count, joining them.

Esperance raised her eyes and looked at the mother of the young man. She was dressed in mauve; her temples, prematurely grey, accentuated the delicacy of her complexion. Her whole person breathed constant goodness, sacrifice without regret. The young artist loved at sight this woman she was beholding for the first time, and at the same time she had a presentiment that this charming and elegant lady would not remain a stranger to her during her life.

The Queen desired Count Styvens to accompany the young girl, who was forced to take his arm to her dressing-room. She walked quickly, in a hurry to rid herself of her strange cavalier, who pretended to be oblivious of her nervous haste. Esperance requested him to convey to the Countess, his mother, her gratitude for her kindness. Albert Styvens bowed without speaking, and left her in a glow of delight.

At the hotel there was no topic except the rehearsal and the reception the Queen had given Esperance. The godfather examined the bracelet set with sapphires and diamonds. He put on his glasses, counted the stones, shook his head and grunted, "It is a superb bracelet, do you realize that, child?"

"I realize that it is superb because it is a testimony of good will offered by this kind Sovereign. That is what makes it so valuable to me."

"What a haughty child!"

And Adhemar began to laugh, the laugh with which realism strives to destroy dreams. Mlle. Frahender gently removed the bracelet from the hands of the objectionable old meddler.

"You must rest and avoid excitement, dear, dear child," she said, leading Esperance to her room, after bowing to Adhemar. Maurice and Jean, who had witnessed the godfather's want of tact, reasoned with him.

"In my opinion, M. Meydieux, you annoy my cousin too much, and for no reason. You forget that she has created for herself a position beyond her years, and you treat her like a child not out of the school-room."

"Well, isn't it all for her good?" screamed out Adhemar in a fury. "The rest of you burn incense before her; she will be destroyed by pride and that will be your fault!"

"No such thing," returned Maurice with equal energy. "She is adorable in her simplicity and has remained as really childlike, as trusting and light-hearted as anyone in the world. You cast a gloom on her spirits, you try to curb her spontaneity, you want her bourgeoisie like yourself, but you will never succeed, I give you my word for it, and that is a blessing."

"Oh!" retorted Adhemar, stung to the quick, "What do you mean by that, you fine painter fellow? You are glad enough to have these bourgeoisie that you scorn pay for your pictures!"

"If I make pictures and anybody buys them, that is proof enough that they are idiots. But my hatred of the bourgeoisie only extends to the category to which you belong; those who, ever since they were born, have found their food ready under their noses; those who, never using their ten fingers, never using their brains, live only to increase inherited incomes; hearts locked by greed, narrow minds unwilling to hear the just claims of the humble, of those who work and suffer for them; enemies of progress, enemies of their country."

"Oh! oh! oh!" screamed Meydieux.

"Yes, refusing to perform the sole function the State expects of them."

"And that is?"

"To become a husband, a father, a parent."

"You are insolent! It is not worth my while to reply to you. You may tell my goddaughter…."

The door opened, and Esperance, who had been kept awake by the noise of their voices, appeared to know what was the matter!

"Ah! there you are. I will say good-bye! Your cavaliers annoy me."

He threw a furious glance towards Jean, who had not spoken a word. It is a fact that the majority of people cherish more rancour against the witness of an insult than against the insulter himself.

"I will not be present at your triumph—as they call it. I am going to your father and shall tell him everything."

"My father, godfather, knows that I always tell the truth; he will await my return to judge my actions and those of my dear comrades."

Adhemar pulled on his hat and stormed out of the room, swelling with wounded dignity.

Esperance blew a kiss to the two young men.

"Now I am going to sleep until dinner time. I have just three-quarters of an hour. Do not forget, my loyal attendants, that we dine at six-thirty," she added with a sweeping courtesy, and disappeared, light of heart at the departure of her godfather.