A radiant sun woke Esperance on the following Tuesday. Her thoughts, always on the future, refused to be subjugated by the confused anguish she felt which almost stifled her. Yet this evening was sure to be one of importance in her young life! Had the Count said anything to her mother? She rejected the idea that he could think of her as capable of becoming his mistress…. Then, his wife? She would not give up the theatre…. "No, nothing in the world could make up for that, far rather death." And she smiled at the idea that she might perhaps become a victim of the great art. She saw herself struggling against all hardships and dying as an adored victim of circumstances, regretted and wept by the many who loved her.

Her imaginative speculations were rudely interrupted by Marguerite bringing in her chocolate. On the tray was a card with a little present for the evening. Esperance read the card, and taking the bouquet looked at it for a long time until tears veiled her pretty eyes.

"Poor fellow," she said, "I did not think of his side of it."

For the first time Esperance absented herself from the Conservatoire voluntarily. She had so much to do! She wanted to look beautiful, "perfectly beautiful," she confided to Mlle. Frahender.

"I feel that something great is in store for me in the early coming days."

She took particular pains with her toilette, and looking at herself in the tall glass of her wardrobe, reflected, "I do not want to love Count Styvens. Then I ought not to want to be any more attractive to-night than usual. Am I a wicked girl? My cousin Maurice says, 'Coquetry is the cowardly woman's weapon, and I love you, little cousin, because you are not a coquette.'"

The mirror showed a lovely girl gowned in pale blue. The shoulders, slender and rounded, seemed to emerge from clear water made heaven blue by the reflection of the sky. The hair, so blonde it dazzled, made a radiant frame for the lovely face. The red mouth, half open, the white teeth, the wilful little chin, lightly cleft by an oblong dimple, made this delightful little maiden one of the most dangerous weapons that love ever fashioned.

When FranÇois and his family were announced in the salon of the Princess, the Minister hastened forward to convey Madame Darbois to a seat, after presenting her to the Dowager Duchess de Castel-Montjoie, Mlle. Jeanne Tordeine, of the Theatre-FranÇaise, and several other guests.

Esperance's entrance roused the curiosity of all. The Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, after conversing for a few minutes to FranÇois Darbois, whom he had met several weeks before, came up to the young girl as she was standing before the Countess Styvens, replying to the compliments the charming lady was paying her.

"I am told that you are quite a clever musician." Esperance looked up to reproach the Count for his indiscretion in speaking about her playing, but her eyes met the ardent gaze of the Duke. She was agitated, thinking, "How handsome he is, and I had never noticed it."

"Yes indeed, Mademoiselle," he continued in his easy, agreeable manner, "we hear that you have captivated Count Styvens with your playing, and as perhaps you know he is recognized as being quite a dilettante authority."

Esperance strived to speak, but nervousness prevented her. She sat down quickly beside the Countess, and crept close to her. A completely new sensation seemed to invade her whole being. She had a strange feeling of uncertain joy tinged with pain and yet she loved this sensation that troubled her, this half-fright which gave her a slight shiver. The Duke brought up a chair and seemed to be exerting all his charm and animation for the Countess, but it was easy to see that all this charm, all this wit, were intended for the pretty creature who appeared powerless to resist his fascinating personality.

When dinner was announced the Duke offered his arm to the Countess, the Minister his to Madame Darbois, the Princess took the arm of the philosopher. While Esperance, naturally accepted the arm of Count Albert. She looked at him more attentively than she had ever done before, and involuntarily made a comparison between him and the Duke not altogether to his advantage.

"How easy and graceful the Duke is," she thought. "How heavy this man, and dull and slow. The Duke's face is at once kindly and spirited, the Count's brooding and awkward. The Duke is a man, the Count but a shadow."

At the same instant the Count's arm pressed her delicate wrist. She had again to restrain the repugnance she had felt before, and her terrible nightmare came back to her. She let herself fall rather than sit in the chair to which Albert Styvens had conducted her. Here she found herself between the Count and the young Baron de Montrieux, who attempted, with the most charming courtesy to forestall her every want and monopolize all her attention. The Baron was overflowing with wit and Esperance listened with delight.

After dinner the Baron de Montrieux went to the piano. He was a very fair musician, and all the company were glad to listen to him. Albert followed him. He was really gifted and, if fortune had not otherwise favoured him, he could have made his name as an artist.

There was enthusiastic applause. The Count bent before Esperance, who, in a burst of artistic appreciation, expressed her admiration.

"Then," he replied, uplifted with joy to feel that he had really touched her, "shall we play our duet from Orpheus, Liszt's symphonic poem, to these good friends who are, I think, quite appreciative."

"Oh! no, I should be afraid. I dare not. You forget I know so little.
I am an actress and I will recite for you if you like, but—"

The Duke came forward, and hearing the conversation joined in with a request that was almost like pleading. Styvens held out his angular fist to the young girl; the Duke extended a long white hand; and so both led her to the piano. The Duke's fingers pressed her palm lightly but with a suggestion of encouragement, while the Count's held her like a vice that would never open. In spite of her protestations, Esperance was installed at the piano, and Esperance resolved to put all her best into her playing with the hope of being able to transport her audience into the highest realms of the art that can express great aspiration blended with the pathos of suffering. Charles de Morlay-La-Branche withdrew to the rear of the long room, and stood alone, leaning against a beautiful Italian window, to listen and to watch. A conflict of feelings were struggling within him. He was fighting against the attraction of this slender creature, whose white shoulders and delicate body were swaying with a phrase now violent, now subdued, her whole person actuated, controlled by the rhythm of the music. The heavy frame work of Count Styvens seemed an anchor for the fragile idol. The Duke gnawed his lip in suppressed emotional anger.

As the young couple left their seats the room shook with applause. Everybody was delighted. The Princess took Esperance by both hands, gazing at her, stroking the tapering fingers that were still vibrating with the fever of the music. Esperance was so pale that the Princess led her into another room and made her sit down, praising her marvellous execution and striving to quiet the little heart she could feel beating with so much agitation.

"The Doctor who attends me," Esperance explained in a far-away voice, "has told me, Madame, that I must avoid all excitement if I wish to live a long time, but that I shall not live naturally if I am over excited or depressed by emotion."

They brought her a refreshing and soothing drink. The Princess's attendant bathed her temples with Eau de Cologne. Esperance breathed more quietly and rose, thanking the Princess; then suddenly collapsed on her knees, sobbing, without strength, without consciousness, and Madame Darbois was summoned to her side at once.

"Oh! great Heaven!" she said. "I have never seen her like this before; usually she controls herself when over-excited by music. See, dear, a little strength, stand up, and we will go home at once…."

But Esperance's head slipped from the mother's support into her arms, while her whole body was shaken by sobs. The Countess Styvens came in to find the girl exhausted by a storm of moans and sobs. They succeeded in placing her on a large soft couch and she fell asleep holding the Countess's hand, under the impression that it was her mother's.

In about an hour she awoke, refreshed, unconscious of what had happened to her or where she was. Her father and mother were beside her. She got up, and one of the maids came to her. She then remembered, and asked how long she had been asleep.

"You see, mama," she said, "you must not take me out any more, I am not fit for it." Then kissing her mother who had never left her, she expressed her sorrow for what had happened.

She thanked the maid and asked her to make her apologies to the
Princess.

"Would you not like me to call her?"

"No, please do not disturb anyone; I could not bear it."

In the ante-chamber two men-servants were in attendance. One of them was helping Madame Darbois, and Esperance, still confused, slipped her arms in the sleeves of her cloak, and then stopped short. Her bare arm had been touched, she was sure of it.

She turned quickly. Her eyes met the Duke's enquiring but not altogether pleasant glance. With a quick gesture the girl clasped her mantle about her, and haughtily moved away without acknowledging the Duke's bow.

Neither M. nor Madame Darbois had seen anything of what had just passed.

The Duke de Morlay's bad humour vented itself against Count Styvens.

"I have just passed the Darbois in the cloak-room. The little flirt was in a pitiful state: I helped her on with her cloak and her skin was like ice."

Count Styvens turned almost in anger and his hands furtively opened and closed. A feeling of enmity was rising in his generous soul. He felt that the Duke had spoken slightingly of Esperance to wound him. Twice, during dinner, he had caught the covetous glance of the Duke fixed on Esperance, and he had suffered acutely in consequence. He looked at the Duke coldly; his shyness would have made him dumb had it not been for the sustaining power of his anger.

"I cannot reply to you now," he said. "My mother is here."

The Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, who was, after all, a gentleman, came up to him.

"Albert, I am a fool. I beg your pardon."

And he went to take his leave of the Princess, who had quietly witnessed and understood the pantomime that had passed between these two men.

"You did right, my friend," she said to the Duke. "Albert is a brave and loyal fellow."

"He is an idiot," he replied, "whose idiocy we must respect."

"All the same he has a quality which you and most of the other men of your age do not possess, and he is not afraid of being laughed at; and that gives him enormous moral strength."

"You find that a virtue, Princess?"

"Indeed I do. He does what he wants without bothering about what people will say."

"But does he really know what they do say of him?"

"You know that Albert and I have been friends since childhood," said the Princess. "He is twenty-eight, I am thirty, which gives me a little advantage perhaps, and I talk to him quite as a comrade. It is true that he has never had any love affairs with women, and they joke him about it. Albert does not disguise it. 'I shall always be as I am,' he says, 'until I really love.'"

"But he is in love now."

The Princess saw that the Duke enjoyed seeing her hesitation before answering. So she said nothing at all, but held out her hand; which he kissed respectfully and went his way.