In the great hall of the ChÂteau a charming theatre had been built. Everything was ready for the rehearsal. An enormous revolving platform held three wooden squares which would serve as frames for the tableaux vivants. The mechanism had been arranged by an eminent Parisian engineer. A curtain decorated by Maurice served as background. There were eleven little dressing rooms, seven for the women, four for the men.

Maurice saw the Duke seated straddlewise on a chair, and smoking a cigarette. The three men went up to him before he was aware of their presence. At sound of Albert's voice he sprang to his feet, almost as if expecting an attack. His nostrils were dilated, his face set. In an instant he resumed his usual manner, and shook hands with the young men.

"You were asleep?" suggested the Count.

"No, I was dreaming, and I think you must have figured in my dream."

"Let us hear of the dream."

"Oh! no, dreams ought not to be told!"

And he pretended to busy himself with some orders.

The guests who were to take part in the tableaux vivants began slowly to stream in. Maurice took Jean aside and told him what had happened that morning.

"You must keep watch too. I am not going to leave the Duke."

When Esperance and Genevieve came in, Maurice caught the Duke's expression in a mirror. He saw him move away and join a distant group where he lingered chatting. Jean thought Esperance looked uneasy. Albert came up to her and kissed her hand. She smiled sadly. She was looking for some one. The Duke had disappeared before she had seen him.

After a long discussion it was decided to have a dress rehearsal. Esperance was not in the first picture so she would have had ample time to have dressed at leisure, but nevertheless she put her things on quite feverishly. Her costume consisted only, it is true, of a light peplum over a flesh-coloured foundation. Genevieve helped her to dress. In each dressing-room was one of Maurice's designs illustrating just how the dress, hair, etc., were to be arranged. For Andromeda, Esperance was to have bare feet, and wear on her hair a garland of flowers.

The three first tableaux revolved before the Duke and his staff, composed of Albert, Jean, Maurice and some of the distinguished guests; and the order was given to summon the artists for the second set, which was composed of the next three pictures.

The first tableaux of the second group represented Circe with the companions of Ulysses changed into swine. The marvellous Lady Rupper was to represent Circe. She entered dramatically, half nude, her tunic open to her waist, caught at intervals by diamond clasps, her peplum held in place by a garland of bay leaves. She was very beautiful. Her husband, a wealthy American, laughed at sight of her, a coarse laugh, the laugh of all Germans, even when Americanized.

The second picture represented Judith and Holofernes. The beautiful brunette, the Marquise de Chaussey, in a daring costume designed by Maurice, held in her hand a magnificent scimitar, the property of Morlay-La-Branche. She was to pose, raising the curtain, as in the picture of Regnault.

The third picture was the deliverance of Andromeda. When Esperance appeared, so slender, so fragile, her long hair waving in floods of pale gold almost to the floor, a murmur of almost sacred admiration rang through the hall. Lady Rupper approached her, and taking the child's hair in her hands, cried out, "Oh! my dear, it is more beautiful than the American gold."

The Duke came up to Esperance.

"I should have preferred enchaining you to delivering you,
Mademoiselle."

"I can speak now in the person of Andromeda and thank you for that deliverance … which you promised," she answered with a little smile.

She had spoken so low that only the Duke could hear the ending which he alone understood. He had promised to deliver her from his love, but at that instant he revolted against the thought and the admonition.

"Why not?" he muttered to himself. "She must be happier with me than with that insufferable bore! I will keep my word until she herself absolves me from it."

They had to arrange her pose against the rock. Maurice and Albert helped her, while the Duke watched from a distance, and criticized the effect. All at once he cried out, "That is perfect. Don't move. Now the mechanician must mark the place to set the fetters for the hands and feet."

Maurice stepped back by the Duke to judge of the effect.

"It is excellent," he said, looking only, thinking only as an artist. "That child has a beauty of proportion, a dazzling grace, and the most lovely face imaginable."

As the Duke did not speak, Maurice looked at him. He was standing upright, leaning against a table, pale as death.

"Are you ill?" asked Maurice.

"No … no…."

He passed his hand across his forehead and said in an unnatural voice, "Will you see to it please, that they do not leave her suspended that way too long? Tell Albert to raise her head, it seems to me that she is going to faint."

He started forward.

"I will go," said Maurice, stopping him.

When the machinist finished screwing the rings in the rock Maurice asked whether it would not be better to repeat this tableaux at once. The Duke approved. The terrifying dragon was properly arranged on the ground—the wonderful dragon which was the design of a renowned sculptor and perfectly executed by Gerard in papier machÉ. Perseus (the Duke) with one foot on the head of the vanquished monster, bent towards Andromeda. The breath of her half-opened mouth was hot on his lips, and he could hear the wild beating of her little heart. He felt an infinite tenderness steal over him, and when a tear trembled on the young girl's eyelashes he forgot everything, wiped the tear away tenderly with the end of his finger and kissed it lovingly. Happily the turning stage was almost out of sight and nobody except Genevieve had caught sight of the incident.

Esperance breathed, "God, my God!"

The Duke raised the poor child, and said to her very low, "I love you,
Esperance."

She murmured, "You must not … you must not."

While he was loosing her chains he continued, "I love you and I will do anything to win your love."

She strengthened herself desperately.

"You do not need to do anything for it, alas!"

And she fled.

When the Count came to find her, there was only the Duke talking to the stage hands.

"Where is Esperance?"

"I have no idea," replied Charles de Morlay dryly.

Albert turned on his heel, delighted to see the Duke out of humour.

Genevieve caught up with Andromeda who was running away out of breath, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. Genevieve saw her enter the grove leading to the clearing and there she joined her.

"Esperance, my darling, my little sister, stop, I beg you."

Her voice calmed the girl. She caught hold of one of the branches and clung to it, gasping.

"Genevieve, Genevieve, why am I here?"

Her eyes shone with a wild light. She seemed to be absolutely exalted.

"He loves me, he loves me…."

"And I love him." And she threw herself in her friend's arms. "I am as happy as you now, for I love…. The thick cloud that hung over everything is gone. Everything is bright and beautiful. This dark grove is sparkling with sunlight and…?"

Genevieve stopped her.

"Little sister, you are raving. Your pulse is racing with fever. We must go back. Think of poor Albert."

Esperance drew herself up proudly, replying, "I will never betray him,
I will tell the truth, and I will become the wife of the Duke."

"You are talking wildly, dearest, the Duke will not marry you."

"He will marry me, I swear it!"

"Albert will enter the Chartist Monastery and the Countess Styvens will die of sorrow."

"The Countess Styvens," said Esperance slowly.

As the sweet face of the mother came before her mind's eye she began to tremble all over.

Maurice had followed the girls into the grove, and he found them now in each other's arms.

"Genevieve," said Esperance, "not a word of what I have said!"

"Have you both gone crazy? They are looking everywhere for Esperance for the 'Judgment of Paris,' and here you are congratulating and kissing each other!"

"Cousin, I needed the air, don't scold. Genevieve looked for me and found me before anybody else, and I kissed her because I love her most."

She spoke fast and laughed nervously.

"Who freed you from your chains?"

"Perseus, it was his duty!"

"And now he is going to give you an apple."

"Then," she said very prettily, "I must try to deserve it. Come help me to make myself beautiful."

She led Genevieve away by the hand.

Maurice remained rooted to the spot. Somehow he guessed what sudden change had operated upon his cousin's spirit. Something must have taken place in the corridor between these two! He murmured sadly, "Poor Albert, poor little cousin!"

The young Count appeared before him in his most radiant humour.

"I have just met Esperance," he said. "She was joyous, brilliant, I have never before seen her so happy!"

Maurice gnawed his moustache, and moved rather angrily.

"We should never have come here," he said, "success has turned her head."

"She was born for success," said the Count. "I often ask myself whether I have a right to accept the sacrifice she is making for me."

"My dear friend, when things are well you should leave them alone."

"When you love as I love, you desire above everything the happiness of the one you love."

"Unless the one you love should prefer someone else to you?"

"You are wrong, Maurice. I would sacrifice myself for Esperance's happiness if I knew she wanted to marry another man."

Maurice shrugged his shoulders.

"We are not of the same race. Your blood runs colder in your veins than mine, for mine boils. But, perhaps you have a better understanding of these things?"

And he left the Count to go and help the Duke prepare the "Judgment of
Paris."

Three young girls had been chosen for this tableau. Mlle. de Berneuve, a beautiful brunette (Hera); Mlle. Lebrun, with flaming hair (Athene); and Esperance, delicately blonde, was to represent Aphrodite, to whom the shepherd Paris would award the prize for beauty.

To personify Aphrodite the girl wore a long pink tunic, with a peplum of the same colour heavily embroidered. Her hair was piled high on her head, leaving the lovely nape of her neck half covered by her draperies, her exquisitely delicate arms emerging from a sleeveless tunic. To represent the shepherd Paris, the Duke was wearing a short tunic embroidered with agate beads to hold the stuff down, and a sheep skin. A red cap was on his head. He was magnificent to look upon.

The stage began to revolve. Paris held out his apple to Aphrodite, who went crimson at his glance. The girl's blushes did not escape the audience, where the comments varied according to the person who made them.

Maurice, Genevieve, and Jean understood what Esperance read in Paris's eyes. A sad smile gave a melancholy grace to the lovely Aphrodite. Both the actors had forgotten that they were not alone. Hypnotized under the gaze of Paris, the young girl made a gesture towards him. A sharp, "Don't move" from the prompter brought her back to herself. She turned her head, saw the audience, with the eyes and glasses of everyone focussed upon her. It seemed to her that they must all know her secret. She tottered; and supported herself upon Athene. She must have fallen from the frame and been badly hurt, if the Duke had not caught her just in time. A cry escaped from the audience. The Marquis de Montagnac gave a sign to the stage hands to stop revolving the stage.

Albert climbed up on the stage at once. He thrust Paris quickly aside, picked up the girl and carried her out on to the terrace. Maurice and Jean followed him. She was not unconscious, but she could not speak and she recognized no one. Genevieve knelt beside her. At first delicacy—discretion—held the spectators back, but curiosity soon drove them forward. But the Duke did not appear. He had seemingly vanished.

The Doctor of the ChÂteau was called from playing croquet. He began by ordering the crowd away. Esperance was stretched out on an easy chair on the terrace. The Doctor looked at her for a moment, amazed at her beauty, then sat beside her, feeling her pulse. Genevieve described what had happened. He listened attentively.

"There is nothing serious," he said, "only a little exhaustion and collapse. I will go and mix a soothing drink for her."

Esperance, still unconscious, was carried by her fiancÉ to her room, where Genevieve and Mlle. Frahender put her to bed. Albert went back to wait for the Doctor. Maurice went in search of Charles de Morlay. He met a forester, who told him that the Duke had gone for a ride in the forest, and had sent word to the Duchess that he might not be back to lunch.

Maurice returned disturbed and thoughtful. Genevieve was waiting for him with the news that the Doctor had himself administered a sleeping draught to Esperance which he said should make her sleep at least five hours.

"So much the better! That will give us a little time to consider and to decide what is to be done. The truth is that we ought to clear out this very day! Love is a miscreant!"

"Not always, fortunately," murmured Genevieve.

"You, Genevieve, have a balanced mind, calm, just. If only my cousin had your equilibrium!"

"Oh! Maurice, Maurice…."

A tear ran down Genevieve's eyelashes. She closed her eyes. He took the lovely head in his hands and his lips rested on her pure forehead. They remained so for one marvellous, never-to-be-forgotten second.

When he left her Maurice met Albert Styvens. They walked side by side towards the woods.

"I am very much alarmed," said the Count, "not about Esperance's health, but about her state of mind. I am a poor psychologist, but my love for your cousin has sharpened my wits. It seems to me that the Duke is trying to make Esperance love him."

"Possibly; I had not noticed."

"Yes, Maurice, you have noticed and you have no right to deny it. I want to ask your advice. The Duke and I both love your cousin. One of us must lose. Just now I repulsed the Duke so rudely that he could have demanded satisfaction, but I foresee that he will let it pass. That attitude, so unusual to his temperament, proves that he wants to avoid scandal. Why? What is his object?"

"I don't know," said Maurice. "He has gone riding in the forest, probably to calm his nerves with solitude. He loves your fiancÉe, but his honour forces him to respect her."

"Perhaps," said Albert.

"I think," said Maurice, "that we should all leave this evening or to-morrow morning at the latest. Esperance is not ill, only worn out. She is easily exhausted."

"And if she loves the Duke?" pursued the Count.

"Then it is my place to ask you what you are going to do about it?"

Albert was silent a minute, then raising his pale face, answered slowly: "If she loves the Duke, I shall have to ask him what are his intentions; and if, as I believe, he wishes to marry her, I shall die a Chartist!"

The third gong vibrated, announcing lunch.

After lunch, Albert, Maurice, Jean, and Genevieve settled themselves under a great oak, which was said to have been planted by a delightful little Duchess of Castel-Montjoie, who had been celebrated at Court during the Regency. A marble table and a heavy circular bench made this wild corner quite cosy, and sheltered from the sun and from the curious. The tree was just opposite the tower where Esperance was sleeping so deeply, and Mlle. Frahender was to give a signal from the window when she awoke. Neither of them felt much inclined for conversation, for their eyes were fixed on the window opposite. About half-past four Mlle. Frahender appeared, and Genevieve hastened to the room.

Esperance was sitting up in bed, remembering nothing.

"Albert, Maurice, and Jean are over there. Do you wish to see them?"

Esperance rose up quickly, wrapping a robe of blue Japanese crÊpe embroidered in pink wisterias about her, and gracefully fastened up her hair.

"Let them come, if you please, now."

The young men entered and stopped in amazement at the change that had already taken place in her. Instead of finding her a wreck they discovered her pink, gay and laughing.

"What happened to me?" she asked. "My little Mademoiselle does not know, she was not well herself. There is my Aphrodite costume. What happened to me?"

"It was very simple," explained Maurice. "You stayed too long with your head hanging down during the rehearsal, and as you were tired it made you ill. Albert brought you here and you have been asleep for five hours. Now you are your charming self again. We will leave you so that you can dress, and then if you feel like it we will take you for a drive."

"I will be very quick; in ten minutes I will be with you."

The young people did not know what to think. It would now be very difficult to suggest that Esperance should withdraw from the fÊte, as apparently every trace of her indisposition had disappeared.

Then Albert spoke:

"I am going to ask Esperance to give up appearing at this performance as a favour to me," he said. "I shall contribute largely to the charitable fund, and we can go back to Penhouet."

He had hardly finished speaking when Esperance came into the little salon.

"Here I am you see and the ten minutes is not yet up!"

A discreet tap at the door made them all turn round. The Dowager
Duchess appeared.

"Ah! my dear child, what a joy to see you so restored."

"I must apologize, Madame, for the trouble I gave you. It is all over, all over," she said, shaking her pretty head; "and I am as well as possible."

"I am more than delighted," said the Duchess, sitting down. "You have no idea, my dear Albert, of the perfect disaster Esperance's absence would have caused. She is the star of our bill, as they say, and on whom we all rely. You know that my son wants to be elected Deputy, and this fÊte will secure him the votes of the whole community. More than fifteen hundred people have taken tickets. The local livery stable men count on making a fortune. All the villagers are getting their rooms ready to let. If that adorable child had failed us nothing could have made it up to them, and my son would have been ruined."

She rose up.

"But," she added, with the sweet smile that won all hearts, "you see me so happy, so reassured, that you must all be joyful with me."

The young people led her to the foot of the stair. The carriage was waiting to take them for their drive.

The visit from the amiable Duchess rather disconcerted Albert, and Jean, and Maurice and Genevieve. Everything seemed like the warring of an implacable destiny. All four felt absolutely impotent.

The drive was stimulating. Esperance drew life at every breath. They could watch the colour coming back into her cheeks.

As the carriage came out into a clearing, the Duke de Morlay rode wildly by. His horse was covered with sweat and trembling so that he had some difficulty in mastering it. The Duke inquired for Esperance's health and decided that it must be excellent from her looks.

"But my dear Albert," he said, laughing, "you almost knocked me over this morning, however, I do not blame you, I would have done as much myself in your place. However, I must be off, my horse is fagged. I shall see you later."

And he was gone.

"How pale the Duke looked," exclaimed Esperance.

"He is fatigued, he has been riding since this morning."

"Did he not lunch with you, cousin?"

"No."

"Why did he go away in such haste?"

"You are too curious."

Then, looking hard at her, "Perhaps he thought, like the good Duchess, that your weakness was serious, and that all his little arrangements were going to fall through."

"I understand that the Duchess cared, since the election of her son is at stake, but the Duke, how would it affect him?"

Albert sitting opposite her in the carriage, looked her full in the face.

"Perhaps he will never find another opportunity to pay his court to you."

"Whew, that is straightforward bluntness for you!" thought Maurice.

Esperance grew red. The recollection of what had happened began to come back little by little. She closed her eyes to be able to think more clearly. Albert left her in her silence a minute, then he said, "We had planned to carry you away to-day, but you heard what the Duchess said just now. I feel bound by the confidence of that old friend to remain. My fate is in your pretty hands. Be circumspect with the Duke. Frank, and loyal with your fiancÉ."

And he took her hands, in a long kiss.

The coachman was told to turn around, for it was getting late. The horses set off at a trot.

Nothing more was said between them, about the Duke.

After dinner, the Duke arose, and announced, "The fÊte will be the day after to-morrow. We have only rehearsed once, and then, not in full. I feel somewhat responsible for the exhaustion of our little star. Her head, hanging down, was so beautiful, that I thought only of the pose, without realizing how painful it must have become to the artist. I ask Mile. Darbois' pardon. Also, I should like another stage director. I propose M. Maurice Renaud, our ingenious collaborator, to whom we owe our magnificent costumes, and originality of our decorations."

Everyone applauded, and Maurice was proclaimed director of the fÊte.

"I thank you, and accept", he said simply.

He thought, "That is his way of getting rid of me."

"I hope, my dear Director," continued the Duke, "that you will make us rehearse hard to-morrow. If anything goes wrong we shall still have the morning of the following day, for the fÊte does not begin until half-past two."

Maurice rose, and in a comical tone announced, "Ladies, gentlemen, and artists, I beg you to be prompt for a rehearsal of the tableaux vivants to-morrow at ten o'clock. Any artist who is late, will pay a fine of a hundred francs, to the poor of the Duchess." And as they laughingly protested, "There is a quarter of an hour's grace accorded as in the theatres, but not one instant more. My stage-manager is empowered to collect the fines."

They followed the action of the Duchess and rose from their seats. The
Duke went over to Maurice.

"I would like to talk over some of the details with you. They must interest us, but they mean nothing to the others. A cigarette?"

They strolled to the end of the terrace. A pretty Chinese umbrella sheltered a delightful nook. The Duke and Maurice dropped into easy chairs.

"Will you give me your word that what I am going to say to you will be for you alone; that you will not repeat it?"

The young man refused, "How can I give my word without even knowing the subject of your confidences?"

"It concerns your cousin."

"Then it concerns Count Styvens."

"Indirectly, yes."

Maurice got up.

"I would rather not listen to you, for my duty as a man of honour would compel me to speak, should it be necessary."

The Duke sat still and reflected for a minute.

"Very well, you shall judge when you have heard me, what you think you had better do. I leave you free. I love your cousin Esperance: she is the fiancÉe of Count Albert, but she is not in love with him."

Maurice had thrown away his cigarette and leaning forward, his hands clasped, his eyes on the ground, listened intently.

"I have paid her in a way attentions for a year; I admit it was wrong for I had no definite intentions. A visit to Penhouet, however, completely changed my opinion of this little maiden. The atmosphere of beauty, of calm in which she lived, the liking and respect I felt for M. and Madame Darbois, and the free play of intelligence and taste I there discovered, made a deep impression on me and I could not forget. The ordinary life of society, so artificial, so devoid of real interest, this life that eats up hours and weeks and months in futilities, in nothings that come to nothing, all this became suddenly quite burdensome to me. I continuously thought of the adorable child I had seen at Penhouet, brighter than all else in that radiant place. I was travelling, and did not learn of the accident to your cousin and Count Styvens until I returned to Paris. Then I wrote for news."

"I came back here to my old aunt's, my nearest relative. I wanted to ask her to invite the whole of the Darbois family to spend a month here at Montjoie. A letter from Count Albert, announcing his engagement to Esperance, was a terrible blow to me. I conceived the detestable idea of revenging myself on Albert, but every scheme went against me. I have been beaten without ever having fought." Then he paused.

"Since you have done me the honour to make me your confidant, permit me to say that the little ambush you laid for Esperance this morning…."

The Duke interrupted, "That ambush was a vulgar trick, theatrical and cheap. I spare you the trouble of having to tell me so. I was about to disclose myself to the young ladies when I heard your cousin speak my name. Then I kept still, hoping to learn something. What man could have resisted? I heard these words spoken to Mlle. Hardouin, 'Yes, the presence of the Duke of Morlay disturbs me; I do not know if that is love, but I do know that I do not love Albert.' They went on towards the clearing; I was compelled to leave my hiding place. You know the rest. The cry the child gave, and her look of reproach unmanned me. I understood at that moment that I loved in deadly earnest; that my intention of avenging myself on Albert was nothing but a vain manifestation of pride, that the ambush was a cowardly concession to my reputation as a—well, deceiver of women. You know what I mean."

He shrugged his shoulders scornfully.

"The man I was trying to be has left the man I am, and now, Renaud, here is what I want you to know. Esperance Darbois loves me, I was convinced of that at the rehearsal. I love her ardently in return. She will not be happy with Albert, and I want to marry her. I will employ no 'illicit means,' as the lawyers say. On other scores I shall feel no remorse to have broken your cousin's engagement. My fortune is twice Albert's; he is a Count, I a Duke, and what is more, a Frenchman."

Maurice stood up nervously.

"You are a very gallant man, Duke, and my sympathy was yours from your first visit to Penhouet, but I am greatly distressed that you should have made me your confidant, for I must in honour bound support Albert."

"I do not see why! It seems to me that the happiness of your cousin might count before any friendship for Albert Styvens."

"But where is her real happiness, I might say her lasting happiness?"

The moon had risen radiantly pure. From their elevation on the terrace, they could overlook all the garden and park sloping gently to the lake. In a boat two young girls were rowing. They were alone.

"You leave me free to act?"

"Absolutely."

"Till to-morrow," said Maurice pressing his hands.

The Duke remained alone on the terrace. He saw the young man go rapidly towards the lake. He heard him hail the girls and saw him climb into the boat with them, then disappear after he had waved with Genevieve's handkerchief a signal of adieu.