Let us now make the acquaintance of this lady, with whom Albert was so madly in love, and with whom his friend CÉlestin maintained a correspondence of which he knew nothing.

Madame Baldimer was twenty-eight years of age. Although she was very beautiful, she appeared fully as old as that, because her features, faultless and regular as they were, were somewhat pronounced and stern; because there was in her expression a touch of masculinity, of intelligence superior to vulgar weaknesses, and the signs of a firm and resolute will.

Tall, with a superb figure, of lithe and graceful carriage—which is rare in very tall women;—great black eyes full of fire, hair as black as jet, a shapely mouth with perfect teeth, sometimes ironical in expression, sometimes scornful, and sometimes fascinating beyond words; a white skin slightly lacking in lustre, a beautiful arm, a lovely hand, but a very long, very broad, and very flat foot,—such was Madame Baldimer. She always wore extremely long dresses, in order to hide that portion of her person which did not harmonize with the beauty of her face and her body.

Madame Baldimer lived on Rue Neuve-Vivienne, in a suite of rooms worthy of a petite-maÎtresse upon whom fortune has lavished its favors. There she had assembled everything that could gratify the taste of the most exacting of women: furniture of priceless woods, bronzes, pictures, porcelain, statuettes, knickknacks, curiosities—nothing had been overlooked; Madame Baldimer's rooms contained all that the world could provide in the way of dainty, graceful, and sumptuous objects. It was a delicious haven of repose, where the feet rested on naught but soft carpets, where one breathed an atmosphere heavy with perfumes and flowers, where, in a word, it seemed that the aim had been to assemble whatever was best adapted to seduce the mind, the eye, and the senses.

It was not the first time that young Vermoncey had called upon Madame Baldimer; after meeting her in society, fascinated by her beauty, he had insistently craved the favor of being permitted to pay his court to her; and that favor had been granted with a readiness that led him to hope for the speedy triumph of his passion. But he had been disappointed; the lovely widow, who had appeared to be flattered at first by the effect her charms produced upon Albert, had received coldly enough the burning declaration which the young man was not slow in addressing to her; without absolutely spurning him, she had given him but little hope. Sometimes stern, sometimes merry, scornful or melancholy, Madame Baldimer's conduct toward Albert was that of a coquette who seeks to amuse herself at the expense of the man she has subjugated, or who does not feel sufficiently assured of her conquest, and, before surrendering, desires, by all possible means, to inflame and strengthen the sentiment she has inspired.

Discouraged, and at times disgusted by the non-success of his sighs, Albert swore to think no more of the fair American, which was the name by which Madame Baldimer was commonly designated in society. In his endeavor to forget her, he ceased to go where he was likely to meet her, in society or at her favorite places of amusement. But just as his resolution was beginning to bear fruit, and his common sense to triumph over his passion, he was sure to meet Madame Baldimer somewhere, at the theatre perhaps, at a concert, or wherever he happened to walk. It seemed that some evil genius kept her informed of his most trivial acts, and sent her upon his traces, in order to make him forget his resolution. The lovely creature exerted every means of seduction in her power to bring back to her feet the man who was struggling to free himself from her empire; and when he saw Madame Baldimer again, Albert speedily forgot her coquetry, and returned to her side more in love than ever, and always flattering himself that he was to be more fortunate in his suit.

But for some time past, Albert's vexation at his failure to triumph over the fair American had been intensified by the torments of jealousy; for he was not the only man whom Madame Baldimer's charms had fascinated; and as she was a flirt, she welcomed the homage of several other young men with as much favor as his. Latterly, a wealthy foreigner, a Swede, had joined the ranks of her adorers; this gentleman, one Count Dahlborne, was exceedingly ugly; he was very tall and stiff, with large, glassy eyes, and a red beard and moustache which made his aspect almost repulsive, and were ill adapted to attract a petite-maÎtresse; and yet, whether from eccentricity or caprice, Madame Baldimer had seemed for some little time to take more pleasure in the Swedish count's society than in that of any other aspirant to her favor.

Albert, angry beyond measure, had sworn once more to cease to think of that woman who made a plaything of his love; and affairs were at that stage when, on the preceding evening, he and his friends had spied the fair American in a little citadine, driving along the boulevard. We have seen what followed. Unable to control the passion which dominated him, Albert wrote to Madame Baldimer, imploring her to accord him a tÊte-À-tÊte, and swearing that she would never see him again if she refused. The reply was laconic, but favorable. "Come at one o'clock to-morrow," said the note which he had received from the lovely widow, and which had made him so happy.

Let us accompany him now to the lady's abode, where he arrived at the hour mentioned in the note.

A maid ushered the young man into a small salon furnished with all the dainty coquetry of a boudoir. Enveloped in an ample blouse of white muslin, gathered about her waist by a gold cord, Madame Baldimer sat, or rather half reclined, on a divan. Her beautiful black hair was her only head-dress, but the novel and original fashion in which it was arranged, and the elegant simplicity of her dress, which heightened her charms—everything combined to impart to her person something which would have vanquished the most insensible of men, and Albert was very far from that.

At sight of the person she expected, and of whose passionate admiration of her beauty she was well aware, Madame Baldimer's eyes gleamed, and her face lighted up with a peculiar expression. Was it pleasure, love, or simple coquetry? One must needs have been a talented physiognomist to divine what was taking place in that woman's heart.

Albert bowed gracefully, and, at a sign from her, took his seat by her side.

"I trust that I shall hear no further complaints from you," said Madame Baldimer, with a smile; "I have given you this rendezvous—the tÊte-À-tÊte for which you asked me. Do you know that that is a very great favor?"

"Do you imagine, madame, that I am not profoundly conscious of its value; do you already repent of having afforded me so very great a pleasure?"

"I never repent of what I have done, for I always reflect before acting; and I realize all the consequences of what I accord, of what I promise."

"Then you give me leave to love you and to tell you so, to hope that you will share my sentiments? for all that is the natural consequence of this priceless interview which you have deigned to grant me."

"Oh! gently, gently, Monsieur Albert; you go too fast. Love me, if you will; I do not forbid you—far from it; but I must be absolutely certain of your love, I must be convinced that it is too great to recoil before any obstacle—any sacrifice—before I make up my mind to yield to it."

"Oh! madame, are you not certain of the power of your charms, of the boundless influence you exert over me? What proof must you have, in order to believe in my love? Speak, command!—I am prepared to obey."

Madame Baldimer gazed earnestly at Albert, but in that searching gaze there was no trace of tenderness, nothing to indicate that it came from the heart. The young man was almost frightened by the persistent stare of those two great black eyes; he would have preferred a little confusion and embarrassment, some slight emotion, a sigh—in a word, some one of those things which indicate that the moment of avowal, of surrender, is at hand; and Madame Baldimer's expression conveyed no such indication.

"You have loved very often, have you not?" murmured the lovely widow at last.

"So I thought until I knew you, but I feel now that I never really loved before I saw you."

"Oh, yes! a man always says that to the last woman to whom he pays court. But I have been told that you have been guilty of a great many follies for your mistresses."

"Follies do not necessarily denote love."

"Sometimes they do. And suppose I wanted you to do something of the sort for me——"

"Why, I should be only too happy, if it were a means of making myself agreeable to you."

"Ah! you do not know me, you see. I am very peculiar. I want the man who loves me to gratify all my tastes, all my whims; to divine them himself; I do not understand the love that hesitates before a desire of the loved one. If I had been a man, I would have thrown myself into the water, into the flames, to prove my love for a woman! I would have defied all dangers, challenged all my rivals—in short, I would have turned the world upside down, aye, and committed crimes, if she had asked me to."

Albert, who was at a loss to understand the purport of her remarks, looked at her with a smile, saying:

"Have you some little crime you would like me to commit? or would you like me to jump into the water?"

Madame Baldimer pressed her lips together impatiently, as she replied:

"Mon Dieu! monsieur, what will you say next? I should be very sorry, indeed, if the slightest accident should happen to you on my account. Really, I don't know why I said that. I don't always consider what I say."

"But you consider what is said to you, surely?" rejoined Albert, taking her hand.

She smiled, and seemed to reflect for a moment.

"Where do you live now?" she asked. "Is it true that you have moved?"

"No, madame; I am still in the same house."

"And you live with your father, I believe?"

"On the same landing."

"For a young man who likes to do foolish things, it must be a little burdensome sometimes to have such a neighbor."

"Oh! no, madame; I am my own master; I do what I choose; my father does not interfere with me in any way; he is so kind to me!"

"Ah! he loves you very dearly, does he?"

"Yes, I cannot doubt it. And it is quite natural, as I am the only one left of a numerous family."

"What! has he no other child?"

"I had two brothers and a sister—and I alone am left."

Madame Baldimer let her head fall upon her breast, and seemed lost in thought.

"But we are talking of very serious subjects," said Albert, after a pause; "whereas I had no purpose to speak of anything but my love. Tell me, do you not love me a little?"

Madame Baldimer made no reply, but she allowed her hand to be pressed, heaved a sigh, and turned her eyes away. The young man was overjoyed; he thought that his love was beginning to touch the heart that he burned to subjugate, and he was about to put to his lips the hand that he held in his, when Madame Baldimer rose abruptly and began to pace the floor.

"Did you see Madame Plays at Count Dahlborne's last reception?" she asked, in a very vivacious tone. "She wore the sweetest cashmere; it fairly turned my head; so much so, that I dreamed of it, and I think of it all the time. There's one just like it at Delille's. They are the handsomest shawls there are in Paris to-day. I was tempted for a moment to buy it; but it costs too much; and one would be very foolish to yield to all one's fancies."

Albert was utterly disconcerted. At the very moment when he thought that she was about to respond to his loving protestations, she began to talk about cashmeres! That abrupt sally so bewildered him that he gazed at Madame Baldimer in blank amazement, and did not know what to reply.

She returned to her seat on the divan, and continued in a most amiable tone:

"Pardon me; here I am talking about clothes, now; I am very frivolous, am I not?"

"You are charming always—if only you would be a little more sentimental! When I speak of my love, you change the subject."

"Why, no—for that Madame Plays has been your mistress, has she not?"

"No, I give you my word of honor."

"Come, come, don't lie about it! As if one could not detect such things at once, however little one knows the world! Besides, Madame Plays made no secret of it—quite the contrary; that husband of hers is so obliging!"

"For heaven's sake, let us drop Madame Plays! I did not ask for a tÊte-À-tÊte with you, to talk about her!"

"I fancy not. But her shawl is so pretty—and I thought that someone said that you gave it to her."

"No, indeed! that is not true!"

"You won't admit it, of course—such a beautiful present! Were you so very much in love with that woman?"

"Once more, madame, I assure you that you are mistaken."

"Very well—it is possible; I am willing to believe you. But, oh! what a stunning shawl that is!"

Albert said nothing more. A thousand thoughts passed through his mind, and his brow began to darken. Madame Baldimer, noticing it, became more vivacious, more amiable, more tender, than ever; one would have said that she feared that the passion she had aroused might disappear, and that she was exerting herself to the utmost to prevent Albert's love from escaping her. He was altogether bewildered by the cajoleries which she lavished upon him; his hope that his flame was at last shared awoke to new life; indeed, Madame Baldimer's conduct fully justified that hope.

But at that moment the maid appeared in the doorway.

"Monsieur le Comte Dahlborne wishes to know if he may pay his respects to madame?" she said.

"Why, of course; show him in," replied Madame Baldimer, with an air of satisfaction; while Albert, whose features contracted when he heard the count's name, exclaimed angrily:

"What! you propose to receive that foreigner? And I hoped that I was to enjoy a tÊte-À-tÊte with you!"

"Have we not time enough to see each other again? The count was told that I was in; to refuse to receive him would be discourteous."

"Ah! madame, if you had taken any pleasure in hearing me speak of my love——"

"I do—but the world insists upon the observance of certain proprieties which we cannot disregard. Besides, this foreigner is so gallant——"

"Too gallant with you, in my opinion, and his frequent visits——"

"Hush, here he is!"

Count Dahlborne entered the salon, with the stiff, formal, pretentious air which he always maintained. He had several decorations in his buttonhole, and all the manners of a person of good breeding; but his long, surly face, even when he tried to be affable, seemed destined to put pleasure and love to flight. However, Madame Baldimer greeted him with a charming smile; he kissed her hand, bowed solemnly to Albert, and seated himself in an armchair, like a wooden man moved by springs.

"It is very good of you, monsieur le comte, to think of coming to see me," said the pretty widow, mincingly.

The Swede bowed, and replied with the utmost seriousness:

"Oh! I think of it all the time."

"You gentlemen who are in diplomacy, in politics, have very little time to give to the ladies; so that they should be highly flattered when it occurs to you to give a thought to them."

"Oh! I give many thoughts to them."

Albert could hardly restrain a smile at the Swede's phlegm and his laconic utterances, and he did not say a word, being curious to see if his conversation would continue in the same tone. But Madame Baldimer was too shrewd not to try to make the count talk more freely. She addressed him again.

"How did you like the last opÉra-comique? We met there the night before last, you know."

"I don't remember it at all," replied Monsieur Dahlborne, after apparently trying to recall the incident.

"I should judge, then, that you didn't enjoy it very much."

The Swede made no reply, but felt in his coat pocket and produced a superb fan of some rare and valuable wood, beautifully carved, and enriched with inlaid work. He presented it to Madame Baldimer, saying:

"I broke yours at the theatre; will you allow me to replace it?"

The fair American took the fan and gazed at it with an enraptured expression.

"Oh! really, Monsieur Dahlborne," she cried, "this is too beautiful. I don't know whether I ought to accept it; it is simply magnificent! What workmanship! what exquisite finish! it is perfectly lovely! I cannot take it in exchange for the one I had."

"Then I will break this one too, if you give it back to me."

"Really, such gallantry—it puts all our Parisian gentlemen to the blush.—Look, Monsieur Vermoncey, isn't this a wonderfully lovely fan?"

Albert, whose face had worn a pronounced frown ever since the count presented the fan, barely glanced at it as he replied:

"I know very little about that sort of thing."

"It is impossible to imagine anything in better taste! Well, Monsieur Dahlborne, I will keep it; for it would really be too bad for you to break it."

"In that case, I am very glad that I broke the other," said the Swede, with a bow.

Albert found it difficult to restrain his vexation and anger; he could not keep his feet still, and seemed to be boiling on his chair. The pretty widow, who seemed to take great delight in the young man's jealousy and wrath, and who acted as if she desired to add to his misery, handed the fan to him again, saying:

"Pray look at it, monsieur, and admit that you have never seen anything so pretty and so refined."

This time the young man took the fan in his hands, held it up in the air, opened it as if to examine it more closely, then let it fall on the corner of his chair, whence it dropped to the floor. The dainty thing was too frail, too delicate, to resist that twofold fall, and it broke in several pieces.

Madame Baldimer gave a little shriek, which did not, however, indicate intense regret; indeed, it was possible that she expected that event and had looked forward to it. Count Dahlborne contented himself with picking up the pieces of the fan, which he coolly placed in his pocket.

"There are others," he said; "prettier ones than that, perhaps; I shall have the pleasure of bringing you one."

Albert's irritation increased apace; he flattered himself that by breaking the fan he would vex Madame Baldimer and anger the Swede—in short, he hoped for a scene, a quarrel; but the foreigner's imperturbable tranquillity disappointed his hope; he saw that his awkwardness—or malice, as they chose to take it—was thrown away.

Madame Baldimer addressed no reproach to him; she simply said:

"We all have our unlucky days."

Then she resumed her conversation with the count, who continued to answer as laconically as before; in fact, she carried on the conversation practically alone, with an occasional ironical smile at her young adorer.

Albert paid no heed to what was being said, and he answered incoherently such remarks as were addressed to him; but he was determined not to abandon the field to the Swede, and not to go away so long as that gentleman stayed. For his part, the noble foreigner seemed not at all disposed to take his leave, although he did not appear to be enjoying himself overmuch.

Madame Baldimer probably divined the secret thoughts of her two suitors; and after entertaining them, as we have described, for some time, she herself rose and said:

"Excuse me for leaving you, messieurs; but I am going into the country for a few days, and I must make my toilet; you understand that, for a lady, that is too important a matter not to require a great deal of time."

The visitors understood that they must go. Both rose, and both took leave of the young woman. The Swede kissed her hand with much gravity; Albert contented himself with pressing it hard, saying under his breath:

"I hope to see you immediately after your return to Paris."

"I count upon it," replied Madame Baldimer, aloud. "I will write you as soon as I return."

The two rivals went downstairs together; on reaching the street, they saluted without a word.

Albert stood and looked after the count as he walked away, and was strongly tempted to go up to Madame Baldimer again; but he changed his mind and went home.

"To go back now," he said to himself, "would be a mistake. What should I say? I broke that fan; she saw that I did it in anger, and she didn't reprove me. But I must make that up to her. I have deprived her of one present, so I owe her another. That cashmere she spoke about is very expensive, I suppose, but no matter! It shall not be said that a Swede was more gallant than I. And yet—I don't know—but it seems to me that that woman doesn't love me;—and I thought that her acquaintance would cost me nothing! Ah! I hoped that she would be more amiable and less coquettish. I should do very well to forget Madame Baldimer—I know that. Why am I so bent upon triumphing over her? Oh! vanity, vanity!"