Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [117]
out," replies the man solemnly.
"Mademoiselle Clotilde----"
"I do not think that Mademoiselle Clotilde will see you, monsieur, in the absence of Madame la Duchesse."
"But there are people here," replies Lucien in dismay.
"I do not know, sir," says the man, trying to seem stupid and to be respectful.
There is nothing more fatal than etiquette to those who regard it as the most formidable arm of social law. Lucien easily interpreted the meaning of this scene, so disastrous to him. The Duke and Duchess would not admit him. He felt the spinal marrow freezing in the core of his vertebral column, and a sickly cold sweat bedewed his brow. The conversation had taken place in the presence of his own body-servant, who held the door of the brougham, doubting whether to shut it. Lucien signed to him that he was going away again; but as he stepped into the carriage, he heard the noise of people coming downstairs, and the servant called out first, "Madame la Duchesse de Chaulieu's people," then "Madame la Vicomtesse de Grandlieu's carriage!"
Lucien merely said, "To the Italian opera"; but in spite of his haste, the luckless dandy could not escape the Duc de Chaulieu and his son, the Duc de Rhetore, to whom he was obliged to bow, for they did not speak a word to him. A great catastrophe at Court, the fall of a formidable favorite, has ere now been pronounced on the threshold of a royal study, in one word from an usher with a face like a plaster cast.
"How am I to let my adviser know of this disaster--this instant----?" thought Lucien as he drove to the opera-house. "What is going on?"
He racked his brain with conjectures.
This was what had taken place. That morning, at eleven o'clock, the Duc de Grandlieu, as he went into the little room where the family all breakfasted together, said to Clotilde after kissing her, "Until further orders, my child, think no more of the Sieur de Rubempre."
Then he had taken the Duchesse by the hand, and led her into a window recess to say a few words in an undertone, which made poor Clotilde turn pale; for she watched her mother as she listened to the Duke, and saw her expression of extreme surprise.
"Jean," said the Duke to one of his servants, "take this note to Monsieur le Duc de Chaulieu, and beg him to answer by you, Yes or No. --I am asking him to dine here to-day," he added to his wife.
Breakfast had been a most melancholy meal. The Duchess was meditative, the Duke seemed to be vexed with himself, and Clotilde could with difficulty restrain her tears.
"My child, your father is right; you must obey him," the mother had said to the daughter with much emotion. "I do not say as he does, 'Think no more of Lucien.' No--for I understand your suffering"-- Clotilde kissed her mother's hand--"but I do say, my darling, Wait, take no step, suffer in silence since you love him, and put your trust in your parents' care.--Great ladies, my child, are great just because they can do their duty on every occasion, and do it nobly."
"But what is it about?" asked Clotilde as white as a lily.
"Matters too serious to be discussed with you, my dearest," the Duchess replied. "For if they are untrue, your mind would be unnecessarily sullied; and if they are true, you must never know them."
At six o'clock the Duc de Chaulieu had come to join the Duc de Grandlieu, who awaited him in his study.
"Tell me, Henri"--for the Dukes were on the most familiar terms, and addressed each other by their Christian names. This is one of the shades invented to mark a degree of intimacy, to repel the audacity of French familiarity, and humiliate conceit--"tell me, Henri, I am in such a desperate difficulty that I can only ask advice of an old friend who understands business, and you have practice and experience. My daughter Clotilde, as you know, is in love with that little Rubempre, whom I have been almost compelled to accept as her promised husband. I have always been averse to the marriage; however, Madame de Grandlieu could not bear to thwart Clotilde's passion. When the young fellow had
"Mademoiselle Clotilde----"
"I do not think that Mademoiselle Clotilde will see you, monsieur, in the absence of Madame la Duchesse."
"But there are people here," replies Lucien in dismay.
"I do not know, sir," says the man, trying to seem stupid and to be respectful.
There is nothing more fatal than etiquette to those who regard it as the most formidable arm of social law. Lucien easily interpreted the meaning of this scene, so disastrous to him. The Duke and Duchess would not admit him. He felt the spinal marrow freezing in the core of his vertebral column, and a sickly cold sweat bedewed his brow. The conversation had taken place in the presence of his own body-servant, who held the door of the brougham, doubting whether to shut it. Lucien signed to him that he was going away again; but as he stepped into the carriage, he heard the noise of people coming downstairs, and the servant called out first, "Madame la Duchesse de Chaulieu's people," then "Madame la Vicomtesse de Grandlieu's carriage!"
Lucien merely said, "To the Italian opera"; but in spite of his haste, the luckless dandy could not escape the Duc de Chaulieu and his son, the Duc de Rhetore, to whom he was obliged to bow, for they did not speak a word to him. A great catastrophe at Court, the fall of a formidable favorite, has ere now been pronounced on the threshold of a royal study, in one word from an usher with a face like a plaster cast.
"How am I to let my adviser know of this disaster--this instant----?" thought Lucien as he drove to the opera-house. "What is going on?"
He racked his brain with conjectures.
This was what had taken place. That morning, at eleven o'clock, the Duc de Grandlieu, as he went into the little room where the family all breakfasted together, said to Clotilde after kissing her, "Until further orders, my child, think no more of the Sieur de Rubempre."
Then he had taken the Duchesse by the hand, and led her into a window recess to say a few words in an undertone, which made poor Clotilde turn pale; for she watched her mother as she listened to the Duke, and saw her expression of extreme surprise.
"Jean," said the Duke to one of his servants, "take this note to Monsieur le Duc de Chaulieu, and beg him to answer by you, Yes or No. --I am asking him to dine here to-day," he added to his wife.
Breakfast had been a most melancholy meal. The Duchess was meditative, the Duke seemed to be vexed with himself, and Clotilde could with difficulty restrain her tears.
"My child, your father is right; you must obey him," the mother had said to the daughter with much emotion. "I do not say as he does, 'Think no more of Lucien.' No--for I understand your suffering"-- Clotilde kissed her mother's hand--"but I do say, my darling, Wait, take no step, suffer in silence since you love him, and put your trust in your parents' care.--Great ladies, my child, are great just because they can do their duty on every occasion, and do it nobly."
"But what is it about?" asked Clotilde as white as a lily.
"Matters too serious to be discussed with you, my dearest," the Duchess replied. "For if they are untrue, your mind would be unnecessarily sullied; and if they are true, you must never know them."
At six o'clock the Duc de Chaulieu had come to join the Duc de Grandlieu, who awaited him in his study.
"Tell me, Henri"--for the Dukes were on the most familiar terms, and addressed each other by their Christian names. This is one of the shades invented to mark a degree of intimacy, to repel the audacity of French familiarity, and humiliate conceit--"tell me, Henri, I am in such a desperate difficulty that I can only ask advice of an old friend who understands business, and you have practice and experience. My daughter Clotilde, as you know, is in love with that little Rubempre, whom I have been almost compelled to accept as her promised husband. I have always been averse to the marriage; however, Madame de Grandlieu could not bear to thwart Clotilde's passion. When the young fellow had