The Deputy of Arcis [163]
found Sallenauve, who had preceded her.
"You in London, monsieur!" she said; "it is like a dream!"
"Especially to me," replied Sallenauve, "who find you here, after searching hopelessly for you in Paris--"
"Did you take that pains?--why?"
"You left me in so strange a manner, and your nature is so rash, you knew so little of Paris, and so many dangers might threaten your inexperience, that I feared for you."
"Suppose harm did happen to me; I was neither your wife, nor your sister, nor your mistress; I was only your--"
"I thought," said Sallenauve, hastily, "that you were my friend."
"I was--under obligation to you," she replied. "I saw that I was becoming an embarrassment in your new situation. What else could I do but release you from it?"
"Who told you that you were an embarrassment to me? Have I ever said or intimated anything of the kind? Could I not speak to you, as I did, about your professional life without wounding so deeply your sensibility?"
"People feel things as they feel them," replied Luigia. "I had the inward consciousness that you would rather I were out of your house than in it. My future you had already given me the means to secure; you see for yourself it is opening in a manner that ought to reassure you."
"It seems to me so brilliant that I hope you will not think me indiscreet if I ask whose hand, more fortunate than mine, has produced this happy result."
"That of a great Swedish nobleman," replied Luigia, without hesitation. "Or rather, I should say, as the friend of a lady who took an interest in me, he procured me an engagement at Her Majesty's Theatre; the kind encouragement of the public has done the rest."
"Say, rather, your own talent; I was present at the performance this evening."
Making him a coquettish courtesy, Luigia said,--
"I hope you were satisfied with your humble servant."
"Your musical powers did not surprise me, for those I knew already; but those transports of dramatic passion, your powerful acting, so sure of itself, did certainly astonish me."
"It comes from having suffered much," replied Luigia; "suffering is a great teacher."
"Suffered? Yes, I know you did, in Italy. But I have liked to feel that after your arrival in France--"
"Always; I have always suffered," she said in a voice of emotion. "I was not born under a happy star."
"That 'always' seems like a reproach to me," said Sallenauve, "and yet I do not know what wrong I can have done you."
"You have done me no wrong; the harm was there!" she cried, striking her breast,--"within me!"
"Probably some foolish fancy, such as that of leaving my house suddenly, because your mistaken sense of honor made you think yourself in my way."
"Not mistaken," she replied. "I know what was in your thoughts. If only on account of what you had done for me, I knew I could never aspire to your esteem."
"But, my dear Luigia, I call such ideas absurd. Have I ever shown you any want of consideration? How could I? Your conduct has always been exemplary."
"Yes, I tried to do everything that would give you a good opinion of me; but I was none the less the widow of Benedetto."
"What! can you suppose that that misfortune, the result of a just vengeance--"
"Ah! no, it is not the death of that man that lowered me in your eyes; on the contrary. But I had been the wife of a buffoon, of a police- spy, of a base man, ready to sell me to any one who would give him money."
"As long as that situation lasted, I thought you deeply to be pitied; but despised, never!"
"And," continued the Italian, more excitedly, "we had lived two years under the same roof, you and I alone."
"Yes, and I found my comfort in it."
"Did you think me ugly?"
"You know better than that, for I made my finest statue from you."
"Foolish?"
"No one was ever foolish who could act such a part as you did to-night."
"Then you must see that you despised me."
Sallenauve seemed wholly surprised by this deduction; he thought himself very clever in replying,--
"It seems to me that if I had behaved
"You in London, monsieur!" she said; "it is like a dream!"
"Especially to me," replied Sallenauve, "who find you here, after searching hopelessly for you in Paris--"
"Did you take that pains?--why?"
"You left me in so strange a manner, and your nature is so rash, you knew so little of Paris, and so many dangers might threaten your inexperience, that I feared for you."
"Suppose harm did happen to me; I was neither your wife, nor your sister, nor your mistress; I was only your--"
"I thought," said Sallenauve, hastily, "that you were my friend."
"I was--under obligation to you," she replied. "I saw that I was becoming an embarrassment in your new situation. What else could I do but release you from it?"
"Who told you that you were an embarrassment to me? Have I ever said or intimated anything of the kind? Could I not speak to you, as I did, about your professional life without wounding so deeply your sensibility?"
"People feel things as they feel them," replied Luigia. "I had the inward consciousness that you would rather I were out of your house than in it. My future you had already given me the means to secure; you see for yourself it is opening in a manner that ought to reassure you."
"It seems to me so brilliant that I hope you will not think me indiscreet if I ask whose hand, more fortunate than mine, has produced this happy result."
"That of a great Swedish nobleman," replied Luigia, without hesitation. "Or rather, I should say, as the friend of a lady who took an interest in me, he procured me an engagement at Her Majesty's Theatre; the kind encouragement of the public has done the rest."
"Say, rather, your own talent; I was present at the performance this evening."
Making him a coquettish courtesy, Luigia said,--
"I hope you were satisfied with your humble servant."
"Your musical powers did not surprise me, for those I knew already; but those transports of dramatic passion, your powerful acting, so sure of itself, did certainly astonish me."
"It comes from having suffered much," replied Luigia; "suffering is a great teacher."
"Suffered? Yes, I know you did, in Italy. But I have liked to feel that after your arrival in France--"
"Always; I have always suffered," she said in a voice of emotion. "I was not born under a happy star."
"That 'always' seems like a reproach to me," said Sallenauve, "and yet I do not know what wrong I can have done you."
"You have done me no wrong; the harm was there!" she cried, striking her breast,--"within me!"
"Probably some foolish fancy, such as that of leaving my house suddenly, because your mistaken sense of honor made you think yourself in my way."
"Not mistaken," she replied. "I know what was in your thoughts. If only on account of what you had done for me, I knew I could never aspire to your esteem."
"But, my dear Luigia, I call such ideas absurd. Have I ever shown you any want of consideration? How could I? Your conduct has always been exemplary."
"Yes, I tried to do everything that would give you a good opinion of me; but I was none the less the widow of Benedetto."
"What! can you suppose that that misfortune, the result of a just vengeance--"
"Ah! no, it is not the death of that man that lowered me in your eyes; on the contrary. But I had been the wife of a buffoon, of a police- spy, of a base man, ready to sell me to any one who would give him money."
"As long as that situation lasted, I thought you deeply to be pitied; but despised, never!"
"And," continued the Italian, more excitedly, "we had lived two years under the same roof, you and I alone."
"Yes, and I found my comfort in it."
"Did you think me ugly?"
"You know better than that, for I made my finest statue from you."
"Foolish?"
"No one was ever foolish who could act such a part as you did to-night."
"Then you must see that you despised me."
Sallenauve seemed wholly surprised by this deduction; he thought himself very clever in replying,--
"It seems to me that if I had behaved