It was the little de Ma.r.s.et who had spoken. Esperance started. For a long time it had been rumoured that the very pretty Countess de Morgueil, widowed two years ago, was violently infatuated with the Duke de Morlay, who was said not to be indifferent to her affection.

Afraid apparently that his meaning had not been plain, Ma.r.s.et insisted, "she is always circling about the Duke."

"But does he care for her?" asked a young woman with a hard face, who was just going to give herself a dose of morphine, and who was never seen without a cigarette between her lips.

"Who knows?" queried Ma.r.s.et, with a knowing air.

Esperance had grown very pale. Albert was controlling himself with difficulty. He observed Genevieve's constraint, and the trouble of his fiancee.

"Shall we walk a little?"

They walked towards the woods and Maurice, in some excitement, soon joined them. He was greatly troubled, and longed to be able to tell Albert how things were going. He was very fond of this fine fellow, and at the same time felt great sympathy for the Duke. He understood perfectly well why Esperance should prefer him to the Count, but at the same time he blamed her a little for causing so many complications. When he saw her so fresh and charming beside Albert, he grew more disturbed. Genevieve quietly drew him aside.

"You are getting excited, Maurice, and I see clearly that you are blaming Esperance, but let me tell you, dear love, that you are unjust. At this moment Esperance is walking in a dream. Nothing real exists for her. For three months she has suffered very much, struggled very much, and felt so much. Events have come very quickly. She finds herself all of a sudden at the fount of the realization of all her fondest hopes; to be loved by the one she loves!... Be patient, Maurice, she is so young and so sensitive...."

"Your heart, dearest Genevieve, is an admirable accountant. It adds the reasons, multiplies the excuses, subtracts the errors, and divides the responsibility. You are adorable and I love you with all my heart.

Come with me, it is time for the concert. You go on immediately after Delaunay. The d.u.c.h.ess is unable to contain herself at the idea of hearing you recite her poem."

The Duke pa.s.sed by, accompanied by the pretty Countess de Morgueil, at whose conversation he was smiling politely and replying vaguely. He seemed not to have seen the others. Like Esperance, he was living in a world of dreams, happy in a realm where there was neither impatience nor jealousy. He knew that he was loved.

After lunch Esperance said that she was going to rest, so as to be fresh for next day. Her father and mother were to come on the Princess's little yacht. She and Mlle. Frahender were to go alone to meet them. That gave her several hours of solitude to think of him, only of him.

Maurice repeated his last orders for the engrossing fete, against which he railed ceaselessly, in spite of Genevieve's constant efforts to calm him.

"Oh! of course, it is perfectly evident that I am unreasonable, I know it; but if I break my leg slipping on an orange peel, you would not prevent me from swearing at the person who had peeled the fruit there, would you?"

Genevieve laughed in spite of herself. "Be a good boy, tell your uncle everything as soon as he comes; but say nothing against Esperance, for that would not be right."

Her lovely face was very sad. Maurice looked at her with a world of tenderness, "My darling, forgive me; the truth is that I am so worried. Albert's face is hard and set. He knows nothing, cannot know anything, but he is gifted with the intuition that simple souls often possess. I am very uneasy, I can tell you. Say nothing to Esperance.

Come now, let us stroll into this thicket and talk just by ourselves for awhile."

They entered the thicket, holding each other close, in silence. When they came to the clearing they stopped short. The Duke was there, stretched out upon the bench, smoking, dreaming.

He got up, surprised, and apologized.

"I had just come back here to live over an unforgettable moment."

"This corner must be the rendezvous for the slaves of the little G.o.d,"

said Maurice, bowing to the statuette of _Love Enchained_. "We will leave you."

"No," said the Duke quickly, "Please stay. Your happiness shows me the vision of which I dreamed. Art is the inspiration of the beautiful, and I believe, that artists have a more delicate sense of love than other people.

"I believe, in truth," said Maurice, "that artists, move in a much larger world than that which is inhabited by either the bourgeoisie or the aristocracy."

They talked for a long time, and returned to the Chateau together.

Albert was beneath the green oak, talking to the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess, who was telling him how much she admired Genevieve. She had repeated her poem so wonderfully to her alone that morning! They did not see the trio emerge from the thicket, and Maurice was glad of it. He felt more and more constrained. The complicity against the poor fellow's happiness seemed to him a form of treason. He looked at his watch. It was only five o'clock.

"That is impossible. This watch must have stopped."

The Duke went to his room. His man gave him an elegant little note, and as his master threw it down on the table, "They await an answer."

"Very well, I will send one."

The servant withdrew. On the stair he met an English maid waiting the answer.

"Monsieur will send an answer."

"The Countess will be displeased. These French gentlemen are more gallant but less polite than our English lords. She is as much in love as Love itself."

"He also is in love."

"Then it ought to be easy enough, for Madame is a widow."

"But it is not your mistress that he loves."

"Ah! who then?"

"Ah! nothing for nothing." And he held out his hands.

"Ah! shocking!"

"Very well," and he started, as if to return to his master.

She stopped him.

"Monsieur, Gustave you know very well that I am promised."

"Nothing for nothing."

Again he held out his hands. She hesitated a moment, looking up and down, and then let him have her finger tips. With a brutal gesture he caught her to him and kissed her furiously. The little English maid, blushing and rumpled, drew back and announced coldly, "You French are brutes. Now, the information I paid for in advance."

"Very well. He is in love with little Esperance Darbois."

"The actress? But she is engaged to Count Styvens."

"It is the truth I have told you," replied the valet, proud of his own importance, "and if you will meet me in the grove, during dinner, I will tell you some more."

"Thanks, I know enough now," said the maid dryly, leaving him.

She disappeared, but Gustave preened himself, certain of success. As he went downstairs he saw Count Albert, helping the old Mademoiselle and her charge into the carriage. Instinctively, he looked up to see his master's silhouette at the window. Albert was asking to be allowed to go with them, but Esperance had promised herself a quiet and restful drive.

"No, Albert, we shall be four with my father and mother, and this is a small carriage."

"But I will sit with the coachman."

"Look," said the young girl, laughing, "at the size of the seat, and remember that there will be two large bags and a hat box, a very big hat box, to hold a hat for mama, one for Genevieve, and one for me."