"Do not fear, mamma."

"I have already apian," replied Madame Wtorkowska calmly. "Jacob dines at the Segels to-day. You are a friend of Mathilde's. She lives near here; dress yourself quickly and go to see her. You can feign ignorance of the circ.u.mstances. I will not accompany you, a servant alone will follow. We must take advantage of each favourable moment. To arrive at dessert or at coffee will be best. After a repast men are in good humour; you will produce a lively impression on Jacob. Modestly dressed and not expecting to see company, you must blush, draw back, and wish to retire. They will beg you to remain. You will remain. What follows I leave to you."

Muse rose quickly, like a soldier whom the clarion calls to battle, and embraced her mother, who kissed her and said:--

"One more word of advice. Do not put on any powder, your complexion does not need it, and he might think you had lost your freshness; and how will you dress?"

"In black lace, modestly, poetically. You can depend on me."

A half-hour after, while Muse was at her toilet, Madame Wtorkowska's eagle eyes at the window saw carried from Segel's kitchen into the dining-room a sumptuous roast, then ices; she ran to her daughter and cried:--

"Now is the time. Hasten, I beseech you!"

Muse was all ready. She might have served for a painter's model to represent a contemporaneous elegy; her usually mobile features were changed completely. By a profound study before the mirror she had given them an expression of sweet melancholy. She was enchanting; with an infinite art she concealed art, and seemed natural, and no one would have imagined she was playing a false role.

Women attract and conquer men sometimes by gayety of spirit, and sometimes by a mystical reserve; nothing awakens ardour in a man more than an enigma to solve. When he has arrived at the last page of that book called woman, it is necessary that she be a marvellous masterpiece for him to commence the reading with the same interest as before.

Muse was a living sphinx with such an attractive and finished beauty that it would have been difficult for the most clever observer to discover the least defect in her person, either physically or morally.

She wore a black lace dress, light and _negligee_; for ornaments, a coral bracelet and brooch; nothing more save a white handkerchief and a flower in her hand. To her mother, even, she appeared in a light so new as to draw from her enthusiastic exclamations:--

"Oh, my Ophelia! You are charming!"

Muse smiled proudly, kissed her mother, and with a calm and composed mien left the house as if to keep an engagement, and not to engage in a struggle where her object was to capture a man's heart. Her heart had never yet spoken; it surprised her that men in general were so little susceptible to pa.s.sionate love, and that she herself had never felt this emotion. Her feelings were in her head, and if at times her brain had been inflamed, this flame had never descended to the heart. Love, as she dreamed of it, presented itself to her imagination covered with silk and diamonds in a superb _salon_, amid a royal court.

Did her heart beat on the way? Her black dress could alone tell us, but her face did not reveal a single sign of inquietude. The chronological reckoning of Madame Wtorkowska had been so exact, that Muse arrived just at the moment when they were taking coffee, and, as the piano was opposite the door, Mathilde saw her enter and then draw back as if to go. She arose at once and ran to her, and drew her into the room. Jacob was near her, but she pa.s.sed him without recognition.

"But this is Monsieur Jacob, an old acquaintance of yours," said Mathilde.

"Ah, really! He has returned from his travels, then. How he has changed! I should never have recognized him. I am charmed to see him again."

The first step was of great importance. She appeared at first to be altogether indifferent; she played her first lines admirably. As for Jacob, he felt no emotion whatever. There exist in some men certain instincts which warn them, if they are not under the empire of a brutal pa.s.sion, to avoid danger. Beautiful as she was, Muse did not attract him. Her beauty was for him like that of a statue or a lovely picture, no more.

She had more success with the group of men who were drinking coffee.

They all praised her beauty. Henri alone dared not openly express his admiration, for fear of being heard by his wife.

"Delicious girl!" said Mann. "A dainty enough morsel for a king!"

"A morsel for a king!" added Simon; "but one must have golden teeth to chew it."

Mathilde's father, a great admirer of women, remarked in a low voice:--

"My word for it, she is well worth a thousand ducats!"

"Oh, much more!" cried Mann.

"Wait, gentlemen," added Simon; "put off the sale until after the marriage."

"How clever those women are," said Mann. "Madame Wtorkowska is not worth a sou, and look how they dress, how they live."

"I suspect the object of this visit," whispered Simon. "It is a chase organized against Jacob. I pity him if he falls into their hands."

While they were talking, Muse drew near the piano and looked at the music before Mathilde. It was a composition of Schumann's, and as Jacob was near her she asked him:--

"Do you remember our promenades with Mathilde? Are you as serious as ever?"

"Always the same, mademoiselle, with the difference, perhaps, that age has augmented my failing."

During this conversation Mathilde felt her heart beat violently. Father Simon made from afar some warning gestures, and finished by approaching the piano. Muse greeted him coldly as an enemy, but just then some one asked her to play something.

"With pleasure," said she; "I love music, and I never refuse to play.

Above all, I love Schumann the best."

She executed one of those fantastic reveries where grief gushes out in poignant notes like drops of blood.

She played admirably and with much expression. An actress even in music, she expressed ravishingly the sentiments which she could not feel.

She was warmly applauded. Mathilde, who was herself an excellent musician, found new food for thought in this manner of interpreting a composition that she loved. Jacob praised, but coldly. Father Simon took him by the arm and drew him aside.

"Do you know Muse?" asked he.

"Yes, I used to see her often."

"Do you know the mother?"

"Very little."

"Then learn that they are two very dangerous women. The daughter, reared in luxury, without being worth a sou, seeks a rich husband. Take care of yourself. They will catch you, if possible. They are setting their cap for you already."

"Why, I have only just arrived!"

"The mothers of these days have, such a scent that they smell from afar the marriageable young men. Take care of yourself. This Muse is enchantingly beautiful and versed in all deceit."

"Very beautiful women do not please me."

"She can make herself anything you wish, for she can divine your thoughts."

Seated by the mistress of the house, Muse turned her head. She immediately understood that Simon was acting the part of Mentor to the young Telemachus, and called to him familiarly:--

"I have a favour to ask of you, Monsieur Simon, and I feel that I am very fortunate to meet you here."

"A favour! Of me?"

"Yes, monsieur, on the part of my mother. She dotes on your witty repartees and wishes to see you sometimes in her _salon_, if you will so honour us."

She had counted on gaining Father Simon over by her seductive flattery, but the old rogue only bowed courteously, smiled maliciously, and withdrew hastily to the other side of the room. He went up to Jacob and whispered:--

"She has been trying to burn me with incense right under my very nose.