"The Berlin banker's legacy has made him a desirable match. She will finish by capturing him," said Mann.

"I don't believe it, for I know my Jacob. He is not at ease in her society. You cannot catch all fish with the same hook. My son-in-law, Henri, would have taken the bait immediately. Jacob is afraid of her.

He likes quiet women who are modest and timid. He is a poet."

"Certainly the creature is far from that, and I congratulate the man who"--

Mann did not finish his remark, for suddenly the music ceased. Jacob was free from the chains of courtesy. He seated himself near Mathilde, who received him with a smile.

The pale moonlight streamed in from the windows which opened on the veranda, and the light was softened by the leaves of the wild vines, which, with their long serpentine cl.u.s.ters, climbed over everything.

They both wished to fly from this crowd, both wished to be alone; but to put this project into execution was not easy.

Again Muse played, and under her skilful fingers the notes wept, groaned, sang, murmured, and sighed. It was Liszt's music. Every one was enchanted.

"She is wonderful," said Mathilde. "As for myself, when I have been a half-hour at the piano I am fatigued. It seems to me that my tired soul flies away with the sounds. But what power she has! She laughs at difficulties, and rises even fresher and more radiant."

"It is there, truly, that one finds the difference between her playing and yours. You put your soul into it. Her playing does not affect me at all. It is as if the piano played alone. With you, the soul sings to me."

"No, she is a true artiste. I am only a musician."

"I cannot admire the artists of the present day. They are but the masters of their art, skilled workmen who know all the tricks of their trade. The shepherd who by inspiration plays on his bagpipe a simple air, be it very simple, very primitive, is much more an artist than this or that fashionable performer. Like everything else, art has been profaned in these days; it has become mercenary; it is a bread-winner, and not a priesthood. The artist of to-day strives for the fame that pays best, and not for the contentment of his soul. Who, then, now-a-days would paint frescoes for nothing but piety and for the love of G.o.d? Music, literature, painting, all at present go to the highest bidder. Muse belongs to the modern school. She has art, but art without soul. She plays Liszt and Walberg, but Chopin is inaccessible to her.

She seizes the _bizarre_ side of Schumann, but the pathetic side, never!"

"You judge her a little too severely. There is in the depths of her heart a little divine light, on her brow a little flame. But, alas! the unfortunates are not sure of to-morrow's bread, and I cannot help regarding with pity this woman and her daughter, for I know their situation."

"Are they not rich?"

"No! They are poor, very poor, though they affect riches."

"This is frightful. This comedy of luxury is odious. The tears of dupes will pay for it. Indigence with courageous labour is a hundred times to be admired."

"It is true, but false pride"--

"That word tells all; it is real deceit."

"She pains me," said Mathilde. "Under the velvet there must be tears and anxiety; at the door poverty waits while they serve a sumptuous repast; to-morrow, solitude after the brilliant reunion of to-day. What a tragedy! It pains me even to think of it."

Muse ceased to play.

Every one applauded, and Henri hastened to kiss the artiste's hand.

Mathilde, who was stifling in this atmosphere, said to Jacob,--

"Let us go out a moment and get some fresh air. No one will miss us. I cannot breathe."

They pa.s.sed through the crowd and reached the veranda. Muse followed them with her eyes, and turned ironically upon Henri.

"I see," replied he to the mute question, "that my wife was too warm.

She has gone out on the veranda with Jacob."

"Then you are not jealous?"

"Near you, mademoiselle, I think of you alone."

"You have no right to talk thus."

"Do you not know that that which is illegal is most attractive to men?"

"You are perversity in person!"

"Alas! a G.o.d would succ.u.mb before you, how much more a simple mortal."

"Truly, monsieur, you flatter me."

"No, mademoiselle, I a.s.sure you."

Then he spoke to her in a low voice with much familiarity, and with a perfect understanding.

When Mathilde left the _salon_ she gave her hand to Jacob at the threshold.

"What is the matter, my child?" said he tenderly.

"I feel very happy," said she; "I know not why, and very calm. I desire nothing. It seems as if my life were slipping away little by little.

You are by my side; I am sure of your affection. What further happiness can I have?"

"There would be very few who would be satisfied with a chaste love like ours. When I observe in the world the different personalities, different characters, I think, mademoiselle"--

"Why do you call me mademoiselle?"

"I think, I say, that there are in each human being two powers who are antagonistic, like G.o.d and Satan. The contrasts are often striking. For example, you and Muse."

"Do not judge her so harshly; you should be indulgent to all."

"Very well. Who, then, are pure and innocent in the depths of their souls around us? Life is short. Every one must taste the bitter cup.

Every one has his troubles, and most men, instead of seeking happiness in their own souls, seek it elsewhere and find it not. The world terrifies me with its variety of elements where evil predominates over good. I cannot understand this predominance of evil."

"That is one of G.o.d's secrets, incomprehensible to our finite intelligence. What good will it do us to try, like the t.i.tans, by force to pierce the closed heavens? Man seems to be the plaything of an implacable irony. He bears within him the sparks of an ardent fire, but he does not succeed in developing a large flame, for the wind of his pa.s.sions scatters the firebrands. In his heart exist n.o.ble sentiments which are changed into gross appet.i.te. Man grows more corrupt instead of purer. All is surprise in life; all an enigma. Then this dream of immortality and a future existence. Can we believe it?"

She smiled sadly, and Jacob listened. Under their eyes lay a superb view. A light breeze murmured through the dark foliage of the old trees in the avenue. In the sky, the moon glided through the deep azure, and the stars twinkled as if to shake slumber from their eyelids. In the distance could be heard the faint sound of the city.

"In contemplating creation," said Jacob, "do you not hear something within you say that we shall live beyond the tomb? That thought should destroy all fear for the future. Even if thousands of years of faith do not confirm this hope, it shines in the reply of the soul like stars in the depths of a well."

"It is impossible," said Mathilde. "In any case, the other life will not be like this. My future will not be a continuation of this miserable existence. Perhaps I shall come again to live on earth. Oh, who knows anything about it?"

"This death, so terrible to most of us, is represented in our Hebrew books as a sweet, an easy, pa.s.sage to another existence. The Talmud, Berakhot 5, calls it the kiss of G.o.d."

"How sorry I am not to have read those books, and to know so little of the Hebrew language! I have been educated for the world. My soul has not been nourished. The tempest of doubt has overthrown it."

"There is yet time, dear Mathilde."