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The latter had been slow in gaining the mastery over his inward resources, and was so occupied in struggles with himself that he had no time for the conquest of the public. His first works, which were published with difficulty, were not read by more than a dozen people. It is only fair to Bertin to say that he was one of the dozen, and that he appreciated Clerambault's talents.
It was a vast and well lighted room. On the four walls the large and beautiful panels of pale blue silk, of antique pattern, framed in white and gold, took on under the light of the lamps and the chandelier a moonlight softness and brightness. In the center of the principal one, the portrait of the Countess by Olivier Bertin seemed to inhabit, to animate the apartment.
"Are you Christians?" shouted he, before he would adventure himself near the ship. "Christians we are, Sir Clerk, and dare do no harm to a man of God." The Clerk rode nearer; his handsome palfrey, furred cloak, rich gloves and boots, moreover his air of command, showed that he was no common man. "I," said he, "am the Abbot of St. Bertin of Sithiu, and tutor of yonder prince.
"Ah, that will be Madame Bertin," said Gabriel, as he hitched himself to the door and opened it, revealing a gray-haired woman who came in on tiptoe. "Ah, you have visitors, Mademoiselle," as she stopped a moment near the door. "Only two of my pupils who have come to see me. Come in, come in, it's all right," insisted our teacher.
"As you see, Madame, it is not possible to describe to you the steps by which Bertin sank. The end came within two years of the duel. One knew somehow that it was at hand. There were things dropped in talk, things overheard and pieced together a whole atmosphere of scandal, in which there came and went little items of plain fact.
"You turned out the two first to establish royalism," said M. de Villèle; "to destroy mine you must have a revolution." There was nothing in this prospect to inspire M. de Villèle with confidence, as the event proved; but thirteen years later, M. Bertin de Veaux remembered the caution.
The Countess, well informed on all matters connected with painting, and as preoccupied as if she were herself on exhibition, inquired: "What do they say of the exposition?" "A fine one," Bertin replied.
Leaning lightly upon the railing of the box, Annette was listening with all her ears; and murmurs of satisfaction were beginning to be heard from the audience, for Montrose's voice was better and richer than ever! Bertin had closed his eyes.
Others rested and chatted, still out of breath, red and perspiring, with handkerchief in hand to wipe off faces and necks; others, seated on a square divan that ran along the four sides of the hall, watched the fencing Liverdy against Landa, and the master of the club, Taillade, against the tall Rocdiane. Bertin, smiling, quite at home, shook hands with several men.
"Then will you allow me to go and put on my hat?" "Yes, go, my child." As Annette left the room the Countess entered, veiled, ready to set forth. She extended her hands cordially. "We never see you any more. What are you doing?" she inquired. "I did not wish to trouble you just at this time," said Bertin.
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